4152 Witchwood Lane

by Katie Winters

  Jennifer giggled. “Derek really is something. Did I tell you he can cook too? He made this seafood gumbo the other night that blew my mind.”

  “Jonathon has started to experiment in that department,” Camilla confessed with a funny smile. “I swear, we were married for years, and he hardly ever lifted a finger in the kitchen. Now, he’s showing me new recipes he wants to try. Andrea is totally freaked out. She’s like — did an alien come and swap out Dad’s brain?”

  Mila grinned inwardly. She was genuinely so happy for all of her best friends and their beautiful relationships. Amelia had never been in love before and now, she was pregnant, and her new boyfriend had agreed to raise her baby with her. Jennifer had divorced her high school sweetheart and husband of many, many years — only to find love around the corner with Derek, a developer from NYC. Camilla had gotten back together with her husband, something that Mila had been apprehensive about, although it seemed that Jonathon was overly willing to change for the better. And Olivia had met Anthony, a remarkable man, whom her great-aunt had hired to rebuild The Hesson House, even before her death. He was also related to a man Great Aunt Marcia had had some kind of affair with, over twenty years before — which added intrigue to it all.

  But despite all her gratefulness and joy for her friends, Mila couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit discouraged and left out. Love was a distant part of her past and it seemed that it would continue on that way. At least it was something she could return to in-memory form.

  After finishing off their appetizers, the girls ordered more wine and main courses. Mila leaned back and listened to the beautiful patter of their voices as they swapped stories from their week. As the girls were empathetic and very in-tune with one another, it didn’t take long for them to turn their attention toward Mila.

  “What about you, Mila? Any new dates on the horizon?” Jennifer asked.

  After all, Mila had pushed herself through several online dates over the previous six months or so. She had found it fascinating to meet new people, although she hadn’t felt even a glimmer of emotion toward any of them.

  “Meh. I don’t know,” Mila told them. “I was chatting to a few guys last week, but I have to admit, none of them really sparked any interest.”

  “Let me see,” Amelia said. She grabbed Mila’s phone from the table and headed to the dating app. She then displayed the photos out for the other girls to see as she swiped through.

  “No. No. Definitely not,” Olivia chimed in as they viewed photo after photo — men in their late thirties, forties, and fifties, the age-range Mila had set up for herself.

  “See? They all look so full of themselves,” Mila said.

  “And they probably are,” Jennifer said. “All sailor types.”

  “That’s not to say sailor types are bad, necessarily,” Olivia pointed out. “I mean, Lola Sheridan recently nabbed that one sailor, Tommy Gasbarro.”

  “Yeah, but he had never settled down with anyone before,” Amelia said. “I heard it was hard work at first.”

  Mila laughed inwardly. “I don’t see myself with a rich sailor type. I mean, Peter sailed, but he was different.”

  Her friends exchanged worried glances. She was the only one of the five of them who had lost her husband and nobody ever really knew quite what to say. They were all close to death; after all, they’d experienced it in a horrible, tremendous form when they had lost Michelle at the age of seventeen. But it never got any easier.

  After several more flicks across the dating app, Amelia’s face lit up as she then said, “Hey! This guy doesn’t look half-bad.”

  Mila peered at the photograph. He was handsome for sure, with dark golden locks, a healthy tan, the slightest of beards, and cerulean eyes. His name was “Graham,” and he had listed himself as a “Travel Agent,” which intrigued her.

  “I always meant to travel more,” Mila said thoughtfully.

  Amelia wagged her eyebrows as she read the description he had written out loud.

  “A non-stop adventurer, I’m looking for my life-long travel partner. You should love the water, ice cream, and dogs. I try never to take anything in life too seriously and I’m always up for a good time. That said, I believe in personal growth and always pushing yourself forward to new horizons. Change is inevitable!”

  “A tiny bit pretentious, maybe?” Mila said, looking around at her girlfriends.

  “Oh, come on. That sounds fantastic!” Olivia replied. “He wants someone to grow old with and travel with. That’s perfect. Isn’t that what everyone is looking for?”

  “I mean, nobody is exactly how they describe on their profile, right?” Jennifer interjected.

  “Easy for you to say, Jen. You’ve been single, what, five seconds in your entire life?” Olivia said.

  Jennifer’s eyes turned toward the table as her cheeks burned red. “I don’t mean—”

  “She doesn’t mean anything by it,” Mila said hurriedly. The last thing she wanted was for her stupid dating life to put any kind of wedge between her and her girls.

  “No! I’m totally thrilled you never had to date like this,” Olivia told her.

  Jennifer shrugged as a laugh bubbled up from her stomach. “Me too, to be honest.”

  “Great,” Mila returned as she rolled her eyes.

  “Let’s send him a message and see what he says?” Amelia said.

  “You’re going to take over my dating profile, now?” Mila lifted a French fry and wagged her eyebrows. “As if you didn’t have enough on your plate. Pregnant, new relationship, one million things on your to-do list...”

  “Come on. I have enough time to find my friend a soul mate,” Amelia returned.

  “Oh, cool. Graham’s my soul mate, now,” Mila nodded sarcastically. “Good to know.”

  “I’ll just write...” Amelia clacked her fingers over the screen. “Hey, Graham! Beautiful day, isn’t it? How is your day going?”

  “Sounds good,” Olivia said as she chewed contemplatively.

  “Is it too boring?” Camilla asked.

  “Great, Amelia. Now, my soul mate thinks I’m boring,” Mila teased.

  Amelia rolled her eyes as she set the phone back on the table. “The last thing men want is to feel that you’re too eager.”

  “And where did you read that? Some dating blog?” Mila asked.

  Amelia nodded. “Actually, yes. This whole Oliver situation has thrown me for a loop. Yes, he gives me unlimited love and affection, but the pregnancy hormones throw my emotions off, and sometimes I find myself Googling, ‘how is a relationship supposed to go?’”

  The other sisters chuckled knowingly. Camilla sipped her wine and said, “I’ve Googled, ‘how is a marriage supposed to work’ so many times over the years. I don’t think there’s ever any answer to human relationships. You just have to be honest and hold your head high and honor your emotions and have compassion.”

  Amelia buzzed her lips. At that moment, Mila’s online dating app pinged with a message from Graham.

  “What did he say?” Camilla cried.

  Amelia read it aloud. “Hello! It’s a stunning day. So glad you’re enjoying it. I spent most of the day hiking through the woods and am now relaxing by the beach with a beer and a book.”

  “He reads!” Olivia cried. “Oh, Mila, you know it’s important to date someone who reads.”

  Mila nodded knowingly. “Actually, I do think that’s true.” Peter had worked part-time as a writer and had always had a book on-hand. She’d loved this about him.

  Amelia lifted Mila’s phone to begin to answer, but Mila snatched it from her friend before she could start replying to it. “I think that’s enough for one day, Amelia. I can take it from here.”

  Amelia stuck out her bottom lip. “Okay, fine. Plan your own dates.”

  Mila laughed outright. “Only you could make me feel guilty for that, Amelia. It’s impressive.”

  “Thank you,” Amelia replied sweetly.

  The women sipped their wine and chatt
ed into the night. Stars twinkled above, radiant in the dense black of the sky. Mila’s brain sizzled with liquid courage, and she found herself arranging a date with this incredibly handsome, very forward man from the dating app. She had been on so many online dates — none of which had been successful. But something in her heart asked, what if this time was different? What if all the previous failures had led her to this moment? What if, finally, she would find a version of home with someone — after two years of pain and loneliness?

  Chapter Three

  Mila’s Uber rounded the corner of Witchwood Lane just past ten that night. Her Uber driver had gone to high school with her, and he peppered her with questions about her children, about the salon, and about her parents. Mila leaned her head against the headrest, grateful to be nearly home. She wanted the silence of her own bedroom; she wanted to eat a snack and dive into one of her TV shows. She just wanted peace.

  But when the Uber pulled up into the driveway, there was the zip-zip-zip of police sirens. The driver yanked his head leftward and said, “They’re coming down this way.”

  Sure enough, blue and red lights swelled over them as a cop car descended down Witchwood. Mila had a sudden rush of panic. She placed her stiletto on the pavement and stood slowly as the police parked alongside her house. From where she stood, she could hear it: the thump-thump of the stereo system, which obviously, Isabelle and Zane had dragged outside. Apparently, they had decided to have friends over and the cops had been called. How wonderful.

  “You want me to stick around?” the Uber driver asked her, as though they were just friends and he would do anything for her.

  “No. I’ll be fine. I’m sure you have another ride to get to,” she told him as she pushed the door closed. She then turned to find two officers, who sauntered up her driveway arrogantly. One man, one woman; Mila didn’t recognize either of them. They paused as the Uber driver reversed out of the driveway.

  “Can I help you with something, officers?” Mila put on her sweetest voice.

  In the wake of the sirens blaring, Zane and Isabelle had turned down the music. Thank goodness. Mila prayed that whatever else they had gotten into — probably some beer if she had to guess— would be hidden by the time the cops rounded the backyard. She could practically see the chaos in her mind’s eye: Isabelle hissing at Zane to hide everything and their friends scattering out the backyard and into the night. Most of their friends lived close by, which would make for an easy escape.

  The man responded. “We got a call from one of your neighbors about a particularly raucous party. There was a suspicion of underage drinking.”

  Mila furrowed her brow. “I don’t think that’s very likely, Officer.”

  “Seems to us you just arrived home yourself,” the man returned. “Mind if we head around back?”

  “Of course not.” Mila rolled her eyes as the two cops walked past her and headed toward the backyard. She crossed her arms over her chest tightly and imagined what she might say to Isabelle and Zane after all this was through. In truth, there wasn’t much to say; within the next month or so, they would both be off to college. She was losing any kind of tether she’d once had on them. They were eighteen, after all, and ready to take on the rest of their lives.

  The chain-link fence around the backyard of the place Mila and Peter had purchased years and years before allowed them full view of a very passive, quiet and pleasant evening. Isabelle and Zane sat on either side of a small, totally in-control bonfire. They both seemed mid-way through cans of soda, and they shared a huge bag of Skittles, the sour flavor kind. Isabelle was all wrapped up in the scratchy blanket they’d gotten from a Native American reservation, on a trip about ten years before, and Zane had his legs all stretched out in front of him, a reminder of the fact that in the previous year, he’d grown about five inches.

  They looked over as the two police officers and Mila entered the backyard. They didn’t seem surprised.

  “Mom! Hi!” Isabelle’s words were just slightly slurred. Maybe the cops wouldn’t notice.

  The cops paused in the center of the yard. Mila stepped up toward her twins and then faced the officers; she would protect her babies with everything she had.

  “Evening,” the male cop said. “We got a call about a particularly loud party happening at this address.”

  Isabelle splayed her hands out on either side. “Nothing happening here, as you can see. I was just telling Zane how boring we are. We’re eighteen years old and with nothing to do on a beautiful summer night.”

  The female cop scoffed. She obviously didn’t believe them at all. The male cop’s face fell the slightest bit. Mila wondered if this was something that happened to them a lot. In a way, she felt bad for them.

  “Well, just keep it down out here, okay?” the male cop said. “If we get another call like this, we’ll have to fine you.”

  “Understood,” Zane replied with a nod of his head. He then gave the cop one of those particularly arrogant, handsome, eighteen-year-old boy smiles, which Mila knew, only worked in some circles. It wouldn’t exactly please the cop.

  But there wasn’t anything the cop could do. He tapped his walkie-talkie with his left hand and then turned to speak with his female colleague. Their voices were too low to hear.

  “Well. You folks have a nice night, then,” the cop said. He then turned. The female cop followed after him, and in a moment, they heard the roar of the cop car engine.

  Slowly, Mila turned back to face her twins. Isabelle and Zane stared into the fire contemplatively. They didn’t dare look their mother in the eye.

  “So. Quiet night here on Witchwood Lane?” Mila said.

  Isabelle shrugged. “Yep. You’re looking at it.”

  Mila grabbed a handful of Skittles and sat in the free chair between her children. The fire spat and flashed through the air.

  After a long pause, Mila finally said, “So. Which of the neighbors ratted you out?”

  Zane coughed. “Definitely the new ones. Those idiots from the city.”

  “Zane!” Isabelle cried.

  “What?”

  “You just gave us away.” Isabelle turned her eyes apologetically toward her mother.

  Mila laughed. “It’s not like I didn’t know.”

  “Are you upset?”

  “That you had a party in the backyard? Not really.” Mila grabbed another few Skittles. “You’re eighteen. You’ll both be off at college in a month and I won’t be able to stop you from doing anything there.”

  “I swear, we weren’t even that loud,” Isabelle said. “I mean, Victor did start playing the stereo way louder toward the end. I told him to turn it lower, but he was drunk and well...”

  “I’m telling you. It’s just those uptight neighbors from the city,” Zane said. “They’re out to ruin our summer. They’ve yelled at us so many times over the past few weeks. Mom, you even said you don’t like them.”

  Mila groaned as she dropped her head back. It was true that she wasn’t so keen on the Carpenters, who seemed like an uptight couple who had come to the Vineyard for an “idyllic summer under the Vineyard sun.” She resented people like that, in a way — people who didn’t understand that Martha’s Vineyard was also a place where people lived and loved and had babies and built their lives. It wasn’t Mila’s escape; it was everything.

  “Just try not to get me into too much trouble before you head off the island, okay?” Mila said, eyeing both of them.

  “Okay,” Isabelle and Zane answered in unison.

  “And don’t drink! Too much, I mean,” Mila said. “Obviously, you’re eighteen now. I was eighteen once.”

  “Were you really?” Zane teased.

  “Stop that,” Mila returned with a smile.

  Isabelle reached beneath her chair and grabbed a large bag of marshmallows. “Who wants a s’more?”

  As Mila slid her marshmallow over the iron stick, her mind flashed with memories of a long-ago evening, back when she and Peter had taught their twins how
to make s’mores. It had seemed so magical through their eyes. The marshmallow had browned and grown all gooey; the chocolate had melted against the crisp graham cracker, and as they had eaten, their cheeks and chins had gotten increasingly messy and sticky. In fact, it seemed like most of the photos from around that time featured a number of chocolate-coated chins and plenty of crumbs.

  Zane lifted his marshmallow to the very tip-top of the flames. In the firelight, Zane’s face looked remarkably like Peter’s had forty years before. Mila hadn’t known him then; she only knew that face from photographs. Still, it opened her heart to know that Zane lived on with his father’s face.

  “So, I guess next time we’ll have to have the party inside?” Zane said mischievously.

  “Ugh. My new carpeting!” Mila said playfully.

  They settled into silence again. The twins seemed both surprised and grateful that Mila had decided not to be angry with them. Mila had long ago asked herself — what actually matters in this life? And in truth, this situation seemed to matter very little. Nobody had gotten hurt. The neighbors had maybe gotten to sleep a half-hour later than planned. Everything was fine.

  After they feasted on s’mores, they put out the fire and headed into the house. Mila poured everyone glasses of water and instructed that they drink as much as they could before bedtime. “Remember this for college,” she said. “Hydrate. Hydrate. Hydrate. And it’ll save your skin, too.”

  Before she headed upstairs, Isabelle paused in the kitchen and gave Mila a long hug. When the hug broke, Isabelle said, “Thank you again, Mom. Really.”

  Mila slid a strand of hair behind Isabelle’s ear. Again, her heart ached with fear for what would happen to her when she became an empty nester all alone.

  “You guys seem a little more responsible than we were back in the day,” Mila said.

  Isabelle’s eyes dropped. The story of Michelle had been a very difficult but necessary one to share with Mila’s children. She had spoken of Michelle with love and with tenderness, but she’d also illustrated just how wrong things could go if you didn’t keep a watchful eye on yourself, your habits, and the danger you’re putting yourself in. In truth, it terrified Mila to the bone that kids went out into the world with such naivety and thinking they were invisible, untouchable. People tended not to know what they had until they’d lost it and then it was too late.