Chapter 16

sixteen

Lily

Ten Years Ago

I'm looking at the large manila envelope on the dining room table of the Jackson Hole, Wyoming staff suite. I left home six months ago, first staying at Stef's dorm for a few weeks before her roommates insisted that I'd overstayed my welcome. Next, I headed to trim cannabis plants at a California farm. With winter rolling in, I followed an acquaintance to a ski resort gig here.

The address on the envelope is nauseating: to the former Mrs. Lily Morgan. He had to get another dig in, huh?

I've been silently placing bets on whether this will finally be the signed divorce papers or another attempt to force me home. Maybe instead of guilt trips this will be a crazed freak out that I "stole" his car. He tried to cite me for domestic violence and destruction of his property. Thank god Nessa's dad, Gabe, is a lawyer and got the charge dropped. I've been sitting here stirring honey into a cup of tea for so long it's practically iced tea.

Do I want to know?

Today, NJTransit Trai n

The panic I felt then is the same panic I feel sitting here. Today. In this train car in New York City. My inner monologue morphs into the lyrics Blink-182 quoted from George Carlin, shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker…

I glance at Grant again as he blinks like a deer in headlights. The awkward silence lingers before a chilling grin stretches across his face. I'm freezing despite the broken AC and 80℉ weather. I know that look of his well and nothing good follows it. A trail of sweat leaks down my calves from behind my knees, but shifting makes my thighs stick uncomfortably to the pleather seats. Clammy palms, stomach rolling over, my desire to flee has not been this strong in ages, but now I remember so much more of why I wanted out.

He won't hurt me, physically, but he'll aim to cut me down, I remind myself while trying to breathe deeper.

Before he can speak, a gust of patchouli and Palo Santo air breezes over us as someone drops into the third seat in our row. Paisley sheer fabric brushes my side and tickles my face and arm.

Prudence Cleary, the Peacock Springs tea shop owner and tarot reader, gives a husky laugh. Between the Puritanical name and infrequent but very noticeable use of odd and outdated phrases, the kids of Peacock Springs have questioned if she is truly a 300-year old witch for as long as I can remember. The fact that she has beautiful dark umber skin with an undertone as warm as her personality, and only a few soft wrinkles, adds to the allure. Pru was a favorite of mine, having spent hours in high school around her tea and occult shop.

Her arrival helps to cut the tension momentarily. As she digs through her oversized tote, things fly into my lap with a casual, "Hold these, will you dear?"

I'm grasping a large pink crystal, a vial of essential oils, a screen printed T-shirt, at least three mini bags of salt puke face emoji Just needed a little time to collect myself…

sends a photo of her feet dangling above the water

GPS says I can be back in 10

River:

Take your time heart emoji