Authors: Mary Rickert
“Not really.”
“Okay, there were all these rumors, right? Grandma told me there were rumors about an old witch, of all things. Can you imagine? I mean, really. I couldn’t believe Grandma was talking like that. There was an old witch, she said, a rumor about Eve and her friends, how they joined a coven. I know. I can tell by your expression you think this is really nuts, and I do too. But I thought, well, you know, Grandma’s getting old, though she’s not as old as they are, but I thought, dementia, right? And then she said she had something to tell me. She said Grandpa saw it with his own eyes.”
“Saw what?”
“You can keep a secret, can’t you?”
Though Bay isn’t even sure she likes Stella, she does enjoy the thrill of secrets. She nods.
Stella takes half a deep breath, briefly covering her nose and mouth with her hand as she inhales. “Grandpa saw Ruthie shoot someone.”
“Ruthie would never—”
“I know. Believe me, Bay, I know. I’ve met her, all right? Just ’cause it turns out she’s all Mary Poppins now doesn’t change what she did.”
“But you don’t know—”
“Grandma wouldn’t lie. And my grandpa didn’t lie to her. He saw the whole thing. He told Grandma he never forgot the look in Ruthie’s eyes. He said they were killer eyes.”
“But who—”
“I’m not ready to say who yet, okay? You don’t really need to know that right now, anyway. I don’t actually know why she did it. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. That’s why I’m here. I was using Eve as a cover. ’Cause she died young. I thought they would talk to me about her. But of course I started with the source, right? I called Ruthie, you know, pretending I was trying to find out about Eve, and she was so sweet, Ruthie I mean, and invited me to come this weekend, but she said we had to act like it was just a coincidence. See how sneaky she is? She also said that maybe they were ready to finally talk about ‘what happened to Eve.’ That’s how she said it: ‘what happened to Eve.’ And just like that I knew I had a bigger story than I thought. I know there’s a connection. I just don’t know what it is yet.”
“She’s not your usual bird,” Nan will say, for instance, when Mrs. Hevore drops off a donation of unmatched shoes, no pairs in the entire box, which always makes Bay wonder if Mrs. Hevore has a secret shoe garden of her own, though the few times Bay has seen her at the supermarket, her cart filled with red meat and yogurt, or at the summer theater production of
A
Midsummer Night’s Dream
, sitting stiffly in a folding chair, wearing her social worker clothes, she has appeared far too tame for secrets. “Oh, she’s not your usual bird,” Nan says, as though that explains everything.
Clearly,
Bay thinks,
Ruthie is “not your usual bird” either, but that doesn’t mean she’s a murderer.
“You’re wrong. Ruthie is—”
“I went back there, where they grew up. Do you know about Eve’s grave?”
Bay shakes her head.
“Grandma said I would smell it before I’d see it. Because of the roses. Grandma says no one knows how they got there. She said Great-Grandpa Leary tried to dig it out once, but all he got was scratched up, and besides, who goes digging up someone’s grave, anyway? It’s kind of stunning, really, beautiful in a forbidding way, you know, because of the thorns. The headstone is almost covered, the roses wrapped around it. People were so much more dramatic back then. Anyway, carved into her headstone are these lines: ‘Did not the whole earth sicken when she died?’ It’s from a poem by Ben Jonson. Grandma says the roses were a sign.”
“A sign of what?”
Stella shakes her head. “Well, you know. A sign of a witch, or maybe a ghost. Some say it’s a sign she’s a saint, like a miracle, but no offense, I don’t believe that. And you know, of course, I don’t believe in, like cartoon witches, but everyone these days knows about Wicca.” Stella stops abruptly, eyeing Bay from beneath lowered lids. “I’m just trying to figure out the truth. I mean, if I’m wrong, then fine, I’m wrong. All I’m saying is they’re acting secretive. All of them are, even Ruthie, who invited me and now talks nonsense half the time. I really don’t know what’s going on. I still don’t know what she meant about ‘what happened to Eve.’ I’m not trying to hurt anyone, but I think I have a right to know. Don’t forget, this is my family.”
When the pampas grass rustles behind her, Bay wonders if a deer will walk in on them. Once, when she was a child playing here, a deer did wander into the clearing. Her Nana was upset when Bay told her about it afterward. “Deer are dangerous,” she said. “Their hooves are like razor blades. Don’t ever get so close to one again.” Bay never said how close she’d gotten, lying down next to it, falling asleep until a sharp sound like a bough breaking or a gunshot woke her, and she found herself alone, though the ground beside her was still warm.
This time, however, it is not a deer, but Howard, apologizing when he sees them.
“Oh, I get it,” Stella says as she stands and brushes blades of grass off her legs. “Secret assignations? I guess I’m in the way here.”
Bay feels herself blush as Howard protests more vehemently than seems necessary.
“I was just leaving anyway,” Stella says. “Don’t worry. I won’t blow your cover. I can keep your secret too.”
Howard and Bay both start to speak, but Stella waves her hand, dismissing them as if they are the last people on earth to explain themselves. She gives Bay a long look and says, “I hope we have an understanding,” before exiting through the tall grass.
“Well, that was awkward,” Howard says.
Right
, Bay thinks.
Because
why
would
you
have
anything
to
do
with
me?
“This is a nice spot. I was here earlier, but that smell got to me. Doesn’t it bother you?”
“I don’t notice anything.” At this point Bay is lying, for no reason she can think of, other than she doesn’t feel like agreeing with Howard.
He studies her, his eyes narrowed, forehead furrowed. “What’s wrong? Why are you angry?”
“I’m not angry,” Bay says, though she is beginning to suspect she is. “Why is everyone saying that? Mavis—”
“Yeah,” Howard says. “I know how angry I was that she told everyone I’m gay—”
“Wait. What?”
“Not that I’m ashamed. I mean, that’s why I’m here. Well, not here, but home this week.”
“You’re gay?”
“You knew, right? Mavis told everyone.”
Bay shakes her head.
“Are you… I mean…” Howard shifts from one foot to the other, and Bay realizes he is mistaking her silence for judgment.
“Oh, no. I don’t care,” she says. “I don’t care about stuff like that at all. It doesn’t matter.”
This isn’t completely true, because it does matter, but not like that. Of course it matters. Howard’s sexuality is an important part of his life. Bay doesn’t mean to suggest it is trivial. That’s not what she meant. It’s just, she liked Howard. She likes him. She thought…well, what was she thinking? Even if he weren’t gay, he’s in college and way too old for her. Still, Bay feels sad to lose the fantasy she’s been imagining. It’s not horrible, it’s just not the story she thought she was in, that’s all.
“I have to get out of here,” Howard says. “The smell is really bad.”
“It’s not that bad,” Bay says, though truth be told, it is. They walk through the bank of grass into the yard, the odor dissipated by the mysterious scent of dead lilacs. Stella is nowhere in sight, but Mavis still paces the yard, taking what appear to be measured steps in starts and stops, punctuated by exhalations of smoke, her dress aglow against the blue sky. She signals Bay to join her, but Bay pretends not to understand and waves without enthusiasm until Thalia rounds the corner of the house, stopping briefly to speak to Mavis.
As Thalia walks toward her, Bay is filled with an odd feeling: both happy and sad, as if they have been separated for decades. And while it is true they haven’t spent as much time together in the past month as they usually do, it’s not as bad as years; it’s only been a few weeks.
“Is she one of your Nana’s friends?” Thalia asks.
“What did she say?”
“She said something like, ‘Oh, that’s right, you can represent normal.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just ignore her.”
“But what does she mean?”
“Just ignore her. No one knows what she’s talking about half the time.”
Bay watches Mavis stop short, halfway up the back stairs, descend, and walk to the front of the house, her lips moving as she gestures with her cigarette, smoke trailing behind her like ghosts.
“Are we having meat tonight? ’Cause you know, I just turned vegetarian.”
“Thalia, I have to tell you something.”
“It’s okay. I’ll move stuff around on my plate and bury it in the potatoes—”
“No, I don’t know what we’re having. Ruthie’s making dinner. It’s a surprise.”
“Thanks for inviting me. I’m so excited. What kind of ceremony is it? Hey, who’s that? He’s cute.”
“Thalia, wait.”
When Howard, who is standing beneath the lilac trees turns at their approach, Thalia giggles. Bay understands; seeing him is like finding the guy from
Twilight
in her yard.
“This is my friend Thalia. Thalia, this is Howard.”
“Hi,” Thalia says too loudly with a giggle.
“Come on,” Bay says, “we should see if Ruthie needs help setting the table or something.”
Thalia beams at Howard. “See you at dinner?”
“Oh, I didn’t know you were having a party. Maybe I should leave.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Bay cringes at how mean she sounds. “Of course you’re invited.”
“I’d like to. I’d like to stay.”
“Good,” Thalia says. “We would like it too!”
Bay grabs Thalia’s elbow, steering her away from making a fool of herself and up the hill toward the house.
The light has taken on that polished look, the way it gets on summer evenings, that small space of time that always makes Bay a little sad. Stepping around several runaway shoes, she inhales the delicious air, scented with savory herb, onion, and chocolate. These are the smells Bay can identify. She doesn’t know what else composes the delicious aroma, though it’s a pleasant problem to work out.
Onions, chocolate, lavender, and curry,
she thinks,
but
what else? Roses?
The back door screeches open, and Ruthie steps out, changed from her peony apron into a brightly colored striped skirt, its fullness achieved with layers of petticoats and a white sleeveless blouse that reveals the loose flesh of her freckled arms.
“Oh! I was just coming to get you young people. It’s almost time. Where’s Howard?”
“He’s back there, he’s—”
“I’ll get him,” Thalia says.
“No. You need to get dressed. This is the Flower Feast, you know.”
There’s no way Ruthie ever killed anyone. Bay can’t believe Stella would say such a thing. Then again, look what people say about Nan. Look at what the kids at school say.
“I didn’t bring anything special to wear,” Thalia says. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”
“Not to worry, dear. I put some things on your bed, Bay. Nothing either of you girls would be interested in normally, I am sure, but there should be something fun for tonight.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Of course I didn’t. Go on now. I’ll get Howard.”
“Did Nana wake up yet?”
Ruthie’s smile collapses, and the screen door she’s been holding open with her foot falls shut with a screech. “Actually, I’ll see about Nan. You girls tell Howard there’s a suit laid out for him in the parlor. Don’t dwiddle. You don’t want to be late.”
Her Nana never sleeps all day. What can it possibly mean? What if…but Bay won’t let her mind go there. Thalia chats happily about the mysterious Flower Feast and the opportunity to dress up, which segues into a rumination on whether she’ll be seated next to Howard, and why didn’t Bay tell her about him, where did he come from, anyway, and is that why she’s been acting strange lately?
“It’s not like that,” Bay says. “What do you mean I’ve been acting strange?”
Don’t be dead,
she thinks, sending the thought all the way to Nan. “Don’t be dead.”
“Who’s dead?”
“No one’s dead,” Bay says, perhaps too vehemently. She doesn’t want to talk about the fear she has of her Nana dying, as though naming it will make it so. Nan is not dead. She’s taking a very long nap—an all-day nap. A nap longer than any nap she’s ever taken.
“Are you sure?” Thalia squeezes Bay’s arm so hard it hurts. “Do you think Howard’s a ghost? Did you feel cold around him? I did. I just realized. I think I did. Don’t you think it’s possible? I mean, if your Nana is a witch? It would make sense, wouldn’t it? That there would be ghosts around here? Is that why they’re having a ceremony? To send him to the light?”
“Howard’s not dead, and my Nana’s not a witch, and I’m not the one who’s been acting strange.”
“Are you okay? You seem—”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m just saying it makes a lot of sense, you know? Maybe she has a special ability. My mother says when my grandmother died she used to visit all the time to rearrange the spices. She says some people have the sight, and—”
“Thalia, stop.”
“I’m sorry, Bay. Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Howard has joined them, so quiet they didn’t hear his approach.
“Ruthie says she has a suit laid out for you in the parlor,” Bay says through her tears. “I am such a freak.”
“You’re not,” Howard says, and Bay realizes she’s done it again, spoken out loud what she meant not to. “I mean, maybe you’re a little different, but all the best people are.” Howard wraps one arm around her shoulder, and Thalia, standing on the other side of Bay, does too.
“Yoo-hoodle! Bay! Yoo-hoodle!”
Ruthie stands at the back door, waving her hand high. She wouldn’t deliver terrible news with a yoo-hoodle greeting, would she?
“You don’t want to be late for the Flower Feast! You need to get dressed. Bring your friend. Howard, you come too.”
Maybe it’s a trick. Maybe Ruthie wants to get me close before she delivers bad news,
Bay thinks as Ruthie pivots back into the house.