The Witch of Belladonna Bay (26 page)

“Sure,” I said.

It's funny how patterns become talismans of comfort. Grant and I were doing the most normal thing in the world. Having lunch, wrapping up the sandwiches, asking for a bag to carry them with. Only we fell back into a natural rhythm. I went for the bag as he condensed the food onto one plate. We'd done it a thousand times before. We were always impatient, yet mannerly.
Thank you, may we have the check, a bag please, yes, no the food was fine …

The fast retreat we made from the market felt more like a homecoming than anything else had so far. But I shouldn't have been surprised, because Grant had always felt like home.

As we walked, the smell of him damn well intoxicated me. Part of me just wanted to take him to bed. Do not pass Ben. Do not get Paddy out of Jail. Do not collect the truth. Just sink back into the past and luxuriate the days away with Grant. Even with his newfound rough-and-tumble exterior. Possibly because of it.

Grant was all man now.

We went into a quiet, public courtyard and sat on a bench at the base of a statue.

He offered me another smoke.

“No, I need to just say this,” I said. I had to get to the point or I'd never leave. “What I really want to know is what you were fighting with Charlotte about before she died. And why you left that crazy message on her answering machine after she'd died. And, well, what you were doin' the night she was killed.”

He laughed tightly. “Really? That's why you came to see me? No ‘how you holdin' up with Lottie dead?' no ‘haven't heard from you in fourteen years and how you been?'”

“Or even,” I hesitated, “how do you feel about your son being missing?”

Grant tensed up beside me.

“Shit. You know. Who told you?”

“No one had to. Well, Paddy and I sort of put it together today when I went to see him.”

“You saw Paddy? Damn, how is he? I've been meaning to go, too. Really. I just … well … it's hard.”

I grabbed his hand and squeezed gently, “Do you think he did it, Grant?”

“Hell no,” he said.

“Did you?”

“Dammit, Wyn! No. I could never—” His voice broke a bit.

“So, will you help me then? Just answer a few questions. That's all I need. We have to get him out of there, right?”

“Fine. Ask away, I'd love to help Paddy. I'd do anything to help fix this mess.”

I paused and took a breath. “You don't happen to have Jamie, do you? If you took him, or even if he ran away that night and came to you, Jackson could help get you out of trouble for hiding him. If we can find that boy alive, we could scratch the electric chair off our list of worries.”

He stood up, leaning against the statue so I had to turn to look at him.

It was the statue of a man kneeling at the feet of a woman, but she wasn't just an ordinary woman, she was Cajun. And I could feel the magic all around her. The plaque on the statue read:
NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE EVIL THAT MEN DO

The historical society must have added the smaller, less ornate plaque next to it:
THE CURSE OF THE WHALENS OF MAGNOLIA CREEK, ALABAMA:
PORTRAYED HERE: FARLEY WHALEN AND THE CAJUN WOMAN HE RAPED. CIRCA 1900.

“Well, look at that,” I said. “I've never seen it.”

“What?” he asked, looking up.

“This statue.”

“Damn! I never did either. You'd think I planned this.”

“Did you?”

He gave me a look. “Of course not.”

“So, how 'bout it, Grant?” I asked softly. “You going to help me out?”

“I'm not hiding him, Wyn. Lord, I wish I was. I'd give anything to see that boy again. And I swear I didn't do it, and I can't believe you'd even think for a second I did.” He sighed. “I thought maybe you just wanted to linger around in our past a little bit. I even sobered up, started to feel the sun on my face the way I haven't since you left.”

“I know, I'm sorry, Grant. I just … have to figure this thing out. You should have seen him today. He's broken, Grant. My baby brother…”

“Listen, do you still have that … shine? I mean, maybe you can read those cards of yours and figure it out that way.”

“Funny you should ask. That part of me seems to be growing stronger the longer I'm home. Only, the backwards part is that we can't see anything close to us.”

“We?”

“Me and Byrd.”

“Ah, Ms. Byrd. I always loved that kid, but the last time I saw her she was in diapers. She always reminded me of you, though. And Naomi. She's an odd one, in a good way. Why don't you try? Hold my hands or somethin', maybe you can see I didn't do it. I don't want you to think I did this thing, Wyn. That'd kill me for sure.”

“Okay.” I breathed out. “I'll give it a try.” I reached over, grasping his hand and lifting it to my cheek. My whole body tingled. Then I breathed in sharply as I remembered. It came to me just as strong and in full color as the memory I'd had in Naomi's bedroom.

But it wasn't about Paddy or Charlotte. Or that night.

We were sixteen, Grant had one of his crazy ideas. We'd take his truck and drive all the way to Daytona Beach to watch the Enduro races. The cars that run the tracks round and round bumping into each other until one lone car is the winner. Only we'd need four days. Two days to get there, two days to get back.

So we ran away.

We drove the back highways in his broken-down truck. And because the radio didn't work, we sang every Steve Miller song we could think of. Laughing. “This here's the story about Billy Joe and Bobbie Sue”—then we'd clap—“two young lovers with nothin' better to do.”

Then we moved right on through Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline. All the good old country music we were raised on. My feet hanging out the window. His hand never leaving my thigh.

We stopped off in Apalachicola for the night. Ate oysters and got a motel room. He was such a gentleman, letting me sleep on the bed while he slept on the grimy carpet. We hadn't slept together yet. That would come later on the saddest night of my life, and I'd be gone before we could talk about it. But that night I figured, why the hell not? It was Grant who'd said no. That he wanted it more than anything, but that I wasn't ready. And that it wouldn't be in a place like some seedy motel. “I'd never ask you like this, Wyn. You and me? We'll be outside in the high grass under the stars. That's how it'll be.”

When we got to Daytona, we had the most amazing time. So much laughter. And friendship. The kind of friendship you can only have with someone you've known your whole life, the kind that makes romance that much sweeter. He even won me prizes on the boardwalk.

When we got back, the scolding from everyone, the worry we'd caused, none of it mattered, because we'd had that moment. Together. One we'd never forget.

Only I did.

“Anything?” he asked as his hand left my face.

“No,” I said.

“Then I guess we're done here,” he said, starting to walk away. I got up and tried to follow.

He turned around and put his hand up. The universal symbol for “Do not come near me.”

“Grant, please. What about that message you left for Lottie? The fight you had with her over Jamie? Anything you know could help raise a reasonable doubt and maybe get Paddy out of prison. You have to tell me.”

“Go on home, Wyn. If you're tryin' to insinuate that I had anything to do with killin' my sister and my”—his voice broke—“son, you're crazy.” Then he was gone.

I sat back down, confused for a second, wondering what he was talking about, and watched him walk away.

Before I left, I gave a kiss to Farley Whalen.

“You got a bad deal, Farley. You probably didn't do it, either. And I could kill you myself for all the times I had to hear your tale as a warning when I was little. But it would be a lot easier if you were a real demon. Byrd and I could vanquish you with our magical powers and solve everything.”

Another couple had come to sit on the bench, and they looked at me like I was crazy. I felt crazy, so I said, “Boo!” and they jumped a little.

I had to get out of NOLA.

I walked in the direction of the cafe, but all I could think about was the one thing I didn't want to think about.

That girl with her red lipstick kissing on Grant. Who the hell did she think she was?

I'd officially lost my mind.

I was so frustrated I didn't even realize I was already standing in front of Cafe Du Monde. I put my ring back on.

Ben was sitting at a table, wiping powdered sugar off his lips. He could tell I wasn't in the mood, so he paid his check and met me outside.

We walked back to the parking lot in silence.

Once in the car, I put the air-conditioning on full blast. I needed air. I needed to breathe.

“He was the one, wasn't he?” asked Ben.

“What?”

“When I asked you, all those years ago in Rocco's pastry shop. He's the only other man you've loved. I'm right, aren't I?”

“So what? That was years ago, Ben.”

I started the car and backed out, fast. I drove, weaving in and out of traffic until we were back on the highway.

“You don't have to drive fast to make a point. All you're doing is proving me right,” he said.

“I already said you were right. Yes.
Yes.
I loved him. Then I left, and like everything and everyone else, I failed him. Some people can quietly leave where they came from and are never missed. I leave, and everyone suffers for fourteen years. And no one tells me. And I don't ask. And why don't I ask? Because of
you
.”

“I was only with you for seven of those years, remember that,” said Ben. Calmly, but with more anger than I'd ever heard from him.

“Right. You. Are. Right. Let's make it all about me. Let's pretend you didn't do anything, and I didn't kill my own mother. Let's just—”

“What did you say?”

“I don't know…”

“You do know. You just said you killed your mother. I think we may be getting closer to something important here, Bronwyn.”

“Will you fucking stop calling me that! Jesus. I hate that name.”

“I would like to get out of this car,” said Ben.

“Screw you, we're going home. I'm not letting you get out.”

That's when he got really angry. I'd pushed him too far.

“Do you think this is easy for me? Last week you were mine. We were happy. I was seeing little kids of our own running around. Last week you looked at me with love. You wanted to touch me.
Last week I was happy.
Now? Who are you? I don't even recognize you. And the worst part? I know you, and this you? She's happy! Here I am, realizing for the first time that all that joy I thought
we
had was
mine
. I created it. You were just sitting there letting it happen. Fuck me.”

I pulled over onto the shoulder and began to yell back. Mean things. I don't even remember what I said. But as soon as I banged my hands hard against the steering wheel, everything stilled.

The glow came out from my hands and filled up the car, only Byrd wasn't around. I'd done it myself.

That's when we stopped fighting.

*   *   *

By the time we got back to Magnolia Creek, it was dark. And Ben and I hadn't spoken since the glow.

As I pulled into the driveway at the Big House and parked, I looked up at it, with its lamps glowing through the windows out into the velvet black night, and thought maybe now that I had glowing hands, Naomi'd be there waiting for me. That I'd see her ghost. I wanted all of it back. My brother. My childhood. My laughing father. My friends. Just thinking about it started a panic inside of me that I can't quite explain. A sort of desperation. Like I was at the bottom of a deep, dark hole and I could see the people I loved shining in the sunlight up above me, but I just couldn't climb out.

They were all sitting on the front porch: Jackson, Byrd, Carter, and Minerva.

All of them just sitting around, laughing, like nothing was wrong.

How could they be laughing and carrying on when the whole world was falling apart?

“Should we get out of the car, Br—Wyn?” asked Ben.

I couldn't even answer him.

I sat there in the car. Not moving. Thinking that what I was really mad about wasn't Ben's behavior but my own. All the things I'd said to him were my fault. Not his. I'd left. I'd carried on without a second thought. I'd missed out on a lifelong friendship with Lottie. I'd missed watching my brother grow into a man. I'd missed Byrd being born and meeting Stella. I'd missed everything. And why? For all those years, I thought I understood my reasons. But now? Mud. My thoughts were
mud
.

Carter got up and came down the steps. They were all looking at me now. Watching me like a zoo animal.
They all want something different from me,
I thought. And none of them were brave enough to come get it. Maybe
brave
isn't the right word. Maybe they were all just smart enough to stay away from me for a little while.

“Is it okay if I get out of the car?” asked Ben.

I nodded yes and he got out, making his way up the steps.

That's when Carter came.

He tried to open the door for me, but I quickly pushed down the lock. I put my forehead down on the steering wheel. He rapped lightly on the window and motioned for me to roll it down.

I cracked it open slightly.

“Wyn, come on out now, honey, it's been a long day. You come out and I'll put the car away.”

I looked at him and I tried to speak, but there were too many words in my head.

When I was younger, I read this article in a science journal of Jackson's about how there's this transmitter in the brain called glutamate, and it allows us to process information. Only, when we get too much information, it makes our brain stop functioning altogether. Glutamate. That was it. I was having some serious glutamate problems.