Chapter 8

 

 

Kelly flipped the switch on the electric kettle and measured loose tea into a strainer, an afternoon habit she’d cherished since she and Scott spent their honeymoon in England. The attic room had come to hold the most interest for her, of any space in the old Victorian house. Here, she kept the carved box, Manichee, which had come into her possession also during that trip to England. Knowing the box had once belonged to her great uncle was a tie, of course, but learning of the box’s power and how it was related to the one her mother owned—there was the magic.

As the kettle heated she opened the leather-bound book, which she kept on the highest shelf in the room. Golden sun filtered through one of the attic’s dormer windows, where Eliza lay stretched out in feline contentment. Just outside the door, on the landing, Ana played contentedly with two dollies, serving them pretend tea from her little china tea set.

Through the window, Kelly saw Sam’s new little SUV coming up the long driveway, disappearing behind one of the gables. Downstairs, the sounds of movement in the kitchen. The kettle clicked off. Kelly, following the English method for tea, swished the boiling water into the pot, poured it out in her small work sink, and then poured more water over the leaves in the strainer.

Sam arrived at the attic door just as the three-minute timer went off. She held a bakery box from Sweet’s Sweets.

“Perfect timing.” Kelly set the book aside and picked up the two tea mugs she’d purchased at Harrod’s.

Sam pulled a stool up to the heavy wooden table Kelly was now using partly as a library table, sometimes for experiments and to test ideas she found in the book of runes, as they’d come to call the volume that they’d learned had once belonged to a Romanian witch—supposedly. Since the book and the two boxes had come into their lives, they’d learned to remain open to almost any possibility.

“So, I have a confession to make,” Sam said as she opened the bakery box to reveal a dozen decorated Easter egg cookies.

“You’re hitting Easter early?”

“Becky’s idea. They’re selling well, so who cares if the holiday is more than three weeks away.” Sam took one to Ana, who proceeded to break it into small enough pieces so her dolls could eat some.

Eliza joined the little party on the landing, and Ana proceeded to explain why cats don’t generally like tea. Eliza watched her hostess with head cocked, ears perked forward.

Sam started to sip her tea but backed away when it proved too hot. She pointed to the book. “Do you suppose this has spells or potions or something to fix relationships?”

“That’s your confession? Is there something at home you’re not telling me?”

Sam laughed. “Guess I’d better start over. My confession is that I snooped on Danny’s phone. My question stems from my suspicion that things are seriously messed up between him and Lila.”

“Really? What was your first clue?” Kelly said, giving her mom the dagger eyes.

“Do you believe a person can receive a divine sign that they are meant to be with someone?”

“What, like lightning strikes them or something?”

Sam told her about the messages on the young man’s phone, quoting several.

“So, which was it—God or an angel that gave Lila this edict from heaven?” Kelly was smirking into her mug.

“I know, right? And then … saddest thing is that he’s apologizing to her! She gets him thinking it’s somehow his fault that he doesn’t want to commit to marriage after knowing her just a few months. I tell you, the lady is unbalanced.”

Kelly held up an index finger. “Hang on … I’ve read something about this. It’s a thing.”

She set her mug down and picked up her tablet. With a few clicks, she had come up with an article.

“Does Danny seem to be second-guessing things he knows to be true?” she asked after a couple of minutes.

“I’d say so. I watch him around Beau and he’s confident and assured. When we’ve had conversations, he seems to know what he wants, knows he wants to break it off with her. But then she says something—like that whole heavenly message bit—and he’s dithering again. He asked me if I thought he was being too sensitive, but from what I’ve seen she completely ignores his wishes. Her messages just sort of talk right over him, telling him what’s going to happen despite what he states to her.”

“So he’s questioning his own decisions?”

“Yeah, I think he’s even questioning what his actual words were. He says he never proposed to her, but she’s almost convinced him that he did.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m finding here. Her social media pages are all full of claims about him and their plans together. She puts incredibly personal stuff out there for the world to see.” She held up the screen for Sam to take a look. “And now, in these recent posts she’s going on about how much she loves him and how it’s breaking her heart that he wants to delay the wedding, as if it was all set.”

“What wedding? The girl is off her rocker.”

“Yeah, this stuff is over the top,” Kelly murmured, switching to another screen. “Okay, here’s the article I read a while back. Gaslighting. That’s what this is called, quote ‘when a person manipulates or controls someone else in ways that make them question their memory of events or even their sanity’.”

“Gaslight, that old movie with Ingrid Bergman … Wow. That was powerful stuff.”

“Exactly. The husband gradually drove her crazy by playing little tricks and then telling her she was imagining everything. That’s what happens. Lila’s got all their friends believing they are this super close couple, the fairytale romance, and the wedding will be happening soon, and Danny’s caught up in wondering if he did actually propose and agree to all this.”

“Can we do anything to help him?” Sam wondered.

Kelly shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. How often does anyone believe what outsiders are telling them about their relationships? He may just have to figure this out for himself.”

“If the genders were switched—if this was a woman friend being manipulated by a man, I wouldn’t have any trouble speaking up and suggesting she get herself out of there. But with a guy, I just don’t know how much to say. They’ve got their pride.”

“I’ll print this page and maybe you can find someplace to leave it for him—his truck or in the casita. What do you think?”

“He’s already tried to get himself away from her, but maybe if he sees it spelled out in black and white … Anyway, it’s worth a try.”

Sure. What could go wrong with that?