by Tasha Black
the flip flops she’d skipped in at ten, and slouched over in the Uggs she’d worn at 17.
The tree canopy arched gracefully overhead. She loved the way the trees from either
side of the street met in the middle, entwining their branches. Birds sang their last notes of the evening as the cicadas buzzed in the distance. The smell the of night jasmine
opening filled the air.
Maybe it wasn’t so hard to imagine why someone would want to stay in Tarker’s Mills.
The lights were on at the Cortez house on Harvard. Their wide front porch held
several wooden rocking chairs and two gigantic wine barrels of tomato plants. In the fall, Grace’s mother would carve pumpkins and cover the porch with them.
“Ainsley!” Grace called. Just like old times, she was waiting on the porch swing where the front porch wrapped around to the side of the house.
“Hi!” Ainsley took the steps two at a time to join her friend on the swing.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, swinging lazily and looking over the Cortez’s
yard into the neighboring trees and gardens. It was like no time had passed and they
would soon hurry in for homework. For a few minutes, Ainsley lost herself in those
carefree days.
“Come on,” Grace said, breaking the spell. “My mom is dying to see you.”
They entered the center hall. It was still covered stem to stern in ancient William
Morris wallpaper depicting vines and fruit.
“Ainsley?” Eva Cortez embraced Ainsley in a warm hug. She still smelled like fresh
baked bread.
“Hi, Mrs. Cortez!”
“Hi yourself! Where have you been? You went to New York, not the moon! You can
come to visit, you know? Did you get my card?” Mrs. Cortez gently scolded her as she
patted her on the arm and guided her to the kitchen.
Oh god, the card.
Ainsley reddened. Mrs. Cortez’s sympathy card had been handmade and absolutely
lovely. And the message inside was so warm and loving it had made Ainsley want to
disintegrate with unworthiness. So she had tucked it away and forgotten to even
acknowledge it.
“Your card was…”
“Yes, yes, you got it. I meant what I said, Ainsley. You’re my daughter now. So I’m
expecting phone calls. Okay? And visits. I made you a room here, just like I said I would.
Gracie will show you. You can come home as often as you like, but I expect to see more of you.”
Home.
Ainsley was overwhelmed. Tears threatened to spring in her eyes. But Mrs. Cortez
knew Ainsley too well to think that she would want to have a hug and a good cry.
“Right now, I need help with dinner, so we’ll talk more about that later. Ainsley, I
assume you can still peel cucumbers for the salad?”
Ainsley nodded gratefully. The cucumbers were small and tender, obviously fresh from
the garden out back. She settled into the bench seat and began to peel them onto the
cutting board. Grace sat next to her and cut them up as fast as Ainsley could peel.
Mrs. Cortez kept up a steady stream of news and gossip as they worked.
She was part of a core group of women in town who had left their careers to have
children and then decided to take on the town instead of returning to their previous fields once the kids were in school. Between them they ran the parent-teacher association,
organized all the annual fairs and festivals, raised money to bring in and house exchange students from a nearby urban community, visited older people in the hospital, attended the boring (and not-so-boring) council meetings, and found the hidden skills and talents of their working sisters and urged them to give back what and when they could.
Without a doubt, indomitable women like Mrs. Cortez had been making Tarker’s Mills
what it was since it was incorporated in the 1800s. Anyone who thought of these women as “stay at home moms” was delusional.
Every year Mrs. Cortez used to convince Ainsley’s mother to run the annual plant sale to benefit the town improvement plan. Ainsley’s mom never did refuse her, though every time she swore it was too much work on top of the hardware store and that she wouldn’t do it again.
Finally, one year at about the time when her mom started dreading Eva’s visit asking
for her help, Ainsley’s had asked her mom why she didn’t just say no. Sylvia Connor had looked horrified.
“When I had the flu and couldn’t take you to baseball for a week, who took you? Did
Eva say ‘no’ when town council said they couldn’t fund the new fire engine unless she raised another $5,000 for the improvement plan? That woman has never driven her car
five feet without another woman’s child in it, or made a meal for her own family without doubling it and taking a dish to the teachers’ luncheon or to some shut-in. How am I
supposed to look her in the eye and tell her no?”
Of course none of them could think of an answer to that. So Sylvia grumbled her way
through another spring of making vast spreadsheets and carting tiny plants to the
Tarker’s Mills town center to be sorted and sold. Mrs. Cortez made sure Sylvia had a
steady stream of volunteer teenagers to assist her and Mrs. Cortez personally knocked on the doors of everyone she could think of, hinting that their front yards could use a little color and that it would be a shame to go to the Home Depot for flowers when Sylvia
Connor was working so hard to bring in really nice plants and to help the firefighters.
Naturally, everyone came out and bought plants and had a fantastic time. Ainsley
remembered the spring of the fire truck. She and some of the kids had made a booth and sold lemonade to the attendees to help raise money as well. It was terrific fun and they ended the day dizzy with cold sweet lemonade and laughing hysterically.
And wouldn’t you just know, that summer when the new fire truck was in the 4th of
July parade, Eva Cortez told everyone in town that Ainsley’s mom had personally saved the volunteer firefighters’ new engine with her heroic offer to run the plant sale.
It was easy to say that a few of the families could have easily just written a couple of checks for the fire engine with the same result and less hassle. But Mrs. Cortez knew instinctively that plant sales and their like are a way for neighbors to meet and for everyone to feel they have had a part in something important.
She always said good things came when the whole village worked together.
Ainsley was so busy reminiscing and laughing at Mrs. Cortez’s observations about a
few choice residents of Tarker’s Mills, that she was disappointed to realize there were no more cucumbers.
C H A P T E R
8
Dinner was an amazing experience.
As Grace’s grandmother served her a plate, Ainsley tried to unravel the mystery of the entree. There were familiar smells, but somehow she couldn’t place the dish.
“This smells delicious,” Ainsley said. “Can you tell me about it?”
“This is a special dish to honor my granddaughter’s heritage.” Grace’s grandmother
beamed with pride. “These are steamed Chinese dumplings stuffed with carnitas in an
ancho chili sauce.”
“Thank you, Abuela,” Grace said quietly.
“Wow, fusion cooking,” Ainsley said with all the enthusiasm she could muster.
She tried a bite, expecting the worst.
It was delicious – spicy and soft, savory and sweet all at once.
“You could make a killing cooking this in New York, Mrs. Cortez.”
“Ainsley,” the old woman chided her.
“Sorry. Abuela,” Ainsley corrected.
“And no, I don’t think New York is the ri
ght place for me. But thank you. I’m so glad you like it!”
Silence enveloped the table like a blanket as they began the feast, but by the time
the second round of wine was poured, everyone was laughing and chatting happily.
Ainsley was careful to steer clear of her issues with the pack, after Grace’s warning.
But they did talk about just about everything else. In all her high-powered real estate dealings, she had almost forgotten what a genuine, friendly conversation felt like. A discussion of politics swiftly shifted to local opinion about the new construction project.
“What do you think about the highway, Ainsley? Will it ruin the town?” Grace’s father asked.
“I know that at first it will be noisy and messy,” she explained as she had to Erik, “but the convenience to Philadelphia will draw people. I think property values will climb. Of course that will change things.”
“You know I bumped into Erik Jensen this morning, and he told me the same thing!”
Ainsley colored and took a quick sip of wine.
The topic changed, and soon enough they were all carrying the dishes into the
kitchen.
“We’re going to take Abuela for a walk, Mama, okay?” Grace asked.
“Sure, honey. We’ll see you in a little while.” Grace’s mom put both hands on Ainsley’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Now, Ainsley, remember what I said. One of the
rooms upstairs is yours – we set up a bed and a dresser for you. Move a few more things in while you have movers at your parents’ house if there’s anything from the house that you want to keep here. You’ll come home as often as you want, but I meant what I said.
I will expect a visit before Halloween, okay?”
Ainsley felt an uncharacteristic rush of emotion and she embraced Mrs. Cortez fiercely.
As she pulled back, she heard the older woman whisper, “Love you, mi hija.”
C H A P T E R
8
T he night had only cooled a few degrees by the time she and Grace and Abuela made
it outside, and the air still felt thick enough to drink. They walked the three blocks back to Ainsley’s house slowly, in deference to the old woman’s sore knees.
“So,” Abuela said, “Grace tells me you’d like to know more about your mom.”
“Yes,” replied Ainsley. “Please.”
Her heart raced in a mixture of anticipation and dread at what she might find out.
“Well, that will take me back a ways.” The old woman stopped and stared into the
distance. Her brow furrowed, as if she were gathering her thoughts. She stayed that way for the span of a few breaths. Just as Ainsley was about to break the uncomfortable
silence, the woman spoke.
“Your mother’s family was in Tarker’s Mills forever. Magic was in her blood, but no one in her family had a gift quite like hers.” Abuela studied her face. “Did you really not know she had the gift at all?”
Ainsley shook her head. They continued to walk.
“Well, she did. I’ve never seen anything like it. We all have our strengths, types of magic that we come by more easily than others. Your mother’s was nature. She could
make anything grow. There was a reason everyone in town went to her for plants and
gardening tips.”
Ainsley stopped to think about the lush garden at her house, and the way the plants
from the plant sale always had a way of surviving the car trips and sunny tables.
“So Mrs. Cortez knew?”
“Oh lord, no, child. She had no idea! Grace’s parents don’t believe in any of that
nonsense. And she doesn’t have the gift, herself. But she’d have had to be blind not to see that Sylvia had a green thumb!”
“Like Poison Ivy…” Grace said dreamily.
“Are you talking about comic books again?” Abuela scolded. “Get your head out of the
clouds. How do expect to find a decent husband when you spend all your time in a
fantasy world?”
Grace smiled indulgently and gestured for her grandmother to continue.
“Now, your dad was certainly the catch of the wolf pack. His daddy was the alpha, so
we knew Michael would follow him. He was very handsome too, so tall and strong. And
he was soft-spoken and a thinker.”
Ainsley blushed at hearing her dad described that way.
“But it’s true. Even the human women seemed to gravitate toward him. Your mom
was one of them. Though she certainly didn’t throw herself at him like some of the
others. And maybe that was part of why he fell for her so hard. Sylvia was the studious type – like you, Ainsley, and Grace.
“When the two of them got together, the wolves pitched a fit like nothing the town
had ever seen. For those of us that knew what was going on, it all made sense. For the poor townsfolk who weren’t in on the secrets, it was hard for them to understand why
half the town was boycotting Sylvia’s daddy’s store. Or why the girls at school were
throwing themselves at Michael Connor with a desperation that bordered on criminal. Or why everyone was suddenly so angry with your mama, a soft-spoken honor student.
“The pack elders tried to reason with Michael, to help him understand why he needed
to choose a wolf. But you can’t be reasoned out of something you were never reasoned
into. In the end, your grandfather put his foot down. He told them all that he was still alpha and that he was sick and tired of hearing about his son’s high school girlfriend.
They all left off, some more reluctantly than others.
“Then your parents got married. And when your grandfather passed away suddenly –
there they were.
“Now some of the wolves thought that your mom had bewitched him, even though
everyone knows wolves have a strong resistance to magic. They never did accept her.
But in the end, she helped the town with her gift and so she earned the respect of most of the pack. Do you know what she did?”
“Uh, create the tree canopy?” Ainsley guessed weakly.
“What?” Abuela said with a smile. “No, honey, that’s the town Shade Tree Commission
– run by plain old human persistence and rules about cutting down trees – ask my
daughter-in-law. No, your mom didn’t just have a knack for nature magic, She was also very,very good at helping hidden things stay hidden. She used it whenever she could to keep Tarker’s Mills off the map.”
They passed the construction site on Yale. Ainsley tried not to look for Erik but
couldn’t doing a quick visual sweep over the lot. He wasn’t there.
“But progress marches on,” Abuela said, indicating the lot with her hand. “We
certainly could use your parents now. Without his leadership and her magic, this town is headed into a lot of trouble.”
At that, there was a rumble of thunder. The first fat raindrops began to fall. They
stopped talking and sped up their walk. The smell of wet pavement filled Ainsley’s nose and the temperature immediately began to drop.
C H A P T E R
9
By the time they helped Abuela up the stairs of the Connors’ front porch, they were all damp, but no worse for wear. The light rain felt good after the sweltering heat, but the worst of the storm was still to come.
Ainsley led them back to the kitchen where she filled the copper kettle and put it on to boil. While she pulled down three mugs, Grace helped Abuela into the sturdy wooden
chair at the head of the oak table.
“Give me that candle, Grace,” the old woman said.
Grace passed the ‘Smores scented Yankee Candle to her grandmother, who
immediately fished a zippo out of her enormous pocketbook and lit it.
“Does that help to contact the spirits?” Ainsley
asked, excited about what might
happen next.
“No, but it will cover the smell of this,” Abuela replied, cutting the end off an
enormous cigar and lighting it in the candle flame. “I always have a cigar and a walk after dinner.”
Ainsley bit her lip. She didn’t want a disgusting cigar being smoked in the house- but she certainly didn’t want to offend Abuela.
As she wavered, the hint of vanilla in the scent of the cigar began to remind her of the pipe her father used to smoke occasionally. She decided not to insult her guest and to enjoy the reminiscent smell.
Ainsley poured the tea and placed a mug in front of each of them. Abuela stumped out
her cigar on her saucer.
“Okay, are you ready?” she asked.
“Don’t you need anything else?” Ainsley asked, surprised.
“Did you think I was going to ask you to cut the head off a live chicken?” Abuela asked with a booming laugh.
Ainsley was embarrassed. Of course she didn’t think that. Not exactly. But she
suspected the process would be a little more elaborate than a Yankee candle and a cup of peppermint tea.
“Ainsley,” Grace chimed in. “That stuff is just in the movies. We won’t be speaking in tongues either.”
“We do hold hands, though, that part the movies get right!” Abuela said.
“The circle amplifies our magical strength,” Grace explained.
“But, I don’t have any magical strength,” Ainsley said.
“Don’t be so sure. That sort of thing usually runs in a family. And it runs strong in some. That’s how my Grace got it from me.”
“Abuela,” Grace said. “You know I’m adopted.”
“Nonsense,” said Abuela. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. ”
“I don’t know,” Ainsley muttered.
“Grace told me all about the blue light, Ainsley. No need to be so modest.”
Ainsley shot Grace a look. She should have know Grace wouldn’t keep a secret from
her grandmother.
Grace shrugged.
“Silly girls,” Abuela said, reaching for their hands. “Always did think you had all the answers.”
As soon as they joined hands, a peculiar buzzing filled Ainsley, like an electrical
current passing through her. Her eyes met Grace’s and she saw that her friend’s pupils were beginning to dilate.
