My heart tugged: I had the very same fears. It hadn’t been lost on me that Rosie had barely rested since we’d arrived. But Rosie wouldn’t be alone when we all returned to the city, would she? Even there, we were just a drive away. And Finn and Noah would surely help out.
I hadn’t deeply thought it through, though. Mostly because I couldn’t imagine that Charlie wasactuallygone. Somehow, I had it in my head that he was just on extended vacation. Travelling the world, like Tiff, perhaps. Because if Charlie could die, then anyone could.
Mom reached for my hand, squeezing it with compassion I wasn’t used to seeing from her. Maybe she was having the same thoughts.
‘New ring?’ she asked, noticing the one I’d discovered yesterday.
I held my hand up to the sun, letting the moonstones flash. ‘A beach find.’
‘Not a bad one.’ Mom’s face softened into a smile. ‘Remember when Rosie and Charlie bought the boys a metal detector that year?’
‘I had no idea so many bottle caps lurked beneath the sand,’ I said.
‘Who knew that Poseidon loves bottle caps and lost keys so much?’
‘It might not have been Poseidon,’ I countered. ‘It could’ve been the Little Mermaid.’
Mom chuckled, and I felt a bubble of pride rise up in my chest. It took a lot to make Mom laugh.
We strolled along for a mile or so, waving to joggers and beach soccer players, and pausing to pat a golden retriever carrying the largest stick I’d ever seen.
‘This was nice,’ said Mom as we made our way back to the Pink House.
‘It was,’ I agreed.
And it had been. Mom had spent the entire time off her phone, and she’d managed not to level a single backhanded compliment at me. And I was glad to know that she was looking out for Rosie the same way I was – even if neither of us quite knew how to help.
I wasn’t sure that she was mellowing, exactly, but she was trying.
We arrived back at the house to incredible cooking smells and the strains of Rosie’s singing. Rosie had an infectious voice – it was hard not to be drawn in by it. And with Charlie’s equally impressive pipes, it was no surprise that Finn shared the talent. Charlie had fancied himself more of a composer than a performer, of course. In fact, there was a whole room in the Pink House dedicated to Charlie’s passion for music: one wall was entirely lined with records, and another was hung with at least a dozen guitars. There were even a few work-in-progress guitars stillsitting on a workbench. I’d passed by Finn in the music room a few times since I’d arrived, but hadn’t had the heart to enter. It felt like his space, somehow.
Right now, though, Finn was at the kitchen counter, industriously foil wrapping nachos to throw on tonight’s bonfire. Seeing him in the light of day after the events of the night before last did something strange to my insides. Things had changed, although I wasn’t quite sure how just yet. Did I want them to change? I wasn’t even sure, but suddenly it was all I could think about.
‘Here they are,’ said Rosie, waving. She used her magic to turn down the music on the Bluetooth speaker, which had been blasting Madonna’s ‘Holiday’. ‘How was your walk?’
‘Sadly, we didn’t find any bottle caps,’ said Mom, and I chuckled.
‘I still have my collection if you need some,’ said Finn, eyes dancing in a way that made my heart flip. ‘Am I sensing some bottle-cap crafts in your future?’
‘Never say never,’ I said. Ugh, had my tone crossed the line from friendly over to flirtatious? Hopefully not, because Rosie was right there.
‘Here you go, girls.’ Rosie passed Mom and me a paring knife each, which we took to a pile of fruit, some of it light and summery, some of it spiced with the scents of fall. This was just one of the reasons this was my favourite time of the year: you could gorge yourself on mangoes and then tear into a buttery baked apple. With chocolate shavings on top, of course.
Meanwhile, Rosie ran her own knife through the marshmallow mixture she’d left setting on the counter overnight. Bonfire night always involved s’mores, and Rosie was adamant about making all the ingredients herself. The counters were stacked high with paper bags filled with freshly made marshmallows, home-made Graham crackers and decadent chocolate coverture sourced from the Chocolate Enchantress, a small chocolatier near the library.
Rosie frowned as she pulled out one of the marshmallow cubes.
‘Strange. The texture is all wrong.’ Rosie squeezed the marshmallow between thumb and forefinger with the care of a chemist assessing the result of an experiment. ‘I can’t remember the last time this happened.’
‘You’re not coming down with a cold?’ asked Tiff, rubbing her eyes and stretching as she plonked herself down on one of the bar stools. She’d finally emerged from her Zoom call. I couldn’t imagine spending three hours talking about KPIs and deliverables and whatever it was that successful people talked about. Oh, to have that big-sister energy. Little-sister energy was scatter-brained and anxious and always led to being patronized.
Rosie ran a hand through her curls. ‘I feel fine. No fever, no sniffles, not even a sore throat. And I’ve been very good about taking my herbal tea.’
‘How are the other batches?’ Mom leaned over the counter, using her paring knife to peek under the tinfoil that covered the other glass dishes.
‘The ones in the paper bags I made the other day are fine. It’s the new ones that aren’t taking. Is the humidity up?’
Tiff shook her head (her meteorological expertise extended to humidity). ‘All seems pretty normal on the forecast front. Other than that weird magical storm the other day. Maybe that scrambled things?’
