Enchanting Lily (3 page)

“I’m so sorry that happened to you. How long were you married?”

“Seven years. The divorce wasn’t all his fault. I have
some…regrets. Oh, look, there it is.” She pointed at the burnt umber and white Victorian perched on a hillside overlooking the water.

Lily felt like the house watched her, but not unkindly. Large bay windows reflected silvery light, and the words “Jasmine’s Bookstore” glittered on a garden sign in bright gold lettering. “It does look enchanted,” she said.

“See what I mean?” Paige headed up the walkway to the door. “Mystical, huh?”

“Like it stepped out of another era.”

Paige opened the door and ushered Lily into the foyer. “This used to be the back servants’ entrance during the height of the timber industry. The front entrance faces the waterfront. At one time, all the important guests arrived by sea.”

“Hard to imagine a world without cars.” Lily pictured wooden sailboats gliding into the harbor, horse-drawn carriages rattling down cobblestone streets.

“Must’ve been a better time, if you ask me.”

“Maybe.” Inside the bookstore, soft lights from Tiffany lamps spilled out across Persian carpets, and here and there, portraits of famous authors adorned the walls—Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf, Mark Twain, and others. Muffled voices drifted from nearby rooms, and the smells of old house—of dust and oak and paper—rose and
mixed with a fresh citrus scent of potpourri. To the left stood a three-foot-tall brass statue of the Hindu elephant-headed god, Ganesh. Lily had seen various versions of him inside Indian restaurants and shops in San Francisco. His smiling face, rotund belly, and large feet were an anomaly in this old Victorian mansion—the flavor of India in the Pacific Northwest. But then, her shop would be an anomaly, too. Who would imagine theater costumes and the best of haute couture fashion for sale in a sleepy island town?

“You have to touch his feet!” Paige whispered. “You have to honor the god of new beginnings.”

Lily bent to touch the statue’s pudgy brass feet. “Am I supposed to pray or something?”

“Whatever you want. But don’t tell me or you’ll jinx it.”

Lily closed her eyes and asked the elephant god to help her find a way forward. She didn’t dare ask for Josh, although she longed for him. But she’d read a story about a woman who asked for her husband back, and he returned all mangled, in the form in which he had died. There were consequences when you wished for the impossible. So she swallowed her yearning, just as an ethereal-looking woman emerged from the parlor, a vision of beauty in blue jeans and a cherry sweater, wavy black hair falling past her shoulders. Her cheeks glowed with happiness. An engraved
gold wedding band glinted on her ring finger, and Lily felt an unwelcome stab of envy. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so happy. Well, she remembered when, but it had been a lifetime ago.

“That was a fast walk over here,” the woman said, reaching out to shake Lily’s hand. “Paige called and told me you were coming.”

Lily nodded, unable to speak.

“I’m Jasmine. Come into the parlor.” She ushered Paige and Lily into a large drawing room lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling and a large bay window.

“Lily is interested in the candy cottage,” Paige said, sitting on a plush antique couch. She crossed her legs and swung one booted foot back and forth.

Jasmine gestured toward an ornate Louis XV armchair. “Why don’t you have a seat over there?”

Lily had been eyeing that chair. When she sat down, the cushion felt softer than she’d expected. “I should’ve checked the furnace and electrical system, but my husband was always the one—”

“I understand, don’t worry,” Jasmine said. “We just rewired the house, if that eases your mind.”

It did, a little. “What price are you asking?”

Jasmine named a number that seemed reasonable, but it
would still stretch Lily’s finances, and she would still need to take out a loan or two for the business.

“I see.” She clasped her hands together in her lap, aware of her bare ring finger, her nails worn to the quick. Since when had she become a nail-biter? “Let me give it some thought.”

Jasmine nodded. “I’ll just get us some tea and the papers. Maybe you’d like to take another look at the place.”

“Thanks, I would.” Lily mentally calculated her anticipated expenses and the amount of money she had left. She would need to stay in a hotel for a while, too.

Jasmine left the room, gliding almost as if her feet didn’t touch the ground.

“The house used to belong to her aunt,” Paige said, lowering her voice. “But the aunt got married and moved back to India.”

“Where did Jasmine come from?”

“She had some corporate job in L.A., but the island cast its spell on her, just like it’s casting a spell on you.”

“The town is certainly charming,” Lily said politely. She could hear customers murmuring in other rooms, the sound of pages turning, footsteps. A man sauntered in—solid and broad-shouldered, good-looking in a rugged, roughed-up way. When he noticed Lily and Paige leaning
in toward each other, he said, “Oh, sorry,” and slipped out into the hall again.

A moment later, Jasmine stepped in with a silver tray of tea and biscuits. She put a manila file folder on the coffee table.

Paige munched and sipped, and Lily took a cup of tea that tasted of peach and lemon. As she settled back in her chair, a rather round, fluffy gray cat waddled into the room and let out a horrendous, grating meow.

“Oh, Mary, I can see you’re starving to death,” Jasmine said, placing crumbled bits of biscuit on a plate on the floor. “Where’s Monet?”

“How many cats do you have?” Lily asked.

“Only two. Monet is about half her size.” Jasmine picked up Mary and arranged the gigantic creature in her lap. “She likes to eat, and he likes to wander.”

“Ha!” Paige said. “Story of my life.”

“I thought I saw a white cat at the cottage,” Lily said.

Paige and Jasmine looked at her blankly and shook their heads. Had she actually even seen the cat?

Mary meowed again, jumped off Jasmine’s lap, and trotted out of the room.

Jasmine got up, glided to a bookshelf, and extracted a thin hardcover. She handed the book to Lily. “Here’s a little welcoming gift. Or a bribe, whatever you want to call it.”

“
All Buttoned Up
,” Lily read. “
Poems About Clothing
.”

“The title popped out at me.”

Paige gave Lily a knowing look.

“Thanks,” Lily said. “Very generous of you. I’ll pay for it—”

“Not at all!” Jasmine waved her hand.

Lily reached for the manila folder. “Can I borrow this for a while?”

“Of course—take your time.”

But even before Lily hired a Realtor and moved into a hotel temporarily, even before the title search on the cottage began; even before she took out a business loan and obtained the correct licenses; even before all that, she knew she would be staying, at least for a while.

Lily

What was she doing here in her sleeping bag on this single bed in a creaky cottage in the middle of nowhere? No traffic sounds or voices or wind. She couldn’t even hear the hum of the refrigerator. Outside, a nearly full moon illuminated the maple tree in the backyard. The branches cast a mottled pattern of shadows and light on the bedroom walls. She felt absurdly like a vagrant squatting in someone else’s house, waiting for the true owners to come home and find her asleep in the wrong bed, like Goldilocks.

At least she had electricity, although the telephone was
not yet connected. Her cell phone reception faded in and out, but mostly out. She’d stocked the kitchen cabinets and fridge with basics from Island Organic Grocery, where the checkout clerk had given her a friendly but curious smile. Then she’d wandered through the cottage, opening cabinets and closets and exploring again. She kept repeating to herself that the cottage belonged to her now. The realization both exhilarated and frightened her. She could paint the ceiling any color. She could knock out walls, as long as the roof didn’t cave in. What if it did? What would she do? What if the water heater broke or the taps spit out rusty liquid? What if the place was haunted? If it was, she could make friends with the ghosts. She could have tea with them. She could wallpaper the living room with pictures of ghosts. The extent of her freedom gave her a calm, expansive feeling—and yet, there was the nagging loneliness again.

So she’d taken another walk from the downtown area up through sleepy residential streets lined with old Victorians, mainly to become visible to the world again. Occasionally, she’d passed someone working in a garden, and they’d waved at each other. She felt relieved. Someone had seen her. She still had substance. But nobody bothered her, and she preferred to remain at a distance. She’d come back to the cottage pleasantly tired and had spent the last half
hour reading through the poems. Until now, she hadn’t opened the book.

She landed on a page that shimmered, almost as if the ink were made of crushed silver. The poem was “Ode to the Clothes” by Pablo Neruda. He wrote of becoming one with his clothing, and Lily realized that her comfortable cotton pajamas, with little lighthouses printed on them, had become one with her, too. They’d carried her through the blissful nights with Josh; then through the anguished, sleepless nights following his death; then through the restless nights while she’d dealt with the complicated maze of arrangements—his will, the memorial service, the estate sale. She’d never appreciated the comfort of these pajamas until now.

She closed the book, and she’d just put it on the bedside table and turned off the lamp when she heard a scratching sound, as if a mouse scuttled through the walls. She sat up in the darkness, her heart pounding. Of course, there had to be a drawback to this peaceful abode. Rodents in the walls. She held her breath and listened, but the scratching had stopped.

She let out her breath and lay down again, gazing wide-eyed at the moving shadows on the ceiling. The scratching started again, but distantly, like an animal trying to get in
or out of somewhere. What if a raccoon or squirrel had become trapped in that ramshackle shed?

No, the scratching came from downstairs. She got out of bed, put on her robe and slippers, and headed down the wide wooden staircase, sidestepping boxes and turning on lights. Josh had always investigated unusual noises. He’d grabbed a baseball bat that he kept by the nightstand, although he hadn’t liked baseball. Had he really expected to whack someone with that thing? Without a violent bone in his body?

Now she felt the weight of her singular responsibility. Rats, mice, bees in the walls. Dealing with the messiness of life was all up to her.

The scratching came from outside the front door, on the porch. She peered out through the peephole but saw nothing. She tried peeking through the front bay window, but she couldn’t see onto the porch. What if she opened the door to find a rabid raccoon ready to attack? That’s when she heard the meow—a plaintive, piercing sound but unmistakable. A cat.

Instantly Lily thought,
Poor thing, alone out there.
Was it a stray? Feral? Or merely a local resident? Was a predator chasing the cat? Maybe a dog or coyote? Nothing appeared to be moving in the yard, but she knew she would be foolish
to open the door. Anything could be waiting in the darkness.

“Go on home!” she called out. “It’s the middle of the night.” The scratching only became louder and more persistent. Another meow. Maybe the cat was hungry.

Lily rapped gently on the wood, and the scratching stopped. Through the front window, she could see the white cat running down the walkway and disappearing into the bushes. What irresponsible pet owner would let a cat wander at night? She supposed cats were nocturnal. They liked to hunt in the dark, didn’t they? But why would this cat scratch at the front door? What if it thought it lived here?

Lily couldn’t bear the prospect of going back to bed, knowing an unhappy creature, its stomach probably empty, was crouched in the bushes. If only for her own peace of mind, she rummaged in the kitchen cabinets, found a can of tuna, and dumped its contents on a plate. Then she tiptoed out into the cold night. She’d never seen so many stars crowded into the sky, and the longer she looked, the more abundant they became. A fecundity of stars. The town was quiet except for the soft rush of the nearby surf, a rhythmic lullaby. The smells of kelp and sea salt were unusually strong—perhaps the tide had receded to reveal a plethora of ocean detritus washed up on the sand. She had a crazy
urge to go for a beach walk in her pajamas and slippers. Josh would never have entertained this kind of whim, or maybe he would have, but he might have grumbled all the way.

She silently thanked the cat for bringing her outside at this hour. But how could she long for a night walk, a night swim without Josh? Now she remembered the times his presence had annoyed her, the times she’d wanted to be alone. Once when she’d been reading a particularly suspenseful novel, he’d insisted on talking about an upcoming theater production, and she’d wished he would go away.

Now she longed for him with a heavy ache, as if a block of concrete sat in the pit of her stomach.
I’m sorry I ever wished you were gone. I would give my arms, my legs, my heart to have you back. I’m sorry I want to take a beach walk without you. If you were here, I would want to go with you.

Her hand was getting cold, holding the plate of tuna. The cat didn’t come running toward the smell. Had the poor creature left for a more hospitable house? A rustling sound came from the privet hedge, too small for a cat. Maybe a bird or a squirrel. Lily tiptoed through the grass and left the plate of tuna on the ground close to the hedge. The cat would be able to smell it, and Lily would be able to sleep. But what if the cat were to come back? She
couldn’t possibly adopt a pet. She could barely keep her own life on track. But she would figure it all out one step at a time.

She went back to bed, realizing only when she got upstairs that her slippers were wet, a few blades of grass stuck to the soles. Josh would’ve complained and put the slippers in the wash, but instead she left them on the rug, a small luxury. Who cared if a little grass got into the house?