“I think I hear the kettle boiling,” I fib.
“Sit down, Mimosa.” Mother shifts her gaze between Alice and Mr. Frederics. “Mr. Frederics, would you be so kind as to fetch the tea tray from the kitchen?”
“My pleasure.” Mr. Frederics hurries away.
Alice gives Mother a grateful smile that turns panicked. “It’s not working,” she hisses.
“Oh?” says Mother, steering her raised eyebrows to me.
I marvel at the power of a single uttered vowel. My insides wring out and sweat pools on my back and neck.
“Why do you think the PUF isn’t working?” I ask.
Mother straightens up like an arrow shot her in the back. “The PUF.”
“You know, the orchid we swiped on her wrist.”
Another invisible arrow shoots Mother, this time in the front, and her breath sweeps out of her. She grabs her palm and begins kneading it with her knuckle. Her mouth flattens into a grim line.
Alice glances toward the kitchen. “You said it would be immediate, but I can’t stop thinking about him. I mean, I started to make an omelet this morning, and before I knew it, I was making cake batter.” She presses her hand to her heart.
Mother stops kneading her palm and folds her hands in front of her, back in charge of the situation. “The heart remembers. It’s perfectly possible to fall back in love with Mr. Frederics again, all by yourself.” She slits her eyes at me. “Or have I mentioned that?”
“You said the heart was like a balloon,” Alice volunteers.
“Ah, yes, I did.” Mother sends me a withering glance.
Tabitha the chicken flies under the teakwood table and starts pecking at my shoes. “As, er, you explained, a PUF just tugs the balloon back to earth. Maybe Alice just let go of the string?” I glance at Mother for confirmation.
Her sigh is loud enough to have its own echo. “Yes, it’s very possible for you to fall in love with him again on your own. I should have mentioned that.”
Alice pats a stray hair back in place. “But I didn’t even see him after you puffed me.”
“Something must have reminded you of your feelings for him,” says Mother. “The PUF doesn’t take away memories.”
Alice wraps her cashmere sweater more snugly around her. “He let me borrow his coat during the homecoming game. It’s still hanging on my coatrack. And it smells like him.” Her worried eyes follow a trail of scarlet runner beans. “So I am in love with him. For real.”
“Seems that way,” says Mother. “Let me add, and hopefully I’ve mentioned this before”—another glare at me—“how sorry I am that this happened.”
Alice shakes her head and studies the ground.
“I’m sorry, Alice,” I say. “Is there anything I can do?”
She looks up, and I realize she’s not frowning, but smiling. “Honestly, I wasn’t that surprised to learn I had been fixed. I didn’t think I could love anyone again. But now that I know my balloon can still float away, I think I’ll be fine, even though I’m not the one Franklin wants.”
Mr. Frederics suddenly appears from behind the shrubs, bearing a tray. The china clinks.
“Let me take that from you.” I set the tray on the table.
He rubs his hands together as if trying to get them warm. “Alice, I know it’s none of my business why you’re here, but I pray you’re not ordering an elixir.”
Alice drops her gaze demurely to her hands, twisting at a ruby ring around her finger. “It isn’t easy for an old divorcée like myself. Why are you concerned?”
He blushes and straightens his tie, the same way he does before he explains corollaries. “You see, well, I bought two tickets to see the Austrian Ukulele Orchestra.” His crinkly brown eyes lock on her mascaraed blue ones.
“You did?”
“I sure did. Had to snap ’em up before they sold out.”
“But, but how would your lady friend feel about that?”
“Lady friend?” His eyes uncrinkle. “I don’t have a lady friend.”
“Then why are you here?”
Both Alice and Mr. Frederics look at Mother, who in turn passes them to me. Everyone’s wondering what the heck everyone else knows and only I can enlighten them.
I straighten my throat. “I, uh—” My voice comes out too high. Tabitha continues pecking my leg. “I accidentally—very accidentally—put your elixir, Mr. Frederics, in Alice’s Starbucks. Ms.—er, the target was never fixed.”
Mother’s shoulders slump, even though she probably figured out most of it.
“Well, I’ll be,” says Mr. Frederics.
I hang my head. “I’m really sorry.”
Tabitha starts clucking. When I look up, I realize it’s not my chicken, but Mr. Frederics laughing. “I’d say that’s your best mistake ever, and you know I’ve seen a few of them.”
A dimple appears in Alice’s cheek, the same spot as her son’s. She glances up at Mr. Frederics, still standing beside her bench. “Oh, Franklin.”