Husband Rehab Page 12

  She grabs his elbow. “Lennox …”

  “I can’t ask you to do this,” he says, “not when Birchall is the price. Besides, those guys in there need your help. Sounds like their wives are good women who want them back, except for Mr. Pepper. You can help them. You should help them.”

  Josie pulls him close and holds him in a hug.

  Both of them stare into each other’s eyes for longer than they should.

  She feels his heart beating against her chest, feels him breathing deeply.

  She sees him shaking his head ...

  “I love you, Lennox Cruz.”

  Josie’s jaw hinges open as she realizes what she just said. She said the words she’s imagined saying since a little girl. She’s said them in her dreams, and fantasies. Here she is in his arms …

  Oh my god. I told him I love him

  “I can’t believe I said that.”

  “It’s okay,” he replies, and squeezes her a little.

  She lowers her head, maybe to hide inside his chest cavity. He smells so good that she wants to nuzzle her nose in his shirt.

  “I was hoping we could get to know each other better,” he says, “once everything is settled. I told my wife I want out.” He softens, pulling her closer. “I told her, Josie. I told her.”

  “This is too fast,” Josie manages. “I’m an idiot, obviously. You have a life in California—”

  “—that I don’t want.”

  “You’re involved with a powerful witch whose godmother—”

  “—is a grand dame and high priestess.”

  “Yeah.”

  He grabs her chin as if he owns it. “And I’m falling for an up-and-coming witch who’s had the best idea since sliced bread.”

  She looks into his eyes and sees him smiling down at her and believes, if just for a few seconds, that this might work, might somehow play out in a way that disaster doesn’t follow, even though she’s got a psychotic witch to avoid and an old one sniffing at her heels.

  Josie finds herself pulling away.

  Why, why, why, did I stop him from hugging me?

  “No … don’t …” he says, coming after her. He catches her before she reaches the door. “Don’t leave.”

  “Lennox, we shouldn’t …”

  “I’m done with her.”

  “No you’re not. I have to fix you.”

  “Can you? I don’t think so.”

  His hands encircle her waist. She doesn’t pull them off, even when they reach under her shirt. She feels his fingers running up her back, kneading the muscles along her spine. She tries not to groan, but his hands are so strong. He’s moving his lips closer to hers, and she keeps turning her face away. No, no, no, I can’t do this, not if I have to enthrall him. It’ll kill me. I’ve imagined this so many times. He’s here, with me, alone, and he wants me …

  Don’t be a fool.

  She realizes she’s kissing him, the kind of kiss reserved for the movies, or for two people who might never kiss again. Josie commits to the moment, the controlling center of her mind crumbling in his heady embrace. She can’t resist as he probes deeper with his tongue. In seconds, clothes begin to shed. No way she could stop now. Not that she would try. The banished thought flees as if it never was. When he grabs her legs and presses her against the wall, she wraps them around him like a conquering spider queen. She feels light in his arms. Her passion switch flips; she begins to scratch at him, and even bite to let him know she likes it rough. She wants him to lose control. She doesn’t want it slow, steady. She wants him to be wall-eyed and stunned when it is over. She wants him to remember Josie Bran.

  The bucking continues for minutes.

  She can tell he is doing all he can to maintain control.

  Either he cramps up or his knees weaken, but he takes her to the ground. She forces him to his back and ends the moment with a she-growl. They finish together in several rhythmic thrusts that could have been choreographed.

  She kisses him deeply, running her finger nails along his sweaty chest, where his shirt has ripped open. They lay together, each breath in sync, neither of them saying a word. They remain connected, as if they are still one body, like two people who’ve been together a life time and plan to spend another and another and another. Her thoughts remain even and calm. She lets herself enjoy the smell of his skin, the salty taste of his sweat on her tongue. It all feels so right she can imagine them spending the entire night here curled up on the floor. When he begins to twirl a finger into her hair, smiling as he does, she nibbles on his earlobe and runs a finger nail along the groove of his spine. A few chaste kisses on the lips mean she is his forever. She believes he feels the same. It’s as if it is meant to be: all her time wondering if they would be together, the infatuation that kept her at a distance, the friendship that never spoke the name Love.

  She stands, lets him get a good look at her long legs and then moves for the jeans that lay in a crumple.

  “You wild thing,” he says, “I … uh … I …”

  “You what?” she asks, getting dressed. They both begin to laugh. “You want more?”

  He nods.

  “Not now,” she commands.

  She is taking a huge risk—someone could have come walking down the corridor. Still, she basks in the moment, watching him happily arranged himself. When he fixes his shirt and combs his fingers though his hair, he looks like he might have done a few pushups, or jumping-jacks. Nothing more strenuous, except for one scratch mark on his neck. She was careful. But that one got by her.

  They embrace. “We shouldn’t have done that.” She waits, hoping he challenges her.

  “Josie,” he says, “we had to do that.”

  She feels her heart expand with the sort of wild passion that would have made her run off with him a few years ago—if she’d only had the guts to tell him her feelings. She felt that way for her last boyfriend, the one she quit school for and drove around in a smelly van with. That is, until she caught him with another woman. As much of an infatuation she has for Lennox Cruz, she isn’t a fool. No more rushing in. He’ll have to work if he wants her.

  “I still have to fix you,” she says.

  “Good luck with that.”

  His smile makes her think that maybe, just maybe, they might survive. Maybe he’ll fight to be with her.

  “You have to renew your vow, Lennox.”

  The muscles on the side of his jaws flex. “My vow?”

  “Yep.”

  “I never made any vow.”

  “Well, you will now. Or Lady Dooley will shut us down. They’re going to join you to Stella.”

  “Join? Like in the book? I can fake it.”

  “You’ll have to convince them you’re fixed.”

  “Is that what you want, to fix me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “We can fake it.”

  “It won’t work.”

  A moment of confusion. “I came here to get away from her.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I want to help …”

  “But Birchall …”

  She nods. “Birchall.”

  “Do your best, Josie. I’ll prove it to you. It won’t work, not in the end. You’ll see.”

  She feels a mountain of hope surge out of this tumultuous sea she’s drowning in. “I hope so.”

  * * *

  In her secure workroom, Josie prepares spells late into the evening. She feels invigorated, thoughts of Lennox breaking free of his wife, proving that no magic can bind him to her, keeps her focused.

  For big-boy Buckston Polk she prepares a stout potion that will cause him to drop whatever he’s doing at five pm. He’ll be unable to work. In fact, any attempt will be met with an immediate suggestion that he and his wife go for a walk in the park, or sit in a nice restaurant with a bottle of wine. For, LaFayette, a fine powder blown in the face will make him go on a cleaning spree. She hopes that doesn’t backfire because a hoarder has real mental problems. Worse, he could drop dead of a heart
attack during a marathon session of house cleaning. She’ll warn him, of course, to have someone nearby. For Mr. Pepper, a dash of sugar in a drink will do nothing at all. She can’t find it in herself to tell him he married a lesbian or, worse, accidentally make him think he made his wife into loving women. Most likely, his wife will not come back to him if he changes any behavior. A placebo is the best thing for him.

  She applies herself to the final steps of brewing the following morning, then speaks to each patient. All the while Lennox remains in the back of her mind, Lennox and his promise to return to her.

  Josie eats lunch in the servant’s kitchen, while Alice prepares homemade brownies. Alice hums while she works, which is a nice distraction. Still, Josie can’t help but hope that she and Lennox have a chance. In fact, she’s convinced she can brew a quick concoction that will make him smiley, pliable, and charming to everyone for a few weeks. That should be enough to win over Stella and Lady Dooley—and get him through saying a false vow. Lennox can then continue the act as long as he sees fit, until he finds another solution.

  Then he can come back to me, she thinks.

  Josie allows herself the luxury of a light heart as she finishes lunch and wanders through Birchall. She thinks she might go for a walk outside, then maybe an afternoon nap, before the charade continues, until she sees Lady Dooley, Stella, and Roxy arrive together. They exit Lady Dooley’s fine automobile, as if they’ve been in congress all morning. They even chat as they walk toward the porch.

  Josie stands her ground in the vestibule.

  Roxy Rhodes enters first with an evil grin.

  Something’s wrong …

  Roxy’s the only woman in the coven accused of playing with dark magics. It was a minor offense, apparently, and happened before Josie started coming around. But rumor says Roxy tried to summon a demon to aid her in some scheme. It’s also rumored her husband, when he’s walking the straight-and-narrow, only does it because of a twisted spell she’s cast on him.

  Why would she be with them now, Josie wonders?

  Lady Dooley approaches. “Go get your dram, sunshine. It’s time to finish this business.” She looks around, as if expecting Mr. Dooley to come running down the stairs, screaming like a six year old. “Have you fixed my husband’s … issue?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You’ll get to it?”

  “Yes, ma’am, as soon as we settle these other issues.”

  “Indeed.”

  Both Stella and Roxy glower like long-lost comrades who’ve found each other after years of searching.

  “Well?” Lady Dooley says. “Run along.”

  Josie takes her time retrieving Lennox’s mood enhancer. They meet in the drawing room. The sun has dipped below the other side of the house; late afternoon paints the room in enough diffused light to see motes floating in the air. Lady Birchall snores in her favorite chair. Christine sits nearby in case the old woman awakes. Lennox slouches on one of the settees, a man beset upon by a gaggle of harpies, each one with her own agenda. Stella sits across from him on the other side of the room. It’s clear neither of them will look the other in the eye. Roxy sits by Stella and grabs her hand for support.

  Josie wants to barf. It’s so transparent some arrangement is being made. What? She has no idea.

  Lady Dooley returns from the den, where Mr. Dooley is watching NASCAR with the other men.

  All of them should be leaving tomorrow morning, except for Mr. Dooley, of course.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” Lady Dooley says and claps. She points at Roxy, who retrieves a single, long-stemmed wine glass and a corked bottle of Burgundy. “I haven’t done one of these in a long time.” She accepts the wine glass and allows Roxy to pour it a quarter full. “We used to do this outside, around a fire, sometimes had flute players or drummers, dancing and all that. I think tonight we’ll stay in doors.” She raises the glass. “We’re here under the Blessed Moon, Diana, Lua, the blood-born, to join Lady Stella Spivey and Lennox Cruz. May they become one. May harmony follow. May they walk upon the face of Gaia with light feet so that they may one day touch the sky.”

  She hands the glass to Stella, who sips. Lennox does as well, as if it’s no more significant than a nightcap.

  Josie tries not to smirk. If Lennox had offered her wine out in the woods, she would have made him drink the entire thing with her. They could have been joined properly.

  Lady Dooley turns to Josie. “You, do your thing. There’s nothing like a good, well-oiled potion to get the joints moving.”

  Josie ignores the condescension oozing from the high priestess, the same sort of prejudice her grandmother warned her against: Everyone will either love you when you help them or look down at you because you get your fingers dirty. Just don’t forget, Josie, you’re the backbone of our craft. You can make presidents ignite in fire, if you want. Just, never do that, of course. Her grandmother was always right, always.

  “Sure thing,” Josie says. She withdraws the pill, no larger than a Tylenol. It’s been hardening in the sun for the last few hours. “Here.”

  She hands it to Lennox. He puts it to his eye, as if inspecting a jewel.

  “Ancient pharmacology, at its best,” he says and plops it in his mouth. He swallows it dry. He opens and says, “From the ancient Greek: pharmakon, both a cure and a poison. Ahhh.”

  “Perfect,” Lady Dooley says. “And your vow.”

  Lennox remains slumped. As if being forced to recite some pledge to a cause he doesn’t believe in, he clears his throat with a show of histrionics.

  Stella readies herself.

  “Stella Spivey, dearest, love of my life, a rose like no other.” All the women lock onto him at the same time, even Josie. He seems so … convincing. But she knows he’s just reciting words. “I promise to cherish you until my last breath. You will be my heart’s guiding light, and I’ll be yours. Marry me again so that we may love and laugh together, from this moment forward.”

  Stella’s mouth hangs open. She jumps up and rushes to him. She hops onto his lap like a little girl. She wraps her arms around his neck.

  Josie’s stomach is so tied in a knot, she thinks she might be sick.

  Christine looks away, and Roxy grimaces as if she doesn’t believe it.

  Mrs. Dooley eyes Lennox as would a judge at a talent contest. But she keeps silent.

  As long as Stella is happy …

  Josie wants to retreat to her room before the goodbyes. She guesses Stella will demand that she and Lennox leave, and soon. He probably won’t be staying another night in Birchall. The women all seem content, although Lennox keeps casting sideways glances at Josie. That’s enough, she tells herself, as long as he’s thinking of me. I can wait three years, if I have to. Five, Six. As long as it’s one big performance.

  Lennox is already acting at ease with Stella, as if they’re perfect together. The mood enhancer Josie gave him is her version of Xanax. It’ll dampen any anxiety he feels around his evil wife. It’s a nice concoction she can make millions from, if she can mass produce it. But the brewing requires her special touch, and who wants to do that all day?

  Lady Dooley raises her hands. “Now, since the vow has been said, why don’t we make sure intractable cases like Mr. Cruz here have been secured and made compliant? Shall we?”

  Josie feels ice form in her toes and inch its way upward into freezing crystal shards.

  She knows, Josie thinks, she knows I gave him a meager dose of happiness to get him through the hard time of marriage to Stella. She knows it’s a sham.

  Lady Dooley walks by Josie and heads for the grand stair. “Why don’t you take us to your laboratory, sunshine, so that we can see where you work.” Josie glances at Roxy, who grins as if this is all her doing.

  “Sure …” Josie manages.

  “You too, Mr. Cruz.”

  Josie feels as if she’s floating as she leads them upstairs, to her room, through her closet, and into her private workroom. It’s not really private. Sh
e’s had cleaners in there before (like the time a kettle exploded and painted the room in sticky, orange rinds), as well as the grounds keeper, who built her workbench.

  Lady Dooley surveys the space, as if she owns it.

  Josie is glad she left the air-conditioner on. It’s cool enough, but cramped, with everyone inside.

  “Why exactly are we here?” she asks. She puts her hands on her hips, as if it’s all a big imposition.

  “Your grandmother, Goddess bless her soul, once brewed a genuine love potion.” Lady Dooley walks around the room, inspecting its objects. “I’m sure you know about it. In fact, I bet you have some here.” She glances at Josie, as if to say she knows what’s in the fridge because she’s seen it and to brook a challenge is frivolous. She stops in front of the small mini-fridge that Josie keeps her sodas in and the tuna fish sandwich she brought up with her last night. “I bet you have the very thing.”

  “Her love potion,” Josie says, glaring at Roxy. “You know about my grandmother’s love potion?”

  “The very one.” Lady Dooley bends over slowly, maybe being extra careful with a bad back. She cracks open the door and peeks in. “What is this? Could it be?”

  Lady Dooley withdraws the shard, palms it like a living creature and then shows it to the room so that everyone can see.

  The other women gasp.

  The Holy Grail of brewing.

  Christine steps forward. “I had no idea you could make that, Josie. Does it work?”

  Stella looks back and forth between Lady Dooley and Roxy. “A real, love potion. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Josie retrieves it, as if it’s just car keys. “Old family recipe. I’ve never tried it …”

  “Why not?” Stella asks.

  Josie sneers. “You want a man or a … robot?”

  “I want him to love me.” Stella tries to hide the tears welling in her eyes. “I mean, come on, that’s not so hard to understand.”

  Lady Dooley signals to Roxy. “Will you?”

  Roxy withdraws a switch from her over-sized bag, maybe something you’d find on a small willow bush. It’s about arm’s length, with no more thickness than a pencil. She has pulled the leaves from the stem but left the bark.