“Actually,” Wanda said, smoothing a hand over Poppy’s arm, “we rather do see stuff like this every day, honey. As a for instance, just last year we saw all sorts of reincarnated Greek gods who tried to kill us. There was a Cyclops, too, wasn’t there, Marty?”
Marty rolled her eyes, the memory obviously still fresh as she bobbed her sunshine-colored head. “I think so. I don’t remember. It’s all sort of a mixed bag with Brenda the Good Witch and those whacked Russian mobster bears. Ugh—those bears with their, “We vill kill you! And your leetle dog, too!” she cried, complete with Russian accent.
Nina grinned as she, too, took a stroll down Memory Lane. “Let’s not fucking forget the vampire supremacist. Jesus and fuck, he was cracked, right?”
Everyone nodded their heads in agreement as though they were recalling an old high school cafeteria incident, not someone she’d just turned to stone.
It was too much information. Too much crazy to wrap her head around. Bears and gods and vampires. This was as close to cracking as she’d come, and as her hysteria bubbled to the surface, she looked to Calamity. “Do something!”
The feline stretched, lazy and slow. “Yeah. Not exactly sure what to do here.”
Poppy swallowed hard, her hands going clammy. “You don’t know how to fix this? You’re the one who hangs around witches all the time! How could you not know how to fix this? Use a spell! Whip up some tsetse fly wings and spider venom—do something!”
Oh my God. There had to be something!
“Shhh,” Marty reprimanded, holding a finger to her mouth and hitching her jaw in the direction of Arnie Banks, who was making his way down the length of her hallway, probably on his way to a rousing game of chess with Mrs. Bernbaum.
In one fluid motion, Wanda grabbed the key from the floor and jammed it into the keyhole, pushing the door open as Nina steamrolled Rick, grabbing his stone form around the waist with a grunt and running like a quarterback to the goal line while Marty stretched her arms wide to block the door before she slammed it shut with the high heel of her boot.
“Hey, there, Poppy-girl!” Mr. Banks called out, lifting a gnarled hand. “I thought that was you. Cain’t see a damn thing anymore. Where ya been, good-lookin’?”
Breathe, Poppy. Breathe.
Pasting a warm smile on her face, she held out a hand to him and squeezed his fingers in hers. “On the road with a show. Don’t you remember? I told you all about it before I left. You promised to keep my seat warm down in the garden while I was away.” Pausing, she gave his wrinkled cheek a kiss. “It’s so nice to see you, Arnie.”
He scratched his snowy-white head, still thick with plenty of hair to go around, the confusion in his twinkling hazel eyes very clear. “Don’t recollect it. But did ya hear?”
Now was her chance to find out if it was just Leona who was dazzled by Rick and his good looks and charm, or if everyone really did want to leave Littleton. “Hear what?” she asked, leaning into him, his Old Spice cologne thick in her nose.
Straightening his ice-blue sports coat from the seventies, one of the many things she adored about him, Arnie grinned, his white dentures extra white against his spray-tanned skin. “We’re movin’!”
“Aw, I’m sad to see you go. Where ya goin’, Arnie?” she asked, continuing to play dumb.
His smile grew, the skin of his cheeks stretching, making his tanned skin shiny. “Great Neck—got a cute little place that includes cable. Can’t wait!”
There was a rumble from behind her door, and someone yelled, maybe Nina. “Jesus Christ and a bag of cement! Be careful!”
Poppy blanched, redirecting Arnie’s attention as it strayed to her door. “But why are you leaving, Arnie? I thought you loved it here. It’s right near the senior center where that cute Miss Leslie goes to bingo, and then there’s your favorite dry cleaners—you know, the one that always presses the crease in your pants just the way you like. And let’s not forget about the best corned beef and pastrami sandwiches at Giuseppe’s on Avondale. Why would you leave all that for Great Neck? What’s in Great Neck anyway?”
He paused a moment, as though he had to think about his reasoning, and then he said, “Because it’s what I want to do. I can do what I want to do. I’m plenty old enough to make my own decisions.”
His words almost sounded agitated to Poppy’s ears, defensive even, which was completely unlike Arnie. She wanted nothing less than to agitate him, so she smiled again in reassurance and nodded.
“Of course you are, Arnie. If you’re happy, I’m happy. You are happy, right? You’re okay with this whole relocation thing? Uprooting your entire life and so on to move to Great Neck?”
He rocked back on the heels of his white loafers. “Happier than when Ford made the Thunderbird.”