Bruja Brouhaha by Rochelle Staab Read Free Book Online

guy. Mom’s supernatural baloney drove me to the rational side. I hope local compassion for Lucia overwhelms the fear of a hex. She needs her friends right now.”
    “She’s lucky to have a friend as compassionate as Victor,” Nick said.
    “He’s a saint, isn’t he?” Carmen said.
    “Confess,” I said leaning between the seats. “Is he going to be husband number five?”
    Carmen laughed. “If he’s lucky. No, if I’m lucky. Victor is the most principled man I know. He truly cares about all the people in his life.”
    “You’re both saints if you can tolerate someone like Tony Torrico,” Nick said.
    “Don’t let Tony’s arrogance put you off,” Carmen said. “He’s a good doctor. He works extra hours when Victor and I need him. Tony is an asset to the clinic and the whole neighborhood. You have to get to know him.”
    “I don’t have to, but if he gets involved with Lucia’s care, I will.” Nick turned right off Wilshire Boulevard onto Bronson Avenue and parked the car in front of Carmen’s two-story English country house in Hancock Park.
    Before she got out, Carmen turned to me. “Sweetie, don’t forget you have a physical and TB shot tomorrow. I know we’ve been distracted, but the exam and the immunizations are a staff requirement.”
    “I’ll be there, Carmen. I’m sorry I put it off so long. Nick is driving to the clinic with me. We’ll check in on Lucia afterward.”
    “Good. I’ll see you both tomorrow, then,” Carmen said.
    As we pulled away, I said to Nick, “You’re sure you don’t mind waiting for me at the clinic?”
    “I waited twenty years for you. An hour is a snap.”
    I ignored his tease about his college crush on me. He hid his feelings for me back then, while I batted gaga eyes at Jarret, my future ex-husband. “Thanks. I hate getting shots.”
    “I’ll buy you a post-shot cookie. We can bring a bag of them to Lucia to cheer her up,” he said.
    “I get
one
cookie?”
    Nick steered through Laurel Canyon into Studio City and turned right onto Sunshine Terrace, a shortcut bypassing traffic on Ventura Boulevard. He curved past the bungalows and houses that bordered Carpenter School and dropped me off at my front door on Carpenter Avenue.
    My kitten, Erzulie, meowed from inside while I collected my mail. I adopted Erzulie the same week Nick and I began our . . . affair? Dating? Relationship? Nick was Erzulie’s superhero. She wove between his legs and sat at his side whenever he visited. She howled at the door when he left. No doubt her current cries were because her radar ears recognized his exiting car rather than heralding my return home. If Erzulie had thumbs, she’d pack her food dish and move in with him. Our occasional weekends at Nick’s were a kitty karnival for her. She rummaged in the crawlspace beneath his house, hid in his cabinets, and followed him everywhere. Me? I’m just her meal ticket.
    I dropped my mail on the coffee table and followed Erzulie upstairs to my comfy, girly bedroom. I loved the whole town house, but the bedroom was my haven. After years of renting houses in different cities during Jarret’s career, I created my post-divorce environment to suit my personal taste—all white, plush, and soft. No dirty cleats or sweaty uniforms in sight. I hung up my dress, slipped into sweats and sneakers, swooped my hair into a loose ponytail, and went back downstairs.
    Erzulie led the way again, stopping every few steps to be sure I followed her to the kitchen. When we got to the pantry cupboard, I took out a yellow can of Deep Sea Delite, one of Erzulie’s favorites.
    She jumped on the kitchen counter. I opened the can while she watched with the focus of a brain surgeon. I knew her plan. Erzulie aspired to learn to open the cans herself and eliminate me, the middleman. I couldn’t blame her. Independence was a gift.
    As Erzulie inhaled her dinner out of the dish on the floor, I poured a half glass of white wine and sat on the sofa to go