Page 18 of The Women of Wild Hill
After Calum had been around for a few weeks, the girls began to get nervous. Flora was clearly no longer herself. She was high on something much stronger than the weed she enjoyed. It was as if her synapses had been rewired. Her atoms seemed rearranged. Growing up, the girls had always laughed at the silly stories in which mermaids and goddesses let their gifts be diminished by mortal men. Now, Brigid and Phoebe found themselves living inside one of those cautionary tales. They watched in horror as Flora doted on her entrepreneur. They gasped when she claimed to care about things she’d long found ridiculous: the NASDAQ, politics, male-pattern baldness. She cooked the asshole pancakes, for fuck’s sake. And the worst of it was, Calum was always there. Making his stupid man jokes. Leaving his mark on their territory. Polluting their house with his stinky pheromones.
“Stop it!” Flora ordered the girls when they complained. “You’re both being jerks. I’m not high. I’m happy. I can only hope you two feel the same thing someday.”
Though the idea had once been unthinkable, they wondered if their mother intended to marry. That’s when Flora confessed that Calum already had a wife and a son back in New York. Extramarital affairs weren’t the sort of peccadilloes that usually bothered a Duncan. But it felt like bad luck to both Flora’s daughters. Another woman’s curse should never be taken lightly. Even an ordinary female could fuck with your karma. But there were countless women in the world who weren’t aware they were witches. Screw with one of them and their fury might set your whole life on fire.
Flora knew this. And yet Calum remained.
“What in the hell do you see in him?” Phoebe asked her mother,who refused to respond. Of the two girls, Phoebe disliked Calum the most. When she thought of the son he’d abandoned back in New York, she always imagined a little boy. It was one thing to barely know your father. She and Brigid had nothing to miss. It was another thing to be discarded by a man you’d always looked up to. Finding out the kid was older than Brigid didn’t do much to ease her anger.
“Your boy toy has a family,” Phoebe had pressed.
“The Old One sent him to me,” Flora had replied. “He’s the man I was meant to meet.”
“Barf.” Brigid pretended to retch when Phoebe told her what their mother said. “As if the Old One would be that fucking cheesy.”
Phoebe kept her own counsel. She didn’t want to admit how concerned she’d grown. She’d always known things she had no business knowing—things other people didn’t want to share. She knew, for example, that Flora was paying Calum’s bills. She knew that Calum was filing for divorce. And she knew that there was something very wrong about all of it. She could feel it deep down in her bones.
But what could she do? Her mother loved Calum. Flora was happy—blissfully so. Phoebe hoped she’d never fall prey to the same affliction. It was terrible seeing her mother lose both her wiles and her wits over someone who didn’t deserve her. If she had thought for one moment that the love wasn’t reciprocated, Phoebe would have crafted a potion to fix the imbalance. A whiff of insincerity on Calum’s part and Phoebe would have asked Brigid to murder him. Her sister had never admitted to any crimes, of course. She didn’t need to. Phoebe could feel them.
But Calum seemed just as smitten as Flora. It was revolting to see this man—this utterly average penis possessor—posing as their mother’s protector. Pretending he knew how to deal with things—rattlesnakes, barbecues, teenage girls—that scared the living hellout of him. Acting like Flora could ever belong to him when she was his superior in every conceivable way. Walking through their house in his gross, hairy bare feet and wiping his nasty body with their fluffy white towels. Phoebe could hardly stand to look at him. But there was nothing she could do.
THEN AUNT IVY DIED. WHENthe three of them packed to head back east to Wild Hill, Calum decided to go with them. The last man to visit the family estate had been Flora’s father, and he’d been dead for decades. It felt like sacrilege to let Calum stay.
“He’s not invited to Aunt Ivy’s funeral,” the girls informed their mother. And on this point, they won. Calum had loose ends to tie up anyway.
The bonfire was barely out before Calum showed up on Wild Hill. This time, Flora refused to listen to any complaints. The estate belonged to her now, and she could entertain any guests she liked. Phoebe was certain that Bessie would put an end to Calum’s visit. She secretly hoped he’d be struck by a bolt of lightning. It had happened before, and it could happen again. But Phoebe couldn’t summon storms, and the ghost never made an appearance.
ONE AFTERNOON WHILE THEIR MOTHERwas shopping and they could no longer bear the sight of Calum lounging around their house like he owned it, Phoebe and Brigid rode their bikes to Danskammer Beach. It was one of the few places in Mattauk where they wouldn’t be bothered by the boys drawn like moths to Phoebe’s flame—or glared at by the dull suburban parents who seemed convinced that Brigid worshipped Satan.
“I have a terrible feeling,” Phoebe told her sister. “He shouldn’t be on Wild Hill. We need to get rid of him.”
“Okay,” Brigid agreed. It wouldn’t be easy, but together there was nothing they couldn’t accomplish. “How should we do it?”
“I don’t know! How do you usually do it?” Phoebe asked.
“Oh.” Brigid felt stupid. For a moment, she’d imagined they were a team. “Bywe, you meanme.”
Phoebe could see she’d offended her, but she couldn’t understand why. “It’s your gift!”
“Which I use as I see fit,” Brigid noted. “If you want Calum dead, why don’t you kill him yourself?”
“The Old One made me the healer,” Phoebe argued. “She didn’t give me your skills.”
Brigid felt her temper rising. “So my job is to kill while you keep your hands clean? How convenient.”
Phoebe’s heart sank. There was so much at stake and Brigid was making it all about her again. “I can’t believe this. You’re not going to do anything because you’re still jealous of me?”
“Excuse me?What?”
Phoebe instantly knew she’d pushed it too far. She’d shone a spotlight on something that should have stayed hidden. “I’m sorry,” she hurried to say.
“Fuck you,” Brigid responded. “Here’s a little tip, princess. If you want someone to do your dirty work, it’s best not to insult them.”
“Please!” Phoebe went after Brigid when her sister headed back toward the bikes. “I’ll help! I’ll do whatever you want me to!”
Brigid spun around. “That’s really what you think of me? That I just go around killing people I don’t like? I only do what the Old One asks of me. And so far, she has not asked me to murder Calum.”
“Something bad is going to happen.” Phoebe clutched her stomach. “I can feel it. You know that I know things. It’s one of my gifts.”
