Chapter 17
Quent’s Natal Venus and Pluto Conjunct Ascendant
What exactly had my mom said to Quent that he’d twisted into “abandonment”?
I glance over my shoulder at the door to my bedroom where Sonnet is curled up in my warm spot. She’s here, but Quent doesn’t know it. He took her while she was in my custody under the terms of our divorce and didn’t tell me. I should tell Tom that Sonnet is safely home, but something tells me not to.
Tom sniffs the air. “Yum, I smell breakfast.” He looks past me at the kitchen table and at the three place settings of dirty dishes. “Oh, you have company?”
I nod. “I’m letting Christabel stay here a few days, but I’ll take her into the police department later today.”
Tom gives me a thumbs up. “Yeah, I heard about what happened last night with her uncle. Poor kid.”
I’m so close to telling Tom that Sonnet is safe in my bed. Of reminding him that Quent picked her up without coordinating with me and that she ran away from him in the middle of the night, which was probably even more unsafe than being locked in her room in his mansion. I’m so close to telling Tom how Quent cruelly told our daughter I was dying and she escaped without knowing if I was alive or dead or why or how.
My intuition tells me to swallow the words.
“Anyway,” Tom continues, “what’s in that envelope is just a heads-up. Justine and I do a lot of, um, consulting together. We like to keep each other apprised of what’s going on with our clients who oppose each other. Helps make things go more smoothly.”
I’m not sure what Tom considers being smooth. Quent finds a new excuse to take me to court at least once a quarter, always over absolutely nothing even though he’s been married for a while to Candy, whose real name is actually Lois. Every time there’s boredom in paradise, Quent turns his attention back to whatever I’m doing. I’ve learned to love it when he’s fixated on someone else. Whether he’s happy or upset about it, he’s not focused on me!
“Anyway, Lauren, I don’t want you to worry about this abandonment allegation. I’ll work with Justine on getting your daughter home with you, safe and sound.”
“Wait—what? Um, have you talked to Justine this morning?”
Tom averts his eyes. If the spot on the porch floor had been interesting, my flowerpot of red geraniums is downright fascinating. “Uh, not about this. I talked to her last night.”
“So, you don’t know if Quent’s lawyer has talked to Quent this morning?”
“Sure don’t.”
I haven’t had any phone calls this morning at all. No one demanding to know if I’ve seen Sonnet. No one banging on my door and telling me she’s missing. Could it be that absolutely no one realized she’d escaped or wanted to admit she’s run away from her father?
Tom’s hiding something. I can see it flitting all around his head. He’s been a good attorney for me over the years, but I can feel that his allegiance has shifted, or at least that he’s vulnerable to being played by Justine and Quent. My intuition says I can’t trust him any longer.
“I’ll tell you what, Tom. You tell Justine to call Quent and insist on allowing me to speak to my daughter.”
Quent still has Sonnet’s phone and car keys. Let’s see if he’ll admit that he can’t keep up with the child he claims I’ve abandoned simply because I missed a couple of phone calls from my mom. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t see how anyone could fault me for her being safely back with home with me, given that she’s in my custody and I’ve not violated any court agreements. Hard to say I’ve abandoned my seventeen-year-old when she’s thirty feet from where I’m standing.
Tom clears his throat. “Er, Justine won’t be available until this afternoon. She’s in court until then.”
“Fine. You let her know that I’ll be waiting on a call from my daughter.”
“I’ll… I’ll see if I can work up some tentative solutions that might satisfy Quent and you both. Have you thought about what we talked about last month? About moving on?”
“From Quent? Oh, Tom! I moved on from Quent a long time ago. I only wish he would move on from me!”
Tom sucks air through his teeth, then expels it in a whistle. “I don’t mean moving on from your first husband. I mean moving on from your second husband. Jesse left a lot of legal problems in his wake, and we need to clear those up. You can’t keep delaying them. You’ve already lost the healing center that the two of you started. The bank’s got a lien on your house, and I can’t promise you that you aren’t going to lose your home. Shoot, it may end up being better for Sonnet if she is with her dad. At least she’ll have a roof over her head. This thing with Jesse… it’s left you in too much debt. I don’t like it. If only we could find a way to extricate your finances from Jesse’s.”
He’s right, but something feels off.
Stupid girl. It’s Dragon’s voice I hear in my head. Fell in love and just gave up all your power, didn’t you? Turned everything over to other people to figure out on your behalf. You’re an embarrassment to me. I didn’t train you to grow your power and live your best life so you could throw it away.
It wasn’t that way at all! I never gave away my powers. I simply turned my back on them for a while because they weren’t enough to protect my happiness. Now I’m taking them back.
I blink into the sunlight behind Tom as it hits the porch full blast. A car door slams in the distance.
My car door.
Christabel?
It can’t be Sonnet. I would’ve heard her—felt her—leave the house.
“Do me a favor, Tom. First, tell Quent’s lawyer I demand to talk to my daughter immediately. I would call him myself, but he’s blocked my number and you know as well as I do that I can’t go to his house because he lives in a gated community with a full-time guard at the entrance who tells me every time that I’m not on ‘the list’ unless Quent remembers to call and put me on the list for a quick pick-up or drop-off. And second, ask the loan officer at the bank to meet me this afternoon at the Center of Light and tell him to bring all his paperwork with him.”
“But I can’t be there this afternoon for a bank meeting. I’ll need to schedule—”
“No need. I can handle that part by myself. I’ll call you if I need to formalize anything.”
“But I can negotiate—”
What’s that old axiom? “No” is a complete sentence.
“Tom, I won’t negotiate anything without you. I promise.”
“Is he gone?” Christabel whispers from behind me, seconds later, and I startle. If she’s behind me, then who—?
I squint through the open front door at my car and the man half-hidden on the other side of the raised hood.
From the far side of the porch, Tom says goodbye, heads to his luxury car, and waves at my visitor.
Dropping the brown envelope onto the chair nearest my front door, I retie my bathrobe. Hair tousled, smelling of last night’s incense, no makeup. I’m a mess, and Jan is nowhere to be found. She’s probably gone home, I tell myself as I pick my way barefoot across the lawn toward my car. Maybe I’ll see her later today, hopefully at the Center of Light, which was always a shared dream of ours.
Jan’s husband fiddles with the innards of my car. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he grins broadly at me. He’s in his early seventies but still an attractive man with a head full of white hair and eyes that sparkle when he grins. I haven’t seen him smile much recently. My heart lightens to see it. He’s a good man. Steve has been the person I could call on if it was 2:30 a.m. in the middle of a thunderstorm and I had a flat tire. Then there was that time when the temps got down to twelve degrees and the heat went out in my house, and Jan sent him over to stand in the cold and fix it for me. The one thing that Jan and I never talk about is that Steve took my side when she and I had our rift.
“Good morning, pretty girl!” he calls to me as I close the distance between us. “A little bird told me you were having car trouble last night, so I just thought I’d come over and take care of it for you. Not sure what was going on last night, but there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong now. It cranks just fine. I did change the oil for you though, so you should be about a hundred miles ahead on your maintenance.”
Pretty girl. Only Steve would say that to me. Especially now, me in an animal print bathrobe over a ratty pajama top and shorts and legs I haven’t shaved since before the last time Jesse and I made love.
“Thanks, Steve. That’s really good to hear. I’ve got business in town and—” I throw up my hands in frustration.
He wipes his greasy hands on his denimed thighs as he leans against my front fender, one booted foot propped against my tire. I can imagine him when he was younger, the way Jan talks about him and when she first met him, thirty years ago when she was fresh out of college and he was already a middle-aged man.
“So, um, Lauren—” Anxiety rises in his voice. He probably thinks he’s being suave, but I’ve known him long enough now to know when he’s a little nervous. “Jesse’s been gone for a while and, um—”
I look down at my bare feet and nod once.
“Don’t you, er, don’t you ever get lonely out here by yourself?”
“I’m not by myself exactly. Sonnet is still here. One more year, and she’ll be off at college, and my nest will be empty then.”
Silently, Steve nods. He’s looking at my bare feet, too. “You should paint your toenails. Bright red. You have pretty feet. You should show them off.”
All I can do is frown at him. I don’t think we’ve ever had such a weird conversation.
“I was thinking, Lauren, you might want to join me for dinner sometime. I mean, me take you to dinner, that is.” He is full-on blushing as he stumbles over the syllables. “You know, if you are ever lonely and, uh, when you’re ready.” He glances up quickly before lowering his eyes again. “Jan won’t mind.”
I laugh, but it sounds hollow in my own ears. I can’t imagine what Jan would say, and I have no intention of telling her. I would never ever do anything to hurt Jan intentionally. Maybe It’s just my magick, my brightness and shininess after last night’s ritual and taking back my power.
The servitor is still somewhere at the edge of my property, Sonnet is safely home, my best friend’s husband is asking me on a date, and I’ve caught my lawyer in what I’m pretty sure is either a lie or a little lawyerly manipulation. I need a long, hot shower and a change of clothes before I drop Christabel at the police station and head over to the healing center.
The way the last twenty-four hours have gone, I’m afraid of what might happen next.
You’re reading Rite of Letting Go free, right here in the Library. Want a copy to keep on your Kindle or e-reader? Buy the e-book direct from me →
© 2023 Lorna Tedder. All rights reserved. Free to read here — please don’t repost elsewhere.