The Third Magic by Molly Cochran Read Free Book Online

back to health.
    The only one Ginger couldn't seem to keep out of harm's way was herself. But Gwen knew her mother wouldn't understand that in a hundred years.
    "It's just jealousy, baby," Ginger had said so often that it had become a kind of mantra. “Those wrinkled old bags just wish they could look like me."
    She was, in fact, a virtual miracle of regeneration and good genes. Her nose had been broken at one time, as had a cheekbone, a forearm, a finger, and several ribs. Whenever one of the earthy paramours with whom she was fond of mating took out his frustrations on her with his fists, Ginger had run to the battered women's shelter with Gwen in tow. She was always wild-eyed and weeping, her nose streaming blood, her perfect makeup smeared grotesquely, her eyes swollen, beginning already to blacken, her lips thick and stippled with cuts, her body bruised.
    But she had never filed charges. Not once, not even against one man who had almost killed her. He was the father of her child, she explained, forgetting that she used that explanation for all of them. In truth, the real father of her daughter had been quite respectable, a student from Cambridge University in England, passing through Dawning Falls on vacation.
    But that had been nearly eighteen years ago. Ginger never talked about him.
    The day after each of her encounters with the wild side of love, Ginger would once again be smiling, her long hair shining and lovely, her makeup perfectly applied over the bruises and cuts.
    She had not been to the shelter in some time now, and for nearly a year had not become involved enough with a man to invite him to live with her and her daughter in their small rented house.
    For Gwen, that had been a tremendous relief. The men had always frightened her. The men, and their fists, and the blood on her mother's face. In the past year she had finally begun to relax in her home.
    But her mother had taken up with someone again. She could tell. The flowers, the careful makeup, the faint streak of blue over her cheekbone, the slight swelling. "No, Mom," Gwen said dully. "You don't look old."
    The relief on Ginger's face was visible. "Well, that's a blessing," she said. She picked the flower out of the wastebasket casually, as if the wind had blown it there. Held it up to her experimentally. Looked at her daughter's reflection with puppy eyes, as if asking Gwen's permission. Finally she set the flower down. "Okay, I'll leave it off if that'll make you happy," she said.
    "And cut your hair."
    "John likes it," Ginger said, tossing the long curls.
    The gesture disgusted Gwen. "John?" the girl asked, remembering another lover of her mother's with the same name. When she had made the mistake of mentioning him to a classmate, the girl had asked if "John" was the man's name, or his relationship to her mother.
    Ginger stood up and straightened her skirt. Her eyes did not meet Gwen's. "He's very nice, really. I've been thinking about letting him move in for a while."
    Gwen froze. "What?"
    "Well, it wouldn't be for long. He's a little down on his luck, and—"
    "You mean he doesn't have a job," Gwen said.
    "He could help out around the house. Fix that leak in the roof. We could sure use some help with that, couldn't we?"
    "How many times has he hit you?"
    Ginger's hand went to her face. "That was just an accident," she said. "He didn't mean anything. John's really a sweetie."
    "How long have you known him, a week?" Gwen demanded. It had, indeed, been a week. "Please don't let him move in, Mom."
    "Look," Ginger said with a smile. "I can take care of myself."
    "Then you don't need him!" Gwen felt her shoulders begin to tremble and her voice quaver. Not another one. Oh, God, not another man in our house.
    "I mean I can control the situation," Ginger said evenly. "I'm not going to let anybody use me for a doormat, believe me, Gwen. Now we're going to go over to Miller's Creek. John's not from around here, and he wants to see if the waters'll get rid