A staircase curled upward at the end of the hall. I glanced that way, but stayed on my path, following my nose, following my ears, but mostly, following my heart.
The hall ended at the kitchen which spread the width of the house. It was a beautifully restored space with new, gleaming copper, and stone, and rough-hewn wood running across the rafters.
This space felt older than the rest of the house, even though it carried modern design elements. There was something of the hedge here, of aunties and twigs, inked spells and old stones, soaking up protection and whispered vows.
This was the soul of this place, and in that soul, the magic gathered.
I paused in the doorway. Lu danced, her back toward me, swaying gently with the old radio turned down low, as if that music was meant for her alone. She’d taken the time to re-braid her hair, and now it hung softer around her face, the braid falling in a loose crisscross between her shoulder blades.
She’d tied a towel around her waist and was leaning over the big wooden farm table, kneading dough with her fingers and palms.
Flour covered the table, and one flour hand print dusted the back pocket of her jeans. She picked up the rolling pin and theclack clackof the rolling pin kept a steady beat as she worked the dough into the shape she wanted.
The music shifted, something more upbeat, from the 1950s, maybe. No, the 60s. She lifted the rolling pin to do the twist, and I took a step.
Ricky came out of the pantry, be-bopping across the old stone floor, singing along to the song in a gorgeous alto. She was a big woman, and she could move.
Ricky held her hand out for her, and Lu dusted hers before accepting.
Then they were dancing, not the twist, but swing, or maybe hustle, and they both knew it like they’d been dancing together for years, like they had been partners for years.
I leaned back into the shadows of the hall, watching, hurting some, yes, but determined not to interrupt, not to take this joyful moment from her. They pulled close, bodies tilted forward into each other, the moves smooth, hips rocking, feet bouncing as they spread apart, then together again, like wings in flight.
Lu’s cheeks were pink, her citrine eyes sparkling, her smile full and unguarded. Ricky added an extra spin at the end, sending Lu out at arm’s reach, laughing.
The music changed to a slow song, and Ricky raised an eyebrow. “Maybe foxtrot?”
Lu shook her head and moved back toward the dough she was working on for pies. Berry and pumpkin. “Not if we want these cooked before I start dinner.”
“It’s good to have you here,” Ricky said. “I mean, for dinner, but for just…being here. It’s been too long, Lu-lala.”
Lu folded the dough, transferring it to the pie pan. “Hasn’t been that long.”
“Years now. In the neighborhood of three? Four?”
“Have you been lonely? You know there are plenty of people who would love to see you, too. If you invited them.”
“I get enough of people stopping by uninvited.” Ricky shrugged. “I just miss you.”
“You just miss my cooking.”
Ricky strolled over to the table and swung down into a chair. She was in profile to me, and I had a moment to remember I was no longer invisible. She would see me if I moved or if she looked over at the shadows in the hall. She might already know I was here, watching her. Watching them.
“I do miss your cooking, but your company is the thing. That’s the thing for me. Always has been.”
“Nice of you to say.”
“And the truth.”
Lu’s attention was on another ball of dough, pressing it with her palms before applying the rolling pin.
“I love your place, you know that,” Lu said. “It’s just been a couple rough years. I needed quiet. Space.”
“You could have had that here. Quiet and space. I’m good at that. And then you wouldn’t have been alone when you didn’t want to be.”
But she hadn’t been alone. I wanted to tell Ricky Lu’d had me. I had been there with her. Always.
“I can take care of myself,” said Lu. “Plus, I like being alone.”
