A Different Witch

Chapter 10



Jamie pulled open the door, hoping he could manage not to be a giant doofus today. And gaped at the enormous metallic butterfly floating in his doorway, every color of the rainbow and supremely glittery. A tiny girl’s dream balloon.

He looked down. Yup, those were Beth’s shoes. “Hey. Looks like you came bearing gifts—is that for me?”

He was rewarded by a chuckle. Almost. It cut off mid-laugh, followed by red cheeks coming around a bright wing. “I’m sorry. I brought a gift for Kenna and one for Nat, but I didn’t bring you anything.”

The deflated sound of her voice broke his heart. “You brought a butterfly that will delight my daughter for a week. Consider me thoroughly gifted.”

“You’re very kind.” Beth smiled, but her eyes were still bleak.

Dammit, he was not going down that road again. “My mother would assure you that I did so many terrible things in my youth that I don’t deserve any presents until I’m at least sixty-two.” He tugged on the balloon string, pulling her into the house. “If you want, I can pull your pigtails later to make up for it.”

“I don’t have…” One hand stopped on the way to her hair, followed by a giggle that clearly surprised her more than it did him. “You’re teasing me.”

“Yup.” Please don’t let it backfire. “It’s pretty much the only way I know how to treat girls.”

“It’s true.” Nat slid smoothly into the entryway, beaming at their guest. “But he’s cute, so I keep him.”

Beth’s smile went all the way to her eyes now. “I brought you some of my granola. I made a batch last night. You have some wonderful stores here in California—they even have fresh nuts in December.”

“Yum.” His wife accepted the bright yellow tin appreciatively. “There’s a terrific little shop over on Bancroft that will grind nut butter for you right in the store. My favorite is a mix of macadamia nuts and coconut with a little flaxseed thrown in.”

“I love macadamia nuts.” Beth’s grip on the balloon string had relaxed several degrees.

“We can walk over there after lunch if you like.” Nat deftly worked Beth out of her coat and bag. “I think we finished our jar this morning.”

Alarm bells went off in Jamie’s head. He was pretty sure that whatever he spread on his bagels in the morning smelled vaguely like coconut. “I eat flaxseed?”

Nat grinned at Beth, one of those conspiratorial looks designed to make him feel like he was five.

Damn. He did eat flaxseeds. However, he knew better than to interrupt the easy flow of conversation, even though he really wanted to know what else might be lurking innocently in their kitchen.

His wife pulled the lid off the granola, inhaling deeply. “It smells divine. What do you put in it?”

Now the flush in Beth’s cheeks was simple happiness. “I can write it down for you if you like.”

“Please.” Nat cradled the tin. “Such thoughtful gifts you brought. Thank you.”

“Moira brought me a present yesterday. It inspired me.” Beth held out the balloon string. “Is it all right if I give this to Kenna?”

“Of course.” Nat led the way down the hall. “She’s in the back yard.”

Jamie tried to keep up with them—there was no way he wanted to miss his daughter’s face when she spied butterfly treasure. He lightly linked into his wife’s mind. Thank you. I was being a klutz again.

You were doing just fine. Nat’s mindtouch soothed, as it almost always did. You had her laughing before I even got there.

He was sticking with his version of the story—sexy wife to the rescue. Kenna’s gonna flip.

Don’t watch her, his wife replied gently. Watch Beth.

He didn’t understand why, but as they stepped out into the sunny yard, he positioned himself where he could see them both—his wife was far too smart to ignore. Just as he’d figured, Kenna’s face lit up like the Fourth of July the moment she spied the butterfly.

She came toddling as fast as her two chubby legs could move. “Ooooooooooo!” Beaming effervescent delight, the kind babies shared effortlessly with the world.

And her joy didn’t hold a candle to Beth’s.

-o0o-

Nell looked around. She had her forces assembled, necessary supplies in place. Now all she needed was a plan.

One that wouldn’t step in witch quicksand before they even got started.

She sat down on the couch and eyed her team. “I need you guys to help me figure something out.”

Five heads nodded, curious.

Time to get everyone on the same page. She looked at her triplets. “We need decorations for the big birthday bash, right? And you guys could use more help.”

Three blonde heads bobbed in unison. The polite version of “Duh, Mama.”

Nell looked at Moira. “And we have a witch who feels like she’s landed in a foreign country where she doesn’t know the rules and no one knows her.”

Their elder witch nodded calmly over her tea. Nell knew strong convictions lay below the calm surface—they’d had quite the early morning chat about a young Irish immigrant girl and a lost witch from Chicago.

Ginia frowned. “California’s not a foreign country.”

“It isn’t, sweetheart.” Moira leaned over and patted her knee. “But our Beth is feeling a bit like it is. She’s a little lonely and confused, and we want to help with that.”

Three sets of eyes cleared—they loved to help with just about anything.

Nell stepped in before they volunteered. “We need to help in a way that will work for Beth. And that’s different than what we might do if one of you were lonely.” She looked over at the sixth person in the room, hoping for an assist—it was hard to explain what you were just barely beginning to understand.

Lauren leaned forward and helped herself to a brownie. “Have you guys ever noticed what Lizard does at parties?”

Shay nodded, all ten-year-old seriousness. “She hides behind stuff.”

Nell covered a grin as Mia gawked at her sister—Shay had always been the most observant of the three.

Ginia looked thoughtful for a moment. “Or she hangs out with one or two people somewhere.”

“Right.” Lauren broke her brownie in four pieces and passed one to Shay. “She’s really fun to be with, but when she can, she likes to deal with the world a few people at a time. Even at a big Witch Central party.”

“That’s okay.” Mia settled back, puzzled, but game. “We love Lizard.”

“I know you do.” Lauren handed Mia one of her mini-brownie squares. “Now tell me what Caro does at a party.”

Even Mia knew this one. “She sits down on a couch in the middle of everything and knits and waits for people to come visit her.”

“Yup.” Lauren handed Ginia the next brownie chunk. “And how about Uncle Jamie?”

Ginia thought for a second and grinned. “Mostly he hangs out at the stove and cooks and talks to fifteen people all at once.”

“Exactly.”

Her daughters were smart little cookies. Which Nell already knew. She was far more impressed by how neatly Lauren had just made sure each of them had come up with an answer they could be proud of.

Basic realtor skills. Lauren’s mind voice was amused. Let’s see if I can pull off the rest. Her eyes never left the triplets. “So Lizard and Caro and Jamie are all really different, right? But they’ve all found a way to be happy here at Witch Central.”

“Oh.” Mia, girl of action, leaned forward, eyes bright. “So we have to find a way for Beth to be happy here.”

“Exactly.” Lauren popped the remaining brownie square in her mouth. Nell tried not to laugh as her three girls did exactly the same. “Each of us is a little different, and we all find unique ways to be here and hang out together. But for Beth, being new, it might be hard to figure out how to do that.”

Shay wiped milk off her chin. “How do we help?”

Nell swallowed fast—ball back in her court. “I was thinking that we could try making some decorations with Beth today. Nat’s going to see if she wants to come by after lunch.” Via a stop at Nancy’s Nuts, which was just more proof of Lauren’s point—some of Witch Central’s existing inhabitants were plenty strange.

Flaxseeds. Poor Jamie.

Focus, sent Lauren dryly. Or your girls are going to have this all planned out before you finish worrying about what Nat might have put in your peanut butter.

Nell shuddered and hoped dearly it was only peanuts.

And then stuck her head into the blonde collective surrounding Moira’s tea cup and started making plans.

Careful ones. Witch Central on its tiptoes.

-o0o-

Some days were just magic.

Jamie looked over at his wife and smiled. She sat with Kenna in the corner of the room, offering cookie crumbs to their daughter’s beloved new butterfly.

Who apparently only liked snickerdoodle crumbs. Which would have been cute enough if it were Kenna’s idea—but it had been Beth’s. A devious plan to get rid of her excess cookie, maybe, but it had delighted his girl.

He looked over at their guest, who had been mostly happy and at ease for two hours now. She sat very still, watching his daughter intently. It reminded him of the way a small child studied the world. “What do you see when you look at her?”

“I like to watch children. How they play.” He could feel her wonder—and her nagging sense of incompetence. “You see there, how she looks at Nat?”

He tried to see his daughter through strange eyes. “She does that all the time.”

“Yes. It’s called social referencing.” Beth talked quietly, her eyes still on Kenna. “She learns when she looks. How Nat feels about the environment, her behavior, other people in the room. It gives Kenna cues about how to act and what to pay attention to.”

That made sense. And didn’t explain the tinges of sadness as their visitor talked. He replied from his gut. “It didn’t work that way for you?”

“No.” One word, loaded with finality and yearning. “Most people with autism never learn how to do that. And it makes sitting in a room like this so much harder.”

He was lost. “Why?”

She was watching him now. “When Kenna looks at you, it’s kind of like a shortcut to figure out what she should be doing. Because you’re not worried about me, she doesn’t have to be. Because Nat’s not paying attention to the noisy little papers flapping over in the corner, she doesn’t have to.”

Jamie looked over in the corner. A small stack of Kenna’s latest finger-painting masterpieces flapped in an invisible flow of air—the edge of one of Nell’s soundproofing spells, most likely. “You can hear that?”

“We all can. But the three of you can easily ignore it.”

He tried to imagine a life distracted by random bits of flapping paper. “What else do you notice in the room?”

Her face didn’t change, but her mind tinged with appreciation for his interest. “I hear some odd creaks—pipes, most likely. And three dogs barking from the north, south, and southeast. A car backfired about four minutes ago.” Beth paused a moment. “There are some warmer air currents coming under that door over there. The kitchen, maybe—there are whiffs of tomato and oregano.”

His tomato sauce. “You’re totally welcome to stay for dinner.” She really was. Anyone who delighted his daughter and his wife in the same day could sit at his table for as long as they wanted.

She smiled back. “Nat’s rocking chair has something under the left side that’s slightly breaking her rocking rhythm. And something smells over behind that green beanbag chair—moldy bread, maybe?”

Holy hell. Kenna liked to hide food, but his mind wasn’t on his witchling at the moment. “How do you function with all that in your head?”

“I can’t.” She was back to watching his girlchild. “I’ve learned my own weird little filing system for what’s important. I missed learning how to do that when my parents were close by, so I have to do it the hard way. It helps a lot when there’s a child in the room—I can usually take my cues from them.”

He let out a breath. “We have lots of kids around here.” And every last one of them would be delighted to hang out with a witch who understood that toy butterflies liked to eat cookies.

This time, her smile came with a tinge of embarrassment. “More than one child brings a different kind of challenge.”

Crap. Of course. “Well, then, we have lots of kids you’re welcome to spend time with one at a time.” His brain was going a mile a minute now. Plenty of those munchkins had fire power, too. He’d finally found something helpful—no way was he letting it go.

She laughed, a sound that had Kenna looking up from the feeding of her treasured “bufly.” “You’re a lot like Nell. The two of you are very persistent.”

He had no idea whether that was a compliment or not. But he’d made a discovery with his persistence. The person most likely to help them make sense of Beth was… Beth.

“So you don’t filter information the way Kenna does.” He routed back over what she’d said in his head, trying to grab the most salient points. This connected to teaching her—it had to. “Or have you watched enough children that you do learn that way now?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I was taught to make eye contact and to look like I’m paying attention. And I’ve practiced a lot—Liri helps with that. But mostly, I have compensations to replace what Kenna does naturally. In a familiar environment, they work pretty well.”

She didn’t have to say the rest. Accidentally teleport her into Witch Central and toss chaos-as-usual at her, and they’d thoroughly broken a lot of the ways she functioned.

Damn.

He kept following the breadcrumb trail. “So in a new environment, Kenna usually sticks to us for a while, and then she goes off to explore.”

Beth nodded. “She’ll take her cues from you for a bit, and then she probably watches other people around her.”

He grinned. “Mostly her troublemaking cousins.” However, that probably didn’t work for a witch who found two or three children at the same time overwhelming. “What if there are no people?” Kenna spent plenty of time navigating the world solo.

“Then she explores on her own. Learning from others is fastest, but it’s not necessary. Human beings are curious for a reason.”

A lot of those reasons kept him up at night. And this was one of the most interesting conversations about his daughter he’d ever had.

Even when it wasn’t Kenna he was trying to understand.

There was something critically important in what Beth was saying—and he didn’t have all it yet. “So how do you learn?” Because very obviously, she did. “Mostly on your own?”

“Yes.” It was said neutrally, without much inflection—but he was learning to catch the quiet edges. Hints of pride. “Hard work. Trial and error, just like she’s doing right now.”

He looked over at Kenna, who was busy trying to stuff her butterfly into her favorite yellow bus. That it had no hope of fitting clearly hadn’t dawned on her yet. “That will frustrate her pretty fast.” He shaped a quick fireproofing spell and pushed it the way of her new treasure—metallic balloons probably weren’t all that happy with flying sparks.

“But she’ll come back to it.” Beth spoke with conviction, even though she’d never seen his daughter’s tenacity with a problem she couldn’t solve.

“She does.” And it made him oddly proud. “She works out each step until she understands it.”

“Then you already know most of how I learn.” Beth wrapped her arms around her knees. “I work it out myself. Break something down into its pieces until I can figure out each one.”

There was strength in that. “I write computer programs. There’s a big job market for people with those skills.”

She smiled. “Lots of geeks are Aspies. Not all, but many of us find a home in the logic and intricacy of computers. It’s not always so useful in real life, though.”

He watched his daughter slip the corner of her butterfly’s wing into the little yellow bus, still light-years away from acknowledging the laws of physics that were shattering her dreams.

And wondered how you helped someone to learn that her butterfly didn’t fit.