A Little Night Magic

by March, Lucy

  “What is wrong with women these days, filling their bodies full of unnatural chemical substances until they’re nothing but skin and bones? Let me tell you something, baby. Any man who can’t appreciate a woman with a little meat on her doesn’t like women much in the first place. You got any real sugar?”

  It took me a moment to realize she’d asked me a question. “Oh. Sure.” I reached under the counter and grabbed the sugar dispenser, then got some half & half from the cooler and set that in front of her as well. I pulled the carafe from the coffeemaker, poured us each a cup, and put it back. I left my coffee black, sipping it while she loaded up her mug. I don’t really like black coffee, but the calories in cream and sugar weren’t worth it, and it wasn’t like I could dump my usual sugar-free nondairy creamer in my cup after her little speech.

  “So, what’s your name, baby?” she asked as she stirred.

  “Olivia.” I glanced down, motioned to my name tag. “Most people call me Liv.”

  “Davina Granville.” She held out her hand, and we shook, and then she watched me for a moment. “Pretty name, Olivia.” She sipped her coffee, keeping her eyes on me. “Are you named for anyone in your family?”

  “Not from my mother’s side.”

  She stopped stirring. “What about your father’s?”

  “I never knew my father.” Behind me, Tobias slid a plate onto the pass and dinged the bell. I went to the pass, and when I reached for the plate, he tugged it back.

  “Go home,” he said.

  “Give me the plate or neither one of us is ever going home,” I said. He hesitated a moment, then released his grip on the plate. I slid it in front of Davina and said, “So, are you staying in town or just passing through?”

  She angled her head at me. “I haven’t decided yet, but I think I might be staying.”

  “Oh, there’s a great bed-and-breakfast over on Augustine Street, just two lights down that way, take a left, there’s a big, yellow nineteenth-century Victorian there, you can’t miss it. Grace Higgins-Hooper and Addie Hooper-Higgins run it, and they’ve restored it completely to the period. It’s amazing.” I leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone, even though we were alone. “Come here for the breakfast, though. Addie puts flaxseed in everything she cooks.”

  Davina laughed, took a bite of her waffles, and closed her eyes. “Mmmm.”

  I smiled; I loved seeing people eat Tobias’s waffles for the first time. “He’s pretty good, huh?”

  The metal kitchen door swung open, and Tobias came out. He sidled up next to me at the counter and bumped my hip with his, nudging me toward the door.

  I straightened up. “All right. That’s it. Go home. You’re driving me nuts.”

  He took me by the elbow, pulled me aside, and said, “You go home.”

  “I need to finish mopping.”

  “I can mop.”

  I gently pulled my elbow from his grip. “You want me to not be mad at you anymore? Stop hovering. I’m not twelve. I can close by myself.”

  He looked at Davina, then back to me. “Fine, just … be careful, okay?”

  “Yeah, whatever. Good night.”

  He let out a sigh, headed to the door, and finally left. I walked back over to the counter and leaned against the wall, then looked up to find Davina watching me in a way that made me kind of wish I hadn’t sent Tobias home so quick.

  She put her fork down. “Tell me something, baby. Do you believe in magic?”

  I took a moment to adjust to the conversational whiplash, then said, “What? You mean like, magicians? Illusionists?”

  “No.” Her eyes were wide and, now that I got a good look, just a bit crazy. Not that I wasn’t used to a fair amount of crazy—I’d lived in Nodaway my whole life, you wouldn’t believe the bell curve we had on insanity here—but at that moment, it was making me a little uncomfortable.

  “I need to mop.” I headed out from behind the counter toward the mop bucket, where I figured I could finish my work and by the time I was done, she’d be done.

  I finished mopping under the tables, then crossed back toward the booths and the magic square, figuring it couldn’t hurt to wish this woman would finish up quickly and go. I glanced over to make sure she wasn’t watching me.

  She was. She had turned around on the stool, her back to the counter, her eyes sharp on me as if she was searching me for something. It was creepy. I wrapped one hand tight around the mop handle. She had size on me, but I had a hefty industrial mop and youth on my side.

  “It’s getting late,” I said. “Why don’t you just finish up and we can both get out of here?”

  At that moment, without a word, she pulled something out of her purse and lobbed it at me. On instinct, I moved forward, one hand still on the mop handle, and grabbed it out of the air; it was an old gym sock, filled with some sand-type of substance and tied in a knot in the middle.

  “Ugh.” I pinched the cuff between my fingers and held it up and away from me, then looked at her. “Okay. You just busted the bell curve.”

  And then I sneezed. And I sneezed again. The weird peppery smell from earlier came back stronger, overwhelming my senses, and my eyes watered and I sneezed again.

  “Yeah, I thought so,” Davina said, and through my sneezing and watery eyes I could see her advancing toward me. “Now don’t be alarmed, but you know it had to be done. It wasn’t right, them not letting you be what you are.”

  I stared at her through watering eyes, my sinuses screaming. “What I am?” I sniffed and tried to blink away the discomfort in my eyes. “What am I?”

  She stopped about a foot away from me, and angled her head, amazement in her smiling eyes as she watched me. “Why, you’re magic.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m a wait—achoo!—waitress.” The sharpness in my sinuses intensified, and I shook my head, trying to rid myself of it all, but it only got worse.

  “Oh, you’re much more than that, Olivia,” she said, and took the sock from me. I backed away from her, sneezing again. She tossed it toward the stool where she’d been sitting, a good ten feet away, but still, I couldn’t stop sneezing, and I was starting to panic. I stepped back again, and this time, my foot landed on the wet strands of mop and I lost my balance. I pulled at the mop handle, accidentally whapping myself in the face with it as my arms flailed like a cartoon character’s. Davina shouted something and ran for me, but gravity won out and I fell, cracking the back of my head against the magic square. Dazed, I blinked a few times, then saw Davina leaning over me, saying something I couldn’t make out, and looking concerned.

  “What did you do to me?” I asked, or at least I tried to ask, but my ears were still ringing from the impact, so I’m not sure if any actual words came out.

  “Liv!”

  I opened my eyes what seemed like a second later, and there was Tobias, hovering over me.

  “Oh. Hey.” I pushed myself up on my elbows, and he helped me the rest of the way up, pulling me up by my arms, which were all pins and needles; I must have pinched a nerve or something when I hit the floor.

  “What the hell happened?” He helped me up to sit in Booth 9, where I gratefully collapsed, feeling a little dizzy.

  I shook my head out and looked at the spot where Davina had been; all that was left was her half-finished meal, and some bills laying next to the plate. No sign of her.

  “I … slipped. On the mop.”

  He leaned over me, put his hands on either side of my face to hold me still as his gaze flicked back and forth between my eyes, as if measuring the pupils or something. The lights felt exceptionally bright, and I squinted, then swatted his hands away.

  “I’m fine. I just fell. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Forgot something. Came back. Found you splayed on the floor.” He hit that last bit hard, driving his point home.

  “Calm down, drama queen,” I said. “I slipped. It’s no big deal.”

  “You lost consciousness. It’s a big deal.” He surveyed me, looking worried. �
�You sure you’re all right?”

  I nodded, although I wasn’t entirely sure; I felt a little dizzy, and all my limbs were tingling, but I didn’t want him making a big deal out of anything. He’d have me in a hospital ER in a heartbeat if he suspected something was wrong. So I pulled on a smile, met his eye, and said, “I’m fine.”

  He relaxed a little and straightened up. “Okay. You sit here. I’m gonna clean up and walk you home.”

  “I don’t need—” I began, but then his eyes narrowed and I knew the only thing standing between me and six pointless hours in a Buffalo emergency room was my compliance, so I held up my hands in surrender. “Fine.”

  He walked over to the counter and started bussing. For a long time, there was just silence, and then he said, “She left you a good tip.”

  “Yay,” I said weakly, then leaned back in the booth and waited for Tobias to take me home.

  2

  “She threw a stinky gym sock? At your head?” Millie Banning diced the green peppers at my kitchen table and scrunched her nose. “Wow. That’s really weird.”

  “Yeah, I know. She said I was magic, or something.” I threw the tomatoes I’d just chopped into the bowl of pico de gallo, then shook out my hands, which were still tingling. “She left while I was knocked out. I hope she’s okay. I don’t think she meant me any harm or anything, but she’s obviously nuts.”

  Millie shrugged, some of her ash-blond curls falling out of the plastic clip that seemed permanently attached to the back of her head. She pointed her knife at me. “Okay, enough talking around the Tobias thing. What happened when you told him you were leaving?”

  I angled my head, staring down at the bright green herbs between my fingers. “Wait. Stacy hates cilantro, doesn’t she?”

  Millie nodded. “She says it tastes like soap.”

  “Oh. Right.” I scraped the herbs off my chopping board and into the garbage, then reached for a jalapeño.

  “And once again, you’re avoiding my question,” Millie said.

  “What? Oh—Tobias? He didn’t say anything, really. He was surprised I wanted to sell the house, but aside from that…” I sighed. “You know. Whatever.”

  “You don’t have to pretend with me,” Millie said. “I know it’s bugging you. And I’m sorry.” She turned her attention back to the green peppers, and began chopping harder. “You and I, we’re not like Peach and Stacy.” Chop. “Naturally thin and beautiful and perfect.” Chop. “It’s harder for girls like us.”

  Girls like … us? I loved Millie, she was one of my favorite people in the world, but she was … well. In the twenty-odd years we’d been friends, I’d seen her wear makeup exactly twice. Her hair was one of her best features, with that lovely kind of curl that dances down her shoulders, but she always kept it swept up tight in those ugly clips. Everything in her wardrobe was a variation on beige, and her standard outfit was a turtleneck under a shapeless jumper, which made her look, well … kind of squat.

  I glanced at my own reflection in the glass door that led out to the back hallway. I was wearing jeans, and a pretty green scoop-neck shirt, and I had hair and makeup kind of going for me, but if I had to be honest I looked, well … kind of squat. Peach and Stacy were the beauties in this group, and Millie and I were the quirky ones with the good personalities. That was just how it was.

  I sighed, reached for my margarita, took a big gulp, and decided to change the subject.

  “Do you think I should sell the house?” I asked. “It’s not like I’m paying much for it, just property taxes and insurance. Maybe I should keep it? Do you think?”

  “Hmmm.” Millie thought for a minute, then said, “I don’t know.” Her face lit up, and she dropped her knife to grab a pencil and a pad out of my junk drawer. “Pros and cons.” She jotted the headers for the two columns on the page. “Pros: You own it outright.”

  “Cons,” I said. “It’s too much space for one person.”

  She scribbled. “Pros: It’s interesting and fun.”

  “Oh, please,” I said. “It’s Willy Wonka’s country home.”

  Millie jutted her lower lip out. “I like Momelia’s aesthetic.”

  Momelia. Millie’s own mother had died when she was very young, and her grandmother had raised her in an old farmhouse on the outskirts of town, so it had been natural for my mother to become Millie’s surrogate mother. Millie had never been quite comfortable enough to call her Mom, but one day, she’d accidentally morphed “Mom” and “Amelia” while talking to my mother, and the nickname had stuck.

  “What aesthetic? Modern Flea Market?” I scrunched my nose. “Forget that nothing matches, and I have a guest room that is chartreuse. The exterior is pink.”

  “I like it,” Millie said, ever loyal to the memory of my mother and the legacy of her outrageous taste.

  “It’s like living in a box of Strawberry Nesquik.”

  Millie shrugged, conceding the point. “You could always paint it.”

  I tapped my finger on the Cons side. “Willy Wonka.”

  Millie dutifully jotted it down. “Pros…” She thought for a bit, then said, “It’s right next door to Peach.”

  “Right,” I said. “And Cons … it’s right next door to Peach.”

  Our eyes met and we both laughed. Bernadette Peach was the kind of person you love, not because of any particular qualities you could name, but just … because. She traveled in a swarm of perfume and Aqua Net, a shameless bottle blonde with a Barbie-doll figure and a fifties’ fashion sense. She was achingly gorgeous, slightly narcissistic, a little thoughtless sometimes, but fiercely loyal. She and I had become friends because we were the same age and we lived next door to each other. When we got to school, she bonded with beautiful Stacy Easter, and I bonded with the more cerebral Millie, but Peach would not allow those differences to pull us apart. I was her friend, I would always be her friend, and that was that, so instead of dividing along lines of beauty and social grace the way most kids do in school, we ended up uniting as a foursome.

  “Speaking of Peach, on the pro side for keeping the house, she bought her parents’ house when they moved to Florida specifically so we’d stay neighbors.”

  Millie shook her head. “You can’t let other people’s choices influence your decision.”

  “I can if she kills me,” I said, “which she will.”

  Millie smiled and jotted “Peach will kill you dead” on the pro side.

  “I am going to miss the Confessionals,” Millie said. “We’ve been doing this every Saturday since, what? Junior high?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You don’t think you guys will do it without me?”

  She shook her head, and stared down at her list.

  I tossed the jalapeños into the bowl. “Okay. Cons. I still have to manage the upkeep of it while I’m in Europe.”

  “But what if you decide to come back?” Millie said. “Can you imagine living in Nodaway and not living here?”

  I looked around at my kitchen. The bright yellow walls, the daisy curtains moving gently in the breeze from the open window over the sink, the chink in the plaster in the ceiling from the time the fire alarm went off while Mom was cooking bacon and she hit it with the butt of the fire extinguisher to turn it off and missed on the first whack.

  “No,” I said. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else if I’m going to be here, but…”

  She put the pencil down and looked at me. “But you’re not coming back.”

  Slowly, I shook my head. “You remember my mom. Even on her best day, part of her was always missing. I don’t want to be like that.”

  “And leaving is going to prevent that?” she asked, her voice cracking a bit.

  I sighed. “Dumb as it sounds … I think so, yeah. If my whole life changes, if it’s not just that I’m losing him, maybe I won’t notice it so much. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah,” she said, her eyes sad. She took the pad and pencil and began scribbling, then twirled it around so I could read it. She had
drawn lines through all the pros and cons, and had written, “In bocca al lupo,” with a little smiley face.

  I laughed. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s an Italian idiom. Basically, it means good luck.” She reached out and clasped my hand. “Promise me you’ll write, and send pictures.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “Europe’s lousy with goats.”

  She gave me a confused look, and I laughed.

  “I’ll write. I’ll send pictures.”

  The front door opened and Peach hollered, “Party’s here!” Millie grabbed the margarita tray while I balanced the bowls of chips and pico.

  “Hey, do me a favor?” I said. “Pretend you’re surprised when I tell Peach and Stacy about Europe. Peach will be hurt that I told you first without them.”

  Millie nodded, and we went out to greet Stacy and Peach.

  “Liv!” Peach danced into the hallway, holding a plate in one hand as she pulled me in for a hug with the other arm. She stepped back, then peeled back the pink-tinted Saran Wrap to show me her brownies. “They have chili powder in them, to go with the Mexican theme. Hey, Millie!”

  Millie and I exchanged glances of affectionate amusement as Peach hugged her.

  Stacy stepped in wearing dark jeans and a black Marvin the Martian T-shirt that read, YOU. OFF MY PLANET, and stuffed a bottle of tequila in my hands.

  “Hey, Liv,” she said, and flashed her patented knock-you-out smile. Stacy was one of those women whose neck-throttling beauty never made it on her own radar. She had huge chocolate eyes, apparently poreless skin, and a body any other woman would kill for. She just didn’t care. She’d grown up with an alcoholic father who’d left her and her older brother, Nick, in the care of their crazy mother, and after that, being preternaturally pretty didn’t seem so important.

  Peach tucked her arm into Millie’s and dragged her into the living room, and I leaned into Stacy as we followed behind. “So, what are you confessing tonight?”

  She spread her hands, the picture of innocence. “Nothing to confess.”

  “You have nothing to confess? That’s three weeks in a row for you.”

  She shook her head. “I have no secrets in this town. Betty reports anything I do to the masses at CCB’s within twenty-four hours.”