1 The Bitches of Everafter (2 page)

2

Hickory Dickory Doc

Earlier that week...

Doctor Jack Bean was reviewing his notes from the last anger management group session he had hosted when he heard a soft rapping on the door of his office at the Everafter Community Center. Doctor Bean didn’t like receiving patients who didn’t have an appointment, nor did he particularly enjoy
any
unannounced visitors. It made him nervous when people just showed up to talk to him, and it didn’t matter if it was at his office, at a coffee shop, at his home (that particular offense had resulted in more than one change of address), or, like now, at the community center where he volunteered his services. In fact, the good doctor’s own mother wasn’t quite sure where he presently resided, and that was just fine with him. Although, if he were candid with himself, he did wonder if perhaps he should examine this quirk (he refused to call it a phobia—more of a coping mechanism. Phobias were fear and Jack Bean feared nothing.) Maybe he’d take it up with a colleague.

Jack cleared his throat and checked his reflection in the computer screen. He had indulged in a delicious blueberry pie and coffee with cream, no sugar, at Gretel’s Cafe on Candy Lane. There was the slightest smidge of blue tucked into the dimple on his right cheek. He wiped it away, brushed his dark hair back, pasted on a smile, and opened the door.

The smile Jack usually reserved for drop-ins was tight with an air of curtness just so the person on the other side of the door was under no illusion that the intrusion was welcome. He couldn’t have people thinking they could accost him at all hours of the night and day. He was a professional—he deserved respect.

However, when Dr. Bean laid his bespectacled eyes on the magnificent creature that stood before him on this warm August day, the pinched smile he had practiced so hard in the mirror fell off his face. His jawline melted, his eyes widened, and there was the tiniest flutter in his stomach.

She was several inches shorter than him, with black silky hair, skin like the cream he loved in his coffee, and lips the color of Red Delicious apples. Her scent was woodsy, yet laced with a feminine quality he couldn’t pinpoint. Her eyes were bright—the brightest blue he had ever seen, like the sky just after dawn before the clouds skipped across it. A sadness etched its way around them too, and Jack resisted the urge to gather her in his arms and whisper words of reassurance. He had the uncomfortable sense that in the unlikely event a sword should appear at that moment, he would hoist it in the air and declare war against any dragon who would dare harm this exquisite woman.

Her words broke the spell. “I’m so terribly sorry to bother you, Doctor. I was instructed to come here and speak with you.”

Jack shook his head. He wanted to douse himself with cold water or deliver a slap to his own cheek. What was that nonsense? What had overcome him? He was a professional for goodness’ sake. Not a schoolboy on his first date.

The curt smile returned. “I understand. Please come in.” He stepped aside and the woman walked into his office.

Berries. That was the feminine scent. He leaned in to sniff her hair. She turned around and suddenly their faces were inches apart despite the height difference.

“Oh,” she said, visibly startled.

Jack stepped back. “My apologies, Miss. My quarters here are rather cramped. Do sit down.” He motioned to a seat across from his desk.

Her shoulders relaxed and Jack was relieved that she accepted that excuse. Better than her thinking he was a pervert. Because he wasn’t.

Get it together, Jack,
he chastised himself,
or it’ll be you standing in front of Judge Redhood.

Jack waited for the ebony-haired woman to sit down, then circled around to his own chair. There were three feet of desk between them now—a much safer distance.

“Now then, Miss…?”

“White. Snow White.”

Even her name was breathtaking.

“Miss White. What may I help you with?”

She reached into her patchwork bag and pulled out an envelope. She flashed him a sheepish smile as she extended her arm. He noticed that her hands were slender, yet strong—her arms toned as if she chopped wood in her spare time.

He liked that.

Jack smiled and accepted the envelope. He sat back to pull out the packet of papers tucked inside. He could feel his smile fading as he read. Words like “at the bequest of the court” and “mandatory ninety days of treatment” and “crimes committed by Miss White” jumped out at him. The doctor felt dizzy. Like he’d been sucker-punched.

He looked up at this fair maiden with the eyes he’d wanted to swim in only moments ago. She couldn’t possibly be a criminal. “Surely, there must be some mistake.”

Snow White bowed her head. “I’m afraid there is no mistake. I am guilty as charged.”

Jack sat back in his chair, studying Miss White. She didn’t seem like the other lawbreakers who were ordered to attend his sessions. She was humble, shy, perhaps a little unsure of who she was as a person. But then again, he was a doctor, not a mind reader. It wasn’t as if he had a stash of magic beans lying around that could immediately illuminate the character of everyone he encountered.

Jack stood. “All right, Miss White. Looks like you and I will be spending some time together. As long as you arrive promptly every week, don’t do anything to violate your parole, and complete your community service, I’m sure you’ll get through this difficult time and emerge an even stronger person than you are today.”

Jack beamed at Snow and she lifted her head. Her lip quivered ever so slightly and for one terrifying moment, he thought she might cry. He couldn’t stand to see a woman cry. It was the reason he never married. It was also the reason he became a psychologist. Jack felt that the world was full of too many people encouraging the fairer sex to be meek, weak, and submissive. He wanted to right that wrong—to change the way the world viewed females and the way females viewed themselves. His success rate had been pretty good so far. He hoped his initial assessment of Miss White, with her strong arms, and capable hands, would be another victory for humankind.

As long as she didn’t cry, he was certain he could end this meeting with his reputation intact.

Jack held his breath, waiting for her to speak.

“But…don’t you want to know what I did?” she asked.

Relief rushed at him. He folded the papers and tucked them into the envelope. It was the court’s habit not to detail the crimes in the paperwork presented to the therapist. Personally, Jack suspected this had less to do with civil rights and more to do with Judge Redhood’s twisted sense of humor. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, that one. She seemed to delight in torturing Jack, and judging from the caseload he’d received this week alone she was having a ball.

“You can tell me all about it in group on Monday,” Jack said. “We meet Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Nine o’clock sharp.”

Her eyes widened. “In front of strangers?”

Jack nodded.

“Can’t I practice first? With you?” She smiled, and a bright flash of hope floated across those crimson lips. Jack wondered if they tasted like apples.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. House rules. Everyone shares their story at the first session. That way we’re all playing on an even field.”

She sat there a moment longer, her brow furrowed just a bit. Then she stood, shrugged her bag over her shoulder and turned to walk out of the office.

“See you Monday then, Miss White.”

When she got to the door, she stopped. A sunray penetrated the window, creating a silhouette of her curves. Jack admired the view for a beat, grinning like a hormonal teenager.

“Doctor,” she said, her back still to him. “I just want you to know...”

“Yes?” Jack asked.

She squared her shoulders and in a tone that smacked down on him like a hammer, she said, “I’m not sorry for what I did.”

Snow White strolled out the door of Jack Bean’s office taking with her a measure of his confidence.

3

To Grandmother's House We Go

Snow collected her small suitcase from the receptionist and stood on the steps of the community center. She checked the address she’d been given.

13 Dragon Street.

She sighed, already missing her little brick cottage in the woods with the window boxes and moonlight garden. Although Everafter could hardly qualify as a city, the hot asphalt, the cold buildings, the noisy trucks, and the tacky lampposts that lined the streets in the heart of town were offensive to her sensibilities. She longed for pine trees and oaks, moss and ivy, squirrels and rabbits. She ached for nature and the soothing sounds of birdsongs and trickling creeks. But she had made her bed. Now she had to lie in it. Hard as it might be.

She pulled out a pair of butterfly shaped sunglasses and slipped them onto her face. Then she headed south for what was to be her new home for the next three months.

It took Snow fifteen minutes to walk to the house. She was drenched with sweat by the time she arrived, and her skin felt as if fire ants were crawling all over it. She wasn’t used to so much sun or heat—the temperature was much cooler in the forest, where the canopy of trees blocked the glare of the sun. She made a mental note to invest in a big floppy hat and lots of sunscreen.

She stood in front of the iron gate on the cracked sidewalk and took a deep breath, staring at the looming Victorian mansion. The wooden sign in the yard was painted with dull purple and gold letters that matched the color of the house.
Granny’s Home for Girls
, it read.

Snow didn’t consider herself a girl but she shrugged off the insult and stepped through the rusty gate and onto the cobblestone path.

The closer she got to the house, the more evident became its depressing state of disrepair, as if someone had given up on it long ago. The yard was freshly mowed, but the shrubs in front were being choked by weeds and brambles. The wasp nest embedded beneath a crumbling eave was better constructed than the broken gingerbread that harbored it. The porch sagged in the middle like an old woman who could no longer carry herself upright. Two dormer windows poked out from the third floor, each with a crack across its pane. They looked like tired eyes that had seen worlds of misery. The door was painted a shocking white in complete contrast with the dusty purple facade and faded gold trim, lending the entire structure a look of surprise, as if it couldn’t believe the state of itself. The foundation leaned to the left side while the right tried in vain to take up the slack, knowing full well it was failing.

Once, this had been a grand home filled with love and laughter, Snow imagined. Once, the purple paint had shone, but time and her elements had chipped away at its character and pride, leaving the face of it lined with wrinkles it no longer cared to camouflage.

“You poor thing.” Snow patted the warped railing.

She could have sworn she heard the house heave a weary sigh in response.

Snow shuddered and climbed the steps. She stood on the porch and pressed the buzzer.

A woman with hair the color of pink champagne and eyes like emeralds answered the door. She was wearing a white tee shirt and cut off jean shorts.

The woman’s green eyes danced up and down Snow’s body and suddenly she felt completely overdressed in her kitten heels and A-line skirt.

Snow was about to introduce herself when the woman shouted over her shoulder.

“Granny! We got a live one!”

She snapped her gum and blew a bubble, then opened the door wide, stepping aside to allow Snow entrance.

“Thank you,” said Snow.

The woman shut the door and said, “No sweat.”

She circled Snow like a shark stalking its lunch. “Nice sunglasses. Can I try them on?”

It was an odd request, but since this was likely one of her housemates Snow obliged. She set her suitcase down, removed her sunglasses and handed them to the young stranger.

The woman snatched up the shades and slid them onto her face. “Nice.”

“Aura, don’t even think about it!” someone shouted.

Snow looked up to where the voice had echoed from. At the top of a winding, worn staircase stood a woman no more than five feet tall. Her silver hair trailed down to her waist, met by a floral patterned skirt and nurse’s shoes. She wore wire rimmed glasses and an attitude that clearly stated,
“Do not cross me
.”

Aura handed the sunglasses back to Snow and rolled her eyes. “Welcome to hell in a hand basket.”

She turned and called up to whom Snow assumed was Granny. “I was just trying them on. Don’t get your pantyhose in a twist.”

Granny slowly descended the stairs and Snow noticed she relied on the aid of a cane to help her along.

“Just keep your honey glazed hands to yourself, Missy,” Granny barked.

Aura mumbled. “You help yourself to a few little items and suddenly you’re a kleptomaniac.”

“I wouldn’t call a chop shop full of imported automobiles a ‘few little items’. Now find your manners and get the blazes out of here.”

Aura blew out a sigh. “Aura Rose.” She did an exaggerated curtsey and rolled her eyes again.

Snow gave her a shaky smile, not sure what to make of any of this. “Snow White. A pleasure to meet you.”

Aura smirked. “Give it time.” She sauntered out of the room, but not before sticking her tongue out at Granny who was now at the bottom of the steps, head bent, rubbing her knees.

Snow stood there, silently hoping she didn’t have to share a room with Aura and wishing she had packed a safe. With a lock.

Granny hobbled over, wincing in pain. “Damn arthritis. It acts up like a bird without a bath in this godforsaken humidity.”

Snow wasn’t sure what the metaphor meant, but she could see that Granny was aching. “I might be able to help you with that,” Snow said. “I’m pretty handy with holistic medicine.”

“What’s that?” Granny scowled, her thin lips writhing like snakes.

“You know, herbs.”

Granny wagged a crooked finger at Snow. “No. Don’t you bring that wacky tobacky into this house, young lady, or you’ll head straight to the slammer without a hammer. You catch my mouth mojo?”

Was she speaking a different language? Snow swallowed hard. “No, that’s not what I meant. I could make a salve for you to—”

“I said no,” Granny snapped. “Capisce my prosciutto?”

Snow nodded, as that seemed to be the path of least destruction. “Yes, ma'am. Got it.”

“That’s better.”

The old woman wobbled over to a large roll-top desk. The top protested as it slid into the frame. She fumbled through some papers and produced a thick long piece of cardstock. A pen hung from a chain around her sagging neck, and she used that to mark something on the card. Then she squinted at the grandfather clock that leaned against the chipped plaster wall in the large entryway. She made another note on the card and shoved it toward Snow.

The card listed the date and time, Snow’s name and a number she recognized as her court case file. Before she could ask what the card was for, a slim woman with breasts the size of cantaloupes and a platinum braid that draped over the banister and down to the floor appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Granny!” she called. “Did you take my mirror again?”

She was pretty in a porn star kind of way.

“No mirrors, Punzie. You know the rules. It’s not like I pulled them out of a crossword puzzle.”

“How am I supposed to get ready for work without a mirror?”

The green sequined bra top and matching panties she was wearing told Snow that Punzie didn’t work at the library.

“Use a hubcap, Buttercup. Now quit pestering me—can’t you see I’m occupied?”

Punzie slid her eyes to Snow as if noticing her for the first time. She smiled. “Who’s the stiff?”

Granny grunted.

Snow said, “Hello. I’m Snow White.”

Punzie scoffed. “You’re kidding.”

Snow wrinkled her brow, unsure of how to respond.

Punzie stared at Snow, drinking in her tweed suitcase, patchwork bag, and tea length skirt. “Pure as the driven snow. We get all kinds here, don’t we, Granny?”

Granny ignored Punzie and continued to search through her desk.

Punzie saluted Snow and said, “See you around, Princess.”

Snow had purposely unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse after the hearing so she wouldn’t come off as a goody two-shoes to her new housemates. Now she wished she had opted to remove her top altogether.

These women are going to eat me alive,
she thought.

Finally, Granny found what she was looking for and handed it to Snow.

“House rules. Read them, study them, and above all, do not break them or you’ll be hobblin’ without a crutch. Do I make myself clear?”

Jiminy, she hoped she understood. This woman was either having a stroke or she had the strangest sense of slang Snow had ever heard. “Crystal.”

“Hmm,” Granny grunted and waddled down the hall and out of sight.

Good grief, what have I gotten myself into?
Snow thought.

Beneath her feet, she felt the slightest vibration, as if the house was laughing at her expense.