Page 23 of The Bairwick Witches
“You weren’t born here, I can’t expect you to understand.”
“I understand you’ve made me culpable in this. I didn’t know I could be erased.” Issac snapped before going silent, pushing his half-eaten burger away and focusing on the witch who was still recovering from the duel as they got off the floor. Schuyler had no more fight in him for the day, and he wasn’t sure if Issac’s anger was genuine or just overblown because his argument was faltering.
“Maybe we should call it a night.” Schuyler motioned for the check. “We can look for the ingredients tomorrow.”
“Maybe. If I’m not erased.” Issac’s bratty response punctuated the end of the evening. Schuyler paid, said his goodbyes and left the still stewing Issac in the tavern.
Schuyler listened to the cicadas, who’d held firm in their position as the soundtrack of the summer, thanks to the size of their once-in-generation brood. Sky enjoyed them; any insect who woke up to hang from trees, screaming for sex, was okay in his book. He sat in the rocker on the porch, a joint in his hand,slowly rocking, his mind racing with thoughts the cannabis had yet to soothe into silence.
The day felt like a bipolar disaster. Amazing highs of great times and then lows. Should he stack the brief Issac affair onto the pile with all the other bad dates and move on, or should he mourn the moment? Throughout the day, he’d looked at Issac and marveled as to why the young man was hanging out with him at all—and then he’d do something irritating.
Is he thinking about me?
It was early when Schuyler left the Inn; he could have gone out. There were a couple of clubs only a block away from him, a few other bars. Issac could easily meet someone else. Maybe he should. Maybe that would be better in the end.
“And what are you out here pondering?” Beau asked, sliding into the rocker next to him, draped in his rose gold silk kaftan.
“The usual—how I’m a screw-up,” Schuyler admitted as he passed the joint to his uncle.
“Pish, you spent the night with him, didn’t you? ‘Cause you sure as hell didn’t come home.” Beau took his hit and passed the joint back with a little side eye.
“Sorry, I should have messaged, but then I remembered… I’m forty.”
“Well,” he threw his arms up, letting the kaftan flare out, “you living in my house, so your age doesn’t matter to me. How’d it go with the cutie?”
“Started out okay, but the rest of this day just got, I dunno, sour. I kept getting frustrated with him, maybe the age gap is tripping me up. He’s a different generation; he wasn’t born or raised here. There’s a disconnect with him.” Schuyler shared the details of the day as the joint passed back and forth.
Was he talking to his bestie somewhere, saying the same things to them about me? Was he questioning how the day had turned on him too?
“I don’t think that’s it,” Beau said, returning the joint, “cause, girl, you already knew he was young, so don’t be trying thisdifferent generationnonsense. Twenty-somethings are like puppies: you want to play with them, but then abandon them in the woods after a couple of hours. You? At that age? By the Goddesses, the ridiculousness of you. You thought you knew everything. No one could tell you shit. Your way of thinking wastheonly way. And honey, no one did magic as good as you. I could go on.”
“Please don’t.”
“His age has nothing to do with it. If it did, you’d have not spent as much time with him as you did. You’d have seen his childishness and left. Ask yourself—why is he triggering these reactions within you? ‘Cause that boy is just being himself.”
Schuyler went to counter the argument, to find a retaliatory example to prove Beau wrong, but he couldn’t. He took a hit, then paused before passing it on. Beau was correct. Maybe this was about him more than Issac. “Damn, this strain has made you quite wise.”
“Indeed.”
They sat for a moment in a blissful conversational lull. The creak of the chairs as they rocked, the scent of jasmine growing around the porch, mixed with the hum of the cicadas and the other night insects—all screaming for sexual fulfillment on an otherwise peaceful night. The lull, the cannabis, and Beau’s presence calmed the chaos in his head, allowing him to say what he’d been avoiding all day. “He reminds me of Dev more thananyone I’ve ever met. It’s in the attitude, the way he sees the world. Something about him I can’t put my finger on.
“All day I’ve pushed that thought away because I can’t stomach chasing another Dev substitute. One after another, he’s in everyone I meet in some way. And if he’s not, I put him in there.” Schuyler reached over and grabbed Beau’s hand. “When will it not hurt anymore?” His voice cracked as tears welled up.
Twenty plus years later, and the feelings remained just beneath the surface, as if it were only yesterday. The pain drove him from Bairwick twice: once to Europe and then to Chicago with his ex. And every time, the pain lay in waiting for him to return.
Beau placed his other hand on top of Schuyler’s, squeezing it tight. “I wish I could tell you, Monkey. Maybe never. Maybe the ache of such a tremendous loss lasts as long as the love was intended to. Maybe it heals when you’re truly ready for it to heal. Only the Goddesses can say for sure.
“With that thought, I’m going to bed. But I’ll say this, however you left things today with that young man, and I’m guessing not well knowing your messy ass—message him. Fix the situation. If you got shit to deal with, deal with it. But don’t take your stuff out on that kid. Love you, Monkey.”
Beau rose from the rocker, excusing himself.
Schuyler finished the joint and left the porch, walking out into the yard and staring up at the sky. A coven had enchanted the sky over the town in the 80’s to never be affected by growing light pollution from across the lake. The stars were always fully visible, as were the unobstructed wispy clouds of the Milky Way hanging above him, along with the glorious moon currently in her waning gibbous phase.
He could feel the connection with the Earth, the stars, and the moon. The full moon would appear in a couple of days, and he realized with it all the potential time left to be with Issac. Who knew what the young man would do once he’d completed his uncle’s posthumous spell. Nothing kept him bound to Bairwick; he had a full life back at home.
I should just enjoy the time with him. I’m being stupid, aren’t I?
He was indeed, but we had to let him get to that revelation on his own.
