Page 10 of Impractical Magic

“Whose fault is that?”

Scarlett boggled at this. “Um, both of ours? I mean, who was it who couldn’t wait to leave Oak Haven? Deny thy father and refuse thy name—that was supposed to be you, wasn’t it? Who covered the walls of his bedroom with maps? Who had lists of every roadside attraction he was going to visit? Have you scratched the World’s Largest Ball of Twine off your bucket list yet?”

“All right, fine.” Nate raised his hands in surrender. “I haven’t seen you for ten years—I’m not kicking things off with an argument. Let me finish up here and you go have dinner with your family. After all, they haven’t seen you in a decade either.”

Scarlett’s eyes widened. “Wow, that was a shot! Somebody’s been spending too much time with Delilah.”

“Well, Delilah’s been here, so yeah. I tend to spend time with people who are here.”

“Fine, be like that.” Scarlett stepped back, her arms raised in surrender. “Maybe consider whether this embittered Bette Davis routine of yours really matches with the whole Captain America look you’re going for. But, you do you.” She marched off toward the dining room.

Alone in the lobby, Nate gazed down at his neatly piled piano wreckage. “Huh,” he muttered. “Me? Captain America?”

Chapter 4: Royale with Cheese

Scarlett paused at the threshold between lobby and dining room, realizing too late that she was about to go from dealing with Nate to dealing with her mother. Very much a “frying pan to fire” sort of situation.

Oh well, she thought. I’m in it now . . .

It was dinner time, and the Stargazer Inn should’ve been bustling with activity. After all, the inn wasn’t just the best place in Oak Haven to stay, it was also the best place to dine. But instead, tonight an eerie silence hung in the air.

The fire in the massive stone fireplace crackled and spat, but there was no one for it to warm. The cheerful buttercup yellow of the wainscoting and countryside wallpaper felt cruelly out of place. Crisp white linens, vintage china, and gleaming cutlery sat untouched, patiently awaiting guests who never arrived.

“Zahir,” Scarlett whispered to the chef. “Where is everybody?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Everyone, sit! Allow me to present the food.”

The women sat down, instinctively arranging themselves in the same spots they’d occupied at every meal since the girls were out of high chairs: Mama at the far end, Delilah to her right, and Scarlett and Luna side by side on her left. The seat at the head of the table remained empty—that was Papa’s chair and it would never be filled again. Scarlett angled her body toward her sister, away from Papa’s chair; she knew wouldn’t be able to swallow a single bite if she could see it.

“Tonight,” Zahir announced, “I have prepared an autumnal feast for you all. Here we have pan-seared lobster medallions with a lemon-herb sauce, pumpkin gnocchi in sage brown butter, maple-glazed butternut squash, and a roasted vegetable medley with brussels sprouts, carrots, and parsnips. And for the prodigals, two special dishes to celebrate their return. For Luna, to honor her world travels, I offer Miso Lamb Empanadas with Harissa Yogurt and Tamarind Sauce—combining flavors from her recent addresses in Turkey, Japan, and Chile.”

“Oh, Zahir!” She seemed touched and even a little misty. “Thank you.”

“Welcome home. And for that one—” he pointed at Scarlett “—I have created what I call the Scarlett Special: a school of pan-seared sardines on a bed of couscous.”

“Sounds great but, um.” Scarlett frowned at her old friend. “Why is that a Scarlett Special, exactly?”

“Obviously, it is a reference to your most famous childhood exploit. You, diving off the covered bridge? Turning yourself into a school of fish on the way down?”

“That’s so funny,” she said, smiling. “I was just remembering that on the drive over here.”

“Well, your notoriety has not diminished all these years later,” Zahir replied. “Oh, by the way, the couscous represents the rocky bed of the river where you nearly cracked open your tiny fishy heads. Ladies, enjoy. Bon appétit!” He pushed the cart back through the dining room and into the kitchen.

“Well, Luna,” Scarlett said amiably, “I guess I’ll have to ask you to pass the sardines. I’m not really a fan, but if this dish is named after me, I can’t refuse.”

Luna put a single sardine on her plate—mostly out of solidarity—and passed it along. “I remember when you did that spell! We were all daring each other to jump off the bridge, but it was forbidden because the water was so shallow? Of course we all talked endlessly about doing it anyhow. The boys would brag that they’d be the first ones to jump. But inevitably we’d get up to the bridge and realize that it did look pretty shallow and the rocks did look pretty sharp . . . and we’d all chicken out. And then you suddenly said, ‘Hang on! It’s not too shallow if you’re fish.’ And over you went.”

“Oh, that scared me.” Delilah shuddered. “I thought you’d said, if you’re a fish, not fish as a collective. I was picturing you turning yourself into a whale and beaching yourself on the riverbed.”

“No, no, no,” Scarlett said with a laugh. “Just teeny fishies!”

Mama put down her fork. “It’s not funny.”

“Mama, it was, what, about a dozen years ago? Seems like it all worked out.”

“Worked out,” Mama repeated archly. “Better to say you got away with it. If even one of those teeny fishies had swum away, rather than returning to join the others? If just one went off on its own? You would have been unable to reassemble yourself. You’d have been trapped in that state forever. You took a terrible risk that day, Scarlett. And why? To impress your friends? It was reckless and very selfish, if you ask me.”

Scarlett glanced at her sisters, both of whom had eyebrows raised as if to say, now you’ve done it. She turned sheepishly to her mother. “I take it that’s a no from you on the sardines then?”