18. Magnolia
THE FIRST PERSON I want to see is Clementine. I have a feeling about something, but I need to actually see her to know if it’s true. I step out of the willow tree’s canopy and am at her cottage in minutes, banging on the door as if my very life depended on it.
And, in a way, it kind of does.
“Hang on, for crying out loud!” she says, then opens the door. Her eyes are wild, her face is flushed, her shirt’s on backward, and I’m positive that those pants aren’t hers.
“Your hair!” she exclaims.
I wave it away. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re pregnant.”
“Wha—” she starts, then gapes at me while I smirk, wholly satisfied with myself.
“Clem, what’s…oh,” Quinton comes up behind her, shirtless and in some very, very tight pants.
I point at them. “Q, are you wearing Clementine’s pants?”
He looks down, then back up. “Uh…Clem, you wanna take this?”
Finally seeming to come back to herself, Clementine yanks me inside and shuts the door, then whirls on me. “Forget your hair. Who told you? How do you know?”
I laugh. “So it’s true? Oh, Clementine,” the tears threatening to come yet again, “I’m so excited for you two!”
She lets me wrap her in a hug, then mutters, “Yeah, well, you also just barged in on sexy time with my husband, so this better be good.”
I release her and take a closer look. “Ah. Explains the pants,” I motion between the two of them. “Sorry about that. Nice legs, Q.”
Clementine swats me. “Eyes off my hot chocolate, woman.”
Quinton snorts, “Nice one, babe,” then ambles off.
Clementine watches him leave, clearly watching his butt. When he turns out of sight, she finally looks back at me. “How did you know?”
I take a breath. “It’s a long story, For now, I’ll just say that I’m getting my magic back.”
Her mossy eyes widen as she grabs my arms. “What? Getting it back? That means you lost it? When? Where? How?”
I laugh and loosen myself from her overly strong grip. “I needed to see you to know if I was right.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You’re right, but you’re still missing something.”
I raise my eyebrows even higher. “You mean the fact that you’re having twins?”
She shrieks and punches me.
“Ow!” I yelp, cradling my upper arm. “Why are we resorting to violence?”
“Because you’re ruining my fun!” She gears up to punch me again.
“Whoa there, little sis.” I open the front door with one hand and hold the other up to shield myself while I scoot out. “I’m not going to tell anyone—I promise,” I say.
“You will if they ask,” she pouts.
I consider that. “Nope,” I say. “I won’t.”
Quinton reappears with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and hands it to Clementine with a flourish. “For my love,” he says, winking at her. As she takes it and shoves what I swear is half the sandwich into her mouth like an unhinged monster, Quinton turns to me.
“We planned on telling the family at a Sunday dinner soon. Can you keep it under wraps until then?”
I nod, grimacing as my sweet baby sister shoves the last quarter of the sandwich into her maw. “Good lord.”
Quinton chuckles. “Yeah. She’s kind of…voracious.”
“Bedroom. Now,” Clementine demands behind him.
I watch her pivot and head toward their bedroom, yanking off her shirt as she goes. “Is she at least going to brush her teeth?” I whisper.
“Not a chance.” He shuts the door in my face.
Fair enough. I head to the greenhouse for some supplies, then back to our house. For the first time in twenty years, I’ve got some research to do.
I’min the living room, deep in Mom’s Field Guide to Canadian Curses And How to Combat Them, when Jasmine walks in, muttering under her breath about idiot sous chefs and yanking her black chef’s coat off.
“Holy shit!” she screeches, holding a hand over her heart and heaving in a breath. “Where did you come from?”
I mark my place in the book and close it, leaning back onto the couch and eyeing her. “Been here the whole time.”
She shakes her head, narrowing her eyes. “No…no. I always know when my sisters are in the house, and where they are in the house. And you…weren’t there. Or, I guess, here,” she says, waving her hand around.
I shrug. “Well, I’m here. Wanna tell me what’s going on with idiot sous chefs?”
She shakes her head. “Absolutely not. Wanna tell me what’s going on with Canadian curses?”
“Not yet.”
She hums. “Can I make you something to eat?”
“You mean so you can get me to tell you everything when you put an intention into the food?” I scoff. “Not likely.”
“I mean…maybe I’d do that,” she says, unbraiding her long auburn hair and bending at the waist to shake it out. “Ahh, almost as good as taking off my bra,” she sighs as she straightens. “In fact…” she trails off and proceeds to do exactly that, removing the pale pink cotton offender as though it’s the cause of all her woes. Then she flops on the couch. “Much better.”
I look down at the socked feet she’s put in my lap. “Why are these here?”
“Because if you’re not going to spill your secrets, then you’re going to massage my feet. Consider it payment for scaring the daylights out of me earlier.”
I grab a foot and get to work, remembering the massage Riggs gave me not that long ago. As Jasmine purrs with satisfaction, something occurs to me. “Hey, Jaz?”
“Hmm?”
“What did you mean when you said you know where we are in the house?”
“Ooh, harder on the arch—yes, bless your fucking soul.” She tosses her head back and bends an arm over her face. “Better than sex.”
She mutters something else, but I don’t catch it. “What?”
“Nothing,” she answers.
“What about seeing us in the house?” I prod.
“Just something I’ve always been able to do. I can sense where each of you are, but only on our property.”
“Not just the house?”
“Nope.”
“Well, that explains why you always killed it at hide and seek,” I grumble.
She laughs. “Yep.”
As I rub her feet, the moans coming out of her sounding way more like sexual pleasure than I’d prefer, I try to recall when I last spent any quality time with Jasmine. And it hits me: not since before my Sixteenth Gathering.
I have a lot to make up for.