Saturday morning, I thought when I awoke the next morning. It’s not generally my best day, but since I didn’t have any patients I figured that the day wouldn’t be too bad. I just had to run a few errands which would take just a couple of hours or so; deposit the weeks earnings, shop for groceries, stop by the library to exchange the books I’d finished for new ones. I try to spend the least amount of time in town because of the stares I usually get from locals; I fill out all deposit slips at home, have a strict grocery list and use the internet hold system to order library books. I rolled out of bed and took a long shower to prepare me for the day.
I ran into no problems at the bank and was halfway through my grocery shopping when I bumped into Jacqueline Cox, literally. I guess I wasn’t paying attention and my cart hit hers as I came out of the dried bean aisle. I hate to say it, but the glare she gave me made my blood run cold. I’m really not cut out for being hated; I have really thin skin and don’t handle confrontation well.
“Watch where you’re going!”
“I’m sorry. It’s my fault. Please go ahead, you have the right of way,” I told her as calmly as I could. I bowed my head unintentionally, trying to avoid the way her eyes bore into me. I heard her sniff loudly and then saw her cart pull away. I decided to go in the opposite direction even though I’d already gotten everything I needed from those aisles. I wanted to give Ms. Cox as much head start as I could. The rest of the trip went smoothly, though I did take extra care at all intersections and made sure that she wasn’t already on any aisle that I was about to enter. I’m sure I looked odd, but it certainly wasn’t the activity that would get me into Ripley’s Believe It or Not.
My one respite was at the library where luckily, or not, the head librarian is one of my patients. Of course, in this town, such a connection isn’t advertised. Mrs. Johnson tended to treat me a bit coldly in public, though she’s a real dear when coming to me for treatment of her lumbago. She sends me a large, and quite tasty, fruitcake for Christmas every year. As usual, she handed me my books without saying a word or meeting my eyes, but I later found an envelope in one of the books with a two photos: one of her newest granddaughter and one of her wearing an obscenely large hat with an equally obscenely large hydrangea on top, some flower seeds from her garden, and a note thanking me for her last treatment.
I actually have quite a few patients in this town, but you’d be hard pressed to identify them by our interactions in public. I was fine with this, figuring, like my great, great…grandmother that such ties were allies in waiting. In private, these patients were some of the nicest ladies and gentlemen, no matter how they treated me in public. They were never outwardly mean, just a lot like Mrs. Johnson, choosing to appear afraid or otherwise actively avoiding me. But I still receive an astounding number of Christmas gifts delivered by my wonderful postman. I’m helping with his daughter’s cystic fibrosis.
I finished the errands and drove home. There was a vehicle already parked outside of my house. I said a quick prayer that it was friend not foe and pulled into the driveway myself.
“Hey. How’s it going?” Officer Nathan Whitworth was leaning against a faded red pick-up truck. He was dressed in regular clothes, not the uniform he’d worn the night before. He walked over to help me with my groceries. “Got enough beans?” he asked grabbing the bag. I’d bought ten of the one pound bags of various types of the dried beans.
“Ugh. Don’t talk to me about beans.” Officer Whitworth raised his eyebrows. “I ran into Jacqueline Cox at the market this morning.”
“Oh. I see….on the bean aisle?” he asked with a chuckle in his voice and a twinkle in his eye.
“And that’s why you’re the police officer. I’m impressed,” I said with an appreciative nod. “Nah, I like beans. They’re easy to cook, nutritious, I can add them to anything and make enough leftovers to feed me for a week.”
“You eat a lot of leftovers?” Officer Whitworth asked as I let him into my house.
“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s really hard to cook for one and in my line of work, I never know when I’m going to have time to cook. So when I do cook I make a lot and freeze it. Don’t judge,” I said with a fake scowl.
“Hey, I’m not judging,” he said, putting the grocery bags on the counter and holding his hands up. “I eat a ton of fast food and frozen dinners. It’s impressive that you cook for yourself.”
“So, you’re single,” I surmised, deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to check him out. Six foot tall, dark hair and eyes, looks that belong in July of the firefighter’s calendar. Not bad at all.
“Now who deserves a badge? Is there anything else in the car?”
“Just my library books.” I started putting away the groceries.
“I’ll go get them for you.” He started walking towards the door.
“Thanks, they’re in the front seat,” I called to him. I wondered why he was here as I put the milk and eggs into the fridge. I’d started to cut the ground beef into usable portions when Officer Whitworth walked in with my books. “You can put them on the table. Thanks again for getting them for me.”
“It’s not a problem at all. I’m the one intruding; it’s the least I could do.” He picked up a bag of beans, “Where do these go?”
“Oh, the cabinet behind you; not the top shelf though, please.” I’m insanely short and I hate having to drag out the step stool to get things while I’m cooking.
Nathan laughed. “But there’s nothing on the top shelves.”
“And that’s the way it should stay. Anything that belongs on the top shelf is something that I’m only going to use once a year and therefore does not belong in my kitchen.” I put all but one of the ground beef portions into the freezer and the last into the refrigerator along with the chicken thighs then emptied the rest of the bags before I put them on the table in the foyer. Nathan put the canned vegetables into the cabinet next to the beans while I put the fresh fruit and vegetables away. “There. All done. Now, are you hungry? I haven’t eaten lunch yet.” I decided that since it had been so long since I’d had a visitor who wasn’t looking for relief from illness, I was going to treat this as a social visit and let Officer Whitworth be the one to tell me why he was here.
“Sure, I could eat.”
“Is there anything you crave, or will re-heated lasagna suit you?”
“Lasagna is fine.”
I took two portions of the lasagna out of the refrigerator and popped them into the microwave. I grabbed two apples and two carrots out of the basket and started to peel and slice them on the cutting board.
“Do you want any help?” Nathan was watching me as he leaned casually against the counter.
“Umm…well, I guess you can make me a glass of milk. The glasses are in the cabinet behind your head. And you can pour yourself a glass of whatever you want to drink. There’s apple juice, orange juice, V8 juice, water and of course milk. Sorry, I don’t keep soda in the house.” I started arranging the apples and carrots on two small plates as the microwave beeped. I used a hand towel to protect my hands from the hot plates and took them to the dining room. Nathan was putting the drinks on the table then he beat me to the kitchen to retrieve the veggies and a pair of forks. I sat down then realized that this was the first time I’d shared a meal with someone other than a family member, well, ever. He sat as well and we stared at each other awkwardly.
“Umm…you can say grace if you wish…or whatever it is that you do before eating. I don’t normally, but it doesn’t bother me if others do,” I told him shyly.
“Actually I was waiting to see if you said anything before digging in,” he laughed and took a bite of lasagna. “Wow, you made this? It’s great!”
“Yep, right down to the tomato sauce which I made from the vegetables in my garden. Believe it or not, I don’t get out much, so I have plenty of time to garden and cook stuff like jams and tomato sauce.” I took a bite of the lasagna, too. I couldn’t think of anything to talk about so we ate in comfortable silence.
Nathan leaned back in his chair after he finished eating, patting his stomach. “I’m going to have to start stopping by more often. I mean, I could definitely use the home cooked meals, and you obviously need someone to help you eat your food.”
“Really? You’ll only visit for the food. I feel so used and you’ve only stopped by once.” I laughed though, and reached for his plates to stack on mine before I took them to the kitchen.
“I’ll do the dishes,” Nathan stood up and grabbed the dishes for himself. He took them into the kitchen and placed them in the sink.
“I don’t have a dishwasher, so you’ll be scrubbing by hand.”
“That’s okay; I don’t have a dishwasher, either.” He pantomimed rolling up his sleeves and winked at me. “I’m an educated man: I can wash dishes and clothes, mop and vacuum floors, even iron and clean the toilet. On a good day, I even put the toilet seat down.”
I pretended to fan myself. “My hero,” I swooned. Then laughed. Talking to Nathan was incredibly easy. I wished talking the Reverend’s crew was so easy. He cleaned the dishes quickly and did a really good job. When he finished, I decided to break my vow to not ask why he was here, since he didn’t seem keen to tell me on his own volition. I led him into the bright drawing room.
“So, the suspense has been killing me…why in the world are you here?” I asked as we settled into the wing-back chairs.
“Oh, I dunno, really. I just decided to come and visit.” Nathan wasn’t looking at me, though.
“Officer Whitworth…”
“Call me Nathan,” he interrupted. I didn’t mention that that’s what I’d been calling him in my head for a while now
“Nathan, that’s a really lame excuse,” I said smiling. “Why are you really here?”
He shrugged, but his eyes did finally meet mine. “I really don’t know. I left here yesterday and spent most of the night thinking about what you’d said. I know your history, of course, but I guess I’d never wanted to confront what I decided were just rumors. I got stuck with the case against you because I’m low man on the totem pole at the precinct and nobody else would touch it. I’m not sure if it’s because they thought that you would hex them, or because they’re your patients, or because they didn’t want to deal with Ms. Cox. It’s probably some combination of the three, but either way, I’m the one it was given to. It surprised me how thorough your contract is to make sure that no one has grounds to sue you and how I could find no evidence of someone ever suing you or your family for fraud. I came to the conclusion that you must be able to do something and, well, I want to be a detective eventually, so I couldn’t just leave such an idea alone. I hope you don’t mind, but I really just want to know what your secret is. Am I an awful person?”
I stared at him for a full minute. Then I burst into laughter. “You want to learn what exactly I am?” I asked when I could catch my breath. I wiped away a tear. “Wow, I wish someone had thought of this years ago. You can ask me whatever you want, so long as you sign a non-disclosure form. I never thought anyone would bother to ask me, so of course I’m making this up as I go along, but I do need to protect myself from certain people. I’m sure the CIA would love to get their hands on me and of course I must protect my patients, but I wouldn’t mind talking to you about the more general stuff. Maybe it’ll rub off you and onto those who think I would hex them and they’ll treat me like a regular person.”
“So…you’re real? You’re a real witch?” Nathan’s eyes were wide. I had a feeling that he’d made that long speech all while hoping that I was not. “You could hex me if you wanted?” He definitely was starting to look worried.
I decided to test him. I looked deeply into his eyes, leaning forward. “Yes.” And I snapped my fingers. A pile of papers on the desk flew around the room as though caught by a tornado, then stopped in mid-air, floating. A second later they flew back to the desk and settled there as neatly as they’d been before their flight.
There was an audible gulp from Nathan. I looked at him and he looked as though he’d swallowed a guppy. “Are you alright?” I asked him. He did not look healthy and I thought that I’d caused an aneurism. “Crap.” I stood up and kneeled next to his chair. I ran my fingers through his hair, looking for a sign that he was still with me. I placed my hands on his temples, and with a deep inhale I took the stress away from his body. I shivered as the panic attack worked its way through me and felt it settle into the pit of my stomach. I tried to hide the fear that was now in my eyes when I asked again if he was alright.
“Yeah…” His voice was feeble and he still looked an awful shade of green. “What did you do to me?”
“I just took away the anxiety that I caused. I’m really sorry. I’ve never done anything like that before. I thought you could handle it.” The panic attack swirling in my stomach was not helping things and my voice was starting to rise. There were tears in my eyes again, but this time were caused by fright. “Excuse me.”
I nearly ran out of the room and into the downstairs bathroom. The fear within me was now clearly on my face and I saw it in the mirror. It was a good thing Nathan was still out of it or he might have had another fit. I washed my face trying to wash away what I’d done. What an awful prank. I groaned and wrapped a cool cloth around my neck, hoping that it would help me keep the attack at bay until it wore off.
I went back into the drawing room. Nathan was still sitting in the chair, but he looked noticeably calmer. I, on the other hand, was trembling. He looked at me with his eyebrows raised, “What’s wrong with you? I’m the one that should be terrified, but oddly I feel fine.”
“Yeah, that’s because I’m an idiot.” I sat on the edge of my seat and took the cloth from my neck and started to wring it in my hands. I took a deep breath and stared at the floor. “When I heal someone, I feel the effects. Always. When you looked like you were going to go insane from the fright, I took it away and now I’m dealing with all the feelings that were just running through your body—the increased heartbeat, the sweating, the nausea—all the standard components of a panic attack.” I took another deep breath and felt the effects easing. “Luckily, I have an increased metabolism for illnesses and what would normally take an hour to get over, I can get over in ten minutes.” I looked up at him. “See, it’s better already. I’m really sorry for that. It’s just been so easy to talk to you, I thought maybe you could bear such a prank.” I looked down, “I’ll understand if you don’t want to stop by anymore.”
Nathan sighed. “Well, I think that if I had your power, I’d have done the same thing. And I haven’t been completely honest with you. I’m not just some guy on the police force. My mom is Reverend Brown’s sister. You of all people should understand what that means.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You must have had a horrible childhood.” I cringed “…Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” I meant that.
“No, it’s fine. Mom is kind of the female leader of the anti-Scarlet Hawthorne club. It’s another reason why I was handed Ms. Cox’s case; my mom wouldn’t let me let it get lost in the shuffle like the Chief was hoping would happen. I’ve always given you and your family the benefit of the doubt, figuring that mom had some kind of bad run in with your family years ago. Don’t take this the wrong way, but if she knew that the stuff you do is real, she’d probably have more fuel.” He must have seen my eyes widen and raised his hands. “I’m not a spy! I’m really here for my own personal reasons and if my mom knew I was here she’d probably make me bathe in salt water and vinegar. I don’t plan to tell her anything, nor do I plan to tell anyone else. I’m just a selfish person who doesn’t let questions go unanswered…even if I’m not physically capable of accepting the answers.” He actually let out a chuckle. “How are you feeling? Has…your…my panic attack left yet? …Weird.” He shook his head.
I did a general check of my system and found no out of place feelings. “I’m good. The attack is gone. And that’s the last time I use my magic for pranks.”
“Well, it was a good prank.” He smiled sweetly and I half returned the smile.
“God, you sure can make a girl feel awful.”
The phone rang. Nathan waved for me to go ahead and answer it and I smiled apologetically.
“Hello?”
“Scarlet? I need your help!” The voice on the other end was frantic. “It’s Stacy Collins. I’m at the hospital with Charlotte. She’s dying!” Stacy’s voice was high pitched and filled with tears.
“Stacy, calm down. Charlotte needs you to be calm. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m leaving now. Bye.” I hung up the phone.
“I have to go. A patient is in the hospital with her daughter…” My voice trailed off and I realized that Nathan’s panic attack might not have left completely or else I was having one of my own.
