Garden Spells Part 11

"I saw a bottle on the kitchen table when I came in," Sydney said as Claire counted.

"That's the rose geranium wine Fred gave back to me. He wouldn't let me return his money. I think it might be a bribe to keep quiet," Claire said, then clapped her hands together to get rid of the dust. "Thirty-four bottles. I thought I made forty last year. No matter. This should be enough."

"Are you going to give it to Tyler?"

Claire took back the flashlight. "Am I going to give what to Tyler?"

"The rose geranium wine."

"Oh," Claire said, walking away. Sydney was soon on her heels. "Actually, I was sort of hoping you would take it to him for me."

"He's teaching his summer-session cla.s.ses," Sydney said. "He won't be around much."

"Oh." Claire was glad Sydney couldn't see her, see her confusion. She sometimes thought she was going crazy. Her first thought when she woke up was always how to get him out of her thoughts. And she would keep watch, hoping to see him next door, while plotting ways to never have to see him again. It made no sense.

They reached the kitchen, and Claire closed and locked the bas.e.m.e.nt door behind them. "He's a good guy, Claire," Sydney said. "I know. Surprised the h.e.l.l out of me too. Imagine that. Men can be good. Who would've thought?"

Claire took the flashlight back to the storeroom and put it on the shelf where she kept candles and battery-powered lanterns. The electricity from her frustration caused the portable radio on the shelf to crackle to life as she pa.s.sed it, and she jumped in surprise. She immediately turned it off, then leaned against the wall. This couldn't go on. "He's not a constant," Claire said from the storeroom. "The apple tree is a constant. Honeysuckle wine is a constant. This house is a constant. Tyler Hughes is not a constant."

"I'm not a constant, am I?" Sydney asked, but Claire didn't answer. Was Sydney a constant? Had she really found her niche in Bascom, or would she leave again, maybe when Bay was grown or if she fell in love? Claire didn't want to think about it. The only thing Claire could control was not being the reason Sydney left, giving her reasons to stay. She would focus only on that.

Claire took a deep breath and walked back out to the kitchen. "So how's work?" she asked brightly.

"Oh, my G.o.d, so busy. Thanks to you."

"I didn't do anything. You did."

Sydney shook her head. "People look at me now like I'm a teacher or something. I don't understand it."

"You've just learned the secret to my success," Claire said. "When people believe you have something to give, something no one else has, they'll go to great lengths and pay a lot of money for it."

Sydney laughed. "So you're saying, if we're going to be strange anyway, we might as well get paid for it?"

"We're not strange." Claire paused. "But exactly."

"You have cobwebs in your hair from the bas.e.m.e.nt," Sydney said, walking over to her and sweeping them away with her fingertips. Territorial about Claire's hair now, Sydney had taken to simply walking up to her and tucking some strands behind Claire's ear, finger-combing the bangs across her forehead, or fluffing up the back. It was nice, like she was playing, like something they would have done as girls, if they'd been close.

"Where did you cut hair before?" Claire asked, watching Sydney's face close up as she smoothed out Claire's hair. She'd grown up so much while she was away.

Sydney stepped back and tried to get the cobwebs off her fingertips, where they were sticking like tape. "It's been a few years. But in Boise, for a while." She gave up on the cobwebs and turned away. She grabbed the rose geranium wine off the table and hurried out the back door, a curious smell of men's cologne trailing after her. "I'm going to say hi to Bay, then I'll just take this over to Tyler."

Ever since that day Sydney mentally returned to the town house in Seattle when she remembered she'd left the photos of her mother there, the scent of David's cologne would appear around her without warning. Ceiling fans downstairs would turn on by themselves when the scent was particularly strong, as if to chase it away. When it hovered in the upstairs hallway at night, away from fans and night breezes, it paced, hot with anger. Those nights Bay would crawl into bed with Sydney and they would whisper about what they'd left behind. They'd talk in code, saying how happy they were to be away from there, how nice it was to be free. When they said this, they would cross their thumbs and make b.u.t.terfly shadow puppets on the wall in the purple light coming through the window from Tyler's yard.

Claire still wanted to know about where Sydney had been and what she'd done while she was away. Sydney knew she should tell her now, especially since sometimes even Claire would smell cologne in the house and wonder aloud where it had come from. But the cologne made Sydney realize what kind of danger she'd put her sister in by coming here, and she was doubly ashamed to admit her mistakes. Claire was doing so much for her.

When Sydney walked outside, the scent of cologne faded in the garden, pummeled by the fragrance of apples and sage and earth. Sydney sat with Bay under the tree and they talked about her day and about the Fourth of July celebration and about how one day they were going to walk over to the elementary school so Bay could see where it was. Ever since Claire had said it was okay for Bay to go into the garden, Bay spent several hours every day lying on the gra.s.s by the apple tree. When Sydney asked her why, she said she was just trying to figure something out. Sydney didn't press, and so much had happened that it was natural that Bay needed time to figure it out.

After talking to Bay, Sydney walked over to Tyler's. She found him in his backyard, bringing a lawn mower out of his small shed.

"I don't know, Tyler, are you emotionally ready for all that cut gra.s.s again?" she called to him.

He turned and laughed. "If I don't cut it soon, small neighborhood dogs are going to get lost in it. Even now, when Mrs. Kranowski can't find Edward, she comes over and beats the gra.s.s with a stick, looking for him."

"I come bearing a gift from Claire." She held up the wine bottle.

Tyler hesitated, as if silently squelching the first thing he wanted to say. "You know, I'm having no luck figuring out your sister. She gives me gifts when she clearly doesn't like me. Is this a Southern thing?"

"Oh, she likes you. That's why she's giving you this stuff. Do you mind if I have some of this? I'm a little shaky right now."

"Sure, come on." They walked into his kitchen through the back, and Tyler took two winegla.s.ses out of his cabinet.

As soon as he poured her a gla.s.s, she took a long drink of it.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"My mind went somewhere it shouldn't have a while back. It still spooks me."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"No."

He nodded. "Okay. So, what is this?" Tyler poured himself a gla.s.s and lifted it to his nose.

"Rose geranium wine. It's supposed to bring back good memories."

He lifted his gla.s.s to her. "Here's to good memories."

Before he could drink it, Sydney blurted out, "She's hoping this will make you remember someone else and forget her. Like the ca.s.serole with the snapdragon oil and the tarts with the bachelor's b.u.t.tons."

He lowered his gla.s.s. "I don't understand."

"The flowers grown in our backyard are special. Or maybe it's the way the dishes made from them are prepared that makes them so special. They can affect the eater. You're obviously immune. Or maybe she's trying too hard, maybe that changes the way it works. I don't know."

Tyler looked at her incredulously. "She's trying to make me not interested in her?"

"Which means you're in already. Let me tell you something about Claire. She likes things that don't go away. So don't go away."

Tyler leaned against the counter, as if for support, as if someone had pushed him there. For a moment Sydney wondered if she should have revealed something so personal about her sister. Claire obviously didn't want him to know. But then Tyler smiled, and she knew she'd done the right thing. It had just been such a long time since she'd brought anyone any real happiness that she'd forgotten what it was like. Claire was doing so much for her. This was something she could give Claire. She could show her she could have happiness outside of what she knew. Happiness with Tyler. "I'm not going anywhere," he said.

"Good." Sydney looked away. The words of a good man could bring tears to a woman's eyes. She envied Claire for this, for Tyler. She'd known a lot of men after she left Bascom, none of them good. She didn't even think she'd know what to do with a good man now. "Drink up," she said, turning away and walking around the kitchen.

Tyler lifted his gla.s.s to his lips and took a sip. "This is good. Unusual, but good."

"Welcome to Claire's world."

"So what are your good memories?" he asked.

She walked to his nook, past the easels, and looked out the windows. "It's so strange. My good memories are of this week. Everything in all my years of living, and this week has been the best week of my life. You?"

"It's good wine, but I'm not getting anything. I'm just thinking of Claire."

She smiled and drank some more. "You're hopeless."

CHAPTER 8.

Bascom's Fourth of July celebration was held every year on the square downtown. On the green by the fountain, families and church groups set up tables and canopies and brought food so everyone could sample delicacies, like a big potluck, before the fireworks display. Waverleys always brought honeysuckle wine so people could see in the dark, but, whether or not the town knew it, the wine also brought about a few revelations every Fourth of July. A side effect of being able to see in the dark, after all, is being aware of things you weren't aware of before.

The Waverleys had a table off to the side-a most popular table, to be sure, but set apart from everyone else. Sydney fidgeted in her seat. Bay was over in the supervised children's area, making paper hats and getting her face painted, so it was just Sydney and Claire and the honeysuckle hooch. People would quietly come by for small paper cups of honeysuckle wine, like it was somehow hallowed, and every once in a while the sheriff would stroll by and ask, "Now, this is nonalcoholic, right?"

And Claire would answer, straight-faced, as every Waverley had, "Of course."

When Sydney was a teenager, the Fourth of July always meant spending the day at a friend's pool, then showing up on the green just in time for the fireworks. She felt older than other people her age now, people like her old high-school friends, most of whom had obviously come from backyard barbecues or pool parties and had tans and bathing-suit straps peeking out from under their shirts. Emma was at the Presbyterian church's table, talking with Eliza Beaufort. Knowing what she knew now, Sydney didn't envy that life of privilege anymore. Curious then, that she felt sad for losing something she never had. Maybe she just missed friendship in general, the camaraderie of people her own age.

Sydney looked away. "I can't remember the last time I sat here at the Waverley table," she said to Claire.

"It has been a while."

She took a deep breath. "It feels okay."

"Why are you so uncomfortable? No one is going to throw rotten tomatoes at us."

"Right," Sydney said. She could be like Claire and not care what anyone thought. She was even starting to dress like Claire-crisp sleeveless b.u.t.ton-downs, khaki pants, madras shorts, flowy sundresses. What Claire had said that day at the salon, that she had Waverley magic, changed her mind-set completely. She felt like a Waverley. But right now it was a little like living in a country where she didn't speak the language yet. She could dress like the natives, and it was nice, but a little lonely. "It's okay to be strange. I can get used to this."

"We're not strange. We are who we are. h.e.l.lo, Evanelle!"

Evanelle had walked up to them and taken a cup of wine. "Whew, I need this," she said, throwing back the wine like a shot. "There's so much to do. I need to give something to Bay." She set the cup down and brought a truly gaudy brooch out of her tote bag. Faintly 1950s, the brooch was made of clear but yellowing crystal in a starburst pattern.

"She's getting her face painted right now," Sydney said.

"Okay, I'll stop by there. Fred is helping me organize my house. He's been a real help. I found this in an old jewelry box we came across, and when I saw it I knew I had to give it to Bay."

Claire leaned forward in her seat. "Fred has been helping you?"

"He's come up with a system for all the stuff I have. He created something called a spreadsheet."

"I've been offering to help you do that for years, Evanelle," Claire said. Sydney turned to her curiously. Claire seemed hurt.

"I know. I didn't want to bother you with it. But since Fred is living with me-"

"Living with you?" Claire exclaimed. "I thought he was just staying with you for a while."

"Well, we figured he might as well be comfortable while he's there. He's turning the attic into his own little apartment and making some improvements around the house. It's been real handy having him around."

"You know if you ever need me, I'm here for you," Claire said.

"I know. You're a good girl." She put the brooch back in her tote bag. "After Bay, I have to take some nails to Reverend McQuail and a mirror to MaryBeth Clancy, then that will be it and I'll meet Fred by the fountain. I hate big crowds, always so much to do. I'll see you later."

"Bye, Evanelle. Call me if you need me!"

Sydney snorted. "Oh, yeah. We're strange."

"We are not," Claire said, distracted. "What do you think of Fred staying with Evanelle?"

"I think it's sad that he and James are having problems." Sydney shrugged. "But Evanelle seems to like having him there."

"Hmm."

A few minutes and another walk-by from the sheriff later, Sydney nudged Claire. "In case you haven't noticed, Tyler keeps looking at you."

Claire snuck a glance, then groaned. "d.a.m.n. You had to go and make eye contact. Now he's coming over."

"Oh, heaven forbid."

"Yeah, well, I'm not the only one who's being stared down. You've got one too." Claire indicated a canopy across the green with HOPKINS DAIRY HOPKINS DAIRY written on it. There was a handsome man there, blond and lean and tan, scooping ice cream out of electric ice-cream makers to put on paper cones. He was solid, as if made to withstand wind. He kept looking over to the Waverley table. written on it. There was a handsome man there, blond and lean and tan, scooping ice cream out of electric ice-cream makers to put on paper cones. He was solid, as if made to withstand wind. He kept looking over to the Waverley table.

"Does he think we need some ice cream? Maybe we look hot."

"That's Henry Hopkins," Claire said.

"Henry!" From a distance Sydney couldn't make out his features, but now that she thought about it, there was something familiar about his hair, his deliberate movements. "I'd almost forgotten him."

"I didn't realize you knew him." Claire started to stand, but Sydney caught her arm. "Let go. I forgot something in the van."

"You didn't forget anything. You're trying to avoid Tyler. And, yes, I knew Henry. We were...friends, I guess. In elementary school. We grew apart after that."

"Why?" Claire asked, tugging against Sydney's hand, her eyes darting to Tyler as he got closer.

"Because I was a blind a.s.s in high school," Sydney said.

"You were not."

"Was so."

"Were not."

"h.e.l.lo, ladies. Need a referee?"

Sydney released Claire's arm now that her work was done. "Hi, Tyler."

"Claire, your hair," Tyler said, and Claire's hand went to her hair self-consciously. She was wearing the white headband Evanelle had given her, which made her look as young and innocent as she pretended not to be. "It's beautiful. I had a dream...I dreamed your hair was like this once. I'm sorry, there was really no way for that not to sound stupid." He laughed, then rubbed his hands together. "So, everyone keeps telling me I need to drink some of the Waverleys' honeysuckle wine. Either it's a town tradition, or everyone is in on this Claire-trying-to-make-me-not-interested-in-her game."