The Root of Magic

by Kathleen Benner Duble

  But Willow knows that her wants are relegated to the back row in the theater of their lives, and Wisp must take center stage.

  So she says nothing. She swallows her anger and turns her head and walks away. It is what she is best at these days.

  * * *

  Dinner at the diner is awkward. Wisp is tired, and his stomach is rebelling. He picks at his food, moving it from side to side but eating nothing. Still, he manages to smile as he talks about staying in this town, obviously enjoying being able to eat what he likes, run wild outside, and make new friends. Willow feels like Scrooge, still wanting to go home and take all that away from him.

  Fewer people are out tonight, and Old Woman Wallace is noticeably absent from her place in the kitchen. For a moment, Willow wonders again how the restaurant owner had a gift wrapped up to give the colonel before the baby was even born. Maybe, Willow thinks, the woman just gives presents ahead of time.

  When they are done eating, Mom and Willow make their way back to Cora’s in the early-evening darkness with Wisp draped like a coat in their mother’s arms, exhausted. The night has cleared, and stars sprinkle the sky. Just Willow’s luck that their mom made her discovery earlier today, or, no doubt, they would be homeward bound first thing tomorrow morning.

  Willow thinks about her teammates again. They’re probably all texting now and making plans for the rest of the winter vacation. If she is to stay here for longer than a week, her mother must get her a new cell phone and let her call Elise. It is the least she can do.

  At Cora’s, Willow goes straight to their room and throws on the pajamas Layla brought them.

  “Sweet dreams,” Cora calls after her, but Willow doesn’t answer. Instead, she curls into a self-righteous ball of cold anger on the bed. Suddenly, she hears the doorbell ring.

  “Willow?” Cora calls from the stairs in her rich, raspy voice. “Topher is here.”

  Topher? And then she remembers his idea to go skating tonight.

  There’s a part of her that wants to say she can’t go. After all, he’s the one who told her mom about his doctor mother. He is the very reason she is stuck here tonight, like a beetle thrown on its back that can do nothing but wave its legs helplessly in the air.

  But another part of her wants to pay him back for his interfering in her life. The idea is oddly appealing—certainly more enticing than sitting by herself, all angry and frustrated.

  So she gets up and scurries around the room, grabbing her clothes from the chair, shoving legs, arms, head through the appropriate holes. Her mom has washed their clothes each night in the B&B’s laundry room, but Willow has been in the same jeans and shirt since she arrived in Kismet. She wonders if it is obvious.

  She quickly tugs a brush through her hair and goes downstairs, knowing she probably looks a wreck. But Topher doesn’t even seem to notice. He holds up a pair of hockey skates. “I think Joe Joe’s will fit you. Are you ready to go?”

  “Sure,” Willow says. “I’m ready.”

  And she is. After all, he doesn’t know how well she can skate. She plans to run rings around him on the ice.

  * * *

  When they get to the lake, the lights are on, and a lot of kids have already laced up. They glide in slow circles around the area that has been scraped clean and watered down to create a smooth, clear surface. Across from the skating area stands the large brick building Willow saw people going in and out of—a “hall,” as Topher said.

  Music plays from speakers set high in the trees. The songs are slow and syrupy. If Willow were home and getting ready to take to the ice, her music would have a roaring, rushing, pounding beat that would be meant to get her and Elise and her teammates all hyped up to shove and push and fight for that little black puck. Willow is glad that is not what she is hearing now. She isn’t sure she would be able to hold it together if a song were playing that reminded her that she is here while Elise is basking in the sun on vacation and her other friends are where she longs to be—back home in Burlington. Willow sits down on a bench beside Topher and slides her shoes off.

  “You skate much?” he asks.

  Willow lies. “A little.”

  She feels bad about lying, but what will happen if they stay past the beginning of the year? Will she be forced to deal with a new school and friends? Angrily, she starts to lace up her skates, pulling them tightly; then she sees Topher eyeing her curiously. Willow looks like a pro at this, which is what she is. Immediately, she drops the laces.

  “Do you need some help?” Topher asks, standing.

  Willow nods. She holds out the laces.

  She can’t wait to see his face when she finally skates circles around him.

  He kneels down in front of her like a knight about to swear fealty. Seeing him like this stops Willow for a moment. He looks up, and Willow sees his flushed cheeks and his easy smile and her heart thumps—two long slow beats. He takes the laces from her hands and quickly has her skates tied up tightly. His fingers graze her bare calf when he tries to pull the leg of her jeans back down over the skate. The surprise of his touch zings her deep in the gut.

  Topher’s face goes red. He laughs slightly and stands up. Then he sits again to put on his own skates.

  Willow has to admit—he has nice blades, the new and expensive kind where you can mold the skate to the contour of your foot by heating up an inner layer. Willow’s goalie skates fit her the same way. Or at least, they did fit her the same way. Now the skates that were a Christmas present from her dad are sliding across rocks and sandy river bottoms toward the sea. Their loss reminds Willow again that she is not here for fun. She may be stuck here because of this boy. She must ignore her heart and belly.

  Topher stands. “Come on. I’ll help you onto the ice.”

  Willow hesitates, trying to look newbie afraid.

  “Don’t be scared,” Topher says, grinning. “I won’t let you go.”

  Willow takes his hand. His fingers are smooth and warm. He grips her fingers tightly, and she gets to her feet. He pulls her to him, closer than she expected.

  His eyes meet hers and then slide down to her lips. And suddenly, Willow has to remind herself to breathe, breathe, breathe, for she seems to have forgotten how to do this seemingly ordinary task. What is wrong with her?

  There is a sudden swish of blades.

  “Hey, Topher.”

  Willow turns her head. Two girls about her age are standing near them on the icy lake.

  “What do you want?” Topher asks, and his tone is not friendly.

  “Hi,” one of the girls says, not answering him but instead turning to Willow. Her hair beneath her hat is as red as her cheeks, her skin as white as her perfect teeth. “I’m Angeline. I heard you might be moving here.”

  Beside her, Willow senses Topher stiffening. He drops her hand.

  And Willow wonders, Does everyone in this town know everybody else’s business?

  Then she remembers that is why Topher’s father left. For a moment, she feels a sudden kinship with this man she’s never met.

  “I doubt it,” Willow says, wanting to hold on to the small sliver of hope that her mom will come to her senses. After all, she said she hadn’t decided yet.

  “This is Grace,” Angeline says, nodding toward the other girl, whose dark hair and skin jump into sharp relief against the snowy ground. Her eyelids are smudged dark green, her lips bright red.

  “Come on,” Angeline says. “We’ll help you.” She holds out her hand for Willow, but there is no helpfulness in the girl’s expression.

  Before Willow can refuse, Angeline takes Willow’s hand and jerks her hard onto the ice. Willow nearly stumbles with the force of the pull.

  Angeline puts her lips near Willow’s ear. Her breath slides across Willow’s cheek, light and smooth like falling feathers.

  “I know you can skate,” Angeline whi
spers. “Don’t think pretending will work with him.”

  Willow’s head snaps around, and she meets Angeline’s eyes. She winks at Willow, and Willow shivers.

  “How do you know that?” she can’t help but ask.

  Angeline grins. “Oh, that’s my secret, for now. But maybe soon it will be yours too. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “What?” Willow says, staring into Angeline’s eyes.

  “It’s all up to your mother now,” Angeline says, soft and low.

  Willow sways without meaning to, more unsettled than unstable. What does this girl mean?

  Angeline grins and pushes Willow away. Topher is quickly at Willow’s side, his hand sliding back into hers.

  “I’ve got you,” he says to Willow.

  “Keep an eye on her, Topher,” Angeline says, laughing. “And don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

  Grace grins too before they both skate off, leaving Topher and Willow alone again.

  Willow’s mind is reeling with what Angeline has said—the strange fact that somehow Angeline knew she could skate even though they’ve never met, and that somehow her mom has something to do with Angeline being aware of this.

  “Are you guys friends?” Willow manages to ask as the girls move farther away from them.

  Topher shrugs. “Sometimes. They’re both a year ahead of me and are always reminding me that they know more than I do.” He rolls his eyes and tugs on her hand. “Come on. Let’s skate.”

  Topher pulls her into the circle, and Willow’s thoughts are brought abruptly back to the reason she is here tonight—how she wanted to knock this boy off his pedestal of confidence.

  So who cares what that girl said? Who cares if she knows that Willow can skate? Really, who cares what any of them say? They are all odd, and she’ll never be friends with them anyway. She has come out tonight to show Topher up, and that is what she is going to do.

  She and Topher join the other skaters in their slow promenade.

  Around and around they go. And Willow wonders, not for the first time, why public skating is always like this—skaters moving in slow circles, always in one direction. There’s never a dart across the wide empty middle, never a sudden push or shove. It is predictable, controlled, dull as dirty laundry. It is all Willow can do not to yawn as they slide in this mind-numbing pattern—that is, until she spies a hockey game in progress at the other side of the lake, near the brick building.

  Willow can stand these repetitive, plodding movements no longer. She wants to fly, to spin, to break this endless circling, to be part of that game. It’s time to show Topher what she can do.

  She drops his hand and pushes away. And then she is off, racing toward the far end of the lake, splitting that sleep-inducing skaters’ circle in half, dodging around kids, whizzing past couples, jumping over sneakers left haphazardly at the edge of the ice, her skates flying, her heart soaring. She is good at this. She is great at this. She is the best there is at this.

  She has flown to within fifty yards of the hockey game when she hears Topher calling to her.

  “Willow, watch out!”

  And suddenly, before her is a broken patch of ice, like a mouth open wide and waiting. And in that moment, Willow feels fear force itself up from her gut. She is a great skater, but as a goalie, she is not a swift stopper. Willow turns her blades outward, trying desperately to stop or slow. But she does not know if she will make it, or if in a minute more, she will be hurtled feetfirst into the icy waters of a lake in Kismet, Maine.

  In a whirlwind of motion, Willow is gripped from behind. With a quickness and strength that takes her breath away, Topher pulls her back just inches before she hits the rim of the large hole in the ice.

  When they are out of danger, Topher throws back his head and lets out a belly laugh so filled with delight that it tingles deep inside Willow.

  Willow is not a clumsy girl given to death-defying stunts, so she cannot catch her breath, let alone laugh like Topher. If it hadn’t been for him, she would have plunged into icy waters cold enough to whip away all thoughts, all breath, all life. Fear twirls thin, cold strands of rope around her throat, squeezing hard. She begins to shake uncontrollably.

  Topher stops laughing and puts a hand on her shoulder, trying to steady her. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re all right.”

  Before Willow can protest or even think about what’s happening, Topher pulls her close and holds her tight against him.

  Now her head begins to spin, her mind boomeranging from her near-death experience to this warm hug. She cannot fight them both, so she lets him hold her. She sinks into the warmth of him until her breathing slows.

  At last, he releases her and steps back.

  He blushes. “I just…I just wanted to make sure you were all right. You seemed really scared.”

  “I’m okay,” Willow lies.

  Topher’s eyes twinkle. “I didn’t expect you to be able to skate like that.”

  It’s what she wanted him to say. But instead, she’s the one wobbling with uncertainty, not Topher. Her confusion whooshes away, and anger surges in.

  “Why is there nothing on the ice to warn people about that open water?” she snaps. “Any other lake or pond open to public skating by the town would have warning signs and tape or those bright orange cones to stop people from coming near it.”

  Topher shrugs, all innocent. “I guess ’cause people from here know about it. It’s my fault. I should have told you. But I didn’t expect you to take off like that. There’s a hot spring under the lake that keeps this end unfrozen. It’s been like that forever.” He nods toward the brick building. “That thing was built as a protection for the thermal spring. The open hole is where the warm water rushes out and meets the cold waters of the lake.”

  He smiles. “Some say the waters are magical.”

  His eyes wander down to her lips again, and Willow feels her heart beat, beat.

  She makes herself step away. She needs to think. She needs air.

  Coming close to danger like that plays games with your head.

  Willow thinks of Wisp and all his gory thoughts. And she believes she understands him better now. He is looking for something to grab onto in his uncertain world, as a man overboard will thrash for a life preserver. He wants to understand the risk he lives with.

  “Where were you headed?” Topher asks, an amused smile playing on his lips.

  Willow swallows, avoiding his eyes, steeling herself not to betray her confused feelings. She points toward the other side of the ice. “I thought I’d join the game.”

  “You play hockey?”

  Willow nods.

  “Great,” he says. “Let’s do it, then. Are you good to go?”

  Willow nods again. Yes, she wants to play. Unlike her brother, she longs to leave this unsettling experience behind as quickly as she can. She does not want to examine it or think about these disturbing moments. Willow wants to ignore it all.

  * * *

  When they get to the game, the kids there are more than happy to have a real goalie. Willow is soon in the equipment of a boy who happens to be her size, even though he’s younger than she is.

  Willow is put on one team as goalie. Topher joins the other team as a forward. The thought of thrashing around in icy-cold water is quickly replaced by slap shots, breakaways, sweat, goals, and saves. Willow’s regular breathing returns, and her familiar and reassuring defensive skills take over.

  Her new team members are swift and determined. The game moves up and down the ice. Finally, one boy on Willow’s team zooms by their opponents. He shoots and scores.

  But a moment later, she sees Topher heading toward her on a breakaway, bearing straight down on her, playing the puck close to his body. As he skates hard toward her, Willow moves out from the net, ready to stop him if she has to. He suddenly shoots. And Willow div
es to block his shot, but she misses. The puck slides into the net just as Topher crashes into Willow, and together, they tumble, sliding hard in a tangle of net and skates and sticks.

  Topher is laughing that deep laugh that tickles and tingles inside Willow and sets her to laughing too. And once again, as on the hilltop, Willow is, in that moment, happy. Happy again.

  And it is such a relief to remember happiness, to let it in, to let it fill her up, that Willow decides she must forgive Topher. She has no choice. Because she realizes that she likes him. Willow likes Topher Dawson.

  * * *

  He walks her back to Cora’s. The snow has stopped, and stars fill the sky. Willow hasn’t felt this free in two years. The monster that’s been sitting on her chest for months seems to have temporarily gone off to haunt someone else.

  The lake waters of Kismet, Maine, may or may not be magical, but this night has been filled with magic for her.

  At Cora’s door, Willow leans back against the wood of the inn and breathes in the night, wishing she could hold it inside her for always. Topher smiles at her.

  “You’re really good,” he says.

  “Thanks,” Willow says. “You’re good too.”

  He laughs. “Well, everyone in Kismet is practically born on skates. Winters are too long here not to learn.”

  “I had fun tonight.”

  Topher nods, serious now. “I did too.” He mismatch stares at her. “You…”

  He pauses, looks away for a moment, then swings his eyes back to her. “You surprise me. I like that. I like spontaneity, unpredictability. Don’t you?”

  His question seems odd. Who doesn’t like surprises?

  “Of course,” Willow says.

  He hesitates and Willow wonders if he will finally reveal the secret he keeps alluding to.