by Lish McBride
There seems to be no design to the forests of LaCroix. At least, I’ve never been able to figure one out. When I tried to tell that to my sister, Haley, she looked at me like I’d lost all my brains. “Of course there’s a design, stupid.” I’d watched my mother wander around, seeming to plant at random, stopping here and there to touch the soil and adjust vegetation. Maybe Haley is able to see things that I can’t.
I think Mom built the path for more reasons than to teach life lessons. Walking the path gives you time to calm down, marshal your thoughts, and center yourself.
Currently, I decided that “pissed” would be my center. I marched up the path, ignoring the fleeting smells of basil, lilac, pine, rosemary, and a thousand others that met us in the night air. Pretty smells weren’t going to distract me from my anger. Not tonight. Ramon carried Brooke’s bag and kept his mouth shut. For the most part anyway. “Just don’t go in all yelling,” he said.
“I’m not stupid.” Only stupid people yell at my mother. Or Ramon’s, for that matter. They were very different, but they were both the kind of woman you said “yes ma’am” to and meant it.
Ramon glanced at me. “I’m just saying, you know, watch it.” We stepped onto the porch, and Ramon stopped to adjust his clothes.
I was about to knock, but the door swung open before I had the chance.
“Oh, it’s you,” Haley said, tilting her head a little to the side. “Who kicked your ass?” She reached out to touch the bruise on my cheek, but I batted her hand away.
Haley had gotten all the looks in the family and seemingly all the talent, too. She was one of those people who excelled at everything she attempted without actually trying to. Since she was my little sister, that made me proud. A little envious too, but mostly proud. I wished I had half her drive. I couldn’t imagine Haley in my stead; a college dropout with no real plan or goal. She would have a list of options or a five-point plan the minute she left school. Some people are just annoying that way.
Her looks plain made me nervous. I trusted my sister to be smart, and she could definitely take care of herself, but I didn’t trust fifteen-year-old guys. I’d been one.
She glanced down at the bag Ramon was holding, her long black ponytail shifting with the movement. “Did you bring me a present?” She reached for it, but Ramon moved his hand out of her grasp.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I told her. My sister didn’t really mince words. It’d gotten her into a lot of scuffles growing up. Then she developed a mean sucker punch, and the fights stopped. “Feel like letting us in anyway?” I asked.
Haley gave me a lopsided grin and stepped back, managing a mocking half bow at the same time. I ignored her and walked in.
My mom was fixing a cup of tea when I entered the kitchen. I’ve always been amazed at how my mom and sister could seem so alike at times and yet be so different. They were about the same height, and they shared the same freckles, but that’s where the similarity ended. My mom was calm, slender, and blue-eyed with strawberry-blond hair that she usually pulled back in a braid. My sister was slender but curvy, with black hair, steely eyes, and no compunction about getting in your face. And yet, looking at them, there was no doubt they were mother and daughter. Both were confident and smart, and both fiercely loyal, but my mom will get you to do what she wants and make you think it was your idea. Not in a mean way, but very craft y.
“Hey, honey, cuppa?” she asked. My mother had never once been surprised to see me show up. I didn’t know how she did it. I’d always thought it was some sort of mom super-power, or that she’d LoJacked my car. Now I wondered if there was more to it. “What happened?” She hesitated, then reached for my cheek.
I shook my head. “A fight, but that’s not what I want to talk about. I’m not really here for a pleasant social call.”
She turned away from me and grabbed up an extra mug anyway. “Then you must be here on an angry social call. I’ll make us some hot chocolate.” My mom believed in the universal healing powers of hot chocolate, especially if the wound was an emotional one.
I opened my mouth to protest, but my mom talked over me. “You want any, Ramon? I have real whipped cream.” She poured the milk into a pan—enough for Ramon, I could tell. Mom knew he would say yes. After she put the milk away, she got out her ingredients, one of which was a hint of cayenne. It sounds weird, I know, but it’s good.
“Yes, please,” Ramon said, coming in the doorway. He kissed her on the cheek and set Brooke’s bag on the table.
I scowled at him, trying to remind him that we were angry. Ramon ignored me.
“How’s your mother?” My mom set up a couple of mismatched mugs with one hand while stirring the milk with the other.
“She’s doing great,” he said. “She wanted me to thank you for that ointment you gave her. She said it’s working real well.”
My mom smiled and nodded, adding the chocolate to the milk.
“Mom, c’mon, we need to talk.”
She frowned at me. “What is so important that we can’t be civilized?”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the pantry door with my shoulder, trying to avoid putting pressure on my back. All the riding in the car had irritated it. I nodded at Ramon. “Just open the bag.”
Ramon reached for it, but when Haley entered, he hesitated. He glanced from her to me, questioning.
Part of me thought I should keep Haley out of it. She was still young, and this whole thing was dangerous. Yet keeping secrets hadn’t really helped me so far, and something told me that the more Haley knew, the safer she might be. She’d probably figure it out anyway.
“Go ahead,” I said. “No more family secrets.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see my mom glance sharply at me, but I didn’t look over. I kept my eye on the bag. Ramon reached over and flicked open the clasp.
“Oh, thank God,” Brooke said. “It was starting to smell like hot yak feet in here.”
I watched my mom and Haley very carefully. Haley looked startled for a second, but quickly recovered. Neither seemed as shocked or as freaked out as I had anticipated.
Haley crouched a little and looked in the bag. She smiled brightly. “Oh, hey, Brooke. Sorry about, well, you know.” She drew her finger swiftly across her throat.
“Thanks.” Brooke smiled at my sister. “How’s school?”
“It’s okay. You know, the usual. Hey, so what’s it like?”
I kept an eye on my mom and watched as she paled a little.
“Haley, why don’t you take Ramon and Brooke into the living room? Your brother and I need to talk.” Despite her obvious stress, my mom still managed to pour the hot chocolate into mugs, cover them with fresh whipped cream and a pinch of cayenne, and add a cinnamon stick to them. She was like the Jedi master of hot chocolate.
Haley shrugged and Ramon grabbed Brooke’s bag. As my sister followed Ramon into the living room, a mug in each hand, she shot me a look that clearly said that I’d better fill her in later.
My mom sat down at the table and sipped her hot chocolate, leaving a full mug for me on the counter. I stayed standing. She closed her eyes. “Oh, Sam, how could you?” she whispered.
Out of all the things I thought she might say, that was not on the list. “What do you mean, how could I?” I said, voice rising. “You think I did this?”
She blinked at me. “You brought me your friend’s head in a bowling bag, honey. What did you expect me to think?”
“I expect you to know I’m not a killer,” I said through gritted teeth. See? I wasn’t yelling.
“I didn’t think that.” She shifted a little in her seat. “Not really. Unless it was an accident?” She raised her eyes to mine.
“Yeah, I was slicing tomatoes and accidentally sliced off my friend’s head. Mom, please. I didn’t kill Brooke,” I said firmly.
“Okay,” she said, “but you still need to explain why you brought her back. Brooke’s head is evidence. Not to mention the trauma the poor girl has gone th
rough.” She shook her head. “It would’ve been kinder if you’d left her…in peace.” My mom looked very uncomfortable with the whole topic.
I closed my eyes and leaned against the pantry door. “I didn’t bring her back. Somebody else did. I had nothing to do with Brooke.” I turned away so all I could see was the stove. Looking at my mom was making me angry, and I needed to get past that. Douglas’s time limit was tick tick ticking in my mind, and I didn’t have time to yell and scream. If I survived, I could be angry then. I softened my voice. “But you might want to explain why you immediately assumed I had something to do with Brooke’s mini resurrection.” I tossed my protection bag onto the table. “And you can start by explaining what’s in that bag and who bound me.”
My mom’s shoulders slumped like I’d taken all the air out of her. Part of me delighted in the sight, happy that I’d gotten a little revenge. A larger part of me felt like crap. No son likes to see that look on his mom’s face and know he caused it. I joined her at the table, grabbing my hot chocolate on the way. “I’m sorry.”
The smile my mother gave me was a little watery. “No, you’re not.”
“Okay, no I’m not, but…” I rubbed my hand over my face and tried not to shower my mother with profanity. The situation called for it, and old habits die hard. “Shit, Mom, you’ve certainly sunk me in some deep—”
She glared sternly at me. Her old habits died hard too, apparently.
“Um, well, let’s just say you’ve sunk me in pretty deep.” My initial anger was dampening down. I’m just not an angry person. That’s not to say I wasn’t still pissed on some level, or that I’d instantly forgiven my mom, but I could probably avoid any further lashing out. For now. You know, tick tick tick.
She took a shuddering breath. “You shouldn’t apologize anyway. I’ve earned it.” She paused, then patted my sleeve. “I’ve earned it and more.” She stared at her hands. “I’m not sure where to begin.”
“Begin at the beginning,” I said, “and go on till you come to the end. Then stop.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “You and the Mad Hatter.”
“Actually, the king said it. And it’s your fault. Shouldn’t have gotten me a library card.”
She ignored me. “Your father was late to the hospital.”
12
Sweet Child o’ Mine
“I was very upset, you know. Your father was the one who insisted on hospitals and ob-gyns, and then he wasn’t even there. If I’d had it my way—at home, with a midwife—I wouldn’t have been so infuriated by his absence.” She picked at the handle of her cup.
I’d always been surprised my mom had me in a hospital. She had Haley at home and was a midwife herself on occasion. Especially if one of the girls in what Haley jokingly called Mom’s coven got pregnant…wait a minute. I looked up at the ceiling for a minute and cursed my thick-headedness.
“You’re not Wiccan, are you?”
“No, of course not.” She sounded slightly surprised, like I’d accused her of being Baptist or the pope. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
I looked around our kitchen, at the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling and at the seasonal calendar on the wall. I thought of my name, and her workshop with its potions, ointments, and mortar and pestle. I rested my chin in my hand, matching the way she sat. “You know, I have no idea.” The sarcasm was pretty obvious.
“Wicca is a religion, Sam.”
“And you’re just a witch, is that right?”
“Of course.”
I rubbed my face with both hands and tried to not howl in frustration. “When you keep little supernatural details a secret and you tell your kid that you’re a witch, you shouldn’t be surprised when—you know what? Never mind. I don’t have time for this right now. We’ll get back to it at another time.”
She sat up primly and nodded, like everything I said was everyday conversation. Maybe for her it was. I was realizing that there was a lot I didn’t know about my mother.
“I hated hospitals, but Kevin insisted. No child of his would be born using what he called ‘hippie methods.’” He reduced thousands of years of my family’s traditions to a two-word phrase.”
If my mom hadn’t told me, then she probably hadn’t told Kevin. “He didn’t know what you were, did he?”
She shook her head, and I saw her tear up, even after all these years. “I hate secrets more than hospitals.” She got up. “Wait here.” My mom left the table before I could reply. When she came back, she held a dusty shoe box. Her hand trembled slightly as she opened it, but it was steady when it pulled out a folded piece of beige cloth, tied up with ribbon. She untied the ribbon and unfolded the cloth. She sniffed. “I made this for Kevin as a present.”
My mother had cross-stitched a family tree. At the crown of the tree were my maternal grandparents. I used my finger to trace down to my mom, then me. I was a root. There were other roots left blank, which told me me that at one point my mother had been optimistic about her life with Kevin. The Hatfield side was noticeably sparse.
“Why isn’t his side filled in?”
She’d been keeping it a surprise, she said, digging through Kevin’s papers and making phone calls, trying to fill in the gaps. Kevin didn’t talk much about his family. Even so, she was surprised when she found out he had a brother. How could Kevin not tell her? Was his brother a drug dealer? Was he dead? Curious as she was, she knew better than to ask Kevin. He’d accuse her of snooping, no matter how good her intentions. No, best to continue on her own.
She hadn’t been sure the spell would work. She’d never tried it using a sibling’s hair. Tia dropped a few strands of Kevin’s hair into the boiling water, added the pungent herbs, and closed her eyes, breathing in the rough scent of the tracking potion. She bit her lip and concentrated, focusing on the name she’d unearthed—Nick. To her surprise, the liquid changed hue like it was supposed to, meaning it was viable. She made up a sick friend to visit, told Kevin she’d be back in a few days, then packed her bags. Tia felt a twinge of guilt at the added subterfuge but knew that, in the end, it would be worth it.
Tia had always liked Oregon. It was hard not to like someplace so green. And the land Nick lived on nestled right up against the coastline. She could smell the salt tang of the water as she walked up the drive from her car. Everything was so clean, fresh, and new, she couldn’t help but smile. If only Nick had been in the same condition when he’d answered the door. He was taller than his brother and not as classically handsome. Leaner, his hair a rich dark brown to Kevin’s dirty blond. His eyes were brown and weighted, like he’d already seen a lot for someone so young. He looked like a stray that had been abused and starved, and Tia immediately wanted to bundle him up and make him soup. He seemed surprised to see her, as if he hadn’t seen anyone in quite a while.
“It would appear that Kevin has been keeping secrets,” she said. She held out her hand. The man stared at it suspiciously until she took it back. “Tia Hatfield,” she said.
Nick nodded with a small smile, like he’d expected the answer but had still hoped it would be something different. “Nick Hatfield,” he said, “but I suspect you knew that.” He moved back from the door, sweeping a thin, pale arm out in welcome. “Mi casa es su casa. Not,” he said with a grimace, “that you’d want it.”
Tia stepped in and could see why. The wood floor, what parts were visible through the heaps of dirty laundry, needed a good cleaning, as did the rest of the one-room cabin. The kitchen counters and table were covered in dirty dishes and empty tin cans. The stairs leading up to the loft were cluttered with discarded books, papers, and what looked like pieces of chalk. She didn’t see a bathroom, so she assumed there was an out house somewhere on the property.
“It’s, um, lovely,” she said, settling into an old floral-print recliner.
Nick’s laugh sounded rusty. “It’s a hole,” he said, “but it’s free.” He slumped onto a worn love seat. “The old Hatfield cabin.” He looked aimlessly about the pl
ace as if he hadn’t seen it in a long time. “Luckily, Kevin has about as much interest in it as he does me, so I got it without much of a fuss.” His glazed eyes settled onto the dish pile. “I’d offer you something, but, again, I don’t think you’d want it.”
Tia pursed her lips in frustration. The situation was intolerable. She wanted to get Nick to talk, but she couldn’t sit idly by and pretend the man wasn’t living in filth. “Right,” she said, slapping her hands on her knees and getting up. “I’m going to get some food.” She looked at the cans. “Real food. While I’m gone, you’re going to clean yourself up.” Then she left before he could argue.
Two hours later, she had the kitchen area sorted, though not entirely clean, and a passable stew going on the small wood-burning stove. Nick perched hollow-eyed in the chair, watching her movements with fascination. She ignored him, finishing her cooking and cleaning in silence.
Nick sat in front of the Mason jar full of wildflowers Tia had placed on the table, staring at them and his meal with equal parts of wonderment and confusion. Then he dove into the stew, barely pausing to grab the spoon. He didn’t speak until the bowl was empty. “You,” he said, staring forlornly at the bottom of his bowl, “are wasted on my brother.”
She refilled his bowl and got herself a small helping. She ripped a biscuit in half slowly before dipping it in the stew. “You don’t know that,” she said.
Nick shrugged and looked away. “I know my brother.”
Tia instinctively reached out to touch his hand, to comfort him. The minute she did, his head snapped up, and he looked at her. His eyes lost their focus—just for a second—before he cursed under his breath.
“Does he know that you’re a witch?” he asked. His voice was kind, with no hint of reproach.
She felt her breath catch. She shook her head. “I’m going to tell him. I—”
“Don’t.”
“Excuse me?” Tia might have gone behind Kevin’s back, but she didn’t want to lie to her husband forever.
Nick grabbed both her hands in his, squeezing them gently. “Listen to me carefully…”