Chapter Thirty-Six. Duncan
TWO WEEKS LATER
Let me take you to another place for this Queimada.”
Flickering firelight reflected in the lenses of Ma’s reading glasses, catching in the tiny crystals of the chain that looped down from each side. She lifted a wide, shallow ceramic pot from a wicker basket. Around the edge were twelve mugs with matching glaze, hooked by their handles.
The sun was setting earlier now. The Bradys—plus Frankie, who’d defaulted into in-law status now that Rowan and Temperance were part of the family—sat around the stone firepit in the grass between the house and the pond. By the hundreds, dandelion puffballs glowed in the rose-gold light of dusk. A gentle wind brought the sweet scent of dying leaves. An omen of fall.
“Everyone, close your eyes.” Ma tipped her chin down to peer over the shiny frames of her glasses and waited for everyone to do as she said. She winked at Duncan and Temperance once the others closed their eyes.
Everyone had been so busy since August; this was the first night the Bradys had gathered for dinner in several weeks. It gave Duncan and Temperance a convenient excuse to bring everyone together for a bit of mischief. They’d looped Ma and Dad in on their plan, and Ma was especially delighted to play the role of accomplice by performing a Galician fire ceremony.
The Queimada.
“We’re on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea.” Ma dropped her voice low. “Dark wind brings you the sound of Galician bagpipes. The air is warm and damp, tasting of sand and salt. It feels inside your lungs as though you’ve taken some of the earth itself into you. Above, the roof of the world has been lifted, and you’ve never seen the sky so impossibly black and so impossibly vast.”
Temperance leaned into his shoulder and whispered, “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get through this without cracking.”
“They deserve at least a little bit of payback.”
“What if they think we’re serious, though?”
Duncan set his hand on her knee. “We’ll keep them sweating for a minute or two, tops. That’s nothing compared to their months of meddling.”
Ma told everyone to open their eyes. On the picnic table at the other side of the campfire, she’d set out an array of goods. A bag of white sugar, a sack of coffee beans. A few oranges, and a thick-walled square bottle of spirits with the Vega Vineyards logo on the front.
“When I was a little girl,” Ma began again, “Noche de San Juan was my favorite holiday. It is the way we welcome summer in Spain, a celebration of water and fire. My father used to tell a story about how the sun was in love with the earth. The summer solstice was the day it lingered with its beloved the longest. By lighting bonfires, we gave extra power to the sun so it could hold back the night and stay longer with its love.
“Since we had more important things to do on the summer solstice this year”—Ma paused to beam a smile at Rowan and Harry—“we’ll celebrate belatedly with our Queimada. Hopefully I can remember the words.”
She centered the clay pot on the table, then uncorked the square bottle of spirits and poured it slowly in. “This orujo represents the tears of the earth.”
Even though Duncan sat several feet away, the bright and boozy fragrance of the orujo liquor made his nose tingle.
“Jesus,” Harry muttered. He must have smelled it, too.
“Language,” Ma said without looking up.
“Ah, pardon me for blaspheming during your pagan fire ceremony, Ma,” Harry deadpanned.
“Hush.”
Nate snorted a laugh. Ace and Charlie giggled.
“Like tears, we make it bitter.” She used a knife to carve curling strips of orange peel into the pot, followed by a handful of coffee beans. Then she added a heaping scoop of sugar. “And sweet.”
She stirred the concoction with the long-handled ladle. The grains of sugar grated against the ceramic.
Then Ma raised a ladle full of the queimada and used a small lighter to set the booze ablaze. When she lowered the flaming scoop back into the pot, the fire spread, licking slowly over the surface. She began the incantation in Gallego as she poured and stirred.
“Mouchos, curuxas, sapos e bruxas…”
Owls, barn owls, toads, and witches…
With a hypnotic rotation of her wrist, she stirred, scooped, and raised the ladle high, pouring a cascade of opalescent fire back into the pot.
“… espíritos das neboadas veigas…”
… spirits of the misty vales…
The incantation continued, and the air was filled with the scent of caramelized sugar and the toasty brightness of the orange peels. When Ma finished, she placed a heavy lid over the pot, smothering the flames, and the world seemed darker.
Then she arranged the small ceramic mugs for pouring. She threw an orange peel and a few coffee beans into a thermos of hot apple cider for the kids, Mal, and Mercy, whose belly peeked out of a flowy pink maternity top.
“We will drink three times.” Ma cut her eyes to Duncan and Temperance. “First, to banish evil spirits, and second, to purge the mind of bitterness. The final drink will infuse the soul with passion—”
That was their cue.
“Wait.” Duncan stood.
Temperance followed suit. “We have something to tell you all.”
Duncan looked down at her and let out a resigned sigh. “This isn’t—” He hesitated.
“It’s just—” Temperance paused for effect. She gestured between herself and Duncan. “This isn’t working out for us.”
A murmur went up through the group. Duncan and Temperance shared a sad glance. Her cheek dimpled inward where she clamped it in her teeth.
“What the hell is going on?” Arden blurted.
“We don’t, ah—” Duncan sighed hard and slowly looked from person to person, lingering a little longer on Rowan and Harry. “We don’t want to be engaged anymore.”
More concerned rumblings. “What?” Maren whispered to Nate, and Mercy and Patrick clasped hands. Rowan gasped and started to stand, but Harry kept her seated with a gentle tug on her wrist. Malcolm crossed his arms, and Frankie sat forward with her elbows on her knees and her hands stacked over her mouth. Again, Arden said, “What the hell is happening?”
“So…” Duncan paused again for maximum effect.
“So,” Temperance echoed. “We’re just going to go ahead and get married.”
For a beat, everyone looked confused.
Rowan leapt to her feet and ran to them, nearly knocking Temperance down with her hug. Duncan laughed and put his hands on their backs to steady them both. Frankie joined in on the hug, then everyone else piled in, like magnets snapping together. Dad pulled Duncan into the crowd. Little Grey was crying happy tears. Mal remained seated, but there was genuine warmth in his eyes as he watched.
Everyone backed away from the hug, grinning and talking over each other. Temperance had one hand pressed to her mouth, one hand pressed to her chest, giggling and trying to keep up with everyone’s rapid-fire questions. “We got the license four days ago,” she said. “We’re doing a self-uniting ceremony—yes, we’ve already waited so long—you’ll be our witnesses—yes, we have a date—no, no dress—”
Rowan’s cheeks and ears were vivid red. She made a face and gently popped Duncan in the arm with a fist. “That was mean.”
Harry laughed and shook Duncan’s hand. He cut his eyes over at Rowan. “You have no idea the floodgates you’ve opened here. She’s going to turn this into a contest.”
“Oh, I think we can call it even now after three months of ‘just be friends’ shenanigans,” Duncan said. “But if she wants to rumble—”
Mal approached. He didn’t move in for a hug, but he allowed Temperance to hug him. “Congratulations,” he said to Duncan over her golden head. “Maybe you won’t be so goddamned insufferable now. The pining was excruciating. Truly.”
“Well done, man, making this about you.” Duncan laughed. He made a thoughtful face and cut his eyes over at Frankie as she closed in on them. “Hey, if you’re looking for tips on strategy—”
“Absolutely not.” Mal turned on his heel and strode away.
Frankie gave Temperance another hug and watched Mal go with her bottom lip pinned between her teeth.
“Red flags, Frances,” Temperance said under her breath.
“Crème br?lée, Temperance,” Frankie sang back with a wink.
“Huh?” Duncan said.
“You don’t want to know,” said Temperance.
A plume of smoke from the dying fire hazed the night sky. When it cleared, the stars seemed sharper against the endless black. Dad laid a few new logs on the fire. It sent up a whirl of tiny sparks, and the embers beneath rippled and flared. Temperance stared at them with a wistful smile on her face.
“Fire seeds.” Duncan moved in behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle. He ducked his head and murmured behind her ear, “Stubborn.”
She hummed an enigmatic little sound in the back of her throat. Goosebumps prickled the tiny hairs at her nape. “Hopeful.”
“Stubborn, hopeful.” He laughed softly. “Same thing.”
The commotion died down, and everyone went back to their seats around the fire. Ma poured the queimada into the little ceramic mugs.
“You haven’t told us,” Maren said, still a little breathless. “When?”
Duncan and Temperance looked to Ma at the picnic table. She wore a small, secret smile. “Queimada isn’t only for the solstice. Some do it to celebrate Hallow’s Eve.” She handed filled mugs to Dad, who passed them around the circle of Bradys. “Some do the Queimada at weddings.”
Rowan’s and Frankie’s mouths dropped open.
“When?”Maren repeated, laughing.
“We were thinking…” Temperance trailed off and turned in Duncan’s arms to face him. Her eyes were jewel bright in the firelight.
Duncan slid his fingers between hers to link their hands tight. It felt like he’d waited his whole life for this.
He looked up at everyone. Waited a beat. Then he smiled and said, “Right now.”