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I was starting to realize how little Stephen really fit into my life. I tried so hard to compartmentalize our time together so it wouldn’t overlap with my family life. That wasn’t healthy. I could imagine Jed sitting around with my uncles at the Black Sheep, sharing horrid, manly stories. I could see him charming my aunts in a way that didn’t make them feel condescended to. I shook off these thoughts, as they were neither likely nor productive. Nor were they fair to Stephen.
Squirming on the purple quilted bedspread, I dug my cell phone out of my jacket pocket and dialed Stephen’s number. It was ungodly early by Dublin time, but I thought perhaps I could blame exhaustion and time difference for my lack of communication. I sat up slowly as the call went to voice mail. I yawned loudly and tried to sound addled and sleepy. It wasn’t that much of a stretch.
“Hullo, darling, I’m sorry I haven’t called already. I think I’m still a bit wiped out . . .” I trailed off as I caught sight of a box at the very back of the top shelf. It was about the size of a shoe box and just the right size for the candle with a swatch of Specialty Books’s signature blue wrapping tissue. Realizing that this soundless voice-mail message was costing me a fortune, I hastily added, “I’ll call again soon. Love you. Bye-bye!”
Unfortunately, Americans believed in building impossibly high closet shelves. Even with the help of a small stepping stool, I had to lean a bit on the shelf to brace myself up. It was at times like this I wished I was telekinetic instead of a witch. Then again, I already had the unstable mother. I didn’t want to risk falling into Carrie territory.
No, wait, I was falling anyway.
“Yipe!” I shouted as my weight shifted forward. Yanking the shelf down with my weight, I tumbled off the stool and onto the piles of boxes, crushing several of them as I landed. Just when I thought I could sit up, the box I was reaching for slid off the tilted shelf and landed on my head. “Ow.”
“Are you OK?” Jane cried, running back into the room.
“I’m so sorry,” I groaned. “I believe I broke a couple of things.”
“Really, it’s not a problem,” Mrs. Jameson told me, helping me to my feet. “It gives me an excuse to throw them out.”
“Clearly,” muttered Jane.
The box that had clobbered me was half open on the floor, the blue tissue spilling over the lid. I crouched over the box, removing the lid carefully. Inside was a long, creamy-white pillar candle, carved with ancient symbols for fire. I checked it over carefully. But I could tell from the pleasant, nearly electric hum I felt coming from the wax that this was the candle in question.
“I found it!” I exclaimed, beaming up at my companions.
I hugged the box to my chest as Jane and Sherry Jameson clapped and cheered for me. I felt like crying and laughing and screaming all at the same time. It was such a relief to know that I was one-quarter of the way to my goal, that the Kerrigans were that much farther away from it. And I’d done it without spending any of the buy money, leaving me that much more to work with for the other three.
Suddenly, the goal of finding all four objects didn’t seem so impossible. It was a bit like fishing. You got one little taste of success and lost all perspective regarding the amount of time or frustration that had led you there. I couldn’t wait to get back to the shop and look for the others.
“I’m very happy for you,” Jane told me, throwing an arm around my shoulder.
“Mrs. Jameson, I’m going to have to take this candle away from you.”
Jane snorted. “Mama, if you let Nola have this candle, I will forget all about the Closet of Misfit Gifts. Also, I will write the remaining thank-you notes for the wedding gifts.”
Mrs. Jameson cried, “You haven’t finished all the thank-you notes yet?”
“Mama.” Jane’s face was passive as she nodded her head toward the mountain of unappreciated presents.
Mrs. Jameson sighed. “Done.” She turned on me. “Now, Nola, are you still hungry? Because I have some leftover pot pie, smothered pork chops, smoked chicken, Salisbury steak, and some other goodies in the fridge. Would you like me to fix you a plate? Or I can just make up a little leftover care package to take home!”
I shot a frantic glance Jane, thinking, Jane, your mother seems to think I’m some sort of goose for the gorge. Could you please tell her that your dad is suffering from a serious toothache? He’s trying to ignore it, but he could end up needing a root canal if he doesn’t get it treated. It might distract her enough to get me out of here.
“That’s what that is?” she whispered, while her mother rattled on.
Jane frowned at me, arching an eyebrow. I added silently, I’ll explain later.
“Actually, Mama, I was hoping to talk to Daddy,” Jane said. “I noticed he was awfully pale earlier, and he wasn’t eating. Has he said anything about his teeth?”
Mrs. Jameson fell on the information like a bloodhound on scent. “No, is he all right? Is this something you picked up using your . . .” Jane’s mother paused and made a face that was half squinting, half constipation.
Jane studied the expression for a moment longer than necessary, I would think. It seemed “Funny Faces with Sherry Jameson” amused her. Finally, she said, “Oh, yes, the mind-reading thing. That’s right. That’s how I picked it up. And he’s trying to hide it from you, hoping it will go away on its own.”
“That man.” Mrs. Jameson sighed. “I swear, you’d think he would be more mature about something like going to the dentist. I had two babies, including Jane and her big ol’ pumpkin head, without drugs, and you didn’t hear me complaining.” She took a deep breath and called, “John, I need to talk to you!”
“You complain about that all the time!” Jane exclaimed as she followed her down the stairs. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have already come up with the phrase ‘Jane and her big ol’ pumpkin head.’ ”
While Mrs. Jameson started in on poor Mr. Jameson and his dental phobias, Jane turned on me. “I hope we just threw my dad under the bus for a good reason.”
“I think your mother not smothering me with Southern cuisine is an excellent reason for your dad to get the dental attention he needs.”
