Garden Spells (9 page)

As soon as the door swung closed behind Claire, Sydney dropped her empty trays on the counter and said, “Why didn’t you tell me Mr. and Mrs. Matteson were Hunter John and
Emma Clark
?”

Claire gathered Sydney’s trays and stacked them on her own, then set them aside. “It didn’t occur to me that you would think it was anyone else. Who did you think it was?”

“I thought it was Hunter John’s parents! How on earth was I supposed to know Hunter John and Emma got married?”

“Because when you broke up with him, he and Emma started dating,” Claire said, trying to keep a sensible tone to her voice, trying to keep her stomach from jumping, trying to keep her mind from saying, over and over,
This is bad. Something’s wrong. This is bad
.

“How was I supposed to know that? I wasn’t here!” Sydney said. “And I didn’t break up with him. He broke up with me. Why do you think I left?”

Claire hesitated. “I thought you left because of me. I thought you left because I kept you from learning things, because I made you hate being a Waverley.”

“You didn’t make me hate being a Waverley. This whole town did,” Sydney said impatiently. She shook her head like she was disappointed in Claire. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m leaving because of you now.”

“Wait, Sydney, please.”

“This was a setup! Didn’t you see it? Emma Clark set me up to look like a…like a servant in front of Hunter John and all my old high-school friends in their expensive dresses and their boob jobs. And how did she even know I was back in town? Why did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her.”

“Sure you didn’t. How else would she have found out?”

“Maybe Eliza Beaufort told her,” Claire said. “Her grandmother was one of the ladies at the luncheon in Hickory.”

Sydney stared at Claire for a few long moments, her eyes shining with tears. Claire didn’t think she’d ever seen Sydney cry. They’d both been stoic children. Neither had seemed too affected by their mother’s abandonment, and neither had shed a tear. But for the first time Claire wondered what Sydney had been holding in all this time. “Why did you let me do this? Why did you let me go out there? Didn’t you think it was unusual for Emma to be calling you to cater something meant to flaunt a lifestyle everyone else already knew about? The passion and the money. She did this so I would see it.”

“She didn’t arrange this, her mother did. I never even spoke to Emma. Maybe this was just a coincidence, Sydney. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.”

“How can you, of all people, say that? To a Waverley, there’s a meaning to everything! And how can you defend them? Are you actually this comfortable with people thinking the way they do about us? I saw you when we were kids, how no one wanted to be your friend, how no boys were ever interested in you. I thought that’s why you retreated into all of this”—Sydney waved widely at the food and flowers on the countertops—“because you thought the house and Grandma were all you needed. I wanted more than that. I wanted those friends out there. I wanted all of this. I was devastated when Hunter John broke up with me, but you didn’t even notice. And this hurt me tonight, Claire. Doesn’t it matter at all to you?”

Claire didn’t know what to say, which seemed to make Sydney even more upset. Sydney turned with a hiss and went to the purse she’d set by the door. She took out a small piece of notebook paper, then went to the wall phone by the walk-in pantry.

“What are you doing?” Claire asked.

Sydney pointedly turned her back on her and dialed the number that was on the paper.

“Please, Sydney. Don’t leave.”

“Tyler?” Sydney said into the receiver. “It’s Sydney Waverley. I’m stuck someplace and I need a ride.” Pause. “Willow Springs Road, on the east side of town. Number thirty-two, a large Tudor home. Drive around back. Thank you so much.”

Sydney took off her apron, dropped it to the floor. She grabbed her purse and walked out the door.

Claire helplessly watched her go. Her stomach was jumping so much she felt like she was going to be sick, and she had to bend over and put her hands on her knees. She couldn’t lose what was left of her family, not so soon. She couldn’t be the reason Sydney left again.

The past ten years weren’t the only mystery surrounding Sydney. Claire realized she didn’t even know her sister when they were kids. She didn’t realize Sydney thought Hunter John was the one. She didn’t realize it had hurt Sydney so much. But what Claire didn’t know, those people out there on the patio did. And they
had
done this on purpose. Claire knew from the beginning that something had been off. Sydney was right. There was a meaning to everything, and Claire had ignored all the warning signs.

She took a deep breath, then straightened. She would fix this.

She went to the phone and pushed the redial button.

It took a few moments, but Tyler’s voice finally came on the line, slightly breathless. “Hello?”

“Tyler?”

“Yes.”

“This is Claire Waverley.”

There was a definite pause of surprise. “Claire. This is strange. I just got a call from your sister. She sounded upset.”

“She is. She’s with me on a job. I need to…ask you for a favor.”

“Anything,” he said.

“I need you to go next door to my house before you pick Sydney up here. Will you bring me some things from the house and garden? I’ll tell you where the keys are hidden.”

About forty minutes later, there was a knock at the back door.

Claire opened the door and found Tyler there, carrying two cardboard boxes filled with flowers and ingredients from the house. “Where should I put this?”

“On the counter by the sink.” When he passed her, she looked out to the service driveway, where Tyler’s Jeep was parked with his lights still on. Sydney was sitting in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead.

“I saw you at work at Anna’s, but I have to say, behind the scenes is even more impressive,” Tyler said, taking a look around the kitchen as he set the boxes down.

Claire turned. While waiting for Tyler to bring the things she needed, Claire had lined up the food and flowers. Then she had written ingredient descriptions and a list of the flowers outside on index cards so she wouldn’t confuse a recipe and cause mixed signals. This was too important. They wanted roses tonight to represent their love, but when you added sadness to love it caused regret. They wanted nutmeg because it represented their wealth, but when you added guilt to wealth it caused embarrassment.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask what all this was for. But why would he? He wasn’t from here. He didn’t know the subversive nature of what she could do.

“No problem.”

She lowered her eyes and noticed that his jeans had dirt on the knees from the garden. “Sorry about the stains. I’ll pay for a new pair.”

“Sweetheart, I’m a painter. All my clothes look like this.” He smiled, so warm, so calm. It almost took her breath. “Anything else I can do?”

“No,” she said automatically, but then added, “Wait, yes. Will you ask Sydney not to leave tonight? Not until the night is over. I need to fix something.”

“Did you two have a fight?”

“Sort of.”

He smiled again. “I’ll do my best.”

When Claire got home, Sydney and Bay were already in bed. Sydney had obviously asked Tyler to pick Bay up at Evanelle’s house on their way home.

At least they were going to stay the night, long enough for some things to be made right.

Claire stayed up late to make her regular order of six dozen cinnamon buns, which she delivered early to the Coffee House on the square every Sunday morning. Around midnight she sleepily made her way up to her room to set her alarm clock. She checked in on Bay, though she knew Sydney did it several times a night, then she walked down the hall.

She’d just passed Sydney’s room when Sydney called out, “I had a lot of calls before you came home tonight.”

Claire backed up a step and peered into Sydney’s room. Sydney was awake, lying in bed with her arms behind her head. “Eliza Beaufort, Carrie, people at the party I didn’t even know. They all said the same thing. That they were sorry. Eliza and Carrie even said they really liked me in high school and they wished things were different. What did you say to them?”

“I didn’t say a word.”

Sydney paused, and Claire knew by her next question that she was beginning to understand. “What did you give them?”

“I gave them lemon-balm sorbet in tulip cups. I put dandelion petals in the fruit salad, and mint leaves in the chocolate mousse.”

“That wasn’t on the dessert menu,” Sydney said.

“I know.”

“I noticed Emma Clark and her mother never called.”

Claire leaned against the doorjamb. “They caught on to what I was doing. They wouldn’t eat the dessert buffet. And I was ordered to leave.”

“Did they pay you the remainder of your fee?”

“No. And I’ve had two cancelations tonight from acquaintances of theirs.”

A rustle of sheets. Sydney turned in bed to face Claire. “I’m sorry.”

“They officially canceled, but they’ll call again when they need something. They’ll just want me to keep it a secret.”

“I’ve messed things up. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t mess anything up,” Claire said. “Please don’t leave, Sydney. I want you here. I may not act like it sometimes, but I do.”

“I’m not leaving. I can’t.” Sydney sighed. “As crazy as this place is, the way people think, the sameness, is what makes it safe. Bay needs that. I’m her mother, I have to give that to her.”

The words were left hanging in the air, and Claire could tell immediately that Sydney wanted to take them back. “Did you leave someplace that wasn’t safe?” Claire had to ask.

But she should have known Sydney wouldn’t answer. She shifted in her bed again, turning away. “I wish you’d do something about him,” Sydney said, pointing to her open window. “It’s hard to sleep with that.”

There was a faint purple light filtering in. Curious, Claire entered Sydney’s room and went to the window, which overlooked Tyler’s house. She looked down and found Tyler walking around his front yard in pajama bottoms and nothing else, a cigarette in his hand. He was radiating those tiny purple snaps again. Occasionally he would stop and look over to the Waverley house, then he’d resume pacing.

“You can see it?” Claire asked, still looking down at Tyler.

“Of course.”

“Then you’re more of a Waverley than you give yourself credit for being.”

Sydney snorted. “Oh, joy. So what are you going to do about him?”

Claire ignored the flutter like tiny birds’ wings in her chest. She moved away from the window. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Just because no one expects you to do it doesn’t mean you can’t. Don’t you ever want to prove people wrong?”

“I’m a Waverley,” Claire said, walking back to the door. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You’re human. It’s okay to date. It’s okay to feel something. Go out with Tyler. Make people say, ‘I can’t believe she did that.’”

“You sound like Mom.”

“Was that a compliment?”

Claire stopped at the door and gave a small laugh. “I’m not sure.”

Sydney sat up in bed and punched her pillow a few times. “Wake me and I’ll help you deliver the cinnamon buns in the morning,” she said as she flopped back down.

“No, I can—” Claire stopped. “Thank you.”

CHAPTER

6

T
uesday afternoon Claire announced she was going to the grocery store, and Sydney asked if she and Bay could ride along. Sydney wanted to get a newspaper to check out the want ads and, though it pained her to do so, she had to return the shirt Evanelle had given her. She’d put aside the money she made from working with Claire for emergencies, so she needed extra cash for toiletries, and Bay needed kid food. Claire was a great cook, but she’d looked at Bay blankly yesterday when Bay asked if she had any pizza rolls.

When they reached Fred’s, Claire and Bay went into the grocery store and Sydney walked up the sidewalk. The square hadn’t changed much, although now there was a university student’s sculpture that looked like an oak leaf by the fountain on the green.

She returned the shirt at Maxine’s and discovered that the shop had changed hands twice in the past ten years and was now run by a stylish woman in her fifties. She didn’t have an opening in the store, but she took Sydney’s number and said she would call if something came up. She recognized the Waverley name when Sydney wrote it down and asked Sydney if she was related to Claire. When Sydney said yes, the woman brightened and said Claire had made her daughter’s wedding cake last year, and it had been the talk of all her friends from Atlanta. Then she said she would
definitely
call if she ever had an opening.

On her way back to the grocery store from Maxine’s, Sydney passed the White Door Salon. Ten years ago it had been a trendy hair salon called Tangles, but now it was much more posh. A patron came out, and with her came the scent of chemicals cushioned by the fragrance of sweet shampoo. It was a smell that could almost lift Sydney up and make her float. Oh, how she missed that. It had been a long time since she’d been in a salon, and every time she passed one she felt like this, like she needed to go in and pick up her shears and get to work.

She started to get that prickly feeling she always got when she thought of being happy again. Like she shouldn’t even bother. But she’d gone to beauty school under her real name, a name David didn’t know. She had to remind herself that he wouldn’t find them here. He wouldn’t come just because she wanted to work again. The only reason David had found her in Boise was because she’d registered Bay under her real name. She didn’t think she had a choice when the day care asked for Bay’s birth certificate. She thought David would only be looking for Cindy Watkins, not Bay. She wasn’t making that mistake again. Bay was a Waverley here.

She patted her hair, glad that she’d put it up in a clever twist and trimmed and shaped her bangs that morning.

Then she straightened her shoulders and walked in.

She was giddy when she met Claire and Bay at the van. She grinned as she helped them load the bags of groceries. She kept meeting Claire’s eyes until Claire finally said, “Okay, what’s with the grin?”

“Guess what?”

Claire smiled, obviously amused by Sydney’s mood. “What?”

“I got a job! I told you I was staying. Getting a job is pretty clear, isn’t it?”

Claire stopped what she was doing, leaning halfway in the van. She looked genuinely perplexed. “But you already have a job.”

“Claire, you do the work of three people. And you only need help occasionally. I’ll still work when you need me.” Sydney laughed. Nothing was going to ruin this mood. “Maybe not at Emma’s house again…but, you know.”

Claire straightened. “Where did you get the job?”

“At the White Door.” It was going to take all her money, including the money from the shirt she’d just returned, to rent the booth and get supplies, but she had a wonderful feeling. She still had some of her equipment, and straightening out the state-to-state reciprocity licensing wouldn’t take too long. She knew there’d been a reason she kept renewing her license.
This
was the reason. She would soon make the money to put back into the emergency fund, and people in Bascom would see that she was actually skilled at something. They would come to
her
like they came to Claire, because of what she could do.

“You’re a hairstylist?” Claire asked.

“Yep.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Claire was getting too close to asking again about where she and Bay had been, and Sydney still wasn’t ready to tell her. “Listen, Bay will be starting kindergarten in the fall, but it will be a while before I can afford day care. Will you look after her? I’ll ask Evanelle too.”

She could tell that Claire knew what Sydney was doing, avoiding the obvious questions, but Claire didn’t press her. Maybe one day she’d tell her sister about the past ten years, one day when there was enough trust between them to warrant such a revelation, when she knew the entire town wouldn’t find out, but Sydney secretly hoped it all would just disappear as if it never happened, like a photograph fading to nothing.

“Of course I will,” Claire finally said.

They started loading the bags again. Sydney looked in a bag and asked, “What is all this stuff?”

“I’m going to make pizza rolls,” Claire said.

“You can buy them frozen, you know.”

“I knew that,” Claire said. Then she whispered to Bay, “Is that true?”

Bay laughed.

“What about this stuff?” Sydney asked, nosing around some more in the bags. “Blueberries? Water chestnuts?”

Claire shooed her away and closed the back of the van. “I’m going to make a few dishes for Tyler,” Claire said.

“Are you, now? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with him.”

“I don’t. These are special dishes.”

“A love potion?”

“There’s no such thing as a love potion.”

“You’re not going to poison him, are you?”

“Of course not. But the flowers in our garden…” Claire paused. “Maybe I can make him less interested.”

That made Sydney laugh, but she didn’t say a word. She knew a lot about men, but making them less interested had never been her specialty. Leave it to Claire to make it hers.

Bay stretched out on the grass, the sun on her face. The things that happened even a week ago were fading in her mind, like the way the color pink faded until it was almost white and you couldn’t believe it was ever pink once. What color were her father’s eyes? How many steps were there from their old house to the sidewalk? She couldn’t remember.

Bay knew all along that they were going to leave Seattle. She never told her mother this, because it was too hard to explain and she didn’t understand it fully herself. They just didn’t belong there, and Bay knew where things belonged. Sometimes, when her mother would put things away at their old house, Bay would sneak in later and put the things where she knew her father wanted them to be. Her mother would put his socks in his sock drawer, but Bay would know that when he got home he would want them in the closet with his shoes. Or when her mother would put the socks with his shoes, Bay would know when that would make him mad, and she’d put them in the drawer. But sometimes his desires changed so quickly that Bay couldn’t keep up with them, and he’d yell and do bad things to her mother. It had been exhausting, and she was glad to be someplace it was clear where things belonged. Utensils were always in the drawer to the left of the sink. Linens were always put in the closet at the top of the stairs. Claire never changed her mind about where things went.

Bay had dreamed of this place a long time ago. She’d known they were coming here. But today Bay was lying in the garden trying to figure out what was missing. In the dream she was stretched out on the grass in this garden, by this apple tree. The grass was soft like in her dream. And the scent of the herbs and flowers was exactly like in the dream. But in her dream there were rainbows and tiny specks of light on her face, like something sparkling above her. And there was supposed to be the sound of something like paper flapping in the wind, but the only sound around was the rustling of the leaves on the apple tree as it dropped apples around her.

An apple hit her leg, and Bay opened one eye to look up at the tree. It kept dropping apples on her, almost like it wanted to play.

She sat up suddenly when she heard Claire call her name. This was Sydney’s first day at work and Claire’s first day of watching Bay. Sydney hadn’t allowed Bay into the garden, but Claire said it was okay to be out here as long as she didn’t pick any of the flowers. Bay had been so excited to finally see the garden. She hoped she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I’m right here,” Bay called as she stood. She saw Claire standing at the other end of the garden by the gate. “I didn’t pick any flowers.”

Claire held up a casserole dish covered with aluminum foil. “I’m going over to Tyler’s to take him this. Come with me.”

Bay ran down the gravel pathway to Claire, glad that she was going to see Tyler again. When she and her mother had visited last time, he let her draw on an easel, and when she showed him what she’d drawn, he hung it on his refrigerator.

Claire closed and locked the gate behind them, and they walked around the house to Tyler’s yard. Bay walked close to Claire. She liked the way Claire smelled, comfortable, like kitchen soap and garden herbs. “Aunt Claire, why does the apple tree keep dropping apples on me?”

“It wants you to eat one,” Claire said.

“But I don’t like apples.”

“It knows that.”

“Why do you bury the apples?”

“So no one else will eat them.”

“Why don’t you want people to eat them?”

Claire hesitated a moment. “Because if you eat an apple from that tree, you’ll see what the biggest event in your life will be. If it’s good, you’ll suddenly know that everything else you do will never make you as happy. And if it’s bad, you’ll have to live the rest of your life knowing something bad is going to happen. It’s something no one should know.”

“But some people want to know?”

“Yes. But as long as the tree is in our yard, we get a say-so.”

They reached Tyler’s steps. “You mean it’s my yard too?”

“It’s very definitely your yard too,” Claire said, smiling. Just for a moment, Claire was Bay’s age, looking at her with the same happiness Bay felt, that happiness at simply belonging in a way she’d never belonged before.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Tyler said when he opened the door. Claire had taken a deep breath before she knocked, and when she saw him she forgot to let it out. He was in a paint-splattered T-shirt and jeans. Sometimes her very skin felt so jumpy that she wanted to crawl out of her body. She wondered what a kiss from him would do. Help? Make it worse? He smiled, not looking at all put out that she’d shown up unannounced. That’s how she would feel. But he was, quite obviously, nothing like her. “Come in.”

“I made you a casserole,” she said breathlessly as she handed it to him.

“It smells delicious. Please, come in.” He stood back for them to enter, which was the last thing Claire wanted to do.

Bay looked at her curiously. She thought something was wrong. Claire smiled at her and entered so she wouldn’t worry.

Tyler led them through a living room with a few pieces of comfortable furniture and a lot of boxes, into a white kitchen with glass-front cabinets. There was a very large breakfast nook—another room, really—off the kitchen, with floor-to-ceiling windows. The floor of the nook was covered with a tarp, and there were paint supplies littered across a long huntboard. Two easels were set up.

“That’s the reason I bought this house. All that beautiful light,” Tyler said as he put the casserole dish on the kitchen counter.

“Can I draw, Tyler?” Bay asked.

“Sure, kiddo. Your easel is right over there. Let me put some paper on it.”

While Tyler adjusted the easel to her height, Bay went to the refrigerator and pointed to a colored drawing of an apple tree. “Look, Claire, I did that.”

It wasn’t that Tyler had put Bay’s drawing on his refrigerator that Claire appreciated; it was that he’d left it there. “It’s beautiful.”

As soon as Bay was settled, Tyler walked back to Claire, smiling.

Claire’s eyes went to the dish worriedly. It was a chicken and water chestnut casserole made with the oil from snapdragon seeds. Snapdragons were meant to ward off the undue influences of others, hexes and spells and the like, and Tyler needed to free himself of her influence over him. “Aren’t you going to eat it?” she prompted.

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “Well, okay. Why not. Will you join me?”

“No, thank you. I’ve already eaten.”

“Then sit while I eat.” He took a clear glass plate from the cabinet and spooned some of the casserole onto it. He led Claire to two stools at the counter. “So, how are you and Bay getting along with Sydney at work?” he asked as they took their seats. “She stopped by yesterday and told me about her new job. She has a gift with hair. A real passion for it.”

“We’re doing fine,” Claire said, watching Tyler as he brought a forkful of the casserole to his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, and she thought for a moment that maybe she shouldn’t be watching. It was almost sensual, his full lips, the bob of his Adam’s apple. She shouldn’t feel this way about a man who was going to be free of her in a few seconds.