White Witch, Black Curse

My mom busied herself fussing with the tray as the last of the coffee dripped into the coffeemaker, and again I noticed how young her hands were. Witches lived for almost two centuries, and we could almost pass for sisters—especially since she had stopped dressing down. "Cindy is nice," she said from out of the blue, and I started, jerked back to reality by the mention of Robbie's girlfriend. "He teases her like he teases you." She was smiling, and I went to get the cream out of the fridge. "You'd like her," she added, her eyes on the backyard, lit from the neighbor's security light. "She's working at the university while finishing up her degree."

Smart, then, I thought, not surprised. This hadn't come out in dinner conversation. I wondered why. "What is she taking?"

My mom's lips pressed together in thought. "Criminology."

Really smart. Too smart?

"She has one year left," my mom said as she arranged a set of spoons on the napkins. "It was nice watching them together. She balances Robbie out. He's so pie in the sky, and she's so down to earth. She has a quiet beauty. Their children will be precious beyond belief."

Her smile had gone soft, and I smiled, realizing that by settling down, Robbie was setting himself up for an entirely new set of mom-wants. She might have given up on me, but now Robbie was going to take the full brunt. Oh so sad…

"Tell me," she said in a deceptively mild tone, "how are you and Marshal getting along?"

My smile faded. Okay, maybe she hadn't given up on me completely. "Fine. We're doing great," I said with a new nervousness. She'd been the one to tell me that we weren't suited for more than a rebound relationship, but after hearing at dinner how Marshal had pulled Tom out from under my kitchen, she might have readjusted her thinking.

"Robbie really likes him," she continued. "It's nice for me to know that you have someone looking after you. Able to go under your house and kill snakes for you, so to speak."

"Mom…" I felt trapped all of a sudden. "I can kill my own snakes. Marshal and I are friends, and that's enough. Why can't I just have a guy friend? Huh? Every time I push it, I mess it up. Besides, you told me he wasn't a long-term solution but a short-term diversion."

I was whining, and she set the sugar bowl down and turned to face me. "Sweetheart," she said, touching my jaw. "I'm not telling you to marry the man. I'm telling you to keep the lines of communication open. Make sure he knows what's going on."

My stomach, full of gravy and beef, started to churn. "Good," I said, surprised. "Because I'm not dating him, and nothing is going on. Everyone I date ends up dead or going off a bridge."

Her lips twisted into a wry expression as she took the carafe and poured the coffee into the best silver pitcher. "They do not," she chided. "I really like Marshal, and he's been good for you, but he's too…safe, maybe, to keep your interest, and I want to make sure he's not thinking there's more to this than there is. He's too good a person to lead on like that, and if you've given him any indication—"

"He knows we're just friends," I interrupted. God! What was it with her?

"Friends is fine," she said firmly. "And it's good to know he can come through in a pinch. This thing with the Bansen character, for example. I'll sleep better knowing you have someone to go to if I'm not around. I worry about you, sweetheart."

My jaw clenched, and I could feel my blood pressure start to rise. This was not what I wanted to talk about. "If I find any more snakes under my floorboards, I'll know who to call." Then I hesitated. If she isn't around?

"Uh, Mom?" I said as she fussed over the tray. "You're okay, right?"

She laughed, the sound of it pulling my shoulders down. "I'm fine!"

Not quite reassured, I set the good silver coffeepot on the tray, now knowing what it meant. She considered Marshal casual company, not a future son-in-law, and a part of me was disappointed even as I knew it was the best thing. A thump from the attic pulled my attention up. It was followed by another, and I started to fidget. I grabbed the tray as the distinctive bump of the attic door folding up into the ceiling filtered in. He was downstairs.

"I'll take it in," my mother said briskly as she plucked the tray from my hands and gave a nod to the hallway. "Poor Marshal must be bored, sitting there by himself. See if Robbie needs any help with what he pulled out of the attic. Bottle caps! I thought I threw those out!"

"Thanks, Mom." Anxious to get my hands on that book, I followed her, smiling sadly at Marshal's cheerful comment about the beautiful coffeepot as I headed in the other direction, almost running into Robbie. I gasped, and he steadied me with both hands. My eyes narrowed. Both hands? "Where's the book?" I whispered.

Robbie's eyes were pinched in the dim greenness of the hall, cold now from the attic. "It wasn't there."

"What?" I yelped, then lowered my voice and leaned in. "What do you mean, it wasn't there?"