Page 90 of Potion Sickness

Family breakfast has started to become a tradition, even outside of lesson days. Today, Hannah brings donuts.

Lily’s fixation this week is, for some reason, on labor law. She’s appointed herself to Bandit’s cause and prosecutes it at every opportunity.

“He performed,” she argues at the counter, holding the butter dish. “He was Banquo at a very important time. He never got paid.”

“He was compensated in muffins,” I say.

“Muffins aren’t butter.”

She takes the butter dish to the door and sets it on the porch boards. Bandit picks up the entire half-stick in both hands and holds it to his chest.

“This town,” he says through the screen with real emotion, “has changed my life.”

“Do not weep on the butter,” Englebert says. “Eudora’s dishes have witnessed enough.”

* * *

I put the breakfast dishes into the sink, and when I return to the dining room, I find Addie at the table with her composition book, Englebert on the windowsill, and Maude on the floor below him.

“We’re having a ceremony,” Addie says.

“What kind of ceremony?”

“Official business,” Englebert says. He rises, arranges himself at the sill’s edge, and looks down at my Maude, who looks at the wall.

“For countless decades,” Englebert begins, “the morning light of this window has fallen upon this sill, and upon me. I have greeted every administration of this house from this position. I considered the arrangement permanent, in the way one considers all good arrangements permanent, which is to say, thoughtlessly.” He pauses. “This summer, a challenger arrived. I viewed this challenge as an affront. I have since had occasion to review the record.”

Addie’s pencil is going.

“The record shows a colleague,” Englebert continues, “who declined a role most creatures would have seized, which is a discipline I have witnessed in rarely in my long life. He conducted his entire campaign for this sunbeam without once raising his voice, a strategy I would do well to study and never will.” He draws himself up. “Accordingly. By the authority vested in me, by myself, the morning sunbeam of the east window is hereby ceded, in perpetuity, to Maude, of this house. The evening sill remains mine. Borders are what make good neighbors, and I intend for us to be excellent ones.”

Maude, hearing his name, yawns enormously.

“He says—” Addie starts.

“I heard what he said,” Englebert says. “There is no need to enter the yawn into the record.”

Maude hops onto the sill.

“Ingrate,” Englebert says, with something dangerously close to affection.

Maude produces, from within the sunbeam, a low sustained purr.

* * *

After we clean up, we all head out to the yard. We know the nice summer weather is soon to be behind us, and we need to take advantage of it while we can.

Addie sits under the apple tree with her eyes closed while Annabel names birds and Addie tells her what they’re worried about, which is mostly the cold coming and one hawk in particular who keeps circling their nest.

On the patio table, there’s a candle.

Annabel set it down on her way past, mid-conversation with Hannah about gutters.

I sit down in front of it while everyone occupies themselves around me. Lily is narrating something to Bandit. Gabe is on the porch steps with his coffee, watching me over the rim of the cup while pretending to watch Addie on the lawn.

I hold my intention like a match, and I offer it to the wick.

The candle lights.