Chapter Nine
NINE
The universe was working in his favor.
Greg stood in the kitchen, and under Faye’s guidance, worked hard to complete the baladur mixture for their breakfast. Over the last week, Faye had been making him the tiny magic cakes in order to help induce the return of his memory. Having both observed her and read a book on the topic, he was excited to try his hand at aiding her in one of her magical recipes.
With mortar in hand, and his pestle waiting on the counter, he collected the ingredients. “Cloves,” he said, practicing his words as he grabbed each item. “Long peppers, dates...ginger, muskat nuts...”
Faye stopped him. “Don’t forget the galangal root.”
“Ga...langal root,” he repeated. “Almost forgot.”
He reached for the ingredient.
It was incredible how much he was progressing. He still wasn’t capable of speaking complex words and sentences, but he was able to form words with multiple syllables. And while he still needed to take his time, life was feeling less frustrating.
“That’s what I’m here for.” Faye took a seat at the counter.
Greg began grinding the mixture. While he had seen Faye do it every morning, it was reading Jewish Magic Through the Ages that really solidified the meaning behind the process for him.
Jewitch magic was done within the sphere of Judaism and Jewish law. There were also two components to the magical act—the physical and the emotional. It was important that each act be done with intention, and that the paste he was making all be measured in equal quantities.
After the paste was complete, he would pour it into a cake batter that Faye had waiting on the side. Then, he would dump that batter into muffin tins—seven in total, as seven was a special number in Jewitch magic—before using a branch of a rosemary leaf to write the name Sar HaTorah into the top of each. Finally, the cakes would be baked at three hundred sixty degrees for exactly twenty-eight minutes.
Faye folded her chin into the palm of her hand. “I appreciate you humoring me with these rituals, being so open to my Jewitch beliefs and magic.”
“Not humoring you,” he said, pouring his paste into the cake batter. “You make me...believe.”
Faye seemed tickled. “I make you believe in magic?”
“No,” Greg clarified. “You are...magic.”
Her lips parted.
Greg smiled and returned to his cake mixture. “Now you’re...speechless.”
His joke did the trick.
She laughed, tossing her whole head back.
“You comedian,” she said softly.
He didn’t remember what that was. “Comedian?”
“It’s a person who makes jokes for a living.”
“Sounds like—” Greg raised one eyebrow playfully “—a funny way...to make a living.”
This time, she nearly spit out her magical tea. He loved seeing her that way, happy and open. It made his heart soar.
“Goddess give me strength,” she said, catching her breath. “That is either the best, or worst, dad joke I have ever heard.”
“Dad joke?” He didn’t know what that was, either.
She attempted to explain. “A dad joke is like a corny, punchy pun. It’s funny but also makes you roll your eyes.”
Greg put the muffin pan in the oven, setting the timer for twenty-eight minutes. “Why...do dads make them...and not moms?”
The question stumped her. “I don’t actually know.”
“Did...your dad?”
“My dad?” Quiet for a moment, she drifted away, looking towards the wall, her eyes not meeting his own. She always did that when she talked about her family. Finally, she found her words. “My dad wasn’t very funny.”
Faye got up and started straightening up around the house.
“I wonder,” Greg mused. “About...my dad.”
He was surprised how sad saying the words aloud made him feel.
“You still don’t remember anything, huh?” Faye asked sympathetically.
“Pictures,” he explained. “Words. But no...link.”
“I’m sorry, Greg.”
He was sorry, too.
The bell above the door downstairs rattled before someone began knocking. Faye glanced down at the watch she was wearing. “Someone’s here early,” she said, and rose to head downstairs. “Guess I should go deal with that.”
Greg stopped her. “Let me,” he said, taking off his apron. “You watch...the cakes.”
He wanted to do it. It was good for Greg to be practicing his speaking skills with other people. Plus, it made him feel useful to be able to help Faye out around Magic Mud Pottery. Thankfully, Faye agreed.
Greg hopped down the stairs and found a woman peering through the glass of the front door. A small girl was wrapped up in a coat beside her. Greg unlocked the door.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said, clearly flustered. “I know it’s super early, but are you guys open right now?”
“We open at ten,” he explained. “But why don’t...you come inside.”
She sighed, relieved. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much you are saving me right now.”
The little girl followed her mother. Three tiny fingers found their way inside her mouth, and he watched her eyes trail up—all the way up—from his knees to his head. It wasn’t the first time a little kid had that reaction to him. Greg was just beginning to understand that he was big. Really big. The long red hair also didn’t seem to help. He went out of his way to be gentle with her, offering her a tiny wave of friendship, before returning his attention to the mom.
“And what...can I help you with today?” he asked.
“I need a gift for my mother-in-law,” the woman explained. “She’s coming this morning, and I totally forgot it was her birthday.”
He did his best to help her out, showing her vases, ring dishes shaped like hamsas, bowls, and candle holders, every shape and color. Still, the mom couldn’t decide.
Greg had an idea.
“Actually,” he said, waving her to the back studio, “let me show you...one of my favorite pieces.”
Like her Jewitch ritual items, Faye had pottery all over the store. It was crammed on shelves. It sat on tables and countertops. It lived in bathrooms, laundry rooms, and on metal shelving in her garage. But his favorite piece was a rounded jar he had discovered while helping dust Magic Mud Pottery. It lived behind something Faye called a Seder plate , a Jewish ritual item used on Passover.
Apparently, Faye had hidden it there because she hated the rusty color and the large bubbles that exploded like soapsuds and encircled the exterior. She said that it was supposed to be smooth, free from gurgles and eruptions, but it was Greg’s favorite piece in the store. It reminded him of Faye. A one-off. Rare. Earthy with its rounded shape and distinctive form.
Greg pulled the jar down from the shelf. “This is my favorite.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It’s a... Faiga Kaplan original.”
“Wow.”
It was also a sale.
Faye came down from upstairs, just in time to handle ringing her up. With the woman occupied at the counter, Greg turned his attention to the little girl. He kneeled to her eye level, an attempt to make himself a little less scary.
“Hey,” he whispered.
He reached behind the counter, where Faye kept some lollipops for her younger students, and pulled one out for her. The sweet treat did the trick. They were suddenly best friends. She tiptoed over to him.
“I’m Greg,” he said.
“May,” she said, and opened her candy, taking a lick. “You’re big.”
“I am,” he admitted.
“How did you get so big?”
“You really want to know?” he teased her.
She nodded.
He pointed to the candy she was eating. “Lollipops.”
“Whoa.”
When he glanced back up, Faye was standing over him. The customer was ready to go home. “Come on, May,” the woman said, offering her hand. “We gotta go pick up Grandma at the airport.”
The little girl skipped out behind her, stopping at the door. “Bye, Greg!” she shouted. “Don’t forget to eat your lollipops.”
With one last chime of the bells above the front door, they were gone.
“I can’t believe you sold that piece,” Faye said quietly.
“I told you...it was good.”
“Hm,” she said. “Seems like you made a friend, too.”
He found his eyes lingering on the door as it closed behind them, thinking about that mom, and that little girl, especially. Something about them felt familiar. His head began to hurt. Pound. On instinct, he rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.
Faye laid one hand on his arm. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Greg returned to her.
“You seemed far away.” Faye asked curiously, “Did you remember something?”
“Just a feeling.”
“A feeling?” she pressed him.
“Like I’ve...forgotten something...important.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, the ache in his head spreading into his shoulders.
People often came into Magic Mud Pottery looking to buy gifts for loved ones. Ring dishes for weddings. A vase for a bouquet of flowers to give to a lover. A figurine for a teacher, a librarian, or a friend. Each time it would happen, his heart would break. A pain would appear, so raw it felt like a cavity directly into his soul.
He knew he was missing something important, something he should have remembered...but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what that was. He was like a book, half-read but unfinished. Only partway to understanding his full story.
“We’ll find them,” Faye said suddenly.
“How do you know?”
She wiggled her nine working fingers playfully. “Because I’m magic, remember?”
He believed her.
“Actually,” Faye said, “I have something for you. Give me your left hand.”
“Why left?” Greg asked.
“Because it’s closest to your heart.”
From her pocket, she withdrew a red string bracelet. A series of knots, seven in total, spread out across the design. She took his wrist in one hand, turning it over.
“Now, this is very old magic,” Faye explained. “I know it looks like a simple red bracelet, but it’s been braided and knotted for extra protection. And it will keep the evil eye away and bring you good luck. It will also make sure all the energies of the universe are working to support you. I’ll knot it around your wrist, and you wear it until it falls off. How does that sound to you?”
Greg cleared his throat. “You...made this?”
“It really wasn’t too much trouble.” She shrugged. “I’ve been making friendship bracelets ever since my one summer working as a camp counselor at Camp Ahava. This time, I just infused it with some Jewitch magic.”
She tied the bracelet around his wrist, knotting it at the place where his veins pulsed hot.
Greg caught on the term. “Friendship bracelet?”
“It’s a thing that kids do,” she quipped breezily. “To show that they like each other.”
“Because we’re friends?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes drifting up towards him, “we’re friends.”
Greg made sure his words were clear. “I love it.”
“Good.”
Despite his uncertainty about life, he found his gaze wandering towards her lips. They were pink and succulent, angled in his direction, totally kissable. Quickly he shook the thought away. Yes, Faye had become his whole world. The anchor that grounded him. But he could have people out there, a family that was missing him. A wife, children. He needed to remember and return to who he had been.
And yet, the desire to kiss her kept reappearing.