Chapter 28
THE SECOND SUMMER, FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
Before the girls woke up, possibly long before they woke up, Babe had gone into the garage and pulled out every box of Halloween décor they had—which included some genuinely frightening decorations from the midcentury era.
A possessed-looking black cat, a pumpkin/clown hybrid stuffed with something like fiberglass, and a ghost that looked like it just saw an even scarier ghost.
She draped orange lights around the awning of the back porch, hung Styrofoam bats by fishing wire, set foam pumpkins around the fireplace and the back steps.
Candles burned everywhere, smelling pungently of cinnamon apple cider.
She put a swath of scarlet lace over the bathroom mirror.
She put a black tablecloth over the deck table and had strewn more candy down the center of it than either girl had ever seen outside of the seasonal item section at the grocery store.
When they came down the stairs to see this display, hearing the spooky vintage music she had on, both girls had screamed and clutched each other, their words a jumble as they asked their mother if she was serious, if they were really doing Halloween early.
Babe beamed at them and flipped over the pumpkin pancakes she had on the stove.
“Of course,” she said, “who said we had to do the year in order, anyway?”
It was as if Babe truly did have power over the universe. The sky was a dark, wicked green-black, a storm brewing, the wind whipping and howling through the open windows. It was even unseasonably cold.
It would take most people days to execute such a thorough Halloweenification, but Babe was never most people.
Most of all, what Didion loved was that this felt like she had her mother back.
When she’d mentioned not having Halloween with her anymore, it had really been her unconscious way of saying you’re not around.
It was fun to have the summers with her, fun to be at Birdsong—preferable to home by a long shot—but there were still nine months out of the year that they were motherless.
She was a voice on the other end of the phone, and she sometimes forgot to call for weeks on end.
Her doing this, her doing this for Didion especially, it made things better. At least for the day.
The two girls sat down at the table, soon joined by Matt. The three talked at hyper speed and a deafening volume about what costumes they could wear.
“Can Austin come?” asked Didion, poised to beg.
“He must come,” Babe responded with a smile.
Didion squealed.
Babe served them the pumpkin pancakes with bacon cut and arranged to look like spiders. She freshly juiced blood oranges and made them spiced white mochas.
The kids considered dressing up as the Sanderson sisters, the Owens sisters, Twilight characters, classics like black cats, ghosts—and landed on doing Dead Prom.
Didion said it confidently and like it was a Thing, and Matt and Sammie didn’t miss a beat.
They were immediately all on the same page that they’d do over-the-top eighties prom queen/prom king–style.
Didion and Sammie had recently watched an old Disney movie called Susie Q and had become darkly fascinated by the idea of a beautiful girl dying tragically and dramatically in her teens.
Babe volunteered to make fake blood out of corn syrup for them, and to help them with their hair—she had been there, in the eighties, after all.
It was the most fun day Didion could ever remember having.
They tore through the house and through the boxes in the garage, which held some of their grandmother’s clothing from the fifties and sixties.
They were able to piece something together out of all the elaborate tulle and elbow-length gloves, the satin high heels and even—miraculously—a collection of costume jewelry that included tiaras.
After harvesting their costumes, Babe teased their hair and did their makeup in her bedroom while Practical Magic played in the corner on the small, ancient TV that lived on the dresser.
She pomaded Matt’s hair. She did their makeup.
And when Austin arrived, sporting a black eye from a fight at the tennis court when some guy lost his shit after Austin beat him—you really should have seen the other guy—Babe made it look even more dramatic.
Both boys wore some awful old polyester suits that had once belonged to Babe’s father.
“What will you be?” Didion asked her mother. “Are you going to dress up?”
Babe had leaned close, putting the final touch of blue on her daughter’s eyelids, and said, “I’m going to be a witch.”
“A witch!”
She nodded. “Mm-hmm. You know, my aunt used to tell me we had witch blood.”
Didion smiled and pulled her chin in toward her chest. Both believing and not believing her mother. “What do you mean?”
“Well, our ancestors are from Lithuania. The last pagan country in Europe. It’s said that the witches there could conjure a storm from a clear sky.”
Didion eyed her mother, half-skeptical, half-intrigued.
“It’s true,” said Babe. “And this is a magical house. Surrounded by oaks, symbolizing time with no end. Looking out toward the horizon, where we can see the sun’s journey through the sky, day in, day out.”
It was starting to give Didion chills, so she shrugged her shoulders up to her ears and said, “You’re just trying to freak me out.”
Babe laughed at this, leaning on the bathroom counter and tossing the eyeliner back in its bag. “Maybe you’re right. Or maybe you’re not.” At these last words, she bent over and pinched Didion’s ribs, which sent her running out of the bathroom, screaming gleefully as her mother chased her.
When Babe emerged from her bedroom later, she looked like the most beautiful witch Didion had ever seen.
Years later, she’d see a series of photos of Veronica Lake dressed like that, possibly as press for I Married a Witch, she wasn’t sure.
The second Didion saw the pictures, she was transported back to this moment.
The waved hair, the fishnets, the netting on the hat—where had she even gotten the hat?
—it was all perfect. Didion was fifteen then.
Knew her mother couldn’t really be a witch.
But there was something about that day that brought back the childlike belief that maybe she was.
Babe arranged prosciutto to look like a hand, skewered olives onto mozzarella balls to look like eyeballs, and made spaghetti—which she insisted was in theme, calling it bloodworm stew. It made Sammie laugh, and grossed out Didion. She had just set it all out on the table when the power went out.
The girls looked at each other, the way young girls do when they actually want to believe something genuinely bizarre is going on.
They left the food for a few minutes to light a zillion candles, and then dug in.
After dinner, they all sat around a fire in the living room, telling scary stories for hours. Babe had a million of them. The others were making them up on the spot. Austin, better at it than anyone expected. What did a guy who seemingly had no apprehensions about anything know about fear?
It was almost ten when Babe told them she was going to bed. They all knew she was just letting them have the rest of the night to themselves. She never went to bed that early. But before she left them, she asked the girls to meet her in her room so she could give them makeup wipes for later.
The girls waited upstairs, taking pictures in the bathroom mirror, and Babe arrived a few minutes later, after getting herself a glass of red wine.
She sat down on the bed, leaning back against her soft headboard and beckoning them to come lie down with her.
They did, all three of the Bennett girls looking in the direction of the French doors, thrown open to the elements, wind causing the lace curtains to billow, fine sea spray filling the room with a salty, blue perfume. “I want you two to know something.”
Didion looked up at her beautiful mother, still wearing her pointy hat, and recognized the rheumy look in her eyes.
It was not her first glass of wine, Didion knew that.
She’d developed an uncanny habit of tracking this kind of adult behavior.
There was a tipping point, after which she didn’t like being around Babe anymore.
Nothing bad ever happened, but she sometimes got sad, sometimes talked about the same old things.
How different their father had once been, the dreams she’d had before getting pregnant, doling out advice about not having kids too early.
All of which wound up sounding like regret, and none of which made Didion feel good.
All of which made Didion feel like she had ruined her mother’s life.
“You are special. Both of you. Powerful. And in your life, you are going to feel things more deeply than others, you’re going to make things happen where other people couldn’t.
You aren’t only smart, you’re awake.” She squeezed them as she said the last word, making them even more attentive.
“There are going to be signs in your life, signs everyone else would miss, but you won’t miss them.
You both have a gift, just like I do, just like all the women in our family have.
The more you practice it, the better it will be. ”
Was that the thing Didion had? Something in her that made her deeply aware of how everyone else in the room felt. She observed everything and couldn’t help but take note.
Didion squirmed and said, dubiously, “Really, Mom?”
She clutched her daughter harder and said, “Well, who do you think ordered the rain, special for Halloween?”
… from a clear sky.
Sammie gasped. Didion thought her sister seemed about six years old in that moment.
“You’re only trying to scare us because it’s Halloween,” Didion said on the exhale of a sigh.
“Scare you? Not at all! Does it scare you to think you have power to change things?”
Didion didn’t know how to answer that.
“I like it,” said Sammie. “Follow my instincts, right?”
“That’s right. And I want to tell you one more thing,” said Babe.
Both girls leaned close, even Didion, who was cynical beyond her years.
“You will each get one big spell in your life.”
“One big spell?” Sammie repeated.
Babe nodded. “That’s right. One time in your life, you will get to ask the ancestors for one thing you really want. It has to be really big, though. Because it’s the only one you ever get.”
“Like what?” asked Didion.
“I don’t know how you’ll want to use it.
But I’ll tell you how you shouldn’t. Not on any boys or girls you might have a crush on.
If it’s true love, you won’t have to ask.
And if you force the wrong love into your life, it’ll haunt you.
Don’t ask for money or a job. Whatever it is, it had better serve your soul. ”
Both girls nodded, though both of them were in a bit over their heads.
“You’ll know,” said Babe, seeming to sense it. “Just remember. One spell for something really, really special to happen.”
“How do we do it?” asked Sammie.
Babe smiled and pulled Sammie in even closer. “I’m glad you asked. You must be alone. In a very dark room. As quiet as can be. Then, simply ask for what you want.”
Sammie gasped again, then let out an audible exhale. “Wow.”
Didion couldn’t help but wonder why her mother had been a tired line cook in restaurants so long if she had the power to bend the will of the universe. Why even when she was happy, she always had a streak of sadness.
“Now go. Have fun.” She pushed them off her, smacking each of them on the butt, then stopped into her bathroom for a packet of makeup wipes and handed them to Didion. “And girls?” she said, just as they started to go. “There’s some wine in the fridge.”
Didion eyed her. “Do you want … more?”
“No.” She laughed. “I’m letting you know that I won’t notice if it goes missing. It’s a special night, after all.”
She winked at them, and the girls went out and shut the door.
The fun of being with Austin and Matt, the freedom of having their mother’s wine, the euphoria of Halloween in July, it ran the heavy thoughts of one big spell right out of their minds.
For that night, at least. The words would go on to ring in their minds for years to come, echoing into the future, reaching far beyond the death of the one who uttered them.