Chapter Six
‘Welcome to the Oglethorpe Country Day Co-Ed Varsity Fundraiser,’ Jackson announced as we passed into a huge ballroom, already packed full of teachers, kids and parents, each and every one of them dressed to the nines.
I pulled back slightly from the sea of bodies in front of us.
I wasn’t used to this many people in such an enclosed space and I felt an unwelcome tingling all over my skin, magical self-defence.
‘Good luck fitting all of that on one banner,’ I said, exhaling slowly until the feeling settled. ‘Who or what is an Oglethorpe?’
‘Ten points for optimism, I guess.’
‘Wild to think he would’ve known our ancestors.’
‘Isn’t it?’ I replied, unable to stop myself from wondering if Mr Oglethorpe was a friend to the Bell and Powell women or … not.
I looked around the party, bass already thumping through the floor, a bar set up on either side of the room, all the kids crowding one, the adults swarming the other. It was easy to guess which side had the alcohol.
‘What do you want to do first?’ Jackson asked. ‘Get something to eat, grab a drink, dance? There are a million people I want you to meet, everyone is dying to say hello.’
It was one thing to feel at ease with Jackson but the thought of meeting his super-cool basketball buddies made my stomach churn and my tongue twist until just the idea of talking to them was an impossible feat.
Still, talking to strangers had to be easier than dancing.
Sure, on a good day I could see into the past, present and future, but move my hands, feet and body in rhythm at the same time? Simply asking too much.
‘Eat?’ I said, choosing the option with the least potential for humiliation.
‘I really hoped you were going to say that, I am starving.’
Jackson slapped his flat stomach before practically dragging me across the room towards a huge buffet station covered in silver dishes and bowls, some of them on ice, some of them steaming, and all of them manned by very serious-looking men and women in white jackets and chef’s hats.
‘This place has some of the best food in town but you have to attack it with a plan.’ He picked up a large dinner plate from one end of the table and handed it to me.
‘With all those parties last year, I got pretty up close and personal with the catering here. Forget about the vegetables, not worth it. Bread is a waste of time, you’ll fill up and miss out on the good stuff.
The mini pimento grilled cheese and the crab cakes are god tier, and if you see a server go by with shrimp skewers, grab as many as you can.
Forget about good manners, we do not mess around when it comes to appetizers. ’
‘Shrimp skewers, got it,’ I repeated as Jackson turned his attention to a large man with an even larger carving knife, standing behind the biggest turkey I had ever seen.
‘I’m actually not that hungry just yet,’ I said, quietly setting my plate back on the pile, my date mesmerized as he watched the chef sharpen his carving knife. ‘Why don’t I find us somewhere to sit while you load up?’
‘Sure,’ he said, eyes glazing over at the sight of a massive side of ham. ‘I’ll come find you.’
Caught in the lure of the buffet’s siren song, Jackson drifted away to pile his plate high.
Fully aware nothing and no one could compete with the call of a sixteen-year-old boy’s empty stomach, I took myself off to one of the tables at the edge of the dance floor to wait for him.
If there was one thing I was good at, it was hiding in plain sight.
I’d been the new girl more times than I could count and blending into the background had been my super power long before I discovered I was a witch.
Moving every couple of years, combined with my dad’s strict no-cell-phone-and-no-social-media-until-you’re-seventeen rule meant long-lasting friendships were a struggle, and while I was a pro when it came to making small talk with my dad’s co-workers, I was far less talented at conquering conversations with people my own age.
Living in the countryside sounds romantic until you realize you’re the only teenager for miles around, especially if you happen to be in a European country where no one your age speaks English.
We never stayed in one place long enough for me to learn the local language and make real friends.
By the time we moved to Wales, I was fourteen; and when Dad decided to teach me at home rather than send me to the local school, I was relieved.
There was nothing more awkward than trying to fit in with a bunch of kids who had known each other their whole lives.
And that was exactly how I felt in the ballroom of the DeSoto Hotel.
As he stood in line waiting for his cut of prime rib, Jackson was bombarded by friends, teammates, teachers, coaches, and even, judging by the occasional blank look in his eyes, complete strangers.
Everyone wanted to talk to him, be near him.
Lydia once told me I shouldn’t look directly at her brother, that he was like the sun, one glance and he’d be burned into your retinas forever.
It felt true. Everyone at the party wanted to be in his orbit, circling him impatiently until they got their chance to bask in the warm glow of his attention.
For sixteen years it was just me and my dad.
Then it was me and Catherine. Now, my world had expanded to include Wyn, Ashley, Lydia and Jackson, but I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to walk into a room as crowded as this one and have everyone know everything about you.
These people had a lifetime of shared memories and experiences.
First days and field trips, long summer breaks and holiday parties.
The only people I knew that well were the characters in my favourite books, and that was a pretty one-sided relationship.
I couldn’t really expect the Ilyrians, the Cullen family or a ragtag bunch of hobbits, elves and dwarves to care about my wellbeing.
Very slowly, I melted away from the crowd until I found a wall to lean against, and took my phone out of my purse, adopting the official ‘I’m totally OK no need to look at me’ stance of twenty-first century human beings everywhere.
Usually, I had an emotional support book with me at all times but not even my slimmest paperback would fit in the tiny beaded evening bag I’d borrowed from Lydia (and I knew that because I’d tried to shove my dad’s old copy of Franny and Zooey in there).
I scrolled though the photo albums on my phone instead, keeping my expression neutral.
Not too sad in case someone stopped to ask what’s the matter, not too happy in case they wanted to know what I was smiling at.
It helped. Right away I felt better and was quietly, calmly marvelling at the freckles scattered across Wyn’s nose when I realized his weren’t the only pair of eyes locked on me.
‘Miss Bell, isn’t it?’
The woman standing in front of me was petite, at least three or four inches shorter than I was, but she held herself in a way that made her seem much taller.
There wasn’t so much as a hair out of place on her highlighted head and the fine lines that gathered around her eyes and mouth had been pulled taut by a very severe up-do, a tight, tucked-in braid that made my scalp sore just to look at it.
‘You must be Catherine’s granddaughter,’ she said, a declaration rather than a question. She extended a hand in my direction. ‘Why, you’re the very image of her.’
I shook her hand, recovering my manners a moment too late according to the frown on her face. Jackson would have to take back my newly acquired southern belle status.
‘That’s right, I’m Emily. James. Emily James Bell. Still getting used to the new last name – or rather, my old last name. Well, I’m sure you know the whole story.’
Her static smile remained frozen in place as I babbled, making no attempt to help me out of the verbal hole I was digging for myself. When I let go of her hand, she glanced down at her palm, as though touching me might have somehow left a stain.
‘You’re a friend of Cath— of my grandmother’s?’ I asked.
‘Ileen Stovell. I’m sure she must have mentioned me.’
‘Not the Ileen Stovell?!’ I said, feigning the surprise she seemed to expect. ‘She talks about you all the time. Constantly, in fact.’
Catherine had not uttered this woman’s name even once in my presence.
Fingertips fluttering at her exposed collarbone, Ileen Stovell continued to stare at me with hawkish blue eyes. Her dress was a matronly ballgown with a sweetheart neckline, small pink flowers printed on a powder blue background. My grandmother wouldn’t have been caught dead in it.
‘We were so sorry to miss her at the historical society meeting last night,’ she said. ‘It’s so unlike Catherine to miss out, especially when we are graced with a guest speaker.’
I nodded with understanding. ‘I’m sure she was devastated to miss it but, as you know, she’s travelling right now.’
‘So your aunt said. She’s in Europe? Paying her respects to your father?’
That was the official story Ashley and I had agreed on. Something people would accept without question and invited very little follow-up.
‘That’s right,’ I confirmed. ‘She’s spending some time in Wales.’
An indefinite amount of time, I added to myself.
‘A shame he was laid to rest so far from home.’ Ileen’s gaze sharpened. ‘Quite peculiar.’
‘He really loved Wales,’ I said with a shrug, sweating under her interrogation. ‘Who knows why people make the decisions they do?’
After a long pause, she tilted her head to one side with grudging acceptance; not a strand of her hair moved, her whole head was lacquered into some sort of hair helmet.