Frankie #2
That swim! Oh, my sweet Francesca, how I worried for you! But I needn’t have. You’re a very strong woman, aren’t you? And
I do hope Hecate didn’t frighten you too much. It’s not her fault, poor darling, she’s always been very shy. And she’s never
been a good sleeper. Whenever anyone wakes her, she gets quite grumpy.” Gaia sips her coffee while looking worriedly at the
food. “Do you suppose we should wake Ash? He’s a good sleeper, and there’s nothing worse than cold shakshuka.”
“In a minute.”
This is real. This is no hallucination. This is really happening, just like last night really happened.
And now I know why she looks so familiar to me. It isn’t because of her resemblance to Ash—although it’s true, the two look
very much related.
It’s because of what Richard told me he saw that night at the courthouse. A very small witch, he’d said. Or rather, a deity,
with short dark hair cut in a sort of bob, and brown skin, dressed all in purple.
“Were you at the West Harbor tricentennial celebration at the courthouse last year?” I ask. “Because my ex swears he saw you.”
Gaia laughs. The sound of her laughter is like a soft breeze through a wind chime in the summertime, lush and musical and
delightful.
“Yes! Yes, I was! I’m afraid I couldn’t stay for the whole thing. But I did pop in for a moment and bumped into your Richard . . .
poor man. He’s really quite high-strung, isn’t he? And so sensitive! Not very go-with-the-flow, as you young people like to
call it.”
I shake my head. “No. No, he isn’t.”
“I’m sorry if I frightened him,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “And I do try not to interfere in the lives of you mortals.
But really, I think my little push to encourage that poor man to do what he really loves did him a world of good. He got out
of his shell, and so did you—and now you both have the opportunity to be happy with someone you truly care about.”
And there it is. I’m surprised. I didn’t expect her to confess to it . . . at least, not this soon.
“So you admit it.” I eye her. “You purposefully broke up my marriage so that I’d be free to date your grandson?”
She laughs like this is the best joke she’s ever heard. “No, not at all! All I did was encourage that poor, unhappy fellow
to follow his dream. Did I have a fairly good idea what that dream was, and that you would not wish to accompany him as he
followed it? Yes. Was I wrong about that?”
“No. I can’t leave my patients to sail around the world.”
“That’s what I thought. That’s why I like you, Francesca, besides the fact that you saved the life of my favorite grandson.
You’re a very caring and conscientious person. I’m so glad—”
“But you only met me five minutes ago,” I cry. “You might have magical powers—” I gesture toward the food on the table in
front of me. “It’s kind of hard to deny it. But how could you know that if Richard and I divorced, your grandson and I would
fall in love?”
Her face softens as she smiles at me like the kindly—and deadly—grandmother that she is.
“Ah,” she says. “So you do love him? Then please do me a favor and tell him. He’s a very sweet boy, and—”
“I will, if you’d answer my question.”
“Well, Francesca, if you must know, I knew because Ash came to me some time ago and said he was buying a house for me in West
Harbor. It was so out of the blue . . . I neither need nor want a house in West Harbor, not even as an investment. I do like
your little town, but not enough to live here, even during the summer. I prefer Gstaad in the summer, and he knows that. So
why was he so insistent? That’s when I did a little research of my own, and what do you think I discovered?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. It’s you! Ash had to buy that house because it’s near you. And finding lost things is his gift.”
“Are you implying that I’m lost?” It’s fortunate for Gaia that I have a lot of experience dealing with opinionated old ladies
like her (and my mother). Anyone else, I’m certain, would have tossed her out of the house. “Because I can assure you I’m
not.”
“Oh, darling.” She leans over and—much like Hecate had done last night to Emma—cups my face with one of her warm, brown hands.
“We all get lost occasionally. And yes, it’s very possible some other force brought you and Ash together. But does it matter?
You’ve found one another now, and you’re both going to be very happy.”
I spring away, not because of her touch—which is strangely comforting—but because my mind is spinning.
“How can you claim you don’t interfere in the lives of us mortals when you absolutely do? Didn’t you cause the storm that
came out of nowhere and ran Richard’s boat aground?”
“Me?” Her dark eyes, lined with black kohl, widen innocently. “Certainly not. Although I will say that I thought it was quite
rude of him to ask that other girl and not you to accompany him on his journey. Not that you would have said yes if he’d asked,
of course, but it simply wasn’t very gentlemanly on his—”
“Why?” I interrupt. This woman has clearly been spying on me for some time. Then again, she’s technically the owner of the
house next door, which makes her my neighbor. Neighbors always know far too much about one another. But when that neighbor
is also a goddess? I guess that could complicate things. “Don’t you have more important things to do? You know, Haley is an
obvious psychopath, but she was right about a few things. The world really is burning in some places.”
“The world is always burning somewhere, Francesca. I can’t stop that. I created this world as a gift to you humans. It’s up to you to work together
to take care of it. I do try not to interfere, but like I said, every so often one of you needs a little push—”
“Like Ash’s dad?” I challenge her. “That bolt of lightning from out of nowhere on the golf course in Phoenix? Was that you, pushing?”
She frowns prettily. “Imagine you asking me about that!”
“You said I could ask you anything.”
“The situation with Ash’s father . . . it was complicated.”
“Family usually is.”
“Yes, but this man . . . he really was so terrible. My poor daughter was at her wit’s end. I don’t know if Ash has told you—”
I shake my head. “Ash has told me very little about his dad. I’ve mostly had to read between the lines.”
“Yes.” Gaia nods. “That makes sense. Ash has always been very forgiving. I don’t know where he gets it from . . . certainly not me. I gave his father a number of chances to change—more even than I gave your Richard—but he never took any of them. In fact, he became worse.”
“I understand Ash’s father had addiction issues,” I say. “But relapse is often part of recovery—”
“I know that, of course. But if a man doesn’t want to change—really, what does someone in your line of work do when a patient simply refuses to change his behavior, despite the fact that it’s harmful to themselves, or others?”
“Well,” I say. “There are many lines of recourse, but murder isn’t one I typically employ.”
“Yes, I suppose it’s different for therapists. You’re expected to behave within the confines of the law.” Gaia shrugs, still
not looking a bit sorry. “But for those of us who don’t have such restrictions—”
“So you sent him where? The Underworld, for Hecate to deal with?”
She looks surprised. “Oh, no. The Underworld is only a way station, where souls go until their next destination is determined.
I have no idea where Ash’s father ended up . . . but I doubt it’s anywhere good.”
“What about my father?” Tears are forming beneath my eyelashes, but I ignore them. “My dad never did anything to anyone except
work hard and be a great husband and father. Why did he have to die? And where did he end up?”
“Oh, darling! Is that what this is all about?” Gaia passes me a napkin.
It isn’t a napkin I own. It’s cloth, and blue with white trim to match the tablescape.
But I take it from her in order to dry my eyes.
“Your father was a kind man who loved you and your mother and brother and sisters very much. Wherever he is now, I’m sure he’s happy and at peace.
He died for exactly the reasons the physicians said.
It wasn’t anything he did or didn’t do. Well, I suppose he should have gone to the doctor more often, and perhaps he oughtn’t to have eaten quite as much fatty meat—”
“So you’re saying that free will exists?” I ask, choking back a sob. “Our future isn’t determined by destiny—or you? Was that you who parted that terrible fog last night while I was trying to swim to Ash?”
“Oh, my sweet Francesca.” She reaches out to stroke my hair, and this time, I don’t leap away. Her touch feels gentle and
kind and, yes, even grandmotherly. Not at all the touch of a killer. “That wasn’t me. That was all you. All of us have a little
magic inside, and sometimes when we’re very afraid, or when we want something very much—like you last night, when you wanted
to help Ash—we’re able to access that magic. And when we do, extraordinary things can happen. That’s the real magic . . .
that we all have the power to determine our own destiny. Like you’re about to do now.”
I shake my head, confused. “Now? What’s happening now?”
As if on cue, Ash appears in the doorway, wearing only my duvet and a stunned expression.
“Guy?”