Page 33 of Witch and Tell
I made a mental note to get out the antacids. “Sounds great.”
“Let’s eat outside. The heat has brought out a second flush of roses.”
Normally I’d jump at the chance to sit in a lawn chair in the crazy quilt of roses, dahlias, and zinnias outside. When Lalena had inherited the trailer from her aunt, its yard had been an expanse of white rock. Slowly, Lalena had replaced the rock with fresh soil and plants, and now her yard matched her character: messy, lovely, and slightly eccentric.
Today, however, I was on the alert for Babe Hamilton. “Outside would be nice.” As if I’d only just thought of it, I added, “Have you seen Babe lately?”
The cork gave a hollowpopas Lalena opened the bottle of wine. “Didn’t you hear the news?”
“Hear what?”
“She’s giving up her booth and leaving Wilfred. It was all really sudden. In fact, she might already be gone.” She pushed aside the kitchen window’s ruffled curtain. “Her car’s not in the drive.”
She’d left town? It couldn’t be this easy. My magic was truly powerful. I’d vanquished a witch. “I wonder why she left?”
Lalena shrugged. “Family emergency? Beats me.”
When we’d settled outside, I sprang my news. “I might have a lead on Ian.”
Lalena paused, malted milk ball in hand. “What?”
“Orson says Ian is from Baltimore. They’ve talked about it when Ian was watching baseball at the bar.”
“Baltimore. Really?” Lalena’s focus softened, as if she were picturing Ian as a kid among the row houses.
I nodded. “The construction manager at the Empress is from Baltimore, too. I wonder if Ian saw him— Tyrone Beaudrie is his name—and fled? They might have a past.”
Lalena stared thoughtfully into the distance. “Tyrone. Ian never mentioned him. Of course, he never mentioned Baltimore, either. Tyrone is the snappy dresser, right?”
“Shined shoes, ironed button-down, that’s him. I asked him if he knew Ian, but the name didn’t ring any bells.”
“If I’d brought up Baltimore to Ian, I bet he would have switched the conversation to Edgar Allan Poe.” She drew her attention back to me. “What would scare him so much that he’d leave town without telling me?”
“I wish I knew.” I pushed the pickle-flavored chips toward her. “It’s the not-knowing that’s the worst, isn’t it?”
Sadly, I spoke from experience. Sam had cut me out of his life as if I’d never existed. If anyone had asked me a month ago if he’d ever do anything like this— refuse to even give me a reason for utterly ghosting me—I’d have insisted they were wrong. That it wasn’t like him to behave that way. Sam had always acted with integrity. Once he returned all the way to the P.O. Grocery during a downpour to refund a quarter to the cashier who’d accidentally given him too much change.
But I was the wrong one. I’d revealed who I truly was, a witch, and therefore ceased to exist for him. That he wouldn’t face me to explain hurt even more.
“Why does it always end like this?” Lalena asked. I’d never heard this kind of pain in her voice. “Always.”
“Surely you’ve had good relationships, and you will again,” I said.
“No.”
“But,” I said, “men love you. And you love them.” Lalena had a reputation for falling for bad boys. Ian, although mysterious, had seemed like something new. Unless he wasn’t.
“So what if men are interested in me?” She clasped her hands in her lap. “Sure, they’re intrigued, and, sure, I know how to engage a guy looking for a diversion, but that doesn’t mean I can keep a relationship going more than a few months. The thing is….”
“What, Lalena?”
“The thing is, as I told you, I was sure it was different this time.”
I understood. I had thought it was different for me, too. I had felt so at ease with Sam. Not that he was perfect, but I loved his quirks and felt confident he loved mine. Still, I asked, “How?”
She let out a sigh more eloquent than words. “It was so easy to talk with him. I felt I could be myself, and we had so much fun together.” The look on her face broke my heart. “We did dumb stuff together, like pretend we were part of a reality TV show. We laughed so hard. You should see his Donald Duck impersonation.”
I felt as if my grandmother’s words were leaving my lips. “Your grief is proof of your love.”