The Wicked Garden (13 page)

Marcus didn't know what to think.

His mother and Miss Poni never talked much about the Wicked Garden when he was growing up, but the farmhands told ghost stories. He had never seen or sensed anything especially alarming himself; at the same time, it wasn’t as if he had been raised to discount the supernatural. Marcus practiced the same faith as his family, but he was essentially a well-educated dirt farmer who had inherited some idiosyncratic traditions and mediocre psychic abilities. All he wanted to do was tend his land. He did
not
want to deal with a dead brother-in-law, teleporting firearms, and the return of the Woman in Wool. He sighed again and put a hand on his little sister’s shoulder.

“You just make sure you tell people when you hear things, Gretchel. Don’t try to go it alone. We’re all here for you, and remember that you’ve got Ame and Zach to think about, too. Maybe everything will get better when we get you moved down to the cottage. I know Troy’s death hasn’t been easy on you, but it’s not like you loved the man. Moving on might be easier than you think.”

Gretchel wiped a few tears away, nodded in agreement, and even managed a weak, but wicked, smile. “Say, Marcus. I don’t suppose you have any new farmhands?”

Marcus frowned and shook his head. “Oh no, no, no. No more farmhands for you, Baby Girl.”

Aye. The tart’s seen more pricks than a secondhand dartboard
, a voice whispered in Gretchel’s head, and a mass of cackling followed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Irvine, 2010s

Work was slow that Friday afternoon. Despite the promise of a sixty-percent-off post-holiday sale, Ame hadn’t had a single customer.

The fresh blanket of white snow probably had something to do with it—people were either enjoying the weather outside or determined to stay inside. What they most certainly were
not
doing was venturing downtown to buy fairy figurines, Tarot decks, or esoteric paperbacks at the metaphysical bookstore where Ame had a part-time job. She sighed as she watched the last rays of daylight bounce off the icicles hanging just outside the window. She was stuck there ‘til eight, customers or no customers.

Ame left her post at the cash register to wander down the crystal aisle. As always, it brightened her mood. The stones spoke to her. She read their vibrations with ease. She could tell the difference between rose quartz and smoky quartz with her eyes closed. She recognized them as living entities, buzzing with energy—not just sedentary chunks of earth.

She touched a beautiful piece of blue lace agate, and suddenly she felt compelled to pull out her laptop. It wasn’t as though there was much to do. The bookshelves were in perfect order, and Ame had dusted everything there was to dust. Anyway, Ame knew that the owner, Claire, was far too impressed with her talent with stones to much care what she did during a lull.

She logged onto Facebook and checked to see if any of her friends were available to chat. She saw that the guy she had met in Champaign was online. She kept meaning to ask her mother about him—she was curious about their connection—but it just never came up. He seemed like an all right guy. On a whim, she sent him a message.

             
Eli heard the tiny bleep of an instant message, and nearly fell out of his chair. He was stoned again. He hadn’t smoked pot like this in years. He was acting like he was in college again. Worse yet—he was acting like his father.

             
Eli’s heart raced when he saw that is was a message from Gretchel’s daughter.             

Hi! Remember me?

Hi! Yes I remember you. How’s it going Ame?

I’m ok. We’re survivin. But it hasnt been fun. Mom’s losin her noodles.

What do you mean?

My dad died New Years Day.

Eli sat stunned. His buzz fizzled, and exhilaration worked its way through his nervous system. Troy died? Troy was gone? He didn’t like the idea of relishing another person’s death, but… But this was Troy. Then it occurred to him that Troy was this girl’s father, and he felt like a ghoul and an asshole.

I’m so sorry Ame with an E.

Dont b. He was a horrible person. I hated him.

I’m sorry about that too.

This was too much for Eli. He knew the day Gretchel walked away that Troy was going to not only destroy her life, but the life of her unborn child. It seemed that everything he had feared had come to pass. It made him hurt for this beautiful girl.

So how do u know my mother?

I dated her in college.
Please don’t tell her we’re talking.

Y? My predator instincts r startin 2 kick n.

Eli sighed. He felt like the biggest jerk that ever was, messaging a teenage girl and asking her to keep it private.
At least Ame
has
predator instincts, unlike her mother
, he thought. Ame had sent another message.

I HATE SECRETS! Prove 2 me how U know her.

We both went to SIU in the early 90s.

Any1 could have known she went 2 school there N then.

Eli ran his hands through his thick curls. He was becoming really uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking, but he couldn’t back out now. He thought for a moment, typed in a new message, and sent it before he could change his mind.

She has scars from third degree burns on the right side of her torso, from the top of her right breast to the bottom of her hip. She has cuts on the other side of her torso. She also has a huge phoenix tattooed on her back. It was a 19th birthday present from me.

U do know her! Not many ppl have seen those scars or the tat.

Please promise me you won’t say anything until I say it’s OK.

Y?

Because what we had didn’t end well.

She’s never tlked bout U. I’m
dying 2 ask her bout U now.

Please don’t. Not yet.

OK. G2G. I’d like 2 tlk 2 u again. I get online every nite @ 10pm.

I’ll be here. G
lad we met Ame with an E.

Glad I met u 2 Eli w/ an I. L8R

∞

Troy is dead.

Eli was on his fifth one hitter. He had been sitting in front of a blank computer screen for three hours, thinking the same thought over and over again:
Troy is dead.

What should I do?
The initial rush of energy he’d felt when he learned the news had quickly been met by an equally powerful sense of paralysis. He could almost—almost—laugh at the irony. He’d been waiting seventeen years for something,
something
to propel him out of his sad, pointless, torpid existence, and, even now—even after learning that the primary obstacle between him and Gretchel was gone—he had not a fucking clue what to do about it.

Eli rubbed his bloodshot eyes and tried to clear his head. He needed to think about something else for awhile. Also, it had become essential that he consume large quantities of salty snacks immediately.

After depositing an entire bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa on the coffee table, Eli walked to his bookshelf. He grabbed a favorite—
The Dharma Bums
—and opened it as he moved toward the sofa.

Something fell out of the book and landed on the floor.

It was a postcard. Rebecca had sent it to him while she was on a tour of Italian museums. It was—somewhat predictably—Botticelli’s
Primavera
. Eli had barely looked at it when he had first gotten it, but now it caught his attention. That figure in the center—
Venus, right? Aphrodite?—
had stirred a memory. It was her gown. White with gold trim. Eli closed his eyes, and he saw Gretchel in an ivory dress, moonbeams bouncing off golden embroidery.

∞

Irvine, 1990s

The Summer Solstice approached. It just so happened that this was also Gretchel’s birthday.
Ella insisted that her daughter come home for the weekend. Gretchel’s last visit had been spring break. Teddy missed her; her nephews missed her; her whole family missed her. So, dragging her feet all the way, Gretchel took Eli to Snyder Farms.

“These are phenomenal,” Eli said as he sifted through the stacks of paintings Gretchel had pulled out of the bedroom closet at the cottage. He had already gone crazy over the poppy painting in the living room, and now he was in a state of bliss. “I know dealers out west who would pay big money for these.”

Gretchel rolled her eyes and snorted.

“Seriously. You should be proud of your work.”

“So, you rub elbows with art dealers out west, do you?” She grinned at him.

He had said too much. He covered his unease with a smile, said nothing, and continued sifting through the treasures Gretchel had unearthed.

“Mama’s going to be pissed if she knows that we’ve been down here without stopping at the house on the hill first. I just wanted you to see the cottage before we go up. It’s weird, because there was a period of my life when I hated this place so bad, but I’ve missed it. It feels oddly good to be back. Bittersweet. I hate to sound clichéd, but it feels like I’m home again.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being home, Gretchel. It’s the most universally sought-after feeling there is. Everyone’s trying to get back home—if not to a physical place, then to a psychological equivalent.”

She smiled and Eli melted. He continued flipping through the canvases, and then he gasped when he came across the phoenix. “Gretchel this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

She looked thoughtfully at the painting. “I remember I started it early in the morning, because I’ve always gotten up early—farm life does that to you. I sketched the outline at sunrise, and finished it the same night. Adding all that detail was the best part of the experience. I always feel good when I’m painting, and I’ve always incorporated mythic elements in my work, but this was… I don’t know. It was like I was channeling something beyond me, something bigger than me. I was fifteen or something. I wasn’t talking much then. Wasn’t doing much of anything. Just painting.

“You finished this is less than twenty-four hours?”

“My teenage years were pretty fucked up. Mental issues,” she said, swirling her finger around the side of her head. “Anything I could do to help me escape, I did. Not much has changed.”

“I’ve never seen you out of control,” he said.

She ignored his comment, and touched the painting. “It is pretty, isn’t it? The phoenix rising out of her own ashes, reborn as another version of herself. Transformed. That’s how I feel since I’ve met you. Like I’ve become a better version of myself.”

He watched her mindfully. “We’d better go see your family, but I’m going to leave this painting out. I have an idea.”

Pulling up at the house on the hill, they saw a couple of cars and several trucks parked across the huge yard. There were enough picnic tables pulled together to accommodate a banquet. Balloons and streamers hung from the trees. Children ran across the grass screaming, while grown-ups chatted in groups. Eli looked slightly stunned. He hadn’t expected quite so many people. His family wasn’t into big gatherings. Or small gatherings, for that matter.

“Welcome to the country,” Gretchel laughed. “Hey, you know why cowgirls are bowlegged?” she asked. Eli just shrugged. “Because cowboys eat with their hats on.”

Eli chuckled and shook his head. His father would absolutely adore this girl. “They’ve really gone all out for you.”

“They’re afraid I might slice my abdomen in two or try to knock myself off again.”

Eli was taken back by her words, and by the matter-of-fact way she said them. Apparently, something had happened on her birthday, something very bad. Eli felt so close to Gretchel—closer than he had ever felt to anybody—but there was so much that he didn’t know about her.

He held her hand while they walked toward the crowd. Teddy was the first to reach them. He grabbed Gretchel, swung her around, and showered her with kisses. Eli knew that Teddy was not a competitor, and he was happy to see she that had such a good friend.

“You haven’t called me in weeks,” Teddy scolded.

“I’ve been a little preoccupied.” Gretchel smiled in Eli’s dire
ction. “Teddy, this is Eli. Eli, this is the infamous Theodore Wintrop: best friend, personal stylist, and secret-keeper extraordinaire.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Eli. A relief, actually. When Miss Poni said that Gretchel was bringing a guy home, I thought for sure it was Troy.” Teddy turned the full force of his disapproval on Gretchel. “I see you’ve finally come to your senses.”

This was the first Eli had heard of an ex-boyfriend named Troy, but, judging from the glare that Gretchel was directing at Teddy, Eli sure as hell wasn’t going to inquire.

Teddy wove his arm into Gretchel’s and the three of them continued toward the awaiting crowd. At the front of the pack stood an old woman supporting herself with a cane. She was tall—frail, but indomitable. She stood next to a woman who had to be Gretchel’s mother. Her hair was cut short, but Eli recognized that it was the same red as Gretchel’s, faded slightly by age.

Eli could not help but notice that he was being scrutinized intensely by both women. The older of the two motioned for Eli to step forward.

He reached out his hand and she took it. Her grip was surprisingly firm. He realized that it had been a mistake to assume that this woman was frail in any way.

“Could you please remove the spectacles, my dear boy?”

Eli felt embarrassed to have forgotten his manners. He used his left hand to take off his sunglasses and his ball cap—his right hand was still captive.

The old woman looked into his eyes, and he felt a shiver go down his spine. Then she smiled, with a satisfied look. Confused, Eli stole a glance at Gretchel. Her face was rigid. After a few tense seconds, she snapped.

“Grand Mama, stop staring and acting like a crazy old lady.”
             

“It’s good to see you too, child, and be careful who call you crazy,” she replied, without taking her gaze off Eli.

Gretchel rolled her eyes, and couldn’t help but let out a snigger. “Eli, this is my mean-ass Grand Mama Epona, more commonly known as Miss Poni, and this is my sweet mama, Ella Bloome.” She hugged her mother. Miss Poni had yet to release Eli.

“Mama, I think you’re about to break the poor boy’s hand,” said Ella gently.

Miss Poni finally let go. “Enjoy the midsummer festivities,” she smiled. She waved as she walked away. She flicked her wrist with a flourish, and the pyramid of timber in the middle of yard burst into flames. The solstice bonfire had begun.