The Witches of Snyder Farms (The Wicked Garden Series) (14 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Irvine, 2010s

Peter slid open the glass door and offered his son a seat on the narrow balcony. The chair rattled against the cement as Eli sat down. He was still shaking with anger.

Eli had followed Ame as far as he could, but she knew the country roads around Snyder Farms and he didn’t. It wasn’t long before she lost him. That was when he used the GPS to set a course for his parents’ hotel, where he could find his father. 

Peter didn’t say anything for quite awhile. He wanted to give Eli a chance to speak for himself. When it became clear, however, that Eli was going to need some help, Peter spoke up.

“Got a call from your mother a little while ago. Seems I have a granddaughter.”              

Eli’s voice was strangled with emotion. “Dad,
I need for you to kick my ass—and kick it hard—because I’m about to walk away from the only thing that matters to me.”

“It would be my pleasure,”
Peter said with a grin. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together, relishing the spiritual ass-kicking to come.

Eli’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He chose to ignore it.
“Do you have any weed?”

“Of course I do, boy. But I’m not about to let you numb yourself.
You’re going to have to feel your way through this like a man.”

Eli crumpled in his wrought iron chair.

Peter felt an unfamiliar twinge of conscious as he realized that he had misjudged his role here. Eli didn’t need the holy fool. He didn’t need a trickster. He needed his dad.

“Listen, son. You grew up with a paranoid father and a rich, overprotective mother. We didn’t exactly do a great job of teaching you to deal with hurt.”

Eli held his head in his hands. His voice was muffled. “She did it again. I didn’t think that she could destroy me again, but she did. Is this what you wanted when you told me to go after her?”

Peter thought about his words before he spoke. “You were asleep before. Now you’re awake.”

Eli looked his father in the eye and said, “Fuck you, Peter.”

Peter smiled. “Atta boy.”

They both sat in silence for a few moments, watching maple seeds twirl until they drowned in the rather forlorn hotel pool.

Peter tried again. “Got a call from your mother a little while ago. Seems I have a granddaughter.”

Eli’s phone vibrated. He ignored it.

“I don’t know if I can ever look at her again.”

“Your daughter?”

“No! Gretchel! How can I trust her?”

Peter chose not to answer that question. Instead he asked, “Do you want to live in the now, or do you want to live in the past?”

Eli thought about everything he had heard that day. He thought about the prophecy his mother had burdened him with, and he thought about the curse that destroyed the women in Gretchel’s family. He thought about Miss Poni’s words:
Your mama broke the cycle, Ame. She created a child out of pure love.

“I want to meet Ame, Eli. I’ve wanted to meet her since I saw your beautiful smile in that photo you showed me of Gretchel and her children.”

“What?”

“
Elliot, I knew that she was your child as soon as I saw her. I just thought that it was best for you to find out in your own time.”

Eli’s phone buzzed again. Exasperated, he pulled it out of his pocket. “It’s mom,” he said as he answered it. His face turned white as he listened.

“It’s Ame. She’s been in an accident.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Irvine, 2010s

When Eli and Peter got to the hospital, they discovered that Ame was pretty banged-up, but stable. Fractured ribs, dislocated shoulder, mild concussion, miscellaneous scrapes and bruises.

“She’s going to be just fine,” Diana reported. “But she’ll be staying overnight, at least. We should know when she can go home by tomorrow.”

“I need to see her,” Eli insisted. “And I need to see Gretchel.”

“Yes... but....”

“I don’t want to hear it, Mom. For just one night, can we
pretend to be normal people—people whose lives aren’t ruled by curses and prophecies? Can you try to think of somebody other than yourself for more than a millisecond?”

“Yes... but...
.”

“Don’t say it.
I don’t want to hear how she’s not the one. If you say it, I swear I’ll never talk to you again. I swear I won’t.”

Diana was struggling to formulate a response when Teddy walked into the lobby. Eli rushed up and grabbed his arm. “Is Gretchel all right?”

Teddy sighed. “No, she’s not, Eli. Gretchel is definitely not all right. But she doesn’t want to see you. She blames you for Ame’s accident.”

Eli looked devastated. Teddy put a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly. “I know it’s ridiculous, Eli, but Gretchel isn’t herself right now.” Teddy paused to reconsider. “Actually, she’s acting very much like herself right now, but not her best self. Please, the most productive thing you can do right now is leave. You won’t be helping Ame if her mother throws a fit and gets taken away in a straightjacket.”

Eli nodded, resigned. He was about to go when he turned back to Teddy and asked, “Is she hearing voices?”

Teddy didn’t say anything, but Eli could tell from the look on his face that the answer was
yes
.  Teddy didn’t try to stop Eli as he headed for the elevator.

“I’m here to see Ame Shea. Can you please tell me her room number?”

“Are you a relative?”

“I’m her father.”

Eli pushed open the door to Ame’s room. His heart almost stopped when he saw all the bandages and bruises. The hospital bed made her look small.

Ella looked at Eli, kissed her sleeping granddaughter’s forehead, and slid out of the room.

“Get out!” Gretchel hissed.

Eli could tell that she was ready for a fight, but she didn’t want to wake Ame. “She’s my daughter, too, Gretchel.”

“
You
did this to her! You and your insane mother! You’re no better than Troy.”

Eli was stung speechless.

“You knew that our relationship wasn’t going to last. You knew that I wasn’t
the one
. Why did you even come back to Irvine? It wasn’t for me! It wasn’t for Ame!” Gretchel was white with rage, but her voice was strangely calm. “I believe your mother has the information she was looking for, so you can get the fuck out of my house and out of my life. And don’t even
think
about trying to contact Ame again.”

Eli knew that there was no way he was going to be able to explain himself while the Woman in Wool was filling Gretchel’s head with poison. He also knew that Teddy was right: Provoking Gretchel right now was no way to help her or Ame.

Diana looked worried—almost contrite—when Eli returned to the lobby.

“Just wait until morning,” she said. “I’m sure Gretchel will be better by then. The stories, the secrets, the accident…. It’s all been too much for her. You’ll come back to the hotel with us, and we’ll try again tomorrow.”

Eli could barely stand to look at his mother, but he did. “I don’t know what you told her about the prophecy, but it was enough. And I can’t see how I can ever, ever forgive you.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Irvine
, 2010s

Eli
stopped at the first bar he found. 

It was a small place
without much in the way of excitement.
Perfect
.

The jukebox was playing
classic rock, bluesy and slow.
Perfect
.

There
were a few middle-aged men at the end of the bar. Regulars, presumably. They looked up when Eli came in, and then they turned back to their drinks.
Perfect.

Eli ordered himself
a beer and a double shot of tequila. While he waited for his drinks, he turned toward his fellow loner a couple barstools down. He was nursing a beer and watching the baseball game on the TV hanging over the bar.

Eli felt for him, so he bought him a fresh beer and a shot, and he ordered another shot for himself.

“Thanks, man,” the stranger said, raising his glass.

Eli returned the salute, and then they both drank.

The stranger ordered two more.

Eli raised
his shot and made a toast. “To the woman who just broke my heart… again.”

When he slammed his glass back down on the bar,
his father was smiling at him from the next stool.

“May I join the pity party?”

“Sure, as long as you promise to keep your wisdom to yourself.” Eli motioned for the bartender to bring three more shots. “Did you follow me here? Is Mom out in the car? Please tell me that she is, because I’d really like to strangle her right now.”

“Settle down, Sunshine.
Yes, we followed you here, but your mother dropped me off and went back to the hotel. I’m your designated driver for the night, so I think I’ll pass on the shot. I will let you buy me a Guinness, though.”

Peter turned his attention toward the game on the TV and waited for his beer.
Eli downed his own shot, and then chased it with Peter’s.

E
li looked back to the man on his left. He looked away, but Eli could tell that he had been watching the interaction between father and son. “What’s got you down, man?” Eli asked, “You look like I feel.”

“Been a rough winter.
Spring doesn’t seem to be shaping up any better. Girl I know got in a car wreck tonight. She’s in the hospital,” he said.

Eli
’s heart began to beat wildly. “You don’t say.”

“I just wish I
could be there for her mother. She’s had a pretty tough go of it for a long time, and I’m not sure she’ll be able to handle this,” the guy looked Eli in the eye. “She’s got a history of mental illness.”

“So why aren’t you ther
e... for her mother?” Eli asked. He was suddenly hyperaware of the tequila buzz.

“Long story.”

“Look at me, brother. I’m on my fourth shot of tequila. Does it look like I’ve got anything to go home to? I’ve been listening to stories all day, and now I’m going to listen to yours.”

The
stranger peered at Eli through narrowed eyes. Then threw back his next shot of tequila. “Give us another,” he told the bartender. “You from around here?” the guy asked.

“Nope,” Eli muttered bitterly. “Just passing through… apparently.”

“Then you probably haven’t seen the woman I’m talking about. She hasn’t been out in public for a while.” He looked down at the bar as he spoke, as if he was trying to conjure her image. “She’s beautiful—just absolutely beautiful. Red hair, flawless face, six foot tall, body like a brick shithouse, and, oh my god, a temperament like you’ve never seen in any other woman on the face of this earth. She’s too damn good for this town. She’s too damn good for any town. She’s like a goddess that somehow got trapped on earth. You ever met a girl like that? The kind that drives you crazy, but you crave her like a drug?”

Eli’s brain was burning
, although whether it was from the fifth shot of tequila or from the description of Gretchel was debatable. “Yes. Yes, I have. So how do you know her?”

“Careful
, little buddy,” Peter whispered to Eli.

“Known her most of my life. Watched her grow up.
Watched her daddy beat her close to death from my rearview mirror as I drove away from her. Watched her lose her mind when she lost....” He stopped, his voice clogged with emotion, and ordered another round. “Watched her marry the biggest asshole known to mankind. Watched her get blackmailed. Watched her cover her bruises. Watched her make excuses. Watched her raise her kids. Watched her lose her spirit.

“I watched her bury her husband, and I w
atched her beautiful body as I made love to her, once, this past winter. Then she told me to go, so now I’m sitting here on this barstool instead of sitting with her in the hospital.” His sad voice became angry. “Of course, she doesn’t need me. I’m sure her new man is with her, even though he’s the one who put her daughter in the hospital in the first place. What kind of jackass buys a $50,000 sports car for a seventeen-year-old?”

The stranger had been too wrapped-up in his own horrible litany to notice the terrible impact it had on his listener. Eli
put his hands on the bar to steady himself. Then he ordered another shot.

“Easy
, Slugger,” his father whispered between sips of beer.

Eli started to speak, noticed that he was slurring incomprehensibly, paused, and started again. “Why don’t you fight for her? If you want her so bad, I mean.”

The man took the next shot, shook his head and answered, “She’d just tell me she’s not worth it—not worth fighting for, that is.”

Eli
nodded. He drained his last shot and very carefully turned his shot glass upside-down. He pulled out a wad of cash that would probably cover the tab of every patron in the bar while still leaving a hefty tip. Then he eased himself—gently, gently—from his barstool and tried very hard to walk a straight line toward the door.

Then he stopped and turned back to the stranger.  “She’s gonna be all right, man. Ame, I mean.
No thanks to me, but she’s gonna be fine. And Gretchel’s wrong. She sure as hell is worth fighting for.”

Peter took Eli back to the hotel, although it clearly was not where he wanted to be.

“I’m not stayin’ here! Take me to the cottage.
If I’m not there, she’ll see the mare. Huh.... That rhymes. I’m a friggin’ poet. I knew I’d be a writer someday.”

“Yes, the Ph.D. is serving you well
, Doctor Drunk,” his father said.

“Take me to the cottage!” Eli shouted again.

“Ah, yes. I’m sure the love of your life—a recovering alcoholic, as I understand it—would appreciate seeing the state you’re in. Indeed, I’m positive that this is the way you’ll win her back, Eli. It’s a fool-proof strategy… and you, son, are a fool.”

“Take me there! I gotta make this right!” Eli was desperate. He was also very close to falling over. His father eased him onto the sofa. Eli continued protesting even as he stretched out and closed his eyes. “
I gotta make this right, Dad.”

“Okay, but just rest there for a moment
while I get a warmer jacket,” Peter said.

“I have a baby girl.
I have
two
baby girls,” Eli mumbled.

His father patted his shoulder
. “Your cup runneth over as usual, Elliot.”              

Diana stepped close to her husband and hissed, “You can’t possibly mean to take him anywhere in this state.”

Peter put his arm around his wife. “I give him to the count of ten.”

By seven, Eli was passed out cold. His father covered him with a hideous hotel bedspread, kissed him on the forward, and turned out the lights.

Eli dreamed of the dancing redhead again, but this time he wasn’t so sure it was Gretchel. In fact, now that he could see her face, he realized that she didn’t look much at all like Gretchel. The bonfire burned brightly. He could hear his own guitar, a skin drum, and a rough flute. The redhead came forward, offered him the loving cup, and he drank. He could hear other men in the distance. They were looking for
her, but for the moment—just this one moment—she was his, and it was bliss.

∞

Diana laid her head against Peter’s bare chest and sobbed. “What have I done?” she cried.

“
Well, it seems to me that you’ve chosen the prophecy over your son—and not for the first time.”

Diana bristled. “You know I’m just trying to protect him, Peter!”

“Yes, love. I do. But do you know what you’re protecting him from? I sure as hell don’t. All that secrecy. All those little lies. That’s just asking for karma, and I’m afraid that our son is the one carrying that burden.”

Peter sighed. In all their decades together, Diana had never heard him sound so defeated, so regretful. Peter was the yin to her yang. His innocence tempered her experience. If he lost his faith that everything was just as it should be, she was left with nothing but her own cynicism. Diana was afraid.

“Our son has me just about convinced that I’m a self-important paranoiac. And, as for your interpretation of the prophecy…. What if you’re wrong, Diana?”

“I
was
wrong.”

Peter cackled, and Diana slumped against him in relief. Her admission of error—the first in their many years together—had restored him.

She told him Miss Poni’s story, all of it. He was captivated.

“So,” she finished. “Eli was right all along. Gretchel was the first woman in the prophecy. She’s descended from the Solstice Twins. But there are so many things that don’t make sense to me, so many things that don’t fit the pattern. And I’m no closer to knowing who the second woman is. Eli gave the amethyst to Gretchel. If she gave it away, who has it now?”

Diana threw herself against the pillows, exasperated—with both the situation and herself. “I certainly can’t ask her now. I doubt that she’ll ever speak to me again. And, because of me, Eli is in no position to find out, either.”

Peter stroked Diana’s arm and spoke gently. “If Eli is able to rebuild his relationship with Gretchel, I don’t think interrogating her on your behalf will be his first priority.”

“But what about the second woman in the prophecy?”

“What about her? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I have expressed doubts about your interpretation of the prophecy in the past.” Peter couldn’t see his wife’s face in the dark, but he knew, from long experience, what it looked like. “You were wrong about Gretchel. You could be wrong about a lot of things. In any case, I think it’s time—past time—for us to let our son live his own life.

“Forget about the prophecy for now, Diana.” Peter heard the beginnings of a protest from his wife, but he kept talking. “I know that it’s your life’s work. I’m not suggesting that you forget it forever. But, for now, why don’t we let the prophecy take care of itself? You’ve met our granddaughter. Tell me what she’s like.”