So this is what it felt like to be a grandmother. Joanna had never been privy to that particular experience. Not with those bachelor girls of hers, who chose to live alone for centuries. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise: look at what creating all those half-deities did for the Greeks. Messy. Perhaps Freya would change her mind when she and Bran were wed, but Ingrid was probably a lost cause.
There was no doubting it, little Tyler Alvarez had captured her heart. After the incident with the blackberry pie, Joanna, like her daughters, had become more and more daring with practicing her magic. She delighted in surprising him. She made his toy soldiers come to life, and they spent hours sending their troops into battle. With Joanna in the playroom, the teddy bears talked and the puppets danced without strings. She was a nanny and a conjurer, the best kind of playmate. She even showed him Ingrid’s pet griffin. “This is Oscar,” she told him. “No one outside of the family is allowed to see him. But I want you to meet him.”
Oscar nuzzled Tyler’s hand and swished his lion’s tail proudly as Tyler fed him his favorite snack, Cheetos.
“It’s our secret,” she said.
True to his word, the four-year-old never said anything to his parents about what Joanna was capable of doing. Besides, for Joanna, making a few inanimate objects approximate life was easy. It didn’t take much to entertain a toddler.
That afternoon she was tackling the garden. She always kept a tidy little bed behind the house. Something small, although of course with her talents for keeping things growing she had the largest, juiciest vegetables in the Hamptons. She grew corn and zucchini, cucumbers and cabbage, beefsteak tomatoes as large as basketballs. She was weeding the little plot when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number, and her heart began to race when she saw it was the Sunshine Preschool. The school did not make it a habit of calling during the day, which could only mean one thing: something had happened to Tyler. Her hands began to shake as she answered the phone.
“Joanna?” asked the calm voice of the director. Marie May had founded the school thirty years ago, and in a small town like North Hampton where everyone knew one another the two women often made small talk when they bumped into each other at the grocery store, the gas station, or the fruit stand.
“Marie, what’s wrong?” she asked. If something had happened to Tyler the director would not sound so pleasant, she told herself. If he had hit his head or hurt himself badly Marie would sound a bit more panicked, wouldn’t she? Joanna wished she had Ingrid’s talent for seeing into the future. What was going on? Why was the school calling her now? Gracella had dropped the boy off at nine and Joanna was meant to pick him up at two. She was going to show him how to make indestructible soap bubbles today with the help of a fortifying spell.
“Darling, I don’t want you to panic, but there’s something wrong with Tyler. He hasn’t fallen or hurt himself, but he won’t stop crying. We’ve tried everything to calm him down, and I’ve tried both his parents but they’re not picking up. You were listed as another emergency contact. Would you mind . . . ?”
“Oh my goodness! Of course! Hector and Gracella are in New Jersey helping his brother move. I’m responsible for the child. I’ll be there right away.”
Joanna’s heart was beating so rapidly and her legs were trembling so hard that it was a moment before she realized she was flying. Somehow she had conjured a broomstick from her rake and had taken off to the skies, still wearing her bucket hat and her gardening clogs. She zoomed high above the tall trees and the gabled houses, taking care to shield herself under a canopy of clouds from any eyes below. Now, this was definitely against the rules, but she did not much care; it had been as natural as breathing. Once she had allowed magic back into her life it was as if it had always been part of it. Why wouldn’t Tyler stop crying? What was wrong? Marie had been kind enough to try to mask her concern, but Joanna read a note of real fear in her voice.
Tyler never cried. He was the most cheerful kid Joanna had ever met, merry in an old-fashioned way, with his twinkling eyes and adorable munchkin face. Of course he was far from perfect; like many four-year-olds he threw the occasional massive tantrum, especially if one tried to feed him something outside of his four favorite food groups. He ate only apples, tunafish, goldfish crackers, and dessert. He sniffed the bread his mother made for his sandwiches to make sure it was the proper kind, as he wouldn’t eat it otherwise. Joanna could already feel her heart clench at the thought of anything happening to the boy.
The Sunshine Preschool was located in two low-slung beach cottages surrounded by a metal gate. Whenever Joanna picked Tyler up, he was always holding some kind of art project that he’d made—macaroni stuck to a paper plate or a new toilet-roll creation—and there was a cheerful weekly newsletter with surplus attachments: photographs or videos of the children in the sandbox. It was a clean, safe, and happy school, and Tyler enjoyed going there. She forgot the code to the security door and waved a hand so that it swung open quickly. There was no time; she wanted to see the boy now. Joanna told herself not to panic even as her mind began to race with apocalyptic scares. There were so many diseases that could affect children nowadays, a whole host of incurable flus and mysterious ailments that could attack a developing immune system. As she ran she began to imagine the worst: swine flu, meningitis, staph infection. Marie was in her office and stood up as soon as she saw Joanna. “He’s all right—still crying. I hate to alarm you but I thought it was best if we called . . .” she said.
At that moment one of the teachers, a large, sweet Jamaican woman who was Tyler’s favorite, walked in with the wailing boy in her arms. His whole face was red and he was sobbing, big fat tears falling down his chubby cheeks. He pointed to his right ear and howled.
“I’m so sorry, we’ve tried everything,” the teacher apologized. “A couple of kids have come down with a nasty virus that’s kept them out of school the past couple of days. Tyler probably caught it.”
“It’s probably an ear infection; they’re very painful,” Marie said knowledgeably. “We thought it a bit premature to call an ambulance, as he was not vomiting or running a fever, but perhaps it’s best to take him to his pediatrician.”
“Of course, of course,” Joanna agreed, taking the weeping boy in her arms and kissing his wet cheeks. “Tylerino,” she said gently, “it will be all right, baby.” She bid a hasty good-bye and thank-you and was out the door, her clogs clippety-clopping down the pebbled path.
The doctor’s office was just a few blocks away, which was a good thing since in her haste Joanna had forgotten she did not have a vehicle. The nurse shepherded them to an examination room as soon as they arrived. Tyler was still crying, softly now, exhausted wheezes and sniffs. His shirt was drenched in sweat. Joanna held his hand tightly and hoped against hope that Marie was right. That this was a mere cold, a virus that had run awry. The doctor, who had cared for both of the girls in their youth, examined Tyler and gave his verdict. Of course, the girls had never been sick, not once in their entire lives. As immortals, they were immune to disease.
“Looks like a bad case of otitis. It’s been going around,” he said, as he put away the tongue depressor.
“What’s that?” Joanna asked, hugging the boy close.