Chapter 15
S AM HAD NEVER been skydiving before, but she imagined this was what it felt like—intense free fall, her gut floating in space, gravity yanking her down to Earth, and then the counterpull from the parachute. Wind resistance that felt like pressure squeezing her on all sides.
Sam hit the ground and staggered, trying to find her balance, the earth uneven beneath her feet.
“Careful.” Daphne steadied her with a hand on her elbow. “Don’t want you to fall.”
Because falling would be bad.
“Thanks.” Sam looked at the ground, at where her feet, magically tucked inside her favorite tennis shoes, a pair of low-top Chuck Taylors that had seen hundreds of miles—and better days—stood on crushed gravel instead of the transformed elevator’s parquet-wood floor.
The sound of a familiar meow brought Sam’s attention to the soft-sided carrier at Daphne’s feet.
“Nacho?” Sam gasped and dropped down into a low squat, her knees protesting a little.
She grabbed the thick black strap on top of the carrier and lifted it to eye level so she could peer through the mesh.
Two sets of curious green eyes blinked back at her, and from the other end of the carrier, Pumpkin chattered, the same noise he made when he was watching pigeons out the window.
“Oh, Pumpkin.” He bumped her with his nose and her laugh was a touch wet, her throat aching.
Knowing they were okay was one thing; seeing it with her own eyes was a different feeling altogether.
Carrier perched carefully atop her knees, Sam looked up at Daphne, confused. “How—”
“I figured you probably missed them,” Daphne said.
She had, but that still didn’t explain how Daphne got them here, or where here even was. “They were at the vet.”
“And the nice receptionist now has a fabricated memory of you picking them up.”
“But how did—”
“Sam.” Daphne’s lips quirked at the corners, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“In the last twelve hours you’ve been a crime lord, you’ve competed in a cooking competition that took place in Hell, you’ve been the executive chef of three restaurants, and—do I really need to keep going?
I made you all those things, Sam. Abracadabra-ing your cats from the vet and planting a few fake memories along the way is nothing by comparison. Child’s play.”
Nacho let out a little mewl and Sam poked her finger inside the carrier, letting him rub his face on her. She’d take him out, but they were outside, and she didn’t want to risk either of them pulling a runner on her and making for the dense tree line up ahead. That would be a nightmare.
Daphne crouched and laughed brightly when, from the other side of the carrier, Pumpkin tried to headbutt her hand through the mesh. He started up a low purr and Daphne grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
A surge of affection swelled inside Sam’s chest, watching Daphne, now dressed casually in a pair of pink wide-leg jeans and a cream-colored sweater with thumb holes, coo at her cats. She sat with the feeling for a moment, basking in the sweet ache behind her breast.
“Thank you,” she said softly, and Daphne’s eyes flitted to her face, then back to the carrier.
“Don’t mention it,” she said, nonchalance at odds with the faint flush spreading across the crests of her cheeks.
“So,” Sam said. “Are you going to tell me where you took me or am I supposed to start looking around for … clues …”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than the unmistakable smell of brine and rotten eggs smacked her in the face. Sam would know that smell anywhere.
Breath bottled inside her chest, she turned and stared up at the brick house she’d once called home. A house she’d always think of as home, as long her parents were still living in it.
“I remembered what you said.” Daphne held out a hand, helping Sam to her feet, unaware that Sam’s heart was swelling inside her throat. “There’s no place like home, right?”
Sam swallowed over the lump in her throat. “Daphne—”
“You know how to reach me.” Daphne lifted her hand like she was about to snap her fingers and poof herself God only knew where. Away. “Let me know when you’re ready to head back to the city.”
“Wait.” Sam choked up on the cat carrier, cradling it closer to her chest. “You’re not staying?”
Her disappointment at the prospect was plain to her own ears.
Daphne faltered, frowning at Sam, her hand falling to her side. “Did you … want me to?”
Sam blinked at her, then frowned, too. “I thought you were feeling cooped up in that genie bottle. I thought beignets …”
Daphne had said let’s go somewhere . As in, let us . Together was implied.
At least she had thought so. Daphne, on the other hand, was standing there staring at her like the concept of staying was completely foreign. Like it hadn’t even crossed her mind.
“You don’t have to,” she tacked on, feeling silly. It was Grosse Tête, Louisiana; they were twenty-odd miles outside Baton Rouge and only a stone’s throw from an actual swamp. What did she think Daphne was going to do? Stick around and meet her parents? “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”
“I don’t, actually.” Daphne twisted a lock of hair around her finger, and if Sam didn’t know any better she’d have thought Daphne was nervous. “If you want me to stay, I can.”
The sound of the door hinges squeaking took the choice right out of her hands, even though Sam knew what her decision would have been.
“Samantha?”
At the sound of her name, Sam turned. Mom stood in the open doorway, one hand braced on the frame, the other touching her throat, looking like she couldn’t believe her eyes.
Sam’s face split into a grin. “Surprise!”
“Don’t just stand there,” Mom cried, already stepping out onto the front porch with her arms held out in front of her. “C’mere!”
She met Sam at the top of the porch steps, arms wrapping around her middle and rocking her from side to side.
Sam closed her eyes and tucked her face against Mom’s shoulder.
She smelled like homemade honey butter and lavender, like the inside of the cedar chest where she stored her sweaters to keep the moths from eating holes in them. Sam squeezed her tight.
“Who is it— Sammie? ”
Sam lifted her head and smiled at Dad, who stood in the doorway looking gobsmacked. “Hi, Daddy.”
“I thought I was seeing things.” He stepped onto the porch barefooted and leaned down, mustache scuffing Sam’s skin when he brushed a kiss against her forehead. “It has been a month of Sundays since we saw you, baby girl.”
Mom cleared her throat pointedly, brows lifted high, her eyes fixed over Sam’s shoulder.
Daphne smiled up at them from the bottom of the stairs. Sam couldn’t remember handing her the carrier, but she must have because Daphne was holding it now, holding it out like you might carry a cake. “Hello.”
Mom smiled politely back, Daddy, too.
Her hands started to sweat, and she fought the urge to scoff at herself.
Not twelve hours ago she had stood before a three-headed dog, a literal Hell beast, and the prospect of introducing Daphne to her folks was what made her nervous?
To be fair, she’d been sweating then, too, but for good reason. This was just silliness.
“Momma, Daddy, this is Daphne.” She wiped her palms off on her thighs. “Daphne, this is my momma and my daddy, Renée and Noah.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Daphne beamed, her ability to look like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth never ceasing to amaze Sam. “Samantha’s told me only good things about you.”
“A pleasure to meet you, too, Daphne.” Mom stepped inside the house and held open the door. “Come on in.”
Daphne passed the cat carrier back to Sam, who set it down just inside beside the novelty umbrella stand shaped like a giant rain boot.
“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Cooper,” she said, looking Mom in the eye.
It was something everyone said upon entering someone’s home, but Daphne sounded like she meant it.
“Renée’s just fine,” Mom said, but she sounded pleased as punch, always a fan of good manners.
“If you can believe it, I’ve been married to this one”—she nudged Dad with her elbow—“going on thirty-six years, but to this day when I hear somebody say Mrs. Cooper , I start looking over my shoulder for his momma.” She leaned in close, voice dropping to a stage whisper.
“She was hell on heels, let me tell you. Not to speak ill of the dead, mind, but that woman was a handful and a half.”
Dad shook his head, a look of wry amusement on his face.
“Hell on heels, huh?” Daphne slipped her shoes off at the door. “You don’t say.”
Daddy cracked the lids on two bottles of Abita Amber and passed one of them to Sam.
“I thought Momma said you weren’t supposed to be drinking beer on this new diet the doctor’s got you on. Heart health, right?”
“Beer’s a carb, innit?” Dad asked, settling back in his recliner. “I log it as my SmartCarb and call it a day.” He pointed his bottle at her. “As should you, missy. Mind your beeswax.”
“All right, all right,” she said through laughter. “Not my circus, not my monkeys. Got it.”
She didn’t even know what the hell a SmartCarb was, and quite frankly, she didn’t want to.
“Speaking of circus animals,” Daddy said, kicking his feet up on his footrest. “Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room, or am I supposed to go on pretending like it’s not there?”
Sam paused with her bottle halfway to her lips. “Elephant?”
He huffed. “The pink one.”
Her lips twitched and she fought not to laugh. “Daddy, I hate to tell you, but if you’re seeing pink elephants, maybe you ought to cool it on the beer.”
Dad sucked his teeth and shook his head. “That’s not Hannah in the kitchen making corn pone with your momma, Sam.”
“Quite astute of you,” she said, scraping at the soggy label of her beer, peeling back the corner with her thumbnail.
“Sammie.”
She sighed. “I don’t really know what you want me to say.”
Daddy chewed on his lip for a moment as if considering, perhaps carefully choosing, his next words. “Your momma said you bought a ring.”