Page 53 of Potion Sickness

“The pilot has a trick to it⁠—”

“Clifford.”

“—you have to hold the knob down a full thirty seconds after it lights, or it’ll go out again in the night and you’ll have a cold shower and blame the house.”

“I would blame the house,” I admit.

“So,” my mother says. “The play is Friday.”

“The play is Friday.”

“Prudence wears a crown.”

“Indeed she does.”

“Good,” she says. I hear a seagull in the background. “Imogene called yesterday. She’s very happy you’ve been visiting.”

“I’m glad,” I say. “She called me Eudora.”

“She does that with me too now. She keeps talking about honey. Make sure to bring her the honey.”

“I will.”

“Good,” she says. “I’m glad you’re settling in.”

“Just until you get back.”

“This place likes you. I’ve said that. Let it⁠—”

“Let it help. I remember.”

“Then I’ve nothing further,” she says, and hangs up.

CHAPTER 16

Saturday afternoon I drive over to Morgan & Sons with three pages of Englebert’s notes, dictated to me earlier in the morning.

The front door is propped open, and inside, Addie is crouched on a low footstool with the script held in both hands like a hymnal.

“We fail?” she prompts.

“But screw your courage to the sticking-point,” Gabe says, “and we’ll not fail.”

“Wrong.”

“That’s — Addie, that’s the line.”

“You said ‘sticking-point.’ It’s ‘sticking-place.’”

I knock on the doorframe. Addie lights up. Gabe goes faintly pink, which is worth the drive on its own.

“We’re rehearsing,” Addie announces.

“I see that. Who’s the lamp?”

“Banquo. He’s dead right now.” She hops down from the stool to accept Englebert’s envelope on her father’s behalf. “Is it notes?”

“It sure is.”