“I just came in to tell you that Zach and I are back in our normal routine tonight. He has basketball practice. I’m going to work. We’ll see you later.” Ame kissed her mom on the cheek. “Hang in there, Mama. This is all happening for a reason. Dad’s karma finally came back around to kick his ass, but as far as we’re concerned, I know that things are going to be okay.” Ame turned as she was headed back out the door. “And, by the way, the grandwitches have arrived.”
Gretchel nodded, and slowly rose from the bed. Teddy marched her into her closet and helped her pick out clothes. She was finally awake, and he wasn’t going to let her slip back into the oblivion.
∞
The Shea family was broke.
Gretchel had always left their finances to Troy; as if she had a choice. It seemed like they were fine—better than fine. But it turned out that their comfortable life was just as illusory as Troy’s public persona.
Gretchel had known that their cars belonged to Sunset Auto. It just made sense that a luxury dealership’s top salesman and manager should drive something new and expensive, and the same went for his wife and daughter. And Gretchel had known that their house was mortgaged. She hadn’t known about the additional loans Troy had taken against the house, though, and she had no idea that the crash in the real estate market meant that they owed more than the house was worth. The allowance Troy gave Gretchel every month hadn’t changed, so she had no idea that they were basically living paycheck to paycheck. Savings account, retirement accounts, the kids’ college funds: all wiped out. Troy had left his wife and children with a modest life insurance settlement, negligible assets, and a pile of debt.
Gretchel went through the mess of paperwork in front of her one last time, even though she had given up hope of unearthing any buried treasure. Thank the gods and goddesses we have the cottage, she thought. At least my kids aren’t homeless.
Her kids… Ame was mature enough to handle this, if only because she had grown up expecting disaster. Zach was going to have a much harder time adjusting to this new reality. Gretchel cursed Troy for doing this to them, and she cursed herself for letting her kids down yet again.
Everything was going to have to go.
Cindy was clearing out the gargantuan entertainment center.
“DVDs?” Cindy asked Gretchel.
“Take them home to Holly.”
“DVD player?”
“Sell.”
“Blu-Ray?”
“Sell.”
“What is this, a VCR?” Cindy seemed perplexed by the black box in one of the entertainment center’s cabinets.
“I’ll keep that.” Cindy gave Gretchel a funny look, and then put the VCR in the appropriate box.
“Do you want these old VHS tapes, too?” Cindy asked. Gretchel jumped up and quickly looked through the labels. Golf. There were six tapes from the 90s. All of them records of Troy trying to perfect his swing. Gretchel had seen all of them, more times than she liked to remember. She flung them across the room, one at a time, smashing a photo of Troy with each throw. The video tape she was looking for had nothing to do with golf.
“Quit breaking stuff!” Teddy shouted from upstairs.
“I need to break stuff!” Gretchel shouted back.
“Baby Girl, just sit your ass down,” Miss Poni barked.
Gretchel glared at the old woman, and then plopped down onto the sofa. “I’m tired of this already,” she complained.
“You ungrateful little shit,” Miss Poni muttered, slamming her cane against the floor.
Marcus came in the house as the insult landed. “That’s enough, Grand Mama. Leave her alone.”
“You coddle her like she’s a goddamn fairy princess,” Miss Poni growled at her grandson.
Marcus slapped his ball cap on the sofa in frustration, but he held his tongue. It wasn’t smart to talk back to Miss Poni. Then he grabbed Gretchel’s hand and pulled her toward the stairs.
“Just use your best judgment for a while,” Marcus told the women in the living room as he led Gretchel up the stairs to her bedroom.
She crawled onto her bed and grabbed her old rag doll. She had slept with it since Troy’s death, just like she used to do before she married him. She held the doll close to her body, the hair of red yarn spilling every which way.
Marcus was entranced by the doll. He couldn’t look away. He was stuck in a time warp and was, for a moment, rendered speechless.
“What do you want, Marcus?”
The spell broken, Marcus turned to his little sister.
“What the hell’s going on with you, Baby Girl?”
She sighed. “I never thought I would be rid of him, Marcus. Never. And now that I am… I guess I just don’t know how to behave or act. I’m torn between the old Gretchel who was wild and the Gretchel who’s been a broken woman for so long. I don’t know who I am or who I want to be. I’m a mess. What do I do?”
“Well, first you slow down, and quit driving everyone nuts.”
She pursed her lips, and gave him the eye.
He stared at her without speaking, clearly thinking about what he was about to say next.
“I took the shotgun to the house on the hill and locked it in the gun safe. I have the only key,” he finally said, and Gretchel cringed. “I don’t know what the hell you were doing with the gun anyway, but you’re lucky Troy didn’t have the chance to turn it on you.”
“I’m lucky, Marcus? How have I ever been lucky? Do I look like I’m lucky now?”
“You’re lucky just to be alive, after everything you’ve been through. I swear to the gods, you’ve got more lives than all my farm cats put together,” he chided.
Her lip began to tremble, and Marcus sighed. He rubbed her arm. “Look, Baby Girl, Mama’s told me exactly what you’ve been going through. We’re all grateful to see the old Gretchel coming back, and we understand how hard coming back must be, but your mood swings are about to drive everyone over the edge. Mama said she heard you talking to the voices again, said you were mumbling crazy shit like you used to. Did a voice in your head tell you to get the shotgun?”
“No. It was just there —in my car.”
Marcus eyed her cautiously.
“I swear, Marcus! I have no idea how it got there.”
He was inclined to believe her. He didn’t like to think that there were malicious spirits roaming the property, trying to stir up trouble, but he knew Snyder Farms too well to dismiss the possibility.
“I notice your necklace is gone. Did the voices tell you to take it off?”
“No.”
“Did anyone tell you to take off the amethyst?”
“It wasn’t so much that I heard someone as much as it was a feeling that I heard someone,” she said quietly. “I just knew it was time.”
Marcus gave his sister another long, considering look.
“Well, it’s good to have you back, Gretchel, but you’ve got to keep it together. You’ve blocked out the voices before without help from booze, medication, or magic amulets, and you can do it again. Otherwise you’re going to end up back in the loony bin.”
“You wouldn’t let them take me, Marcus. You wouldn’t!” There was real panic in her voice.
He lifted his hands in defense. “Baby Girl, I didn’t want you to go the first time, but what the hell were we supposed to do? You’ve got to take care of yourself. Get yourself into therapy,” he said and eyed the rag doll again. “You need to start talking about things.”
She shook her head vehemently. “I’m not ready.”
“Not ready? It’s been over two decades, and that’s too long. You’ve got to start letting go.”
“She won’t let me.”
Marcus took a deep breath, trying to contain his frustration. He had mourned the loss of his wild-woman sister during her years with Troy, but he had forgotten that the old Gretchel wasn’t exactly an easy person to deal with. “Who won’t let you?”
“The Woman in Wool.”
Marcus rubbed h
is face hard with his hands. “So you’re seeing her again, too?”
“I saw her on New Year’s Eve.”
“Describe her to me, Gretchel. You’ve never told me what she looks like.”
Gretchel gripped the rag doll tightly. “She’s a young woman, but old.”
Marcus sighed. “How’s that, Gretchel?”
“Well, she’s young but her aura is old… really old. Her hair is a rat’s nest and her clothes…. She wears this horrible wool dress. It’s practically rotting off her. She looks like a beggar, a peasant. She’s barefoot and dirty, and she reeks of brackish water.”
Marcus didn't know what to think.
His mother and Miss Poni never talked much about the Wicked Garden when he was growing up, but the farmhands told ghost stories. He had never seen or sensed anything especially alarming himself; at the same time, it wasn’t as if he had been raised to discount the supernatural. Marcus practiced the same faith as his family, but he was essentially a well-educated dirt farmer who had inherited some idiosyncratic traditions and mediocre psychic abilities. All he wanted to do was tend his land. He did not want to deal with a dead brother-in-law, teleporting firearms, and the return of the Woman in Wool. He sighed again and put a hand on his little sister’s shoulder.
“You just make sure you tell people when you hear things, Gretchel. Don’t try to go it alone. We’re all here for you, and remember that you’ve got Ame and Zach to think about, too. Maybe everything will get better when we get you moved down to the cottage. I know Troy’s death hasn’t been easy on you, but it’s not like you loved the man. Moving on might be easier than you think.”
Gretchel wiped a few tears away, nodded in agreement, and even managed a weak, but wicked, smile. “Say, Marcus. I don’t suppose you have any new farmhands?”
Marcus frowned and shook his head. “Oh no, no, no. No more farmhands for you, Baby Girl.”
Aye. The tart’s seen more pricks than a secondhand dartboard, a voice whispered in Gretchel’s head, and a mass of cackling followed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Irvine, 2010s
Work was slow that Friday afternoon. Despite the promise of a sixty-percent-off post-holiday sale, Ame hadn’t had a single customer.
The fresh blanket of white snow probably had something to do with it—people were either enjoying the weather outside or determined to stay inside. What they most certainly were not doing was venturing downtown to buy fairy figurines, Tarot decks, or esoteric paperbacks at the metaphysical bookstore where Ame had a part-time job. She sighed as she watched the last rays of daylight bounce off the icicles hanging just outside the window. She was stuck there ‘til eight, customers or no customers.
Ame left her post at the cash register to wander down the crystal aisle. As always, it brightened her mood. The stones spoke to her. She read their vibrations with ease. She could tell the difference between rose quartz and smoky quartz with her eyes closed. She recognized them as living entities, buzzing with energy—not just sedentary chunks of earth.
She touched a beautiful piece of blue lace agate, and suddenly she felt compelled to pull out her laptop. It wasn’t as though there was much to do. The bookshelves were in perfect order, and Ame had dusted everything there was to dust. Anyway, Ame knew that the owner, Claire, was far too impressed with her talent with stones to much care what she did during a lull.
She logged onto Facebook and checked to see if any of her friends were available to chat. She saw that the guy she had met in Champaign was online. She kept meaning to ask her mother about him—she was curious about their connection—but it just never came up. He seemed like an all right guy. On a whim, she sent him a message.
Eli heard the tiny bleep of an instant message, and nearly fell out of his chair. He was stoned again. He hadn’t smoked pot like this in years. He was acting like he was in college again. Worse yet—he was acting like his father.
Eli’s heart raced when he saw that is was a message from Gretchel’s daughter.
Hi! Remember me?
Hi! Yes I remember you. How’s it going Ame?
I’m ok. We’re survivin. But it hasnt been fun. Mom’s losin her noodles.
What do you mean?
My dad died New Years Day.
Eli sat stunned. His buzz fizzled, and exhilaration worked its way through his nervous system. Troy died? Troy was gone? He didn’t like the idea of relishing another person’s death, but… But this was Troy. Then it occurred to him that Troy was this girl’s father, and he felt like a ghoul and an asshole.
I’m so sorry Ame with an E.
Dont b. He was a horrible person. I hated him.
I’m sorry about that too.
This was too much for Eli. He knew the day Gretchel walked away that Troy was going to not only destroy her life, but the life of her unborn child. It seemed that everything he had feared had come to pass. It made him hurt for this beautiful girl.
So how do u know my mother?
I dated her in college. Please don’t tell her we’re talking.
Y? My predator instincts r startin 2 kick n.
Eli sighed. He felt like the biggest jerk that ever was, messaging a teenage girl and asking her to keep it private. At least Ame has predator instincts, unlike her mother, he thought. Ame had sent another message.
I HATE SECRETS! Prove 2 me how U know her.
We both went to SIU in the early 90s.
Any1 could have known she went 2 school there N then.
Eli ran his hands through his thick curls. He was becoming really uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking, but he couldn’t back out now. He thought for a moment, typed in a new message, and sent it before he could change his mind.
She has scars from third degree burns on the right side of her torso, from the top of her right breast to the bottom of her hip. She has cuts on the other side of her torso. She also has a huge phoenix tattooed on her back. It was a 19th birthday present from me.
U do know her! Not many ppl have seen those scars or the tat.
Please promise me you won’t say anything until I say it’s OK.
Y?
Because what we had didn’t end well.
She’s never tlked bout U. I’m dying 2 ask her bout U now.
Please don’t. Not yet.
OK. G2G. I’d like 2 tlk 2 u again. I get online every nite @ 10pm.
I’ll be here. Glad we met Ame with an E.
Glad I met u 2 Eli w/ an I. L8R
∞
Troy is dead.
Eli was on his fifth one hitter. He had been sitting in front of a blank computer screen for three hours, thinking the same thought over and over again: Troy is dead.
What should I do? The initial rush of energy he’d felt when he learned the news had quickly been met by an equally powerful sense of paralysis. He could almost—almost—laugh at the irony. He’d been waiting seventeen years for something, something to propel him out of his sad, pointless, torpid existence, and, even now—even after learning that the primary obstacle between him and Gretchel was gone—he had not a fucking clue what to do about it.
Eli rubbed his bloodshot eyes and tried to clear his head. He needed to think about something else for awhile. Also, it had become essential that he consume large quantities of salty snacks immediately.
After depositing an entire bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa on the coffee table, Eli walked to his bookshelf. He grabbed a favorite—The Dharma Bums—and opened it as he moved toward the sofa.
Something fell out of the book and landed on the floor.
It was a postcard. Rebecca had sent it to him while she was on a tour of Italian museums. It was—somewhat predictably—Botticelli’s Primavera. Eli had barely looked at it when he had first gotten it, but now it caught his attention. That figure in the center—Venus, right? Aphrodite?—had stirred a memory. It was her gown. White with gold trim. Eli closed his eyes, and he saw Gretchel in an ivory dress, moonbeams bouncing off golden embroid
ery.
∞
Irvine, 1990s
The Summer Solstice approached. It just so happened that this was also Gretchel’s birthday. Ella insisted that her daughter come home for the weekend. Gretchel’s last visit had been spring break. Teddy missed her; her nephews missed her; her whole family missed her. So, dragging her feet all the way, Gretchel took Eli to Snyder Farms.
“These are phenomenal,” Eli said as he sifted through the stacks of paintings Gretchel had pulled out of the bedroom closet at the cottage. He had already gone crazy over the poppy painting in the living room, and now he was in a state of bliss. “I know dealers out west who would pay big money for these.”
Gretchel rolled her eyes and snorted.
“Seriously. You should be proud of your work.”
“So, you rub elbows with art dealers out west, do you?” She grinned at him.
He had said too much. He covered his unease with a smile, said nothing, and continued sifting through the treasures Gretchel had unearthed.
“Mama’s going to be pissed if she knows that we’ve been down here without stopping at the house on the hill first. I just wanted you to see the cottage before we go up. It’s weird, because there was a period of my life when I hated this place so bad, but I’ve missed it. It feels oddly good to be back. Bittersweet. I hate to sound clichéd, but it feels like I’m home again.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being home, Gretchel. It’s the most universally sought-after feeling there is. Everyone’s trying to get back home—if not to a physical place, then to a psychological equivalent.”
She smiled and Eli melted. He continued flipping through the canvases, and then he gasped when he came across the phoenix. “Gretchel this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
She looked thoughtfully at the painting. “I remember I started it early in the morning, because I’ve always gotten up early—farm life does that to you. I sketched the outline at sunrise, and finished it the same night. Adding all that detail was the best part of the experience. I always feel good when I’m painting, and I’ve always incorporated mythic elements in my work, but this was… I don’t know. It was like I was channeling something beyond me, something bigger than me. I was fifteen or something. I wasn’t talking much then. Wasn’t doing much of anything. Just painting.
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