Page 5 of Impractical Magic

“You know I never gamble.”

“If not you, then—” Scarlett stopped abruptly, because the girls’ mother entered the lobby from the dining room.

Scarlett’s breath caught in her chest. Mama looked . . . old. She’d known that would happen, of course—parents age, it’s part of the job. But still. Her hair, while still perfectly arranged, had gone gray. The lines in her face had deepened, and her shoulders had a certain curl, as though she was carrying a burden far heavier than she should bear.

It had been a long ten years.

Surprising Mama was nearly impossible, but the sight of Scarlett standing in the lobby certainly seemed to do the trick. “Scarlett?” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, wow, Mama. Nice to see you too . . .”

Luna flung her arm around her sister’s shoulder. “Surprise! You get both of us now. All your girls back together.”

“Yes, Scarlett, of course it’s nice to see you. That’s quite an interesting choice you’ve made with your hair.”

And there it is, Scarlett thought. How is it that I haven’t been home in ten years, but I step across that threshold, and I’m immediately eighteen again, and no time has passed at all? “Let’s see, how long was that, Mama? Ten seconds before the first dig? You’re slowing down in your old age.”

“Don’t be smart. Are you staying for the weekend?”

“The weekend?” Scarlett repeated. “I mean . . . I suppose I’m staying until whatever this situation is gets worked out.”

“What situation? There’s no situation! Delilah, are you telling people there’s a—”

“Obviously there’s a situation, Mama.”

Scarlett said, “I saw road work on the way here. What’s that about? Why isn’t the Road Spellwork Committee out there fixing it?”

“Well, yes, we’re having a minor hitch at the moment. It’s—”

“A hitch!” Delilah exclaimed.

Mama shook her head. “Everything is fine—”

“It’s really not . . .”

“—and Scarlett, you must be starving. Delilah, why don’t we go see what the kitchen can whip up for our prodigal here?”

Delilah rolled her eyes. “Prodigals get all the applause.” She stomped off to the kitchen.

A man in a green flannel work shirt, toolbox in hand, came jogging down the staircase into the lobby. Mama saw him first and smiled. “All set with the sink in 301?”

“Fixed,” he said. “What else can I do?”

Mama gestured toward the grand piano, and the two approached it for a discussion.

Scarlett stared openly. The handyman had the broad shoulders of a rugby player and the confident jawline of a superhero. She recognized the voice as Nate’s but the physique . . . how could it be? She grabbed her baby sister and dragged her across the room for a more private conversation. “Luna,” she whispered. “What happened to Nate?”

“What do you mean, what happened? He’s ten years older, is what happened—same as the rest of us.”

“No, but . . . um . . .” Scarlett stammered. “My Nate had acne and braces and a concave nerd-boy chest—”

“All of which he outgrew, ding dong. And pretty handsomely, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Mind you saying? Why would I mind you saying?”

Luna shook her head and laughed. “Because of the thing you guys had.”

“There was no thing!” exclaimed Scarlett unconvincingly.