Chapter 12 #2
Saffron walks in carrying what appears to be fresh herbs in the non-winter. I don’t even question it, because the woman is a fascinating array of eclectic that becomes more intriguing by the day. I just can’t help but find her terribly alluring.
“Ladies.” She smiles at us, setting the herbs on the counter. “What can I do for you this afternoon?” She winks at me, and I just know she knows about my non-date with Arlo.
“Thanksgiving,” Lark replies. “I have a few concerns.”
“Well, don’t hold back,” she teases as she unclips her veil and sets it to the side, her rosy cheeks dimpling in welcome.
“The townsfolk refuse to talk about Thanksgiving, and no one wants to mention why it’s a faux pas.” Lark leans in, squinting her eyes like a bad cop. “Why is that, Mrs. Larson?”
Her chuckle is like hot chocolate on a winter night.
“Well, my little bird…” Saffron leans on the counter, going toe to toe with Lark while I busy myself with making coffee.
“Most residents of Silent Springs are just too busy getting ready for Christmas. We call it Wonderland, and the lighting ceremony is the day after Thanksgiving.”
“I would like to consume stuffing, rolls, green bean casserole, more rolls, and even that cranberry sauce, all covered in a thick layer of gravy.” Lark nods after ticking off each of her food requests.
“I believe I can make that happen for you.”
“But you won’t tell me why Thanksgiving is a hush-hush holiday.”
“I just told you.”
“I’m not buying it.” Sometimes, it’s hard to sell Lark on a lie.
And the townsfolk are all lying, of that I am sure. Though I’m not entirely certain I want to know why they don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, because I feel like that nugget of information is a roller coaster of emotion.
Since I’m a sensitive Sally, I don’t want to dive into that roller coaster. I don’t even want to get in line.
But Lark is a bulldog when she doesn’t understand something. “I’m going to need more.”
“Sometimes more gets little girls in trouble.” Saffron bops her nose before walking around and pulling items from the fridge.
“But—” Lark tries again.
“Lark, I believe you and I have a graveyard lesson today,” Saffron interrupts while pulling a picnic basket from the pantry.
“I don’t know how I feel about a picnic in the cold in a graveyard.” Lark eyes the basket with skepticism. I can’t say I blame her. It really is cold out there.
“Oh, this isn’t for us.” She winks but doesn’t say any more.
Tilting my head, I watch as she packs sandwiches, drinks, and is that champagne?
“Then who is it for?” Lark almost snatches the chips before Saffron lightly taps her hands with a matronly smirk and throws them in the basket.
“Never mind, you.” Saffron shuts the basket before grabbing Lark’s hand and leading her out into the cool weather. “It’s a beautiful autumn day, so let’s enjoy it with a history lesson.”
“It’s freezing,” Lark argues, but links her elbow with Saffron’s.
“It’s a heat wave.” Saffron grabs a shawl off the hanger by the back door, wrapping herself up.
“This is a heat wave.” Lark turns to me, horrified.
I just shake my head at her. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen. We may as well have been in a different country. It’s not at all like the South. Though the crisp air is refreshing, it is also as cold as a witch’s teat.
“Come now, your mother has to get ready for her date.” Saffron leads Lark outside before I can protest. How in the world do they all know?
How?
I watch as they retreat to the graveyard beyond, sipping my doctored coffee full of cream and sugar to keep me warm.
Lark isn’t wrong—it’s still colder than we are used to. Hovering at a crisp fifty degrees Fahrenheit, it really is what the South would consider frigid, but we knew that on the drive north. Though experiencing the weather drop is something else entirely. There is no preparing for that.
Hoping they run into a ghost or at least some kind of hibernating creature, I glance out the window, but only find my reflection staring back at me.
Today, my curls aren’t as frizzy. They are tamer than usual, but bouncing all over my face.
My freckles feel more pronounced as my tan fades from the summer, also showcasing just how red my lips are.
I feel warm now, dressed in jeans and several long-sleeved shirts, but I know I’ll need another layer and a hat to walk through the woods.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me. That graveyard holds a spook level of ten.
“Hello?” I answer, gazing through the window as I make my way over to the table.
“Wren!” Robin’s voice springs to life over the line, a lifeline in an unknown world.
“Little brother.”
“Little sister.”
“Just because you are taller than me doesn’t make you my older brother.”
“Ah, yes, but you are little.”
I roll my eyes, though he can’t see my face. “What’s up?”
“Thanksgiving. So I got the week off, and I’ll head down to check out this town you got stranded in.” Excitement bubbles in his voice.
It’s been over a year since I’ve seen my brother, and right now, I just can’t wait to hug him, a real hug, not a stick hug, one where we both throw our whole body into it. I miss my baby brother.
That’s when I realize he could take us home, w ell, his home. He could bring his van and pack us up and take us there. He’s the one that got me a job at the resort he works at, so maybe I could start early.
But is it what I want? Unsure, I nibble on my lip, feeling a strain between what I had planned and where the road led me.
“I can’t wait,” I say, but as the words fall from my lips, I can hear the excitement lacking in my voice.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you want me to visit?” He pauses. “You’re so close, closer than you’ve ever been.”
“Robin, that isn’t it at all. I really want to see you, believe me, I do.” I swallow, glancing around to make sure no one is listening. Robin is one of the few people I’ll spill my soul to, and I don’t want anyone listening in. “I just realized you can bring us back with you.”
“Ah.” Not even an actual word, but a grunt that says more than words ever could. Robin always had a way of seeing right through me. “Listen, I can’t stay on the phone long. I just wanted to let you know I’d be there for Thanksgiving. But, Wren?”
“Yeah?” I chew on my cuticle, knowing he’s about to destroy my reality.
“Maybe you should think about why you don’t want to leave in the first place.” His breath blows over the receiver before he tacks on, “Love you.” The line goes dead as my eyes stray out at the graveyard, where Saffron and Lark wander.
Not all who wander are lost.