Page 24 of Starlight Witch

As I entered the kitchen, feeling slightly sore from the night before but a whole lot calmer, Grams glanced up at me. Her eyes were twinkling, but she said nothing.

“Can we go for a ride today?” Fancypants asked, landing next to me on the counter. “I feel like flying around somewhere else. Maybe the water.”

“I suppose we can do that,” I said. “I can take my father’s journal and read while you fly. We can go to Oracle Park.”

Oracle Park was on the edge of the bay. It had access to the shore, and a roped-off area for swimmers. This time of year, there wouldn’t be any swimmers unless they were scuba diving, but there were plenty of logs to sit on and picnic tables, and it was a quiet spot. The park was large enough that it offered hiking trails, along with simple walks along the shore. But in November, there wouldn’t be many people there.

Fancypants jumped up and down on the counter, puffs of steam coming from his nose. He flapped his wings. “Thank you.”

Grams handed me a plate of eggs and bacon, along with a small fruit bowl. “I know it’s the holidays, but we’re going to eat sensibly at least part of the time.”

“I know, I know. I’m going to hit the gym this afternoon. Do you want to come with me?” Grams actually joined me at the gym part of the time. For a hundred-twenty-plus years old, she was spry on her feet. She did mild weight training, and walked on the elliptical.

“Not today,” she said. “I’m meeting the inspector about the house, and after that, providing all goes well, May and I are going shopping for curtains and bath mats and whatever I’ll need when I move.”

“You know the inspector won’t find anything wrong, don’t you?”

“I can see it. Sometimes my long vision is a bit tenuous, but the Sight is so strong that I trust it implicitly. This house is meant to be mine. If there’s anything at all wrong, it won’t take much to fix. Besides, the ghost told me everything’s all right.”

“Well, I hope you two get along famously. Just…please, don’t enjoy living with her more than you enjoy living with me.” I sniffed, affecting a pout.

“Oh, go on with you. You know I love you, and you know I love living with you. But you need your own space. Especially now with your young man, and possibly your other young man.” She winked at me, and I blushed. “Make your latte.”

I finished my breakfast and made my latte, returning to the table. “Are we cooking this afternoon?”

“I don’t think so. We’ll make the cranberry sauce and the rolls tomorrow. And we’ll need to buy sweet potatoes and green beans. You know, given that May, Bran, and Bree are coming, Thanksgiving might be enjoyable at that. I suppose you’re still serious about looking for that letter?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I am. Bran and Bree are going to help me. If you could keep my mother out of the house for a while, it would help.”

“All right. Anything to help you. Now, be off with you. Fancypants looks like he is champing at the bit to get out of here.” She grinned, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll probably be gone by the time you get home. I’ll see you later today.”

And with that, we were both off to our day’s chores.

Oracle Park was empty, as I had predicted. I walked down to the water’s edge, watching over the glistening surface as it ruffled in the wind. Fancypants caught an updraft, riding the air currents like a kite. He let out a squeal of glee, and began divebombing at me, pulling up short each time. I sat down at the picnic table near the edge of the bay, then pulled my father’s journal out of my tote and set it on the table. I glanced around. Seeing no one else nearby, I opened the page to the next entry.

But to my surprise, the next three entries were everyday observations. He wrote about me, about how much he loved me, and how angry he was at my mother for ignoring her duties.

I rested my elbows on the table, trying to remember. Had my mother truly neglected me? Was my father my primary caregiver? Everything seemed kind of a blur, until the night that he died. But then, as I let my mind wander, I slowly began to recall loud voices, arguments happening after I went to bed. And then, a memory crept out of the fog.

“What the hell are you thinking, Catharine?” My father’s voice echoed through the house, so loud that I could hear it from my bed. I sat up, squinting as I listened. I didn’t understand everything, but the words rang loud in my ears.

“Why do you think it’s my job to raise her? I gave birth to her and that’s the hard work. I love her, but I can’t stand it when she clings to me. You know how it bothers me.”

“I realize that you have a sensory issue. I realize that it makes your skin crawl to have people touch you when you aren’t ready for it. But you’re going to have to get over it. She’s your daughter.” My father sounded so angry. “Deal with it!”

I scooted back toward the headboard, pulling the covers up to my chest. I didn’t like it when he was angry. He seldom yelled at me, but still—raised voices meant the fiery mist that I saw around angry people would be hovering. And that fire threatened to burn me every time I was near.

“Maybe,” my mother said, her voice softening, “I could deal with it if it’d been my choice to have a child. I didn’t get a say in the matter.”

“I didn’t force you into bed,” my father said.

“No, but when the condom broke, you didn’t give me a choice. When the test came back positive, you and your mother decided for me. When I broached the possibility of an abortion—when I told you I wasn’t ready and didn’t think I had the ability to take on the responsibility, you threatened to leave me. You gave me an ultimatum. The reason I said yes, the reason that she’s here with us now, is because I loved you enough to give up my life for you. The life I might’ve had.”

Even as young as I was, I knew they were talking about me. I always knew that my mother didn’t want me. Oh, she loved me—she made that clear and I didn’t doubt it. But she didn’t want me around. I had always thought it was because I took all the attention away from her. But now, remembering, I wondered if she truly wasn’t capable of raising a child. I had forgotten all about the indicators that she might have mental health issues beyond the superficial ones I ascribed to her. And now, it hit me that there were things that my mother wanted to do that my presence had prevented. Wondering why she didn’t pursue them after I left home, I shook the memory out of my head and returned to the journal.

As I flipped to the next entry, Fancypants spiraled toward me in a dive bomb, shrieking “Whee!” all the way.

Startled, I jumped and ducked as he pulled up short, laughing.

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