Page 56

Chapter Fifty-Six

C lover clutched internally at her hopeful mood. Other than Lina’s surprise, everything had started out so well. Granted, the families mostly kept to themselves, but at least they weren’t being hostile toward one another.

Sure, Whit’s aunt being allergic to the flowers her parents had brought wasn’t great, but she looked much better now that she’d taken her pills and Clover had moved the flowers to her bedroom.

Now was the time for the ultimate test. She called to everyone that dinner was ready.

While her side of the family trickled in from the parlor, she watched as each of them noticed the ancestor altar—and the photos of her grandparents.

“Do you mind if I sit on that side of the table?” Mom asked, pointing to the side where Whit’s family was settling. “I don’t think I’ll be able to enjoy the food if my dead mother is staring at me.”

Clover tensed, glancing at the winter sorcerers and witches, who frowned.

“Did you not have a good relationship with your mother?” Melanie asked curiously.

Now Mom frowned. “Our relationship was fine.”

“You can sit wherever you’re most comfortable,” Whit chimed in.

A general feeling of annoyance emanated from the winter witches as they all switched to the other side of the table.

“What happened to the flowers?” Llew asked as he sat down between Antony and Mom.

“Someone was allergic, so I moved them,” Clover said.

“Allergic to flowers?” Mom commented. “That’s awful.”

As everyone settled into their chairs, Clover stood at the end of the table. “We’re going to make two offering plates before we start: one for the ancestors and one for the Good Neighbors.”

The gathered sorcerers and witches all looked equally uncomfortable.

Crane raised her hand enthusiastically. “Can I give the plate to the Little People?”

Clover smiled at her niece. “Of course. What about you, boys? Colin? Bryan? Would you like to help Crane make an offering to the house spirit, Marigold?”

“No,” Eirwen said, her voice quick with panic. “My children will not be making any fae contracts.”

Erie snorted. “They aren’t making contracts. It’s just an offering.”

Eirwen shook her head firmly. “We don’t need to invite them in.”

Erie quirked her mouth. “They’re already here, though.”

Eirwen’s eyes widened as she glanced around.

“I’ll help Crane make the offering,” Whit said. “I know where to leave it.”

Clover smiled over at her husband, his words cooling the brewing conflict.

After making up two plates, Clover placed one on the ancestor altar while Whit and Crane took the other to Marigold.

When they returned, Whit finished carving the turkey, and everyone started passing dishes around.

Clover thought that with silverware clinking and mouths full, the atmosphere would gradually get less tense, but the near silence and forced proximity only made it worse.

Crane had no such awareness of the situation. Getting up from her seat at the kids’ table, she approached her mother.

“Mama, can I go outside and play?”

Erie glanced over at Crane’s still-full plate. “Not until you eat your food.”

“But I’m not hungry. I want Zio Whit to show me a giraffe. You said I could ask him when we came over.”

Erie was the epitome of patience. “Zio is eating right now. You need to eat before you play.”

“But Moooom?—”

“Crane,” Antony scolded. “This is not a negotiation. Eat your food, or you won’t get to play at all.”

Crane pouted her lips and stomped her tiny feet back to her seat.

“You know,” Eirwen said conversationally. “I read that children who can’t sit still have a hard time in school.”

Erie bristled, glancing over at the boys, who were engrossed in their tablets. “And I read that children who have too much screen time lack imagination and social skills.”

Eirwen’s polite facade slipped as she glared at Erie.

“This turkey is delicious,” Whit said. “Thank you for going to all the trouble, Clover.”

A nervous tingle ran over Clover’s skin, but she forced a smile. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry the bread didn’t turn out. It collapsed because I lost track of how long it was proofing.”

Clover had been completely distracted by Melanie’s reveal and had forgotten to put the bread in the oven on time.

“It’s fine,” Dad stated. “There’s more than enough food. You’ll have leftovers for days.”

Clover smiled. “Everyone is more than welcome to take some home.”

“I’m looking forward to the pie,” Melanie said helpfully, smiling over at Mom.

Whit’s aunt scowled. “Really, Melanie? You hate sweets.”

Melanie squirmed in her seat. “Pumpkin pie isn’t too sweet.”

Cheri clicked her tongue. “How long are we going to pretend that this is normal? Are we really going to indulge this nonsense?”

“By nonsense, you mean…?” Mom probed.

Cheri gestured between Whit and Clover. “This. All of this. None of us here are comfortable with this. It does no one any good to pretend.”

“Mom—” Caldwell interjected, his face flushing.

“No, Caldwell,” Cheri snapped. “I can’t stay silent. I was just as pleased as everyone else to learn that Whit had finally settled down. Little did I know. And I’ll tell you something else: Your grandfather is going to throw a fit. Now, I’ve agreed to keep my mouth shut—to let Whit tell him the truth. But this is outrageous. They have nothing in common. She brings flowers into the house; they make offerings to the fae ? There is a tacky paper chain hanging in the parlor for gods’ sakes! If I’d have known that this was what Whit would do, I would never have agreed to let him inherit the house instead of you. Your father would be ashamed of you, Whittaker.”

“That is not true, Cheri, and you know it,” Melanie defended. “My husband would be happy Whit found someone to love, someone who loves him. He wouldn’t have cared whether Clover was a summer witch or an ordinary.”

“Well, my Charlie would certainly have had something to say,” Cheri said.

“Yeah? Well, your Charlie was as snobby as you are. He always was,” Melanie shot back.

Cheri stood from the table. “I refuse to be talked to this way.”

Melanie blinked widely. “Feel free to leave, then.”

Sniffing hard through her nose, Cheri looked down at her son. “Caldwell, bring me my coat.”