“I’m not sure.” She yawns. “I forget.”
“Well, remember. And if not, you’ve got to put it in your belly.”
She gives me a little smile and buries her mussed-up, tangled head back into her pillow. “Tell me the story first.”
“Ruby, honey, there’s no time for stories.”
She gives me what we call her “silly face,” which is when she presses her eyes shut tight, sticks her jaw out, and chomps up and down like a deranged shark. And then of course she has me. I sigh. “Which story?”
She smiles victoriously and rests her head on her arm. “You know which one.”
“All right, but the abridged version.” I clear my throat. “Long ago there was a young sorcerer who was the most powerful in the land. But when there was a terrible tragedy, the young sorcerer fell sick, and she was so important that the world became sick with her.” I lean in to push back Ruby’s thin, sweat-damp hair. “One day she realized how much her kingdom needed her to be well and to rule. So she found her strength, got out of bed, and ruled like the kind, strong sorcerer she was meant to be.”
Ruby flashes me another smile, but then she closes her eyes. “Joan,” she whispers, “I think I forgot what she looks like.”
I don’t answer, because her words hit me right in the gut and I can’t, because any hollow words of comfort I could give her shatter before they find their way out.
“Her face is mixed up like a puzzle . . . I don’t even know if it’s really Mama anymore.” Then Ruby looks up at me, a wild panic lighting up her eyes, and I have to keep myself from doubling over. Long ago, an evil sorcerer broke her sister’s heart, and her penance, to die trying to piece it back together.
“Mama’s with you, Ruby, always watching over you.” I swallow, trying to recover as I rub her back. “She’s not going anywhere, okay? You really need to eat.”
Ruby finally swings her legs over the edge of the bed.
“Go on, it’s on the counter, help yourself. Then read a little, all right?”
“Can’t I come back there with you and Ben, and watch Uncle Jed?”
“Not tonight.” I keep Ruby away from Jed at all costs. We might be under the same roof, Jed and me, but I try my damnedest to avoid even looking at the junkie. I do my part: taking care of Ruby, handling the finances, helping with the bar and the kitchen, and let Jed take care of his: which at this point, is stumbling in shined to his performances. Anything we need to say to each other, Ben says for us.
“Maybe tomorrow, all right?” I say, softening, as I help Ruby get her bearings and stand.
She sighs but says, “’Kay, Joan.”
By the time I get back to the bar, there’s already three shiners cozied up at one of the tables near the stairs down to Jed’s shining room. I know this crowd—they’re field hands out at McGarrison’s farm, and some of the only regulars who still come in every Friday for Jed’s early performance.
The oldest field hand, a freckled farm-boy type with dirty hands and weathered overalls, with a name like Willy or William (I never manage to remember), slaps the table and calls to Ben, “Been a long week, Kendrick. Sure as hell need me some magic.”
“We always appreciate your loyalty, Mr. Sterling,” Ben says, as I join him behind the bar. “Fact, my father’s been practicing a new trick all week for you.” Ben didn’t inherit the magic touch from Jed, which is a crying shame, seeing as he’s such a good performer: Jed’s barely left his room this week. “Let me go get him, and get this show started.”
“You fellas want anything from the bar?” I nod to our half-empty shelves, the smattering of time-worn whiskey and rum bottles. The liquor bar’s our legitimate storefront: our cover for Jed’s shining room downstairs, which is our only real source of income now, since Mama passed. But if you’re after the legal stuff, there are liquor bars easier to get to in Norfolk County, with better selections and better ambiance: the people who walk through our door are coming for my uncle’s magic. At least, they were in droves when his magic was really something to see.
“No thanks,” William says. “Don’t want to muddle the shine-high.”
His sidekicks shake me off too.
“Your choice.” I cross over to our small black register and pull the bottom drawer open. “It’s one dollar per fella for the show and the shine.”
Each of the patrons starts mumbling complaints, but they all line up in front of the register and begrudgingly hand me a buck. After paying, the trio crowds around their table again, waiting. I can feel their impatience for the magic from here.
“Have you shined since Charlie’s on Wednesday?” William asks his buddies.