Bitch Witch (21 page)

“Henry’s asleep. You’ll need to come back later.”

“I don’t think so,” said Kathleen. She pushed past Sarah, wheeling her roller bag over the toe of a witch slipper. The woman looked around the spacious entry for a moment before turning back. “Where is he? I’d be happy to wake him myself.”

Sarah put a hand on her own hip and looked Kathleen up and down, determined to ignore the mean girl attitude. Kathleen looked like a Victoria’s Secret model, complete with big perfect blonde hair and artfully drawn eyebrows. It made Sarah aware of her own frumpy sweats and braless sag. Unconsciously a hand flew to her hair and she remembered she’d gone to sleep with it wet. It now stuck up far bigger than the Texas fiancée’s. It didn’t take a mirror to know she looked like a witch. She dropped her hand without trying to change the truth.

“What’s going on?” said a male voice from the kitchen.

Both women spun to see Paul crossing the foyer, barefoot in only his gym shorts, his horse tattoo more visible than Sarah had ever seen it. “Sarah, what are you pounding on?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Hello, Paul,” said the fiancée with a serious Texas twang.

“Kathleen!” Paul seemed to wake up quickly. “Uh, I didn’t know you were coming.”

Henry appeared right behind Paul in striped cotton pajamas. He smiled at Sarah. “Hey, kitten! You’re up!”

Kathleen whipped her head around to stare at Sarah, her jaw dropping. Apparently she hadn’t put one and one together to come up with Henry and Sarah as a couple. Disbelieving eyes examined Sarah from head to foot, pausing on every flaw—unkempt hair, imperfect skin, breasts hanging around town without support, slight belly bulge, and soft thighs in baggy sweats.

Kathleen arched a flawless brow and drawled, “All right, so
you’re
his
someone else
? That didn’t take long. And he calls you kitten too? How nice.”

Henry froze. “Kathleen?”

Avoids confrontation, except with lawyers. Always sleeps in pajamas.

Kathleen turned her attention back to him. “Henry. I hope you don’t mind my stopping by without calling. It’s just that after four years I think I deserve more than a text that says,
Sorry, I met someone else.
”

“Oh,” said Henry. “Ah.” He nodded. “Yes.”

“Dear Lord! What happened to your face?”

Henry didn’t answer, but Paul chuckled. “You might want to start with something less combustible.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest as silence descended.

Kathleen shot one accusatory glance at Sarah and waited, her long fingers clenching and unclenching the handle of her bag. Henry’s gaze flitted between both women, settling at last on Sarah. Kathleen’s fingers froze in their clenched position until they turned bone white. Sarah’s stomach snarled, and she had to pee. She knew whoever spoke first lost. She understood power plays, and she’d piss herself before losing this one.

“So, awkward,” said Paul. “Anyone want a glass of wine? Some midnight lasagna? I know you do, Sarah.” He turned and shuffled back toward the kitchen, and Henry hurried to follow.

After another brief moment of silence and a short staring contest, Kathleen went too. Sarah stopped in the half-bath off the hallway. She peed, but left her hair and face alone. Even if her mascara looked like Marilyn Manson’s, there was no way she’d fix anything for the ex-fiancée. She had her own version of mean girl and she called it
bitch witch
.

All the kitchen lights were on, and Kathleen’s roller bag sat next to the island. She sat perched on the edge of a kitchen stool. Sarah watched her adjust diamond jewelry and smooth her hair like she was putting the finishing touches on an art exhibit.

“Are Mom and Dad okay?” asked Paul as he dug food out of the refrigerator. Henry hid behind him.

“Your mom and dad didn’t believe it when I told them. They assumed Henry’s text was some sort of mistake or a really bad joke, which is a reasonable assumption. I thought so too until I realized Henry had
blocked
my number.” Kathleen hooked her heels over the bottom rung of the stool, glaring at Henry. He now shadowed Paul, feigning helping him carry a plate of lasagna to the microwave, as though it took two men in their thirties to carry a single slice of lasagna.

Obviously I’m going to have to take care of this myself.

Sarah took the stool right beside Kathleen. Mockingly she adjusted the cuffs of her sweatshirt and smoothed the front so that the green glitter letters of the word
Wicked
laid flat against her plentiful breasts. She made exaggerated motions patting her snarly mess of hair. Paul rolled his eyes at her.

“I’m Sarah Archer, by the way. Henry’s
new
girlfriend.”

Kathleen turned to her and offered her hand, clasping Sarah’s smaller one warmly and smiling a gracious southern smile. “Kathleen Karrie, Henry’s
fiancée
.” Her smile vanished on the last word and she let Sarah’s hand drop, turning her attention back to the men.

“Would you like some lasagna too?” Henry asked, not quite meeting Kathleen’s eyes as he pushed silverware and a napkin across the counter for Sarah.

“You know I don’t eat this late.”

“Uh, that’s right. How about a glass of wine?” Henry slid an empty goblet in front of Sarah and held the second one while he awaited Kathleen’s permission. He seemed incapable of making direct eye contact.

“That would be nice.”

Paul walked up behind his brother with an armload of wine bottles. “Is it okay if we open these, Sarah? You have enough bottles around the house. I don’t know much about wine, but based on the years I think the best we can hope for is a glass of vinegar.”

Kathleen leaned forward, eyeing the bottles. “Henry! Did you look at these? Good gracious, there’s a Vino Nobile di Montepulciano from Tuscany!”

“Really?” Henry plucked a bottle from Paul’s arms as his brother unloaded them onto the counter. “This one is a Brunello from the eighties! Sarah, you’ll want to save these. They’re valuable!”

“Might as well open them tonight. It’s not every day your
fiancée
meets your girlfriend,” she said.

“Uh,” said Henry, his confidence going from investor to intern. “Um. Yes. Wine would be nice. You know, I’m uncomfortable wearing this and drinking those though. Excuse me while I go put on something more appropriate.” He scampered out of the kitchen in his striped pajamas.

Paul grabbed a corkscrew and went to work on a bottle. “So you must have gotten a flight this morning, Kathleen? How long after that text did it take you to get to the airport?” His grin couldn’t have gotten wider without hurting something in his jaw.

“Don’t you want to go put on a shirt, Paul?” replied Kathleen.

“I’m comfortable.” He eyed Sarah’s hair and added, “And I think I fit right in.” Somehow the grin grew wider as he fumbled with the corkscrew and bottle. Sarah reached over the counter and nabbed both off him as the microwave beeped.

Paul moved toward it. “By the way, we did try to wake you at dinner.”

Sarah curled her toes in the sparkly slippers over a chair rung and set to work opening the wine bottle. “You must not have tried too hard because I sure didn’t hear you, and I’m not exactly a deep sleeper.”

“I even texted you. About four times. Did you leave your phone on mute?”

She almost dropped the bottle. “Crap. I left my cell phone on my desk at work!”

Paul set the plate of lasagna in front of her, his smile fading. “Don’t worry. We’ll get it. You’re going back soon enough anyway. I promise.”

Thankfully he didn’t elaborate in front of Kathleen. Sarah yanked the cork out of the bottle and attempted to pour into Kathleen’s glass.

The woman stopped her with a bejeweled hand over her goblet. “You have to let it breathe!”

Sarah poured herself a glass and handed the bottle to Paul. He poured it into his and Henry’s glasses and left the bottle to breathe next to Kathleen.

Raising his goblet toward Sarah, he said, “May you live in interesting times.”

Sarah clinked her glass against his. “Fuck you, Paul.”

Ignoring Kathleen’s startled gasp, Sarah gulped the wine. It had been three years since she’d had anything to drink.
No, longer than that. I was afraid to drink or eat for months before they died.
The memory of why sent a shiver up her back and she polished off the entire glass, not sure if it was good or not. It tasted like dark memories.

Paul watched her beneath raised brows. “Impressive. You must have been fun in college.”

Sarah burped against the back of her hand and picked up her fork, ignoring the look she sensed Kathleen giving her.

Henry returned, dressed in khakis and a pinstriped button down shirt with his hair artfully arranged. Five o’clock shadow made him look like a cover from a dreamy romance novel. The black eye only added a dash of pirate. Sarah frowned when he filled Kathleen’s glass before hers. Apparently it had breathed enough, because she didn’t object.

Polite. Has never ridden a roller coaster. Doesn’t like women who swear.

“You do drink, don’t you, kitten?” he asked Sarah as he poured her a second glass.

“Quite well,” Kathleen murmured beside her, reaching for her cut crystal goblet. “Heavyweight contender potential.”

Vinegar.
The spell slid out of Sarah.
Sheath your claws, catty bitch! Enjoy a glass of vinegar!
It didn’t take more than a drop of dark matter to accomplish.

Not an ounce of remorse followed the cast. Sarah hacked off a piece of lasagna with the edge of her fork and jammed it into her mouth. It tasted delicious.
Paul shouldn’t be an EMT; he should be a chef at some Italian restaurant.

From the corner of her eye Sarah watched Kathleen lift her goblet, sniff appreciatively, and take a large sip. She held it in her mouth a moment before swallowing.

Across the counter Henry did the same, closing his eyes. “This is fantastic! It reminds me of Venice. Remember that bottle of
Fr
á
a Broli
we had that time at Osteria Bancogiro on the Grand Canal?”

Sarah shoveled lasagna into her mouth, glaring.

Kathleen took another sip and seemed to consider. “That was a lovely trip. Of course I remember. We stayed at that little pension on Murano.” She smiled at Henry and took a third sip of wine.

What the fuck? I know it worked!
Sarah grabbed her own glass of wine, fully expecting it to taste like vinegar now. The aftershock of the little cast hovered over her like a fart, but her wine tasted fine. After several uneventful gulps, she set it down and shoved another huge mouthful of lasagna into her mouth.

Cat food.

It tasted like a slimy hunk of solid, warm cat food. Sarah’s eyes watered. There was no way she could swallow it. It took every ounce of self-control to keep her gag reflex under control. She leaned forward and let it fall out of her mouth onto the plate. Henry and Kathleen were smiling over their shared memories of Venice, but Paul put a hand on the counter and leaned forward.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. It was too hot,” Sarah lied, wiping her tongue off with a napkin. Paul narrowed his eyes at her and glanced at Kathleen as she took another sip of wine.

Bitch!
Sarah couldn’t believe the woman could drink it. Something like admiration stirred within her. She stuffed it down and kicked it a few times, refusing to appreciate anything in the snooty picture perfect ex.

“Henry?” Sarah asked.

“Hmm, kitten?” he replied, still smiling at Kathleen.

“Is there any more chocolate lasagna?”

“I don’t know. Is there, Paul?” Henry passed the chore to his brother without even looking at Sarah.

Paul grinned at Sarah. “There is, kitten. You want to have it in the living room with a couple bottles of wine?”

Sarcastic self-satisfied bastard.