A Broom With a View (6 page)

A
fter three hard, cold, mind-numbing (and finger numbing since there was no heat in there) hours of work she had three separate piles: the boxes of things she couldn’t use but wasn’t ready to get rid of yet (those would go to the attic), the things she
could
use somewhere in the house (like the toilet paper), and the garbage. The whole left side of the room was cleared out, giving workers ample room to get to the window and do what they needed to do.

Her next project was to set up a space for herself.

She knew that she should really be focusing on the business that she was about to open, especially since she hadn’t gotten the workers in there yet or even seen it empty herself, but there was nothing she could do to speed up that timeline. All she could do was distract herself at home.

Liza had spotted an extra television stand in the guest room and this she lugged across the hall on a rag rug, pulling the rug gently on the edge with a strong grip, careful not to scratch the floor. The television stand was solid oak and much heavier than she’d assumed. Twice, she’d pulled with all her might, really putting her legs into it like she knew you were supposed to, only to find her fingers slipping from the rug so that she was thrown backwards, her body sliding across the hall and hitting the door to her grandparents’ old room.

On more than one occasion she’d stopped what she was doing and took stock of the situation at hand, shaking her head in disbelief and frustration. She was
alone
. She had little strength. She had something that needed to be done and nobody to help her do it.

She was a witch.

Granted, Liza was a witch whose abilities might not be all-encompassing but they were
still
present and formidable. Couldn’t she just move it? Just lift it up, watch it sail gracefully through the air by invisible hands, and then wait (unharmed and breathing properly) as it settled into the place where it was meant to go? She’d fixed her porch, after all. There wasn’t a real difference, right?

Liza, who had always had trouble saying no to her own arguments, raised her hands before her and closed her eyes, ready to move forward with the spell when she suddenly took a step back and stomped her foot.

“No! I will
not
do that. The porch was for my self-esteem, because I’d had a hard day. I can’t fall back on this every time something’s hard. I
will
take care of it myself,” she swore, wiping a grubby hand across her cheek. “Other women live alone and do this crap. I will, too.”

So, she’d gone at it again, cursing the unit and her foolish pride.

Once it was centered against the wall she slumped to the floor, panting.

“I seriously need to start working out,” she gasped as the beads of sweat rolled down her cheeks. Then she began to laugh, an almost hysterical sound that carried throughout the house, disturbing the small animals that had made homes inside the walls. On and on she laughed, until she fell over on her side and clutched her stomach in agony.

“I hurt and I’m hungry,” she laughed-sobbed. “I’m sore, I’m hungry, and I don’t have anyone to help me with either one of those things.”

Her mouth felt like the Mojave Desert inside. She thought she very seriously could’ve killed someone for a drink of something–anything. Her hair, normally her pride and joy, hung in dirty, limp clumps in her face, broken free from its bobby pins. And in her exhaustion, soreness, happiness, and hunger she thought of Mode and brought to mind the
many
times she’d been in bed with the flu or something and he’d brought her soup and orange juice to her in bed.

Not all the memories were
bad
. She didn’t want to just think of him in a bad way; she’d loved him once, after all.

But why did the
good
memories hurt worse?

The TV stand might have been heavy but it was perfect for its intended use. The top, once the dust and cobwebs were cleared, would hold her altar cloth and handmade rosewood box with the Swarovski crystal encrusted pentagram (a girl
always
needed a little bling). The VCR shelf underneath (the stand was old enough to remember the pre-DVD player days) would store her “props” as she liked to call them: small boxes of candles, herbs, stones, and oils.

Liza didn’t use a lot of props for her rituals but she
did
like her fire and scents. She thought a little color, heat, and fragrant aroma made things festive on the right occasion. Sometimes the ritual of setting it all up, organizing what she needed, and then using them in the correct order and for the proper reasons was soothing and allowed her to focus more clearly on her task at hand.

Liza Jane had always enjoyed the drama of certain things, even before she was a practicing witch.

“
NOW YOU DON’T
have
to make a decision right now, but we’d sure like to have you on that committee,” Effie Trilby assured Liza for what felt like the hundredth time.

Liza had officially been open for one week. During their sessions, Liza had heard several clients complain about the “good old boy network” that supposedly ran Morel County. Liza didn’t know anything about that, but she
did
know that Kudzu Valley’s mayor was the size of your average ten-year-old, a seventy-two year old grandmother of thirteen and one of the most intimidating people she’d ever met.

Effie, who had been waiting impatiently for Liza at her own front door when she arrived that morning, was not only town mayor but also served as the president of the Morel County Historical Society, Vice President of the Women’s Club, Treasurer of the Ladies Gardening Club, and chair of the annual Morel County Chestnut Tree Festival–held the first weekend of August.

After her brief introduction and generic “welcome to the community” speech, both said while they stood in the cold on the sidewalk and Liza struggled with the lock, Effie’d wasted no time in getting to the real point of her visit. There was no beating around the bush with this one and she’d let Liza know right away that she was not only invited to join the groups, but expected to.

“Rosebud was a dear,
dear
friend to me,” Effie had proclaimed dramatically as she’d followed Liza all through the downstairs, trailing her as she turned on lights, lit candles, and set the music.

“She belonged to every organization and club we have here in Morel and she was beloved by everyone,” she’d continued as she’d helped Liza slide the new clean sheet over the massage table. “You could always count on Rosebud to jump right in there and help out in whatever was needed. We’ve sorely missed her presence.
Sorely
.”

This last part was said with emphasis and directed at Liza. She knew what Effie was saying to her: She was saying that her Nana Bud had done more than her fair share of the work and they were all likely worn out from picking up the slack her departure had caused.

“Well, I
would
like to get involved,” Liza admitted.

Effie pursed her lips and preened a little, the smug look of a woman who already knew she’d won.

“I wanted to say, too, that you’ve done a wonderful job with this place,” she said, finally managing to take a breath and look around. “I need to come in and get some work done on my back.”

“Just give me a call and I will work you in.”

“I’d also like to say that we’re all very impressed with the fact that you hired local workers to get her up to shape.”

Liza nodded. “Well, I wanted to try to keep it local if I could. Do my part, you know, for the local economy.”

Effie laughed. “Oh, yes, that. Well, we’re all impressed that you didn’t just, you know.”

Effie threw her hand up in the air and waved it around, making a little “whooshing” sound as she did so.

Liza was amazed. Did
everyone
in town know what she was? How? At least she wouldn’t have to go around revealing it. One less thing to do.

“So, may we expect you Monday evening?” And just like that, Effie was back on topic.

The town’s most powerful woman barely reached Liza’s shoulders, had a bluish tint to her gray hair, and wore dangling little rhinestone-laced turkeys at her ears. And she was awfully persuasive.

“I really just got moved in and haven’t had the chance to meet anyone yet,” Liza said, “or even get settled. This is really just a ‘soft opening’ here at the business. I’m still trying to feel my way around. So I’m not sure if I could give you as much time and energy as you need.”

“Oh, phooey,” Effie scoffed, shaking her head so that the turkeys danced back and forth.

It was then that Liza realized Effie’s cardigan and slacks continued the turkey theme. For some reason, that mesmerized her and momentarily got her off track.

“You’re still a child,” Effie insisted as she leaned towards Liza and grabbed her by the shoulder. Her hand was bony but incredibly stronger than Liza would’ve thought. She had what felt like a vulture’s clutch on her and Liza wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or try to throw her off. “You’ve got tons of energy compared to us old folks! You’re still on your first legs.”

“Not anymore,” Liza laughed. “I learned that yesterday. Ten years ago I could have ran up and down Main Street all day in the heels I wore. After an hour here I thought I was going to die from the pain. I’m not the spring chicken I used to be.”

“You’d be the youngest one with us, but I don’t think that would bother someone like you,” Effie hedged, eyes drilling into Liza’s. “And the sad fact of the matter is, if we don’t start getting some of these young folks involved then when my generation goes there won’t be anyone to carry it on.”

Liza nodded her head and tried not to wince as the other woman’s long fingernails dug into her skin.

“Young people today, they don’t care like they used to. You can’t get these teenagers to do things in the community anymore. They want to be playing on their computers, talking to people in California or Japan when they don’t even know the person who lives next door,” Effie declared, her voice full of emotion. “Just breaks my heart, it does. Soon we’re not going to be a community anymore at all.”

Whether she’d finally caved in from the guilt trip or the pain, Liza finally found herself agreeing to participate in everything Effie threw at her. She’d signed some forms, diligently copied meeting times into her tablet’s calendar app, and exchanged phone numbers.

And by the time the little woman sailed regally through her door, Liza even found herself chair of a committee.

She still wasn’t sure
how
that had happened.

Liza
Jane stood back and admired her new floors and the beautiful cherry shelves that lined the walls. She was itching to get started on the unpacking part but it was getting dark. She’d need to return the next day. So far she’d been doing treatments, but hadn’t yet unpacked her products and started pushing
those
yet.

“I own a business, I own a business,” she sang as she danced around, her boots echoing on the floor and filling the empty room. Outside, the cars whizzed by, windows rolled down and speakers blaring everything from Hank Williams Sr. to Kanye West and Bill Monroe.

Liza walked over to the one of the windows and placed her palm on the cool glass, careful not to leave any fingerprints or smudges; she’d just cleaned them. The streetlights were on and they cast a warm, rosy glow over the sidewalks. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine what downtown Kudzu looked like back in the 1960s and ‘70s, when the shops were full and the sidewalks busy. She was astute enough to know that those days were never coming back, but she hoped she could do her part to bring a little something to the town again.

Her own brand of magic.

“Careful Lizzie.”

The voice, gruff and melodic, swept through the room.

Liza could feel the hairs on the back of her arms stand at attention. The voice, laced with cigarettes and the occasional shot of rum, was deep enough it could’ve been a man’s. But it wasn’t.

“Nana Bud?” Liza whispered and turned, expecting to see her grandmother standing a few feet from her.

The room was empty and still, but the light streaking in through the windows shimmered just a little in the middle of the floor. She knew she wasn’t alone.

“Watch,” came the voice again.

Liza strained her eyes and focused them on the point in the floor where the light beams gathered and became something nearly solid. A thick wisp of smoke rose from the newly-laid floorboards and drifted upward, fanning out like a flower as it gathered in strength and opacity. Liza took several steps towards it, unafraid, and watched curiously as her heart pounded in her chest.

Though she couldn’t see her grandmother, she could feel her sweet, steely strength. The vision that eventually formed was startling, to say the least: the blood seeping into the ground, the screaming, her own face…But now there was a woman as well, a woman she’d never seen before. The woman lay on the floor, her face red and puffy and streaked with tears. Black lines ran from her eyes where her mascara had bled. Her blood-red lipstick was smeared across her mouth. Her ratty old coat was torn and stained with something dark. It was hitched up above her legs and pooled around her waist, revealing red underwear and a soft belly that protruded over the loose elastic. The woman cried out for someone, Liza couldn’t make out the name, and then slumped back down to the ground.

“What does it mean Nana Bud?” Liza asked, frustration growing inside of her. “What do you want me to do?”

But the vision was already melting away. Liza knew the exact moment when her grandmother’s spirit left because she was suddenly standing alone again, a chill in the air, and a sadness in her heart.