5
Bay slept late into Saturday morning at her aunt Claire’s house. When she woke up, she immediately knew Claire had been making her lavender candies that day. The scent spread through the house like a long, soft blanket, settling over everything, calming all worries.
The labels on all the honey-lavender candy jars read:
Lavender essence is for happiness,
with a touch of honey to raise your spirits.
A joyful attitude is ravenous
consuming everyone who is near it.
She got dressed and went downstairs to help. A day spent here, away from the world, would get her mind off the Halloween dance at school that night, wondering who Josh was going to bring. His group of friends included a lot of girls, but Bay couldn’t discern an attachment he had to any particular one.
Bay walked into the kitchen, shoving her long hair under a ball cap, prepared to put on an apron and get to work. Instead, she found the honey-filled lavender candies already on the counters, ready to be funneled into jars. It surprised her because the honey-lavender hard candies were the hardest to make and took the longest. Claire must have gotten up very early. The lavender candy had to be worked constantly, rolled into long strips after it was poured from the sugar pot, then threaded with local honey from the farmer’s market, rolled again, cooled, and cut by hand, instead of just using the molds like with the other two flavors, rose and lemon verbena. Claire used just the right amount of organic food coloring to make the candies the color of springtime. Today’s candies looked like purple flower buds.
There was a single plate on the stainless steel kitchen island and Claire turned from the stove and slid pancakes onto it from a skillet. “Breakfast is served,” Claire said. Once she’d put the oatmeal pancakes on the plate, she drizzled some syrup on them, then sprinkled the last of the yellow and orange calendula flowers she’d picked from the garden before it went dormant. It was from a stash she’d been saving in the refrigerator.
“You cooked!” Bay said.
“This was what my grandmother used to make for me and your mom on Saturday mornings.”
“I didn’t mean to sleep so late. Are you all done for the day?” Bay asked, pulling a stool up to the island. “I was going to help.”
“I got up early. Your mom wants me to drop you off at her shop as soon as you’re finished eating.”
Ah, now Bay understood. “She doesn’t want me working here today.” Thus the reason for the calendula flowers. They were supposed to remove negative energy. Claire didn’t want Bay mad at her mother.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Claire said, looking out the kitchen window. “You shouldn’t be cooped up here.” Bay studied her aunt’s profile while she ate. With her dark eyes, elegant nose and olive complexion, Claire looked timeless, old-worldly.
“What are you going to do today?” Bay asked.
Claire shrugged. “Tyler took Mariah to gymnastics, then she’s going to spend a few hours with him at his office. I have paperwork to catch up on, but I thought I’d pick up some things at the market while I’m out. I’m feeling cooped up, too.”
Now that was unusual. Claire never felt cooped up here. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Claire said.
“Do you actually like making candy?”
Claire hesitated, then said carefully, like it was rehearsed, like she’d been expecting someone to ask, “It’s a little monotonous, and it’s not what I imagined I would be doing when I started my catering business, but I’m good at it, and there’s a big demand for it right now. And it’s padding Mariah’s college fund.”
“I miss your cooking,” Bay said, looking at her plate, not wanting to finish, not wanting it to be gone. “Especially this time of year. Are you going to cook for first frost?”
“If I have time.”
Bay nodded, knowing that meant no.
Still, the tree was going to bloom, and that alone was always reason to celebrate, food or no food.
Bay looked at the kitchen wall calendar.
Still one week to go.
Bay hoped they all could make it until then without doing anything crazy.
*
After breakfast, Claire drove Bay downtown. When they got out of Claire’s van, Bay happened to look across the street to the green and saw Phineus Young there with some of his friends, sitting in a group in the grass, playing a complicated flip game of cards and dice.
It looked like she wasn’t the only teenager in town whose parents wanted her out of the house for some fresh air.
Claire started walking to the White Door, but Bay said she’d join her in a minute, and ran across the street to the green.
“Hey, Phin,” Bay said as she approached them, playing in the shade of Horace’s half-buried head. “What are you doing?”
Phin didn’t look up as he tossed another card onto the pile. “Losing.”
“Big-time,” Dickus Hartman said, throwing down his winning card and laughing. Dickus was fat and oily and crude but, truthfully, he belonged right here with these other boys. They were the only ones who would put up with him.
“Are you sure you’re not going to the dance tonight?” Bay asked, aware that she’d asked him before, but she had to make sure, even if it meant Phin’s friends would make fun of her. At this point, it wasn’t like she could make it any worse. She wanted an inside informant who would tell her on Monday who Josh took to the dance, what he wore, how he acted.
“No,” Phin said as Dickus snickered and dealt the cards again. “Are you?” Phin looked up at her, squinting his pale green eyes at the sunlight like a mole.
Bay shook her head.
“Then some people are going to win a lot of money tonight,” Dickus said.
“What are you talking about?” Bay demanded. Dickus just looked smug. Bay nudged Phin with her foot. “Phin?”
Phin looked embarrassed. “There’s a bet going around about whether or not you’re going to the dance to try to bewitch Josh,” Phin made twirling motions with his fingers, “and create some big drama.”
“A bet,” Bay repeated evenly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Phin said, playing a card. “They’re just being stupid.”
“Is Josh in on this bet?” Bay asked.
“He thinks you won’t come,” Dickus said.
“That’s just what he said,” Phin said, trying to soften the blow. “He’s not in on the bet.”
Why was Josh even talking about her? If he wanted her to go away, if he wanted all this teasing about her letter to go away, he should just let it go. He should tell her to her face that she was wrong and he didn’t want anything to do with her. He should stop acting so awkward around her, avoiding her like a bad smell. He certainly shouldn’t be chiming in on whether or not Bay would show up at a stupid dance to … do what, exactly? Cast a spell? Is that what he really thought of her? “Phin, be ready at six tonight,” she suddenly said.
“Why?” he asked.
She walked away, her hands fisted at her sides. So much for not doing anything crazy. “Because you’re taking me to the dance.”