The Witches of Dark Root: Daughters of Dark Root: Book One (The Daughters of Dark Root) (54 page)

Spring did a quick once-over of the bedroom and smiled. Not bad. Sleeping on the couch for the last three nights had left this room, at least, in pretty good shape. A little dusty, perhaps, but the bed was made and there wasn’t the usual heap of laundry sitting on the floor. She kicked a few stray shoes under the bed and moved the pillows around to give the illusion she had slept there. Sam believed that only Barbarians and Hippies slept on the sofa and she didn’t want to fall into either of those categories. She brushed her hands on her bare legs, satisfied that the place would meet at least precursory expectations.

The phone in the living room rang and Spring paused to listen as the caller left a message. It was her sister Chloe again. “Spring, I know you’re there. If you don’t pick up I’m going to hunt you down at work and tell your coworkers embarrassing stories about the time we lived in the motel with no water for seven weeks. Don’t make me go there. You know I will.” Chloe hung up.

“Dios mio.”
Spring said, slapping her hand to her head and reciting the phrase her homeschool teacher, Sunshine, used to say when the kids were getting out of hand. She wasn’t sure how long she could avoid talking to Chloe, but was glad that she hadn’t told her sister that she had been issued a cell phone from work. She turned to see the blinking red lights on her alarm clock and her stomach tightened. Despite getting up an hour early and showering the night before, she was going to be late again. She pulled on the floral dress she had worn the previous day, checked for stains hidden among the bouquets of flowers, and shoved her feet into the only pair of shoes that hadn’t made it under the bed.

“Hell,” she said, running down the hall and searching for her briefcase. She had been so excited about her weekend alone –– the first time in two years she had neither the twins nor Sam to worry about –– that after seeing Sam off to the airport, she had raced back home, clicked on the TV, poured herself a glass of wine, and dumped the briefcase, not thinking about it since. She could almost feel Sam’s presence hovering over her, telling her that if she just put things in the same spot every time, this kind of thing wouldn’t happen. She pushed him away and tried to retrace her steps on her own. Door. TV. Wine. Bowl of cereal. Aha! She spun around and spied the case and her wallet, huddled cozily on the breakfast counter that separated the dining room from the living area.

“Thank you, Universe," she said aloud, raising her eyes the way her mother did when she was expressing gratitude. “Now if you will provide me with enough money for lunch, I’d be forever grateful.”
She rifled through her wallet, pulled out one limp dollar bill, and sighed.
The Universe gives what is needed, not what is wanted,
her mother would say.
 

But I need to eat, Spring thought
,
wondering if next time she should pray to the Wendy’s girl instead. Spring tugged at her dress, willing it to lengthen. Despite her protests, Sam had thrown it in the dryer and it had shrunk above her knees. Her eyes fell to the freezer where her credit card was stored in saran wrap.
 
I could just this once, she thought. Ten dollars won’t hurt us too much, especially if it's work related.

It was a tradition for all the caseworkers at
Teens in Trouble
to go to a local Chinese Restaurant on Mondays to de-stress and ‘bond as a team.’ Although it wasn’t mandatory, Jane proclaimed that it was
highly suggested
. Spring was about to seize the card, but resisted. If she broke down first, Sam would feel free to buy all sorts of niceties they couldn’t afford. He enjoyed the finer things in life and swore he broke out in hives whenever he had to buy anything store-brand; the decision to stop using their cards altogether had almost sent him to the emergency room. She would just have to buck up, set a good example, and take a can of soup for lunch again. I’m on a diet, she had explained the last time she had taken her own lunch to the restaurant and the ladies politely nodded and smiled. She wasn’t sure if she had fooled them before and wondered if they would buy it again. She hoped so. The thought of snooty Suzette offering to pay her way was worse than missing the lunch altogether. As she went to replace the dollar in her wallet, her eyes caught sight of the corner of a picture, hidden behind a stack of business cards.

“Trevor.” She said it so softly, barely a whisper, that she couldn’t be sure the word had even come out. She had forgotten about the picture, placed there months before, when she had been cleaning out her keepsake box. She hadn’t looked at it since and wasn’t sure why it seemed to be calling to her now. She traced her finger around the corner of it, biting her lip. Once she had known his face better than her own, but the memory was fading. She tried to mentally draw up his image but it tore apart like old paper. She should just let the memory diminish completely, she thought. Let it slip into that part of the brain where she kept her other unwanted memories. But she couldn’t. It was Trevor. She tugged at the photo until it came unlodged. His green eyes smiled at her, teasing her from behind the dark curl that fell across his forehead. “Dimples,” she said, recalling how they deepened when he grinned. She swallowed, brushing her thumb across his cheek.

She could throw the picture away now, or better yet, set it on fire. Watch his face melt and rid her of the weight she had been carrying for two years. A cleansing ritual, Lanie called it. That would be best. Besides, if Sam ever discovered that she carried a photo of Trevor Donnelly in her wallet –– and not a single photo of Sam –– he might never forgive her, and she would add another failed relationship to her list. She pinched the photo between her thumb and index finger and tightened her jaw. Maybe tomorrow. She pushed the picture back inside her wallet and hid it once again behind her stack of business cards.

Spring grabbed the briefcase, a can of vegetable soup, and her purse and moved towards the door. No time to reminisce now, she thought, dashing from the house and scrambling down the porch steps into her white station wagon. It was an ugly vehicle, rusted on one side and dented on the other, but it was one of the few things Spring owned outright. Purchased with cash after a brief stint working as The Corn Dog Girl at the State Fair in Pueblo. Popping the clutch into what was left of first gear, she hit the gas and made her way towards
Teens in Trouble.

Jane’s going to be pissed.
 

Spring steered with one hand, putting on lipstick with the other. She merged onto the freeway and checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. The result made her grimace. It looked like Bobo the Wonder Dog had helped her with her makeup.
 

“Really, it’s not my fault,” she explained to her reflection as she blotted her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m basically a single parent and I have a lot to do.” Her reflection blinked back accusingly, but said nothing about Spring’s free weekend. Spring weaved in and out of the few cars on the freeway, changing lanes and narrowly missing a silver Prius. The driver honked, flipped her off, and sped away.
 

“Sorry!” She called out through the open window, forcing her car into fifth gear. The wagon rattled and coughed like an old man on his death bed, but obliged.

She said a quick thank you to whatever gods governed traffic that she had at least missed rush hour as she zipped past several cargo trucks.
An excuse. I need a good excuse.
Dawdling or easily distracted weren’t going to cut it. She sorted through her mental rolodex but came up empty. As far as Jane knew, all her grandparents were dead as well as a few imaginary siblings. She was down to short-term alien abduction or a temporary bout of anthrax poisoning. She saw her exit, veered off the freeway, and careened towards the large brown building where she worked. At the last possible moment she slammed on the brakes, thrust the wheel to the left, and skidded into two empty parking spaces surrounded by potholes. Jane had been promising to fix the lot for a while now, but Spring didn’t mind the holes. It guaranteed her a parking spot even when the rest of the lot was full.
Record time I bet!
Spring smiled, but she wasn’t sure. Her watch had ceased working earlier; probably a casualty from last night’s shower. Sam was not going to be happy. He had just given her a presentation on the subtle differences between waterproof and water resistant.

Maybe Jane’s on one of her spiritual retreats
. Spring snatched the briefcase and her purse ––the vortex Chloe had called it –– and ran, tripping over her shoes towards the front entrance. She carefully pushed open the door to
Teens in Trouble
and hoped that no one would notice her sneaking in. “Good morning,” said Debbie as Spring entered the main lobby. Spring did a quick scan of the area and noted that they were alone. Thank the Universe. Debbie was a new hire, and more concerned with planning her upcoming wedding than reporting employee time card fraud. Spring was safe.

“Morning, Debs,” Spring smiled, putting down her bags and raking her fingers through her hair. She hadn’t been able to find the brush that morning and had tried her best to work out a knot with one of Sam’s shrimp forks. It hadn’t worked. “Where is everyone? Kinda eerie."

“Eerie is fine by me. I’d take eerie over the usual jibber-jabber anytime. Especially if it means Jane has something better to do than to ask me to staple things.”

Debbie was new to
Teens in Trouble
and did not hide her contempt for being a receptionist.
 

“Five years in college,
”
Debbie openly lamented. “And twenty-thousand in student loans. Just to be Jane’s sock puppet. But I bet sock puppets get better insurance benefits."
 

Spring admired Debbie’s audacity but she could afford to be cheeky. She was about to marry a doctor.

“...I think my hand is turning into a claw.” Debbie continued. “Wonder if I qualify for disability?” Debbie winked and continued her task of sorting through a box of wedding invitations, holding each one up to the light to examine something Spring couldn’t see. “Oh, that reminds me. Jane wants you in the conference room ASAP."

"Oh?” This couldn’t be good. Jane rarely asked for anyone by name. Spring quickly calculated how many times she had been late to work that month and felt the blood drain from her face. “I’m never going to see you again, am I?"

Debbie laughed. “I don’t think you have to worry. Jane seemed like she was in a pretty good mood. Hasn’t asked me to fax one useless memo yet."

Spring furrowed her brow. Jane Letch was never in a good mood. Ever. She reminded Spring of the Queen from Alice in Wonderland.
Off with their heads!
Perhaps there was going to be a public beheading. That would account for Spring’s summoning and Jane’s good mood. Spring swallowed, gave Debbie one last look, and proceeded down the hall to meet her fate.

The conference room door was closed but Spring could make out the sounds of muffled conversations and the scrape of moving chairs across the linoleum floor. It sounded like the entire workforce of
Teens in Trouble,
sans Debbie, had gathered inside. Smells of coffee and bacon wafted up under the door and Spring’s stomach lurched. She had forgotten to eat that morning. Jane rarely sprang for breakfast and Spring guessed there was slim chance anything was left.
 

“Serves you right for being late,” she chastised herself, secretly hoping that the laws of karma would kick in and that would be the end of her punishment.

Spring cautiously pushed open the door and peeped in. Something serious was happening. The normally disorderly conference room had been cleaned up. Five folding tables, normally used for paper sorting and party planning, had been arranged in a horseshoe formation in front of a drop-down screen. Women sat around the table whom Spring recognized as her coworkers, except for an unknown attendee in a purple suit whose name-tag read MEG. Spring gulped. There had been rumors about ‘the poor economy’ and ‘downsizing’ and Spring wondered if her time had come.
 

“In times like these you need to make yourself indispensable,” Sam had cautioned her, but she hadn’t listened. Now she regretted tossing aside the
Seven Secrets of Highly Successful People
and its accompanying day planner Sam had given her on her last birthday.

Spring tiptoed in and slipped into an empty chair next to Rebecca, the woman she shared an office with. Rebecca was picking at a hole in her paper plate and Spring noticed that everyone’s plates seemed to be cleaned. She picked up a nearby spoon and puckered at her distorted reflection, hoping her lipstick issue had been resolved in the car. Rebecca elbowed her in the ribs and Spring was startled to see that everyone was now staring in their direction. Spring dropped the spoon and it bounced twice, clattering wildly before tumbling onto the floor.

"Spring, nice to see you again,” said Jane in a sardonic tone.

Spring swallowed. Apparently her tardiness had not gone unnoticed. A few chuckles from around the table rose and quickly fell, lest they attract Jane’s unwanted attention.

Spring was about to respond but Jane continued.
 

“A few months ago you came up with the idea of adding a mascot to our team to help improve our recognition in the community. Do you remember?” Jane was standing now, twirling a long stick Spring had never seen before.
 
It looked like a cue stick from one of the pool halls her mother used to frequent. Spring squinted to get a better look. Sure enough, the end was tipped in blue felt. Spring wondered which was worse: getting fired or getting hit with the stick.