“Looks like we got here just in time,” said Graciela.
She looked much older, and even shorter, than when last I’d seen her. But just as beautiful. Her stubborn chin, black eyes, and broad cheekbones . . . she was a sight for sore eyes.
I couldn’t stop hugging her. Finally, she pulled away and chided me: “Enough, enough, m’ija. You never did know when to stop.”
But she was smiling, patting me with her soft hands. The feel of those hands on me made me feel like a cherished child again.
Graciela’s coven members seemed unfazed by the scene they’d walked in on. Oscar had shifted back into his pig guise, but three coven members circled Jamie, instructing him to stay where he was on the floor, or else. The others kissed and hugged me with cries of “Merry part and merry meet!” “It’s been so long!” “You’ve become such a witch!” And then they peppered Selena with kisses and hugs, even though they’d never met. To my surprise, she gave them each a shy smile, and didn’t pull away.
Darlene, one of the coven sisters skilled in healing, knelt over the still prostrate Renee, and declared her alive but in need of medical care for an apparent concussion. Apparently someone had already called for help, because we could hear the noise of a siren growing nearer.
“Where’s my mother?” I asked.
“Still on the bus,” answered Agatha, another coven sister. “Give her a little time.”
“You know how she is,” said another. “She’s never been one for parties. What’s happening next door?”
“Yeah, it’s some out-of-control magic. We might need to calm that down,” I said. “Especially before the authorities get here.”
Outside, the school bus was double-parked and creating a jam on busy Haight Street. I tried to catch a glimpse of my mother, but couldn’t see her inside the bus. Conrad was helping to direct traffic around the bus.
Graciela and the rest of the coven waved hello to Conrad—apparently they were old friends by now, since he was the one who told them where I was—and then entered the mayhem of Aunt Cora’s Closet, snacking on leftovers as they used their talents to help calm things. Several of the tea patrons had left, but most were still there, apparently enjoying the dancing dresses and the ghostly food fight.
I wasn’t sure how Renee had pulled that last one off, but I was impressed. I would have to ask her about it when she was feeling better.
Selena apologized again, and managed to herd the remaining silverfish into a jar. The light glinting off the silver cutlery bounced around her, making her smile.
Graciela’s coven formed a circle around the room, and they started to chant, intoning with the ease of a coven of powerful women who had known one another for decades, and who weren’t put off by much of anything.
The dancing dresses fell to the floor, and the last of the baked goods stayed on their platters.
By the time the police and the ambulance arrived, Aunt Cora’s Closet was quiet. It was one royal mess, but it was quiet. The remaining partygoers started to drift off, but Selena and Maya and Lucille and Conrad, and most of Brownyn’s Welcome coven, stayed behind to help clean up. They were excited to meet Graciela and her coven, and the chattering didn’t stop.
The police officers admonished me for letting my party get out of hand and asked us to move the bus out of the way, but, most important, took a very eager Jamie into custody. He was confessing before they even read him his rights. His forehead was no longer smoking, but I imagined he would be left with a scar for some time, as a souvenir of Deliverance Corydon. The paramedics took Renee to San Francisco General.
“I think we might want to leave the rest of the cleanup until morning,” I said, looking around at the dispiriting mess.
“Nonsense,” said Darlene. “If we all work together, we’ll put this place to right in an hour!”
Several of the elderly witches—including Graciela—took seats and “supervised” while the rest of us cleaned. But the talking didn’t stop. It seemed my friends had been very curious about my background, and they peppered the Texan witches with questions.
“You should go on out and talk to your mother,” Graciela told me. “Or likely she’s never gettin’ off that bus.”
“Really?”
“Go, m’ija. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s time.”
By that point Conrad had parked the bus on a side street, where it was still double-parked but at least not obstructing bustling Haight Street.
The door was open. I stroked my medicine bag, took a deep breath, and climbed aboard.
Toward the back sat an older woman, a big embroidered handbag sitting primly in her lap.
Margarita Velasquez Ivory. Maggie. My mother.
We had both aged, and changed. Her once-chestnut hair was liberally shot through with white, and she seemed smaller than I remembered. Her face was fuller, but still carried a sweet, somewhat bewildered expression. As with Graciela, she looked beautiful to me, wrinkles and all.
“Hi, Mom,” I said as I walked down the aisle.
I sat on the bench across from her.
“Lily. You look . . . It’s . . . I’m so glad to see you.”
“Me, too.”
A long moment passed.
“I have to explain myself.”
“Mom, you don’t have to—”
“No, please. Let me. I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long; I’ve done so endlessly in my mind.”
I smiled. “I’ve had a few conversations in my mind with you, too.”
“I’ll just bet you have,” she said, playing with her handbag. She released a long breath. “I was so young, Lily, younger than you are now. That’s not an excuse—I know you would never react that way, had you been in my shoes. But you’re much more worldly than I am, Lily. Than I’ll ever be. In fact, you were born more worldly than I’ve ever been. I don’t know if you got that from your father’s side, or it was just the way you were, but it’s true.”
I tried to think of something to say, but just sat there, silent, and listened as she continued.
“And what I went through with your father . . .” She shook her head. “I’m a small-town girl, Lily. I was a beauty queen, and I thought that was important, for land’s sakes!” She laughed. It was a throaty, deep laugh that I remembered from childhood.
“I had never met someone like your father,” she continued. “Why, the things he said, the things he knew, the things he did . . .” She trailed off and a blush crept up her cheeks. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know about all the things he did. “Anyway, he was a wonder. And I never knew Graciela beyond the rumors, really, until after I married your father. My people never went to her. And then, what he put me through, well, I can only hope you have better luck. That’s why I made you a trousseau, so you will have the support and advantages upon your marriage that I never had. I’ve been learning knot magic from Graciela.”
I gaped at her. “You’ve been learning what, now?”
“Knot magic. It’s when you imbue the threads with your thoughts and desires as you tie the knots—”
“Yes, I know what knot magic is. But you say you’ve been learning this from Graciela?”
She nodded. “I went to her, asked her for help. Believe it or not, Lily, my estrangement from you has been the saddest aspect of my life. If only you knew how much I regretted that day in the tent, at that terrible revival meeting. I never knew. . . . First, I was so ashamed. Just so ashamed of myself, and of you, or what I feared you were.” Her voice dropped to a hush. “Can you comprehend what it feels like, to be ashamed of one’s own child? It’s like a sin against nature.”
How many times, I wondered, had I dreamed of my mother acknowledging my pain and apologizing for her role in it? I felt myself letting go of the years of festering bitterness, felt myself accepting that my mother had truly loved me and had done the best she knew how.