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“Maeve said some of these flowers only bloom at midnight on a full moon,” Hope continues, as if she hasn’t heard me. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”
She tells me the little Maeve told her about night-blooming flowers, and suspicion prickles across my skin. Dead grandmothers and magic flowers—how did my mom end up here?
The sun dips beneath the horizon, and an orange sky melts into a deeply purple night. Outdoor lights turn on in the million-dollar homes on the other side of the lake. A matching light leaks from an open window in Maeve’s cottage. Maeve’s lakeside cottage.
It’s certainly not worth millions, but it’s worth something, and could be worth more with a few renovations. My mother’s newly emptied retirement account would go a long way. So would Bailey’s wedding savings.
We meander toward the bonfire, and a woman who introduces herself as Ashley passes us marshmallow-tipped sticks.
“This is my wife, Vicky,” she says, pointing to a woman with tan skin and toned arms, who greets us by passing a tray of graham crackers. “Neil’s over there in the suit talking to Maeve. And that’s Libby, Lisa, and Dylan.”
Libby, Lisa, and Dylan shoot us a coordinated wave, as if they’re used to being introduced in one breath.
“You don’t live in Kingsette,” Hope asks, though it’s really more of a statement. She twists her hand, expertly maneuvering the flame around the marshmallow.
“Nice technique,” I murmur, trying and failing to mimic her grace. My marshmallow is charcoal colored on one side and pure as snow on the other.
“Kingsette? God, no,” Ashley says, and Vicky elbows her in the ribs. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Small towns aren’t my thing. We’re from Newport. We have a little yoga place downtown.”
“We’re here for Maeve,” Vicky adds. “Friends of ours met her in Tucson last year, and when they heard she was coming up this way, they told us to look her up. We’ve been coming every Sunday night, but the full moon nights are always best. You’re in for a treat.” Vicky scans the crowd and frowns. “Wilson ducked out early again. I hope he’s okay ...”
“He was in a deep conversation with Maeve earlier,” Ashley says, as if that means anything about whether he’s okay.
Maeve claps her hands, and everyone falls silent. I see the moment she notes Hope standing beside me, and her eyes glimmer with something that makes me want to hide Hope away.
“We have two new participants this evening. Hope Gold and Will ...”
“Reynard,” I fill in, grateful that my mother never took my father’s last name and I can hold off showing all my cards.
“Reynard,” Maeve repeats, and the hair on the back of my neck rises. She glances up at the full moon and then back at the assembled group. The sole trait shared among them is the way they look to Maeve. Like she can heal something broken. Hope’s eyes shine with that same worship.
“We’re all here for different reasons. Some of us are here because we’ve lost someone important to us and we’re looking for words of love, hope, or absolution. Some of us are here because we want to be a part of the bigger universe, to see beyond what we are told to see. Others of us have come because they’ve heard things and want to make a decision for themselves.” Maeve flicks her gaze to me. Despite the heat from the bonfire, an icy knot forms at the base of my spine.
“Regardless of your reason, I caution all of you to remember three things. One, the veil between worlds is a fickle one. I cannot choose when, or even if, someone from the other side appears. Two, avoid the flowers in the western quarter. And three, whatever you decide about tonight, whatever you choose to share with others, please don’t mention the names of those who’ve gathered beside you. Theirs are not your stories to share.”
Maeve pivots and heads toward the garden. The wrought iron gate creaks as she lets herself in. Ashley and Vicky follow. The others aren’t far behind. Only Hope hesitates.
“I don’t know why I’m nervous,” Hope says with a little laugh. “It’s just a garden. It’s not like I’m afraid of the dark.”
“If it helps, I’m terrified of the dark and I don’t particularly love flowers.”
I feel the heat of Hope’s gaze as she weighs my words. “That does help, actually.”
We make our way toward the others. They’re gathered at the far end of the garden, illuminated by the moon as if a spotlight were beingshone on them. The smell of pine and lavender fills my lungs, which expand to take in more sweet-smelling air.
Lisa puts a finger to her lips as we approach and points to the stalks in front of her. After seconds of stillness, one by one, delicate white buds expand under the moonlight, exposing a petal so white it’s almost glittering. A light floral scent sweeps in on a breeze.
Hope’s breath catches. Her hand comes to her mouth.
Maeve begins to speak, and if I weren’t consumed by the feeling that something is completely off about all this, I’d feel validated. I knew there’d be chanting.
“I am light. I am love. I am breath and I am willing. I am ready to receive, to see, and to feel. My heart is open and welcomes abundance.”
Maeve repeats her affirmations a second time. All except for Hope and me join in. The sound swells around us, Maeve’s voice reaching higher than the others. Her voice has a depth and vibrato that I’ve heard in professionally trained singers. She moves her mouth with expert precision to form each word. Put together, she seems sincerely moved by what she’s doing. Then again, I’ve seen actors look equally moved until the director yells “cut.”
Maeve raises both hands into the air. Moonlight glints off a set of rings on her left hand that she wasn’t wearing earlier. The first, on her pointer, is a thick band that looks as if it’s set with red gemstones. The second is a stone surrounded by two smaller stones. I know it, even with the firelight distorting its color.
My mother’s sapphire ring. She inherited it from my grandmother, who’d gotten it from her mother. My mom was so afraid to lose that ring she kept it in a false bottom in her jewelry box.
