Chapter 25 LINGERING MISTAKES
LINGERING MISTAKES
The night spread out in front of me, and I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.
Mom and Rosie were outside, animatedly discussing whether pink or blue hydrangeas were superior, and Noah had gone to his studio.
Tiff was still out, so it was just Finn and me.
I’d fielded a call from Dad, who’d taken up Mom’s complaints about the new client.
‘Oh my goddess,’ I’d groaned. ‘Does it matter if Shauna gets the new client? You guys have plenty of clients. If it were up to me, I’d tell you guys to retire and go boating down the French Riviera or something.
You could paint watercolours of nice trees, and Mom could micromanage the lives of expats. ’
‘That sounds quite nice, actually,’ said Dad. ‘Well, not for your Mom, but that probably is her dream early retirement.’
‘You guys are so weird,’ I’d said, laughing. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’
Dad smiled. ‘We fit together somehow. Always have. Plus, she’s a babe.’
‘That’s true,’ I agreed.
‘So, any thoughts on this new job of yours? Your mom mentioned it.’
I groaned. ‘Of course she did. I don’t know. It’s a great opportunity, and I love Lara, but …’
I trailed off. I enjoyed working with Eddie. And I enjoyed my work. Even when it was writing about oldies bocce tournaments and the fascinating origins of sports mascots.
‘You’ll do what’s right, Mol. You always do.’ Dad put on his glasses. ‘All right, show me this book of yours.’
He’d rung off after insisting I show him the volume I’d bought him at the signing, at length, page by page.
I set down my phone on Josephine’s diary. Then, biting my lip, I flipped open the diary and updated Josephine on the latest goings-on.
Jigsaw puzzles and movie nights? she wrote. Romance truly is dead.
Just then, I heard footsteps coming from the music room – Finn. I set down the diary, although not before noticing that Josephine had written one more line before I closed its pages:
Remember, not making a decision is also making a decision.
‘Lovelorn diarizing, huh?’ teased Finn, reaching for the diary.
A snap of magic sent him rearing back. ‘Wow, better than a padlock. Anyway, you promised me a movie marathon. And I patiently didn’t interrupt that whole phone call. Even though your dad could really benefit from some interrupting.’
My email dinged, and I sighed. It was Eddie, and apparently, I’d been right about my assessment of the Sandy Balls article. A rewrite was in order. Although he’d liked the pictures at least.
‘Can we get out of here?’ I asked.
The house suddenly felt too cramped, too warm, too pink. And the expectations that I’d make decisions about every part of my life were starting to become oppressive.
Holding up his index finger to indicate I should wait a second, Finn went over to the junk drawer under the kitchen counter and rummaged through it.
‘Where are you, where are you … Come on,’ he muttered.
His magic glimmered as he tapped into it in frustration. Then, finally, he pulled out a copy of the hand-drawn tourist map that was on the counter of every shop or restaurant in town. This one was slightly tea-stained, and there were names of roses written on it in Rosie’s delicate handwriting.
‘So, I have an idea …’ he said mischievously.
I was listening.
Finn’s shenanigans were always the good kind – harmless pranks that ended in giggles or, at the very worst, embarrassment. He’d only ever had the cops called on him three times that I was aware of, and at least one of those he’d been let off not with a warning, but a laugh.
He upturned a shot glass, wiping away the stray drops of tequila that spilled out.
‘Okay, this is our planchette,’ he declared, setting it down on the map.
‘It’s a Ouija map?’
‘Exactly.’ He put a finger on top of the shot glass, then gestured for me to do the same. ‘Now we just need a candle …’
He snapped the fingers of his free hand, and a whole slew of candles by the kitchen window burst aflame.
‘Oh wow. That’s a serious combination of scents,’ I said, laughing.
He grinned. ‘Mood scenting. Okay, eyes closed. We’re going to speak to the spirit of Whisperwind Cove.’
I closed my eyes, then opened them again. ‘Wait, is there a spirit of Whisperwind Cove?’
Josephine, perhaps. Did she count?
‘Who knows. But those whispers have to come from somewhere, right? Eyes closed.’
I did as he requested.
‘Spirits of Whisperwind Cove unite,’ he intoned, in a voice that channelled Vincent Price in The Twilight Zone. ‘Tell us where our mischief will take place tonight. We’re going to repeat that three times, by the way. It’s a magic thing.’
‘Uh huh,’ I said, grinning.
As we recited Finn’s silly rhyme, the shot glass shifted around on the map.
‘Ooh,’ I said in a ghostly voice. Never mind that I knew full well that Finn was using his magic to move the glass around.
Just then, something brushed my cheek and I shrieked.
‘Tell me that wasn’t a bat,’ I said, glancing around.
‘You had a loose strand of hair.’ Finn’s expression was cheeky as usual, but there was something in his gaze that seemed to carry weight. The usual irony that lived there was missing.
‘Hair will do that,’ I said. ‘So, where did our shot glass land? Looks like it’s on the boundary of Framing Device and Spilled Ink.’
‘It’s definitely more on Spilled Ink,’ Finn corrected. ‘Let me get a measuring tape.’
I nudged the glass to the Framing Device side with a tap of magic. ‘Oh no, we’re going to have to spend the evening talking about getting our yearbook pictures framed.’
Or Noah’s portraits of me, I thought. But perhaps that particular notion was best left unsaid.
Finn’s fingertips crackled, and the shot glass shuffled over to Spilled Ink. ‘Whoops, earthquake.’
‘I’m really sensing that you’re desperate to get a tattoo,’ I said.
‘Gotta catch ’em all,’ he said, pulling up his shirt sleeve to reveal the cartoon characters and vibrant flowers that already lived there. ‘And you need to play catch-up. Even your mom has a tattoo, Molly.’
I folded my bare arms. ‘I have my ears pierced. That’s a start.’
‘It is,’ he said, patting my wrist soothingly. ‘Such a great start.’
‘Oh shush,’ I said, trying not to grin.
‘Let’s go make some bad decisions.’ Grabbing my hand, he pulled me out the back door and across the garden towards the beach and the boardwalk.
‘Wait, do you want to drive the golf cart?’ he whispered. ‘I hear you’re a pro.’
He snapped his fingers, and the keys whipped out through the cat flap and into my hand.
‘You’re lucky you didn’t smash a window,’ I said.
‘Never. I’m a pro at sneaking things out of the house. Or into it.’
We climbed up into the front bench seat, our knees pressed against each other. Finn wrapped an arm around my shoulder as I switched on the golf cart, and the little vehicle whirred slowly out of the garage and down to the street.
As we pulled away, I couldn’t help but wonder whether Noah could see us through his studio window, and if so, what he was thinking. I hadn’t committed to either of them – hell, I hadn’t done anything with either brother – but I felt a twinge of guilt.
Josephine’s ring sparked, and I wished I had her diary with me so I could read what she wanted to tell me. Probably to knock it off with the self-indulgence.
‘Nice job,’ said Finn as I navigated around the trash cans without so much as a screech or a bump.
We cruised down the boardwalk, where groups of college kids sat on the stone beach wall, passing drinks between each other and bopping along to a trio of buskers who were playing a surprise jazz–house fusion.
Some raced down the beach in a three-legged race, legs linked with damp strands of seaweed.
Others were trying to throw quoits over beer bottles and passing Starbursts between each other when someone prevailed.
Here and there, couples were knotted together, making out with such passion that even Lara would be scandalized. (A lie. She’d probably ask to join in.)
Bad decisions were being made all over. And honestly, they looked pretty fulfilling. Was it so wrong to just do what felt right in the moment?
I glanced up at Finn, drinking in his raffish good looks and his cheerful demeanour.
It was so easy to be around him. You didn’t have to think about anything – not about work or family dynamics or the future.
You could just have fun. And given this past year, which had taken Charlie from us, and had been so rife with confusion and change, was it so wrong to want to have fun?
I wouldn’t be young for ever. I wouldn’t be able to throw caution to the wind my whole life. There’d be a time when I’d have to get serious, the way Tiff had. The way Noah had. But until then, was it so wrong to just enjoy it?
‘C’mon,’ said Finn, squeezing my hand in his. Josephine’s ring crackled, but I didn’t pull away. ‘The best regrets are the ones you can enjoy for ever.’
We jumped off the golf cart, and I let him lead me down the backstreet that acted as a shortcut through the downtown, taking us past The Last Word and Pie in the Wall Pizza, and then the tiny post office that cornered the street where the laneway came out. ‘Wow, you should get that line tattooed.’
‘Don’t tempt me, Mol. There’s plenty of room left on this canvas.’ He tapped his chest.
We passed by a handful of quaint shops: the Chocolate Enchantress, the Bike and Boat, and Fun at Parties, all of which boasted beautifully painted facades and cute planters filled with chrysanthemums and decorative pumpkins.
I stooped to pat a passing black cat, and Finn hopscotched along some mismatching cobblestones that had been installed precisely for that reason.
‘Nice moves there,’ I teased. ‘I won’t be writing about you being sidelined by a dud ankle any time soon.’
‘Is that a common theme in sports writing?’
‘Right up there with torn Achilles.’
He bent to clutch a hand protectively around his heel. ‘Even the thought of it strikes absolute fear into my heart. How would I valiantly whisk you away to eternal happiness with a torn Achilles?’
‘How indeed,’ I said, shaking my head.
‘Hey, you two!’ It was Pandora and her wife, Ulissa, out for a stroll. As much as you could stroll in platform sneakers, anyway, which was what Pandora was wearing.
‘Speaking of ankle injuries,’ said Finn, pointing to Pandora’s shoes.
‘She has preternatural ankle strength,’ said Ulissa, who’d apparently been talking to Lara about the perks of wearing ridiculous shoes. It was adorable the way Ulissa always stood up for Pandora.
‘Heels are a great way to build up your calves as well,’ said Pandora, nodding at Finn’s bare lower legs.
Finn gasped as though he’d been stabbed. ‘A mortal wound,’ he whispered.
‘Maybe we should stick to our original plan of superficial wounds,’ I suggested.
‘Superficial wounds? Ah, matching tattoos are on the menu, huh?’ Ulissa nodded at Spilled Ink, which we’d just pulled up outside.
Where the other shops had pumpkin displays out the front, the tattoo parlour had a mix of jack-o’-lanterns and skulls.
Its gilded sign glowed, softly backlit by interior lights.
‘We’re still in discussion about that,’ I said.
‘The earlier you get it, the longer you can enjoy it,’ pointed out Pandora.
‘Mm, babe, I think that’s questionable advice in general. Make smart choices, kids,’ called Ulissa as they strode off. ‘Use protection!’
Spluttering, I hid behind my purse.
We pushed our way through the door of Spilled Ink, a moody space with black-and-white penny tiling in a flower motif and Art Deco chandeliers that hung from a hammered-tin ceiling.
Its walls brimmed with professionally framed photos of flash tattoos, but not the usual suspects you might find in a tattoo shop – rather, they were nature-and magic-themed ones that spoke to the unique sensibilities of Whisperwind Cove.
‘See, even the tattoo shop sings the praises of Framing Device,’ I said, pointing out the placard on the frames.
‘Niko does a fine job,’ said Trent, the tattoo shop owner.
I didn’t know him particularly well, but I’d bumped into him a few times at town events.
With his shock of black hair and the colourful ink that peeked out from beneath the cuffs and collar of his shirt, he was easy to spot.
He also had an extremely distinctive and disarming laugh that made you immediately like him.
‘We’re here for some tattoos!’ said Finn cheerfully.
‘One of us is, at least,’ I said. ‘The other one is still on the fence.’
Finn groaned theatrically. ‘Molly, you’re always on the fence. That’s like your entire personality. You’re a professional fence-sitter.’
‘Have you been drinking?’ asked Trent suspiciously. ‘Because I can’t tattoo you if you’ve been drinking.’
‘Only Rosie’s famous herbal tea,’ said Finn. ‘Although it is strong.’
‘Uh huh,’ said Trent, although he looked unconvinced. ‘Well, Finn, what kind of design are you looking at?’
‘A guitar,’ Finn said readily. He pulled out his phone and flicked through his photos. After many, many selfies and lots of pictures of the beach and Cleo, he paused on a guitar. It was the starburst one Charlie had been working on before he’d died, and which Finn had mentioned wanting to finish.
The choice surprised me. I’d almost expected him to opt for a cartoon character or a meme. Or one of the stock choices from the wall – a butterfly or a wildflower. A guitar almost felt like … a Noah choice.
Not that I was thinking about Noah right now.
Finn sat patiently as Trent sketched out the tattoo, adjusting it here and there to make sure it would contour to Finn’s forearm.
As he worked, I browsed the art on the walls and flipped through the magazines and albums on the ornate coffee table in the waiting room.
Trent’s art was fascinating: it seemed to shimmer and shift.
The butterflies looked as though they were about to burst off their subjects’ skin, while the roses appeared to bloom.
Every piece was mesmerizing, and I wondered what they’d look like on my own skin.
‘How’s that?’ Trent said finally, when he’d made his final adjustments to the sketch.
Finn nodded, then held out his arm. ‘Let’s do this thing, man.’
‘Actually, I’ve changed my mind,’ I said. ‘I want one as well.’
And I knew exactly what it would be.