I snatched the phone up from the wall cradle and stuck it to my ear, then barked, “I don’t want any!”
I was just getting ready to slam the phone back down when I heard my wife’s stern voice issue from the earpiece in a quick stream, “Rowan Linden Gant, don’t you hang up on me again!”
I tucked the handset back up to my ear, “Felicity?”
“You don’t want any of what?” she demanded.
“Sorry, I thought you were a salesperson,” I apologized. “The caller ID is coming up with ‘out of area’ and no number.”
“Ahh,” she replied. I could almost see her nodding at the other end. “I forgot to charge my cell battery, so I’m using someone else’s. It’s an out of state number.”
“Oh, okay, makes sense,” I replied, then sighed and didn’t do a very good job of hiding it. “So what’s up?”
“That’s why I’m calling YOU.”
“Come again?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing that I’m aware of,” I told her.
“Don’t lie to me, Rowan,” she pressed.
I tried to circumvent answering the question by placing the burden back on her. “So what makes you think something is wrong?”
“Give me a break, Rowan. You aren’t the only Witch living under that roof.”
At times I forgot that my wife was prone to psuedo-empathic episodes where I was concerned. Much like I would experience someone else’s pain via an ethereal bond, she would see flashes of my torment within her mind’s eye. Due to the shifting and uncertain nature of the psychic realm, these images would at times be symbolic or incomplete. The first time it had happened to her, she thought that I was dead.
Thankfully, they didn’t happen to her all of the time, and she didn’t have to endure the same physical torture as I. If she did, I don’t think I would have been able to handle it. The fact that she faced mental pain because of me was enough to make me nauseous just by itself.
Realizing that she was going to get it out of me one way or another, I let out a resigned sigh.
“Remember those seizures I had back in January?” I asked.
There was a brief moment of silence at the other end, and then she spoke quietly, “Not again.”
Her comment had been couched as a statement rather than a question, but I answered it anyway, “Afraid so.”
“Why, Rowan?” There was almost a pleading tone in her voice. “Why you? Why does this keep happening to you?”
“I wish I knew, honey,” I said, reaching up with my free hand to rub my temple. “Seems like we both ask that question a lot every time this kind of thing happens.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Headache,” I grunted, then added, “Did a number on my tongue again. Broke my favorite coffee mug. But other than that, okay I guess.”
“I’m only half an hour away,” she informed me. “And we haven’t even set up yet. Let me see if we can re-schedule the shoot, and I’ll be home within an hour.”
“What for?” I returned. “I told you, I’m fine.”
“But, Rowan…”
“Really, Felicity, I’m fine,” I cut her off. “I’m a big boy, and I can take care of myself. I was just making some willow bark tea when you called.”
“You’re sure, then?”
“Absolutely. We can talk about it later,” I assured her. “Besides, they need you there to make pretty pictures for them.”
“I don’t know about pretty,” she replied. “I’m shooting automotive parts today.”
“What, no swimsuit models?” I asked her with a hint of good-natured sarcasm.
“No, but I’m doing a lingerie shoot for the Kathy’s Closet chain next week,” she answered and then added her own query. “You want to help set up and tear down the backdrops and lights?”
“Yeah, right,” I returned with a chuckle to what I thought was a facetious question.
“Actually, I’m serious,” she returned. “It’s going to be an all day shoot, so I could use the help.”
“Yeah, okay, if I don’t have a rush job or something for a client, sure,” I told her. Then I joked, “But are you sure you really want to get me around all those young models?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she replied. “I trust you. Besides, you’ll be working for me and you’ll have to do everything I say.”
“Everything?” I asked.
“Uh-huh,” she purred and then repeated the word with somewhat exaggerated pronunciation. “Ev-er-y-thing.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“And, of course, if you don’t, then I just might have to take some disciplinary action.”
“Again, sounds interesting.”
“You never know,” she answered with an amused giggle. “By the way, they also offered me a nice discount at their stores.”
“No kidding?”
“Uh-huh, so if you do a good job maybe I’ll let you take me shopping after we wrap it up.”
“That could be fun,” I said.
There was a period of silence following my comment and soon there was a palpable sense of seriousness creeping into the void between us. Our momentary lightheartedness disappeared in the wake of the recent verbal distraction.
“You’re certain you don’t want me to come home, then?” Felicity finally asked, the concern edging her voice once again.
“Positive sweetheart,” I told her. “We’ll talk when you get home.”
“Okay. If you’re sure,” she said.
“Go make some sexy pictures of carburetors,” I told her. “Gear heads need pinups too.”
I heard her laugh at the other end of the line, once again breaking through the mantle of seriousness that originally cloaked her.
“And, honey?” I added.
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
“For what? Inviting you to a lingerie shoot?”
“No,” I returned. “For everything else.”
I could almost feel her smiling when I hung up the phone.
I absently took a sip from the coffee mug and screwed up my face in disgust. Willow bark tea was not the most pleasant drink one could ingest to begin with and being an hour cold didn’t help it at all. I suppose that would teach me to look first and then drink. I glared at the cup as if it were at fault, then set it aside and hooked my finger into the handle of the cup I’d been reaching for to begin with- the fresh cup of coffee I had just put on the corner of my desk a few minutes ago.
I took a sip from the new mug and found it to be only slightly less cold. I cocked an eyebrow and shot a glance at the clock in the corner of my computer screen. 10:47 A.M. was staring back at me. The few minutes had somehow expanded into forty-five. I guess I had been a little more preoccupied with my work than I’d originally thought.
I leaned back in my chair. The springs underneath the piece of furniture creaked as it tilted, then I was almost certain that I heard my joints creak as I stretched. I drew in a deep breath then pushed my eyeglasses back up onto the bridge of my nose. As of late, I’d been finding myself allowing them to slip down so I could look at the monitor over the top of the rim.
I knew that meant it was time for a trip to the optometrist. Actually, I’d known it for a while, but I’d been avoiding it. I fully suspected I was going to need bi-focals, and that just meant I was getting old. No one ever wants to admit to aging, and I suppose I was no different.
I looked at the coffee cup in my hand then back at the clock. I mulled it over for a minute and then decided I would go ahead and get one more fresh cup-if there was any left. I was just pushing my chair back from the desk when the phone rang. This time it was my business line, so I didn’t bother with caller ID. I simply rolled the chair back in and took the receiver in hand, cutting the device off mid-peal.
“Gant Consulting,” I answered.
“Yeah, kin you fix my com-pooter? It’s broke.” A poorly disguised and all too familiar voice grated from the earpiece.
“No, Ben,” I returned without missing a beat. “How many times do I have to tell you? I do custom software and networks, not computer repair.”
My cop friend guffawed at what he perceived to be an amusing prank call, and I had no choice but to break into a grin myself. His good humor had a tendency to be contagious, as did his sullen moods; and I’d been on the receiving end of enough of that type of phone call from him to know, so this was a pleasant change.