Page 71 of The Witches of Cambridge

Ava walked Lauren to the subway, their arms around one another’s waists. It was the ending and the beginning, and it had come so soon.

“This is nothing to cry about,” Lauren insisted, speaking as much to herself as to Ava. “I’ll be back.” They had reached the subway stairs near the newsstand. Lauren had never liked goodbyes. It was a family trait, and that was why Lionel had left a note before disappearing off to California. Hellos were all they cared about, and that made sense considering their childhoods. Lauren grinned. “I’ll come back to teach your little girl how to break the rules.”

“Teach her how to have a heart,” Ava asked of her friend. “That’s all you need to do.”

“Are you sure you would trust me to do that?”

“Completely sure.”

Everyone was too busy to notice that Lauren was crying, but Ava noticed, and she was the only one that mattered. One minute they were standing there together, and the next Lauren had hugged Ava, then disappeared down the stairs to the train. Ava walked to Harvard Yard, entering through the oldest wrought-iron gate, which led to the statue of John Harvard. That was where her grandmother was waiting. Mrs. Abbot had taken the bus from Maine to watch her granddaughter graduate. She’d brought along a gift in a burlap bag she’d carefully kept on her lap on the bus to Massachusetts. She had it with her now.

When Ava spied her grandmother, her breathing quickened. A long time ago, they used to walk in the woods at this time of year, in search of the first shoots of lily of the valley. Her grandmother had locked the doors and windows, but she had also made a special vegetable soup whenever Ava was ill, and she’d brushed Ava’s hair when it was tangled. They walked toward one another through the throng of graduates and their families, all on their way to celebrate the day with luncheons and parties.

“You didn’t have to come,” Ava said. She felt uncomfortable. The woman before her seemed like a stranger, and yet she was so familiar.

“I wanted to wish you well,” her grandmother told Ava.

“Did you wish me well when you left me at the hospital?”

“I never meant to hurt you. I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.” Mrs. Abbot was wearing her gray coat even though the day was warm. It was the same coat she’d always worn, despite a frayed hem and cuffs that were too short.

“There’s more to life than being safe,” Ava said. “There’s knowing who you are.”

“What do you want to know?” Mrs. Abbot’s face was chalky. She was nervous just being in Cambridge.

“If I ask, will you tell me?”

Her grandmother nodded. This was the little girl she’d made breakfast for every morning, the one who had helped her in the garden since the time she could walk, the girl with the red hair she had worried over every day. “You’re old enough. I can’t protect you anymore.”

“How did you wind up with me? Did you steal me?”

Did you take me underground, where one day lasted seven years and all the world ignored me?

“Your mother let us have you. She did it because she knew Chris’s death was her fault. She couldn’t go underwater to save him because of what she was. If she’d been a plain woman, she could have dived down after him. I told her I could give you a better life, and in the end she agreed.”

Ava felt a shiver go through her. The woods at night, the walks home from school along the dirt driveway with the dogs barking, the girls who wouldn’t speak to her except to call her names, the lake she was meant to fear, the crows on her window ledge, the woman at her window, the apples left behind. Was that better? Was that what she was meant for?

“She told you that herself?” Ava asked. “She said she didn’t want me?”

“She didn’t have to say it. No child should be raised by a witch,” Mrs. Abbot went on. “She knew it and I knew it. We both wanted the best for you.”

Ava raised her chin. “My child will be raised by a witch.”

“Your child?” Mrs. Abbot took a step back, a stung look on her face as she figured it out. “I see. Without the benefit of marriage, I suppose.”

“With the benefit of love,” Ava replied.

“I loved you,” Ava’s grandmother told her. “You know I did.”

“And what about my mother? Did she?”

“We both did,” Mrs. Abbot admitted. “It was the one thing we held in common. I always sent her your report cards. She was a reader, like you. I assume that’s where you’ll be going now.” Jeanne Abbot’s voice sounded thin; it was softer than usual. “To her.”

“I was always meant to go there,” Ava said.

“Yes.” Ava’s grandmother nodded. “I can see that.” She had always wanted Ava to be safe and had waited by the door for her to return from school on snowy days. She hadn’t shown her feelings, and she regretted that now. Mrs. Abbot handed Ava the bag she’d brought with her. There was a white envelope tied to it with a strand of rope. “I hope you like your gift. And I hope you’ll be happy.”

Ava watched her grandmother walk toward the square, disappearing into the bustling crowd, nearly invisible in her gray coat. The gift she’d brought was a small, rooted cutting of an apple tree from the orchard. The bark smelled fresh and sweet, and Ava couldn’t help but smile. Other than her suitcase, it was the only thing Ava took with her when she left Lilith House. Perhaps this twisted cutting would become a witch’s tree and yield black apples, the sort that were perfect for pies. But that wasn’t the only gift her grandmother had brought her. Written on the paper wrapped around the cutting was her mother’s address.