Page 55

Chapter Fifty-Five

W hit glanced between his mom and Clover. After they’d set the dining tables, Clover brought the hors d'oeuvres into the parlor and set them on the coffee table.

The atmosphere was heavy, but at least it wasn’t hostile. The repeat of the Thanksgiving Day parade played, muted, on the television as they nibbled on the snacks.

Mom asked simple, polite questions about who would be joining them from Clover’s family and if she needed any help in the kitchen. Clover answered with equal politeness. Mom complimented the cheeseball. Clover thanked her.

When another knock sounded on the front door, Clover popped up from her seat.

“I’ll get it,” she said.

Whit looked over at Mom, who jerked her chin to tell him to go with Clover. He rose from his seat and followed after her.

Clover opened the door, grinning to find her parents and brother there.

“Thanks for coming. Come on in,” she invited.

“Welcome,” Whit added stiffly with a nod.

As the summer sorcerers and witch stepped into his house, they seemed bright and bursting with energy. It was such a complete change from his earlier interaction with them that Whit wondered if it wasn’t forced.

“Where’s the kitchen?” Clover’s mom asked, holding a tinfoil-covered pie plate in each hand.

“I’ll show you,” Clover answered.

“Honey, could you bring the whipped cream?” her mom asked, turning to her husband, who carried a grocery bag in one hand.

Llewellyn came in last. “Brother-in-law,” he greeted, nodding at Whit. “We made this for the table.”

Llewellyn offered Whit a square vase with an assortment of fall-colored flowers; Whit only recognized the sunflowers and orange roses.

“Thank you.” Whit accepted the vase. “I’ll put it on the table.”

As Whit moved toward the dining room, Llewellyn followed.

“Where should we put our coats?” he asked, slipping his jacket off.

Whit placed the flowers at the center of the large dining table. “Oh, right. Um…I’ll take them and put them in the library.”

He took Llewellyn’s coat and grabbed his mother’s off the back of a dining room chair as well. Then he went into the kitchen to collect the rest.

After having put the pies and whipped cream into the fridge, everyone trickled into the parlor.

Clover was introducing Whit’s mother to her family when he returned from putting the coats away.

Everyone greeted each other politely, and Llewellyn immediately sat down on the floor next to the coffee table—reaching for the stuffed celery first.

Whit looked around. There wouldn’t be enough seating for everyone, but he’d already had to use the folding chairs for the kids’ table in the dining room. Still, no one looked uncomfortable. Mom, Clover, and her mom sat on the couch. Her dad settled into an armchair, and Llewellyn seemed content with his place on the floor.

Mom was telling them that she ran the cemetery next door when more visitors arrived.

Again, Whit and Clover answered the door together. This time it was Caldwell, Eirwen, and the boys. Aunt Cheri was walking up the drive. They were promptly on time as usual.

Whit introduced Clover to everyone, who nodded and thanked her for the invite. Aunt Cheri watched Clover with a particularly keen gaze. But it seemed Caldwell had done his job well because she didn’t say anything untoward.

The parlor was getting rather full at this point, so some of the visitors overflowed across the hall into the dining room. Except for his mother, it was split by faction, with the winter faction in the dining room and the summer faction in the parlor.

As Whit returned from stacking more coats in the library, he glanced around the space. He didn’t see Clover anywhere. He found her in the kitchen, pouring soda into a few glasses.

She looked over at his arrival.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“So far so good. I just basted the turkey, and no one has said anything rude. I think this could actually work.”

Whit smiled at her. “Let me help you.”

He grabbed some of the glasses and followed Clover into the dining room.

“Here you are.” Clover beamed at his family.

Aunt Cheri covered her nose with her handkerchief and sneezed. Her eyes were red and puffy. She sneezed again.

“Aunt Cheri, are you all right?” Whit asked.

“Of course I’m not all right,” Aunt Cheri snapped, her voice thick with phlegm. “You know I’m allergic to flowers.”

Clover gasped, her eyes darting to the centerpiece her family had so thoughtfully brought. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll just”—she snatched up the vase—“take this somewhere else.”

Clover skittered from the room and headed upstairs.

“Can I do anything to help, Aunt Cheri? Do you want some antihistamines?”

“It’s a little late to start thinking about that now,” she said miserably.

“Come on, Mom,” Caldwell admonished. “It was an honest mistake. You aren’t that allergic. You’ll feel better after you take the pills.”

Aunt Cheri pursed her lips, clearly holding back a lot more she wanted to say. “I have some in my purse.”

As Aunt Cheri went to the study to retrieve her allergy medication, another knock sounded at the door. Clover came down the stairs just in time to open it with him.

It was Erie, her husband, and Crane.

“Zio!” Crane shouted, rushing in to hug Whit’s leg.

“I see someone’s got a new favorite,” Clover murmured.

“Zio, I told Mom and Dad all about our safari! You have to show them! Do you think a giraffe would fit in the house? Maybe we should do it outside.” Crane tugged on Whit’s hand. “Let’s go into the yard.”

“Crane, we just arrived. Don’t you want to say hello to everyone first?” Erie asked.

Crane looked very much like she did not.

“Go on, Zio Llew, Nan, and Tad-cu are in there,” Erie coaxed.

“And guess what?” Clover added. “There are even other kids you can play with.”

Crane’s eyes widened. “Really? Where?”

“Right in there.” Clover pointed to the card table covered in an orange plastic tablecloth she’d designated as the kids’ table.

The boys were sitting on the folding chairs with their tablets.

Crane rushed into the dining room to engage them.

“Whit, this is my husband, Antony,” Erie introduced the short man with dark hair beside her.

Whit shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Antony.”