Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Wednesday morning arrived with a steady downpour. I yawned, glancing at my clock. I'd slept in till eight-thirty. The fact that Grams had let me sleep told me that she understood how tired I was. Then I remembered that I had texted Kyle before I went to bed. I nervously unlocked my phone and glanced at my messages. He hadn't answered, but I saw that he had read my note.

"Well, that's all I can do," I said, tossing my phone on my bed.

We were driving up to Port Townsend at around three. Bree was coming with us. She had found a pet sitter for Atlas and Oscar—it was just better to avoid my mother having a meltdown over dogs—and she would be over in a couple of hours. I decided to pack.

I tried on several outfits, deciding that for today, I'd wear a short black skirt, a vibrant green V-neck sweater, and my leather jacket. I chose a pair of Doc Martens boots, wanting comfort. I picked a comfy, pretty, cold-shoulder olive green jersey dress for Thanksgiving, then packed a pair of black jeans, a couple tanks, and underwear. That way, if we decided to stay for a day or so afterward, I'd have something to wear.

The humidity had infused my hair with even more curls and waves, and after brushing it three times, I accepted that I was going to have a coppery halo around my head for the time being. I braided it back, touched up my makeup, and headed into the kitchen, where breakfast was on the table. Grams was double checking the turkey to make sure it was thawed out.

"Everything looks ready to go," she said, glancing over at me. "Are you all right? You have a strange look on your face."

"I texted Kyle and confronted him last night. He hasn't answered back—" I was just sitting down to my plate when my phone dinged. I pulled out and the lock screen showed that Kyle had texted me. "Oh boy, well…he's answering now."

Grams came over, peering over my shoulder. "You might as well look. Waiting will just make the anxiety worse."

I unlocked my phone and opened my texts. Taking a deep breath, I opened his message.

if you come around, i will call the police and charge you with trespass. as to faron, he's none of your concern any longer. after this text, i'm blocking you and i won't be talking to you again. i accept that you didn't send bran over, but the elders have spoken and i have to obey. i'm loyal to the pack.

"I guess…that's that," I said. Part of me felt numb, while the other part wanted to break down and cry.

Grams rested a hand on my shoulder. "There's nothing you can do for now. Try to focus on the holiday. When we return, maybe there's something you can do."

I didn't say a word. I couldn't. I felt like all the fight had drained out of me. I'd spent months worrying over Faron and waiting for him to remember. This had all started in August and now it was November, and I was farther away from him than ever. Not only that, but I'd been there for Kyle, trying to emotionally shore him up, and this was the way he repaid me. I shook my head, the frustration turning into resignation.

"I'm not even going to hope. I'm just going to set it aside. Even if Faron remembers, Kyle made it clear that the elders won't let him remain King if he and I get back together. I don't have the energy to continue to push, Grams. Bran's here for me. Bran loves me, and it's easy with him. I don't have to worry about anybody interfering. He wants me to be happy, and you know what? I want that for him, too. I'll talk to him this weekend about setting a date. And we'll look for my father's letter, though I've kind of lost hope about that, too. Why can't I just have an easy path, Grams? Why does everything seem so hard?" I rested my elbows on the table, staring bleakly at the wall.

"You're feeling sorry for yourself. That's allowed, of course, but you have this weekend to mope—and after that, you pick up the pieces and move on. Whatever happens, happens. We can celebrate your engagement while we're up there, if you'd like?"

I shook my head. "I'd rather wait till we get back. I have so much baggage with Port Townsend that I don't want that energy seeping into Bran's and my engagement." Sighing, I stood up and shook my head. "Okay, enough whining for now. Though I reserve the right to have a good cry later, when the numbness wears off."

"Are you really that devastated over Faron, my dear?" Grams asked.

I turned to face her. "I don't know, to be honest. At this point, I'm mostly just frustrated with all the crap that's happened over the past few months. When we come back, can we cast a clearing spell, to chase out the goblins, so to speak?"

"That we can, my dear. That we can."

I helped her clear the table. After that, I decided to go out and pick a big batch of mums to take up to my mother's, and I did my best to keep my mind on the flowers.

Fancypants appeared in the doorway from the living room, sweeping across the kitchen to land on my shoulder. He nuzzled his head against the side of my neck and then let out the odd meow that dragonettes had. They sounded like cats with deep voices.

"Are you ready? I want to warn you, my mother's not going to be elated to have a dragonette around. Don't try to tease her into a good mood. It can't be done." I had hired Bree's pet sitter to come play with the cats and feed them while I was gone, but I didn't trust leaving Fancypants here by himself.

"I'm ready. I'm looking forward to seeing Port Townsend." Fancypants loved seeing new places. "Will you show me the city?"

"Parts of it, of course. We'll go to the beach, how about that?" There were parts of Port Townsend that I had no intention of revisiting.

"Sounds good," he said. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as—" I stopped at the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway. I peeked out the window. It was Bree. "Within half an hour, now that Bree's here."

As Bree and Grams loaded the car, I fed the cats, called the pet sitter to confirm she'd be coming over tomorrow—she worked on holidays—and then texted Bran, telling him we were about to take off, and making sure he had the address. He and May would drive up later this evening. Once everything was set, I made sure that the door was locked. We buckled our seat belts, and I pulled out of the driveway.

It normally took forty-five minutes to reach Port Townsend, but today the traffic was heavier with it being the day before Thanksgiving, so it took us an hour. We pulled into town at four-fifteen, and by four twenty-five, we were at my mother's house. I stared at the two-story house. While not strictly a Victorian, it resembled the style, and a large bay window overlooked the front porch. On the second floor was the window that belonged to my old bedroom.

My mother had recently had the outside of the house painted—it was a bright yellow, but at least it wasn't neon. It would have been distracting in a more sedate town, but Port Townsend had its own version of San Francisco's Painted Ladies. I pulled into the driveway. My aunt's car wasn't there yet, but Catharine's was. She had a sporty little Mazda CX-5. I parked next to it, then we all got out and stretched. Fancypants landed on my shoulder.

"I guess we should get the food in," I said. I dreaded spending more than a few hours with my mother, and I wasn't looking forward to my aunt's grief, but at least I'd have Grams, Bree, Bran, and May with me.

As I knocked on the front door, then opened it and peeked in, Catharine came breezing into the foyer. Immediately, the stench of smoke overwhelmed me and I coughed. My mother was a smoker, and the house—and she—reeked of it. She was shorter than me, but had the same red hair that I did. She hadn't grayed yet, and really, she was a pretty woman. She was more cushioned than I was—Catharine never went to the gym.

She glanced at her watch. "You're late."

Yes, my mother was still my mother. I started to say that traffic had been bad, when Grams interrupted.

"We told you we'd be here around four. ‘Around' isn't a precise measurement of time. Please move so we can carry the food to the kitchen." Grams brushed by, jostling my mother out of the way. I stifled a grin and followed her, with Bree in back.

Catharine let out a grumpy sigh, but joined us in the kitchen. "You're right. I'm sorry. Well, you're looking good," she said, finally smiling. "It seems Starlight Hollow agrees with you." She was actually being sincere—it was obvious in her tone.

"It does," I said, trying to relax. "That, along with the workout and eating routine Grams has me following. I hate to admit it, but I'm actually beginning to enjoy the gym sessions." I glanced around. "Is Aunt Ciara here yet?"

"No, but she will be—she said she'd be over for dinner. She's bringing takeout so don't worry about cooking tonight." Catharine peeked in the fridge. "Those look good," she said, pointing to the pies.

"There's more. We'll be back in a moment with the bags," Bree said. She and Grams headed out of the kitchen.

My mother waited until they were out of the room. She hesitated, then said, "I want you to know…I'm in therapy."

Startled, I set down the bag with the sweet potatoes in it. "Really?"

She nodded. "Between what you and Grams said when you were up here for the funeral, and with what Ciara said to me after you left, I decided to talk to someone. I'm… This is hard for me to say, Elphyra. But I want to say it. I'm sorry that I've been so difficult over the years. I don't have a lot of coping skills for dealing with the problems of others. I never have," she added.

I remembered the scene that had flooded back, with my father yelling at my mother. Compassion flooded my heart. "Mom, did you have dreams when you were young? What did you want to do when you grew up?"

She looked startled, but stopped to sit down at the table. "Not many people have ever asked me that. My parents didn't. Even in the 1980s, they were so focused on me finding a man."

"So, what did you want to be?"

A smile crept across her lips, like sunlight slowly rising in the autumn. "I wanted to be a graphic artist. But what I wanted to learn took extra schooling. And not only couldn't my parents afford that, but they never would have agreed to my choice. If anything, they would have pushed me to study to be a teacher, and that's the last thing I wanted to be."

"Why were they so adamant about it?"

"I don't know," Catharine said. "But they were set on it. I had two choices—I could study to be a teacher, and they'd scrape up the money, or I could get married. They were ready to make an arranged marriage for right after I turned eighteen. But then, I met Malcolm, and I fell in love."

"Grams mentioned that it was love at first sight, and that you were sixteen."

"I was. I remember walking into a coffee shop and there he was—so handsome, and with this air of kindness that I never felt from my parents. They couldn't wait for Ciara and me to leave home so they could do what they wanted. Oh, they loved us, but they just didn't want to be chained down to children. They still don't—they're off in the Caribbean now." She sighed, then said, "I walked into the coffee shop and I saw Malcolm. He looked at me, and… How do I explain this? I felt like I was the only person in the world when he looked at me."

At that moment, Grams and Bree returned with the rest of the food. Fancypants was sitting on Bree's shoulder. Catharine gave me a long look.

"We can talk later, if you'd like," I said.

"I think… Yes, I'd like that. Meanwhile, I'll go call your aunt and see when she's coming over. When do your other guests arrive?" She stood, suddenly shifting back to her normal demeanor.

"I think around seven—they'll be here for dinner." I watched as she quietly left the kitchen.

"How did that go?" Grams asked, after Catharine was out of earshot.

"I'll tell you later, but let's just say, I didn't expect to actually have a real conversation with my mother. Anyway, let's get unpacked and then I'm going to start searching for the letter. It occurs to me he might have left it in my bedroom, since he was so concerned about me. Anyway, this weekend might be more productive than I thought."

As I helped finish putting the food away, I thought about my mother. She had wanted to be a graphic artist, and her dream had been squashed. Then I came along, and she was forced into being a mother when she wasn't ready. I hung my head, feeling empathy for her for the first time in a long time. That she was even talking to me about these things meant that something was changing for her.

Aunt Ciara arrived around six-thirty, laden with various takeout bags. Bree and I helped her carry them in. She had bought pizza, fried chicken, tacos, Chinese food, and—rather inexplicably—a bunch of corndogs.

As we were sorting out the food, I received a text from Bran.

we're almost there. we'll see you in about ten minutes.

we're waiting with dinner. aunt ciara went a little crazy at the fast food joints. I added a smiley face and went to find the paper plates. Catharine always had a stack for when she didn't feel like washing dishes.

Ciara glanced at me. "I want to thank you again for your help at the funeral."

"How are you doing?" I asked.

"Better. Owen's visited a couple of times. He seems happier. Calmer."

I nodded, unsure of what to say.

She looked behind her. "Did you get your father's journal?" She kept her voice low. "I thought it best to keep it out of your mother's hands." My aunt was the polar opposite of my mother, at least with common sense and courtesy.

"Yeah, I'll tell you more later. Where did you find it?"

"Up in the attic. Your mother decided she wanted to clear out some space, which meant she shanghaied me into doing the work." Ciara laughed. "I know she's a pain, but she was a good sister, overall, when I was growing up."

"Can you tell me something? Did she really want to marry my father?" I glanced around to make sure nobody else was close enough to hear as I found the plastic cutlery. At least my mother washed it and used the forks and knives more than once.

Ciara worried her lip. "To be honest? I don't know. Oh, she found Malcolm attractive, but I truly think she didn't want to marry anybody. She wanted to see the world. Now, it's our parents who are seeing the world and not her. She resents them for that. They pushed her to marry, that I do know. I was lucky in that I wanted to marry your uncle. But your mother…she always had a wandering spirit, and our parents could never accept she didn't want to get married."

At the sound of voices approaching, Ciara held her finger up to her lips and we went back to setting the table, but I thought about my mother and found I was viewing her in an entirely different way.