I slouch into the sofa.
Magick. It was magick that brought me here—not the small house in Algiers—when I wished to be home. Do I still consider Grandma’s house my home?
I breathe deep into my core and allow a hint of a smile to curl my lips.
Yes, I think I do. I really, really do.
My body succumbs to sleep with ease.
From a deep and heavy void, I am jostled awake. My eyes blink, blink the fuzz away, and I focus on Miri hovering over me. She’s retracting her hand from my shoulder. Bastian sits in the chair beside the fireplace, watching me.
“I’m off to school,” she says. “But I spoke to Phillip, and, assuming Grandma gives the okay, he’ll pick you up and drive you home when he gets off work. That will be somewhere in the four to five o’clock hour.”
I nod and close my eyes. A second later, they bolt back open, and I grab for Miri’s hand. Miss. But it’s enough to catch her attention. She turns and gazes down at me.
“I wanted to talk to you about Luna,” I say.
“Well… call me.” She flips her hand up to her ear in the universal telephone signal. “When you’re not so groggy, and we can talk all you want.” She grants me an all-solved smile and heads for the door.
I pass out and sleep like I’m in some sort of induced coma. Sleep until my grandma nudges my return into the conscious world.
“Phillip called,” she said. “He’s on his way over. How are you feeling? Are you feeling well enough for a ride home?”
I push myself upright. Nothing sways, gurgles, or rolls. In actuality, I feel pretty good. I stretch and crack my neck. “Yeah. I think I am. Thanks.”
“Okay, then.” She steps back so that I may stand, which I do. Leaving the blanket to fall into an unorganized puddle.
“Where’s Miri?” I ask.
“On Mondays, she starts late and goes long,” Grandma replies. “I washed and folded your clothes. Left them for you on the table. I noticed you had a few opened bags of spices in your jacket pocket. I secured them with ties. I’ll get a bag for you to carry everything.” She turns and heads toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?” She calls over her shoulder.
My stomach growls in response.
Food, in moderation, sounds good. Wow. Grandma’s magickal cure really worked wonders. I follow her to the kitchen and pop a piece of bread into the toaster. Finish a full glass of water while I wait.
Grandma puts my cleaned clothing into a brown shopping bag and together we wait for Phillip in silence.
“The bokor,” Grandma starts to say.
“I know, Grandma. I promise you I’ll be safe, and smart.” I lean against the kitchen counter and stare out the window on the other side of the dining room. Jerk at the sound of the side gate slamming shut.
Circling the table to get a better view out the window, I spy Phillip’s truck parked along the curb. Phillip appears from the back courtyard with my bike and drops it into the truck bed. Turns and waves at me. I wave back. Say my goodbyes to Grandma and Bastian, grab my bag of stuff, and head outside to meet him.
Within minutes, we are on the road, heading to Algiers by way of U.S. Highway 90.
“How’s the whole firefighter thing working out for you?” I ask.
“It’s going pretty good. I really like the guys, and I am learning a lot.” Phillip drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting along the door. “I’m glad, now, that I took the time to get my AA in fire science. It’s really given me the edge over the guys coming in with their GEDs or straight from high school.”
“Yeah?” I stare at the traffic moving ahead of us. I remember when Phillip decided to commit to the two-year degree. Originally, he had planned on applying for the position after completing his senior year. But after considering the lifespan of such a job, he decided an associate degree would help him move up the chain of command when fighting fires was no longer viable for him.
“Yeah,” he quips. “So, this wedding thing is coming up in a little over a month,” he continues.
“I’ve heard rumors to that effect.” I, too, rest my arm against the window and smile.
“I was hoping you might help me with something?” He glances at me, then back to the road.
“Hit me,” I say, telling him to ask away.
“As much as I would like to gift Miri a diamond necklace or diamond earrings as my groom’s gift, it really isn’t in my current budget. The wedding is leaving us both a little strapped for cash.” He moves his left hand to the steering wheel and rakes his right hand through his hair.
“Plus, you need to save for the baby,” I add.
His head snaps to me. “She told you?”
I deliver a smirky half laugh. “I guessed. We’re sisters. She can’t keep secrets from me.”
“Is that so?” He returns his attention to the surrounding traffic.
“Yep.” I nod, once sharp. “Anyway, you were saying?”
“Yeah, so, anyway,” he says. “Like I said, I can’t afford much, so I was wondering if you thought it would be corny if I wrote her a series of special notes to be opened leading up to our big hour?”
I mull over his gift choice for a moment and don’t respond right away. One cannot run out to a store and pick up a ready-made memo. Notes require thought and time, and the end product is one filled with sentiment, worthy of revisiting many times over the ages.
“Too lame?” he asks, clearly allowing his insecurity to get the better of him.
“Actually, I think it’s the perfect gift.” I turn to face him. The tension eases from his face, and the tiniest of smiles pulls at the edge of his lips. “Maybe even include one for the baby.”
His small smile widens. “Great idea,
