Read A Broom With a View for Free Online

from some kind of mental breakdown before she left.  Her belongings had clearly not been chosen by someone who was in full control of their decision-making and cognitive skills.
    For instance, she hadn’t brought a single cup or plate or towel with her yet somehow managed to carefully pack the collection of foreign Coca-Cola bottles she’d gathered during their international travels. They were now artfully displayed on a library table in the living room.
    She’d forgotten to pack any underwear (and, since all her drawers were empty when she left the house, had no idea where they were, which was a little disturbing) but had packed a box of nothing but melted candle wax that she’d collected from all the candle holders in the house. Yes, she liked to melt down the old and make new candles but why had she deemed that wax necessary?
    And then there was the plastic bag full of more than three-hundred corks.
    Still, she’d managed to bring every single item of clothing she’d ever owned, including the sweatshirt she’d cut the neck out of back in 1989 when she was just a kid. Well, other than her underwear. That , she’d managed to leave…somewhere.
    “Liza Jane,” she declared, her voice booming through the empty rooms. “You’re a little pathetic.”
    The dryer buzzed in response, a reminder that she needed to change loads. The sheets and blankets on the bed were clean, but musty from non-use over the past few years. She’d spent the previous night coughing and sneezing. She wasn’t ready to throw them out yet so she hoped a good dousing with Tide and that fabric softener with the annoying white teddy bear who was always laughing would help.
    Momentarily forgetting her self-deprecating speech to herself, Liza scurried to the dryer to take action. With each thing she’d done that morning, she’d mentally hit Mode over the head with it.
    He didn’t think she could hack it. He didn’t think she’d stay down there. He didn’t think she could be alone.
    Liza Jane was a stress cleaner. She enjoyed dusting, washing dishes, mopping, and organizing. It just wasn’t cutting it today, though. The more she thought about Mode’s phone call, the madder she got.
    Thinking about Mode frolicking around her house with Jennifer did not help. Changing her locks. Ha! Like a lock could keep her out.
    Mode would’ve known that, too.
    Oh, he knew she was a witch. He was embarrassed by it, but he knew. “Just don’t do anything out in public, okay?” He hadn’t even had the decency to look ashamed or embarrassed when he’d asked.
    “Like what, Darren?” she’d snapped. “Ride my broom? Turn the waiter into a frog?”
    She’d looked at his face then and saw that it wasn’t awkwardness of her abilities that had him humiliated, it was old-fashioned fear. He was afraid of her. She’d softened a little then and changed the subject after promising him she wouldn’t make a public spectacle of herself.
    Hours later something must have clicked inside and he’d felt guilty. As a peace offering, he’d brought her a broom, one of those old-fashioned ones that looked handmade and like it belonged by a storybook witch’s front door.
    In fact, it was now standing by her front door. She was sentimental, after all. And it was a nice broom.
    Still, his ideas never wavered. Two years later he asked her to move her altar out of their bedroom and into another room of the house. He claimed it was for the sake of “space” but she’d read him like a book. It was easy to do it by then. She only had to lightly press her thumbs together. She’d pressed them on his temples once, and then on his third eye, and they’d been connected ever since and would be forever.
    Until she ended it.
    “Well, shit,” she sighed, looking around her living room again.
    Her face cooled just a fraction and she closed her eyes to gather herself together again. She was angry at herself, angry for allowing him into this space, for making her angry here .