“Yeah. We spent the last few days on a scavenger hunt for plants to puff you with.” He glances at me. “Explain.”
Alice hugs herself. “Puff?”
I toy with the hem of my shirt. “A PUF is an elixir to rid you of your feelings—”
“I don’t understand. Are you saying my feelings aren’t . . . real?”
Aunt Bryony twists her gold wedding band. “The elixir just opened your eyes to Mr. Frederics. Your feelings are genuine.”
Court’s mom doesn’t have a single filling as far as I can see.
I show her the cooler. “The PUF can also be a special kind of flower. It’s painless. Just a swipe on your skin.”
Aunt Bryony’s iridescent beads clack together as she leans forward. “It won’t erase your memories of Mr. Frederics. It just makes you less attached to them. The heart is like a balloon. The PUF just tugs it back to earth.”
“A balloon? No, no.” Alice shakes her head.
Court rouses himself out of his black mood and puts his arm around his mom. “It’s going to be okay.”
She wiggles out from under his arm. “I’m sorry, Mim, I just can’t believe it. I like Franklin, and I think he likes me, too.” Tears collect in her eyes and she wipes them with her palms. Court passes her the tissue box.
The sound of someone shuffling down the hallway causes all of us to lift our heads. Melanie, clad in sweats, glares at me. Her face is puffy like she’s been crying. She asks, “What’s going on?”
Alice waves her hand distractedly at her daughter. “We have visitors.”
Melanie locks her arms in front of her and glowers at me.
Alice switches back to us. “I mean, we’ve had a great time this week, when I wasn’t yard sailing, and I just don’t see how that can be fake.” Her pitch goes high and she places a hand over her chest. After she collects her composure she reaches for the ukulele resting against the table.
“It’s not fake.” I do my best to ignore the frost coming from Melanie’s side of the room. “You really do like him, but he came to us originally for help with someone else.”
“Ah. What if I don’t want to be puffed?”
Court squeezes his eyes shut and I can’t help wondering if he’s remembering when he asked me a similar question.
“It’s your choice. A PUF will take away the hurt, though.”
Court glances up at me, then returns his head to his hands.
Placing the ukulele on her lap, Alice tentatively plucks each string. “It’s just so embarrassing. I baked him a cake. And a pie.”
Aunt Bryony opens her hands. Her nails are buffed to a highshine. “The embarrassment is all ours.”
Alice starts strumming a series of minor chords.
Court rubs at his jaw and looks at his sister. Shaking her head, Melanie stomps away. Alice stares through the distressed finish of the table as her fingers pick out a slow, depressive tune.
“Will you be telling him?” Alice doesn’t break her rhythm.
“Only to the extent that we failed to fix the correct target,” says Aunt Bryony.
Mr. Frederics has to know? I hide my surprise by staring at the crystals dripping from the chandelier.
“He would never know that you received the elixir, unless of course you wish us to tell him.” Aunt Bryony leans back, absentmindedly twisting the gold band around her finger.
“Why would I do that?”
“To put your actions in the right context.”
