wicked witches 07.5 - christmas witch (9 page)

Bay, as if sensing the situation about to slip away, stepped in front of me. “You should understand that our grandmother doesn’t always think before she speaks,” she said. “She doesn’t mean anything by it. We’ve all been really worried about … Bernard.”

Evelyn’s smile was sympathetic. “We’re really not supposed to let anyone back in the treatment rooms, but you guys came a long way and … well … it is Christmas.”

“It is,” I agreed.

“Come with me,” Evelyn said, gesturing for us to follow her down the hallway. “Don’t ever tell anyone I did this for you.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” I said. I let Thistle and Clove follow Evelyn, but snagged Bay by the back of her coat and pulled her back so we were out of earshot. “I thought I told you to let me do the talking.”

“I thought I told you I didn’t want you locked up in this place for Christmas,” Bay countered.

“I … good job.”

“I know,” Bay said. “Come on. Let’s find out if Santa is crazy and then get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

She wasn’t the only one.

Evelyn led us to the end of the hallway before hanging a right. There, at the second door down, she stopped. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” I replied hurriedly. “I want the reunion to be conducted in private in case Bernard cries at the sight of his favorite girls. He wouldn’t like anyone else seeing him cry.”

“That’s very sensitive of you.”

Evelyn left us, her mind probably back on whatever magazine she was leafing through when we entered the building. She’d already moved on from our sad plight.

“Now that was a better lie,” Bay said.

“I’m self-taught,” I quipped. When I realized Bay didn’t get the joke, I wiped the smile off my face. “Okay, you definitely need to let me do the talking this time.”

“Because you understand crazy?” Bay teased.

“I … well … yes.” I pushed open the door to Bernard’s room, surprised to find it looked more like a regular bedroom than anything out of a horror movie asylum. There were no padded walls and there were enough sharp edges for Bernard to kill himself twenty times over should the desire arise. This didn’t seem right.

“Tillie?” Bernard sat at the small table at the edge of the room, a deck of cards spread before him in a game of solitaire. He was dressed in jogging pants and a T-shirt, and despite what I expected, he looked healthier and relaxed.

“What the heck is going on here?” I asked. “I expected to find you strapped to the bed.”

Bernard furrowed his brow, his white eyebrows knitting together as confusion washed over his face. “What are you doing here?”

“We came to rescue Santa,” Clove announced.

I flicked her ear. “I said I would do all the talking.”

Clove scowled and crossed her arms over her chest, miffed.

“You came to rescue Santa, huh?” Bernard’s face was conflicted. “I … you guys know I’m not the real Santa, right?”

“We know,” Bay replied. “It’s just … you’re our Santa. We need you to come home for the Christmas party.”

“Well, Bay, I don’t really think that’s going to be possible.” Bernard looked genuinely upset. “I … can’t leave here.”

“Because you’re crazy?” Thistle asked.

“Why do you think I’m crazy?”

“I … .” Thistle bit her lip and then pointed at me.

“I didn’t say you were crazy,” I protested. Well, I kind of did. He didn’t need to know that, though. “It’s just … well … you’re in a mental hospital. We weren’t even sure you were alive.”

“How did you find me?”

“I … .” Crud. How could I answer him?

“We’re private investigators on the side,” Thistle answered smoothly.

That kid really needs to stop watching so much television.

“It’s not important how we found you,” I said. “We were worried. The girls wanted to see you. I … I’m really sorry you’re … struggling.”

“I am struggling,” Bernard agreed. “I’m not crazy, though.”

“I didn’t say you were crazy.”

“Yes, you did,” Clove said.

“Shut up, Clove.”

Bernard chuckled, the sound taking me by surprise. “You’ve always been a pip, Tillie,” he said. “You’re one of my favorite people. Do you know that?”

“It doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “Most people who know me love me.”

Thistle rolled her eyes. “We’re sorry you’re … not crazy … but can you come home long enough to be Santa for us? It won’t be the same without you.”

“I can’t do that, Thistle,” Bernard said. “This isn’t a mental hospital, no matter what your Aunt Tillie told you.”

“It’s not?” That was a relief.

“It’s a rehabilitation center,” Bernard said. “I’m trying to kick a few bad habits.”

“Oh,” I said, realization dawning as I glanced around the room again. Things were starting to make sense. “That’s really good, Bernard. I … now I feel like an idiot.”

“It’s okay,” he said, waving off my embarrassment. “I’m glad someone cared enough to come looking for me. That’s the reason I’m here. I realized my life was going to stay bad as long as I let the demons keep ahold of me. I’m trying to get rid of the demons.”

“Not real demons, right?” Clove prodded.

“Not real demons,” Bernard conceded. “They’re personal demons. They’re strong, though, and that’s why I need to be here. Do you understand that?”

Thistle and Clove nodded in unison, but Bay remained rooted to her spot.

“Can’t you just come home for a few hours?” Bay asked.

“I’m really sorry, Bay,” Bernard said, his face kind as he studied the tiny blonde. “I should have realized what my disappearance would mean for the school pageant and the town Christmas party. I honestly didn’t think that far ahead. That’s on me, and I apologize for making such a mess of things.

“I can’t come home, though,” he continued. “Not yet. I’m not ready.”

“What you’re doing here is more important, Bernard,” I said, meaning every word. “We shouldn’t have tracked you down like this. You have a right to privacy. Don’t worry about us telling anyone what you’re doing here.”

“You can tell people,” Bernard replied. “It will probably be better for me if you do. That way … well … hopefully people won’t try to tempt me when I get home.”

“Do you know you left dirty underwear on your bedroom floor?” Clove asked.

“How do you know that?”

“She has a wild imagination,” I answered for her, clapping my hand over Clove’s mouth before she could say anything else. “Well, I wish you well, Bernard. When you get back to town, we’ll all be waiting and ready to help you.”

“Thank you, Tillie.” Bernard turned back to Bay. “You know the real Santa will still visit you, right?”

“There is no real Santa,” Bay replied, her tone positively pitiable. “It’s okay. You need to get better.”

“I really am sorry, Bay.”

“It’s fine.” Bay kept her head high as she turned and walked out of the room.

I offered Bernard a few more apologies and then dragged Clove and Thistle into the hallway. Bay was waiting and she was clearly upset, even though she was too stoic for tears. I still hurt for her. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Bay replied, her face drawn. “You can’t fix everything.”

When did that become the rule? “I’m still sorry. At least we know Bernard’s okay, though.”

“We do,” Bay said, nodding. “We also know Christmas is officially ruined. I want to go home now.”

Nine

The ride home was completed in silence. Clove and Thistle tried to keep some form of conversation going initially, but Bay was having none of it so they all shut their mouths and focused on the scenery as it blurred by.

On most occasions I’d welcome the silence. This was different.

I led the girls into the house shortly before dinner, Thistle and Clove scampering off to wash their hands while Bay dejectedly threw herself into the corner chair in the kitchen, where she proceeded to pout.

Winnie eyed her only child for a few moments, her hands busy chopping vegetables, before turning to me. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” On the way home I considered how much to tell my nieces, and while I knew I could probably convince the girls to lie for me, I didn’t think that was the proper message to send right before Christmas. “How much do you want to know?”

“How much do we need to know?”

That was a tricky question. “Well, I put together a tracking spell for Bernard,” I explained. “We followed it through town, where I had a showdown with Poppy Stevens. I have to remember to give her another cold sore before I go to bed, by the way, so don’t let me forget.

“We followed the trail out of town and it led us to a facility in Traverse City,” I continued. “At first we thought it was a mental hospital and the girls were really worried Santa was crazy.

“Good news, though, Santa is not crazy,” I said. “Bernard is fine. He’s in a rehab facility and he’s trying to dry out. He apologized for missing the Christmas festivities, but he can’t leave.”

Whew. I felt better after unloading all of that.

Winnie was murderous. “You what?”

Well, crap on a cracker, that’s what I get for going with the truth. My first instinct had been to lie. It’s always better to stick with your first instinct. “I’m not repeating all of that.” I grabbed a cherry tomato from the counter and popped it into my mouth. “It’s been a really long day and I don’t have a lot of energy, so if you’re going to yell and scream … I’m telling you now, I’ll probably only half listen.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Marnie grumbled, turning back to the kitchen counter.

“I do,” Winnie snapped. “What were you thinking taking them to a rehab facility?”

“It was like a nice apartment complex with nurses,” I argued. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. There weren’t crazy people walking around drooling and collecting hair for homemade bird nests. The girls didn’t see any loonies.  Personally, I was a little disappointed.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Winnie said. “I can’t understand how you thought that was a good idea.”

“The girls wanted to find Bernard and save Christmas,” I said. “I thought I was doing the right thing. How was I supposed to know he was in rehab?”

“You weren’t,” Winnie shot back. “What if you cast that spell and it led you to a dead body? Did you ever think of that?”

“Quite frankly, Thistle wouldn’t let me think of anything else,” I said. “She was convinced he was dead in a ditch somewhere. So, for her, this was a really great day.”

“And what about Bay?” Winnie asked, her gaze pointed as it landed on her daughter.

“She’s a little more upset,” I conceded.

Winnie threw a dishtowel at me and rounded the counter, not stopping until she was next to Bay. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“What is there to talk about?”

“You know that Mr. Hill is sick and he has to stay in the hospital to get better, right?” Winnie pressed. “This has nothing to do with you, so there’s no reason to be upset.”

“Christmas is ruined,” Bay said.

“Christmas can’t be ruined,” Winnie argued. “Yes, you’re not getting the holiday party you wanted. You still have your family. You have gifts. Heck, Aunt Tillie – although I’m really angry with her right now – even made it snow. What more do you want, Bay?”

“I … .” Bay worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Tell me,” Winnie urged.

“I wanted as much of the Christmas we had last year as I could get,” Bay admitted. “Everything changed this year. Everything is different. I wanted one thing to be the same. Is that too much to ask?”

“I think it is,” Winnie replied, her tone even. “Life changes, kid. You don’t always get what you want. Enough is enough, though. People have been bending over backward to make this a perfect holiday for you. What are you doing to make the holiday better for others?”

“What?” Bay was flabbergasted.

“Not everything in this world is about you, Bay,” Winnie said. “I’m sorry you’re not happy. I’m sorry you think the world is coming to an end. You still have a lot more than most other people.

“You have me. You have your aunts. You have your cousins. You even have Aunt Tillie,” she continued. “At a certain point, your insistence on having everything you want exactly how you want it makes you a spoiled brat.”

“That’s not true!” Bay exploded. “I can’t help it if I want the town party to be the same. I’m not trying to upset you. Not everything I do is about you.”

“Well, it feels like it is sometimes,” Winnie replied. “I want you to have the best this world has to offer, but you need to realize everyone isn’t going to bow down to your will and make life perfect for you. You have to make yourself happy in this world sometimes, Bay. It’s time you realized that.”

“But … .”

“No.” Winnie wagged a finger in Bay’s angry face. “Now, you need to go wash your hands for dinner. When dinner is over, I think you should go to bed early and think about what I said. I want you to really think about it.

“Your Aunt Tillie did some incredibly stupid things today, but she did them out of the goodness of her heart because she desperately wants to see you smile,” Winnie said. “I’m done begging you to be happy, though. We all are. If you want to be miserable, you can do it alone. The rest of us are going to be happy on Christmas, whether it’s the Christmas you’ve been dreaming about or not.

“Now, go wash your hands and when you come back for dinner I don’t want to hear a word about Christmas being ruined,” she said.

Bay pushed herself up from the chair, her shoulders hunched as she trudged out of the room. She didn’t look at anyone, instead focusing on her stocking-clad feet. If Winnie thought that inspirational speech would snap Bay out of it, I think she had a sad realization of her own to come.

“That was kind of harsh,” Marnie said once it was just the adults. “She’s just a kid.”

“I know she is,” Winnie said, sucking in a deep breath. “I love that child more than anything in this world, but she has got to get a grip. Nothing in life is perfect.”

“I shouldn’t have taken them to Traverse City,” I said. “I … it was a dumb idea. That doesn’t mean I still don’t think those girls deserve a great Christmas.”

“Of course they deserve a great Christmas,” Winnie said. “That doesn’t mean they’re going to get some fairy tale holiday. A great Christmas isn’t the same thing as a perfect Christmas. Nothing in this world is perfect.”