fuonlyknew

Landing butt first in mud. How symbolic of Karissa Newcomb’s life. The old life. Not the new one, please, God.

She shouldn’t have crossed that corner of the lawn where the grass was sparse and slick in the pouring Northwest rain. Now here she was, wet and caked in mud. Like the cardboard box she’d dropped. At least the towels were still safely inside it. Something to be thankful for.

“See? There’s always a bright side somewhere,” her mother would say.

What was the bright side to Karissa’s marriage ending? There had to be one. It would be nice if she could find it before she turned thirty-five. It felt like a landmark birthday of sorts, but that was only a few months away though, so she wasn’t holding her breath.

Gig Harbor, Washington, a small maritime city, was a good place to start—close enough to Seattle for the obligatory bi-weekly child hand-off with the ex-husband, but far enough away that she wasn’t constantly having to look at the scene of the crime. Out of sight, out of mind. Someday, hopefully. Meanwhile, she needed to get up and get focused.

Brush the mud off your rear and get it in gear. That should be a bumper sticker.

She picked up her soggy box of towels and followed her brother Ethan and his friend Ike, who were making their way up her driveway, carrying her couch. Her eight-year-old daughter Macy was sitting on it, giggling.

The excitement of the new house had temporarily distracted Macy from the fact that she’d left behind her best friend. Who happened to be the daughter of Karissa’s former best friend. Like Karissa, Macy was going to have to find a new bestie.

Moving in the middle of February, in the middle of the school year, swimming through a deluge of icy rain wasn’t ideal, but that was how events had played out. The house in Seattle on which Karissa had lavished so much care had finally sold and now she had this house—a blue, two-story, Victorian-inspired one with three small bedrooms and a front porch. And a need for paint. The price had been right. Motivated sellers, the real estate agent had said. Karissa knew what that meant. She’d been a motivated seller, herself. Divorce had a way of motivating you. The house didn’t come with a water view like she’d originally dreamed of—water views were far outside her price point—but the neighborhood was pretty, and the street seemed quiet. She could hole up in her almost Victorian home and rebuild her life, the new start people expected you to make after your world collapsed.

“This is adorable,” her mother had gushed when she and Dad had made the trip to check out the house with Karissa and her Realtor.

Her parents were as enamored of Gig Harbor and its waterfront downtown as Karissa was. “I think Gig Harbor will be a perfect place to write the next chapter of your life,” Mom had told her.

“I hope I do a better job of writing this time around,” Karissa had muttered.

“It wasn’t you who messed up,” her dad had growled.

But maybe it was.

She jerked her mind away from that thought. She had a new house and a new job waiting for her. Between that and the spousal and child support her ex was paying she’d be okay financially. Certainly not rich, but okay. And she had free moving help. Look at all the good things she could focus on.

Inside the house, she followed one of the butcher-paper paths she’d made and set the box on the guest bathroom counter. Then she went back for the one with her clothes, brought that into the primary bedroom, which would be hers, and dug out a fresh pair of pants and panties. Think of this as peeling off all the bad parts from your past, she told herself as she ducked into the bathroom and stepped out of her pants.

It was hard peeling off the bad though. It stuck to you like dog poop on a shoe. There was always some little stinky bit that hung on. Like the memory of Mark walking out the door for the last time.

Dog poop, mud. She needed a new image to focus on. Rain. Rain washing away past sadness, bringing a rainbow and a promise of something better. Yes, that was a good image.

Her butt hurt.

Her cell phone rang, and she fished it out of her jacket pocket. “Hi, Mom,” she said, trying to sound the way a hopeful woman making a new start should sound.

“How’s it going?” Mom wanted to know.

“The guys are moving the furniture in now.”

“What’s the weather like there? It’s partly sunny up here.”

“It’s raining like crazy. I should have rented an ark instead of a moving van. I spent a fortune on plastic covering.”

“At least it’s not snow,” Mom said. “And the rain is what keeps everything so green.”

The Pacific Northwest was famous for its perpetual state of green and Seattle had been dubbed the Emerald City. Like Dorothy, Karissa had loved living in the Emerald City.

Until the witch showed up.

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