Running Against Traffic Page 8

  Deirdre patted her shoulder. “Anything I can help you find, honey?”

  “Yes,” Paige said. “Do you sell combination locks?”

  Back at home, Paige put the alcohol purchases into one of the crooked yellow kitchen cabinets, hammered in a metal latch that Deirdre had helped her find at the hardware store, and snapped the combination lock into place. She left Al a note on his pillow with the combination, asking him to help himself but keep the cabinet locked. She wondered if Bryce would ask what was in the locked cabinet, and if he did, what she would reply.

  “What’s with the lock on the cabinet?” Bryce gestured at it as he poked around the other cabinets looking for breakfast at noon the next day. An icy mix of sleet and rain was pelting down outside. Through the windows it looked as dark as night. Paige had placed another pot on the floor in her bedroom that morning to catch droplets plinking through a new leak.

  “Just some valuables that I don’t want stolen,” Paige said, flipping through her Runners catalogue, gazing sullenly at the photos of Happy People, bounding over hills and trails like gazelles. “We still don’t have a front door that locks,” she added.

  “Who would take anything from this dump?” Bryce said, plopping down at the table with a bowl of cereal.

  Paige felt her face burn. Who was he to judge what was of value to anyone. And besides, the house had come a long way from when she had first been dropped into it, in a combination of sweat and starvation, scraping together money that she didn’t have, and in return she had a freeloading junky on her hands who helped Al a few hours a day, when he wasn’t too hungover. She wanted to smack the cereal spoon right out of his mouth.

  “If you think it’s such a dump, why don’t you move out and find a better house to shelter you, and keep you warm and dry,” she said, through clenched teeth.

  Bryce looked up, surprised. Then he dropped his spoon into his bowl and pushed back from the table. “And here she goes again,” he said. “Darling, I think I’ll leave you to have a little episode by yourself. I have a headache and can’t really deal with your hormones this morning.”

  “Morning? It’s afternoon! And I can imagine you would have a headache!”

  “Blah, blah, blah…” Bryce picked up his jacket from the couch where he had left it the night before. He yanked it on and stalked out the front door, not bothering with a hat, scarf or umbrella. Paige felt her anger dissolving into a muddy puddle of worry. She tiptoed to the front door and opened it a crack, peering out into the dark day, but he was gone. She slammed the door against the wind that blew sheets of rain under the covered porch.

  Chapter 11

  Saturday, November ? – Goals for the day:

  1. Get out of bed (done!)

  2. Call David and tell him he deserves to be flung into the pits of hell

  3. Run more than three miles

  4. Watch Al sand and spackle the upstairs without his shirt on

  Paige blinked at the list for a few moments before deciding to skip number two. She had only a scrap of wilted pride left. Might as well water it and stick it in a patch of sunlight to see if it could be revived.

  A moment later she reached for her phone and speed dialed David’s number. The call went straight to voicemail so she crossed out number two with finality.

  It was six thirty in the morning and still dark, as autumn was in full swing, but Paige looked forward to her pre-dawn runs. She could now manage three miles without slowing to walk, and she could watch the light slowly filter in, culminating in sunrise over Wells Lake as she reached home. She would set the coffee pot brewing before she left, and when she returned the house smelled like the rich beans, and she would pour herself a steaming cup and take it out on the porch to stretch and watch the sky turn pale. It was the one time of day when she enjoyed the experience of solitude, without being anxious and afraid of being alone with herself, assaulted by her thoughts. Her mind settled and her body awakened. As she stretched, she felt every muscle lengthen, her skin and her mind and her blood humming, her senses sharpened. Colors were more vibrant. She noticed sounds and smells, the crunch of brown leaves beneath her feet, the smell of the damp earth as she reached to touch her toes. Golden morning sunlight glinted off her cedar shake roof. The grass glittered with silver frost.

  The dark vapor that had been hanging around her since her seams split and let it out had thinned to wispy threads. The breeze cooling her hot cheeks as she ran each day seemed to be blowing the threads away, leaving her light and dry.

  She sipped her coffee and gazed up the road at the sprinkle of homes, her nearest neighbors. A dog barked in the distance. Laundry flapped in the chilly wind on clothes lines strung between tall trees.

  Paige set down her coffee cup and stood, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. Five figures in hooded white robes were walking slowly up to one of the neighbor’s front steps. Paige hopped off of the porch and skulked to the edge of her yard to get a better look, pretending to fuss with a shrub as she peered sidelong at the figures in white, now disappearing into a house. They had been a good distance away, but the costume was unmistakable. What could be happening, she thought, her heart beginning to race. She thought she should tell someone, report suspicious activity, but what, and to whom? A chill ran the length of her body. She bounded up the front steps and banged into the house, colliding with Al and nearly sending them both crashing to the floor.

  “Yo, what the devil?” he asked, grasping her arms and steadying them both. He dropped his hands and looked down at her like a Kindergarten teacher. “Paige, do you have something you would like to share?”

  “I – I’m not sure,” Paige said, locking the door and darting to the side window to peek out.

  “What’s going on?” Al asked, following her and peering over her shoulder.

  “Get back, stay out of sight,” Paige snapped, pushing him to the side.

  Al didn’t move. “Why are we spying on the neighbors, Paige?”

  Paige turned to face him, suddenly embarrassed. “I saw some people in white robes going into that house over there, the one with the chickens. What the hell is going on in this backward town, Al? Aren’t you worried?”

  Al put his hands on her shoulders. His face was stern. “White robes? With hoods, right?”

  “Yes!”

  “That would be our local Wiccan chapter,” he said. “You know, white witches?”

  Paige shook her head, bewildered. Al put his arm around her and walked her into the kitchen. He seated her at the Ugly Table and turned to retrieve a mug from the cabinet.

  “It’s like a spiritual kind of…social club,” he explained, pouring her a cup of coffee. “They get together to practice spells and whatnot, but mostly they just light candles and gossip. I’m surprised they haven’t contacted you yet. They’re like Avon ladies.”

  “Wiccan,” Paige repeated. Al handed her the milk carton and she poured some into her coffee and stirred. “So, are they?” She asked, her voice nearly a whisper. “White witches?”

  Al pulled a chair out from the table sat in it, tipping it back onto two legs. “Look, they believe they are, so they are.” He squinted at her, and his expression relaxed into bemused realization. “What did you think they were?” he asked. “You were even paler than usual back there.”

  “I don’t know,” Paige said, busying herself with the sugar bowl. “But in this town, I would believe just about anything.”

  “You have a point there,” Al said. “And you are so cute. You really care about me. I’m touched.” He laid his hand over his heart and sniffled.

  “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

  He stood and leaned to kiss her cheek. “Yes, dear,” he said. “I do.” As he walked out of the kitchen, Paige found herself really caring about how great his backside looked in his worn Levis.

  Chapter 12

  Sunday, November ?? – Goals for the day:

  1. Jump Al’s lovely bones

  2. That’s it, if luc
ky should take all day

  3. Come back from La-La Land

  4. Run 4 miles

  5. Buy tea to serve the Wiccan Ladies

  Paige was horizontal in her bed, squinting up at the journal. There were too many goals for one day, she silently lamented. What was she trying to prove? Why had she agreed to host the Wiccans, she wondered. She knew the answer, of course. It was because Deirdre had asked her to. Always meddling, trying to get her involved, but Paige couldn’t say no when she kept bringing food. Friday evening she had dropped off a savory, homemade beef stew, thick with fresh vegetables. Bryce set the pot simmering on the stove and they all had sat in the kitchen for a while, inhaling the soul-warming aromas and feeling grateful. That was when Deirdre nabbed her with the request to host the next “club” meeting. “Don’t worry, all you have to provide is tea,” she sang. “We’ll bring the candles and munchy things. Maybe we’ll even come up with some healing spells to help you.” High on stew fumes, Paige had deliriously agreed.

  Al banged on her bedroom door. “What’s going on in there?” He pushed the door open and scoped out the scene, then jogged over to the bed and dove in next to her. “You okay today?” he asked, tucking his arms behind his head, wriggling around to get comfortable.

  Paige nodded, listlessly.

  Al turned onto his side, inches from her. She pretended to study her journal, feeling his body’s warmth.

  Al put his hand on her arm, his fingers moving to lightly rub her skin, sending a long, slow shiver through her body. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

  Paige fought to find her voice. “Yes, I’m going for a run this morning, don’t worry.”

  He pushed himself up and slid over her and out of the bed. It was all she could do to keep from grabbing his shirt with both fists to hold him there on top of her, but he was sauntering from the room already, calling for Bryce to get his little butt out of bed. This was returned by a few muffled obscenities and what sounded through the wall like something being knocked over and breaking on the floor.

  Paige climbed out of bed. Once both boys were up and clanging about, there would be no peace. And the Wiccans were coming.

  Paige jogged three miles in the cold air that traveled all through her with each deep breath. Her spirits were jostled higher and higher with each pounding footfall and she arrived back at the house fully awake and enlivened. Her breath plumed before her in the air and disappeared into the cold fog.

  The town was desolate, though she had slept quite late that Sunday. It occurred to her that everyone was probably getting ready for church. Though, one group of women in particular was not. They were donning white robes and preparing to descend upon Paige’s house. Paige hopped up the steps and into the house and called David again. He must have been sleeping in, and didn’t notice her name pop up because his groggy voice came on the line. “Hello?”

  “You have to send me more money!”

  “Wha – Paige. I’m hanging up.”

  Al and Bryce hung on the kitchen doorframe, listening. She frowned at them and turned her back. “You had better not hang up!”

  “Or what?” He hung up.

  “How could you do this to me?” Paige continued. “I’m in frigging Siberia! I need heating oil! I need long johns! I need vodka!” She realized he was no longer on the line and tossed her phone onto the couch. She turned to face the boys. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Al said. “We understand.”

  “Absolutely,” Bryce murmured. “I need vodka, too.”

  “What did I do?” Paige demanded, knowing a few things that she had done. “I know I’m no saint, but look at me. Look at me! What? What did I do to deserve this?”

  Bryce took a step behind Al. Al cleared his throat. “It’s probably what you didn’t do,” he said.

  Bryce nodded sadly, peering around Al. “It is what you didn’t do, honey.”

  In an attempt to avoid an inquisition by her guests as to her well-being, Paige decided it would help if she was impeccably groomed. She was already bright-eyed and rosy cheeked from her run and the adrenaline from her exchange with David, the mirror revealed. She washed and carefully blow-dried her hair and dressed in wrinkle-free jeans and a subdued gray turtleneck sweater.

  Paige put the kettle on for tea and tidied the house, which entailed dragging a broom over the living room floor and hoping the Wiccans wouldn’t want to go anywhere else. Bryce stood by watching her, his mouth open.

  Paige swatted at a frayed throw pillow on the couch. She had seen housekeepers over the years beat up pillows while cleaning. She was not sure why, but who was she to question it. It was clearly part of the process.

  “What are you doing?” Bryce demanded, stalking over to her. “Have you never cleaned before?” He picked up the broom and deftly swept her dirt pile under the couch. He carried the broom off to the kitchen. “Paige,” he called. “What’s going on on the stove?”

  “What do you mean?” Paige called back.

  “Come see!” His voice climbed in urgency.

  Paige darted to the kitchen to see her new tea kettle turning a new color and emitting an odd smell. “What?” She asked. “I’m boiling water for tea.”

  Bryce turned the burner off and pushed the kettle to a cool side of the stove. “Paige,” he scolded. “There was no water in there. You were boiling the kettle.”

  Paige eyed the kettle suspiciously. Bryce grabbed it and took it to the sink. “Never mind,” he said. “Go back to your ‘cleaning’. I’ll take care of it.”

  Sobriety is making him testy, Paige thought, hurrying out of the kitchen.

  The front door opened and Deirdre swept in looking like a monk, clad head to toe in white, hooded robe, followed by six or seven identically-clad townswomen carrying foil covered dishes.

  “Darlings! Merry meet,” Bryce said, rushing to greet everyone. He helped the women off with their coats and tossed them onto a chair in the corner of the room. “Merry meet,” they all sang. Bryce added several wedges of wood to the fire in the woodstove and helped the ladies organize their plates of food on the Ugly Table in the kitchen. Paige was impressed by his gracious hospitality. She turned to Deirdre who was unfortunately holding out a robe for her to try on. “Oh, I…Okay.” She slipped it over her head, leaving the hood hanging against her back. “Ta-da,” she said.

  While Deirdre was making introductions, Paige heard the kitchen door open and shut again. She waited until every hand had been shook and then she excused herself to the kitchen, where she found a plate and fork in the sink, ten percent of the food disappeared from each platter, and one hundred percent of Bryce disappeared from the scene.

  Deirdre looked over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” she smiled. “I made sure to bring enough for him. You know, he was always doing that as a kid. Sneaking food, even though I always offered him meals. I don’t think his mother did, when he lived with her.”

  “What do you mean?” Paige asked. “She didn’t feed him?”

  “She would forget.” Deirdre sighed. “I made things that he liked, raviolis, barbecued chicken drumsticks, grilled cheese sandwiches, stuff like that…And I’d leave them out in the kitchen for him to find and snitch. Sometimes he didn’t eat his regular meals at the table, you know. I had to make sure he ate somehow! Now come on, let’s get some plates out. Shooot!” She lunged for the kettle on the stove. “Paige,” she tisked, giving the scorched smelling kettle a shake and moving it to a cool burner. “There’s no water in this pot!”

  Paige fixed herself a small plate and left the tea to Deirdre as the ladies streamed into the kitchen to heap their plates with food. Paige moved back to the living room, away from the raucous laughter and jabbering and found that the group had slid the furniture aside and spread a large sheet over the floor, various colored candles lit and scattered around the perimeter. Well, this is a fire hazard, Paige thought, frowning. Then she popped some sort of savory cheese and onion pastry into her mouth and decided it was safe enough.


  There were seven in all, and with their hoods now thrown off, Paige noticed that the Wiccans were similar in age, demeanor, vocal volume. Cheerful, spirited women in their forties, all wearing wedding rings except for Deirdre, moving candles into various positions on the floor as they sipped their tea and filled each other in on their lives. Paige could feel her eyes glazing over.

  Marilyn, a stout woman seated next to her with silver and brown hair but smooth, pink skin and bright blue eyes turned to Paige and smiled. “Merry meet, child. I can sense we have a lot of work ahead of us.”

  “Merry...Merry, merry. Work with what?” Paige asked, shrinking away.

  “Your negative energy,” Barb, the loudest of the Wiccans yelled from across the sheet. “It’s coming off your body in waves.”

  “It’s true, Paige. We can all feel it,” Deirdre remarked.

  “So, how did you all get into this Wiccan…way?” Paige asked, looking around the circle.

  Deirdre smiled beatifically. “It’s either this or church,” she said.

  “So, this gets you out of going to church?” Paige tried not to smile.

  Deirdre looked at the ceiling. “We go to church. But sometimes we prefer to channel our spirituality from within, using our own inner powers and the powers of the elements. It’s not as confined, you could say. And we all recognized our powers, and knew we could do more good with them in this forum than we could sitting in a church listening to someone preach at us.”

  Paige nodded, and looked down at her plate. It was empty but for a few crumbs. “Your food was amazing,” she said, as the conversation picked up again around her.

  “Carmen made it all,” Deirdre said, proudly. “I’ve been teaching her how to cook since she was small, using fresh, seasonal ingredients before that became the trend, and…” She paused. Paige realized her face must have been completely blank. “I’m guessing you don’t cook,” Deirdre finished.