Page 29 of Nothing Less than Magic
“It feels good to have a night out.” She leans her head back and takes in a deep breath. “You were right, this is a fun place.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I turn away so she doesn’t see the tears shining in my eyes.
We’ve been so distant for so long, I didn’t know if we could ever get back to the place where we were each other’s everything. Sister, mother, survivor. But today feels like progress. Maybe, just maybe, we can put the past behind us and start to heal.
Katie returns with a revised Ghost Ghoul, then rushes back to her post behind the bar. I glance around and note there isn’t a plaid shirt in the house. Tonight, it’s a sea of city wear. Lots of sweaters in dark colors.
“What’s good here?” Lolly is studying the menu.
“To tell you the truth, all I’ve had here are chips and guacamole. Pretty hard to mess that up. But the menu looks interesting.”
When the server comes, we order a variety of small plates to share. It’s not until later, when we’re in the car, that I say, “You do realize that absolutely nothing we ate tonight is vegan?”
“Uh-huh, the brussels sprouts were.”
“They were dripping in butter.”
“Oh well,” Lolly says, and stifles a giggle. Those Ghost Ghouls have made her slightly drunk.
But when we get home, we polish off a bottle of wine, getting good and soused. Lolly passes out on the couch, and I practically carry her into the guest room, convinced that she’ll be less hung over in the morning if she sleeps in a bed instead of the sofa.
I tuck her in, the way I used to do when we shared a room in Uncle Sylvester’s penthouse apartment, and wait in the dark, watching the steady beat of her heart, trying not to remember.
Chapter 8
There’s a giant pumpkin balloon floating over our heads. When I say giant, I mean Goodyear Blimp giant. It’s attached to the cupcake float from Rolling Scones, one of the local bakeries in Ghost.
Lolly and I have claimed a small swath of sidewalk for our folding chairs to watch the parade. While it’s not Macy’s Thanksgiving Day, it’s less amateur than I’d imagined. Some of the floats are quite elaborate with moving parts and sound effects. So far, my favorite is the Bank of the West’s haunted mansion float, a replica of the Gold Rush Museum in downtown Ghost. The float designers took some creative liberty, embellishing the old Victorian with flying bats, ghost holograms, and shrieking noises.
Even Lolly is entertained and hasn’t complained once since we got here, which has to be some kind of a record. She’s been taking pictures and texting them to Taylor and Luna.
“Let them see what they’re missing.”
I hide a grin, because it’s so unlike her not to be snarky. Not one single Mayberry joke out of her mouth. She genuinely seems to be enjoying herself. And I can’t remember having this much fun since . . . I can’t remember.
“Are you hungry?” I ask over the Ghost High School band’s rendition of “Monster Mash.” It’s not terribly good, but I give them an A for enthusiasm. Their dance moves are a feat in and of itself.
“I could eat,” she yells over the music.
It appears to be the tail end of the parade and a prime opportunity to beat the crowds. “Mexican?”
I wait for her to remember she’s a “vegan.” Instead, she gives me a thumbs-up. We fold the chairs, take them to the car, and walk to Flacos. The place is empty. Lolly grabs a two-top in the corner, while I put in our orders.
We’re just about to eat when none other than Knox walks in.
Lolly swings around in her seat to see what has my attention, then turns back to me. “Who’s that, and why are you blushing?”
“Oh please, give me a break. That’s Knox, my handyman.”
“The one who’s a scientist or whatever you said he was?”
“A biophysicist.”
She turns again to have another look. “He’s hot.”
“Shush. He can hear you.”
But he’s absorbed in studying the menu board and seems oblivious to the fact that Lolly’s ogling him. We’re like a couple of teenagers, or at least Lolly is.
