At the Corner of King Street (26 page)

P
laydates. Of course, I knew about them. I might even have looked down on the moms who thought they were fun. But after four days of working on the vineyard and warehouse business and, in my spare moments, feeding and diapering Carrie, I was hungry for conversation.

Scott called me each night and though the conversations were polite, they skimmed the surface. We were gliding across a sheet of ice, too afraid to make a fast move for fear we would tumble.

“I hear you called into the office today and sorted out the orders for the wine labels,” Scott said.

I cradled the phone close, standing near the window overlooking the Potomac River. “I did. We should have the labels in two weeks. Plenty of time for the next bottling.”

“We begin the first harvest in two weeks. And then the pressing. It's going to be even better than last year's.”

His confidence was always intoxicating. No matter how bleak the
day, he found a way to be hopeful. I needed that confidence now. I needed to hear that we were going to be fine. “I think so, too.”

We talked work for a few more minutes before he said, “I've got to go. Got to get ready for tomorrow.”

“Sure.” He never asked about Carrie or Janet and, as much as I wanted to discuss this with him, I sensed he considered
this
to be
my
issue.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Hanging tough.” Pressing my fingertips to my temple, I turned from the river's view.

“Sometimes that's all you can do. You know, I'll wait for you as long as it takes.”

A smile played on the edges of my lips, and the knot in my chest eased a little. Scott was at heart a grower of grapes, and despite his nature, he understood that seeds needed time to grow. Patience was required. It took years for the vines to mature and produce the best grapes. To a man who waited years for grapevines to develop, a few weeks was manageable.

He believed the solution to our problem was simple. Just get Janet on the right meds and she'd be fine. I knew he oversimplified the problem. Even with medications, Janet couldn't sustain a healthy life alone. He also mentioned putting Carrie up for adoption. Another simple solution that really didn't solve the problem.

“I love you.”

“Me, too.”

I ended the call and stared at the screen shot of Scott and me at the vineyard for a long time. In the picture, I held on to him so tight, fearing the day would come when I would lose him

My phone buzzed with a new call and Margaret's name appeared on the display. “Hey.”

“Friday night. Playdate.” She stretched out the last word as if singing a song.

The heaviness in my chest eased. “How can you have a playdate? You don't have children.”

“But my sisters do, and they share.”

“I'm picturing sippy cups with wine.”

“Not a bad idea. Still game for making a witch bottle?”

“Yes.” Wine, or better, a beer. “When?”

“A half hour.”

I glanced at the stack of papers and the baby. She was sleeping but would soon wake. We visited the pediatrician today, and the doctor gave Carrie a clean bill of health and a couple of shots. She was not happy about the shots then or most of the day, but she finally fell asleep. “I'm in. What do I bring?”

“Anything small you want to put in your bottle.”

“Have you x-rayed the bottles?”

“I have. I have some tidbits to share.”

“This will be fun. See you soon.”

I hung up and spent the next half hour searching for jars. Spices in the cabinet smelled stale—at least a decade old—so I dumped out most and rinsed out the jars. I couldn't find nails or pins. One random safety pin. Paper clips and a thumbtack.

I loaded Carrie in the front pack, grabbed a six-pack of beer from the refrigerator, and we headed downstairs. I moved along the long table of goods we collected from the Prince Street house and found a box full of old buttons that ranged from green plastic to tarnished brass. I grabbed a handful of buttons and loaded them in my pocket. A few feet farther on, I discovered a tin filled with keys. I grabbed a handful and we headed out, down King Street and around the corner to Union.

The evening air was warm and filled with humidity that promised rain later tonight. Would the rain clouds reach the vineyard? Funny,
working with salvage crews, rain was our enemy. It added risk and delays to often complicated jobs.

The sign on the Union Street Bakery's front door said Closed. I knocked as I swayed back and forth, my hand cupped under the baby's bottom. Margaret pushed through a set of swinging doors and waved as she moved toward the door and unlocked it. “Hey, you made it.”

“Witches night out.”

She laughed. “Both my sisters are thrilled. They're in the kitchen arranging all the stuff.”

Margaret took the beers from me, and I followed her across the lemon yellow lobby and past the empty display case. We pushed through the swinging doors and found Daisy and Rachel sitting at a long folding table. At one end sat two little girls who were about seven. Next to them, in a high chair, was a baby boy with jet-black hair. The boy wasn't more than seven or eight months, and at this moment was more interested in the Cheerios on his tray than anyone else. The girls clearly belonged to Rachel and the boy to Daisy.

Rachel was much as I remembered—short and perky with peaches-and-cream complexion. She was always pretty. A delicate version of Margaret.

Daisy tickled the baby boy under his chin as he laughed. Rising, her gaze swept over the baby sling as she crossed to me, her long legs eating up the distance. A smile warmed her face. “How has the week been going? You look a little rough.”

“It's been long. I didn't think time could stop so completely or that I could be so tired. I've fallen asleep at the computer a couple of times.”

Daisy laughed. “The first weeks with a baby are rough. It'll get better.”

The first weeks. I likely wouldn't have more than the first few weeks with Carrie. She wasn't mine, and it was only a matter of time before Janet got out of the hospital. Like it or not, she called the shots, not me.

Daisy must have read the worries in my expression because her smile faded a fraction, remembering that Carrie would soon leave. I wasn't pretending that Janet would get her act together, but she had legal rights.

Rachel stood, her smile bright and natural. She never faked happiness or forced her good nature. She was happy. Sunshine. “Addie. Don't listen to Daisy. You look amazing!”

I smoothed a hand over my unwashed hair, pulled in a tight ponytail. “Thanks. I feel like a train wreck.”

Rachel laughed. “Daisy is right, it'll pass.”

I dropped my gaze to the baby, suddenly not wanting our time to pass. “Good to know.”

“Can I hold the baby?” Rachel asked, unmindful of the swirl of dark emotions. “I'm a sucker for a newborn.”

I found myself hesitating for a split second. Was I actually worried about giving her up? Nonsense. But, of course, I gave her to Rachel. She was a good woman. A good mother who offered a much-needed break. And better to get used to the idea of giving Carrie away, because that was what I wanted, right? “Sure.”

As I pulled Carrie out of the sling, she grunted and opened her eyes. Awake and alert, her little eyes widened as she stared at me.

Is this the moment you really give me away?

No, baby. Not today.

I put her carefully in Rachel's arms. She settled, knowing she was born to lie in the arms of a woman like Rachel, a woman who welcomed motherhood.

Rachel cooed as she carried the baby toward the table and her little girls. “Carrie, these are my girls, Anna and Ellie. Seven years old and heading to the second grade in a matter of months.” She glanced at the baby, nuzzling her nose close to Carrie's soft, milky skin. “Seems like yesterday that my girls were this tiny.”

“Walker was never that small,” Daisy said. “Birthing that boy was like passing a watermelon.”

I laughed, feeling a little awkward because I didn't have a pregnancy or birth story. I hadn't carried Carrie in my belly nor given her life.

As if sensing this, Margaret rested her hand on my shoulder. “So let's open a couple of beers and start making magic.”

Daisy laughed. “Thank God my husband is on a bike trip. Gordon would laugh if he saw me dancing under the full moon reciting spells and making . . . a what? What are we making, Margaret?”

“A witch bottle. Ours is a white magic spell. We're not warding off evil spirits as our ancestors might have done. We're calling on good wishes.”

Daisy picked up a handful of dried rose petals on the table and let them fall from her fingers back into the bowl. The table was full of small bowls filled with spices, flower petals, shiny rocks, crystals, and things I didn't recognize.

“Boy, Margaret, you really went to town on the ingredients.”

“I've been watching YouTube for days, trying to see what the modern witch bottle is all about. In the old days, and even today, all kinds of personal items fill the small bottle. Next, the larger bottle is filled with liquid and then the little bottle is dropped inside before it's all sealed.”

“What kind of liquid?” I asked.

“Water, wine, sometimes blood or urine.”

The twins giggled. “That is nasty,” they said together.

“I'm with the little people. I'm not peeing in a bottle,” Daisy said as she handed her son a cracker.

“We don't have to use urine,” Margaret said. She opened a beer and took a long sip. “Like I said, we can use water or wine. Or we can forgo the second bottle altogether and just use one. Totally up to the maker. “

Daisy shook her head. “Why are we doing this?”

“To create good intentions,” Margaret said. “Can't have enough of them.”

Rachel swayed gently as she held Carrie. “I could use good intentions.”

I set my bag of empty bottles on the table, as well as my odd collection of tidbits. “I'm game.”

“Good. It's settled.”

We each ended up with two bottles: one large and one small. The small bottle was to be filled with the items we chose from the table, sealed, and then dropped into the larger. I sat, grateful to be free of the baby's weight while also missing it a little. I opened a beer and took a long sip.

“You work on a vineyard, I hear,” Rachel said.

“I do. For the last seven years.”

“So, what do you do?” Daisy asked.

“I started in the fields. That lasted a week and then I offered up my skills as bookkeeper.” The story was an old one, and told so many times it sounded a little distant and foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. “I'm doing most of the marketing now. We just launched a new wine.”

“Last week's party?” Daisy asked.

“Yes. And thank you again for helping Grace.”

Daisy smiled. “That kid has got some lungs.”

I glanced at Carrie, content in Rachel's arms. “She does that.”

“The vineyard work sounds kinda cool,” Rachel said.

I glanced around the bakery kitchen. “My guess is it's just as much hard work as running a bakery.”

“She's a master at packaging,” Daisy said. “She and Margaret got that delivery out.”

Rachel smiled. “I can't believe I forgot to thank you. It was a miracle when Daisy called and said the packages were ready to go.”

“Glad to help. It was a nice break.”

“So have you heard any more from Janet?” Daisy asked.

“Still in the hospital. I talk to her doctors every couple of days. They say she's doing better.”

“I was sorry to hear she was sick,” Rachel said.

“Yeah.” I really did not want to open up this line of discussion. “It's nothing new.”

Daisy fiddled with a mound of dried rose petals. “So what's the deal with the baby?”

“I'm taking care of her until Janet is well enough to make a decision.”

“Why don't you take the baby?” Daisy challenged. “You seem good with her.”

I watched as Carrie stared up at Rachel's smiling face with wide eyes. “It's complicated.”

Daisy frowned, wrestling with thoughts that begged to be voiced. “You're her family.”

Margaret clapped her hands. “No serious talk tonight. We should have a little fun. Maybe we all need good intentions.”

And so we began to fill our small bottles. I didn't pay much attention to the other women and what they chose to include in their spell. My gaze, my focus, was on choosing the items that would bring me a good future. I chose an old metal button engraved with a rose from the pile. Next I chose a pink crystal, lavender leaves, and then one of the small keys I found at the warehouse. As I held the key, my fingers warmed and the smooth tarnished brass burrowed close to my skin. I thought about Janet and me both as outsiders, locked in by the curse. For the first time in a long time, my heart ached not just for me, but also for her. If I thought my burden was heavy, surely hers was more.