Ava’s gaze followed Aunt Jo’s. Sunlight poured into the tearoom, golden beams spilling across the café tables and chairs. Except for the pounding behind her temples, she didn’t think she’d ever seen a more beautiful winter day. Aunt Jo is just being dramatic.
Kat shrugged. “Everything looks okay to me.”
“Me too,” Zoe said.
Aunt Jo’s eyebrows rose. “You can’t feel it? A sense of darkness, of doom? I woke up to it this morning.” She looked down at Moon Pie, who whimpered in his sleep. “See? Even Moon Pie feels it.”
Zoe sighed. “I can’t feel a thing, but then I’ve never been very prescient. Wish I were, though. I’d have made a lot fewer mistakes and a lot more money.”
Deeply unsettled, Ava picked up the canister of chocolate and had just slid it back on its shelf when a crack of thunder sounded.
Everyone jumped and turned startled gazes toward the window.
The sunlight still poured in, not a cloud visible in the blue sky.
“What was that?” Kat asked, sounding a little breathless.
CRACK! This time, there was an ominous rustling sound, a whoosh of wind and energy. Outside, the red awning over the door began to ripple as little whirls of wind danced up and down the street. Inside the tearoom, napkins fluttered out of their holder while Aunt Jo’s skirt flapped against her legs.
Kat jumped to her feet, her eyes wide, her hot chocolate forgotten on the table. Zoe didn’t move, seemingly frozen in place. Moon Pie, who’d scurried behind Aunt Jo, lifted his head and howled.
“That’s unholy!” Aunt Jo grabbed her cane and pulled herself to her feet.
“Oh my gosh, look at that.” Kat pointed to the street.
Ava came from behind the counter. A wild gust whipped down the street, yanking at the awnings, groaning as it swept past, as if it were alive and in deep, agonizing pain. Paper and brown leaves swirled into the air, shoved forward before the wind. The colorful awnings over the shop doors lifted like parachutes, frantically tugging at their ties. Branches, torn from shrubs and trees, tumbled past, one after the other.
And then… it stopped.
Silence filled the air and the littered street outside.
Aunt Jo moved closer to the window, Moon Pie following, the dog sniffing at the edge of the glass. “If that don’t beat all. It’s still as a mouse out there now.”
Kat joined her. “What was that?”
Zoe peered over Kat’s shoulder. “I guess it was one of those wind things. A derecho, I think it’s called.”
“There has to be a weather front of some sort for those to happen. I can’t— Ava? Where are you going?”
Ava was already at the door. “Out.”
“But your coat—”
The door closed behind Ava as she ran down the sidewalk to her truck. Oh God, no. Not today. Pleasepleaseplease. I’m not ready for this. Not yet.
She said the words over and over as she drove home, as she turned into the driveway and parked behind Sarah, as she hurried into the house, leaving the front door open behind her.
In the middle of the front hallway floor sat the old shoebox. Once a bright orange, now dull with age, it sat in a heap of ripped tape, gaping and empty.
Ava’s heart dropped to the soles of her feet. No, no, no! She turned on her heel and walked through the foyer, her steps jerky and stiff.
She stopped in the kitchen doorway.
Sarah sat at the counter, Aunt Mildred’s ancient recipe book in her hands. It was closed, but Ava knew from the paleness of Sarah’s face that she already knew.
The book had told Sarah everything.
“Sarah—”
Sarah closed her eyes and looked away.
Ava gulped. “Please, Sarah. I know it sounds bad, but I was just trying to help.” She pushed back a tendril of hair that had fallen from her scrunchie, aware her hands were shaking, her heart beating sickly in her chest. “I can explain—”
“No.” Sarah’s gaze was so filled with pain that Ava’s throat tightened. “How could you do that to me?”
“I didn’t mean to! I was stupid and young, and I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“You knew. And now I know. It wasn’t real.”
Ava took a step forward. “No, no. It’s real.”
“Not according to the book.” Sarah ran her fingers over the faded cover, wincing as if it had whispered something ugly.
Ava was sure it had. Books loved Sarah, but Ava knew this particular book, which was old and cranky and rightfully furious at being locked away for so many years. The thing was bursting with rancid intent. “Sarah, I was stupid. I shouldn’t have tried it, but I thought it might help. I—”
“Help?” Sarah gave a laugh that was so sharp even the book in her hands seemed to shudder. “You tested one of your teas on me. Without telling me!”
“I wasn’t testing anything. I mean, I’d never done that particular brew before, but— Look, you have to understand. Momma had died, and I was trying to take care of you. And you were so, so sad. I was worried about you, and I thought that if you fell in love and he fell in love with you, you’d be happy again.”
Sarah’s eyes blazed. “Oh my God, our mother had just died. Of course I was sad! So were you!”
“Yes, but—” Ava’s tongue tripped over itself, and she stopped, struggling for a way to explain herself. “Sarah, you were sad for a long, long time. I thought falling in love a little might give you something positive to focus on.”
Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. “A little?”
Ava flushed. “The tea was way stronger than I expected. I was wrong. I know that. And I’m so, so, so sorry. When the tea didn’t work the way I thought it would, I should have told you. But you were so miserable, and I thought I could fix this—” She shook her head. “I couldn’t stand seeing you so sad. It was killing me.”
“Momma told us to never, ever use our abilities on each other, or without permission.”
“I know, I know. I just… I thought it would be such a wonderful thing.”
“Wonderful? I’ve spent my whole life thinking I loved Blake. And that at one time he’d loved me. But now I know it was all an empty joke. A prank you pulled on us both.”
“It wasn’t a prank!”
A tear slid down Sarah’s cheek. “No wonder I can never talk to him. I was cursed.”
“Not cursed! Just… it didn’t work the way I thought it would. It made you crazy for him, too much so. Those old recipes, they’re way too strong. I know that now, but I didn’t then. I made some errors that—”
“Hello?” a male voice called from the front of the house.
Ava started. “You called Blake?”
“We’re in here!” Sarah said loudly. She looked back at Ava. “I asked him to come here so you could tell him. I would do it myself, but you know better than anyone why I can’t.”
“Sarah, no! We can work together now and figure out how to fix this. We don’t need to tell him anything that—” Ava swallowed the rest of her sentence as Blake came into the room.
He wasn’t wearing his uniform today but a pair of jeans, a soft Henley shirt showing from under his coat, which made him look younger than usual.
Oh God. He’s going to be so mad. I can’t blame either of them. Feeling sick, Ava pressed her hand to her mouth, aware that her lips were trembling as if she were cold.
He looked from Sarah to Ava and then back, concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes wet, Sarah’s gaze locked on Ava. “Tell him what you did.”
“Sarah, I don’t—”
“Tell. Him.”
“Fine. Fine.” Ava crossed her arms over her chest. “I did something I shouldn’t have. It was a long time ago, but… it was a mistake.”
His eyebrows rose, but he didn’t speak.
Ava’s whole body was trembling now. She hugged herself a little tighter. “When you were in high school, I gave you a tea that… did something to you.”
; His expression grew dark. “What the hell, Ava.”
“It was stupid, I know.” Ava rammed her hands into her pockets.
“What exactly did you do?”
“It’s— Oh God. You need to understand what I—we—were going through. A long time ago, when we were younger, Sarah found a book in the cellar written by our great-great-great-aunt. There were recipes in the book. For teas. They made people do and feel things, not bad things—well, sometimes bad, but I never used those.”
Sarah muttered something under her breath. “Ava, just tell him!”
“Okay! After Mom died, I used a recipe from that book for a tea that would make people feel a certain way.”
“She used it on us,” Sarah said bitterly.
His gaze stayed locked on Ava. “What was this tea supposed to do?” he asked grimly.
Ava had to swallow twice before she could answer. “It was supposed to make people fall in love.”
His mouth whitened.
Ava winced. “I’m sorry! Sarah was so sad after Momma died, and I thought maybe falling in love would help her move past that. I could see that you two were already interested in each other. So I made the tea and slipped it to both of you so you would…” Ava couldn’t look at either of them. “I shouldn’t have done it. It was wrong. But it’s not as if you all weren’t already thinking about it! You just kept missing each other. You were crazy for her when she was too young to care, then she was crazy for you after you’d moved on and had started dating someone else. Back and forth and back and forth. It was obvious to everyone you belonged together. So I just… gave it a push.”
“A push?” Sarah gave a short laugh. “Aunt Mildred’s teas don’t push. They shove.”
Blake’s gaze had never left Ava’s face. “Let me get this straight. You tricked me and Sarah into drinking a love potion?”
“It wasn’t a love potion, not exactly. It’s a tea. A brew that helps…” She grimaced. “Not that it matters.”
“It explains so much,” Sarah said. She looked at Blake. “Why I can’t talk to you without feeling so much that I can’t think and why I can never see you without—” Her face pinkened, and she looked down at the book, her lips thinned as she tried to hold in the torrent of words that threatened to spill out.
Seeing the agony on Sarah’s face, Ava took a step toward her sister. “Sarah, don’t look like that! Please don’t. And, Blake, this—all of this, it’s my fault. Not Sarah’s. I just didn’t know…” The words, tumbling and incoherent, locked themselves in her throat, and she was left speechless.
“You ‘just didn’t know.’ ” Blake gave an odd, shaky laugh. “God, you Doves. You’re something, aren’t you? You always think you’re the answer to the world’s problems, but the truth is, you can’t even fix your own.” Blake eyed Ava. “When did you give us this tea?”
“The summer before Sarah’s junior year.”
He turned to Sarah. “That’s when you suddenly realized I was alive.”
Sarah, her face red, swiped at her tears and gave him a short nod. “After that, I couldn’t speak to you without my tongue bumbling over itself. I kept losing track of what I wanted to say, or I’d just ramble on and on and— Oh God. I’m doing it now. I can’t talk to you without wanting to share every thought, every hope, every—” She slapped her hand over her mouth and looked at him pleadingly, her eyelashes spiked with wetness.
Blake’s face tightened. “Since Ava gave you that tea, you’ve thought you were in love with me, but you’re not.”
Sarah, who looked as miserable as Ava felt, nodded. She lowered her hand from her mouth. “I’m sure that’s a relief to you, but—”
His laugh was harsh. “Good Lord, Sarah. You never got it, did you? You might have been enchanted, but I wasn’t.”
Ava frowned. “I gave you the same tea I gave Sarah. I watched you both drink it.”
He cut her a hard glare, his tone as icy as his stare. “Unless you slipped me that magic tea when I was seven years old, then how I feel about your sister has nothing to do with you or your potions.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Seven?” The word was more a whisper than anything else.
“We had art class together. You remember that, don’t you?”
Sarah nodded slowly.
Blake’s lopsided smile was bitter. “This isn’t how I’d planned on telling you. Heck, I hadn’t planned on saying anything ever, to be honest.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.” He clenched his jaw, suddenly looking as tired as Ava felt. “Sarah, you and I have danced this dance a million times. And it never works for us, although”—Ava felt the weight of his gaze—“now we know why.”
“It was a mistake,” Ava said desperately. “I know that now.”
“So you’ve said, for all the good it does. Tell me, Ava, what would a love potion of yours do to a person who was already in love?”
Ava took a deep breath. Over the years, while looking for a remedy, she’d spent thousands upon thousands of hours reading ancient, dusty tomes about potions, teas, and other herbal remedies. After a moment, she spread her hands wide. “I don’t know.”
“Now you do. It kills it, Ava. That’s what it does. Not that it matters, as apparently Sarah never felt anything for me to begin with. Not anything real, anyway.” Sarah made a protesting noise, but he didn’t give her time to speak. “Meanwhile, I grew so exhausted by the song and dance that, to keep sane, I refused to be a part of it any longer.”
“Don’t blame Sarah,” Ava said. “Please, Blake, this is all my fault. I just wish you’d told her how you’d felt. Then there would have never been any need for—”
“Tell her?” Blake turned to Sarah. “When we were in high school, how many times did I ask you out? A hundred? Two hundred?”
Her face pinkened. “In high school, yes, but later—”
“Later? After you’d rejected me so often that my buddies started calling me Blind Blake? And now… Sarah, I saw you at the Moonlight Café last night. I was eating alone. I waved at you, and you turned on your heel and ran away without even placing your order. That was last night, Sarah. You run away every time you see me, as if I have leprosy or—” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I’m tired of it. A few years ago, I decided we’d never be anything but acquaintances. Finding out about this now, I can see how right that decision was.”
Sarah shook her head, tears rolling down her face. “No,” she whispered.
Ava stepped forward. “Blake, please. This isn’t Sarah’s fault. Give her another chance. I’ll stay out of it, I promise. I—”
“No. I’m done with you Doves. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s Valentine’s Day, and I was about to go fishing with a friend. A female friend. Someone who might actually find the courage to speak to me without a magic tea. Goodbye, Sarah. And Ava? From here on out, keep your damn teas to yourself.”
He stalked out, the front door slamming behind him.
Sarah crumpled against the counter, dropping her head onto her arms, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed.
Ava reached for her. “Sarah, I’m—”
The second Ava’s hand touched her, Sarah jerked away. “Don’t!” The word snapped with all the sharpness of an icy morning. Sarah stood, her wet eyes blazing. “You’ve done enough! I loved him! Or I thought I did, but—” A sob cut her off.
“Oh, Sarah, please. I was trying to help.”
“Like that makes it better? You’re in the clear because you had good intentions? If they were so good, then why didn’t you tell me what happened, instead of locking the book away? All this time we’ve lived together, you’ve had thousands of opportunities to say something. You’ve had years, Ava. Years. And yet…” Sarah’s mouth thinned. “God, when I think of all the times I’ve talked to you about Blake, about my feelings and how hard it was for me, and there you were, you and your little secret, not saying a word. You just stood there and let me believe there was something wrong wit
h me when…” Tears fell freely down Sarah’s face, dropping onto her bright shirt. “I trusted you. I trusted you more than anyone I know. And now I feel like I don’t even know you.”
“Sarah, it was an… an accident. I just wanted to help you, and it didn’t work. I’m so, so sorry. If you’ll just let me try to make this right. Let me—”
“Make another tea that doesn’t work the way you want it to? He loved me all those years, Ava. He. Loved. Me. And I drove him away because of what that stupid tea did to me. And now he’s gone. Out with another woman, one he’ll fall in love with while I’m still here, alone. I don’t even know how I’ll face him again. I could barely do it before, but now—” Her gray-green eyes shimmered with misery. “I’ve lost him.”
She looked so broken, so wounded. Ava’s heart ached as if it had been cut in two.
Sarah gulped back another sob. She swiped at her eyes with her sleeve and then turned and picked up the ancient book. “I’m leaving.”
Ava nodded miserably. “You need some space. I understand. I’ll—”
“It’s not temporary, Ava. I’m moving out.”
“Sarah, no. There’s no need for—”
“Oh, yes, there is. There’s every need. I need to get away from your secrets and your teas, but most of all, I need to get away from you. I’m never going to forgive you for this, Ava. Never.”
Every word cut. She struggled to find the words that might make Sarah change her mind but knew deep in her heart they didn’t exist. She watched helplessly as Sarah went upstairs and started packing, slamming drawers and stomping across her bedroom.
Just as Ava had feared, Sarah couldn’t forgive her for her mistake.
And Ava couldn’t blame her.
All too soon, Sarah came downstairs, a suitcase in one hand, the ancient book in her other. She didn’t spare Ava so much as a glance as she went outside, and soon her truck roared to life and pulled out of the driveway.
Then Ava was alone, alone with an echoing silence filled with nothing but the sound of her own bitter, regretful sobs.
A Cup of Silver Linings Page 20