Soul of the Witch

by Deanna Chase

  The house was dark except for a light over the stove. Humming, Abby made herself some hot cocoa then sat down at the bar and opened her laptop. After printing out a list of her recent orders, she opened her email.

  Her good mood immediately fled when she saw the unopened email from Logan. A sigh escaped her lips just as she heard a thump, followed by a moan, come from somewhere in the vicinity of her dad’s bedroom.

  “Dad?” She hoped off the stool and hurried to her father’s door. Knocking, she said, “Hey, Dad, you okay?”

  Fear rushed over her, and she knocked again.

  The soft shuffle of footsteps sounded right before he pulled the door open and gave her a weak smile. “I’m fine, Abby. Just tripped over the ottoman.”

  Abby blinked, then scanned his slightly hunched body and noted his hand resting on his abdomen. “You don’t look fine, Dad.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. “Just worn out and suffering a little nausea after today’s treatment.”

  “You had a treatment today?” she asked, her mouth hanging open in shock. “How come you didn’t tell me? Why didn’t Yvette say anything? I had lunch with her. Geez, Dad, who took you?”

  He grimaced and visibly swallowed. “No one. I took myself.”

  “Why?” Abby was genuinely confused. “You didn’t need to do that. If I’d known, I would’ve been here. It’s part of the reason I came home in the first place.”

  “Abby,” he said, his voice raspy with exhaustion. “I’m a grown man. I can get myself to the hospital and back for treatment.” He sucked in a breath and turned his head away as his coloring turned a sickly green. “I—” Her father turned and rushed to his bathroom. Within seconds, she heard the retching.

  “Oh, Dad,” she said under her breath and retreated to the kitchen where she rustled up some saltine crackers and a glass of ginger ale. She paused to glance at her studio out back. Guilt ate away at her conscience. There was a time when she’d have whipped up a potion to eliminate those nausea symptoms. But that was a long time ago, and she was out of practice. If she’d known her dad was going to start treatment already, she would’ve found a healer and stocked the house with some anti-nausea potion.

  She hurried back to his room, placed the crackers and ginger ale on his nightstand, and paced while she waited for him to return. When he finally emerged from the bathroom, she did her best to hide her worry and rushed to help him back to the bed.

  This time he slipped his arm over her shoulder and leaned on her for support. “That chemo really takes it out of you.”

  “Here. Get back in bed. I brought crackers.”

  “Thanks, Abs,” he said and let out a relieved sigh as he sat back down on the bed. He bypassed the crackers and took a sip of the ginger ale. After making a face, he put the beverage back down on the nightstand and picked up the television remote. “Want to watch a movie?”

  “Sure, Dad. If you want.”

  He clicked the television on and surfed until he found a John Wayne movie. Grinning at her, he patted the other side of the bed. “Get comfy. There’s a marathon running.”

  Abby groaned but chuckled good naturedly “Seriously? The Duke, again? Maybe you should try something from this decade.”

  Her dad propped himself up on two pillows and shook his head. “You can’t beat perfection, Abby.”

  She just shook her head and sat leaning against his headboard. Five minutes later, her dad was out of bed again for round two in the bathroom. The sounds of his vomiting brought tears to her eyes.

  Why him? She asked the universe for the hundredth time since her sister had called to give her the news of his diagnosis. He didn’t deserve this. No one did, but Lincoln Townsend especially. Her father was the rock of the Townsend family, the steady hand who’d always been there for each of them, through heartbreaks and failed tests and other disappointments with no mother to rely on. Lin had been left to raise four girls on his own and had done it with a whole lot of love and grace, never once complaining about his lot in life. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t feel loved and cherished by her father.

  The sound of water running pulled Abby out of her thoughts and she hastily wiped at her damp eyes. She didn’t want her father to see her upset. He’d only worry about her, and she didn’t want to add herself to his list of things to worry about. She was there to support him this time, not the other way around.

  When he finally emerged, his face had turned ashen, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He’d also changed out of his jeans and into flannel pajama bottoms and a fresh T-shirt. She pushed herself off the bed and hurried to give him a helping hand, but he waved her off.

  “I’m all right. Just need to lie down and get some sleep,” he said.

  “Sure. Let me just—”

  “I said I’m all right.”

  Abby backed off, understanding he hated appearing weak. She knew this was his way of proving to himself that he could get through this, just like when he’d taken himself to the doctor and neglected to tell any of them. She waited while he sat on his bed and took another sip of the ginger ale. When the liquid hit his lips, he grimaced again.

  “I can get you something else. Water? I can call the pharmacy and see if they have anything for the nausea.”

  “I’ve already got some pills, Abby,” he said softly. “I took some right after the treatment. They said even with the pills, vomiting wasn’t unusual.”

  Abby scoffed. “Then what’s the point?”

  His tired eyes met hers. “Without them, I think I’d be curled up on the bathroom floor all night instead of here in front of the television.”

  “I see.” Abby crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. She was grateful he had something that was partially helping, but was that the best they could do?

  Her dad climbed under the covers, and without even turning the television off, he rolled over on his side and closed his eyes.

  Abby let out a long breath, left the remote on his nightstand, and turned off the light as she said, “Night, Dad. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

  He pulled the covers up higher on his shoulder and said, “I know you are. G’night.”

  Abby closed the door behind her and finally let go of the tears she’d been holding back for the last hour. A tiny sob escaped her throat as she sat on the leather couch and buried her face in her hands as all her fear rushed to the surface.

  It was as if his cancer diagnosis had finally become real. Seeing him sick, knowing it was from the chemotherapy, it had been a gut punch. She knew he was up for fighting this battle, believed he’d kick cancer’s butt and come out the other side of this stronger than ever. But that didn’t change the fact that the little girl inside of her had just watched her hero be taken down a few notches by the one villain she couldn’t fight for him.

  Her dad was no longer infallible, and it hurt too much being forced to confront that reality.

  Abby got up, moved to the kitchen, and grabbed a fistful of tissues to clean up her face. After she dried her tears, she sat back down at her computer and once again took a peek at her email.

  “Oh, hell,” she muttered, spotting the email from Logan. She was in no mood to deal with whatever it was he wanted to surprise her with and was going to log out, but the email preview caught her attention: The Witch’s Ball.

  She clicked the message. It read: In our meeting today, I met the mayor. He was impressed with our vision for revitalizing the defunct amusement part, and he insisted we join him at the New Orleans Witch’s Ball. I know how much you wanted to go last year. The tickets were damned expensive, but you’re worth it, babe. You can thank me by wearing something sexy. Can’t wait to see you in a few days. We’ll make a long weekend of it. I already booked you a flight.

  P.S. Don’t forget to pick me up something to wear. I have meetings nonstop until you get here. You still have my measurements, right?

  There was an attachment with an airline ticket in her
name. The flight from San Francisco was in two days, leaving at six-thirty a.m.

  Abby sat on the stool, staring at the email. This was a joke, right? Was he that obtuse that he’d buy her a ticket and expect her to go back to New Orleans just a few days after she’d arrived home? After she’d already told him that leaving after only being in town for two weeks didn’t feel right? Was he insane? The longer she stared at the email, the angrier she became. Her emotions were already frayed after watching her dad deal with the aftermath of his chemotherapy. She didn’t have it in her to care one whit for Logan’s fragile ego.

  Selfish son of a witch. Those tickets weren’t for her. They were for him, to help him cozy up to the city officials in hopes of getting their support. No doubt he’d have some meeting set up he’d make her go to. Even if he didn’t, his blatant disregard for her need to be near her dad right then was enough to make her want to scream.

  She hit Reply and started typing.

  You’re a piece of work. I hope you sprang for a refundable airline ticket, because I’m not going anywhere.

  P.S. Get your own damned clothes. I’m not your personal assistant. I’m not even your girlfriend. Not anymore. Find someone else to manipulate. I’m done.

  Before she could stop to think about it, she hit Send and slammed the laptop closed. Breathing heavily, she got up and started to pace. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. Had she really just ended whatever it was they had in an email? She nodded. Yes, yes she had. She deserved better. Much, much better.

  Her time with Clay that evening had been illuminating. Not because she was all too aware that she still felt something for him, but because he was so thoughtful. That was the second time in two days he’d gone out of his way to help her and asked for nothing in return. And the thing was he’d always been that way. He’d never acted as if his goals, his job, or his needs were more important than hers. Her short time with him earlier in the evening reminded her of what it felt like to be with someone who truly cared for someone other than himself.

  Whatever did or didn’t happen between her and Clay in the future didn’t matter. He’d shown her something she’d forgotten, and she was grateful.

  Her phone buzzed. Abby scowled when she saw Logan’s face flash on the screen, and she declined the call. The phone buzzed again.

  She gritted her teeth, knowing he’d keep trying until she picked up. Well, let him, she thought and ignored it while she made another cup of cocoa. True to form Logan continued to relentlessly blow up her phone. Finally, she sucked in a fortifying breath and answered. “What do you want, Logan?”

  “What the hell, Abigail? I bought you an amazing gift and then you break up with me in an email? Is this how you repay me?”

  “Repay you?” Abby spat out. “For what? Ignoring me when I said I needed to be here for my dad?”

  “Oh, come on. Your sisters are there. You can come home for three days.”

  Abby’s face heated, and the desire to scream nearly made her head explode. She might have, too, if her father hadn’t been in the other room trying to sleep. She counted to five in her head then said, “I’m already home, Logan. I’m not coming back to New Orleans. You’ll just have to figure out how to move forward without me.”

  “What do you mean you’re not coming back to New Orleans? Of course you are. What about my meeting in two weeks?”

  She closed her eyes and wondered if she was speaking an entirely different language. Had he always been so self-absorbed and selfish or had his personality shifted over the last months? She couldn’t imagine herself being attracted to someone so dismissive who ignored practically everything she said. “Logan, listen carefully. I am not coming back to New Orleans anytime soon. The earliest would be after the new year, if at all. Right now, I’m here with my dad and my sisters where I belong. And no, I can’t just leave and let my sisters deal with things. I’m here for me as much as I am for them and my dad. So… just stop.”

  Dead silence.

  After a moment Abby said, “Goodbye, Logan.”

  “Abby,” he said, drawing out her name. “Come on, baby. Don’t be mad. I made a mistake. I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can work this out.”

  “No!” she barked into the phone. “Do not call me. I’m not just mad, Logan. I’m done.”

  “But—”

  “Goodbye.” She ended the call, and when he called right back again, she declined and blocked his number.

  A strange mix of relief and regret washed over her when the phone was finally silent. It was done. She was officially free. And while a weight eased off her chest, she couldn’t help the fresh wave of tears that stung her eyes. Abby blinked furiously, refusing to cry over Logan. Leaving New Orleans had shown her just how much he’d been using her. Breaking it off was the right thing to do, and she’d be better off for it, but she couldn’t help feeling a little bit like a failure. She’d tried hard to make that relationship work. Too hard, probably. Now she just needed to let it go. It was time.

  Chapter 11

  Abby stood at the entrance of the farmers market, a smile tugging at her lips. She’d spent the last three days keeping an eye on her dad and helping him with the orchard. The only time she’d ventured off the property was to mail out the few orders that had come in. Now her stock was depleted, and she had to get serious about rebuilding her inventory, but not before she took advantage of the gorgeous autumn day and picked up a few treasures.

  The market was filled with artists and small-crop farmers, and she couldn’t wait to visit every booth to get to know them again. She’d always loved the market when she was growing up. Many of the artists had been her very first mentors.

  The sun warmed her skin as she quickly made her way to Miss Maple’s booth. The older woman had her curly gray hair pinned on top of her head and was wearing thick, plastic-framed glasses, a corset, and a peasant skirt. Her lace-up, knee-high boots completed the outfit.

  Abby strolled up to the booth and waited patiently while Miss Maple charmed a beautiful little girl by waving her hand over a row of cupcakes, changing the icing from blue to pink. Abby guessed the girl couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old.

  “Can you make them purple?” the little girl asked, clapping her hands in excitement and making her dark curls bounce around her sweet face. “My mama’s favorite color is purple.”

  “Demanding customer.” Miss Maple winked at the girl and changed two of the cupcakes to purple.

  “Yessssss.” The girl’s smile radiated up at Miss Maple, and Abby felt a kinship with her. Miss Maple had always been her favorite person in town, and it had all started with a pink cupcake.

  “Go on,” Miss Maple urged. “Take one for you and one for your mommy.”

  The girl hesitated for a moment, practically vibrating with anticipation. Then her lower lip jutted out in a slight pout as she pulled her pockets inside out. “I don’t have any money.”

  Miss Maple leaned in and whispered, “Then it’s your lucky day because the purple cupcakes are free. Go on. Take them. One for you, one for your mom.”

  The girl’s face split into a huge grin, and then she grabbed one and took a giant bite, smearing purple icing all over her face.

  “Olive!” A gorgeous blond woman scooted over and smacked the cupcake out of the girl’s hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Tears filled the girl’s eyes, and she bowed her head, staring at her feet.

  “You know you can’t eat that. You have a shoot next week.”

  “Miss Maple gave it to me,” the girl said, her voice wobbly with tears.

  “Well, Miss Maple isn’t the one who is going to have to worry about you fitting into the dress I just bought you, now is she?” The woman grabbed a handful of napkins and shoved them into the girl’s hands. “Clean yourself up, Olive. If that food coloring stains your cheek who knows how long it will be before it fades. We can’t afford for you to ruin the next shoot.”

  The woman turned on
her heel and started to stalk off. Then she paused and glanced back at her daughter. “After you’ve cleaned up, meet me at the car. Your father is waiting.”

  Abby’s mouth dropped open as she watched the woman disappear into the crowd, and she took a step forward, her hands lightly resting on the girl’s shoulders as she crouched down. “Need some help, sweetheart?”

  She shook her head, one fat tear standing in her big eyes as she bravely tried not to cry.

  Abby gently took the tissues from her hand and cleaned the purple frosting from her face, dabbing at the tear she hadn’t been able to hold back. She gave her a gentle smile. “There you go, pretty girl, all cleaned up.”

  “Abby? Olive?” Clay’s unmistakable voice came from behind her.

  “Daddy!” The girl let out a wail and flew past Abby.

  Abby turned around to find Olive swept up in Clay’s arms, her head on his shoulder as she clung to him.

  “Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong?” he asked, staring over her shoulder at Abby. “Where’s your mother?”

  Olive shook her head and clung tighter.

  Abby cleared her throat. “I think she’s waiting in the car.”

  Clay’s face turned stormy. “She left Olive here by herself?”

  “She wasn’t by herself, Clay,” Miss Maple said, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder. “Abby and I were here.”

  He glanced from Miss Maple to Abby and back again then nodded. “Thanks.”

  Abby stood there, her heart nearly exploding with both tenderness and pain. Seeing him with his daughter, a daughter from another woman, was a gut punch she hadn’t seen coming. She knew he’d had a child with his ex, she just hadn’t ever seen her before, and Abby’s reaction was visceral. And after seeing the way her mother had treated her only moments before, it made Abby want to wrap the little girl in her arms and keep her safe from the wicked witch.