Had she tried? Tried and been too weak? Tried and failed?
I felt Mark’s hand on my shoulder. “What are we putting in a place where no one can find it?” he asked jovially, but underneath I could feel the worry radiating from him.
I forced a smile, fought the urge to give Carmen a panicked,please don’t tell himglance. “Carmen was giving me some advice about what I should do with the false starts on the new Moxie book. I was telling herthat I feel like what I began with is all wrong, but I keep going back to it and it’s just bogging me down. I think she’s right—it’s time to start fresh.”
Carmen nodded. “Sometimes we just need a symbolic act to put an end to something difficult, to help us begin again.” She looked meaningfully at me before she drifted away. “Good luck with your project. Come see me in the shop if you need any more help with things.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
MY MOTHER HAD TAKENa bad turn. We’d brought back a tray of food from Penny and Louise’s solstice party, but she refused to eat any of it. We’d been giving her the maximum dose of morphine, but she said she was still in pain and begged for more. Teresa consulted with the doctor at the hospice agency, and they agreed to up her morphine dosage. Her pain was controlled, but the medication knocked her out.
I was running out of time.
JANICE WAS SITTINGwith my mother while she slept, working through another one of her sudoku books.
It was the first day of Christmas vacation, and Olivia was off at her friend Sophie’s. Izzy was in her room, and Mark was doing God knew what—probably watching another Hallmark Christmas movie.
And I was out in my studio, learning all I could about binding spells. I was looking through the books I’d ordered and visiting page after page online, taking notes. I’d studied my mother’s cryptic description in her journal and wondered if she’d actually tried it. I thought I had the gist of it down, but would it be enough? Calling on the elements, wrapping the object in string or rope, saying, “I bind you” again and again. It felt… futile, even silly. Like a little spell could possibly help.
Then the barn door flew open. I expected to see Penny, hear her call out, “Knock-knock!”
But it was Mark. No knock. No call. He just came walking in, his face somber.
“What’s going on? Is it Mother?”
“We need to talk,” Mark said.
“Okay.” I shut my laptop and turned away from what I’d been doing.
Mark moved closer, surveying what I had on the desk: the demon books, the drawings and notes. There was no hiding them.
“I’m worried about you,” he said. “We’reallworried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m sorry if I’ve been worrying you, but really, I’m okay.”
Mark crossed his arms over his chest. “I know there’s no therapist in Burlington.”
I froze, unsure how to respond. Did I argue? Lie? Or tell him the truth?
“There is not, nor was there ever, a Carla Slesar working as a therapist up there.” He looked at me. “You made it up.”
“It’s been a long time,” I said, feeling myself shrinking, getting smaller and smaller. “Maybe I’m remembering her last name wrong.”
He shook his head. “You went week after week, came home and told me about all the progress you were making, how you were able to open up to her. But it was all lies.”
“She—”
Mark shut me down, cut me off before I could continue. “Please don’t lie to me anymore. It’s not going to do either of us any good.”
“Mark, I—”
“I’m supposed to be the one you share everything with. When did that change, Alison? When did you stop trusting me?” He looked so sad, so brokenhearted.
“Of course I trust you! I’m sorry,” I said, taking his hand. “I know things have been crazy. I haven’t been myself.” I cringed a little at my ownwords. That was exactly what my mother used to say to me:I’m not myself today. “Having my mother here has been a lot.”
“Your mother, who you believe is possessed by a demon,” he said.
I dropped his hand.
