Hi Dad. That’s great that you want to come to Providence! You will get to meet all my friends. I am having several people over Thanksgiving Day, mostly from my weaving class. You remember that I teach “a bunch of losers” how to weave medieval tapestries, right? Anyway, this is great, because hopefully, you will get a chance to meet and talk with “Byron” and I know you’ve really wanted to do that. And oh yeah, I almost forgot—my best friend Dagne is a witch! She wants to try a couple of spells on you and see if she can cure the cancer so you won’t have to have surgery. The spells won’t hurt but they might stink a little. Okay, see you next week! And listen, if I’m not home, just let yourself in with your key. Yes, I remember you have it, and honestly, I’d never forget that in a million trillion years. Rachel
Rachel was convinced her dad’s determination to come to Providence was a full-fledged, disaster and figured this was some sort of cosmic punishment, seeing as how she’d been dabbling in witchcraft and enjoying it.
But Dagne was optimistic about it. “He’ll love your class, he’ll love Flynn—I mean, I am assuming he will, just as I will, if I ever get to meet him. But keeping him such a top secret might work against you,” she said with a sniff, still miffed that Rachel hadn’t found time to introduce them. “And then your dad will say, I was so wrong about you, Rachel, you’ve really got it going on, so I am going to restore your entire bazillion-dollar fortune this very minute.” And with that, she lifted her third glass of wine in a toast.
“Have you been smoking incense again?” Rachel asked suspiciously, then rolled onto her back so that she could stare up at the ten-foot ceiling and crown molding of her living room. “Do you know how ballistic Dad is going to go when he sees that tree and finds out Mr. Valicielo is suing me? Or that window upstairs that’s been broken for over a year? Or that the garage is leaning to the right and the cable has been cut off?”
“Pretty mad, huh?” Dagne asked as she examined a spot on her arm.
“Yep. Pretty mad. From the beginning, he told me I had to keep the place up, and if I didn’t, he was going to sell it. And then he told me if I didn’t get out of school he was cutting me off, as in permanently. I don’t really care, I swear I don’t, but I just need some time to get on my feet before he yanks the rug out.”
“It’ll work out. Trust me. I’ve got your back,” Dagne said with a wink.
Rachel half laughed, half moaned.
“I’m not kidding,” Dagne said, frowning at Rachel’s smile of disbelief. “All right, you don’t believe me? I’ll show you,” she said, and suddenly stood and grabbed her purse off the dining room table. She pulled out an envelope and tossed it onto Rachel’s tummy.
“What’s this?” Rachel asked, sitting up.
“You know that figurine of a dancer Myron gave you that you thought was so stupid? It got thirty dollars on eBay.”
“What?” Rachel cried, and looked in the envelope. It was full of money.
“And the torch thingies, they brought sixty,” Dagne said proudly. “There’s three hundred bucks in there.” Rachel stared at the money, then at Dagne.
“I wanted to wait another week. You remember that tea set he gave you? The bidding is up to one hundred and twenty-five dollars, but it won’t close for another three days.”
“You mean you sold those things on eBay?” Rachel asked, just to say it out loud.
“Yes,” Dagne said, beaming. “I mean, you were in a bind, and the stuff was just sitting around. You haven’t even noticed they’re missing,” she said proudly.
“Dagne! You did that for me?”
“I wanted to help. You’ve always helped me out when I needed it, and I wanted to do something for you.”
“I think I’m going to cry,” Rachel said, clutching the envelope to her chest.
“Please don’t,” Dagne said, blushing now. “Come on, forget that and tell me about Flynn. I wanna meet him!”
Rachel sighed dreamily and set the envelope aside. “God, Dagne, what can I say? He’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“So did you figure out if there is anyone waiting for him in England?”
That one caused her to wince a little. “There is someone. Or was. I think she doesn’t want to let go, and who can blame her? He told me he’d ended it, but that she’s not accepting the end.” She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked at Dagne. “I won’t be able to accept it, either.”
“Accept what?”
“The end.”