Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
At seven years old, there were a lot of things Evie didn’t yet know about the world or herself or her family. But there were a few things she knew for certain.
She knew Florence was her favorite person and the worst part of the day was when Florence left for school and Evie was stuck at home learning from her mom.
She knew her dad loved her more than he loved anyone else except for Florence and her mom, but he told her more than once that with them it wasn’t a competition because he loved them all equally.
And she knew she loved her mom even when her mom was sad or angry or didn’t want to talk to anyone, which was more days than not, and if there was anything Evie could do to make her happy, she’d do it. Because that’s what daughters did.
When they got home and found their mom crying while eating the first piece of the cake she’d baked for Florence’s birthday, Evie ran right to her, wrapped her arms around her waist, and leaned her head into her back.
“Don’t be sad, Mommy.”
Her mother only ever ate sweet things when she was very sad or very angry, and Evie hoped it wasn’t the latter.
Linda stiffened at Evie’s touch, then relaxed into her hold.
She was a tall woman, so tall that, even seated, Evie only came up to her shoulder, and when Evie hugged her, she could wrap her arms almost all the way around her thin frame.
Evie pressed her face into her long brown hair—just like Florence’s and not at all like Evie’s short blonde waves—and took a deep breath that smelled of candle smoke and sadness.
She glanced back at her sister, who stood frozen in the doorframe, eyes shifting from Linda to the cake. Evie was still learning to read. It took her a moment to realize the frosting said, “Happy Birthday Florence” because the “day” and part of Florence’s name were missing.
“Where’s Dad?” Florence asked.
Her mother didn’t turn around, didn’t look at them. She only took another bite and said, “He’s taking a nap.”
Florence’s brow furrowed.
“I didn’t know Daddy took naps!” Evie said.
“He doesn’t,” Florence replied.
“He had a long day at work,” Linda said.
“But he was here when we left to get candy,” Evie said.
“And he doesn’t work on Tuesdays,” Florence added.
Linda set her fork down. “All I know is he was tired.” She pushed the plate of cake away.
Evie considered this, and, after everything Florence and Angela had talked about that afternoon, a thought occurred to her. “Did you cast a spell on him like you did on us?”
Across the room, Florence took a sharp breath.
Her mother turned around in her seat, forcing Evie to let her go and take a step back. Her eyes had a dark look to them as they slid over Evie slowly, a quick flick to Florence, then back to Evie.
“What did you say, sweetie?” her mom asked.
A cold feeling washed over Evie. She still hadn’t quite gotten a hold of her mother’s moods the way Florence had.
But another thing she knew for certain was Linda Caldwell didn’t use nicknames for her children, not unless something was wrong.
Not unless she was about to turn into needles and thorns and broken glass.
Evie crossed her arms, holding herself close, and swallowed, trying to figure out where she went wrong.
“She didn’t—” Florence started, but Linda held up a hand, stopping her short.
“I was speaking to your sister.”
Evie decided the best course of action was to simply repeat herself.
“I asked if you cast a spell on him like you did on us.” Her mother stared at her, and in the ensuing silence, Evie’s stomach turned over, forcing out more words.
“The curse,” Evie said, her ears ringing with the word.
“Why didn’t you want us to know about it? ”
Evie expected a shout, but her mother’s voice came out low and soft and somehow that was so much worse. “He told you?”
What Linda did next happened so fast that Evie felt it before she processed it.
One minute, her mother was sitting in the chair in front of her, the next, she was standing in front of Evie with her hand in Evie’s hair, her mouth twisted in anger.
There was a sharp tug at Evie’s scalp. She had to rise to her tiptoes to follow.
She cried out, tried to twist away, but any move she made sent pain through her head.
Florence was on them within moments.
“Let her go!” Florence shouted as she pushed against their mother.
The floorboards rocked beneath their feet. Linda lost her grip on Evie, but not before she took a fistful of Evie’s hair with her. Evie scrambled back behind her sister.
“Run,” Florence said.
Evie turned and started out of the kitchen, Florence on her heels. She shot out the door and down the hallway. Her heart raced, her scalp burned, her eyes stung. She took one look over her shoulder. Their mother was only a few steps behind them when she grabbed for Florence.
“Florence!” Evie shouted.
Linda gripped Florence by the arm and threw her against the hallway wall.
Florence ricocheted off the plaster, sending a family photo to the floor.
Glass shattered. Evie reached for her sister.
At the same time, the rest of the frames fell from the walls.
They landed between her mother and Florence—none of them quite hitting Linda, but in that moment, Evie wished they had.
Evie grabbed her sister’s hand, and together they rounded the corner to the stairs.
With each step they cleared, the house flattened it out, giving their mother no purchase to follow.
They ran for Florence’s room. As soon as they made it through the door, Florence slammed it shut and turned the lock.
Then she pulled Evie close, holding her tight as they stared at it.
Within a few moments, their mother was pounding on the other side. The handle rattled, and Evie trembled against her sister’s arms. Linda’s voice came through the wood muffled.
“Let—me—in,” she huffed, voice strained as though each word was an effort.
Honeysuckle vines peeked under and through the seams of the door. What Evie couldn’t see was the wall of greenery the house had summoned up on the other side. No matter how many vines Linda tried to tear free, more kept coming, blocking her from her daughters.