The Unfortunate Side Effects of Heartbreak and Magic(36)

Sadie snorted and stretched her neck from side to side, trying to alleviate some of the tightness that had settled there in the last few hours.

“What’re you, his new spokesperson?”

“Your problem,” Raquel went on, “is that you pretend to be a hard ass. You pretend you don’t care. But you never let go of hope. Because if there’s even the tiniest chance that someone can be redeemed, you’ll never let go.”

“Because I’m stupid,” Sadie groaned. “I mean, if anyone should have learned from the past, it’s me. But my skull is thicker than a ten-foot fence.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Raquel said, laughing.

“You know what I mean! I’m dumb. Slap my ass and call me Sally. Put a fork in me. Whatever. God, I can’t even get my ‘isms’ right. It’s just—yeah, you’re right, I guess. Shut up. Do not respond to that. But I do have a hard time letting go. Despite all the heartbreak. And damn, the hope is what kills you, you know? That’s why I have to smother it. No smoke. No embers. Stamp it out.”

“My dad says that the thing about the past is that when there’s pain, that’s all you remember. But when there’s joy, even if it’s a little bit, you forget all the shitty things that went along with it. I mean I added the ‘shitty’ part because you know he’d never say that. But that’s why people make terrible decisions over and over again.”

“Do you think I make terrible decisions over and over again?”

“I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Gigi asked me what I wanted out of life.”

“A loaded question if ever there was one,” Raquel observed.

“She asked me why I never pursued my dream of publishing a cookbook. Or teaching those cooking classes.”

“Oh my gosh! Remember how you outlined an entire series? It was all color coded and everything, you little freak. Why did you give up on that? You know what? Don’t answer that. Look, I know you’re happy here. Nobody loves this town more than you do. But it’s okay to have dreams too, you know?”

The crunch of tires on gravel heralded Seth’s arrival. She was out the door before he’d even turned the car off.

He carried Gigi to the couch despite her protestations, and Sadie could tell by the look on his face that Gigi had told him about her cancer. There was a hollowness to his eyes she hadn’t seen there before. Raquel kissed Gigi, hugged Seth, and then cupped Sadie’s cheeks in her hands.

“You’ve got this,” she whispered before she left.

“Stop hovering,” Seth hissed as Sadie rearranged the blanket around Gigi for the third time.

“Mind your own business,” she answered back.

“God, I forgot how annoying you were.”

“Too bad I didn’t forget what an ass you were,” she answered.

“You two,” Gigi croaked, and though her voice was tired it still held all the command it had when they’d fought during their childhood.

“Sorry,” they chorused.

“I told you there were things you needed to know,” Gigi said as soon as the door closed behind Sadie’s best friend. “And now’s the time. I’ve got a story to tell, and you’re not going to like it and you’re not going to like how it ends. But this is the way of things, and I’ve kept it in order for as long as I can, but it’s time to know the truth. Matters need settling.”

“Well, how’s that for fucking ominous,” Seth said, blowing out a sharp breath.

“Shut up and let her tell the story,” Sadie said.

“It starts with your mother. Of all my kids, I know I’ve never talked much about her. Raising five children, it’s—well, you do the best you can. But there are some things you need to know. Just remember, I did the best I could. And I didn’t know—but then again, I’m getting ahead of myself. Your mother—boy, she was wild as a March hare from the moment she could walk and talk. The older she got, the worse it got. I swear that girl didn’t have a brain in her head sometimes. Florence—your mother—she was the middle child, the wild one. And then your Aunt Tava, she was …”

“The unhinged one?” Seth chimed in.

“Quirky,” Sadie corrected him. “I miss her.”

“She was the oldest,” Gigi continued. “So, she got to figure out who she was without anyone telling her who she should be. And then Kay—hoo boy—my second born. It’s been years and years since you kids have seen her.”

“I remember covering my ears a lot when she would visit,” Seth said.

“She never did know how to talk quietly,” Gigi said with amusement. “She’s the dramatic one. Her magic was always unstable, too volatile. Your Aunt Anne, the second youngest, she was always a little nervous Nellie. She was sick when she was young. I think I coddled her too much, and it stuck with her. And then the baby, your Uncle Brian. The genius Mr. Know-It-All.

“For each of them, their magic was different. They all took to it in different ways. But Florence, she was a firecracker, all right. It wasn’t until she turned eight that I realized she was an amplifier, a conduit.”

“A what?” Seth asked at the same time Sadie breathed, “Oh.”