He didn’t hide his chuckle this time as he leaned into the steering wheel, his hands at ten o’clock and two o’clock. When he turned to Helena, she noticed that his eyes weren’t just brown, they were the color of rich dark chocolate.
“I don’t mind burgers, either,” he said, “but tonight I’m craving Italian. I could see if they have burgers on the menu?”
She shook her head, her gray-blonde curls falling into her face. She didn’t even know why she’d bothered doing her hair tonight. “I’m being silly. Pasta would be wonderful.”
And it was. As were the Chianti, and the tiramisu, and the cannoli, and the violin player Artemis called over to their table, and even worse, so was the conversation. Artemis was a simple man, born in the cabin on Rum River that he had remodeled to become his current home. He’d never been married, had no children. He liked to work with wood, said it “talked” to him, told him what it wanted to be, and that he was more of a facilitator than a carpenter. He liked to fish, took one trip a year to visit an aunt in Arizona, and he liked to read.
Best of all, he listened more than he talked, and Helena found herself revealing secrets she’d never told anyone but her sister: how she’d stolen a pair of earrings from Velda when she was seven but felt so guilty she never left Velda’s bedroom with them. Velda had found Helena giving herself a time out in the corner when she returned home. She shared that Xenia was on a date of her own, and so Leo was closing the store alone for the first time.
She confessed her fears that Xenia would die before her, that her sister would fall in love and that she wouldn’t, that someday her magic would be gone and her candy would taste like nothing more than its ingredients.
Artemis nodded through all of it, asked questions when she paused, and laughed at the funny parts. Helena grew warmer, and it wasn’t just the wine.
“You’re an interesting man, Artemis X. Buckley,” she finally said, when she felt empty of stories. It was a good feeling, like opening a savings account with money you didn’t even know you had.
“And you’re a magical woman, Helena.”
Helena glanced around. To her surprise, the restaurant was nearly empty. They’d closed the place. “Look at this! I can’t believe we’ve stayed out this late.”
Artemis reached across the table. Helena saw his hand coming toward her and wanted so badly to take it. But she couldn’t. She shouldn’t even be on a date with this man who was courting her mother. She knew the rest of the Catalain women wouldn’t mind, were surprised she hadn’t already crossed that line, in fact. She also suspected that Artemis knew the Catalain reputation, which is why he was here. She suddenly wanted to leave, very badly.
She stood abruptly. She hadn’t intended for her chair to fall over, but it did. She reached for it but was overcome by an excruciating pain in her left chest and arm, a hundred burning needles boring into her flesh. “No!”
Artemis was at her side in an instant. He righted the chair and eased her into it. “What is it? Is it your heart?”
Beads of perspiration broke along her hairline. A worried waiter hovered in the periphery. She hated to worry people like this. She inhaled deeply. The pain would pass. It always did.
“Pulled muscle,” she said through gritted teeth. “Sorry to make such a fuss.”
Artemis’ eyes narrowed. “Pulled muscle?”
She heard it in his voice. He knew she was lying. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, and so she reached for her purse with her right hand and forced herself to stand. Planting her best impression of a smile on her face, she walked toward the door. She wanted to pay her share, but she needed fresh air.
By the time Artemis joined her on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, she was herself again. The pain had left a gray shadow that made it difficult to move her left arm, but she knew from experience that that, too, would recede soon. At least she hoped. The pain had never been this bad.
“Thank you for dinner!” she said brightly.
Artemis stood in front of her. She was not a tall woman, but his eyes barely met hers, and they were unflinching. “That was no pulled muscle. You don’t have to tell me what it was, but I ask you to tell someone.”
She tried a laugh. It sounded genuine to her ears. “If it gets worse, I promise I will,” she said. Because I couldn’t stand it if it got worse.
He watched her for another heartbeat and then nodded before walking toward the car to open her door. Helena liked that he didn’t treat her with kid gloves.
She tried to return the conversation to its previous depth, but the connection was lost. She’d lied to Artemis, and that was that. “Do you mind stopping by the store on the way home? I want to make sure Leo shut everything down okay.”
It was her second lie of the night. She trusted Leo. She just didn’t want Artemis to go quite yet.
“Of course.”
Two blocks later, they were outside the store.
So was Leo.
“Oh no!” Helena pulled the door open. He should have gone home hours earlier. Her heart thudded in her ribcage. She raced toward him. “Is it Xenia?”
Leo shook his head. He was a thin boy, but he appeared particularly gaunt tonight, toplit by a streetlamp, his cheeks drawn and his eyes sunken. He held a packet of papers toward Helena.
“Meredith dropped these off. She said to give them to you or Xenia, whoever I saw first.”
“And you’ve been standing here the whole time, hoping one of us would stop by? I’m sure it could have waited until tomorrow.”
He shook his head by way of answer. His face dropped even further into his shoulders.
Helena’s eyes shot to the papers. Her mouth went dry. They looked official. She rifled through them, not understanding what she was reading.
“They’re eminent domain papers,” Leo said, his voice a husk. “Meredith says the city is going to build a park where the Queen Anne is right now, that it’s the only place that’ll work. She also said the store is tied to the Queen Anne. If one goes, they both go.”
The Catalains are going to lose everything.
Helena wasn’t sure if Leo said the words or she just heard them in her head. She now knew what Meredith had been so smug about when she entered the store two days ago, and what she’d been talking about with the picketers just the other day. She finally, really did have something on them. “Don’t tell Xenia.”
Artemis coughed. “I’ve always believed that if you have a problem, you tell your family. Especially if it involves them.”
Leo didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His eyes were pleading with Helena to listen to Artemis.
“Of course I’ll tell Xenia. I just want it to come from me, and not from anyone else. Understood?” Her voice was firm. She wished the same were true of her knees.
Artemis didn’t respond but Leo seemed almost relieved. “You’ll tell Xenia, then? And Ursula, when she gets back?”
“Of course.” Just as soon as I figure out how.
The Catalain Book of Secrets: Inertia Antidote
While it is commonly understood that an object in motion stays in motion, most folks are less comfortable acknowledging that a passive person stays inert unless a powerful enough force dictates otherwise. If you know it’s time to act and would rather not wait for the 2 x 4 solution the Universe is sure to provide, follow this spell:
Buy or make smelling salts. To make them, combine ¼ cup Epsom salt, 1 tablespoon kosher salt, and two drops each of the following essential oils: eucalyptus, peppermint, and lemongrass. Stir the mixture with a disposable wooden stick, then seal in a glass pint jar.
Write down what it is you know you need to do.
Read it out loud three times.
Smell the salts.
Do what you need to do. You will not fail.
*If time is of the essence, skip steps 1-4. But, you already knew that.
Chapter 6
Black and red nightmares slashed Helena’s sleep. She woke at 5:23 the next morning, over
come with guilt. She had to tell Xenia about the eminent domain papers. She jumped out of bed. She must act before her fear had a chance to catch her. Padding barefoot down the cool hall, she knew she wasn’t moving fast enough. The cold oil of inertia whispered through her blood, promising her everything would be better if she simply pushed the negative from her mind. Thinking about bad things made them real, and final. Compartmentalizing the bad into a tiny closet in the corner of her heart, though, left all sorts of room for good things, bright things that made her laugh and hope.
Yet, she fought on. If she stopped to knock, she’d chicken out. She barged into Xenia’s room, blinking until her eyes adjusted. Piles of fabric confused her. Were those lumps Xenia? There was no dawn yet, only a lessening of darkness. She stumbled toward the four-poster bed.
“Xenia?”
No answer. She poked the shape under the quilt. It gave. Pulling back the comforter, she saw only a mound of pillows. Xenia must not have returned from her date last night. Something like relief but closer to the comfort of a bad habit breathed over Helena. It wasn’t time to tell Xenia yet. If it had been, she’d have been here. The same went for Ursula.
That was it! Why hadn’t she thought of that before? When Ursula returned, which should be tomorrow, or the day after at the latest, she’d sit both her and Xenia down and show them the papers. No point in telling them separately.
Her shoulders relaxed. She made her way to the bathroom and showered, careful as always not to look down as she washed herself. Afterward, she dried herself off and slipped on a nutmeg-colored jersey dress that would allow her to move freely as she baked. She ate a breakfast of oatmeal, coffee, bacon, and grapes. She wore a smile as she drove into work.
The grin widened when she spotted Claudette outside the door. It was a school day, so Leo wouldn’t be in until 3:30. No telling when Xenia would show up. Helena would need the help.
“Good morning!”
Claudette waved, keeping her hand close to her side. When Helena neared, she spotted a new tattoo, an ugly thing wrapped around Claudette’s neck just about her t-shirt collar like a demon ferret. She tried to look away, to pretend to fumble for her keys, but it was too late.
“Horrible, isn’t it?”
Helena stuck the key in the slot, still not looking at Claudette. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She was a terrible liar, but at the rate she was going and if practice made perfect, she’d be a pro by the end of the week.
“It’s okay,” Claudette said. The effort to walk from the sidewalk to the door had her out of breath. “I’m getting used to them. This one came after a little boy brushed up against me at the supermarket. I had to leave my groceries in the cart and walk out because it hurt so bad. They say the neck is the worst, but it can’t be as bad as the…never mind.”
Helena held the door open for Claudette. She patted Claudette’s back as the woman passed by, huffing sideways to get in. The tattoo began to appear just below the ferret almost instantly, just as Helena had suspected. This one wasn’t her tumor, though. It was the saddest sketch of Xenia, that much was clear even from the beginning lines. Claudette swatted at it.
Helena cleared her throat. “It’s the deepest fears of those who touch you, isn’t it? Your tattoos, I mean.”
Claudette turned, blinking as Helena flicked on the lights and washed the store in fluorescence. She nodded. “I had a guess when you got woozy at the gnarly tumor that inked me after you touched me, but I was sure yesterday when I bumped up against the cutest guy,” she said. “You know what tattoo carved itself onto the top of my foot? An almost perfect picture of him and me, in bed together, with other people watching.”
She spoke matter-of-factly, but the words punched Helena. She couldn’t help herself. She stepped forward and squeezed Claudette as tightly as she could. She didn’t care what fears showed themselves on the woman. “People can be cruel.”
“It wasn’t his fault.” Claudette’s voice was muffled, her face crushed in Helena’s embrace. “He can’t help what his worst fear is. It’s not like he said it out loud.”
Helena stepped back, but Claudette stopped her before she could speak. “Don’t even tell me that I have a kind heart, or that I have a pretty face for a fat girl,” Claudette said, “or that I’m not fat. I know I am. And I don’t care. I like food, it likes me. I just want to be okay hanging out with myself, you know? I want to be safe and solid.” She shook her head as if reminiscing. “I knew I was in trouble even before I got kicked off that plane. The salad dressing told me.”
Helena’s hand flew to her throat. “Salad dressing? It talks to you?”
“Yep. In a way, anyhow. Stress sneaks up on me, and when it gets too bad, I have panic attacks. I usually catch it before it gets to that level, but not always. My best ‘impending stress overload’ indicator is how much salad dressing I have in my pantry. A bottle or two, and I’m fine. This last time, I had thirteen in there before I noticed.” Her eyes widened, amazed at her own confession.
Helena shook her head. “I still don’t get it. What’s wrong with salad dressing?”
Claudette began to rumble toward the kitchen. “It’s not the dressing itself. The dressing is only the canary in the coal mine. I start to get really stressed, and I tell myself it’s time to diet. My brain equates diet with salad, and so I start to pick up salad dressing when I’m out shopping, and I don’t even notice. The more salad dressing, the more stressed I am. Thirteen.”
A tiny grin played with the corners of Helena’s mouth. Claudette fit in the Catalain world perfectly. Helena might even have to tell her about PINCing, short for “Pretend It’s Not Crazy,” something all the Catalain women had done for each other at least once. Her favorite PINCing was when her niece Jasmine, not more than six at the time, had decided the Queen Anne was haunted. She wasn’t worried about herself, only her four-year-old sister, Katrine. She waited until Katrine was asleep before dusting her in baby powder every night for a month. When asked about it, she’d said, “the ghost won’t take her if they think she’s one of theirs.”
Ursula had wanted to put an end to it, but Helena had convinced her to PINC Jasmine, even though the girl was young for it. She’d naturally outgrown the urge to powder her sister, though she’d earned more than her share of PINCs since then, Helena knew.
“Well, I’m glad you listened to the salad dressing,” Helena said. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here, and I need your help.”
Claudette’s eyes lit up. “Lemme know what I can do.”
A shyness skirted Helena. She’d been experimenting with a new truffle recipe, something she was calling Pops. The ingredients were basic, so far consisting of a sassafras vanilla center dipped in milk chocolate. Yet, it was one of her most challenging candies to craft—a chameleon candy. She needed to mix it just right so it would taste like the favorite childhood soda pop of whoever ate it. The flavors must be perfectly balanced to coax out the explorer’s joy everyone had been born with but most lost along the way.
“Would you…would you try a new candy of mine? I can’t seem to get it just right.”
Claudette’s laugh rolled out. “Is the Pope Catholic?”
“Oh good.” Helena led her to the rear of the kitchen, moderating her walk so Claudette didn’t have to hurry. “It’s in the fridge.”
She pulled out the tray of truffles and offered it to Claudette. “They’re still too runny. I can’t get the center just right. That’s why I have to keep them refrigerated.”
Claudette plucked the largest and popped it in her mouth whole. Her eyes closed in ecstasy. She let it sit on her tongue for several moments before chewing. Her eyes shot open in surprise. “Dreamsicle! And rootbeer. And…grape soda?” She giggled, a child’s innocent laugh, full of curiosity and skinned knees and secret handshakes. Then she coughed, and the laugh disappeared. “And burp. Why does it taste like burp?”
“I know.” Helena slid the tray back into the fridge. “I don’t know what to take
away to get rid of that closing flavor. There’s only three ingredients in the center as it is. Sassafras, vanilla, and sugar.”
“Take away?” Claudette shook her head, her eyes vibrating as if skimming an interior mental list. “You need to add something. That burp tasted old. You need a brightener in there, something to youth that final note. It needs to be unexpected, like the candy equivalent of a joy buzzer or a whoopee cushion. Saffron, maybe? Cumin?” She hummed to herself as she searched the enormous spice rack, selecting and discarding several.
A warmth spread through Helena. Claudette was a genius. Pops would be the best candy yet. The ding of the front door pulled her out of her gratitude state. Forgot to lock it after we came in. Who would be out this early? Panic immediately replaced the warmth. Was it Meredith? Helena hadn’t had time to read through all the papers yet, though they were stuffed in her purse so she could scour them over lunch. They couldn’t take the store so quickly, could they?
Xenia’s laughter filtered through the door, and Helena’s shoulders relaxed out of her ears. Her sister must have entered through the front door. And it didn’t sound like she was alone. Helena couldn’t wait to hear how the date had gone.
“Good morning.” The swinging kitchen door tapped Helena’s bottom.
Xenia was glowing, hand in hand with Cleo. “Good morning! You remember Cleo?”
“Of course.” Helena smiled. Cleo still appeared a little lost, and Helena wanted to put her at ease. “How are you?”
“Good. But I need to be going.” She pecked Xenia on the cheek. The racks of dresses rustled happily. “I’ll call.” She walked out, glancing back at the inside of the store once, her gorgeous, mismatched tiger eyes rolling into every corner.
When she was out of sight, Xenia sighed. “I’m in love.”
“I can tell. What about her?”
“What do you mean?”
“She looked unsure.”
Xenia pushed her hair back. “I’m her first woman. We’re going to take it slow. But I think she’s the one.” The dresses whispered again. It was a happy sound.
Seven Daughters Page 5
