Chapter 11
Eleven
It takes the three of us a lot longer to walk back to Sugar & Salt than it did for us to walk to Nonna’s Table, likely on account of the fact we’re all having to stop and groan and rub our stomachs every few steps.
“Why do we let her bully us into eating that much?” Rose rubs her stomach, a painful set to her mouth.
“Because it’s so worth it.” Posey pats Rose’s stomach, and she swats her hand away.
“Until it isn’t,” Rose moans. “I did not need six cannoli. I definitely didn’t need seven.”
“I don’t know, I think you did,” Posey says. “I could eat ten more right now.” The slightly pained set of her eyes tells me she’s lying.
A trickle of sweat runs down my temple in spite of the chill blowing off the bay and fully thanks to the amount of cheese congealing in my arteries.
“How the hell are we supposed to bake enough bread for the whole town? We have maybe two cast iron pans total.” I rub the tiny charm on my necklace in frustration.
My sisters stop, Rose clutching at Posey’s arm, her forehead scrunched up tight. “That was your takeaway?”
“Well, yeah?” I put my hands on my hips, trying to somehow elongate my torso to make room for all the food that’s just sitting there.
“This wasn’t about bread.” Rose juts her chin out stubbornly.
“But they turned the storm by baking everyone that weird bread in the cast iron pans.” I start walking again, mildly irritated by my sisters’ refusal to understand. “That was the whole thing.”
“Oh, Ivy,” Rose says, and Posey shakes her head slowly. “That was what they did, yeah, but we all know enough about how this works to know that the bread, the food — that wasn’t the real magic.”
“Then why did Grandma put that recipe napkin in the scrapbook?” I ask, knowing I sound slightly unhinged, but continuing on anyway.
“Because that food was how they delivered the magic. There wasn’t anything special about that bread—”
“You don’t know that. I make special food all the time.” I’m losing some control, and I blow out a breath, making myself smile at my younger sisters. “That’s my whole business.”
They frown at me.
“The food is just the expression of your magic. It isn’t your magic,” Rose says in a hushed voice. We all glance around surreptitiously, suddenly too aware that we’re arguing about the nature of magic out in the open.
Great.
“Then what was the point of that, other than I want to put on my stretchiest pants and take a four hour food coma?”
Rose’s normally happy expression turns slightly shielded, nervous, and she shares a long look with Posey. “The point was that whatever is going on in this town is because of you bottling up.”
I gasp, clutching at my collarbone. “You’re blaming me?”
“No, not like that, drama queen.” Posey rolls her eyes, then shoves me slightly so we keep walking toward the store.
“But you are so obsessed with doing everything right, with taking care of everybody else, that you don’t let anyone in.
Ever. And I think that is what Nonna meant when she said storms don’t always start at sea. ”
“Have you been listening to self-help podcasts again?” I grouse, deeply resentful of her too accurate read on me.
“So what if I have? At least I’m trying to be better.” Posey pokes my ribs, and I swat at her hand. “People who don’t adapt, don’t evolve… it’s like an engine. You have to tune it. Check the oil. Listen to what’s happening inside.”
“I know you are not comparing me to a car.”
“No, you’re much more messed up than a car.”
“Rude!” I gape at her.
“I can’t change your oil, Ivy. There’s some things you have to do for yourself.”
“I am perfectly fine, I don’t need an oil change!”
“You might after how much lasagna you ate.”
“Fair,” I say, sighing as I unlock the front door to Sugar & Salt then flip the sign on the inside to say Open. “I don’t see how this is all my fault, though.”
“Oh, I don’t think it is,” Rose says, marching over to the counter and scrubbing up to her elbows at the sink. “I think it has to do with all four of us. I think you, however, just need the biggest nudge.”
“Nudge to what?” I fling an arm around at the store, which looks gorgeous and perfect and smells the way a candy shop should — like heaven. “Look at this place! I am fine.”
Rose just gives me a sad little smile, and my chest hurts a little at the thought that maybe I’m not fine, not in any way that matters.
The hours slid by in cozy companionship, with enough sisterly teasing and random walk-ins that we’re all entertained and comfortably tired by the time we make it home for the night.
Nonna supplied us with lunch leftovers, which I promptly put in the fridge when we got home, because absolutely none of us can stomach the idea of eating anymore.
We did sample a lot of fudge and a new sour cherry gummy I’ve been working on, which might also have a little to do with our lack of appetite.
Just a little.
When the rain starts, a patter at first against the diamond glass windows, then in earnest, something shifts besides the barometric pressure.
“Do you feel that?” Rose asks, hand half-outstretched to the kettle on the counter.
“Hazel’s coming,” Posey says from the kitchen door.
“I thought I was the one with visions,” I say.
“Yeah, but I check my cellphone.” She holds her phone up with a grin.
A knock comes at the door, three loud, precise raps that are nothing like what Hazel would do. No, Hazel would simply burst in through the door, full of laughter and then collapse on the rug in front of the fire to wrestle with Gunner and tell us stories.
We look at each other for a split second before we all race from the kitchen to answer the door.
I get there first, nearly swinging the door into myself in my rush to solve whatever problem is knocking that hard on the front door.
Only to find Caleb standing there, Hazel holding on to him for dear life, her foot tucked up under her gingerly.
“Hazel, oh no, what happened?”
“She had a flat tire and slipped trying to carry her spare. By herself,” Caleb answers for her.
“I had it,” Hazel says, beaming up at us. “Or I would have, if I hadn’t you know, twisted my ankle.”
Posey and Rose immediately swoop past me, plucking Hazel from Caleb and frog-marching her through the house in a chorus of concerned mutterings.
Water begins to puddle where Hazel’s wet shoes have hit the floor, but the house immediately siphons the liquid away, and I try to block the doorway as much as possible.
Leaving me staring at Caleb.
And Caleb staring at me.
My stomach does a little flip, my heartrate picking up at the way his eyes darken. Or maybe it’s just my imagination, considering the light from the porch is fairly dim and it is quite dark and rainy.
“I can drive her car back here,” I tell him. “If you don’t mind giving me a ride—”
“Of course,” Caleb says. “If that’s what you want. I can also drive it down to you tomorrow, if that’s easier.”
“Don’t be silly,” I tell him, caught between annoyance at how easily he accedes to my request and relief that he’s so kind. Which makes no damn sense, but I never pretended to be good at this kind of thing.
I don’t even really know what this kind of thing is, anymore.
“Well, are you gonna come on or leave me standing here in the rain?” Caleb gives me a crooked smile, and my own answering smile surprises me.
“Let me grab my coat,” I say, and the house practically shoves my rain slicker into my hands the minute I open the small closet by the front door.
Gunner bounds past me, racing right into Caleb’s car without even a glance back.
By the time I get the coat on and jog out into the rain, Gunner’s eyes are half-closed with pure pleasure at the attention Caleb’s lavishing on him.
“Thanks,” I say breathlessly, clicking the seatbelt over my coat. “Sorry we’re getting your truck all wet.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s just water.”
“I know, but you already went out of your way to help Hazel, and now I’m asking you to do another favor—”
“Ivy. I want to help you. Let me help you.” His gaze is steady, warm as I know his touch would be.
I exhale slowly, my throat tight with the effort of not telling him no. Of letting him help me. “You already are,” I manage.
“Good,” he says simply. With that, he throws the truck into drive and takes off for wherever Hazel’s car is sitting on the side of the road.
Lightning forks overhead, and thunder cracks, so loud the truck shakes. I’m no stranger to storms — you can’t live on the coast without knowing exactly how tempestuous mother nature can be — and this particular storm looks like it’s shaping up to be a doozy.
“Shit,” Caleb says, and I crane my neck to see the road ahead’s washed out. “We’re not going to be able to get down there now.”
“I could have sworn the weather said today was going to be light drizzle,” I mutter, the words hardly audible over the noise of the rain pelting the car.
“That’s exactly what it said,” Caleb agrees, looking around before throwing the truck into reverse. “We’ll have to come back for her car when it’s safer. Sorry, Ivy.”
“No, don’t apologize, I should have realized that—”
“You should have realized the road was going to wash out?” He huffs a laugh. “Not even you could predict that.”
I blink, unsure what he means.
“Alright, let’s get you back—” Thunder rolls overhead, interrupting Caleb, so loud I jump.
Gunner whines softly, pressing his face into my chest for comfort.
It doesn’t take us long to realize that with the way the rain’s coming down, we’re not getting back.
In fact, it’s pretty much instantaneous when the streetlights go out.
“Watchmere?” Caleb asks.
“Let’s go,” I tell him, knowing this is absolutely not the moment to fuck around.
Watchmere was built straight into the rock, and even though it might be having whatever issues with the light, holing up there is not nearly as dangerous as trying to cut back through town in rising waters would be.
My fingers grip the overhead handle hard, and I catch myself holding my breath more than once as Caleb navigates through the streets and back up to Watchmere Light. Finally, he parks, then basically vaults out of the truck.
Gaping, I watch him run around the front of the car — well, as best as I can considering the high beams are off and it’s a torrential downpour — and a moment later Caleb’s opening my door and hauling me up against him.
Gunner barks and jumps out as I squeal, effectively thrown over Caleb’s shoulder.
“I’m not gonna melt. I can walk.”
I kick my feet a little, trying to wriggle my way out of his grip, because what the hell is he thinking? I am fully capable of walking and I am absolutely not going to melt in the rain. And even if I were going to melt in the rain, carrying me inside wouldn’t help.
Unfortunately for me, wriggling around only serves to highlight just how strong Caleb has gotten… and all the years we’ve spent apart. The thought has me ceasing to struggle at all. Then we’re passing through his front door into the lighthouse and all I can think is that it smells like him.