Season of the Witch (25 page)

I think of what’s waiting at my house. My mom is going out with friends—again. This is the fourth friends night in two weeks. For my mother who used to say her idea of heaven was eating while she read a book and didn’t have to talk to anyone. In fact, that was one of the things that brought my parents together. My dad saw my mom reading a book in a noisy bar all by herself and thought, Yeah, that’s my kind of lady.

But this hypersocialness doesn’t feel good. I wonder if my mom is showing my dad she can leave the family too. Or is she … like, actually planning to leave? So many bummer questions, so few answers.

When I get home, my dad will be there. I can suggest we order Thai food—“Pad Thai! Larb, extra spicy”—to put happiness in this house where there is none. But I feel tired at the thought of it.

Really, it’s simple. My mom is not in the house because Katherine still is. You can feel her everywhere, in the silences, the things we don’t do, the boring conversations that fall apart like stale crackers. You feel her in my mom’s anger, my dad’s guilt. My mom can’t stop being angry. She’s trying, I know, but it’s not working. She can’t get back to us.

And slowly, my dad is getting tired of feeling guilty. He’s getting tired of trying. My mom’s anger is like a death grip on his throat, choking the life out of him. After a while, he’ll stop fighting.

And then what happens? When everyone decides it’s just not worth it?

I’m not sure. But I’m starting to realize there’s no magic spell I can work.

Of course, it’s not just the kisses that bring Ella back to life. She has to form her own coven, with Shelley, her therapist, with her parents, who go with her to therapy sometimes, and with her friends. I visit Ella every day. Sometimes Reina comes. Once Amber came with me, another time Abby. Amber is hilariously dippy in the same way Ella is; at times, I worry I could be replaced as bestie-in-chief. But now is not the time for jealousy. Different friends can do different things for you.

I also worry about Abby because she’s so bossy. But she is fiercely loyal, and Ella can use that kind of support. Every time she puts herself down, Abby is right there with a comeback.

In the elevator as we leave Ella’s apartment, Abby is quiet. Then she says thoughtfully, “I was a judgmental dingus to you at the beginning of the year.”

I laugh. Hyperarticulate Abby using the word “dingus.” Also, hyper-righteous Abby apologizing.

I say, “Mistakes were made by all.”

“Yeah,” she agrees as we walk out onto the street. “But not by me. I’m perfect.”

Her face is totally deadpan. And when I laugh, she does too.

I walk Abby home, then head for my place. It’s dark early now. Remembering the week, the cards, everyone who visited, I can’t help but think, All this is great. But it’s not enough.

For the spell to be broken, truly broken, the witch has to die.

Two days later, Ella calls me. “So, next week?”

“Yeah?”

“I might be coming back to school. The therapist says she thinks I’m ready.”

“Welcome back, beauty.”

The following Monday morning when I meet Ella on the corner, I hand her a small box. “Ooh,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “Presents. Can I open it now?”

“Sure.”

Her fingers work the ribbon and tissue paper. Inside is a small box. Inside the box is Gloriana the butterfly.

“Oh, my God,” she breathes. “One of your little creatures. She’s so beautiful, I love this one.” She takes Gloriana out of the box, holds her up to the light. “You sure you want to give her up? You have a whole set.”

Had, I think, remembering destroyed Phoebe. “They don’t need to huddle all together anymore,” I say lightly. “I think they’re ready to move on.” I touch Gloriana’s wing. “She belongs with you because she’s gorgeous and lighthearted and she makes people happy. Look at her when you forget about yourself.”

Ella hugs me. “Thank you. I will take such good care of her.”

We start to walk. Ella tells me about her recent shrink session with her parents. “My mom keeps saying how terrible she feels. It takes like, half the session. Meanwhile my dad’s like, ‘I’m happy you’re better.’ ” She drops her voice low to imitate her dad. “ ‘Now let’s think nutritionist.’ Then Shelley asked me what I thought about that. I said, ‘Well, I agree about the nutritionist. But I kind of wish food wasn’t the first thing my dad thinks of when he thinks of me.’ I was totally terrified my dad would lose it. But Shelley said, ‘Did you hear that, Martin?’ Which is shrinkese for ‘Score!’ ”

I grin. “Fab-o-rama.”

She nods happily, then goes quiet for a little while. Just before we get to school, she says suddenly, “I went to see Cassandra this weekend.”

Amazed, I say, “Why?”

“Because I wanted to apologize for starting this whole Eamonn thing. Maybe in a way, it was good to clear the air? But I did it to get back at her too, and that really rots.”

“Yeah, but they
need
to be in therapy, Ella.”

“Well, that’s the thing. They still haven’t gone. Her parents keep making dates and Cassandra refuses to show up. So I wanted to tell her family therapy’s not that bad.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“Her parents were out at a movie with my parents, so I knew she’d be alone. First thing she said was ‘Oh, back from the dead.’ Which was a little weird, but whatever. I said, ‘Look, I’m here because I owe you an apology.’ ”

“What’d she say?”

“Oh, she rolled her eyes, like Give me a break. And I said, No, really. I screwed up and I want you to know that I know that. Then I told her how I thought our parents had always compared us and made us compete and how we should really be friends. Because who else understands how crazy our family can be?”

“And?”

“She says to me, ‘You don’t even have the first clue what you’re apologizing for.’ I said, ‘Well, as a matter of fact, I do know. I am sorry for talking about Eamonn and I am sorry that I said in any way that you hurt him or let him die or whatever. That was sucky and wrong and I really, really apologize.”

The light turns red. Ella and I are stuck at the corner. I press, “So what did Cassandra say?”

“Well, this is where it really gets insane.
She
said, ‘Oh, that’s what you told people, huh? That I killed Eamonn?’ Her voice was all calm, no big deal. I said, Yes, unfortunately, I kind of did, and I understand if you hate my guts and never speak to me again.”

“Then?”

Ella takes a deep breath. “Then she said, ‘But I did kill Eamonn.’ ”

We’re almost at the school. Neither of us knows what to say.

Luckily, behind us, Reina Goldfarb shrieks, “Oh, my God, yay, Ella!”

That’s all it takes for Ella to be swarmed by kids. Everyone hugging, patting, exclaiming. It’s a flash mob of Ella love. Somehow
we all stumble into the building. Ella and I get separated on the stairs as she’s practically carried off to her locker. She grins back at me. I wave, call, “See you at lunch!” She gives me a thumbs-up before she disappears through the second-floor doors.

I have a huge, dumb smile on my face. And for a while, I just stand there with that smile. Feeling good.

Then I think of Cassandra. Who told Ella she killed Eamonn.

Is that why she won’t go to therapy?

I imagine it. Cassandra on one side of the office, sunk deep in a chair, chin fixed on her fist, looking away as her parents try to reach her, the therapist tries to reach her.

They won’t reach her. She won’t let them.

But someone has to. Whether she did do what she said or she didn’t … someone has to help her.

I should really leave it alone.

Only …

Cassandra didn’t leave me alone. Maybe I would have been better off if she had. But even with all that’s gone down between us, I still remember that when I was on the bathroom floor, a mess of piss and tears and pain, Cassandra was the one who got me on my feet.

By now, I should get that there is no magic between me and Cassandra. That we can’t read each other’s minds. That if I want to talk to her, I have to pick up the phone.

And yet I do feel like we have a connection. And that’s a kind of magic.

Yo, Cassandra
.

I wait.

Then hear
Go away
.

I feel it anyway. She’s in a bad, hurting place.

Come on, babe. Talk to me
.

GO AWAY!

Where are you, Cassandra?

No answer.

Where would you be? I wonder.

And then I know.

SHE’S SITTING AT THE VERY end of the rock, the part I used to think of as the whale’s head. Her back is to me, she sits huddled in her coat, waiting for something. I imagine the whale’s body smashing back down into the water after breaching, that enormous weight pulling everything down with it.

Without turning, Cassandra says, “So you brought her back to life.”

“Not just me. There were a lot of kisses on those cards.”

“Was it worth it?”

Such a weird question. So Cassandra. As I think of what to say, I find myself not thinking about Ella—but about Chloe. I remember Oliver running away from me on the street. The ragged hole Chloe’s death left in his life. Chloe’s little sister crying at the funeral. How I’ll never get to see Chloe at class reunions and think, Oh, you changed, you’re an okay person now. Or, Still the same old bitch, big surprise. And how much I would give, here and now, to have the chance to find out which it was.

“Yeah, it was worth it,” I say.

“Funny,” says Cassandra. “I usually feel when people are gone, that’s when you realize what a major pain in the ass they were. You’re not supposed to say that, of course. You have to do the whole ‘Oh, how can we go on without them’? deal. When really—you’re relieved.”

“You don’t really feel relieved that Eamonn died,” I tell her.

“Yes, I do,” she says numbly. “That’s why I killed him.”

Images in the head, the ones I haven’t fully allowed to form. Cassandra shoving Eamonn under the water, holding him down, getting soaked as he thrashes, but waiting, waiting …

Until everything is quiet.

“Tell me what happened, Cassandra.”

Still sitting, she spins around to face me. “Have you ever known someone like Eamonn? Spent any kind of time with them?”

“No.” I sit down on the rock, the whale’s neck.

“It—” Cassandra breaks off, stares out at the river. This time, words are not coming easily to her. “I don’t know, maybe you think all autistic people are like … Spock or something. They don’t feel things, they don’t get emotion. Like they’re dateless geeks at school, but they win the Nobel Prize for Physics and it all kind of works out okay.”

“The guys on
Big Bang Theory
.”

“Right. Well, that wasn’t Eamonn. Eamonn didn’t have an outside skin. All his nerve endings were right there on the surface. The stuff you and I deal with without even thinking could cause a total neural meltdown for Eamonn. The wrong kind of shirt. The wrong kind of light, voice a little too loud. Once my aunt picked up one of his trains, put it down in the wrong place. He had them all lined
up, you see, just the way they should be. Eamonn flipped. She was like, What’s wrong with him? I was like, How would you like it if someone came stomping into your world and messed it all up?”

I think of Katherine. “Not a whole lot.”

“Damn right. And when Eamonn didn’t like something, he screamed. As if he was on fire. And it could go on for hours. No joke.”

“So you were careful,” I say.

“Yep. Keep the energy around Eamonn calm and quiet. Don’t talk too loud. Nothing on TV with loud bangs. No fighting, obviously. You couldn’t drop a pot, slam a door, or—”

Have any feelings whatsoever, I think.

Cassandra says, “I could calm him down. I was good at it. Either I got less freaked than my parents or—”

“You had the special powers.”

She nods approvingly. “I would warm up his favorite blanket, wrap him tight, and hold his head to mine. Forehead to forehead.” She smiles. “Then I’d sing ‘Yellow Submarine.’ Usually that got him calm enough that we could get him into a warm—”

She breaks off, and I realize the next word would have been “bath.”

“Nice spell casting,” I say.

“Not shabby.”

“So what happened that night?”

I feel Cassandra pull into herself, go dark.

“What did you mean when you said your parents left you guys alone one too many times?”

“What does it sound like?” she says bitterly.

“Did you usually babysit for him?”

“Who else were they going to get? We spent so much on his therapies and his school and his this and his that, we couldn’t afford a babysitter. The few we did try had no clue how to handle him.”

“So make Cassandra do it.”

She looks at me. “I wanted to. I loved Eamonn.”

“I know. I’ve never, ever not known that.” I pause. “What happened?”

“I told you. I willed him to die.” She sings, “ ‘I put a spell on you—because you’re mi-ine. Yes, you’re mine.’ ”

“You didn’t do that, Cassandra.” More and more, I feel sure of this.

“Oh, but I did. You of all people know we can cause people to die. Everyone wants to pretend people don’t have that power, to kill with our feelings. But we do. And we do it all the time. You just have to find the weak spot and press.”

She smiles a horrible smile. I say, “Chloe died in a terrible, horrible accident, Cassandra. People get hit by cars all the time. It’s not witchcraft.”

“Really? Did she get hit or did she just walk on out into the street because her world was falling apart and she didn’t want to live anymore?” When I don’t answer, she wonders out loud, “And who made her not want to live anymore? Who made her feel that the man she loved was going to leave her?”

I want to snap, Chloe drank too much and walked in front of a truck. End of story.

Only I don’t. Because I remember Isabelle saying,
She was convinced you were out to get her. She kept saying she “felt” you thinking about her. Said she could practically hear you
.

That’s what Chloe
felt
, not fact.

Except I
was
out to get her.