Garden Spells (6 page)

“So that explains it. I asked her to get me a fork and she went right to the drawer. When I asked her how she knew it was there, she said because that’s where it belonged.” Claire looked at Bay thoughtfully.

“No,” Sydney said. “It’s not that. Don’t force that on her.”

“I wasn’t,” Claire said, and she seemed hurt. “And no one forced it on you. In fact, you ran as far away as you could from it and no one stopped you.”

“The whole town forced it on me! I tried to be normal and no one would let me.” The pots hanging on the rack above the kitchen island began to sway anxiously, like an old woman wringing her hands. Sydney watched them swing for a moment, then she took a deep breath. She forgot how sensitive the house could be, how floorboards vibrated when people got mad, how windows opened when everyone laughed at once. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue. What can I do to help?”

“Nothing right now. Bay, you can go too.” Claire untied Bay’s apron and took it off her. “Do you have a black skirt and white blouse to wear to help me serve tomorrow?” she asked Sydney.

“I have a white blouse,” Sydney said.

“You can borrow one of my skirts. Have you ever served before?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you did after you left? Waitressed?”

Sydney ushered Bay out of the kitchen. Running, stealing,
men
. Those had never been Claire’s areas of expertise. Sydney wasn’t going to tell Claire about her past. Not yet, anyway. It wasn’t something you shared with just anyone, not even your own sister, if you didn’t think she’d understand. “It was one of the things I did.”

Later that afternoon, Sydney sat on the front porch while Bay did cartwheels in the yard. She saw Evanelle come down the sidewalk and smiled. Evanelle was in a blue running suit, that familiar large tote bag over her shoulder. Sydney used to love to guess what was in it. She hoped Bay would love that too. There weren’t many high points to being a Waverley, but Evanelle was definitely one of them.

Evanelle stopped to talk with Tyler next door, who was in his front yard, contemplating a big clump of grass clippings. He was bored; Sydney recognized the signs. His hair was longish, obviously to hold down the natural curl. That meant he had a creative nature he tried to control, and he was trying to control it by spending most of his day raking a big pile of cut grass from one side of his yard to the other.

She couldn’t imagine ever wanting another relationship with a man after David, but looking at Tyler, her heart felt sort of strange. She didn’t want him, and he was clearly attracted to her sister, but the simple idea of a good man made her feel hopeful somehow. Maybe not for herself, but for other people, other women. Luckier women.

As soon as Evanelle left Tyler, Sydney hurried down the steps to meet her. “Evanelle!” she said as she embraced the old lady. “Claire told me you were stopping by. Oh, it’s good to see you. You look exactly the same.”

“Still old.”

“Still beautiful. What were you doing over there with Tyler?”

“Is that his name? He looked like he needed some lawn bags. Lucky I had some on me. He was real nice-like about it. Here’s his phone number.” She handed Sydney a small piece of notebook paper.

Sydney looked at the paper uncomfortably. “Evanelle, I’m not…I don’t want…”

Evanelle patted Sydney’s hand. “Oh, honey, I don’t know what you’re supposed to do with it. I just knew I had to give it to you. I’m not trying to set you up.”

Sydney laughed. What a relief.

“I have something else for you.” Evanelle rooted around in her tote bag for a moment, then handed Sydney a shopping bag with the name of an upscale shop on the square. Sydney remembered it well. Girls at school whose parents had money bought things at Maxine’s. Sydney used to work all summer in order to shop there too, to look like she belonged. She opened the bag and brought out a beautiful blue silk shirt. It was about three sizes too big, but she hadn’t had something so decadent in a long time, not since she took all that money from her boyfriend the car thief and lived on it for a year. David had money, but he’d never been a gift giver, never big on rewards, remorse, or apologies.

Sydney sat on the steps and put the shirt to her nose and smelled that wonderful wealthy scent of the shop. It smelled like fine paper and English perfume. “It’s so beautiful.”

Evanelle lowered herself to the step beside Sydney and rummaged through her tote bag again. “I know it’s too big. Here’s the receipt. I was walking downtown this morning trying to find some nice male backsides. There was Maxine’s, and I thought of you, and I knew I had to get you this. This shirt. This size.”

Bay had approached and was shyly fingering the soft shirt in Sydney’s hands. “Evanelle, this is my daughter, Bay.”

Evanelle chucked her chin and Bay giggled. “She looks just like your grandmother when she was young. Dark hair, blue eyes. She’s got Waverley in her, that’s for sure.”

Sydney put an arm around Bay protectively.
No, she doesn’t
. “Strawberry Pop-Tarts are her favorite. Thank you for them.”

“Nice to know when things find a good purpose.” She patted Sydney’s knee. “Where is Claire?”

“Busy in the kitchen, preparing for a luncheon.”

“Are you going to help her?”

“Yes.”

Evanelle’s sharp eyes were on her. Sydney had always loved Evanelle. What child doesn’t love an old lady who gives presents? But Claire always seemed to understand Evanelle better. “Keep this in mind about Claire. She hates to ask for anything.” Bay ran back to the yard and did cartwheels for them, and they complimented her. Some time passed before Evanelle said, “It’s not an easy thing to do, ask for help. You were brave to come here. I’m proud of you.”

Sydney met the old woman’s eyes, and knew that she knew.

It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon on Friday when Claire, Sydney, and Bay arrived home from catering the luncheon in Hickory. Bay had fallen asleep in the van. Sydney thought Claire might be peeved at having to take Bay along, but she didn’t argue at all when Sydney said she didn’t want to leave Bay with Evanelle just yet. They’d only been in town three days. She wasn’t leaving her daughter alone in a strange place. Claire had said, “Of course not. She’ll come with us.” Just like that.

Bay had enjoyed herself. The old ladies in the Amateur Botanists Association loved having her there, and every time Claire and Sydney came back from collecting plates or refreshing drinks, Bay had cleaned up the area or organized the coolers in that way she did, instinctively knowing where things were supposed to be.

Sydney carried Bay upstairs and put her on her bed, then turned on one of the floor fans Claire had brought down from the attic because summer was filling the house, tightening it with heat. She changed into shorts and a T-shirt, thinking Claire was going to do the same before unloading the things from the van.

But when Sydney went back downstairs, Claire had, in that short time, brought everything into the kitchen and was loading the dishwasher and filling the carafes with baking soda and hot water to soak. She was still in her blouse and skirt, the blue apron still over her clothes.

“I was going to help you,” Sydney said.

Claire looked surprised to find her there. “I can do this. When I hire people, it’s only to help serve. You can relax. I didn’t know if you’d prefer a check or cash, so I went with cash. The envelope is there.” She pointed to the kitchen table.

Sydney paused a moment. She didn’t understand. Wasn’t it a good day? Didn’t they work well together? The ladies at the luncheon loved Claire’s food, and they complimented Sydney on what a nice job she did serving. Sydney had been nervous at first. Back when she waitressed, she used to steal from customers, not giving them back money from their checks. She would smile and flirt and try to smooth things over if they called her on it. And it never hurt that she was usually sleeping with the manager of the establishment, so he would always side with her if the complaint got that far. She could con with the best of them. She’d been worried that serving again might bring that time in her life back to her, might make her want it again. But it didn’t. It felt good to work honestly and hard. It reminded her instead of what was probably the best time in her life, in Boise, when she worked at the salon. She remembered her aching feet and the cramps in her hands and the shorn hair that would get under her clothes and itch and poke her skin. She loved it all.

But now Claire was saying she didn’t need her help anymore. Sydney stood there while Claire continued to work. What was she supposed to do? She would go crazy if she couldn’t do more than just help Claire out every once in a while. Claire didn’t even let her do housework. “Can’t I help you with anything?”

“I’ve got this covered. This is my routine.”

Without another word, Sydney picked up the envelope and walked outside through the back to her Subaru. She leaned against it as she counted the money in the envelope. Claire had been generous. Sydney could go out and do something with this. That’s probably what Claire expected her to do. Put some gas in the car. Go see someone.

But she didn’t have a tag and she might get pulled over.

And there was definitely no one she wanted to see again.

Folding the envelope, she put it in the back pocket of her cutoffs. She didn’t want to go back into the house and watch Claire work, so she walked around the driveway, kicking gravel, which Claire would probably smooth over later with a rake, putting everything back in order.

She walked to the front yard and looked over to Tyler’s house. His Jeep was parked on the curb. Impulsively, she crossed the yard and walked up his steps. She knocked on his door and waited, stuffing her hands deeper into her pockets the longer he took. Maybe he was asleep. That meant she had to go back home.

But then she heard footsteps and smiled, taking her hands out of her pockets as he opened his door. He was wearing paint-splattered jeans and a T-shirt, looking sort of rumpled and forgetful, as if perpetually wondering where time went.

“Hi,” she said after he stared at her a few moments, confused. “I’m Sydney Waverley, from next door.”

He finally smiled. “Oh, right. I remember.”

“I thought I’d come by and say hello.” His eyes drifted behind her, then to her side. He finally stuck his head out the door and looked over to the Waverley house. Sydney knew what he was doing, and she wondered how Claire had managed to make this guy so smitten. Maybe he had a thing for control freaks. “Claire’s not with me.”

He looked chagrined. “I’m sorry,” he said, stepping back. “Please, come in.”

She’d been in the house a few times when she was young, when old lady Sanderson lived there. A lot had been done to the place. It was brighter, and it smelled a lot better. Old lady Sanderson had been feline friendly. There was a nice red couch and some comfortable chairs in the living room, but they were placed oddly, like that was where the movers had set them. There were rows and rows of unframed paintings propped against the walls, and cardboard boxes were everywhere. “I didn’t realize you’d just moved in.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “About a month ago. I’ve been meaning to unpack. I was just painting in the kitchen. What time is it?”

“A little after five. What color are you painting the kitchen?”

He shook his head and laughed. “No, no. I paint in the kitchen. That’s where my easel is set up.”

“Oh, you’re a
painter
painter.”

“I teach art at Orion.” He moved some newspapers from a chair and set them on the floor. “Sit, please.”

“How long have you been in Bascom?” she asked as she went to the chair.

“About a year.” He looked around for another place to sit, running his hand through his hair again, pushing it off his forehead.

“You know, I could trim your hair, if you want me to.”

He turned to her with that chagrined look again. “I keep forgetting to get it cut. You could do it?”

“You’re looking at a bona fide beauty-school graduate.”

“Okay. Sure. Thank you.” He moved a box off the couch and sat. “I’m glad you came by. I don’t really know any of my neighbors yet. Well, except maybe Mrs. Kranowski, who seems to spend half her day chasing her dog, Edward, around the neighborhood.”

“I remember Mrs. Kranowski. What is she, one hundred years old now?”

“And surprisingly fast on her feet.”

Sydney laughed and congratulated herself. This was a good idea. “I’ll bring my case over tomorrow to give you that trim. Do you mind if my daughter comes along?”

“Not at all.”

Sydney studied him a moment. “So, you like my sister.”

She’d caught him off guard, but it didn’t seem to occur to him not to answer. “You cut to the chase, don’t you? I don’t know your sister very well. But I…yes, I like her. She
fascinates
me.” He smiled and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, open and enthusiastic. It was contagious, like a yawn. He made Sydney smile back. “I had this dream about her. It was like nothing I’ve ever dreamed before. Her hair was short, and she was wearing this headband—” He stopped and leaned back. “I’m going to stop now before I sound any more ridiculous.”

He didn’t sound ridiculous. He sounded nice, so nice it made her a little envious of Claire. “My daughter likes her too.”