Chapter 4

Mother Goose Apothecary

I run out of the school all the way downtown. The tears hold off until I’m in front of my aunt’s shop across the street from the town green.

I wipe my face and try to fan the puffiness from my eyes. If my aunt finds out I’ve been crying, she’ll have a million questions, and I can’t deal with that right now. It’s strange enough that I’m showing up on a Thursday.

I skip the front entrance where the door is decorated with a mosaic of blue and white sea glass, above it a green sign with Mother Goose Apothecary written in scrawling gold lettering. Instead I walk down the driveway that leads to the back where there are a few parking spaces for customers. A gate takes me into the garden behind the shop, and it’s like opening a door to another world.

It’s small, but Aunt Candy makes use of every inch of space. A big butterfly bush, still in bloom, sits in one corner. Droopy sunflowers that no longer have their petals slouch in a line along the side fence. A patch of bright yellow goldenrod borders one side of the waterfall—yes, my aunt’s garden has its own waterfall.

Then there are the herbs, all different kinds popping up throughout the garden. And that’s only the plants I can identify.

A patchwork of slate stones littered with goose poop make a walkway to the door where Randi stands guard. She opens her mouth and honks. I honk back and shoo her out of the way.

Randi is a Canada goose and the source of all the poop. She’s also grouchy and a pain in the butt. She’s been a regular in my aunt’s garden for as long as I can remember, and I think the shop is named in her honor.

Candy is impossible when it comes to that goose and spoils her like she’s an actual pet. I don’t know why Randi can’t go hang out with all the geese in the pond over by City Hall. As if reading my thoughts, the goose nips at my heels as I slip through the back door. I slam it shut before she can sneak in.

An assortment of scents hits me immediately. It never smells exactly the same way when I step into the shop. There’s always a hint of sage. Today my nose picks up mint and something flowery, maybe lavender. All along the back are antique cupboards with small compartments where bundles of herbs are kept. To the right is an aisle devoted to candles of all scents and colors. Tapers, tea candles, big ones in jars—my aunt sells them all.

I walk by cases full of items that Candy calls treasure, but some people might call trash, like the snow globe with red “snow” that falls around a bloodshot glass eyeball and the pewter hand holding a large rat, which I hope is fake but is so real-looking it’s probably one of those gross taxidermy ones. I try not to look directly at it as I pass by.

My favorite things are the tiny fairy figurines that are hidden all over the store. They are constantly moved around, and it’s easy to imagine they’re alive. I love coming across one I’ve never seen before or finding an old favorite in a new spot. There are almost always a few hidden in the plants.

And there are many plants. They hang from the ceiling, sit in large pots in corners, and some even find their way inside the display cases. I swear when any surface opens up, my aunt covers it with a plant in five seconds flat.

I drop my bag behind the counter that houses an old-fashioned cash register and take a seat on the stool. Behind it is an open doorway marked off by a beaded curtain that leads to a room where regular customers aren’t allowed. I hear a murmur of voices coming from it.

Candy must be doing a tarot reading. The shop may look fantastical with the plants, fairies, and oddities, but that’s the ordinary stuff; the real magic happens behind that curtain. My aunt will be sitting on one side of the table, her client on the other, a beautiful tarot deck in between them.

Since my aunt’s not expecting me today, I take out my homework and wait for her to be done. My concentration is shot and my eyes feel tired, so I mostly stare out the window at the people passing by.

When Candy doesn’t have clients, the private room is where I spend most of my time. In between customers, we drink tea and it often feels like my aunt’s reading me without the help of a tarot deck.

I’ve never had her do a reading for me; she doesn’t read minors. My aunt is happy to illuminate the mysteries of people’s lives as best she can. She says that people don’t always know what to do with that information, and certainly not young people.

She’s prone to saying things like, “Some things are best left unknown.”

I wonder if I had known how things turned out between Abby and me, if I would have done anything differently. There are some things I should have done differently, but I wonder what else might have changed if I had seen what was coming. It’s confusing to think about.

A woman with frizzy hair and thick-framed glasses emerges from behind the curtain. “Liza! You’ve gotten tall.”

It’s the kind of thing grown-ups say when they don’t know you very well. “Hi, Mrs. Greenwood.”

My aunt pokes her head out and a look of concern flickers across her face before it settles into a smile. “Liza, what a nice surprise. I’ll put on some tea.”

A little bell jingles as Mrs. Greenwood opens the front door. “Thanks, Candy. See you next month.”

In the private room, the cards are gone from the table and a set of mismatched teacups and saucers—family heirlooms—are set up. The tea infusers are sitting in the cups, waiting for the hot water to heat up in the electric kettle.

“Sage tea?” The smell is enough to confirm it, even if I didn’t know that Candy always drinks it after a reading. Something about it being cleansing.

“Of course.” She pours the hot water into our cups. “And fresh mint in yours. I brought in some of my herb plants last night with the cold finally here.”

I thought the shop felt extra full of plants today, but honestly, it’s hard to tell. I run my finger along the gold brim of the teacup, the smooth edge soothing.

“You’re quiet today,” my aunt says.

I shrug. If I start talking, she’ll get me going, and I don’t feel like getting into it.

“Hmmm.” She examines me with her eyes. “Your period didn’t come early, did it?”

“Ugh, no.” Despite my pleas for her not to track my cycle, she does anyway. She claims she doesn’t keep a calendar, just that she remembers.

“I won’t force it out of you, but you know I’m always here to talk.”

“I know.” She tells me that just about every week. It’s kind of annoying, but it’s also nice to have the reminder. I don’t always want to talk, but I know I can, which is more than I can say of my dad. He’s not much of a talker.

I blow on the hot tea. The warm, minty smell boosts my mood.

Candy resorts to small talk, which is her way of giving me time. “You helping your dad this weekend?”

“Yup.” I sip my tea, even though it’s too hot and burns my tongue.

“Maybe I’ll send Felicity to get pumpkins for the shop. They’ll look good out front, don’t you think?” Felicity is my aunt’s girlfriend. She’s been around as long as I can remember. I don’t know why they don’t get married, but I guess it’s none of my business.

“I’ll set aside the funky-looking ones.” My aunt likes everything to have character. She gives a home to the things that other people overlook or leave behind.

“Any other plans for the weekend?”

“I’m going to the carnival Saturday night,” I blurt out.

“Ohhh.” She draws out the word. “Who with?”

The way she asks tips me off that she has noticed Abby hasn’t been around. She’s probably been waiting for me to bring it up. If Candy is tiptoeing around the absence of my ex-best friend, then she must realize what a big deal it is.

“Daya, a girl from my lunch table.”

“That should be fun. Call me if you need a ride.”

Daya hadn’t mentioned going together, just meeting there. We didn’t talk about what time to meet either. Now I’m not sure if I should go.

I think my aunt senses my hesitation. “Felicity and I were thinking of going.” It’s a total lie because a carnival is so not their scene. They’re more into craft fairs and farmer’s markets. I can’t imagine either one of them on a ride or eating fried dough. “Why don’t we pick you up at seven and we can all go together? Should we pick up Daya on the way?”

“No.” I add honey to the tea and watch it swirl around and dissolve as I stir. “I’m meeting her there.”

The bell on the shop door jingles. Before my aunt can stand to see who’s there, Felicity’s singsong voice rings through the shop, “Hello, my love!”

Felicity bursts in, a flurry of bangles clanking on her wrists and a scarf flowing out behind her. She never simply enters a room but makes an entrance. At seeing me, the same look of concern my aunt had crosses her face. She bends down to give my aunt a peck on the lips.

“Liza!” She squeezes my shoulder. “How are you, my dear?”

I get up and give her a hug, the scent of her chamomile moisturizer filling me up. Felicity claims copious—her word—amounts of it keeps her skin smooth and shiny. She’s a little older than my aunt and doesn’t have a wrinkle on her face. I recently added moisturizer to my skin routine. Mine doesn’t smell as nice, but I’m embarrassed to ask where she gets hers.

“We’re bringing Liza to the carnival Saturday night,” Candy declares.

Felicity’s face lights up. “What fun! I’ll wear my silver headband. It’ll be extra sparkly under all those lights. What’s your favorite ride, Liza? I won’t do anything spinny, but anything high or fast, I’m game.”

I grin into my teacup. My aunts are the best. I’m almost looking forward to going to the carnival.