Though she thought of her curse every day, she hadn’t pictured the tea-reading ceremony in years. “Rule number seven,” Sadie said, sighing, “‘If it’s done, it can’t be undone.’” She’d forgotten what her grandmother had said about Seth’s time with her and wondered, for the first time in three blood moons, just what Seth’s magic was.
They used to be inseparable. They’d been every cliché, from finishing each other’s sentences to knowing when the other was in pain. But Seth was never content; he was always digging and asking questions about their magic and their parents, which was a mystery thick as cold clover honey. The only thing Gigi would tell them was that their father had never been in the picture, and their mother was gone. Not dead nor that she’d left—just gone. Like a puff of dust in a summer breeze.
Sadie never understood her brother’s need for answers or the way his cheeks would flush with embarrassment when neighborhood kids teased them about being the grandchildren of crazy Marie Revelare. Seth tried to hide from the strangeness, run away from it, deny it until he stopped asking questions altogether. Unlike Sadie’s magic, which showed up externally in the garden she tended and the food she made, in the way she could stir her finger in a pot of cold water and it would boil seconds later, Seth’s magic was internal. It was a hidden thing he never utilized as far as Sadie could tell. And no matter how many times she asked, demanded, pleaded, and pouted to know what it was, he would respond only with silence, headlocks, or vicious glares. But on full-moon nights when they were young, when the clouds whispered their secrets across the sky and the church bells chimed in the distance, Seth would sneak into Sadie’s room with chocolate biscuits and a jug of milk. They’d settle a blanket across the hardwood floor, and with their knobby knees drawn up and moonlight splashing across their faces like a blessing, he would finally talk. He asked questions about her magic, their future, and—most of all—their mother. What did Sadie think she was like? Why did she leave? Where was she now?
In Sadie’s mind, if her mother had wanted to leave, then good riddance. Magic was the truest thing she knew, and she was good at it. And if she focused on becoming the best, then she didn’t have to think about the way Seth had left her exactly the way their mother had. Seth’s disappearance had been heartbreak number two. The last year had been spent trying to find a neat little box to put the pain into. Something she could label and wrap with a bow. But the heartbreak was ugly and defied any sense. She hated that. Not having answers. Not having control. And even with the memory of those secret nights, she never found out what his magic was.
“I’m not like you. I don’t think what I have, what I can do, is good,” he’d confessed one night. They were older then, thirteen, and he’d brought Gigi’s cooking sherry instead of cookies and milk.
Sadie’s heart had hammered, wondering if this was finally the moment.
“I can’t tell you because I don’t know,” he’d snapped. “Honestly, stop screaming your thoughts into my brain.” He’d softened a moment later at the hurt look in Sadie’s eyes. “One day, okay? I promise.”
“You swear on the lemon tree?”
“I swear on the lemon tree.”
But he’d still left.
“Every Revelare leaves at some point,” Gigi had told her with a bright and distant sorrow.
The fingers that had been carefully combing through the zucchini were now clenched into fists. She forced her hands open, carefully harvesting dozens of squash and zucchini, separating them into bundles, avoiding their spiky vines and doing her best not to look toward Rock Creek House or think of Jake, and failing miserably at both.
There was a small pile of zucchini for Sunday night dinner and a larger one for the table at church. Folks always brought their surplus of fruits and vegetables for whoever wanted them. As a last-minute thought, she made another pile for Bill. She’d make some zucchini and coriander seed bread for him and his crew working on Old Bailer.
As she bent over to pluck an errant weed that had escaped her notice, the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, and a shiver worked its way along her shoulders. A moment later, she heard a scuffling sound beyond the lavender.
“Hey!” she shouted, picking up a zucchini and getting ready to launch it in the direction of whatever creature was trying to eat her garden. But then, squinting through the brush, she saw a small chocolate lab puppy staring back at her.
“Oh, puppy!” she called, instantly melting. “What are you doing? Come here, pup.” She held out a hand, and the dog took a bounding leap over the bushy lavender, landing in a heap as his short legs went every which way.
“Hello, little Bambi,” she said, scratching his velvety ears as he cascaded into her. “Who do you belong to, hm?” she asked, feeling around his collar for a tag. “Chief?” she asked, reading the engraving.
The dog quirked his ears and peered at her with what Sadie thought to be sad eyes.
“I agree. That’s a silly name for a puppy. I think I’ll call you Bambi.” Turning the tag over, she didn’t see a number. Why would someone put a collar on the dog without a number? Her chest tightened with indignation.
“Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of you, boy.”
She’d check in with the shelter later; he did have a collar, after all. But something in her felt like Bambi was meant for her. A dog was loyal. A dog you could train with treats and table scraps and attention. Maybe if she could keep him, he wouldn’t leave her.
She gathered up the baskets of vegetables and, smiling, called the dog after her. Finally, something today had gone right.
Bambi lay on the back porch off the kitchen while she whipped up three big loaves of zucchini bread. With every ounce of focus trained on the task, nothing went horribly wrong. Seth used to say that she bent over backward just to make everyone like her. She’d argue that she just liked doing nice things for people.
“There is no truly selfless act,” he’d told her.
“It doesn’t have to be. If it makes me feel good too, who does that hurt?”
“People should like you for you. Not what you do for them. You’re always afraid people are going to leave, so you do anything you can to make them stay.”
She hated the way he always saw into her. Revealed truths she didn’t want to look at. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t true. But the lie refused to roll off her tongue.
“People can’t be boiled down to black and white,” she said instead. “We’re made up of too many memories and prejudices.”
“When you stop being so afraid of being alone, you’ll realize your worth and stop letting people walk all over you.”
Shaking off the echo of Seth’s words, she filled her car with crates of lavender-infused honey for Wharton’s Market, sachets of good luck buckbean tied with twine, a set of silver welcome bells for Poppy Meadow’s Florist and Gift Shop, and a fresh assortment of ice cream for Lavender and Lace’s. The bells were meant to be rung when visitors arrived, as a sign of welcome and gratitude for friendship. Sadie had dipped them in violet-infused water under a full moon, to ensure peace during the visit.
With everything loaded, she set off for Lavender and Lace’s Ice Cream Parlor, always first on the route. The freezer bags only lasted so long.
“Let me help you with those,” Lavender half shouted from her place at the counter when Sadie came in. Her long, shiny black hair rippled like a flag in the wind as she jumped down.
“No, let me help you!” Lace said even louder, scrambling to grab the bag from Sadie’s shoulder first. “What is it this week?”
“Honey vanilla with toffee and then a pumpkin stracciatella,” Sadie told them, glancing around the immaculate parlor. It was set up exactly like an old-fashioned soda fountain, with its long counter and vinyl stools and acres of chrome, but instead of black or red checkerboard, everything was in shades of softest lavender and cream. If you stuck out your tongue, the air tasted sweet, scented with the fresh waffle cones they made every day.