A Taste of Magic

by Tracy Madison

  Rapping on the door, I waited and tried to stay calm. I’d never done this before. Marc had chased me. I’d never needed to chase anyone. Ripples of nervous ness coated my skin. My palms were moist. I forced my feet to stay put.

  It’s not like Nate could read my mind. He’d see what I wanted him to see, simply a neighbor thanking him for helping her out. One thing I had learned over the years was that most of the time, people saw what they expected.

  The door swung open, but it wasn’t held by Nate. A boy— don’t ask me his age, because while I loved children, unless they were in diapers, I didn’t have a clue—grinned up at me.

  “Hi, are you a friend of my uncle’s?” Nephew, not son. Aww, he had dimples. They were totally cute.

  “Sort of. Is your uncle here?”

  “Yeah, he’s cleaning the juice I spilled. It was grape.”

  “Grape, huh?”

  The boy stuck out his chin. “Uncle Nate says it’s probably gonna stain, but it’s okay cuz he likes purple a lot.”

  And that was completely sweet.

  “Sam? Who’s at the door?” I heard the yell from a place I couldn’t see. Probably the living room, if his apartment was the mirror of mine.

  “Elizabeth,” I called. “You know, from last night?”

  “Oh, window girl?”

  Swiveling my head quickly, I checked to be sure no one else roamed the hallway. Window girl? I would have preferred something like “Oh, that sexy chick from last night?” But all I said was, “Yes.”

  A second later, Nate appeared. “Hey. Anything wrong?” He wore navy sweats and a white T-shirt with a bright purple wet splotch on the front. This made him all the more endearing.

  “No. Not at all.” Hesitating, I thrust the plate out in front of me. “Here, I baked them. As a thank-you.”

  Sam stood up on his tiptoes, obviously trying to see for himself. “Is it chocolate? I love chocolate!”

  Nate glanced at me inquisitively.

  “Oh, no, sorry. They’re muffins. Banana.”

  “Can I have one, Uncle Nate? Please? I’m starving.”

  Nate accepted the offering and nodded to Sam. “Go sit down, and be more careful with the juice this time. I’ll be there in a minute.” He returned his attention to me as Sam ran off. “You didn’t have to do this. I’m glad I could help.” His mouth twitched. “I do have a question, though.”

  “Sure.” Yes, I’ll go to bed with you.

  What was wrong with me? I hadn’t felt like this in years.

  “What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up?”

  “I’d still be there, probably, with a gaggle of onlookers laughing at me while I cried.” I cringed at the mental image. It honestly could have turned out that way. Or worse.

  He waved a hand in dismissal. “Nah, someone would have helped.”

  “I’m just glad you didn’t have a camera.”

  Nate shook his head, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he laughed. “Well, I’m going to start carrying one around with me. I realized this morning I could’ve made a bundle off that picture.”

  “You think? Who would you have sold it to?” I was beginning to doubt my taste in men.

  “You.”

  Ah, a tease. I liked being teased. My faith was restored. “Uncle Nate! I’m hungry!”

  Nate looked into his apartment; then he looked at me and said, “He’s getting antsy. I should go feed him.” Did he seem regretful? Or was that wishful thinking?

  Nodding, I backed up a couple of paces. “Have a good day. Thank you again.” God, this was it; he was going to close the door. I needed to say something. I needed to remember how to flirt. Now.

  “Um, Nate?” My brain fumbled around, trying to find what to say, something that would draw his attention so that he’d feel compelled to, I don’t know, ravage me.

  “Yes, Elizabeth?”

  “Um . . . you never did show me your ID.” And this, my friends, is what happens when you blurt without thought.

  “You want to see my ID? Now?”

  “No.” Come on, be smart, be charming. “Why would I need to see that now? You live here, like you said you did, and you were wearing a uniform. I’m good. I don’t need the ID.” Everything came out in a rush. An idiotic, blathering rush.

  Nate tipped his head and examined me silently. Examined was the correct verb, by the way, as he could have been looking through a microscope at an unknown species of larvae. Did larvae have species?

  “Did you bang your head last night?”

  Great, now he was concerned. About my head.

  Well, I was acting a bit crazy. I tried to look normal. “You know what? Maybe I did. I can’t remember. Anyway, I have to finish my rug.”

  “Uncle Nate,” Sam said, back at the door, tugging at his uncle’s pants.

  “It’s okay. You know . . .” I broke off.

  Nate nodded. “I know. You have to get back to your... rug, was it? Well, thank you for the muffins.”

  “Uh-huh, I hope you like them.” I turned on my heel and tried to walk naturally back to my apartment, which wasn’t that easy on rubbery ankles. Plus, I could feel him watching me.

  After I was securely inside my door, I crumpled to my knees in defeat. The pounding of my heart filled my ears. My stomach sloshed with nervous ness. I was horrible at flirting. It possibly would be a good plan of action to get some more information—so I’d be better at it next time.

  Flirting for Dummies, perhaps? Did they make a book like that? They had to. I couldn’t be the only woman in the universe who needed it. Other women got divorced. What did they do?

  I could stop at the bookstore near A Taste of Magic on my way home on Monday. This was my new plan until the image of purchasing such a book, with such a title, in public, brought me to my senses. Which was when I remembered the Internet was a far better choice. You could buy everything from a toothpick to a new house to “Sultry Lights” online. Gotta love it.

  Standing up, I looked—really looked—at my apartment. I didn’t like what I saw. A tiny dining room opened into the living room on one side, the kitchen on the other. A narrow hallway led to my bedroom and the bathroom. My life was encapsulated into less than 800 square feet. And not even an attractively furnished 800 square feet, at that.

  When I’d moved out of the house Marc and I shared for so long, I couldn’t have cared less about furnishings. I just wanted it over with, and I didn’t want to drag along any physical reminders. One quick trip to Valu-Mart had done the trick. A cheap black couch set, fake wood end tables, no-frills lamps, a bed minus a headboard, a wood-composite desk, half-opened boxes, and the laundry baskets I kept my clothes in rounded out my furnishings. I hadn’t even bothered to buy a real dresser. I’d been living like this for nearly a year, and it hadn’t bothered me once in that entire time. I mean, I had food, a place to sleep, a roof over my head—what else did I need?

  I sat on my bed and hugged a pillow. Why I hadn’t seen this before, I didn’t know. I hadn’t been living. Not really. More like existing: just getting from one day to the next as quickly as possible. My chest grew tight and heavy. The room swam as my eyes filled with tears. It seemed the entire year of misery bombarded me at once.

  No. I didn’t want this. I needed to learn how to breathe again. To see in color again. And yes, I had to figure out how to live again. I was ready for a change.

  No, more than that. I needed a change. Merely existing could kiss my ass.

  “I want to dye my hair,” I told Maddie the following Wednesday. We were eating lunch at the deli down the street from A Taste of Magic. Maddie had Wednesdays off. And for me, Wednesdays tended to be slow at the shop, so it was the best day of the workweek for us to meet. Not that we needed to arrange a certain day to see each other. After all, Maddie’s apartment was directly above mine, so we pretty much could visit whenever we wanted. But these lunches had been habit long before my separation from Marc.

  “What color?” she said over a bite of her sa
ndwich.“I’m not sure. What do you think?” Maddie was an expert when it came to flair and fashion. If anyone could help me, she could.

  Maddie sat back in her chair and appraised me. She’d pulled her blonde hair up into what appeared to be an effortless style. Tendrils framed her face, making her smoky eyes large and luminous. And, as always, regardless of the time of day, her makeup was perfectly applied. As strange as it sounds, in all the years we’d known each other, I’d never seen her with a bare face.

  “Hmm. Well, red highlights would be awesome on you. But everyone does auburn. You have beautiful hair anyway. Why mess with it?”

  “I want something different.” I licked the mayonnaise from my chicken salad off my lips. “I’m ready. I want to make a few changes, though nothing drastic.”

  “Really? What brought this on?”

  “Marc. The wedding. The cake. I don’t know. I’m just ready. But I don’t know what to do.” As much as I trusted Maddie, what occurred in my bedroom was private. Realizing I’d barely been living the past year had startled me, changed me, and it still weighed too heavy inside to share. I felt like someone had erased me and I had to learn to draw myself all over again, only I didn’t know which pencil to use. Or where to begin. And now I was talking like my sister Alice, the artist.

  Realizing I wasn’t going to offer up more information, Maddie grinned. “I’d stick close to what you have. Maybe lighten the base shade a couple of degrees and then add some blonde highlights. Not too blonde. Go for a dark honey tone.”

  Before I could respond, my cell phone rang. Flipping the cover up, I saw my sister’s name on the Caller ID. “Sec,” I said to Maddie. Speak of the Devil.

  Alice rarely called me during the day. Worried, I clicked the button. “Hi, Alice.”

  “Oh my God! Elizabeth, I’m so glad you answered. You are not going to believe this. I still can’t believe it, and I heard it with my own ears.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, something is great. I am about to make your day. In fact, this might make your entire year.” The sound of a horn honking came through the connection.

  “Are you driving?” Yes, I chided. One of my pet peeves was people on the phone when they should be focusing on the road. Especially when that person was my baby sister.

  “No. I’m in the parking lot at the club. You need to listen to me.”

  The club was the Brookhaven Sports Club, a rather pricey gym that offered racquetball and tennis courts, hot tubs, and both indoor and outdoor swimming pools as added perks for their clientele. I had no idea why, but the club seemed important to Alice. And I knew she gave up on a lot of other extras to fit the fee into her finances, especially since she didn’t even have a real job, just a series of part-time ones that kept her afloat so she could devote her time to painting. “So, tell me already.”

  “I was changing into my swimsuit when I heard Ginny Lewis on the other side of the lockers talking to someone. You know Ginny, don’t you?”

  “No, Alice, I don’t know Ginny. Who is Ginny?”

  “She’s Tiffany’s best friend. She was her maid of honor at the wedding on Saturday.”

  Yeah, now I remembered. Not that I’d ever met Ginny, but Alice had talked about her ever since Marc and Tiffany announced their engagement. Apparently, Ginny had made several derogatory comments about Marc, which, for some reason, Alice felt compelled to pass on. I’m sure she thought it made me feel better.

  “You know what? If this is another one of those ‘she said this’ things, I’m not interested.” I couldn’t talk about Marc anymore.

  “I promise you will want to hear this. You have to let me tell you, Elizabeth.”

  I sighed. I knew better, but time was running short and I still wanted to chat with Maddie before getting back to work. Probably easier to give in, listen, and then forget about whatever the newest gossip was.

  I hate gossip. It always finds a way to wrap itself around you and cause you, or someone else, pain.

  Relenting, I said, “Fine. If you’re going to freak out, just tell me and get it over with.”

  “Good. So, anyway, apparently Tiffany called Ginny at, like, two in the morning last night. From her honeymoon.”

  This piqued my curiosity. Who called their best friend from their honeymoon? Aren’t there, well, more exciting things to be doing? I could think of a few.

  “This part may sting. Tiffany is pregnant. She just found out before the wedding, so she’s kind of frantic.” Alice rushed the last sentence out, as if the momentum would gloss over the impact.

  It failed, by the way.

  Marc had refused to have children with me. His excuses about the timing not being right still rang clearly in my memory. It never mattered to him what I wanted; it was always about him. This was more than a sore spot. It was pure agony. I tried to breathe, tried to stop the pain from bubbling over. This was not the time for it.

  “Are you there? Did you hear? Tiffany is pregnant.” “Stop. I don’t need this. I really don’t.”

  “You stop. I told you that part may sting. But listen to the rest. Marc couldn’t get it up. Not on their wedding night, not at all so far. And they’re on their honeymoon! Tiffany thinks it’s because he’s upset about the baby, but the important part is—he couldn’t get it up. Isn’t that awesome? I think it’s perfect. The perfect payback for that asshole.”

  Her words forced themselves through the haze of shock. As soon as they did, goose bumps sheathed my skin and my breathing hitched. I think I mumbled I had to go, but I know for sure I disconnected the call. Staring at the phone, I sat there and rehashed the conversation.

  Holy crap.

  The perfect payback.

  All that weird stuff that had recently been happening dashed through my head. You know, the glowing and the buzzing and the static electricity. Then, my mind centered on the birthday card from my grandmother and the message that I swear had sparkled. What had it said? Something about believing in magic . . . or something about it being the time for magic? I wasn’t sure. Not exactly. But then, I thought of the last thing Grandma Verda said to me in the living room at my parents’ house right before going on her date.

  “Have fun, but be careful,” I murmured, repeating it.

  Next, the magic moments from childhood tumbled into my memory. Grandma Verda had been in the center of every unexplained incident.

  My heart rate jumped a zillion notches as the unbelievable, the entirely ridiculous yet somehow right pieces floated together. “Crap. No way.” Had I somehow caused this to happen?

  “What? You’re white as a ghost. Drink some water.” Maddie offered me my glass, but I shooed it away.

  “Tiffany’s pregnant,” I mumbled.

  “Oh, honey. Why did Alice tell you that?”

  “And Marc . . . he couldn’t—”

  “Marc couldn’t? What’s going on?”

  I cycled through the conversation again. “I have to find her. Now.” Standing up, I shoved my cell phone into my purse and snatched my jacket.

  “Who? What? Where are you going? You’re too upset, sit back down.”

  A new thought occurred to me: Oh, no. The muffins. Nate. What had I said? I closed my eyes, trying to think. I didn’t recall the words, but I did remember my mood, the want, the desire. Any semblance of calmness I may have had skittered away. Bam. Gone.

  “I have to go, Maddie. I’ll explain later.” Not waiting for a response, I left the deli, the cold air biting my skin, and aimed toward A Taste of Magic. I needed to see my grandma’s card again—it was still on my desk. I had to ask Jon to handle the afternoon business, and then I had to search the entire Chicago area for a crazy old lady who believed in magic.

  “Grandma Verda, what have you done?”

  I was an emotional woman with practical beliefs. But somehow, somewhere inside, a click had fallen squarely into place. It didn’t matter if the click made sense (it didn’t), because I knew some freaky stuff was going on. Either I was the l
oony one or Grandma Verda had cast some sort of a spell on me.

  Chapter Four

  I rested my chin on my steering wheel and stared at Grandma Verda’s Shady Pines condominium. Not only was my grandmother absent, but there weren’t any shady pine trees, either. This, I guessed, was an example of marketing. Make something sound more attractive than it is and someone will buy into it.

  My stomach rumbled, a not so gentle reminder that it was almost dinner time. I’d left A Taste of Magic almost four hours ago and headed straight to Grandma’s, only she wasn’t home. When I called my parents and siblings to see if they knew where she was, no dice.Unclenching my hands, I flexed my fingers to try to work out my nerves. This was crazy. Even if my imaginings from earlier were right on, waiting around wasn’t giving me any answers. I fastened my seatbelt and headed out. Surely she’d be home later. I’d try calling. Until then, I pushed the questions away.

  Keys in hand (no more window climbing for me), I unlocked the door to my building, stopped to grab the mail, and beelined it for my apartment. A bright yellow Post-it was stuck to my door. Written in a nearly illegible scrawl were directions to go to Nate’s place.

  A shiver rolled down my spine. Interesting, but also a little unexpected, especially after my weird day. What did he want? And . . . what if it had something to do with magic-spiked muffins? Could he arrest me for that? If he could, would it be considered a crime of passion?

  I laughed. This must be what losing your mind felt like. I looked at the Post-it again and another shiver hit me. Who knew paper could be so alarming? Ripping it off, I marched to Nate’s and knocked on the door. Easier to get it over with than just stand and fret.

  The door opened almost immediately. Nate held a can of soda and smiled. Somehow, he was even better-looking than I’d remembered. Romance novel heroes had nothing on him. As an added bonus, he still smelled terrific.

  “There you are. We were beginning to wonder,” he said, motioning for me to come in.

  “We?” Hesitantly, I entered the lair of the cop, stopping on the threshold. Nate’s apartment was the same as mine, except in reverse. Only, for someone who’d moved in less than a week ago, his place appeared lived-in. Actual pictures graced his walls, and not one unpacked box anywhere.