Chapter 7 #2
“Even without this magical nonsense,” she says, “we’ve got a real mess on our hands.
I’ve spent half the morning on the phone with the town, trying to figure out some clerical issue on the deed for the house.
Vendor payments for this shop are coming due, and we need to liquidate all the inventory.
Her death certificate needs to be sent everywhere, bank accounts need closing, no one has power of attorney.
I’m waiting on additional confirmation from the police and medical examiner about the cause of death, just to play it safe.
I’m getting a second opinion on the execution of the will, too, and a background check on the lawyer… ”
On and on she goes, every word a pinprick of guilt needling my skin. I wouldn’t know the first thing about dealing with all that red tape. Yet Rachel always knows exactly what to do. And then—craziest part of all—she actually does it! Executive function, who are you?
Three hastily-inhaled muffins and a stomachache later, Rachel’s still talking, and I’m no closer to winning friends or influencing people than I was a couple of days ago, when I hadn’t spoken to anyone in my gene pool in three years.
That stupid magnet pops back into my head: Love is the real magic.
Sure it is, Mom. Maybe we should all get matching tattoos.
Well, I’ve done my due diligence. I’m not going to sit here and try to convince them that magic is real, that demons exist, that we might be in actual danger. That I’m as capable as they are of doing hard, serious work.
I’ll just borrow a page from Rachel’s book and take charge of this demon business all by myself. Not ideal, but… bright side? Flying solo on Operation Abracadabra means I get the sexy professor all to myself. That alone is worth the price of a little white lie.
“Anyway, looks like you guys have things under control here,” I announce with a smile, cranking up the chipper to full volume. “I’ve got some… personal errands to attend to. Text me if you need anything, 'kay? Bye-ee!”
Rachel’s huffing and puffing again, which I kind of love. “Bailing so soon? Shocking twist.”
“Rachel,” Kate warns. “We talked about this. Express your needs with words, not sarcasm.”
Rachel sighs. Then, tossing the towel over her shoulder and crossing her arms, she says to me, “Sorry, Lizzy. That was… unskillful of me.”
An apology? Talk about a shocking twist! And she’s not even done yet!
“I didn’t mean to be… I could’ve handled things better.
Last night and this morning.” She offers a smile, small but mighty, and I feel like the Grinch at the end of the movie—my heart has magically grown three sizes.
“Anyway, I’ve got the admin stuff covered, and Kate’s offered to take on the shop, but we could really use your help back at the house getting things organized and inventoried.
After your errands, of course. Does that work for you? ”
I can sense the it better postscript, but I’m still basking in the afterglow of her apology, which has me feeling both agreeable and—more importantly—inspired.
“I would actually love to help. Thank you for including me.” *Insert megawatt smile*
“Seriously?” *Insert dubious brow-furrow*
“Of course! Hey, I know. Why don’t I tackle the basement?
” Yes, the basement. The idea strikes like a bolt of lightning and I run with it.
Who knows when another might come along?
They’re not the most reliable trains, these thoughts of mine.
“I hate to be judgmental,” I say judgmentally, “but I think you’re right about Helena.
She’s… pretty out there. I mean, a demonic portal in the basement?
That’s crazypants. And yeah, I’d love to wave a magic wand and solve all our problems—who wouldn’t?
But a creaky old house with faulty wiring does not a magical mystery make.
Anyway, it’s probably best if we disregard her theories and focus on the facts: our mother died, the house is a wreck, and we’ve got a spectacular mess to sort through. ”
“That’s what I’m saying!” Rachel says, smiling again, and Kate’s practically bursting with joy that her two sisters have apparently called a cease-fire.
“I’ll get started on the basement today, then,” I say. “I’m guessing it’s mostly old junk down there anyway, but I’ll separate the wheat from the cheese and we’ll take it from there.”
“Chaff,” Rachel says. “It’s ‘separate wheat from the chaff,’ which is the part of the crop that—ow! What the Hell, Kate?”
Kate, who’s just elbowed her in the ribs, smiles at me. “You sure you’re up for all that, Lizzy?”
“Totally. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy throwing out other people’s useless crap.”
This is maybe the first totally honest thing I’ve said today.
During the pandemic, while all the self-motivated people were writing novels and doing woodworking and learning how to bake bread from scratch, your girl was smoking her reserve stash, mainlining crunchy snacks, and binge-watching Hoarders, and that shit kept playing on loop because I didn’t want to touch the remote with my Cheeto-dust fingers, and getting off the couch to wash them was a mountain to high.
“Soon as I get back home,” I say, “I’ll get crackin’. Don’t worry—I’ll take pics and stuff. That way you can track the progress and you don’t have to waste your time down there.”
Wow, is that an actual plan? I think I just impressed myself! And, dare I say, my sisters!
“Divide-and-conquer,” Rachel says with a nod. “I like it. We can reconvene at dinner every night to review. Sound good?”
It sounds like a nightmare. The kind they could make either a sitcom or a true crime podcast out of, depending on how it goes. But if it’ll buy me some uninterrupted alone time to learn magic with Dr. Sexy, I’ll take it.
“Sounds excellent, Rach. See you guys tonight.”