“I’m telling you, a good dunk in salt water does wonders. You should try it.”
“So, what do I do about someone who is, er, into me?” I ask quietly.
No one speaks and I’m not sure if anyone heard me.
But then Mother’s voice replies, “You’ll have to let him get over you the old-fashioned way.”
“Or not,” adds Aunt Bryony brightly.
I rest my forehead against the door. Court already got over me the old-fashioned way, if by old-fashioned Mother meant “hopped the bullet train to recovery.”
“Mim, you better open this door before we kill each other.”
“Sorry. I have school now.”
They protest loudly. I try to ignore them as I tread back to the house. Locking them up could be a disaster. We might be in for a very frosty winter at Sweetbriar Perfumes. On the bright side, at least I won’t be treated to the scent of all those burning tires. As for Aunt Bryony, I haven’t felt the force of her anger yet, but something tells me I want to stay far away. Extreme measures were necessary, though. After all, what are the chances they’d ever be in the same slice of the world again, let alone the same room?
They do have a phone. If Mother got desperate enough, she could call a locksmith, though I bet the thought of a stranger tromping through our garden would put her off calling for a little while. At least Aunt Bryony could cancel her flight.
I don’t really go to school, so I can keep an eye on them, though I do leave a message with the school secretary, citing a “family emergency.” Time to gather eggs, a task Mother usually takes care of. The chickens have already flown the coop, and I collect an even dozen. Using the front of my skirt as a basket, I carry them to the kitchen.
As I cross our bull’s-eye courtyard, a heavy thud followed by scraping sounds carry from the front of the house. I listen to the silence being scratched, grateful to my ears for sticking by me all these years, despite my inattention.
Still holding the eggs, I stand on my toes and peep over the gate.
The back of Court’s shirt pulls out from his jeans as hesquats, positioning a box onto a dolly.
I gasp. “What are you doing?”
He freezes, then slowly straightens up. A lock has pulled away from the rest of his neatly combed hair, but his part is ruler straight. “Delivering bricks.” He rests an arm on the top of the dolly. “I guess I couldn’t wait to patch things up.”
I fall back onto my heels and say through the gate, “Our wishing well?”
“Among other things.” His footsteps draw near. “Mel told me about Kali’s journal.”
It takes me a few moments to process what he’s saying. Melanie told him?
He peers over the gate and reaches for the latch. “May I?”
Before I can answer, the gate opens and suddenly we’re standing face-to-face, with only a skirt full of eggs between us.
Amusement flits across his face when he takes in my makeshift apron. But then he’s back to being serious. “I’m an ass for believing you would actually fix me, even with a fake—”
“Forget it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was afraid it’d get back to Vicky. Then, when I lost my smell—”
“You lost your smell?”
“It’s only temporary, I think.”
He winces. “How?”
My wrist cramps, and I shift position, causing the eggs toroll around. “I thought it was because I fell in love with you, but it was because of the salt water.”
“What did you say?”
