“She’s good like that,” Rachel said.
The woman glanced outside as if debating if the twenty-dollar price tag was worth it. She rubbed her hands together again, her smile melting into a twisted scowl. “Maybe I should just wish this damn heat away. It would certainly be cheaper.”
“Please don’t.”
“But could you actually do it?”
Rachel’s hand shook, spilling powder onto the floor. “I don’t know.” I really have no idea what I can do.
* * *
While Everley went to talk to Ashe about the progress of the construction, Rachel tidied the shop.
The air conditioner buzzed steadily in the background as she added slices of cucumber and oranges and a few cups of ice to the water containers and updated the welcome message with the daily special—two-for-one bath bombs—on the sandwich board sign in pink and green chalk. When the bells on the door chimed half an hour later, she forced a smile, determined not to let any more of the townspeople’s accusations get under her skin.
Lola crossed the store and stopped a foot away from Rachel. She gripped her purse straps with both hands. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” She glanced around the shop, her eyes lingering on the workroom where Ashe and Everley were debating two different glass light fixtures.
“I’m working,” Rachel said, turning her attention back to the inventory.
“Does that mean you can’t listen?”
Sighing, Rachel lifted her gaze and waited.
“I know I wasn’t the nicest to you the other day, but I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand with everyone blaming you for everything,” Lola said.
“Is that supposed to be an apology?” She bent down and opened the cabinets underneath the shelves where they kept the extra inventory. She loaded her arms with mason jars filled with lemon-sugar scrub. She shivered as the cool glass pressed against her skin.
“No. Everything I said was true, so I have nothing to apologize for,” Lola said, taking a few jars from Rachel’s grasp and lining them up on the shelf. “But that doesn’t mean I’m enjoying what’s happened because of it.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Lola. We both know you’re just saying that so I’ll change my mind and help you with your sister.”
“Fine. It’s not all out of the goodness of my heart, but I’ll do whatever I have to to find Mary Beth. I want that more than anything.”
Rachel knew that feeling. She would give almost anything to get her brother back. Had tried to make countless deals with the universe over the years. So far nothing had been enough for the universe to take her up on it. “Even more than Ashe?”
Lola’s eyes flashed with anger at being forced to choose. Instead of answering, she said, “If you’d just tell me how to get in touch with her, I would owe you. Big time. I could maybe even help end your pariah status.”
Before Rachel could tell Lola she’d think about it, Ashe stepped into the room. One of the lamps dangled from his hand. It swung slowly back and forth. It caught the sunlight and sent shafts of light streaking across the floor.
“Everybody playing nice?” he asked. He looked at Lola when he said it.
She pressed her lips together into a thin line and rolled her eyes. Something about the expression was so Mary Beth that guilt burned in Rachel’s chest for not immediately telling Mary Beth about her sister.
“We’re good,” Rachel said.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you make up your mind,” Lola said.
“I will.”
After Lola left the shop, Ashe continued to hover. He set the light down and leaned against the wall that separated the two parts of the shop. His shirt was wet with sweat in spots and his jeans had dark handprint stains where he’d wiped dirt from something onto his thighs.
“Can I ask you something?” Rachel asked.
“Sure.”
“It’s about Lola.” She closed the gap between them and stopped less than a foot away from him. “If you don’t want to talk about her I understand, but I’m not really sure what to do about something and if anyone would know how she’d react, it would be you.”
“I’m not so sure about that, but I’ll try,” Ashe said.
“What do you know about her sister?”
“I know that she had one. Not that she ever talked about her. But I saw a picture once and figured it was her sister.” Ashe fidgeted with a ribbon on one of the bottles of lotion. It unraveled in his hand. “I’m a little surprised she told you. She doesn’t even like you. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s no secret that I’m not her favorite person.” Rachel reached over him and retied the satiny ribbon.
“Why did she tell you about her sister, then?” Ashe asked.
“She thinks I know her. And she wants me to help her contact her.”
“Do you? Know her, I mean?”
“Yes,” Rachel admitted. “But I don’t know if reuniting them is a good idea. They haven’t spoken in a decade for a reason, and I don’t want to break any trust or make things worse.”
Ashe leaned against the wall again and stared out the window, lost in thought for a moment. “Can I ask you something?” he finally asked, turning back to Rachel.
“Sure,” she said.
“Is her sister’s name Mary Beth?”
“I thought you said Lola never talked about her. How do you know her name?”
“After Lola moved out, I found a box of her stuff in the attic,” Ashe said. “There was a whole stack of letters addressed to Mary Beth Beaumont, but there was no address. It looked like she’d been writing them for years. I even found one of our wedding invitations in there.”
“Did you read the letters?” Rachel asked.
“I was tempted, but no. It was just something else she’d kept from me and I didn’t want to know what it was. They’re still up there if you want them.”
“I don’t. But it helps knowing they exist. Thanks.”
As much as Rachel hated having something in common with someone who had betrayed both Mary Beth and Ashe, those letters proved that Lola had never given up on finding her sister. And that was one thing Rachel understood deep down in her core.
23
When Rachel walked into the kitchen and found Catch asleep at the island, knife in hand, she swore under her breath. She’d been so caught up in her need to get away from all the wishes in town, she hadn’t stopped to think what the stress of all of these secrets coming out could be doing to Catch’s already run-down body. Ignoring her sense of self-preservation, she woke Catch and offered to deliver the six pies that were already lined up on the counter with yellow sticky notes affixed to the aluminum foil identifying the recipients. It took twenty minutes of persuading and the threat of calling Ashe to convince Catch she could handle both the pies and the potential accusations. In the end, Catch was too worn out to keep arguing.
And then there was no way to back out.
She looked up each address and marked them on a map before she left the house. There were four home deliveries and two to the coffee shop down the street from LUX. Could be worse, she thought as she loaded the pies into the back of her car and wedged them into place with rolled-up towels she pilfered from Catch’s linen closet.
No one answered at the first two houses, though cars sat in the driveways and music hummed through open porch windows from a radio or TV somewhere farther back in the house. Rachel left the pies on the welcome mats, knocked one last time, and ignored the shadows that danced behind curtains as she jogged back down the sidewalk. At the third house, the front door slammed shut, forcing the screen door to swing out, then smack back against the casement with a loud crack before she’d even made it halfway across the yard. The sound made her jump. Readjusting her grip on the flimsy disposable dish, she contemplated dumping the pie right there and laughing as the deep-red cherry pie filling seeped out onto the ground. But being spiteful would get
her exactly nowhere. So she continued to the house and knocked.
“You can just take that on back with you,” a voice called from inside. “I’ll just throw it away if you leave it here.”
Rachel peered into one of the windows flanking the front door. An elderly woman—Barbara, according to the sticky note—with a tight perm and a lined, sagging face looked back, gray eyes sharp and focused. Leaning closer to the thin pane of glass, Rachel said, “It’s from Catch.”
“I know who it’s from. But who’s to say what you’ve done to it.”
“Nothing. I promise.”
“I still don’t want it,” Barbara said.
“I’m going to leave it anyway. Throw it away if you want, but you’ll just be wasting a perfectly good pie.”
And perfectly good magic.
She set it on the small wrought-iron table, clenching her jaw to keep from saying the words out loud and fueling the rumors even more.
By the time she arrived at Elixir, the coffee shop that sold Catch’s non-secret-keeping pies, Rachel was tempted to call Ashe or Everley and have them run over to carry the pies inside just to avoid another confrontation. Instead, she balanced one pie on her left hand and the other on her forearm and swung open the door. Heads swiveled her way, and whispers raced from table to table. It was impossible to distinguish between “wish” and “witch” at that low volume. She took a deep breath and held it all the way to the counter.
“Listen,” the manager, Janelle, said as Rachel set down the pies. “If anyone sees you delivering this, we won’t be able to sell any of it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. All I’m doing is delivering them. I didn’t help make them. I haven’t done anything to them.”
“I’m not saying you did, but people are more than a little freaked out by what’s happening. Whether it’s because of you or not, it doesn’t matter. They need someone to blame so they don’t have to feel bad about the things they’ve done and you’re an easy target. That’s the reality of the situation right now.”
Rachel’s fingers tightened on the pie dish, pressing indentations into the aluminum. “So you’re not going to take them?”
“I’m going to make a show of turning you away, and then you’re going to come around back and drop them off where no one can see you,” Janelle said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“All right. Thanks.”
She turned, careful not to make eye contact with any of the patrons, who watched the whole exchange over the rims of their mugs and peered around flimsy sheets of newspaper.
* * *
It took Catch until the next day to find out how the deliveries had gone—or hadn’t gone, in most cases. Rachel would’ve joked that it must be a record for the longest amount of time something had been kept from Catch if the old woman hadn’t barged into LUX and smacked Rachel across the butt with a rolled-up menu she must have accidentally carried out of Elixir in her haste to get to Rachel.
Everley raised an eyebrow at them and, smirking, guided a customer toward the body sprays at the back of the store. Not quite out of listening distance, but at least as far away as they could get without leaving the building.
“Did you think letting them get away with treating you like you were nothing would make them decide you weren’t so bad after all?” Catch asked, leaning in so her breath blew hot against Rachel’s face.
“I was hoping the town would see I wanted to leave as badly as everyone else wanted me gone and it would let me go.”
“Hogwash. You want to be here as badly as the town wants you here and you know it.”
“Well, it’s not like that’s doing me any good. In case you haven’t noticed, things aren’t getting better.”
“That’s because you aren’t trying, Miss-Wouldn’t-Know-What-to-Do-with-Happiness-If-It-Hit-Her-in-the-Face.”
Rachel picked at a nail protruding a quarter inch from one of the shelves. Whatever had been hanging from it had been sold or moved to better display it elsewhere. “Excuse me for not wanting to be hit in the face. Even if it is by happiness.”
“Don’t get smart with me.” Catch fought the twitch in her face that might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Encouraging their idiotic behavior won’t change their minds. And it sure as hell won’t help you get control over your ability. So cut it out. And you,” Catch said, pointing a bony finger at the customer with Everley, who was known for her love of gossip, “pass this along for me. I’m going on strike for anyone bad-mouthing Rachel or spreading rumors about her. That means no more pies for anyone trying to run her out of town. They don’t want her magic, they don’t want mine either. And make sure they know that’s coming directly from me ’cause if any one of them shows up at my door asking for my help, I’m likely to beat them senseless with my rolling pin for my trouble.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the woman said, eyes wide with the promise of a new story to share. Her smile faltered when it landed on Rachel, but she dragged it back into place. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy to have her stick around.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said and smiled back at her, hoping more people would come around.
24
Catch turned away a half dozen people over the next week after word got back to her that they weren’t playing by her rules. The more word spread about her boycott, the less openly antagonistic people were to Rachel. They still whispered behind her back and switched to the opposite side of the street when they saw her coming, but the direct accusations had tapered off. Not that she ventured out into town for more than work these days, much to Catch’s irritation.
Summer finally seemed to be releasing its sticky grip on the town with a subtle dip in temperature. The windows had been open for days, the scent of blooming honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass drifting in on the breeze. When Catch and Rachel were home, they kept the front door open too.
“It’s your turn,” Rachel said to Catch when the doorbell chimed.
Catch wiped her hands on a towel and tossed it on the counter next to the dough Rachel was rolling out. A puff of flour danced in the air. Catch shuffled out of the kitchen, grumbling under her breath about it being her damn house.
“I thought you knew better than to show your face here again,” Catch said to whoever stood at her door.
“I’m sorry, I—”
Rachel couldn’t hear the voice well, so she set the rolling pin aside and moved to the doorway leading into the dining room. She still couldn’t see who was on the porch, but she could hear better.
“I thought you were someone else for a second. Someone I’m not real fond of,” Catch said. She put her hand on the knob, but didn’t open the screen door. “But since you’re not her, what can I do for you?”
“I’m a friend of Rachel’s. Are you Catch?”
This time the voice was clear. Unmistakable.
“Maeby!” Rachel yelled, obscuring whatever Catch said to her. She shot through the dining room, rattling the china in the buffet, and threw her arms around Mary Beth before the door was fully open. “You’re here.”
Mary Beth braced a hand on the porch railing to keep them from both falling down the steps. Laughing, she said, “You never gave me a firm answer about visiting, so I just decided to show up.”
“I’m so glad you did. You have no idea.” Rachel gave her another squeeze before stepping back.
Mary Beth looked Rachel over, her eyes narrowing as she did. Then the worry ebbed enough for her mouth to twitch into a quick smile. “You just got flour all over me.”
A fine white powder clung to the amethyst fabric of Mary Beth’s shirt. “That’s what you get for showing up without calling first,” Rachel said, grinning.
“This way I knew you couldn’t blow me off,” Mary Beth replied.
“I like her,” Catch said from the doorway. “I don’t know who she is, but I like her.”
“This is my best friend, Mary Beth Beaumont. Maeby, this is Catch Sisson.”
“You do know I haven’t be
en a Beaumont for almost six years now, right?” Mary Beth said.
Rachel bit her lip. She knew the name would register and trained her eyes on Catch, silently begging her not to say anything about Lola. “I know—”
“What are you now?” Catch interrupted.
“I’m a Foster.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Miss-No-Longer-a-Beaumont. C’mon in.” She held the door open and cracked a small smile when Mary Beth thanked her.
Rachel pointed out the rooms on the main floor as they walked toward the kitchen. She promised to give Mary Beth a full tour later. She told her to drop her bag anywhere, as if the home was as much hers as Catch’s.
“Let me know if you see it start to move,” Mary Beth said. She wedged the suitcase between the legs of the stool at the island. Sitting, she said, “I had to forcefully remove Violet from the car twice, so I wouldn’t put it past her to stow away in my luggage.”
Rachel’s laugh came easy. Just having Mary Beth there settled some of the restlessness and gnawing tension she hadn’t been able to shake since the townspeople turned on her.
“As much as I would have loved to see her, I’m kinda glad it’s just you. We haven’t had it be just the two of us since—”
“Since Geoff.”
“I was going to say since you ditched me for some guy, but same thing,” Rachel teased. She redusted the rolling pin with flour and flicked droplets of water onto the dough to keep it from drying out.
“Yeah, but at least I didn’t leave town. Or the state. Be glad I didn’t just wish you home.” Mary Beth covered her mouth as if she could force the words back in.
“It’s okay. Catch knows.”
Catch whipped her head around to glare at her. She thrust her hand on her hip. “I know what?”
“About the wishes,” Rachel said.
“Oh,” Catch said. The pie in the oven sizzled when she opened the door to drape a foil crust cover around the edges. The room filled with the scent of sweet cherries and caramelizing sugar. Nodding at the pie as if it was doing a good job of baking itself, she asked Mary Beth, “Do you make wishes come true too?”
The Secret Ingredient of Wishes Page 18
