He groans, pressing a gold-ringed thumb to his temple. “One bad public date and suddenly I’m the sole topic of the Bible study group.”
“I’m not in the Bible study group, but you were. According to my sources.”
“Jesus. Christ.”
A few nurses at the station down the hall look up.
“Don’t let the church ladies hear you say that,” I say. “They’ll send Pastor Webb after you. Heaven forbid they don’t let you be the next mayor. A tragedy, really.Were that to happen.”
“First of all, something is off about that man.”
Okay, that we can agree on. I don’t attend myself, but I know Witches often make an appearance in his sermons, and not because they’re holding a toy drive. “I always thought he was at high risk of becoming an actual spider.”
“Secondly, Samson was never going to work out; he’s a Libra for chrissakes. What I don’t understand is why my love life is more interesting than how Noxie on Shirley Street shot off her husband’s toe last week.”
I shrug. “She does that once a year. And because your date threw a literal biscuit at you. Kitty’s Kitchen doesn’t evenservebiscuits.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. He pulled them right out of his Longchamp.”
“If that’s how you handle tricky situations, I don’t know if you’ll be the best mayor to follow my mom.” Okay, low blow, but I passed desperate a long time ago. Does he understand I’m willing to take a whole slew of questionable risks to keep him from being Mayor Silas Key? Nothing personal.
He sighs. “Listen, you have no idea how hard it is to date in a town this size. I would be a ten in Manhattan and here the best I get is a tourist who’s only visiting to rent a log cabin toget away from it all.”
Well, crap. Now I feel a little bad. He’s right: We’re operating on totally different playing fields. Olive branch, then. “Your date—Samson—came by the shop the other day looking for something to cure a pinot grigio hangover. He looked like absolute hell.”
“See? A pinot grigio guy. Never going to work.” HisI’m serious nowforehead scrunch reappears. “I’m doing my best here, but your mom can’t be my mentorandmy opposition. You’ve got to make herwork with me. She’ll listen to you. I’m trying to be a young mayor in a town of four thousand—maybe—that barely has its own postal code. I want friends, not enemies. More folks ask me every week where their mayor is, and I can’t deflect forever.”
And Carolina’s deflection spell and warding around my mom’s hospital room can only keep folks from snooping for so long. If I could banish the image of my mom—ghostly, thin hair, hollow cheeks, looking way too much like Momaw in her last months—I could put up more of a fight now. But I can’t. I just need her healthy. “You’re right. I know my dating life wouldn’t be front and center like yours.”
“If you had one.”
Ialmostlaugh. It was a good one. “Ouch. I don’t know about this friends thing.”
“At least help me by dating someone, so we can keep her distracted.”
“She does enjoy trying to set us up. My mom does know you’re gay, right?”
A delicate half chuckle passes between us. Quiet, but it’s there.
Okay, I suppose Icouldmake more of an effort here. “Maybe we should get dinner. Just the two of us. Talk outside of this hospital room for once.”
His eyebrows go up. “Youknow I’m gay, right?”
My hand goes to my invisible pearls. “What?”
“Ah, that was your sarcasm. I see.”
“We both know we’re way too busy for dinner, anyway. It was a trick question.”
Silas clears his throat, looking away. “Listen, I don’t want to add to your plate…”
“Oh, please do.” Folks have been adding to my plate for years. It keeps piling up and I just keep… not eating it. One day, I’ll inhale it. Catch up.Somehow.
“We’re going to need more medical care than Foxe Holler canprovide. We should think about moving Marigold to a larger city, a proper hospital. Or if necessary, find excellent hospice care.” He tugs at his waistcoat, a nervous tic of his. Never a good sign. “Your grandmother passed away after battling this same unknown thing for a year. And Marigold’s been here nine months now…”
The acid in my empty stomach bubbles. The urge to vomit is stealing every tablespoon of weak focus I’ve got.You’ve tried everything in those grimoires, girl, Momaw would remind me. I’ve had time to exhaust my options, but with all the potential cures I’ve created, all I’ve done is exhaust our pantry and bank account.
Silas faces me, as if to make this fast, efficient. “Your mom is getting worse, quickly. Nurse Carolina and I think she has a few months left, at best. We need an answer. Now.”
