Garden Spells

by Sarah Addison Allen

  “Is that Sydney Waverley?” Hunter John asked. He disengaged his hand from Emma’s and left her standing there. He just left, walking toward Sydney as if he’d been roped.

  Emma rounded on her mother. “Mama, what have you done?”

  Ariel leaned in close and hissed, “Stop being a fool and go over there. Make people look at her. Make all her old friends look at her.”

  “I can’t believe you did this.”

  “She’s back, and you need to take control. Show her she doesn’t belong here, that there’s no chance of getting what she had back. And show your husband that you’re better than she is. That you always were. You’re the belle of the ball, and she’s just the caterer. Now go.”

  It was the longest walk Emma had ever taken. Hunter John had already made his way over to Sydney and was staring at her while she arranged the new trays on the buffet tables. She hadn’t looked up yet. Was she acting like she didn’t know he was there? Was she just being coy? She was thinner and she looked older, but her face was still luminous and her hair was cut expertly. She always had the best hair. She never had to dye it or curl it like Emma had been doing since she was twelve.

  Emma had nearly reached him when Hunter John finally cleared his throat and said, “Sydney Waverley, is that you?”

  Several things happened at once. Sydney’s head shot up and she locked eyes with Hunter John. Eliza Beaufort, who was standing at the next table, swiveled on her heel. And Claire stopped what she was doing to watch, her dark eyes sharply on them like a schoolteacher’s.

  “I’ve always said it, Emma,” Eliza said as she sauntered over. “You throw the best parties. Carrie, come over here,” Eliza called. “You have to see this.”

  Carrie Hartman, one of the old gang from high school, came forward. “Sydney Waverley,” she said in a singsongy voice. Carrie had been the only girl in school who could even come close to Sydney’s beauty.

  Sydney looked cornered. Emma felt a hot rush of embarrassment for her.

  “We all heard you were back in town,” Eliza said. “You were away awhile. Where did you go?”

  Sydney wiped her hands on her apron, then tucked her hair behind her ears. “I went everywhere,” she said, her voice quivering slightly.

  “Did you go to New York?” Hunter John asked. “You always talked of going to New York.”

  “I lived there a year.” Sydney’s eyes darted around. “Um, where are your parents?”

  “They moved to Florida two years ago. I took over the business.”

  “So you live here?”

  “We live here,” Emma said, hooking her arm in Hunter John’s and leaning in to press her cleavage against him.

  “Emma? You and Hunter John are…married?” Sydney said, and her shock was unsettling to Emma. How dare she be shocked that Hunter John chose her?

  “We married the year we graduated. Right after you left. Sydney,” she said, “I see two empty trays here.” Emma tried to tell herself that Sydney had set herself up for this, that her humiliation was all her own doing. But it didn’t make Emma feel any better. She didn’t like making Sydney feel bad. Emma had won, after all. Right? But this is what Emma’s mother would do, would say. And look how long she’d kept Emma’s father.

  Hunter John looked from Emma to Sydney and back. “I need to speak with you in private,” he said, and led Emma through the crowd of guests into the house, Sydney’s eyes following them.

  “What’s the matter, honey?” Emma asked when Hunter John led her into his study and closed the door. Emma had decorated this room for him, the butter-and-cocoa-colored walls, the framed photos of Hunter John’s glory days on the high-school football field, the potted plants, and the huge walnut leather-top desk. She went to the desk and leaned against it provocatively. The reason she’d picked this particular desk was because it made a soft bed for when she surprised him with a quickie when he was working at home. She thought that’s what he wanted now. Her mother was right again. Hunter John had seen Sydney and Emma together and known he’d made the right choice.

  But Hunter John stood by the door, his glare as dark as charcoal. “You did this on purpose. You’re humiliating Sydney on purpose.”

  She felt like she’d been given a gift on her birthday, sure it was the very thing she’d been asking for all year, only to find an ugly stone or a cracked mirror inside the box. “Since when do you care?”

  “I care about how this looks. Why bring her here, into our home, for Christ’s sake?”

  “Shh, honey. Shh. Calm down. It’s all right. I had nothing to do with it, I swear.” She walked over to him and stood close, then she reached up and petted his lapels. Her hands slid down his jacket and rubbed against the front of his trousers.

  His hands circled her wrists. “Emma, there are guests right outside.”

  “Then I’ll just make this quick.”

  “No,” he said for the first time in ten years, and he stepped away. “Not right now.”

  Claire felt nervous, and she hated the feeling. She hated when she didn’t know what to do. She’d watched as Sydney’s old friends converged on her like dust to static, and Claire just stood there. She hadn’t known if Sydney wanted her to step in, or if Sydney would get mad if Claire pulled her away from the first time she’d seen her friends in ten years. Now Sydney’s face was tight and her steps were sharp as Claire followed her back into the kitchen.

  As soon as the door swung closed behind Claire, Sydney dropped her empty trays on the counter and said, “Why didn’t you tell me Mr. and Mrs. Matteson were Hunter John and Emma Clark?”

  Claire gathered Sydney’s trays and stacked them on her own, then set them aside. “It didn’t occur to me that you would think it was anyone else. Who did you think it was?”

  “I thought it was Hunter John’s parents! How on earth was I supposed to know Hunter John and Emma got married?”

  “Because when you broke up with him, he and Emma started dating,” Claire said, trying to keep a sensible tone to her voice, trying to keep her stomach from jumping, trying to keep her mind from saying, over and over, This is bad. Something’s wrong. This is bad.

  “How was I supposed to know that? I wasn’t here!” Sydney said. “And I didn’t break up with him. He broke up with me. Why do you think I left?”

  Claire hesitated. “I thought you left because of me. I thought you left because I kept you from learning things, because I made you hate being a Waverley.”

  “You didn’t make me hate being a Waverley. This whole town did,” Sydney said impatiently. She shook her head like she was disappointed in Claire. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m leaving because of you now.”

  “Wait, Sydney, please.”

  “This was a setup! Didn’t you see it? Emma Clark set me up to look like a…like a servant in front of Hunter John and all my old high-school friends in their expensive dresses and their boob jobs. And how did she even know I was back in town? Why did you tell her?”

  “I didn’t tell her.”

  “Sure you didn’t. How else would she have found out?”

  “Maybe Eliza Beaufort told her,” Claire said. “Her grandmother was one of the ladies at the luncheon in Hickory.”

  Sydney stared at Claire for a few long moments, her eyes shining with tears. Claire didn’t think she’d ever seen Sydney cry. They’d both been stoic children. Neither had seemed too affected by their mother’s abandonment, and neither had shed a tear. But for the first time Claire wondered what Sydney had been holding in all this time. “Why did you let me do this? Why did you let me go out there? Didn’t you think it was unusual for Emma to be calling you to cater something meant to flaunt a lifestyle everyone else already knew about? The passion and the money. She did this so I would see it.”

  “She didn’t arrange this, her mother did. I never even spoke to Emma. Maybe this was just a coincidence, Sydney. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “How can you, of all people, say that? To a Waverley, there’s a
meaning to everything! And how can you defend them? Are you actually this comfortable with people thinking the way they do about us? I saw you when we were kids, how no one wanted to be your friend, how no boys were ever interested in you. I thought that’s why you retreated into all of this”—Sydney waved widely at the food and flowers on the countertops—“because you thought the house and Grandma were all you needed. I wanted more than that. I wanted those friends out there. I wanted all of this. I was devastated when Hunter John broke up with me, but you didn’t even notice. And this hurt me tonight, Claire. Doesn’t it matter at all to you?”

  Claire didn’t know what to say, which seemed to make Sydney even more upset. Sydney turned with a hiss and went to the purse she’d set by the door. She took out a small piece of notebook paper, then went to the wall phone by the walk-in pantry.

  “What are you doing?” Claire asked.

  Sydney pointedly turned her back on her and dialed the number that was on the paper.

  “Please, Sydney. Don’t leave.”

  “Tyler?” Sydney said into the receiver. “It’s Sydney Waverley. I’m stuck someplace and I need a ride.” Pause. “Willow Springs Road, on the east side of town. Number thirty-two, a large Tudor home. Drive around back. Thank you so much.”

  Sydney took off her apron, dropped it to the floor. She grabbed her purse and walked out the door.

  Claire helplessly watched her go. Her stomach was jumping so much she felt like she was going to be sick, and she had to bend over and put her hands on her knees. She couldn’t lose what was left of her family, not so soon. She couldn’t be the reason Sydney left again.

  The past ten years weren’t the only mystery surrounding Sydney. Claire realized she didn’t even know her sister when they were kids. She didn’t realize Sydney thought Hunter John was the one. She didn’t realize it had hurt Sydney so much. But what Claire didn’t know, those people out there on the patio did. And they had done this on purpose. Claire knew from the beginning that something had been off. Sydney was right. There was a meaning to everything, and Claire had ignored all the warning signs.

  She took a deep breath, then straightened. She would fix this.

  She went to the phone and pushed the redial button.

  It took a few moments, but Tyler’s voice finally came on the line, slightly breathless. “Hello?”

  “Tyler?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Claire Waverley.”

  There was a definite pause of surprise. “Claire. This is strange. I just got a call from your sister. She sounded upset.”

  “She is. She’s with me on a job. I need to…ask you for a favor.”

  “Anything,” he said.

  “I need you to go next door to my house before you pick Sydney up here. Will you bring me some things from the house and garden? I’ll tell you where the keys are hidden.”

  About forty minutes later, there was a knock at the back door.

  Claire opened the door and found Tyler there, carrying two cardboard boxes filled with flowers and ingredients from the house. “Where should I put this?”

  “On the counter by the sink.” When he passed her, she looked out to the service driveway, where Tyler’s Jeep was parked with his lights still on. Sydney was sitting in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead.

  “I saw you at work at Anna’s, but I have to say, behind the scenes is even more impressive,” Tyler said, taking a look around the kitchen as he set the boxes down.

  Claire turned. While waiting for Tyler to bring the things she needed, Claire had lined up the food and flowers. Then she had written ingredient descriptions and a list of the flowers outside on index cards so she wouldn’t confuse a recipe and cause mixed signals. This was too important. They wanted roses tonight to represent their love, but when you added sadness to love it caused regret. They wanted nutmeg because it represented their wealth, but when you added guilt to wealth it caused embarrassment.

  “Thank you for doing this,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask what all this was for. But why would he? He wasn’t from here. He didn’t know the subversive nature of what she could do.

  “No problem.”

  She lowered her eyes and noticed that his jeans had dirt on the knees from the garden. “Sorry about the stains. I’ll pay for a new pair.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m a painter. All my clothes look like this.” He smiled, so warm, so calm. It almost took her breath. “Anything else I can do?”

  “No,” she said automatically, but then added, “Wait, yes. Will you ask Sydney not to leave tonight? Not until the night is over. I need to fix something.”

  “Did you two have a fight?”

  “Sort of.”

  He smiled again. “I’ll do my best.”

  When Claire got home, Sydney and Bay were already in bed. Sydney had obviously asked Tyler to pick Bay up at Evanelle’s house on their way home.

  At least they were going to stay the night, long enough for some things to be made right.

  Claire stayed up late to make her regular order of six dozen cinnamon buns, which she delivered early to the Coffee House on the square every Sunday morning. Around midnight she sleepily made her way up to her room to set her alarm clock. She checked in on Bay, though she knew Sydney did it several times a night, then she walked down the hall.

  She’d just passed Sydney’s room when Sydney called out, “I had a lot of calls before you came home tonight.”

  Claire backed up a step and peered into Sydney’s room. Sydney was awake, lying in bed with her arms behind her head. “Eliza Beaufort, Carrie, people at the party I didn’t even know. They all said the same thing. That they were sorry. Eliza and Carrie even said they really liked me in high school and they wished things were different. What did you say to them?”

  “I didn’t say a word.”

  Sydney paused, and Claire knew by her next question that she was beginning to understand. “What did you give them?”

  “I gave them lemon-balm sorbet in tulip cups. I put dandelion petals in the fruit salad, and mint leaves in the chocolate mousse.”

  “That wasn’t on the dessert menu,” Sydney said.

  “I know.”

  “I noticed Emma Clark and her mother never called.”

  Claire leaned against the doorjamb. “They caught on to what I was doing. They wouldn’t eat the dessert buffet. And I was ordered to leave.”

  “Did they pay you the remainder of your fee?”

  “No. And I’ve had two cancelations tonight from acquaintances of theirs.”

  A rustle of sheets. Sydney turned in bed to face Claire. “I’m sorry.”

  “They officially canceled, but they’ll call again when they need something. They’ll just want me to keep it a secret.”

  “I’ve messed things up. I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t mess anything up,” Claire said. “Please don’t leave, Sydney. I want you here. I may not act like it sometimes, but I do.”

  “I’m not leaving. I can’t.” Sydney sighed. “As crazy as this place is, the way people think, the sameness, is what makes it safe. Bay needs that. I’m her mother, I have to give that to her.”

  The words were left hanging in the air, and Claire could tell immediately that Sydney wanted to take them back. “Did you leave someplace that wasn’t safe?” Claire had to ask.

  But she should have known Sydney wouldn’t answer. She shifted in her bed again, turning away. “I wish you’d do something about him,” Sydney said, pointing to her open window. “It’s hard to sleep with that.”

  There was a faint purple light filtering in. Curious, Claire entered Sydney’s room and went to the window, which overlooked Tyler’s house. She looked down and found Tyler walking around his front yard in pajama bottoms and nothing else, a cigarette in his hand. He was radiating those tiny purple snaps again. Occasionally he would stop and look over to the Waverley house, then he’d resume pacing.

  “You can see it?” Claire asked, still looking
down at Tyler.

  “Of course.”

  “Then you’re more of a Waverley than you give yourself credit for being.”

  Sydney snorted. “Oh, joy. So what are you going to do about him?”

  Claire ignored the flutter like tiny birds’ wings in her chest. She moved away from the window. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Just because no one expects you to do it doesn’t mean you can’t. Don’t you ever want to prove people wrong?”

  “I’m a Waverley,” Claire said, walking back to the door. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “You’re human. It’s okay to date. It’s okay to feel something. Go out with Tyler. Make people say, ‘I can’t believe she did that.’”

  “You sound like Mom.”

  “Was that a compliment?”

  Claire stopped at the door and gave a small laugh. “I’m not sure.”

  Sydney sat up in bed and punched her pillow a few times. “Wake me and I’ll help you deliver the cinnamon buns in the morning,” she said as she flopped back down.

  “No, I can—” Claire stopped. “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  Tuesday afternoon Claire announced she was going to the grocery store, and Sydney asked if she and Bay could ride along. Sydney wanted to get a newspaper to check out the want ads and, though it pained her to do so, she had to return the shirt Evanelle had given her. She’d put aside the money she made from working with Claire for emergencies, so she needed extra cash for toiletries, and Bay needed kid food. Claire was a great cook, but she’d looked at Bay blankly yesterday when Bay asked if she had any pizza rolls.

  When they reached Fred’s, Claire and Bay went into the grocery store and Sydney walked up the sidewalk. The square hadn’t changed much, although now there was a university student’s sculpture that looked like an oak leaf by the fountain on the green.

  She returned the shirt at Maxine’s and discovered that the shop had changed hands twice in the past ten years and was now run by a stylish woman in her fifties. She didn’t have an opening in the store, but she took Sydney’s number and said she would call if something came up. She recognized the Waverley name when Sydney wrote it down and asked Sydney if she was related to Claire. When Sydney said yes, the woman brightened and said Claire had made her daughter’s wedding cake last year, and it had been the talk of all her friends from Atlanta. Then she said she would definitely call if she ever had an opening.