by Zoe Dawson
Anna Kate was going toe-to-toe with the Blue Coyote Spa’s owner, Skylar Bransom. The willowy blond towered over the more petite, transplanted brunette cowgirl. Skylar was down to earth and outspoken, and she never backed down, even when she was wrong, and she was the best hairdresser I’ve ever had, and I come from New York City.
“I said it was an inferior cut, and it was. You should think about going back to Texas and moving cows with your heavy-handed touch. I think I will go to Lafayette from now on.”
“Cutting your hair is like trying to groom a poodle who’s swallowed a jumping bean. You’re downright fidgety, missy, make no mistake about that. And, as I have said many times before, I’m not from Texas.”
“Whatever. I just think I will keep you away from my hair.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Is there a problem, ladies?”
Anna Kate gave me a mind-your-own-business look. “I think we’re finished here. Jake?”
He offered her his arm and they strolled out of Imogene’s.
I caught Skylar watching Jake intently, then pull her eyes away, rolling them. “Whatever does he see in her? I will never understand. She puts on airs so high, it’s no wonder her head doesn’t just plumb pop off and float up into the atmosphere, like a big, blond balloon.”
I worked at not smiling, but Skylar saw my attempt and nudged me. “I know you have to be neutral, and all. But, by golly, she’s a thorn in my side.”
There was something off about Skylar today, and while I listened to her talk I heard an inflection, and I knew. She was dealing with grief. Deep grief.
It took mere seconds–a look, a glance, a knowing of the heart connects us, even if we’ve never met before. No matter our circumstances, who we are, or how different we are, there is no more intense bond than the connection between people who understand the agony of enduring the death of loved ones. It’s a pain we suffer for a lifetime, and unfortunately only those who have walked the path of loss understand the depth and breadth of both the pain and the love we carry.
“Would you like a piece of pie? On the house,” I said, softly. The way Anna Kate had treated me and Chase during the brunch only made me like Skylar more.
“I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. You have any apple left?”
“With ice cream?”
“Hell, yeah.”
I smiled. “Coming right up. Go ahead and take the corner table. It’s private, and has a beautiful view of the bayou.” I headed back to the kitchen and cut a couple of pieces, heated them and scooped out the ice cream. Then I poured two glasses of milk.
I made my way to the table with the tray and set the two pieces down, along with the milk. Then I set the tray aside and sat down. Skylar eyed me and said, blinking rapidly. “You have the same look. You sharing pie with me tells me that we have grief in common.”
I took a breath. “I lost my husband and son. It was devastating, and I’ll never be the same.”
Skylar’s mouth trembled and she reached out to squeeze my hand, her eye contact direct and filled with the kind of knowledge that was now ingrained in me as well. “I’m so damn sorry. That must have been awful and crushing.” She looked down and shaved off a spoonful of ice cream. “I lost my parents in a fire, then I lost their legacy. The ranch that was in our family for generations. My ancestors pioneered and fought for that land. I feel guilty about it, then I feel guilty because I’m guilty about the land instead of thinking about my parents. It’s a mixed bag.”
“Is the anniversary of their deaths today? I bet your mom made apple pie and your dad loved it.”
She nodded. “No.” Tears welled. “But it’s looming, and I just needed to get out, and I couldn’t think of anyplace I love more…well except the Blue Coyote…than Imogene’s.
I squeezed her hand back. “I think you’re the best hairdresser I’ve ever had. I totally understand if you’d rather not talk, but you can sit here and look at the bayou and remember them. Eat your pie in silence. Or if you’d like to talk about them, I’m all ears.”
“You are just the sweetest thing. I would love to tell you about them.” She talked about her mother, and how she liked to collect salt and pepper shakers, and how they had them all over the house. How her father would take this one coyote pepper shaker and hide it so her mom would bluster and fuss, until he gave her a hint. All in good fun. Her dad had an exceptional sense of humor, and was as funny as all get-out. She cried when she talked about the Christmas she gave her mom coyote slippers.
I said, “Don’t tell me. The shaker was blue.”
She sighed. “It was. Guess that was a no-brainer. I wish I could find the same set of shakers, but I’ve never been able to. I have pictures, though, and I’ll keep looking.”
After we’d finished our pie, she said, “Do you want to talk about your family? This time, I’m all ears.”
I shook my head. “No, today was about your parents.” I buried those emotions, my usual habit.
“All right, but if you ever need to talk, you let me know.”
I gave her a knowing look. “So, how long have you had a thing for Jake Sutton?”
“I don’t have—”
I raised my brow.
“Ever since I laid my eyes on him,” she said, and I liked that she didn’t blush a bit. “He’s right fine. But he has as many airs as that Anna Kate. And he needs to be taken down a peg or two, just like her. And I’m more than woman enough to wrangle that boy.”
“I have no doubt. If you ask me, Skylar, I think he’d be worth the wrangle. I think he might be a little lost.”
“I could show him the way home. Oh, yes, I could.” She got up from the table and leaned down. “Thank you kindly for the pie, and looks like you’re doing a little bit of navigating of your own in the same gene pool. How’s that going?”
“I simply don’t know what you mean.” I said with a lovely drawl in my voice as I uttered this totally Southern ladylike denial.
She laughed and winked at me. “I’m sure you don’t. Carry on, and thank you again.” She tilted her head, and I was sure she would give Anna Kate a run for her money.
Feeling a little raw after she left, I again wished Chase was here. That thought stopped me in my tracks and, after an odd look from Beth, I got moving again. He’d been so open, so kind the other night, I got all emotional just thinking about how he’d comforted me. Then got all bothered when I remembered how he’d loved me.
And that is what he had done. Oh man, oh man, I was getting in deep with him, but I still wanted him home, now.
Later, on my walk home, I was glad the weather had cleared up. I’d missed this time of day, working the kinks out of my legs and shoulders. As I came up to the Gainey house, Jessica came running up to me. “Samantha, could you please watch Sage? My daddy was just admitted to the hospital, and Prejean is out of town.”
I froze inside, and wanted to tell her no and go home, but she was frantic over her father. I couldn’t refuse. “Of course, you go.”
“Oh, thank you. He’s asleep, so he shouldn’t be a bother.”
“No worries. You go.”
My stomach was in knots when I went up the porch steps and into their pretty house. Pictures of Prejean and Sage were all over the walls. The smells of a chicken dinner lingered in the air, little boy toys were all over the family room, and a tiny little shirt draped over the couch. The knots intensified, and I clutched at my middle for a moment, the memory of my little boy rocking me hard. I checked her cupboard for something hot to drink and found a box of cocoa mix with the little marshmallows. I made a cup, got control of myself, and turned on the television to distract myself from remembering.
I jumped when a little voice said, “Mommy?”
I turned to find Sage standing there in his dinosaur jammies, and was hit with a ten-ton hammer right in the heart. He was so like Scottie in coloring, the memory of him tore at me. I pulled myself together, because it must be jarring for him to wake up and find a virtual
stranger here instead of his mom. “Hi, Sage,” I said, keeping my voice soft and infused with calm. “Remember me? I’m Miss Samantha from next door.”
“Where’s Mommy?”
“She had to go out for just a bit, but she’s coming back real soon.” I picked him up, and his baby scent wrenched at my heart. “Did you have a bad dream?”
He nodded against my neck.
“I know exactly how to fix that.”
He raised his head, his blue eyes curious and so innocent.
“Yes. Hot cocoa with little marshmallows does the trick. It chases all those meanie dreams right out of your head and warms your tummy right up. Do you want some?”
He nodded. I went into the kitchen and heated the milk and mixed in the packet of cocoa. Back in the living room, we drank our cocoa while he showed me all the pictures he’d colored in his coloring book. I oohed and ahhed, and he beamed at me with the kind of delighted pride that was reserved only for small children. Afterwards I read him a story and then tucked him back into bed.
“Good night, Sage.”
“Night, Miss Samantha.”
I held it together because I had to. There was no getting over this kind of pain, and I hadn’t ever tried. When Jessica came home, I had my face and voice schooled to the woman I had been before I moved to Suttontowne. The fake Samantha. The Samantha I’d hidden behind to look normal when I absolutely was not, in any way.
I calmly started down the stairs, but then had to lean against the railing as a freight train of memories hit me with runaway power, the walls of my caged emotions crumbled, and I was bombarded with two years of repressing my grief and loss over Scott.
I had always talked about Jeff because…I caught a soft sob…it had been easier somehow. But my little boy had been locked up inside me, and the floodgates were now open.
I ran all the way to my front door, reaching for an anchor, for something to cushion my fall, to keep me from shattering into a million, jillion pieces.
“Samantha?”
He was here. When I needed him. When I was lost and alone.
Chase.
And my throat closed and my heart stuttered. I was unable to hide it from him. He was that kind of man. I couldn’t go back and change it. I’d fallen in love with Suttontowne. It was now my home. Even worse, I was falling for Chase Sutton. Losing my heart to him was like a slippery slope, where, no matter how hard I fought not to slide, there was no way to stop myself.
He was my every handhold.
I clutched him, holding on for dear life.
Chapter 12
CHASE
Everything about Samantha was beautiful, even her grief. I knew it sounded strange, but it was true. She was luminescent and hurting. Without saying a word, I took her inside. We lay down on her mattress, and she curled into me.
“I can’t imagine what you have gone through, Sam. I’m not going to tell you it’s time to get back to life, or it’s been long enough, or, the worst one of all, time heals all wounds.”
She pressed her face into my neck and I stroked her hair. “I’m sure losing a family, especially a child, breaks a mother in a way that isn’t fixable or solvable—ever. I’m not going to try to do that—ever. You can only take the time you need to learn to move forward, but I know your life will never be the same.”
“Chase…” she whispered. “I can’t talk about him.”
I nodded and held her tighter. “Okay,” I said, my heart heavy. I wanted her to be able to tell me anything, open up to me like she’d done two days ago, but there was no way to push this. “I can’t understand your grief, but I care about you, and your grief is part of you. I know you’re never going to forget them, and that you have to find your own way to healing, or at least acceptance.”
She clutched at me and kissed my jaw, her face feverish and wet.
“You are so extraordinary,” she murmured, then kissed my jaw again. “Amazing.” Trailing her mouth from my jaw, she pressed her lips repeatedly over my cheeks, eyes, brows, and lips. When she began to work on my clothes, I surrendered, knowing this time it wasn’t about dulling the pain with a mindless act.
This was about being alive, and her need to experience it with me. About touching, connecting, meeting each other on this even, freaking awesome plane, and taking what we had from the intangible to the tangible.
Body to body, heart to heart, soul to soul.
There was no more resistance.
“Please, Chase. I need you. Like this.”
“I know,” I said. “Take them off.” It was as if she scraped off the top layer of my skin, I was so sensitized, as if she knew the very code of my DNA, and I knew the secrets of her genes.
“There’s no denying it to you or to myself. So take what you need. I freely give everything to you. You’ve known deep sorrow. I want you to experience unspeakable joy.”
“You have a beautiful soul.” She kissed me right over the heart, her lips lingering, as if it was so sweet, she couldn’t stop wanting to taste it.
“So beautiful.” She trailed her mouth down to the core where I created life and took her time showing me the kind of natural, soaring pleasure that was as intimate as breathing each other’s breath.
When she touched me, it was magical, warm, taking sex to a level I didn’t recognize. It was about our skin touching and our mouths meeting. It was about heat and sweat and feeling alive, and woke a starving need in me that I had never experienced before. I thought I knew what making love was, but this experience with Samantha wasn’t about stimulating A and B, slotting C and D. It was about the whole damn alphabet in one agonizing, slow, and deep understanding.
Our bodies were extensions of our souls, and our hands the light that beamed from them. She was a drop of life-giving water and I was the thirsty earth. I was the sun rising and she the movement of the tides. I was substance and she was the empty vessel. I was dark and she was light. I was matter and she was energy.
And together we made a storm that washed over us in violence, altering the face of the landscape we once knew, turning it into something chaotic, slightly damaged, but fresh, pure and washed clean.
There was no resistance anymore.
I loved Samantha Wharton.
There was no going back. It was a done deal.
The only questions I had: Could I let go of my past, and could she open up about hers? Could we, together, find safe and common ground to plant our feet and fight for the future with all the complications, pain, heartache and shattered expectations? Did we have enough hope? Better yet, enough courage?
***
After the release we both needed, I slept heavily until something…more accurately, the sound of something…disturbed my slumber. I opened my eyes and looked up. Something swirled and then materialized into a Black woman, and I recognized her from the picture Samantha had shown me—AnnClaire floated above me, her eyes open and staring right into mine.
Hope.
Her mouth never moved, but there was sound, a scratching noise in my brain.
Energy.
Her lips remained unmoving, but with a whoosh of sound, she was right in my face. The scratching noise got louder.
Guidance.
Then, like fingers on a chalkboard, the cadence rose in discordant vibrations.
Awakening.
It rose, so loud I had to cover my ears, the scratching reached a deafening screech.
Illumination.
Then I jerked awake. “Chase…Chase. Wake up.”
I looked at Samantha, her face concerned, her voice husky with sleep.
“Nightmare,” I whispered.
Then I heard it. Tapping on the window in short intervals. I got up, and pushed back the drapes. A swarm of fireflies was outside the window, flying into it. The tapping was caused by their bodies careening off the glass.
I backed up, hitting the small table and knocking the voodoo handbook off the table, where it hit the floor and fell open.
“Why are they doing t
hat?” she said, her eyes wide.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Samantha reached down and picked up the book. “Look at this passage.”
Before you talk to me about voodoo talismans, let me tell you about the difference between light and dark magic talismans made with the help of the voodoo magic. You may think they differ in their powers, which is wrong, because all my talismans are very powerful. They work in harmony with the wearer. To become a true owner of a talisman, one needs to have a very strong willpower.
Hope.
My voodoo talismans are magic talismans, wrought in the deep of night, gathering the nocturnal energies, when earth and hell open up to release these energies. Since magic has no color, it is the intent of the person making the talisman that determines its purpose. Is it to harm or is it to help? The energies obey only those who know exactly what they want, never doubt that they deserve it and can have it, and never give up. When using voodoo talismans, people have to remember that there is no way back.
Energy.
What I wrought was through the grace and magic of voodoo, but only the powerful mind and heart of the one who owns the energies that flow through flesh and bone can make a difference. If the bearer of the gift doesn’t believe, there is no outlet for the talisman to work, the object(s) lose their power, and gradually what was imbued is lost. They become as helpful as a coin lying in your pocket.
When selecting a voodoo talisman, make sure you know exactly what your ultimate goal is. The more significant it is, the better the voodoo magic will work to help you achieve it. However, such talismans never help their owners right away. First they make sure you have enough courage and determination to be called their owner.
Voodoo talismans are perfect for those looking for a talisman for protection. Dark magic talismans are best when it comes to the removal of all kinds of energy problems from your earthly bodies, as well as protection against and removal of various curses.