Chapter 19 Bluebells and Apologies
There is something quite magical about two friends who share such deep pieces of themselves that they are more themselves when they are together than when they are apart.
That's not to say that one cannot be fully herself without the other.
There is simply a relieved sigh that happens when two soul friends find each other's company.
Whether it be after a long day and they can breathe freely with a glass of chilled wine and good conversation, or after a few years - having dug a trench of separation and they finally have enough inside of them to face the emptiness.
And so, with each step up the porch of The Lost Souls House and an armful of bluebells, Eloise Willow felt a great well of hope, not fear, at facing that trench with her dear friend.
When she found Ursula sitting on the porch with two mugs, a French press waiting to be pressed, and a plate of peach vanilla scones and clotted cream she smiled.
And when Ursula's face showed relief at seeing Eloise walk up those steps, both friends laughed, tears in their eyes, arms quickly wrapped around each other, holding each other's pieces together for a space of time.
Apologies were tripped over as if it were a race to out-love the other. Then they were sitting, Ursula with her ghost mug and Eloise with a black cat, the slightly crushed bluebells placed in a milk glass vase and Casper pressing his lanky body against Eloise in his own canine relief.
The words and apologies spoken weren't what mattered.
Not really. When you have a love this deep and this honest, the words were simply wrappings around the true gift which was knowing that the other side of conflict wasn't going to be found by way of self-indulgent argument with the goal of being right.
This kind of love required laying that down for the goal of being better and stronger together.
There was a beauty in that kind of humility, and a pain as well, letting go of that basic human need to be faultless.
But what friends like these learn through years of mistakes and silly pride is that owning your fault, nodding to your own fragility, opens a different world that is far better than being faultless; being seen for exactly who you are and loved, sometimes in spite of it.
Ursula was on the edge of her seat just as Eloise was; their words and their devotion to their friendship were filling them to bursting with energy that wouldn't allow them to sit back.
"I hate fighting with you. I feel more alone and independent in a way that is earthly and like a beacon for an attack," Ursula said with a laugh.
"I've idolized independence," Eloise replied solemnly. Her smile was tentative but honest. "I think I'm better with you."
"I know I'm better with you," she replied adamantly. "I shouldn't have pushed you with your dad," Ursula lamented shaking her head. "I had no idea how to walk through that grief with you and I took on the bulldozer approach. And I was only half of myself because of my part in a bad relationship."
"I did miss you," Eloise said with the gentleness of dandelion petals. Her dear friend had let pieces of herself ghost away for a man who didn't see her.
"I missed me too," came her tremulous reply. "Thank you for asking me to be whole."
Female friendship is teaching each other how to slip out of the hands of people who didn't know how to hold us.
"I couldn't say what I needed back then.
I think that was partly why I left because I didn't know how to deal with it.
How to live in a world where my dad didn't anymore.
" A tear wiggled and then fell loose down Eloise's cheek.
She brushed it aside. A great fear welled inside of her.
"I think of him, randomly. It hits me out of nowhere, during the most inane moments.
He's gone. That day," she paused, willed her tears to stay put, and swallowed, "I think a piece of me is gone forever.
And I'm so scared of that, of stopping for too long and settling because then I'll be swallowed whole. "
She thought of the doctors. Of her dad smiling sadly at her and saying, I don't think there's any coming back from this, kiddo.
Her heart ached.
Ursula had moved to sit next to Eloise on the loveseat.
"Big, silly thoughts circle me if I stay still.
What if I start crying and I can't stop?
What if I start really committing to mourning him and it cuts me down to my knees and I can't get up?
I am so afraid that his death, when I face it, will forever alter the world around me, rearrange my insides, take me to a different universe where no one can find me because they cannot understand. "
And that was it; the big silly thoughts that often accompany great grief: what if I am so altered by this loss that I'm no longer someone those around me can understand?
What if I am, in this way, forever alone here?
Ursula pulled Eloise's head down to her shoulder and ran her hand over her arm.
"Wherever you go, wherever your grief takes you, I will be there. And if I cannot go with you, I will be waiting to pick up the pieces. You will not do this alone. Ever."
The promise, the baptism of words, washed over Eloise in a way that felt like a dip in a fresh stream after a long, arduous, trek full of rocky, dirty paths of wandering.
"He was a great man."
Eloise felt the choke of tears and couldn't get out the words, yes he was.
"I love you."
"I love you back."
And two friends were finding their healing together. Healing that would take time and intention, but the kind of healing that sticks. The bluebells lifted their tiny heads as the morning spread its light into day and the porch filled with a wash of perfectly cool vanilla sea salt air.
The house opened all of its windows, letting it baptise the inside as the curtains fluttered and the foundation sighed in relief.
Laughter rang out and could be heard for a mile as the world carried it on gentle winds to spread this particular goodness out over the town.
Healing is a class of magic. The unseen forces of the world know how precious that magic is; so when it happens, especially between two connected souls, its energy will be gathered and pushed out into the world.
Four mugs of coffee, two scones each, and two hours of conversation draped over the porch furniture later, Eloise was back at The Black Cat helping with the afternoon rush when Carol Weatherby walked up to the register with a blatantly lofty look on her pointed face.
"Carol, what can I get for you today?" Eloise kept her voice light and her face blank of the emotions inside of her, which were annoyance and an odd sense of betrayal.
She didn't know Carol. They weren't friends.
But there is something particular about a woman tearing down another woman's reputation without finding out her favorite color or genre of music first.
"I would like a dry cappuccino. And your take on the odd occurrences going on in our town."
Yes; blatant was a good word for Carol Weatherby.
As irritating as it was, she could also admire it.
But Eloise simply smiled and rang her up.
She was still paying for her loose lips at the club, something she'd talked about with Ursula.
Bess hadn't come over to The Lost Souls House since and wouldn't talk to anyone about it.
Eloise couldn't put her finger on it, but something hadn't been right, hadn't felt normal in that interaction at The Dancing Snail.
"No comment on that front. But happy to make you a fantastic dry cappuccino. Anything else?"
"I'll take an interview," she pressed.
A sliver of anger ribboned through Eloise but she held it in check. "I like how tenacious you are, Carol. But I think I will pass."
"Scared?"
"Of being misquoted, painted as an evil witch who is running around hexing random people in town and then trapped into a modern witch hunt?
" she feigned a look of thinking deeply then said, "Yes.
That would make top my five greatest fears.
Probably right behind living out the plot of 47 Meters Down and extreme heights. "
A narrowing of shrewd eyes, but still that fortitude shone. "Not random people. People who have in some measure crossed you or the women in your coven."
She leaned over, her weight on her forearms as she smiled at Carol, whose head was tipped up so that she could look down her nose at Eloise.
"You know what, Carol?"
And Carol's body moved the slightest, ready to catch whatever words Eloise was going to let slip, ever the journalist with her butterfly net.
"I'm going to throw in a wild violet tart this morning for free. They're delicious. Buttery with light brown sugar and the most delicate violet taste that will have you closing your eyes in tastebud bliss."
"Free pastries will not make you friends," she sniped.
"Oh, you haven't tasted the pastry yet."
She paid for her coffee and before she moved down the bar she gave Eloise another pointed look. "I'm going to write the story, with or without your input."
"As any good, tenacious journalist should. Enjoy your coffee and treat, Carol." She winked and turned her attention to the next customer effectively dismissing the woman who huffed as she walked away.
"Why are you so nice to her? She's written some pretty terrible things about you guys." Tess was making the dry cappuccino with a sour face.
Eloise smiled as she finished taking an order and then leaned back against the counter. "She's a reporter. Reporting on news, which seems fantastical and plentiful here in Salem, is her job."
"She's being judgemental, rude, and kind of an ass."