Garden Spells (16 page)

“You should make friends too, Mommy.”

“Don’t worry about me, honey.” Sydney put her arm around Bay’s shoulder and pulled her close as the scent of David’s cologne floated by on the wind. It made Bay afraid for a moment, not for herself but for her mother. It was never Bay her father wanted, anyway.

“We’re close to downtown. Let’s go by Fred’s and get some Pop-Tarts!” Sydney said brightly, in that voice adults always used to try to distract kids from what was really going on. “And you know what I’d really like? Cheetos. I haven’t had Cheetos in a long time. Don’t tell Claire, though. She’ll try to make some herself.”

Bay didn’t argue. Pop-Tarts were good, after all. And she liked them better than her father.

When they reached Fred’s, they walked in and Sydney took a basket by the door. They had just passed the produce section when there was a crash. Suddenly there were hundreds of oranges rolling everywhere, into the bread section, under people’s carts, and Bay could almost hear them laughing, like they were suddenly struck with the joy of freedom. The produce man and a couple of bag boys appeared like the ball catchers at tennis games, as if they’d been crouching nearby, waiting for such a thing to happen.

The culprit was standing by the now-empty orange display, not looking at what he had done but staring straight at Sydney.

It was Henry Hopkins, the man who’d given them ice cream, then sat on their blanket on the Fourth. Bay liked him. He was still, like Claire. Steadfast. Not taking his eyes off Sydney, he walked over to her.

“Hi, Sydney. Hi, Bay,” he said.

Sydney pointed to the oranges. “You know, we impress easily. You didn’t have to do this to get our attention.”

“Here’s a secret about men. Our foolishness is always unintentional. But it’s usually for a good reason.” He shook his head. “I sound like my granddad. It’s all
Don’t take any wooden nickels
from here.”

Sydney laughed. “Bay and I are on a Pop-Tart run.”

“It must be a sweet tooth kind of day. A couple of weeks ago Evanelle brought my granddad a jar of maraschino cherries. He saw them yesterday and said, ‘Why not make more ice cream and have banana splits?’ The only thing we were lacking was the hot fudge. So I took off early today to get it.”

“Sweet stuff is definitely worth the extra trip,” Sydney said.

“Why don’t you come out? Are you busy? There’ll be plenty of banana splits. And I could show Bay around. She could see the cows.”

Bay’s mind cleared, like the sun peeking through clouds. “Let’s go see the cows!” Bay said enthusiastically, trying to get her mother in on it. “Cows are great!”

Sydney looked at her, puzzled. “First planes and now cows. Since when did you get to be such a cow lover?”

“Don’t you like cows?” Bay asked.

“I’m indifferent to cows,” Sydney said, then turned to Henry. “We walked here. We don’t have a way out there.”

“I can take you,” Henry offered.

Bay tugged on her mother’s shirt. Didn’t she see, didn’t she see how calm she was around him, how their hearts were beating in rhythm? The pulses at their throats were in sync. “Please, Mommy?”

Sydney looked from Bay to Henry. “Looks like I’m outnumbered.”

“Great! I’ll meet you at the checkout,” Henry said, and walked away.

“Okay, dairy queen, what gives?” Sydney asked.

“Don’t you see it?” Bay said, excited.

“See what?”

“He likes you. Like Tyler likes Claire.”

“Maybe not quite that way, honey. He’s my friend.”

Bay frowned. This was going to be harder than she thought. Usually, things fell into place a lot easier when Bay pointed out where they belonged. She really had to figure out how to reproduce her dream exactly in real life. Nothing was going to be exactly right until she did. It was even now keeping her mother from realizing what was perfect for her.

They met Henry in front and he showed them to his cool silver truck. It was a king cab and Bay got to sit in the back, which she liked because it was so improbable to be sitting in the backseat of a truck without actually being in the bed.

The day turned out to be absolutely wonderful. Henry and his grandfather seemed more like brothers, and Bay liked their calm sense of themselves. Sydney liked it too, Bay could tell. Old Mr. Hopkins, upon first seeing Sydney, asked her when her birthday was. When he discovered that she was exactly five months and fifteen days older than Henry, he laughed and clapped his grandson on his back and said, “Oh, well, that’s all right, then.”

The more Bay saw and the more she knew of Henry and his grandfather, the more she was certain. This was the place. This was where her mother belonged.

But Sydney didn’t know it.

Her mother, she realized, had always had a problem knowing where she went.

Lucky for her, that was Bay’s specialty.

As Sydney carried Bay up the front steps late that evening, she felt good.

While Lester and Bay manned the electric ice-cream maker by the chestnut tree in the front yard that afternoon, Sydney and Henry had walked around the field and talked, mostly of old things, elementary school and former teachers.

Henry drove them home after dark and Bay fell asleep in the back. When Henry pulled in front of the house, he cut the engine and they talked some more. About new things this time, where they wanted to go with their lives, what they thought the future might be like. Sydney didn’t tell Henry anything about the stealing she’d done, or about David. It was almost as if they didn’t exist. She liked that feeling. Denial was a luxury, especially with that memory of David floating around, his cloying cologne not letting her forget. But she could forget with Henry.

She talked herself hoarse, sitting there in his truck.

Before she knew it, it was midnight.

She’d just entered the house, Bay in her arms, when Claire appeared in her nightgown. “Where have you been?”

“We met Henry Hopkins at the grocery store. He invited us to his place for banana splits,” Sydney said. She took a good look at Claire, and her heart suddenly lurched in fright. Claire’s face was pinched and her hands were clasped tightly in front of her as if she had terrible news. Oh, God. It was David. David had found them. She took a deep breath, trying to smell him. “Why? What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Claire wrung her hands for a moment, then she turned and headed to the kitchen. “You just should have called me to let me know.”

Sydney followed, clutching Bay to her now. By the time she caught up with her, Claire had already walked through the kitchen and was in the sunroom, putting on her gardening clogs. “That’s all?” Sydney said breathlessly. “That’s it?”

“I was worried. I thought…”

“What? What did you think happened?” Sydney asked, scared because she’d never seen Claire like this. It had to be something horrible.

“I thought you left,” Claire said softly.

Sydney couldn’t quite get her mind around it. “You’re upset because you thought we left? You mean for good?”

“If you need me, I’ll be in the garden.”

“I…I’m sorry I worried you. I should have called. I was wrong.” Sydney was nearly out of breath with all the oxygen Claire’s frustration was consuming in the enclosed sunroom. “Claire, I told you. We’re not going anywhere. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Claire said, pushing open the sunroom door and leaving a smoldering brown imprint of her hand on the casing.

Sydney watched Claire cross the driveway and unlock the garden gate. When she disappeared into the garden, Sydney turned and went back into the kitchen. There were cupcakes spread out over the countertops. They each had X-marks-the-spot symbols and tiny cards with riddles printed on them, held up by toothpicks. Sydney walked closer to read them.

You think there’s nothing, but no cause for alarm. Dig deep and you will find your charm
.

Who knows what the future brings? Maybe a broken heart, maybe a diamond ring
.

Have no money in order to join? Dig right here and you’ll find a coin
.

And for the ones that didn’t have anything inside, she’d written a very telling riddle:

No gift, no luck, no play, no toys. Don’t dig here, you’ll find a void
.

Sydney was thoughtful for a moment, then she went to the storeroom and sat at Claire’s desk with Bay cuddled in her lap.

She reached for the phone.

CHAPTER

10

L
ike every person who had ever fallen in love, Tyler Hughes wondered what in the hell was wrong with him.

Claire had all this energy, this frustration, and it came out of her and surged through him when they kissed. Every time he thought of it now, he had to sit down and put his head between his legs, and when he finally caught his breath he had to drink two full glasses of water to cool his fever.

But what made him light-headed and changed the color of every room he entered to bright, fantastic red had scared Claire to tears. What was wrong with him that he could take so much pleasure from the same thing that caused her so much pain?

He was doing what he’d always done, making up his own agenda under the guise of it being romantic, carrying it through, and all the while losing track of what was real. Claire was real. And Claire was scared. What did he really know about her, anyway? What did anyone really know about Claire Waverley?

That afternoon he had been sitting at his desk in Kingsly Hall during office hours before his night class, thinking of that very thing, when he saw Anna Chapel, the head of the department, pass by.

He called to her, and she popped her head in.

“How well do you know Claire Waverley?” he’d asked.

“Claire?” Anna shrugged and leaned against the doorjamb. “Let’s see. I’ve known her for about five years now. She caters all our department parties.”

“I mean personally how well do you know her?”

Anna smiled in understanding. “Ah. Well, personally I don’t know her well. You’ve been here a year, I’m sure you’ve noticed certain…peculiarities in this town.”

Tyler leaned forward, curious to know where this was going. “I’ve noticed.”

“Local legend is important here, as it is with most small towns. Ursula Harris in the English department teaches a course on this.” Anna walked farther in and took a seat opposite him. “For example, I was sitting in the movie theater last year and two elderly ladies came in and sat behind me. They were talking about someone named Phineas Young and how he was the strongest man in town and he was going to tear down a rock wall at the back of their property for them. I’d been looking for someone to remove some stumps in my backyard, so I turned around and asked them if I could have his number. They told me he had a waiting list and he might not live long enough to get to me. It turns out that the strongest man in town is ninety-one years old. But local legend has it that in every generation of Youngs, there’s always one named Phineas, who is born with superior strength, and that’s who you want to help you with hard labor.”

“What does this have to do with Claire?”

“Locals believe that what’s grown in the Waverleys’ garden has certain powers. And the Waverleys have an apple tree that is talked about in almost mythic proportions around here. But it’s just a garden, and it’s just an apple tree. Claire is mysterious because all her ancestors were mysterious. She’s really just like you and me. She’s probably even more savvy than the average person. After all, she was smart enough to turn that local legend into a lucrative business.”

There was probably some truth to what Anna was saying. But Tyler couldn’t help but remember how, when he was young, every year on January 17 it snowed on their colony in Connecticut. There was no meteorological explanation, but legend had it that a beautiful Indian maid, a daughter of winter, had died on that day, and every year since, the sky wept cold snowy tears for her. And as a boy it was a fact that if you caught exactly twenty fireflies in a jar, then let them all out before you went to bed, you’d sleep through the night without bad dreams. Some things couldn’t be explained. Some things could. Sometimes you liked the explanation. Sometimes you didn’t. That’s when you called it myth.

“I get the feeling this isn’t what you wanted to know,” Anna said.

Tyler smiled. “Not exactly.”

“Well, I know she’s not married. And I know she has a half-sister.”

“
Half
-sister?” Tyler said with interest.

“They have different fathers, from what I’ve heard. Their mother was a little wild. She left town, had kids, brought the kids here, then left again. I take it you’re interested in Claire?”

“Yes,” Tyler said.

“Well, good luck,” Anna said as she stood. “But don’t mess it up. I don’t want to have to find someone else to work our department parties just because you broke our caterer’s heart.”

At home late that night, Tyler sat on his couch in his shorts and a short-sleeved button-down shirt, trying to focus on the class line-drawing assignments, but he kept thinking about Claire. Anna didn’t know Claire. No one really knew Claire. As a matter of fact, Sydney was probably the only person who could give him any insight into the woman who wouldn’t leave his thoughts since the moment he first spoke to her.

Sydney said she’d talk to Claire, so he’d wait to hear from her.

Or maybe he would call Sydney in the morning and talk about Claire.

Or stop by the White Door tomorrow.

The phone rang, and he reached over to where he’d set the portable on the coffee table.

“Hello?”

“Tyler, it’s Sydney.”

“Whoa,” Tyler said, sitting back on the couch. “I was just hoping you’d call.”

“It’s Claire,” Sydney said in a soft voice. “She’s out in the garden. The gate is unlocked. You might want to come over.”

“She doesn’t want me over there.” He hesitated. “Does she?”

“But I think she might need you. I’ve never seen her like this.”

“Like what?”

“She’s like a live wire. She’s actually singeing things.”

He remembered the feeling. “I’ll be right over.”

He walked across the yard and around the Waverley home to the back garden. Like Sydney said, the gate was unlocked, and he pushed it open.

He was immediately met with the scent of warm mint and rosemary, as if he’d walked into a kitchen with herbs simmering on the stove.

The footpath lamps looked like small runway lights, and they cast a yellowy glow over the garden. The apple tree was a dim figure at the back of the lot, shivering slightly, like the way a cat’s fur crawls in its sleep. He found Claire in the herb patch, and the image stopped him short. Her short hair was pulled back with that white headband. She was on her knees in a long white nightgown that had straps over the shoulders and a ruffle at the hem. He could make out the sway of her breasts as she picked at the ground with a hand rake. All of a sudden he had to bend over and put his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths.

Sydney was right. He was hopeless.

When he finally felt he could stand without passing out, he slowly walked over to Claire, not wanting to startle her. He was almost next to her when she finally stopped raking around the plants. The leaves of some were dark, as if burned. More still looked wilted, as if they’d been exposed to something hot. She turned her head and looked up at him. Her eyes were red.

Good God, she was crying?

Tears did him in. All his students knew it. All it took was one tear from a freshman who had too much homework and couldn’t complete her assignment for him, and he was giving her an extension and offering to talk to her other professors for her.

She winced when she saw him and looked away. “Go away, Tyler.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” she said tersely, clawing the dirt with her hand rake again.

“Please don’t cry.”

“What does it matter to you? This has nothing to do with you.”

“I’m making it something to do with me.”

“I hit my thumb. It hurt. Ouch.”

“Sydney wouldn’t have called me if this was just about a sore thumb.”

That did it. That pushed a button. Her head jerked around.
“She called you?”

“She said you were upset.”

She seemed to struggle with the words at first. But she got over that pretty quickly. “I can’t believe she called you! Will it ease her conscience if she knows you’ll be here for me when she goes? You’ll leave too. Doesn’t she know that? No, she doesn’t know that, because she always does the leaving. She never gets left.”

“She’s leaving?” Tyler asked, confused. “I’m leaving?”

Claire’s lips were trembling. “You all leave. My mother, my grandmother, Sydney. Even Evanelle has someone else now.”

“First of all, I’m not going anywhere. Second, where is Sydney going?”

Claire turned away again. “I don’t know. I’m just afraid she is.”

She likes things that don’t go away
. Sydney had told him that. This woman had been abandoned too many times to let anyone in again. The epiphany brought him to his knees. His legs literally gave out from under him. So many things about her made sense now. He’d lived next door to the Waverley house long enough to know that maybe there was some merit to local legend, but Anna was right about one thing. Claire was like everyone else. She hurt just like everyone else. “Oh, Claire.”

He was beside her now, both on their knees. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I can’t help it,” he said, reaching out to touch her hair. He expected her to pull away, but to his surprise, she leaned into his hand slightly, her eyes closed, looking so vulnerable.

He inched forward, lifting his other hand to her hair, now cupping her head. Their knees touched and she leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder. Her hair was so soft. He ran his fingers through it, then he touched her shoulders. She was soft everywhere. He rubbed her back, trying to give her some comfort but not knowing exactly what she needed.

After a moment Claire pulled back and looked at him. Her eyes were still wet with tears, and he used his thumbs to wipe her cheeks. She lifted her hands to his face, touching him like he touched her. Her fingers outlined his lips and he could only watch, as if he were outside himself, as she leaned in to kiss him. This would be a stupid time to faint, he told himself. Then she ended the kiss, and he returned to his body and thought,
No!
He followed her as she pulled back, his lips finding hers. Minutes passed like this, hearts beating harder, their hands going everywhere. At one point he had to tell himself this was about her, not him, about her pain, not his pleasure. But she wasn’t exactly complaining, he thought on a wince as she bit his bottom lip.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered back, kissing down his neck. “Make it better.”

She worked at the buttons on his shirt, her fingers shaking, clumsy. Finally she had his shirt open and her hands touched his chest, sliding around to his back. She hugged him, putting her cheek over his heart. His skin tightened and air hissed through his teeth at the contact. It almost hurt, but it felt so good, that energy, that hot frustration seeping through his skin. There was too much of it, though, and he couldn’t absorb it all.

This was probably going to kill me, he thought drunkenly. But it was a hell of a way to die.

He shrugged out of his shirt, but she didn’t let go. He finally pulled her up so he could kiss her again. She pushed and he fell on his back to the ground, but they never broke the kiss. He was lying on some herb, thyme maybe, and his weight was crushing it, its scent exploding around them. This all was faintly familiar to him somehow, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Claire finally pulled up for a breath. She was straddling him, her hands flat against his chest, sending erotic pulses into him. Tears were still running down her cheeks.

“God, please don’t cry. Please. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Will you not remember this tomorrow? Will you forget everything tomorrow?”

He hesitated. “Are you asking me to?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

She pulled her gown over her head, and suddenly it was hard to breathe again. His hands went up to touch her breasts, and she cried out at the surge the contact caused.

He immediately pulled back. He felt like a teenager again. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

She lowered herself to his chest, flattening her breasts against him. “Just don’t let go.”

He wound his arms around her and reversed their positions, rolling her over onto some sage. Again, it was so familiar. He kissed her hard, and she grabbed his hair and wound her legs around him. He couldn’t make love to her, not right now. She wasn’t thinking straight, and she didn’t want consequences tomorrow. That’s why she wanted him to forget.

“No, don’t stop,” she said when he broke the kiss.

“I’m not stopping,” he said, kissing her neck as his thumbs hooked into the sides of her plain white underwear. Her abdominal muscles jumped nervously as he pulled them down. He kissed her breasts, took one nipple in his mouth. He could almost remember doing this to her once, but he didn’t understand. He’d never been with Claire before.

Then he remembered.

It was that dream.

He’d dreamed this all before.

He knew exactly what was going to happen, the smell around them, how she would taste.