Sand Witches in the Hamptons (9781101597385) (27 page)

“Cawwy. Cawwy. Cawwy!” Oey shouted.

I finally got a mental picture of her with a parrot on her shoulder. Oey'd claimed another pet. “Great. But what good will that do?”

I heard something like a chuckle come from deep in Oey's chest. “Cawinne thees at Oey age.”

“Which is . . .?”

I heard a word that went on and on, but I couldn't understand the image that went with it. “I guess it's pretty old. So everyone here would be dead by then, and she'd see nothing?”

Oey's head bobbed in satisfaction.

So she wouldn't see tragedies or murders or wretched lives. “But she won't be able to help people, either.”

“Fith or fowwu.”

Fish or fowl? Which meant she could suffer, or she could be blind to the future, shut off from her personal magic. “But you are both fish and fowl. Both. Can't you help her see the good, without the sadness?”

“Thit happenth.”

I knew it well. “But you can't be with her every minute. I know you need to swim sometimes, or go off like now to lay eggs and molt. How will she manage, other than staying in her room at Rosehill all the time?”

She cocked her head sideways, thinking. “Fevver.”

“She'll get sick? It's only a cold. Maybe the flu that's going around.”

“Fev-ver.” Oey plucked at one sad dropping wing.

“A feather will help her when you can't?” I thought of Dumbo, flying with the feather in his trunk. But that didn't end too well, did it? “It will give her the courage to try?”

“Come. Cawwy.”

We went down the beach, Oey heavy on my shoulder, that slimy tail flapping against my back. Moses galumphed ahead, Little Red hopped at my side. We reached a boulder and a screen of reeds behind it. There was a nest, in a hole with high sand walls. The Andanstans were on guard, I sensed, united and ready to fend off seagulls or snakes or water rats.

The nest glowed with Oey's lost feathers, with the glittering iridescent colors of the eggs, with an aura even I could see. I sank to my knees to admire all the beautiful colors, the life I could sense within the eggs, the excitement and wonder.

“There are so many of them! And here I worried about having triplets.”

Oey stared at me, from the top of the nest. “More petth?”

“Not soon.” Then I had an idea. “Maybe Carinne could have one of your babies to help her?”

Oey shuddered and nudged some sand over the eggs.

I understood. Oey didn't share. Besides, the hatchling would be too young. If Carinne saw through its age-view, they'd both have to see infants die.

Worse and worse. The very idea had me shaking and shivering. That or I was catching Carinne's cold.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-FOUR

I
had a feather, and a fever.

Oey plucked one from the nest for Carinne, one for Jimmie, then, after thinking about it, one for me. I didn't want to ask, though I wanted one of the beautiful feathers more than anything, especially if it could lend a little strength and courage and magic. I needed it. Besides, why should Carinne get one and not me? I know that sounded like jealous resentment, like “Dad likes you better,” but I talked to Oey first, and Jimmie saw the parrot first when he was a sickly boy. Carinne had never even met the birdfish. Maybe she wouldn't be able to see the hybrid parts that I could. Maybe she wouldn't see the wisdom and the love.

I clutched all three feathers to me before Oey could change her mind. “Do we owe you another favor now? Will the feather make Jimmie Harmon strong? Will it really help Carinne? Can you come back with me to test if your presence lets her walk through town or come to the festival on the beach? And have you come up with any idea of a courtesy gift for the Andanstans so that we'll have a beach to hold that festival on?”

But the parrot was gone, without giving any answers. I didn't see the sand people anymore, either, just sand, so I headed back toward the blanket, feeling sicker and sicker as I gathered up my stuff. Every step felt like a sledgehammer to the brain, and my sweatshirt was too hot, but my feet were too cold. Shit. I hated being sick and this felt a lot worse than Carinne's sniffles.

Susan took one look at me and said she'd walk back to her parents' house rather than ride in the car. The restaurant had a busy weekend coming up and she couldn't afford to get sick, but she'd make me chicken soup.

Harris had no choice. He drove me to my mother's place, set all the alarms, then drove into town to get whatever Walter at the drugstore recommended, and chicken soup and orange juice from Joanne's.

I took a hot shower, hoping that would warm me, but I only felt weaker afterward. Before I collapsed, I called Matt to tell him I'd stay here. I didn't want to give him the flu.

He laughed. “Do you think I wouldn't have your germs by now? I feel fine.”

I wanted my own bed, my own house, and a good night's sleep. Besides, I didn't want Matt to see me all pale and clammy-skinned, maybe sick to my stomach or worse. I had pride too, like Oey.

“Does Harris think you'll be safe there?”

“The place is like a fortress. And Deni is in the city, remember? Besides, I have a feather. A beautiful green one, with yellow and blue and red edges.” I had it tucked in the buttonhole of my heavy flannel pajamas, the ones with little monkeys all over. I didn't want Matt to see the jammies, either.

“A feather, huh? Um, sweetheart, I think you're delirious. Get Harris to drive you to the emergency clinic.”

“No, it's a real feather. Real magic. I'm not afraid the flu will kill me, for once. You know, turn into some weird mutant bacterial pneumonia, or cause a fever that'll fry my brain cells. I'll be fine.”

“I'll come right after work to check. Meantime, take something for the fever, maybe put a cool washcloth on your head. Get some sleep. I'll bring a can of chicken soup as soon as I can get out of here.”

My hero.

I took a couple of Tylenols and made some tea, but I couldn't sleep yet, not with so much to do and my energy and ambition slipping away as fast as the sand from the shore. First, I had to cancel the gold collection and the diamond dust preparation, the kids' poems, Grandma Eve's herbs, a bunch of other projects I had the villagers working on. I thought about sending a town-wide email, but I didn't have enough addresses.

I told everyone I could reach, between coughs and sneezes, that reverent gratitude just wasn't going to make it with the sand-nappers. They wanted something precious, priceless, and tangible. Pass it on. We needed new ideas.

“And you need soup, Willy,” someone offered. “Sweet and sour egg drop soup is what I always get for a cold.”

I thought of the eggs in their beautiful nest. And Oey. Nah.

Someone offered her great-aunt's silver tea service. Someone else a signed Shakespeare folio. A Honus Wagner baseball card that might or might not be counterfeit, a child's first tooth, a signed Tiffany lamp. The judge suggested a green card, so the Andanstans could be legal citizens, or he could get the mayor to give them a key to the city.

“But we don't want them to stay!”

“Oh, right. How about clemency for the theft of the sand? I don't hand that out often, I can tell you.”

My eyes were getting blurry and I had to call from a prone position, but I couldn't rest yet. Besides, my stomach didn't feel right. No matter, I had to talk to Carinne.

“How do you feel?”

“Crappy.”

“Me, too. I think I caught whatever you have. But how is Jimmie? I'm really worried about him, if he's got this bug, too.”

“Yeah, we're all concerned. He refuses to go to a doctor. Says his health plan won't cover it.”

“Get Monteith to enroll him with the Rosehill staff.”

“There's still a waiting period. But we found a doctor who'll make house calls. And Jimmie swears all he needs is some tea with a dash of whiskey. So far he's finished off two cups of tea and a bottle of bourbon. He seems okay.”

“Great. Tell him Oey misses him, and she's looking better. I could see feathers starting to sprout. She'll be coming home soon.” I hoped. “And she sent a feather for each of you. If I can't bring them in the morning, I'll send Harris with them.”

“That's all right, Willy. We aren't in any hurry to get feathers. Didn't they used to burn them under peoples' noses to wake them from a faint? We're not that bad here, though I think Jimmie's passed out. Monte says sleep is the best thing for him.”

So I tried to explain to Carinne Oey's plan to help her situation. How she could walk around with an ancient parrot on her shoulder and never see the horrors.

She wasn't sure about always seeing blanks. Like putting on a TV and only getting static snow. And what could she do?

She could help the professor the way she was doing, or she could go back to being a guidance counselor, as long as Oey was with her.

“Hey, most guidance counselors aren't clairvoyants. I bet you're the only one. And they still help the kids with intelligence and training and caring, if not magic. You're going to be meeting students who are as confused about their talents as you are. Your experience alone should let you empathize and give good advice. And when Oey's not around, maybe the feather will help keep the voices and the panic away.”

I could hear her wondering if she should ask Cousin Lily to make me soup.

“It's a special feather, one from the nest. It's better than a fish scale, trust me. This one is beautiful, and I think it's supposed to give you courage to face what you need to do. Or make you feel better, like Doc Lassiter's touch does.”

“Do you feel better?”

I couldn't remember when I felt worse. “I don't think I'm dying, anyway.”

“Have you been taking Jimmie's cure-all, too?”

No, but I held all three of the feathers in my hand when I made the last call. I did feel a little better. Maybe the Tylenol kicking in. Maybe the tea. Maybe the feathers?

* * *

“Mom, I'm sick.”

“I'm in Philadelphia. Call your grandmother.”

“I did. She's sending over some herbal teas.” And most likely chicken soup, if I knew my grandmother. “But that's not why I'm calling. I wanted to warn you, is all. You shouldn't come out here until I'm better. You could catch the bug and miss your first rehearsal. Or you could look pale and sickly.” Like I did.

“Hm. I placed all of the puppy mill dogs except for the Maltese Matt said the Willinghams want. Nice people. But there's a lot of work to be done with these new greyhounds at the rescue center. They've never had a toy or gone up stairs.”

“Great, you stay there and get them in shape for wonderful new homes. Bye, Mom.”

“Wait, Willy. The jackass called.”

“Dad? What did he want? Did he have a premonition?”

“He left a message. I guess it's a warning. He said I shouldn't be upset because stress isn't good for a person's health. That he always loved me. That he was never unfaithful to me during our marriage.”

Wow. I guess Dad found a feather, too. “What else did he say?”

“That you'd explain more.”

His feather was yellow, or was it white they gave to cowards? “I think I'm going to be sick. Gotta go.”

I put all three feathers under my pillow and went to sleep. For three days.

I remember Harris coming back with a gallon of soup, a huge bottle of antibacterial soap, and meds from the drugstore.

Matt came to spoon soup into me, and Aunt Jasmine helped me shower. Grandma Eve felt my forehead, declared I'd live, and poured herbal tea down me. Susan moved back in to help poor Harris, who had no idea what to do in a sickroom except drink beer. I think he worried he'd failed his bodyguard job. Susan consoled him.

Mostly I slept. When I was awake, I dragged myself to the sofa downstairs to sleep through old movies on the TV. Harris and Little Red came to some kind of conciliation, because I didn't see blood anywhere. Harris had the can opener, so he became a good guy.

My father kept calling, worried. He didn't exactly sense any immediate disasters for me, only a possible visit to Stony Brook, the nearest big hospital, nearly two hours away.

“Dad,” I groaned. “I'm not that sick. And I'm not going to Stony Brook. It's just the flu, so chill. I heard stress isn't good for your health.”

“I know. I keep getting a pain in my back.”

“Give me a couple of days, Dad. I'm working on it.”

“The stress?”

“No, the back thing. You know, the backstabbing, the calling back, the knife in the back. It's payback. If my head weren't so heavy, I know I could figure it out. What's precious to you, Dad?”

“Why, you, baby girl. And Carinne, your mother. My health, especially after the bypass. My good name.”

“A thing, Dad. Something you'd hate to give up. A real sacrifice.”

“My golf clubs. Did I tell you I bought a set of the same ones Tiger Woods uses?”

Sure, just what the Andanstans needed, after a silver tea set.

* * *

I asked Matt, too. He'd been reading on the chair near the sofa, watching me sleep, then half-carrying me back upstairs. He said I was the most precious thing in his life, and he wasn't losing me to any minuscule mineral compounds. He never said how pathetic I looked or how cranky I was about the effing chicken soup or how he missed making love. Yup, my hero.

I had other visitors. Harris didn't like it, having to turn the alarm off for people he didn't know, therefore didn't trust. No one came in, half because Harris had a gun in his hand, half because they didn't want to enter a germ-infested house. Everyone called out good wishes from the porch. They brought flowers and honey and a pumpkin with a smiley face carved into it and a balloon that said Get Well. And more soup. Even Moses was sick of it by now.

I almost wept at the signs of friendship, I was so weak. “Everyone is so kind,” I told Matt when he came after work that day.

“Yeah, you're no good to them like this.”

So I got better.

* * *

The good news was I lost five pounds. The bad news was I looked like a prisoner of war. I went to Janie's and begged. She warned about root damage and brittle ends, but got rid of the pink hair anyway, I looked so pitiful. Now I had my own streaky blonde hair back, and felt almost like myself again.

More good news: Carinne and Jimmie were also recovering. Carinne called to say thank you for the feathers I'd sent over with Lou, but I sensed neither of them was impressed. She said Jimmie had his in a jar on the mantel. She was using hers as a bookmark. No, she hadn't tested it yet. She still felt tired and achy.

I gave her another day.

The bad news was it was Saturday, one week away from the beach ritual. Saturday was also the day when the psi-profiler thought Deni might get out to Paumanok Harbor if he had a job keeping him in the city. They hadn't gotten an ID on him yet, but the mice and the threats were enough to slap a subpoena on the original server, who funneled messages—and porn—to overseas servers. The place got shut down, records got confiscated, pornographers got arrested. Sleazebag clients who sent money could be coerced into giving up more information. The FBI was happy, happy enough to search through closed juvenile records for an early sadist with DF initials. The worst news was that someone had hacked into the system and erased files. Russ got to work restoring them, without discussing it with the Feds.

Deni could be here now, blending in with the pumpkin pickers and striped bass fishermen and general Hamptons tourists. We got so much traffic to the farm stand that Harris had Colin and Kenneth take shifts monitoring the cars.

Matt wanted me to move back in with him, but I wasn't ready. I had to get the house in order for my mother, figure out the precious part, and make sure my hair wasn't going to fall out.

By Sunday afternoon I was stir-crazy. I got Matt and Harris to take me to Rosehill, where I browbeat Carinne to experiment. We decided on lunch at one of the clam bars on the way to Montauk. Deni'd never look for me there, and the customers would be strangers.

Lou insisted we take Colin with his superpower eyesight and Kenneth, the danger precog. Lou wanted to watch football Sunday at my mother's house. Monte came, and Doc Lassiter, but Jimmie said he was too weak.

We took three cars, bodyguards ahead and behind Matt's SUV. Monte sat up front next to Matt. I sat in the back with Carinne, both of us with death grips on the feathers. Doc Lassiter had her other hand.