Chapter 13 #2
Caleb grabs my hand from across the table, and I’m struck again by how strong they are. Such a small change, really, in the grand scheme of things, but it feels important. Another reminder that he’s not the boy I knew, this man sitting across from me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know him at all.
“The fact that that’s the way you think about Hazel, Ivy, tells me that you’re doing exactly what you need to do for her. She knows that you love her. She knows that you’re there for her. She’s figuring out who she is still. She’s still young. Younger than we are, at least.”
Caleb laughs at that, and I can’t help but laugh too. Because she is. She’s almost ten years younger than me, which is probably why I still see her as a baby.
“Thank you,” I tell him, and I squeeze the hand that’s still holding mine. “Thank you for helping her tonight and making sure I didn’t get soaking wet by carrying me into the front of the house.”
I pause, realizing how that sounds.
He quirks an eyebrow, and for a minute the tension between us is so thick it practically crackles.
“From the rain,” I say loudly, obnoxiously so.
And then we both burst out laughing. And my God, it’s just so easy with him. So easy.
But for a second I don’t want to take it slow.
I want to see exactly what I’ve been missing.
But I don’t. I squeeze his hand one more time then I let it go to cup my hot chocolate and sip it.
Because sometimes slow is so much sweeter than fast, and I have a feeling that taking our time getting to know each other again will be just as sweet as I hope it will be.
“What are you going to do about the lighthouse?” I ask—and then I gasp, my eyes going wide because I realize I need to tell him about the rune on the lighthouse.
“Well, that’s weird,” Caleb says. And he doesn’t laugh because he knows that’s something that’s deeply wrong. And I know that if I try to tell him it’s fine, pretend like there’s nothing on that light up those stairs, that he’ll know I’m lying and I don’t want to lie to him anymore.
“And the reason I ran out of here,” I say, carefully lowering the mug, watching what’s left of the marshmallows slowly descend, degrade into the chocolatey brown, “is because there was a rune or something on top of your light upstairs.”
“The lighthouse light?” Caleb clarifies. “A rune? I don’t know what that means.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what it means either. It’s like a big glowing symbol up there. It’s definitely magical. I could feel it. That’s why I went upstairs when you went to go turn the generator on. I don’t know what it means, though."
Gunner puts a paw on my thigh, and I scratch behind his ears absentmindedly, trying to collect my thoughts.
That, and not freak him out, though, I have to admit, he’s handling it all pretty damn well.
"Caleb, I’ve been trying to figure it out all day, and my sisters have been helping me and we’re scared that something’s happening.
" I stop scratching for a moment, making Gunner whine before I pick it back up. "You know, all the weird things that have been happening. The coffee makers not working. That has something to do with magic and Silverlight Shore and the four of us, and we don’t know—”
“Calm down. Ivy, take a breath.”
I do as he asks, which feels a little strange because typically I’d fight. But I take that breath, and I breathe out slowly.
“I can help you,” he says. “I might not know magic, but I know Silverlight Shore and I know this coast. And I’m good at solving problems.”
It’s funny the way my shoulders immediately relax hearing that. Just saying it out loud, giving some of that burden to someone else who says they can help. Wow.
“Fine,” I tell him. “Okay.”
“What should we do first?” he asks. “Is there like some kind of magic book or a spell you do to figure out how to fix these things?”
I bite my lip, my eyebrows raised in spite of myself.
“I really wish that were the case,” I reply, then take another slow sip of my hot cocoa.
It’s lukewarm now. Well past magma mode.
“As far as I know, we don’t have any kind of grimoire.
That’s what it’s called, by the way, a spellbook.
My friend in Texas was lucky enough to find one, but really it’s just us four and our grandma that knew anything about it, and I don’t think our grandmother would want us to bother her with this.
I have a feeling she wants us to figure it out on our own. ”
“She did leave us a scrapbook. I found it and it had a recipe for bread, of all the things. A strange recipe for bread made in a cast iron pan. Had something to do with Nonna. Had something to do with the last hurricane that nearly hit. But it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well,” Caleb says, standing up. He puts his hands on his hips. “Just so happens I have a cast iron pan. Just so happens I really like bread. Who doesn’t like bread?”
Thunder rolls again. Further away now, quieter. But the sound of waves lashing the shoreline is still loud.
“Let’s make some bread,” he says.
I nod because what else are we going to do? Besides bread never hurt anybody. Well, that’s not true. I suppose gluten is its own form of evil magic. It’s one I’m willing to take a risk on at this point in my life.
I stand up too, still clutching my hot cocoa mug like it’s a lifeline, and Gunner rolls over onto his side, stretching his legs long out, half asleep.
Caleb follows my gaze to the sleeping dog.
“I still can’t believe he talks.”
“Yeah, it gets some getting used to,” I tell him. “It surprised me at first. Grandma had a familiar that was a cat, but he didn’t like to talk to us very much.”
“That makes me wonder… the ferret? Oatmeal?” Caleb asks.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “That’s Posey’s familiar.”
“The bird?” he asks.
“Yep, Fig is Rose’s familiar, too.”
“Umm, what about Hazel? She didn’t have any animals with her.”
I cringe. “It’s a sore subject,” I tell him.
“Hazel’s magic is different than ours. It’s less settled.
She didn’t get a familiar when she came of age.
It’s about 16, by the way, for witches. So she takes it pretty personally.
I think it’s one of the reasons she left.
We all did our best to make her feel like it wasn’t a problem. ”
“But hey,” Caleb says, “you don’t have to talk about it. Let’s just make the bread, yeah?”
“You know what, that sounds pretty good,” I tell him.
Before long we’ve got the ingredients assembled.
It’s a pretty easy recipe to remember. Helps that all I do all day is remember and make up recipes.
Caleb’s uncle’s cast iron pan is well seasoned, though we make sure to coat it with a generous amount of avocado oil before letting the bread rise in it.
Once the dough is shaped with a damp towel over it, we lean against the flour dusted countertop and look at each other.
“How long do you think it needs to rise?” he asks. “I might make Thai food, but I have to say I really don’t make bread from scratch very often.”
“Listen, I’m impressed you had yeast in the house,” I tell him.
“I had no idea it was in the fridge,” Caleb admits. “I think it has been here since my uncle.”
“Well, it’ll keep for a while in the fridge.” I shrug.
“It’s definitely fine,” he tells me, “and if not we’ve got your magical remedies. The eye of newt or whatever.”
I laugh at that. “As far as I know, I don’t have a remedy for food poisoning, but I think we’re safe.”
“If you think we’re safe, then we’re safe,” Caleb tells me. “Should we watch a movie while we wait?”
“Sounds really good,” I tell him. “Can’t remember the last time we watched a movie together.”
“I wanna say it was one of the Fast and Furious movies.”
“Timeless classics. Art.” I pinch my thumb and forefingers together and pinch the tips. “Cinema.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“It’s all those things and it’s family,” I tell him. It’s not a very good Dominic Toretto impression, but Caleb laughs all the same.
We step over Gunner as we head for the small couch and the TV that sits on the wall next to a bunch of glittered knickknacks. Cardboard boxes are still strewn all over the floor, half filled, labeled in Sharpie.
“Do you want me to help pack anything up?” I ask him. “We could do that instead.”
“No,” he says. “Maybe some of this should stay.”
I look away, trying not to blush again, a small smile dancing around my lips.
We sit on the couch. Not too close. Not far away from each other. Caleb reaches over, his fingers grazing the top of my hand. Automatically I’ve turned my hand over, palm to palm, and we sit there for a long minute in silence, just holding hands.
“So it’s okay?” Caleb asks. “Or was it too fast? Too furious? This handholding?”
I laugh again. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much.
“I don’t know, buddy. Some pretty hot and heavy stuff right here.”
Caleb grins. “So what are you thinking? Fast Five?”
“Absolutely,” I say, “unless you want to go for my favorite.”
“I still can’t believe Tokyo Drift is your favorite. You’re a menace.”
“It’s not my fault you don’t have any taste,” I tell him. “It’s objectively the best in the franchise.”
“I think a lot of people would differ with that opinion,” Caleb says. “Mosly everyone.”
A few minutes later Fast Five is screaming across the TV.
Gunner makes little dog sounds as he dreams, his toenails scraping across the floor as his paws wriggle.
The rain outside has settled into a steady downpour, none of the tumultuousness of the storm that first crashed across Silverlight Shore.
I don’t know how long it is or how many car chases we’ve watched before I find myself falling asleep. I don’t even bother fighting it. I feel safe. For the first time in a really long time I feel hopeful.