Chapter 8 IF THE RING FITS
IF THE RING FITS
It was late morning by the time I arrived back at the Pink House, and though I’d tried my best, the pastries hadn’t made it. Although, judging from the buttery, chocolatey aroma spilling from an open window, Rosie had been on a baking spree of her own.
‘Morning, Molly!’ said Rosie, who was now in the garden shaking out some striped cushions. ‘I’m thinking of reupholstering these. What do you think?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Although they look like they’re in pretty good shape.’
Rosie frowned at the cushions. ‘Yes, but … I could do with a change. Doesn’t the house feel a tad dated to you?’
The Pink House felt perfect in every way, actually.
The lush gardens, the plump couches and cosy throws, the bright pops of colour, the family photos and framed art.
It wasn’t decorated in a way that paid attention to trends or fashions.
It was the result of someone painstakingly gathering all the things they loved and finding a place for each and every one of them.
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘Although I don’t have your eye for interior design.’
This was true: my apartment was filled with IKEA furniture I’d found on Craigslist and hand-me-downs from Mom and Dad.
The only nice pieces were the coffee table and bar stools that Tiff had donated after realizing she was spending a solid six months of the year travelling.
She’d downsized to a room in a shared apartment, which her roommate loved – after all, Tiff paid half the rent but was barely there.
‘I suppose I’m just after a different feeling these days,’ said Rosie, plumping the cushions and using her magic to dust them down.
Her fingertips crackled, and a scorch mark blackened the striped fabric.
She frowned. ‘My magic’s wonky today. I must be tired after last night, and the early start.
Wasn’t Lara going to come back with you?
I remember promising her pancakes. The punch had me feeling chatty. ’
‘She’s off playing tennis.’ After helping me eat a frankly obscene amount of pastries, Lara had fielded a few texts, then said something about a tennis lesson – in a way that suggested said tennis lesson might be a doubles session with Jack. And perhaps not on the tennis court.
I hadn’t been about to cramp her style: Lara was paying through the nose for her room at the Camellia, so she might as well get her money’s worth. And besides, I wanted to spend a bit of time with my newly acquired ring. Sometimes a magical item took a while to give up its story.
‘But we did bring you these to make up for her absence.’ I produced the flowers I’d been carrying under my arm all the way back from Lorraine’s.
‘Zinnias!’ exclaimed Rosie. ‘Charlie’s favourites. Can you blame him? They’re a veritable pompom of joy.’
Her voice wavered, but she collected herself. Having ushered me inside, she rattled about in the cupboards, looking for just the right vase. ‘Where’d I put the pink Venetian one? Ah, there we go.’
She produced a stunning glass vase striped in varying shades of pink, before carefully trimming and arranging the flowers.
Finally, snapping her fingers, she lightly charmed them so that they’d last an extra week or so.
Lorraine used the same spell, and between them, their floral arrangements survived almost indefinitely.
‘Perfect,’ she said momentarily. ‘Charlie would’ve loved them.’
She steadied herself against the butcher-block counter and I touched my fingers to her arm, letting her know I was there for her.
‘Sorry,’ she said as she blinked back tears. ‘It comes in waves. It’s getting easier, I think, but there are just so many memories. I keep thinking he should be over there in his chair or listening to his records in the music room. Or lugging in pumpkins for me to carve.’
‘Your pumpkin display is perfect,’ I promised her. Rosie had set up tidy piles of pumpkins and watermelons around the garden gate and the front door – a flawless way to usher in the season.
‘Lovely ring, hon,’ said Rosie, catching my hand as I gestured to the front door.
I waggled my fingers at her, showing off the shimmery moonstones. ‘A beach find. I didn’t even need a metal detector. Just a wooden fork.’
Rosie chuckled. ‘Well, I’m all about lowering barriers of entry to hobbies.’ She shot me a sidelong look. ‘I’m getting some magic from it. Do you know its story?’
‘Not yet, but I’m on the case.’
‘Spoken like a girl who read the entire Nancy Drew oeuvre during middle school.’
‘And the Hardy Boys,’ I added with a grin. ‘When Noah was done with them, anyway.’
‘Gosh, those old things. They were from when I was a kid. What were they, like a quarter each at The Last Word?’
I chuckled, thinking of all the stacks of books we’d picked up, tied together with elastic bands. ‘I think we got a bulk discount.’
‘I don’t think the new owner does those. Have you met him? Leon. He’s old Fritz’s grandson. Cute, too. I’m not surprised Tiff’s already been shopping there twice since you arrived in town.’
I laughed, surprised. ‘We’ve only been here a day!’
‘She’s quite the reader when she wants to be.’
Interesting. Tiff liked books, but not that much. I’d have to ask her about it.
My phone buzzed: my boss, Eddie. Hopefully everything was all right at the paper. I waved my phone. ‘I’d better answer this. But I promise I’ll be back for morning tea.’
‘I should hope so,’ teased Rosie. She steeled her shoulders. ‘I’ll be finishing up my closet cleanout. If you don’t hear from me, I’ve fallen victim to the dust bunnies.’
‘I’ll listen out for the screaming,’ I promised.
In my room, I pulled out my laptop, catching up on Eddie’s emails and texts.
Nothing urgent: it was just a slow sports month and Eddie wanted my thoughts on a general interest piece he’d put together.
I quickly sent off an email, smiling at his prompt response, which informed me I’d make a great editor one day.
We’d see. The thing about being an editor was that it involved so much decision-making.
As I shut my laptop, the ring I’d found on the beach glimmered prettily. I flopped down on the bed, holding my hand up to the sunlight that streamed in through the stained-glass window.
The ring was luminous, somehow catching every ray of light. It shimmered delicately, the warmth of it seeping into my skin, up my hand …
The moonstones twinkled, seeming to sift through colours. Various blues, a hint of yellow, milky whites, eerie translucence. It was hypnotic, and it took everything I had to wrench my gaze away.
Then I noticed the ring had an inscription on the underside.
Know your heart.
Wasn’t that an odd thing to etch on a ring like this – one that seemed a bit like an engagement ring, or perhaps a promise ring? Wouldn’t someone with a ring like this already know what their heart was all about?
Assuming they’d accepted the ring, that is.
I had dug it up from the sand around the Heart Tree.
Perhaps it had been thrown there after a disastrous proposal or an awful breakup.
Or maybe it was a beloved heirloom that had been lost. I wondered how long it had been sitting there. Days? Years? Decades?
I supposed I should hand it in to the lost and found box at the town hall, just in case someone came looking for it. But … it wouldn’t hurt to keep it, just for a little bit, would it?
‘My precious,’ I whispered to myself with a grin.
The ring sparkled with energy. For some reason, the inscription came racing back to me: Know your heart.
And I couldn’t help but think: Or what?