That Touch of Magic

by Lucy March

  I glanced at the special table facing the rest of us, where my brother sat beaming at Leo, one arm around his bride-to-be’s chair, as happy as I’d ever seen him.

  “I’m fine. Stand down.” I lifted my champagne flute and smiled, and they relaxed. Leo continued his speech, and everyone laughed, and I cursed my stupidity. I should have taken the damn dose that Desmond had given me, and just asked him to bring me more for the wedding. But no; I wanted to test myself in Leo’s presence, I wanted to show up tonight only to find that he didn’t affect me at all, that I was over it, that it was just the shock of seeing him again that had laid me out flat, and that I would be able to bear his leaving after the wedding without so much as a sigh.

  I was delusional.

  Everyone laughed at Leo’s final joke, and he raised his glass.

  “You’re the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had, Nick,” he said. “You’re a good man, and Peach is an amazing woman, and I know you two will be very happy.”

  We all lifted our glasses as he finished up, and I raised mine as well, and then our eyes met for the first time since he’d crashed back into my life, and the cracks in my heart expanded some more.

  Bastard, I thought, and sipped my champagne, holding his gaze like some kind of dog scrambling for dominance. I wasn’t going to look away first, wasn’t going to let him see what he was doing to me. In the end, after a nanosecond that felt like days, he glanced away and I was dominant and you know what?

  It didn’t make me feel any better.

  “I’d like to say something now, if that’s okay.”

  To my left, the Widow Lillith Easter stood up, black silk clinging tight to her bony limbs. I reached to pull her back down—after all, I had one job at tonight’s dinner, and keeping my crazy mother quiet was it—but Nick held up his hand to allow it. I almost overruled him; he always gave everyone second, third, eighteenth chances. The triumph of optimism over experience, that was my brother. But then Peach gave me a nod indicating I should give my mother her shot. With great reluctance, I let my hand fall back to my champagne flute and took a hearty sip.

  “To my son, my darling firstborn, Nicholas. I am so proud of you…”

  The Widow began her gushing. I caught movement at the other table out of the corner of my eye; Leo was pushing up from his seat. I gave a quick shake of my head—I’ve got it—but he quietly moved to position himself a few feet behind our table, standing on guard, just in case a tackle was necessary. Even he knew my mother better than Nick did.

  Poor, sweet, naive Nick.

  “And to Bernadette…”

  The Widow raised one skinny arm holding the champagne flute a little higher as she locked her eyes on Peach. Even through the black silk of her dress, I could see my mother’s muscles tense as though preparing for attack, and for a moment, I thought she was going to throw her champagne flute at her soon-to-be daughter-in-law. I wasn’t the only one who saw it, either; at the front table, Peach visibly tensed as my mother spoke, and who could blame her? The Widow spit her name out as though she were saying, And to the whore of Babylon …

  The Widow forced a smile on her pale face. “To Bernadette … You are a beautiful woman.”

  Nick had one arm draped around the back of Peach’s chair, and he smiled as, for the moment, his faith in our mother seemed to have been rewarded. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Peach sat at their table with Grandma Peach, looking happy and oblivious. They’d moved to Florida some years back, and had apparently forgotten the kind of woman my mother was.

  The rest of us hadn’t been so lucky.

  “You have captured my son’s heart, and he’s a good man, so there must be some great virtue in you.”

  Nick’s smile dimmed and his eyes closed for a moment, then he shifted as though to stand. I stood up and made a subtle motion with one hand; my job was to throw myself on the grenade, and I was happy to do it if it got me out of there without having to be polite and awkward with Leo. Besides, Nick was going to have to defend his wife from our mother for the rest of his life; he should get this one night off. Also, the Widow was all of ninety-eight pounds dripping wet; I could toss her over my shoulder and haul her out if I had to, and Nick knew I would. He relaxed back in his chair, a little.

  “I do question some of the choices you two have made. We all know that cohabitating before marriage is a sin before God, but—”

  I put my hand on her shoulder, digging my fingers into her flesh, hard. She didn’t flinch.

  “Wish them the best, Widow,” I said quietly into her ear, “and sit the hell down.”

  The Widow met my eye with steel and raised her voice. “—I believe that God forgives the genuine heart…”

  I glanced at Peach, who kept a stiff smile on her face, and nodded for me to let the Widow continue. My spidey-sense was telling me to haul the Widow out now, but I stepped back and shared a weary look with Liv.

  The Widow’s eyes glittered with her victory, and she turned her attention back to Peach. “Bernadette, it is my sincere hope that you will find your way back to Jesus, and repent of the poison you have injected into my good boy with your whorish ways—”

  “Yeah, I’m calling it,” I said, and started toward the Widow.

  “—and find a home in the Heaven He has promised us all.” The Widow turned to me as I took the flute out of her hand and placed it on the table, her eyes wide with something that couldn’t possibly have been surprise.

  “What?” she said, blinking innocence. “I’m not done.”

  “You are so very done.” I grabbed my purse in one hand and the Widow’s wrist in the other.

  She tried to yank herself out of my grip. “You need to let me finish. I was about to get to the part where I talk about how Jesus forgave the whores and loved them anyway!”

  “Thanks so much everyone, had a great time.” I waved to the Peaches, blew a kiss to Nick and Peach, and yanked on my mother’s arm. “Show’s over, Tammy Faye.” I glanced back at Liv and Tobias. “You’re on.”

  Liv stood up and lifted her glass, clanging her knife against it with fervor to drown out the Widow’s objections as I yanked on her arm, dragging her bodily from the premises.

  “I am not done!” the Widow said.

  “Yeah, you are.”

  Leo was at the door without missing a beat, holding it open for us. I met his eye quickly, and that stupid pain shot through me again. I was close enough to smell the Ivory soap on his skin, and I cursed myself again for being so cocky about the Anwei Xing.

  “Need any help?” he asked sotto voce as I pushed the Widow out the door ahead of me.

  “No.” I met his eye again, and it hurt again, and then I added, “Thanks,” and moved out after her, grateful to hear the ringing bells on the door jingle as it shut behind me.

  I dragged the Widow to the street where I’d parked my bright yellow VW Bug, pulled the door open, and pointed to the passenger seat. “Get in.”

  “I will not!” She started back toward CCB’s, and I darted in front of her, blocking her. Then she turned on her heel and tried to go the other way; I blocked her again.

  “Watch yourself, Widow. I’m younger, faster, and I’ve got rage issues. I can do this all night.”

  She stomped one foot. “I wasn’t done. If you had just let me finish—!”

  “You called the bride a whore,” I said. “There’s nowhere you can go from there but down, and she’s Nick’s girl and my best friend. You want to get to Peach? You’re gonna have to go through me first, and there’s no way that’s happening.”

  “If you think I’m going to be dragged out of my son’s first rehearsal dinner—”

  “Only rehearsal dinner,” I said, advancing on her, “and that’s exactly what is happening. Nick loves Peach, and I love Peach, and you’ve already used up what grace you got by giving us life, so if you think that pushing us to make a choice is going to end in your favor, lady, then you’re gonna want to take a moment to think again.”

  The W
idow’s thin nostrils flared in fury. “You. You’re no better than she is. Sleeping with anyone and everyone, not caring how it makes me look, how it makes me feel. I have to go into that confessional every week and unload your sins as though they are my shame! How do you think that makes me feel?”

  “I don’t give a crap how you feel. I spend time with you for Nick’s sake. He was the one who protected me from your crazy when Dad left—”

  “Died,” the Widow said.

  “Eddie Easter is a drag queen in Brooklyn.”

  She gasped, her face going white with horror. “Who told you that?”

  “No one. He tried to Facebook friend me a few years back,” I said. “But don’t worry. I haven’t told anyone.”

  She visibly relaxed, her face impassive as she tried to resuscitate her fiction. “The man is dead. You were at his funeral.”

  “Throwing a party doesn’t make it someone’s birthday,” I said. “He called us two days after that funeral to ask for money.”

  Her eyes widened, and she pointed her index finger at me. “Well, if he’s so alive, why isn’t he coming to his only son’s wedding?”

  “I don’t know … because he abandoned us to the care of a crazy woman, let us believe he was dead for two days, and then called asking for money?”

  The Widow rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Well … he’s dead to me.”

  “And the whole world revolves around you,” I said. “I know. But to the point: Are you going to behave yourself tomorrow, or am I going to chain you to the radiator in your bedroom?”

  She gasped, her eyes wide. “You wouldn’t!”

  “Wow,” I said, shaking my head in mock surprise. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

  I heard the bells jingle again and tensed, expecting Leo, but when I looked up, Peach was standing at the door of CCB’s, arms wrapped around her tiny middle as her pearl-blue dress swayed around her knees. She started down the sidewalk, heels clicking on the cement, and I put my hand on the Widow’s puffy blond coiffure.

  Her black eyes glittered with fury. “Stacy Imogen Easter, stop this right—”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” I hissed, and pushed down on her head until she collapsed into the open seat. I kicked her legs in, slammed the door, and clicked my key fob to lock it, then turned to face Peach as the Widow cursed at me and banged her fists on my passenger-side window.

  Peach had tried to wipe off the mascara trails, but I’d known this girl my whole life, and I knew when she’d been crying.

  “I’m so sorry, Peach,” I said. “Go back inside and enjoy your night. Don’t let her ruin it.”

  Peach sniffed and nodded, but still looked miserable. “I just need a minute.”

  “If it helps, she still likes you better than she likes me.” I heard movement in the car and looked down just in time to see the Widow trying to unlock the driver’s-side door. The second she succeeded, I hit the fob again and relocked it.

  “It’s like a game to me, Widow!” I hollered to be heard through the window. “Keep fighting. I enjoy it!”

  She threw herself back into the passenger seat and glared at me.

  “Maybe I should talk to her,” Peach said.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s a bad idea.”

  The Widow had managed to unlock the passenger-side door and I felt it push open slightly behind me. I held up one finger for Peach to wait, then turned and wrenched the door open, sticking my index finger into my mother’s expertly preserved face.

  “Lady, the only thing keeping me from killing you and burying your body where no one will ever find you is Nick, but if you scratch my car, even my love for him won’t save you.” She recoiled in horror and I slammed the door, getting the skirt of her dress caught in it this time. I leaned against the door and clicked the fob again, ignoring the rocking of the car as she tried to yank her dress free.

  “She’s a hellbitch, Peach,” I said, “and she’s never going to change.”

  Peach’s lower lip trembled. “Maybe if we just talked, you know … got to know each other a little better…”

  “There’s no good to come from knowing Lillith Easter better. Trust me.”

  Peach sighed. “I just … I don’t want my wedding to be ruined because my mother-in-law hates me.” Her eyes filled with tears. I leaned forward to put my arms around her, being careful to keep my butt pressed against the door in case the Widow attempted another escape. She had seemed to go quiet, but I knew better than to ever turn my back on her for long.

  “Don’t worry about the wedding,” I said. “I’ve got a plan.”

  Peach pulled back a bit, eyeing me suspiciously. “You’re not going to do anything … magic with her, are you?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Just know that I got it covered, and relax. Consider it a wedding gift.”

  Peach sighed, leaning over to look at my mother in the car, who was yanking fruitlessly on the skirt of her dress. Peach straightened and said, her voice quiet, “She’s agreed to take a potion?”

  I took a moment too long trying to formulate a noncommittal answer to that, and Peach gasped.

  “You can’t give it to her against her free will! Aren’t there consequences for that?”

  I shrugged. “There won’t be consequences. Pinkie swear. Your only job is to have a wonderful wedding, and to make my brother happy.” I hugged her, patting her on the back as I said, “How you make him happy is entirely up to you, just promise you’ll never give me the details.”

  Peach watched me with a worried expression, then sighed and pulled on a wan smile. “Okay.”

  She stepped back from the car, and I pushed away from the passenger-side door. Within a heartbeat, there was the click of the lock as the Widow made another attempt, and I hit the key fob fast, enjoying the sound of her frustrated scream through the glass.

  I put my arm around Peach, turned us both sideways where the Widow could see us clearly, and said loudly, “If it doesn’t work out with Nick, give me a call.”

  And I planted a smack right on her lips. The Widow went still in the car, and I could hear her gasp in horror.

  Peach laughed and hit me on the arm. “Geez, Stacy! She already hates me!”

  “I just need to stun her enough to keep her in the car until I can get in.” I waved Peach away. “Go on. Have fun. Love you.”

  Peach giggled and said, “Love you, too.”

  I watched as Peach went back inside CCB’s, waiting to take my butt off the passenger-side door until the bells had stopped jangling again. I was about to walk around to the driver’s side when I felt eyes on me. I glanced around and saw Leo watching through the plate-glass window. Our eyes met, and locked. This time, there was no pain, just that wild rush as we smiled at each other and all the years of separation, the hurt, the anger … it all just seemed to melt away. We were on the same side, the way we had always been, and for that moment, I felt that connection between us, as strong as it had ever been. It felt good.

  Too good. Dangerous good.

  I gave a short wave, and he waved back, hesitated a moment, then disappeared back to the party. My heart rose, flipped, and dove down into my stomach, where it whirled playfully around a tightening knot of panic.

  Tomorrow’s problem, I thought, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in. The Widow gaped at me in horror. I started the car, putting one arm around her seat as I reversed out of my parking spot.

  “You are going to hell,” she spat. “You are absolutely, beyond the shadow of a reasonable doubt, going to hell.”

  “It was never gonna end any other way,” I said, and started what I knew would be a very long drive home.

  * * *

  I banged on my mother’s door at seven the next morning. The wedding wasn’t until two thirty, but I didn’t want to take the chance of her making contact with either Peach or Nick before I’d had a chance to work my magic on her. When she didn’t answer, I walked in and shouted, “Hey! Widow!
Coffee time!”

  She appeared at the top of the steps dressed, of course, in black. Considering that she had no other color in her wardrobe, it wasn’t that much of an insult. I had more than once suspected that she’d faked my father’s death partially for the excuse to always wear her favorite absence of color.

  I held up the Starbucks containers. “I brought coffee!”

  Her face brightened, her lips already pulled into a pseudo-smile by the tightness of the blond bun on top of her head. I led the way to her dining room table and set the drink carrier on the table.

  “Skinny soy vanilla latte, bitter and fake, just the way you like it.” I grinned as I set her cup down in front of her.

  “Well, isn’t this … nice,” she said, a heavy note of suspicion in her voice. “What do you want?”

  I sat down and took a sip of my full-fat mocha. “I want to talk to you about last night.”

  Her face shifted into a smile; it wasn’t real, she didn’t own a real one, but it was what she had, and I appreciated the effort. “Apology accepted.”

  “Let me know when one is offered,” I said. “You acted like a wild animal, and ruined it for everyone.”

  Her eyes widened with shock. “Oh, please! It was fine, and Peach was so…” Her rictus tightened. “… lovely.”

  I had to smile. No matter how many times the woman did the gaslighting thing, it always amazed me. “You don’t recall me having to haul you bodily out to my car?”

  “I recall you being inappropriately pushy, yes. But as I said, apology accepted. Bygones, et cetera.” And with a magnanimous wave of her hand, she absolved me.

  “Unbelievable,” I muttered, and left it at that. It was still early, but it was going to be a busy day, and I was pressed for time. I reached into my purse and took out two vials with dropper caps in them. One was purple, and the other was a reused clear white one. Technically, you’re not supposed to reuse vials, but since it was the only clear one I had handy and there was only harmless green tea inside each of the vials, I wasn’t too concerned.

  “You know what I do, right?”

  She waved a hand at me. “Of course. You’re a librarian.”