Page 52 of Witchy Woman

Voices drift in from the open door to the backyard. It’s winter, you dummies, why is the door open?

I step through the living room, approaching the door, and the heat emanating from it is intense. Why in the world is it so hot? I tip-toe quietly to get a better look.

They better not have contacted a Fire witch without telling me.

There, in the center of the backyard, is a bonfire like I’ve never seen. Layers and layers of crisscrossed logs stand what has to be five feet high. All engulfed in flame.

As if it recognizes me, the fire cracks at my arrival outside. The smoke billows toward me. Welcoming me.

“I’m burning the negative energy this family has accumulated. I’m hoping the smoke of it clears your lungsenough to say what is on your minds,” Grandma announces from next to the pyre. “That, and I’m sick of the armchair in the guest room. It’s horrid.”

True to fact, an armchair sits on the very top.

“I told her this would give us lung cancer,” Hazel grouses from the other side. Decidedly downwind from the billowing plumes.

The smile on Ash’s father’s face from the photo I saw in Ash’s bedroom flits through my mind. “Cancer isn’t a punchline.”

“That’s not what I—” Hazel’s face is stricken.

I shake my head. It was a cheap shot. “I know. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“There’s a lot left unsaid here,” Grandma says. “Some of that is my fault, a majority of that is your mother’s, and a lot of that is both of yours.” She holds a hand up to prevent the responses that are on the tips of both mine and Hazel’s tongues. “You’re adults now. You’re not responsible for the trauma of your upbringing, but addressing it and not repeating the same mistakes? Thatisyour responsibility.”

That shuts us up. She’s not wrong and there isn’t really anything else to be said about it.

Grandma stands taller. “I’m on the waitlist for a family therapist, but just like in the human world, our therapists have long waitlists. So in the meantime, I was hoping we could at least open the door to better communication.”

Well, damn, Grandma. Someone has been putting in work.

The fire catches my attention again. I’ve never been around this much at one time, and my heart is practically leaping toward it.

“I’ll start,” Hazel says, taking a deep breath. “I have some resentment for having to be a parent when I was a kid. It’s hard for me to separate my anger and I’m sorry for saying what I did last night.”

I should be paying attention. I know she’s saying something I need to hear, but the whispering. The whispering is so much louder. So insistent.

Help.

“What help do you need?” I ask, stepping closer to the flame. “Who are you?”

Help me.

“Who are you?” I ask again, holding a hand as close to the fire as I can without burning it.

Laura?

For the first time, I recognize the voice. I know that slightly judgmental lilt, that defensive tone. I make sense of the whispers, and it’s worse than I ever imagined.

“Mom.” Even as I say it, I can’t believe it. I knew she wasn’t dead, I knew it. But being able to hear her through fire? That’s not good. It can’t be good.

“Mom? What are you talking about?” Hazel’s yanking me away from the fire, but I can barely feel her touch. Her voice is a soft melody a million miles away.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

“Where are you?” I yell at her, voice shaking with emotion. “How do I find you?”

I’m left unanswered. The connection is broken. I’m in my yard, with my sister and my grandma; they stare at me as if they’ve seen a ghost.

Lucky them. I’ve actually spoken to one. I may have started moving on with my life, but Mom found a way to fuck it all up again.