“The turkey gang seems like it’s bigger this summer,” Shelby says. “You good, Rhea?”
Nearly crushed against Hunter?
Somehow I will find the tools to survive.
“She’ll be fine when she’s out of this ding-dang truck!” Since her grandma voice in my head isn’t doing any good, Maggie screams incoherently in her parrot voice and bashes herself against the screen.
“I’m good, and you’re only hurting yourself, Doris,” I say.
Behind us, Bongo is on full alert and trying to climb over the bench seat but seems more curious than murderous.
“Sorry about her. Parrot brains are actually quite large compared to other animals, but they’re still just about the size of a gumball, and sometimes she forgets she has one.” I pat the backpack. “It’s safer in here, honey. There’s a dog in back. And we don’t shout at the people who just saved our lives.”
The turkeys aren’t leaving, though—they’re all over the truck now. There are three on the hood, several on the piles of wood in the bed, and judging by the scratchy thumps overhead, at least two making gobbling love on the roof.
“I need to get driving if I don’t want to spend the rest of my day washing turkey shit off someone else’s lumber. Is there somewhere I can drop y’all off?”
“We’re headed to lunch at MacGillicuddy’s,” Shelby says, “if you want to join us.”
But the weird thing is that she doesn’t sound flirtatious at all. I wonder if maybe she’s known him all her life, or they’re related, or maybe she’s not into dudes, because I’m just barely touching this man my grandmother doesn’t want me to talk to and every atom in my body is at full salute.
Hunter nods and looks back to the bed of the truck. “I’ve got an appointment, but I’ll drop y’all off. Buckle up. I’m gonna give these turkeys a ride.”
I lift my hip so Shelby can buckle, then shuffle around looking for my seat belt. The middle seat of the bench is smaller, and I brush Hunter’s shoulder as I buckle in. I’m almost sorry I don’t have to dig under his butt to find my own seat-belt latch. His arm is no longer around me; he’s all business now, hands at ten and two. As soon as my seat belt clicks, he commands Bongo to lie down and then hits the gas. The truck erupts out of its parkingspot, sending turkeys literally flying. The air is full of angry brown feathers as Hunter hits the brakes and lays on the horn, scattering birds everywhere in a gobbling tornado. I notice he’s careful not to hit any of the turkeys or run them over, but they have definitely moved from predator to prey, yelping at each other as they try to find someplace to roost that isn’t moving and honking. I’m surprised that Bongo isn’t barking up a storm, but he’s lying behind us, calm and silent.
After a few staccato stops and starts as we escape the turkey flock, we’re finally free and driving around the square. Shelby asks Hunter if he’s coming to the Chamber meeting, and he says he’s not sure, and she tells him he absolutely has to, and he asks what she’s bringing. When she tells him she’s bringing monster cookies, he reluctantly agrees to attend. And then he’s pulling up in front of the restaurant, which looks like a treehouse. Shelby and I anxiously scan the area for any rogue turkeys, but it seems safe.
“Thanks for saving us,” I say, and Shelby adds, “Sorry for being a bother.”
Hunter smiles down at me. “No bother. It’d be more work cleaning your turkey-stripped carcasses off the square, if I’m honest.”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” I say. “Because if you thought otherwise, I’d have aboneto pick.”
His eyes light up. “Well, thatremainsto be seen.”
“I could really only suggest that youcarrion,then.”
“Oh my God, please stop making death puns,” Shelby wails. “I’m gonna lose my appetite.”
“Someone’s maintaining astiffupper lip.”
“The turkeys can have you—you turkeys!” Shelby says as she unbuckles and hops out.
Hunter and I grin at each other like idiots for a minute before Shelby sighs dramatically. I unbuckle, whisper “You’d better text me!” and slide down out of the truck.
Maggie is already berating me before Hunter is even out of the parking lot.
“I don’t care what anybody tells you, that boy is not your friend! None of the Blakelys are!”
“So he’s a Blakely,” I say as Shelby and I head for the front steps. “They’re magic, too, right?”
Shelby stops and looks around, making sure we’re alone; I guess nobody likes the feeling of choking on their own magical spit. “They are. Or they were. Joyce used to be the most powerful witch of the older generation, and then there’s our moms and their generation, but our generation is kind of a mess. Neither of the King girls seem to have powers at all, same with Nick and Nathan. Colonel’s side of the Gooch family tree is a bust. To be honest, the witch thing is kinda dying off.”
“Maggie said—” I start, then break off. I can’t tell anyone what Maggie said, because they all think she’s dead. “That is, I heard most of the young folks keep moving away?”
Shelby nods. “People are having fewer babies these days, there aren’t that many jobs in the area, and kids want to go to better colleges.” She leans closer. “And over the last couple of years, some folks just…lost most of their magic. Like the Blakelys. And the Malcolms. And the Halls.”
“Lost their magic?”
