American Witch

by Thea Harrison

  “Wait. I’d like to…”

  A younger, softer Molly might have listened. She would have been eager to please and anxious to smooth things over. But she wasn’t that younger, softer Molly anymore. She felt no need to contort herself into another shape just to fit other people’s desires or expectations.

  So she interrupted. “I don’t care what you would like. I don’t want to hear from you. I don’t want to think about you. I don’t want to be manipulated by you anymore. If I have something to say to you, I’ll call. Otherwise, leave me the hell alone.”

  She hung up, glared at the phone, and held her breath.

  It remained silent, as well it should.

  After a few moments, she started the Cherokee again. She felt strange and hollow, as if all her purpose had been cut out. Back at her apartment, she played desultorily with cooking a bolognese sauce, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  She felt like she was waiting for something else to happen. Things felt incomplete, like a lump of half-molded clay on a sculptor’s table. The true face of her new reality had yet to emerge. There had been no real resolution between her and Austin, just a phone call from Nina to say her marriage was over. While that was a victory of sorts, it felt odd to not speak with him.

  Not that she wanted to speak with him—in fact, the opposite was true. She didn’t miss him, not in the slightest.

  The more time passed, the more she realized how much of a habit living with him had become. Austin had been part of the list of “shoulds” that had dictated her life. She should be married to him, or so she had thought, just as she should be a dutiful daughter, despite the fact that her mother treated her with a lack of loving warmth and a wealth of judgment.

  Still, a few weeks ago she and Austin had been talking about putting in a new sprinkler system in the front lawn. The meandering years of conversation that had made up their marriage had been chopped off midsentence.

  Now the shackle of their home and all their possessions settled around her neck, and she felt too empty to celebrate. She had begun on her path to freedom, but she wasn’t free yet.

  After a while, she turned off the stove, searched for local real estate agents on her phone, and began calling down the list until she connected with a live person instead of voice mail. The agent, Tanya Martin, was smart and charming. Molly arranged to meet Tanya at the house on the following Saturday when they could go over the property and sign Tanya’s contract.

  After that, she spent the weekend at the public library, researching witches and witchcraft. She also meditated religiously and started taking yoga classes again. It felt good to practice the simple disciplines, and she could sense the deep, interior golden well settling into a pool of calm.

  Julia called on Monday. Molly felt a huge emotional disconnect from the conversation, but she stuck with the phone call for Julia’s sake.

  Still, she had little to say. What could she offer? “Hey, I discovered I can break bottles with my mind, and I really want to learn that privacy spell the new DA cast last week.”

  Yeah, that would go over well. So she mostly listened. When Julia complained about the long hours her husband worked, Molly realized that Julia complained about her husband all the time.

  “You know you don’t have to live that way if you don’t want to,” she said.

  “That’s easy for you to say now that you’ve taken the plunge and left your own asshole husband. You don’t have a child to think about, or daycare expenses, or how you would manage being a single mother on child support.”

  Molly marveled at the depth of her friend’s discontent. Had Julia always sounded so negative, or was this something new? Or maybe now that the blinders had fallen from Molly’s eyes, she was seeing everything more clearly?

  “All of that is true,” Molly replied dryly. “But it still wasn’t easy. And if you really need to leave, you know the child support would be enough. You might have to cut some corners and get a job, but you could make it work.”

  Julia’s exhalation of laughter sounded bitter. “You know, it’s funny. I used to envy your and Austin’s lifestyle. Everything seemed so easy for you, but then you left him and altered almost everything about your life, and you know what? Nothing’s changed. I still envy you.”

  Soon after, Molly ended the call on the pretext of needing to leave for an appointment. As she hung up, she realized she and Julia didn’t have anything in common anymore.

  She was supposed to see her mother that week, but when Wednesday arrived, she decided to call instead. As Gloria answered, she said, “Hi, Mom, Just wanted to let you know I won’t be coming to see you today.”

  “Austin said you filed for divorce.” Gloria’s voice sounded cold and flat, the way she did when she was disappointed in Molly. “In spite of my best efforts, you’re intent on ruining the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  Just a couple of months ago, Molly would have clenched from the stress of confronting her mother. She had heard that divorces divided friends and family, and Gloria always had liked Austin better.

  Now she put her feet up on the coffee table and watched a sparrow nesting in a maple tree outside the rental’s window. The sun was shining through the leaves, and she felt like she was immersed in a sea of gold-dappled green.

  It was a damn beautiful day.

  “You’re wrong, you know,” she told Gloria cheerfully. “Filing for divorce is the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m going to change my name too, but not back to my maiden name. I’m going to pick an entirely new name, just for me. You will hate it, of course, and I don’t see why I need to drive forty-five minutes for us to have this talk in person. In fact, I don’t see a reason for us to have any further conversations at all.”

  “You’re an embarrassment,” her mother snapped. “I don’t have any idea what to say when my friends ask about you. I tell them you’re having a midlife crisis and you’ve lost your damn mind. When you come to your senses, Austin will be long gone, and you’ll be sorry, aging, and alone.”

  “Thank you, Mom. Thanks for making it clear that I’m making the right choices.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t support anything you’re doing!”

  “I know. And that’s okay. You get to be you. But you know what? I get to choose to not be around that—and I get to be me.”

  “What are you saying, that my only daughter is going to abandon me?”

  “I’m not abandoning you. In spite of everything, I love you. But you’ve been verbally abusive and controlling my whole life. In fact, you set my expectations so low it’s no wonder I got entangled with someone like Austin. And I’m no longer going to put up with someone who treats me like that.”

  “How dare you.” Gloria’s words turned low and venomous. “Don’t think I’m going to leave you anything in my will. I’d rather give my money to charity. At least then I know it will go to someone who is grateful to get it.”

  Ah, the ungrateful daughter card.

  “Go right ahead. Give it all to charity.” She sighed. “I don’t know why you are the way you are. I know your mother wasn’t very nice to you, so maybe you’re just passing down the way you were treated. But I’ve finally had enough. The only regret I have is that I didn’t get to this point sooner.”

  “The way you’re acting would break your father’s heart.”

  She nodded to herself. Breaking her father’s heart was another one of her mother’s favorite admonishments. “If you ever want to talk to me in a way that is loving and supportive, please give me a call. I would love to hear that from you. Until then, I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “I mean it, Molly Ann. I’ll cut you off without a cent.”

  Feeling twenty pounds lighter, she said softly, “Bye, Mom.”

  So, Austin got the friends and the mother. Molly got the house and all their money.

  She smiled. That was okay with her.

  Chapter Seven

  The rest of the week passed peacefully. Ac
cording to the agreement, Austin was supposed to be out of the house before Saturday. Once Molly received the go-ahead from Nina, she confirmed the meeting with the real estate agent for six o’clock Saturday evening.

  The timing was somewhat unusual, but Tanya was amenable, and going back to the house at suppertime gave them the best chance of avoiding curious, nosy neighbors dropping by.

  When midafternoon on Saturday came, she reluctantly decided she should go over an hour early. Tanya knew a company that would sell the contents of the house at a flea market for a commission, but Molly wanted to collect photographs of her father and make sure there wasn’t anything else she wanted to keep.

  When she pulled into the long, familiar driveway, a sour feeling like heartburn settled at the back of her throat. She parked and studied the scene.

  It really was a beautiful house, spacious and well-positioned on a large corner lot. The backyard faced a large park with lots of trees that offered a nice sense of privacy. She hated the sight of it.

  When she let herself in the front door, a rotting smell assaulted her.

  What the hell? Quickly, she walked through the silent downstairs.

  The kitchen was exactly as it had been when she had left the house a few weeks ago. Everything single thing.

  The un-iced cake still lay on its plate. Browned wedges of lemons and limes filled serving bowls and dirty drink glasses. Uneaten hors d’oeuvres lay scattered on serving trays. Curling veggies and congealed dip sat on a party tray, and in one side of the sink, a large ceramic pot was filled with the rotting, marinated chicken that had never been cooked.

  He hadn’t touched any of it. If anything, he had added to the mess by throwing dirty, food-crusted plates into the other side of the sink.

  He could have done nothing, and the cleaning service would have come on Wednesday and taken care of everything. Instead, he must have canceled the service and left the mess for her to face.

  “You petty son of a bitch,” she muttered.

  Anger clenched her muscles. Moving quickly, she walked through the rest of the house. His office was bare, all the furniture gone.

  There were other spots of nastiness. The master suite was a mess. He had left drawers pulled out and hangers strewn on the floor. A sour smell rose from the dirty, unmade bed. In the bathroom, bottles of her shampoo and conditioner were opened and dumped upside down in the sink where the liquids had hardened and congealed.

  She jogged downstairs again to check the area where they had hung a collage of family photos.

  The wall was empty. Every good photo she’d had of her father. They were all gone.

  Furious and hurting, she rushed outside. The garbage was picked up on Thursdays. He might have just thrown the photos away. They might still be in the trash bins in the nook by the side of the garage.

  When she reached the big, black bins, she threw back the hinged lids on both the recycling and the garbage bins. They were empty.

  A sob tried to bubble up. Wiping at her face with the back of one hand, she bit it back.

  She had hung the best photos, but there was still one last chance to find something from her father. Otherwise, she would have to go back to her mother and endure more recriminations and emotional blackmail.

  She kept mementos in large plastic tubs in the basement. If Austin’s spite hadn’t driven him to destroy things down there, there were a few photos, things that were too damaged or deemed too goofy to hang on the wall. Slamming the lids down, she jogged back through the house and down the basement stairs.

  She had tucked the storage containers high on a shelf underneath the stairs to protect them from potential flooding. As she looked into the shadowed niche, the bins were still in place. Hardly daring to hope, she pulled them out and opened them.

  Everything was still neatly packed as she had originally left them. Her high school and college diplomas. Childhood drawings and holiday cards and family snapshots, many of them faded. Some were torn and bent. One was of her father standing by another man at a barbeque. He wore a plaid, short-sleeved shirt and held a martini glass.

  Molly couldn’t remember who the other man was. In the photo, both men were laughing. She touched it gently. This would be enough.

  After she put the bins in the back of her Jeep, she got to work. When the doorbell sounded a few minutes after six, she had cleared out the rotting food, thrown away everything in the fridge, and the dishwasher was running with a full load while the worst of the crusted dishes soaked in the sink. She had left the back door wide open to air out the smell, and a cool breeze swept through the house.

  Wiping off her hands, she went to answer the door.

  Tanya Martin was a young, attractive woman, perhaps thirty years old, with improbably red hair, immaculate makeup, and a wide smile. They talked for forty-five minutes and went over the comps Tanya had pulled for house prices in the neighborhood.

  Then Molly signed the contract and Tanya took her leave. As Molly closed the front door, she smiled with relief. The house was well maintained, stylishly decorated, and located in a “blue chip” neighborhood that never went out of demand. After the first weekend of showings, they would probably see several offers. Maybe even a bidding war.

  If Molly stuck to her intention of only accepting a cash offer, she could be rid of the property within a few weeks. This was going to go quickly.

  Alone once more, she turned her attention back to cleaning. By the time she was nearly finished, darkness had fallen.

  The last thing to do was change the bed. Quickly, she tore off the bedding and made the bed with a coverlet in a classic faded paisley pattern.

  After patting the pillows into place, she turned to confront the pile of dirty bedding she had dumped in the hall. The last thing she wanted was to stick around and do laundry.

  Too bad she didn’t know any housework spells. (Yet?)

  “Screw it,” she muttered. “I’m done cleaning up after that bastard.”

  Gathering the pile into her arms, she carried it downstairs and out the back door to the garbage bins. Letting it fall to the ground, she threw open the trash bin and went down on one knee to gather it up again.

  As she did, a pair of familiar shoes and long, jeans-clad legs came into view.

  Austin.

  She leaped to her feet.

  She wasn’t fast enough.

  Something hard came down on the back of her head. Pain exploded, and the world disappeared in a gray haze.

  She didn’t pass out, not quite. As if from a long distance away, she felt her body collapse where the gravel met grass. Something hard hit her again and again. Maybe a golf club or a baseball bat. She hadn’t known she could feel so much pain.

  Coughing, she tried to curl into a fetal position and cover her head with one arm. Austin kicked her in the abdomen. The blow knocked her over. She rolled with it and landed flat on her stomach, working desperately to suck air into her cramped lungs.

  Agony stabbed her through the chest. She had no breath. She couldn’t shout or scream for help.

  As she fought to get upright, he landed with his full weight on both knees at the small of her back, knocking the air out of her again as he drove her flat.

  Gravel ground into her cheek, and red pulsed in her gaze. Something wet ran down the side of her face. Vaguely she felt her fingers scrabble at the rocks and grass.

  Somewhere inside she had a new, burgeoning Power just waiting to be deployed, if only she could figure out how to use it.

  Funny, she thought. It never occurred to me to practice throwing Power behind my back. I always had to look at whatever I was hitting. Joke’s on me. Ha ha.

  Hard fingers tangled in her hair. New pain flared as Austin yanked her head back and whispered in her ear, “You had to take everything, didn’t you? It wasn’t enough to serve me with divorce papers. You had to take the whole goddamn thing. Everything I worked for all these years. All the investments. Did you think I was just going to let it go and walk away, you stup
id cunt?”

  He knew how much she hated that word. It must have given him a lot of satisfaction to finally call her that.

  She coughed, “You know, I kinda did.”

  Her scalp was on fire. Everything was on fire. She tried to twist around so she could see him. If she could lay eyes on him, she could hit him, but his knees drilled into her back and kept her pinned in place.

  “Maybe I will let it go and walk away,” he whispered. “But first I want that file back. You know the one.”

  Oh yeah. No doubt about it. He was so dirty.

  She tried to laugh, but her bruised rib cage wouldn’t let her. As she closed her fingers around a handful of gravel, she gasped out a laugh. “You really think I didn’t make a copy? Several copies?”

  “We’re going to clear out your email,” he growled, yanking cruelly at her hair. “You’re going to give me back the original and any copies you made, and then I’m going to let you go. It’s as simple as that. All you have to do is cooperate, and this will all be over with.”

  All except for Josiah and his investigation.

  Ha ha.

  “And if I don’t?” Just as she couldn’t hit him with her magic, she couldn’t throw the damn gravel in his face while he had her pinned on her stomach. The angle was wrong.

  “If you don’t, I’m going to hurt you a lot more than I have already. Believe it or not, I don’t want to do this.” He grabbed her wrist and shook it. “Drop what’s in your fucking hand or I’ll tear out your fucking hair.”

  She opened her hand and let the rocks drop to the ground.

  When she was done, he twisted her arm behind her back, and his weight lifted from the base of her spine.

  She had no time to feel relief. The world tilted and agony screamed when he used her twisted arm to haul her upright. Staggering, she fought to get her balance and turn so she could face him, but he kept her arm twisted behind her back and hooked an arm around her neck, bending her backward and keeping her off-balance. Keeping her under control.