Husband Rehab (16 page)

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. She’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.
 

A magic wand, really?

Josie wants to blurt out a wise crack about antiquated ways and why using such objects makes the world fear witches.
Come on. Get real. Please. Whatever.
The words flow through her mind, but she keeps them to herself. If Roxy wants to enchant an object to cast a spell, she should have picked something more contemporary, and sophisticated, as a tool—like a Mont Blanc pen, or even a remote control.
 

Roxy steps toward Lennox.

“What’s going on?” Lennox asks.
 

Roxy mumbles a few words under her breath and waves the switch at him with about as much gusto as a thousand-year-old conductor. Everyone sees barely visible flickers of light leave the switch and float toward Lennox. They encircle him like tiny fireflies.

“What the …?” he says. In an instant, he relaxes and stands at attention, as compliant as a soldier. Josie feels herself go numb. Roxy’s draconian form of therapy is standing right before them. You could throw him to the bottom of the ocean, and he’d stay like that until he drowns.
Lennox …

Josie tries to hide her snarl, but fails.

Christine looks uncomfortable but refuses to intervene.
 
She shakes her head at Josie to keep quiet. This is getting way too militant. The binding of men to bend beneath the boot heels of women goes against everything Josie stands for. It’s something Josie has always felt strongly about. But Christine disagrees. For her, happiness is more important than freedom. She is doing nothing to help her son because she must truly fear for his life. Josie feels a moment of panic, unsure, because she has always trusted Christine’s knowledge, her strength, her wisdom. Right now, everything in Josie tells her to toss the potion on the floor, to let his break open, spilling its secrets so that no one can misuse it. Christine, though, for some inexplicable reason that makes Josie want to scream until her lungs burst, is letting all this happen …

 
“Okay, sunshine,” Lady Dooley says. “Give it to him.”

Lennox’s eyes lock onto Josie. He’s there, aware, completely cognizant of what’s happening. He’ll run through fire if Roxy commands it. She knows how to twist a man to her needs. Stella’s poor husband is nothing but a slave now, a shining example of everything Josie wants to avoid with Husband Rehab.
 

Josie can sense Lennox’s desire for her to toss the stuff on the floor. Christine nods for her to obey, as if to say that everything they hope to do depends on this compromise. Christine, though, unlike Roxy, would never turn her son into a slave, not in a million years. Something tells Josie to trust her, that no matter the power of the potion, Lennox can be saved. The potion is one of her grandmother’s most prized concoctions. She only used it once (on the man she married), the grandfather Josie never knew. It worked for ten years, up until the moment he died in a car accident. She warned Josie against using it, though, because you have to be certain that’s the person you want tagging along for the rest of your life. You have to be certain that person will want to anyway. Otherwise, you’re a slave master.

“Better for a man to choose to love you on his own,” her grandmother once said. “Love potions are tricky business. Tricky.”

Besides, something in Josie always believed that true love is stronger than any potion.

He’ll still come back to me, she thinks.
 

She walks to Lennox, unscrews the cap, and puts it to his lips. He drinks without hesitation.

Roxy waves her wand again, and he reanimates.

“What have you done?” he asks.

Josie can see he’s asking her, although he scans the room.

“Stella …?”

“Just some insurance,” Lady Dooley said. “How does it work, exactly?”

Josie screws the cap back on and places the container on her workbench.

“Tonight, at midnight, whoever he kisses, he’ll love until the day he dies.”

She refuses to look at any of them. She pretends something on her desk needs attention. Don’t cry, not here. Not now, she tells herself. It’s all she can do to control her breathing so that it doesn’t machine-gun rattle in her throat. Her chest feels too unsettled, as if at any moment it might start bucking.
 

“Roxy, stay close, please,” Lady Dooley says. “Just to make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish.”

“What about you?” Stella asks. “Your husband is still … acting poorly.”

“Oh, I don’t want him to love me. I want him to do what I say. I’ve tried everything else in the book. That old warlock has a few tricks still up his sleeve. Like you, I once thought I could make his talents into something useful. I was wrong about my husband.” The high priestess heads for the exit. “See you all at midnight. The drawing room?”

Warlock
?
 

Josie should have guessed, although Mr. Dooley has been neutered, if so. He doesn’t strike her as a practicing witch. No doubt, his wife saw to that. But for him to remain so independent for so long he must have some defensive skills.

Josie casts Roxy a die-please-die-right-now glance, then exits her workroom. She plans to let the tears come, but only after she reaches the bathroom.

* * *

Midnight. Josie finds herself in the drawing room, even though she is still considering barricading herself in her bedroom. The women are all here, as is Mr. Dooley. Lennox waits like a man ready to be shot. He’s free from Roxy’s magic wand, but he appears anxious. He won’t look at Josie, which is maddening.

She wants him to announce to the world his hatred for Stella. She wants this chiseled in stone. She wants a monument that reaches a mile into the sky.

She also wants it all to go away so that Birchall can flourish.

Husband Rehab must continue, although Lennox’s proposed enslavement has turned her inside out. Now, she must watch him kiss Stella and turn into her prince charming ... a tragic fairy tale by Josie’s own hand.

Lady Dooley nods at Roxy. Josie hears the words and sees the switch point at him like a damning finger.

He stands rigid.

Is that sadness in his eyes, she wonders?

He looks at her, pleading, as if she can …

Kiss me, Josie!

She scans the room. Christine observes in a far corner, unwilling to intervene, even though her son is about to be ensorcelled. She’s allowing this … injustice for Birchall to succeed? For Lennox’s life? For his happiness? Josie can imagine what is going through Lady Cruz’s mind. Maybe,
if it makes him happy and safe, its a good thing. We need Lady Dooley’s approval. We need to make this compromise to free will, Josie. Lennox must be made happy. He did marry her. He did love her once
. Roxy also appears content to fashion another man into a machine, while Stella appears reserved. She’s getting what she wants, but she knows this is forced. She’ll take it because her version of love is having a pet that licks her hand when she desires. Lady Dooley, it seems, is watching Josie more than anyone else. Does she want to see me suffer, Josie wonders? That wry smile and those cold eyes suggest she hates me because I get my fingers dirty … and do what she can’t.

If anything needs to change in witch society, it’s old women like her who do more harm than good.