“Demented old lady?”
“It was a figure of speech.”
“Yeah? Figure you’re now on my list.”
Bay giggled as she wiggled her hips and did a little freedom dance. “Live in fear.”
Aunt Tillie grinned. “You’re definitely the smartest of the group.”
Two
“ D inner is served.”
I slid the platter of pasta toward the center of the dining room table and smiled at my young charges.
“It’s on time and everything. For those of you keeping notes – and I know who you are, Bay – you can tell your mother that not only was dinner on time the first night it also was nutritious and delicious.”
Bay didn’t look remotely embarrassed as she jotted something down in the notebook she’d taken to carrying. “For your information, these notes aren’t about you.”
“Oh, really?” I cocked a dubious eyebrow. “What did you just write down if it wasn’t about me?”
“I’m working on a list of things I want to do over the summer.” Bay delivered the response with a steady expression, but I knew she was lying.
“That was better,” Aunt Tillie noted. “You squared your chin a little too fast, though, as if you were offended. What have I been telling you guys about getting offended?”
“Don’t get offended, just get even,” Clove automatically answered, reaching for the tongs at the center of the table so she could dole out the pasta.
“Very good, Clove.” Aunt Tillie beamed. “You parrot things back with the best of them. But you need to work on your lying. You’re so bad at it that it’s getting embarrassing.”
Wait a second … . “You’re teaching them to lie?”
“Not very well,” Aunt Tillie replied, blasé. “What is that … thing … in the middle of the sauce, by the way? It doesn’t look like meatballs.”
“It’s vegetarian,” I answered, my mind busy. “It’s eggplant, cauliflower, broccoli and onions. Why are you teaching them to lie?”
“I don’t like broccoli.” Aunt Tillie wrinkled her nose. “If the Goddess had meant for us to eat vegetables she would’ve made them taste better than meatballs.”
“Why are you teaching them to lie?” I repeated, refusing to let my aunt derail the conversational train. “Also, broccoli is better for you than meatballs. Meatballs will clog your arteries and give you a heart attack. Heart attacks can kill you.”
Aunt Tillie rolled her eyes until they landed on my daughter Thistle, who sat at the end of the table glaring at the vegetarian pasta. “See, the mouth clearly agrees with me about vegetables and meat not being interchangeable.”
“Thistle happens to love vegetables. Don’t you, sweetheart?”
Thistle poked her fork into a hunk of onion. “No mushrooms?”
Aunt Tillie snorted. “Yes, she’s clearly thrilled with your dinner choice. Who wants to order pizza … with meat?”
Bay and Thistle raised their hands in unison while Clove continued to stare at the vegetables.
“Thistle, I thought you liked vegetables,” I challenged. “You eat fresh tomatoes and green beans from the garden every single day. That means you like vegetables.”
“I like certain vegetables, and only in moderation,” Thistle said, adopting an annoying tone that I was fairly certain she picked up from Winnie in an effort to annoy me. “You always say that we should only do things in moderation.”
“You do say that,” Clove echoed. “You can only drink in moderation.”
“And when you’re over twenty-one,” Bay added, wrinkling her nose as she used her fork to comb through the pasta.
“You can only eat in moderation if you don’t want to be fat,” Clove added.
“You can only have sex in moderation if you don’t want to be considered a sex fiend,” Thistle interjected, causing me to snap my head in her direction. “I don’t know that one from personal experience, but I’m looking forward to finding out if it’s true.”
“I know what you’re doing,” I snapped, sucking in a deep breath to calm myself. “You’re trying to say things to see how upset you can make me. I know the game you’re playing, Thistle, and it won’t work.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Thistle said, her face twisting with sadness. “Is that really what you think of me?”
I balked. “Well … .”
“That right there was much better,” Aunt Tillie interjected, waving her fork in Thistle’s direction. “Did you see how she did that, Bay? She lied with a straight face, didn’t get defensive and never once acted as if she was saying anything untruthful. Very good, Thistle!”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead as I absorbed the latest Winchester family wrinkle. “Okay, um, why are you teaching them to lie?”
“Because it’s a very important skill, and because they’re witches,” Aunt Tillie replied. “I mean … think about it. They can perform magic. Sure, they only dabble now and can’t do very many things, but that will change as they get older. When that happens they run the risk of being discovered. I want to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
I didn’t realize I was gaping until I caught sight of Thistle and Bay mimicking me out of the corner of my eye. “So you’re teaching them to lie in case one day, far down the road, they might need to lie to someone about being a witch?”
Aunt Tillie nodded. “I was too late teaching you guys to lie. We’ve paid for that several times since. I don’t want to be too late with these guys.”
“You weren’t late teaching us,” I argued. “We simply don’t feel the need to lie all of the time. If you’re careful from the start, girls, there’s no need to lie.” I flashed a sugary smile that caused everyone else at the table to roll their eyes in unison.
“I’m happier knowing how to lie,” Bay said, clicking her ink pen before writing something in her notebook.
“Now what are you writing?”
“I’m just making a note to remind myself that I promised Mom I’d weed the side garden tomorrow,” Bay answered without hesitation.
“Much better!” Aunt Tillie clapped approvingly. “You didn’t blink at the wrong time. You didn’t swallow and let her know you were making it up. You even added in that little part ‘for my Mom,’ and that means people will be less likely to call you on your subterfuge. That was a vast improvement.”
Bay preened under the compliment. “Thank you.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.” I lowered my forehead to my palm as I rested my elbow on the table. “You can’t offer them lessons in lying. That is just … .”
“Ingenious?” Aunt Tillie prodded.
“All kinds of wrong,” I snapped, my temper getting the better of me. “Seriously, what are you even thinking?”
Aunt Tillie ignored my outburst and returned her attention to the pasta. “So … where did we land on the meatballs?”
“You’re eating those vegetables and you’ll like it,” I barked.
“I love vegetables,” Clove enthused, dishing a huge heap of pasta onto her plate. “I love that Aunt Twila took time out of her busy day to cook us a nutritious and delicious meal. I feel so lucky.”
Gratitude washed over me. “Thank you, Clove.” Finally someone appreciated me. It wasn’t my aunt or daughter, but at least it was someone.
“That was better, Clove, but you lacked sincerity in the delivery, and the last part – the part where you added ‘I feel so lucky’ – was way too much. Sometimes less is more.” Aunt Tillie smiled as she leaned back in her chair. “So … where did we land on the pizza?”
“Fine!” I tossed my napkin in the middle of the table and hopped to my feet. “You guys are going to do what you want anyway … so do it. I don’t care.”
“That’s great,” Aunt Tillie said, refusing to give in to my meltdown. “We’re going to order pizza, breadsticks and wings. I need you to give me some money to pay the delivery guy.”
I narrowed my eyes until they were not
hing but slits. “Do whatever you want.”
“What are you going to do?” Aunt Tillie asked, watching as I stomped toward the stairs that led to the second floor.
“I’m going to take a bath.”
“That sounds good.” Aunt Tillie refused to engage in an argument. “You need to relax. That will help. I’ll handle dinner. That’s the least I can do.”
I gestured toward the table. “I handled dinner!”
“Okay, I should probably rephrase that,” Aunt Tillie said. “I’ll provide a dinner they’ll actually eat. How does that sound?”
I couldn’t find the words to answer so I merely growled as I stomped up the stairs. The last thing I heard was Thistle talking to Aunt Tillie.
“She’s going to murder you in your sleep if you keep doing stuff like this.”
Aunt Tillie snickered. “Just watch and learn, little mouth. I’ve got everything under control.”
AFTER AN HOUR in the tub, steaming hot water allowing my steaming temper to abate, I almost felt human again. I dressed in jogging pants and a sweatshirt, and made my way to the main floor, intent on eating my leftover pasta and getting to the bottom of the lying classes before bed.
I still had several days to be in charge – and they were going to be great days – and I wanted to make sure this little issue didn’t become a big thing under my watch. If Aunt Tillie wanted to continue her lying lessons when Winnie and Marnie returned and could deal with the outcome that was one thing. I wasn’t going to let this situation get out of hand on my watch.
No way.
No how.
Nuh-uh.
I was halfway down the stairs when an ear-splitting scream rocked the house and I jerked my attention to the main floor. I hurried down the stairs and raced into the living room, to find Clove gasping for breath next to the bay window at the front of the house while Thistle and Bay tried to calm her.
“What’s going on?”
“There’s someone outside,” Clove said, holding her hand to her chest, her face red. “There’s someone looking in the window … peeping!”
I stood still, waiting for Aunt Tillie’s critique on Clove’s lying abilities before responding. I risked a glance toward Aunt Tillie’s favorite chair and found it empty, which caused me to furrow my brow and take a step closer.
“Is this a game?”
“Of course not.” Clove looked scandalized. “Why would I lie?”
“You didn’t really just ask that, did you?” I pushed past her and shoved the curtain out of the way so I could look outside. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be there, but the deepening darkness wouldn’t have allowed me to see anything even if a peeper really was present. “There’s no one out there.”
“You don’t know,” Clove challenged. “There could be a stalker out there. It’s too dark for you to see.”
“And she would know about stalkers,” Aunt Tillie said, breezing into the room. “What’s going on?”
“Clove says there’s a peeper outside,” Thistle answered, throwing herself on the couch and resting her feet on the coffee table. “Like she has anything anyone would want to peep at.”
Aunt Tillie snickered as Clove bristled.
“I have stuff.” Clove ran her hands over her mostly flat chest. “I have good stuff. And a lot of people want to look at it.”
“Yeah, perverts,” Bay muttered.
“Don’t worry, Clove,” I said, patting her shoulder. “You don’t have stuff yet, but you will. You’re built like your mother. That means you’re going to get the most stuff.”
Clove wasn’t completely mollified, but the snarky look she sent Thistle was full of meaning. I don’t have half the “stuff” Marnie had, so odds are Thistle would end up with my curve-light body. Of course, now was not the time to point that out.
“Ha, ha, mouth,” Aunt Tillie laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “She’s basically saying you’ll be flat your entire life.”
“I was not saying that!”
Thistle’s expression darkened. “I hate all of you sometimes.”
“Join the club,” I snapped. “There are days I want to lock all of you in closets and pretend you don’t exist. Yeah, I said it. I’m not sorry either. If one of you starts crying I’m not going to apologize. Bay, what are you writing in your notebook?”
Bay shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not writing anything.”
“Oh, that was inspired.” Aunt Tillie nodded approvingly. “We haven’t even gotten to that lesson and you’re already teaching it to yourself. You guys are the best students ever.”
“What lesson?” Thistle asked. It was fairly obvious she didn’t want to know for her own edification but because Bay was receiving praise. Thistle wanted to beat Bay at her own game. She just needed someone to identify the game for her.
“The 'deny-no-matter-what' lesson,” Aunt Tillie answered. “There’s going to come a time in your lives when no lie – no matter how brilliant and shiny – will save your bacon. Ooh, we should’ve gotten bacon on the pizza. I didn’t even think about it. I love bacon. Wait … what was I saying?”
I must get that particular scattered gift from her. There can be no other explanation.
“Oh, right, I was talking about denying you’re up to no good even when you’re caught in the act,” Aunt Tillie said, regaining her train of thought. “There’s going to come a time when no lie will be good enough to get you out of trouble. When that happens, girls, deny you’re doing anything and pretend the other person is crazy. This won’t work for the first minute or so, but if you keep it up eventually people will get so annoyed with you they’ll forget what they’re suspicious about.”
“Don’t tell them things like that,” I chided. “You’re corrupting them.”
“They’re witches. They need a little corruption.” Aunt Tillie hunkered down and stared out the window. “So … we think a peeper was out here?”
I’d almost forgotten Clove’s freakout. “Oh, yeah, is this one of the games you’re playing with the girls?”
“I have no interest in playing peeping games with girls,” Aunt Tillie answered, her expression serious. “I don’t roll that way.”
“Gross.” Bay made a face. “Clove swears she saw someone on the porch looking in through the window. It wasn’t part of a game.”
“I’m not making it up,” Clove said. “I honestly saw someone staring in the window.”
Part of me didn’t believe her. I couldn’t, after all. They were playing a lying game, for crying out loud. The other part couldn’t ignore the serious expression on her face. She was a tiny girl, and even though she was thirteen, she was small for her age. There were days I looked at her and believed she was eight. No joke.
I heaved a sigh. “Okay, Clove, tell me exactly what you saw.”
“I wasn’t really looking at anything,” Clove explained. “I was thinking about Alex Fitzgerald – he’s really cute, you know – and I was deciding how I was going to visit him without looking like a stalker tomorrow when I happened to look through the window. That’s when I saw him.”
“Him?” I arched an eyebrow. “You’re sure it was a him? Did you recognize the face?”
“I’m only sure it was a him because he was tall,” Clove replied.
“Everyone is tall compared to you,” Thistle said.
“I understand that, but it was a guy,” Clove said. “He was as tall as Officer Terry.”
I pursed my lips. Terry Davenport was a big man. If the person Clove saw was that big there could be no mistaking someone being on the front porch. I made my decision on the spot. “Did you see which direction he headed in?”
Clove pointed straight out, in the direction of the main road on the other side of the driveway. “That way.”
“Okay, well … .” I flicked my eyes to Aunt Tillie, uncertain. “I should probably go check things out.”
“You probably should,” Aunt Tillie agreed, nodding.
I wasn’t kee
n on the idea – and I kind of hoped she’d try to talk me out of it – so I couldn’t hide my disappointment. “Oh. You want me to go?”
“I think it’s a swell idea.”
“Fine,” I gritted, out, squaring my shoulders as I moved toward the door. “If I die out there because there’s really a peeper I expect you to take care of the girls until Marnie and Winnie get back. Oh, also, I want a really big funeral with a lot of weeping guests.”
“Oh, geez.” Aunt Tillie made an exaggerated face. “Hold on. We’ll go with you.”
“We will?” Thistle looked upset at the prospect. “What if we all die?”
Aunt Tillie shrugged. “Then we’ll die together. That, too, is the Winchester way.”
Well, at least I wouldn’t die alone. I had that going for me.
Three
“ Y ou stepped on my foot.”
“I did not.”
“You did, too.”
“I did not.”
“You both stepped on my feet, and I don’t like it.”
“You know what I don’t like? I don’t like little girls making noise when we’re supposed to be sneaking around the woods.” Aunt Tillie walked to my left and as I attempted to tune out the girls’ squabbling she opted to engage with them. “We’ve been through this before. When sneaking through the woods, what is the most important thing?”
“Don’t step on a rake because you’ll knock yourself out,” Clove answered. I couldn’t see her in the dark as I made my way down the driveway, but I could make out a small shadow near the ditch and I swear I heard an eye roll in her voice.
“That is a good rule,” Aunt Tillie confirmed. “Laugh all you want, but that’s happened to me twice.”
“Some might call that karma,” I noted.
“No one is talking to you,” Aunt Tillie said. “While the rake rule is very important, girls, that’s not the rule I was talking about. I taught you a very important rule just two weeks ago when we were spying on Margaret Little. What was it?”
I Dream of Twila: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short Page 2
