Practical Magic (Practical Magic #2)(5)
“If the aunts are full of baloney”—Gillian grinned—“then we’ll be just like everyone else.”
Sally nodded. She could not begin to express how deeply she felt about this matter, since being like everyone else was her personal heart’s desire. At night Sally dreamed of ranch houses and white picket fences, and when she woke in the morning and looked out to see the black metal spikes that surrounded them, tears formed in her eyes. Other girls, she knew, washed with bars of Ivory and sweet-scented Camay, while she and Gillian were forced to use the black soap the aunts made twice a year, on the back burner of their stove. Other girls had mothers and fathers who didn’t give a hoot about desire and fate. In no other house on their street or in their town was there a drawer crammed with cameos, given in payment for desires fulfilled.
All Sally could hope for was that perhaps her life was not quite as abnormal as it appeared. If the love charm didn’t work for the girl from the drugstore, then perhaps the aunts were only pretending their powers. So the sisters waited and prayed that nothing would happen. And when it seemed certain that nothing would, the principal of their school, Mr. Halliwell, parked his station wagon outside the drugstore girl’s apartment, just as the light was fading. He casually walked inside, but Sally noticed that he made sure to look over his shoulder; his eyes were bleary, as though he hadn’t slept for seven nights.
That evening the girls did not go home for supper, despite Sally’s promise to the aunts that she would fix lamb chops and baked beans. The wind picked up and a freezing rain had begun to fall; still the girls stood across the street from the drugstore girl’s apartment. Mr. Halliwell didn’t come out until after nine, and he had a strange expression on his face, as if he didn’t quite know where he was. He walked right past his own car, not recognizing it, and not until he was halfway home did he remember he’d parked somewhere, and then it took him nearly an hour to locate the forgotten spot. After that, he appeared every evening at the exact same time. Once he had the nerve to come to the drugstore at lunch and order a cheeseburger and a Coke, although he didn’t eat a bite and instead stared longingly at the girl who’d put a spell on him. He sat there on the very first stool, so hot and amorous that the linoleum countertop on which he rested his elbows began to bubble. When he finally noticed Sally and Gillian watching him, he demanded that the sisters head back to school, and he reached for his burger, but he still couldn’t keep his eyes off the girl. He’d been hit by something, all right; the aunts had gotten to him just as sure as if they’d picked him off with a bow and arrow.
“Coincidence,” Sally insisted.
“I don’t know about that.” Gillian shrugged. Anyone could see that the girl from the drugstore looked all lit up inside as she fixed hot fudge sundaes and rang up prescriptions for antibiotics and cough syrup. “She got what she wanted. However it happened.”
But as it turned out, the girl didn’t have exactly what she’d wanted. She came back to the aunts, more distraught than ever. Love was one thing, marriage quite another. Mr. Halliwell, it seemed, was not certain he could leave his wife.
“I don’t think you want to watch this,” Gillian whispered to Sally.
“How do you know?”
The girls were whispering right in each other’s ears; they had a scared feeling they didn’t usually have when they spied from the safety of the stairs.
“I saw it once.” Gillian looked particularly pale; her fair hair stuck out from her head in a cloud.
Sally drew away from her sister. She understood why people said blood could turn to ice. “Without me?”
Gillian often came to the back stairs without her sister to test herself, to see how fearless she could be. “I didn’t think you’d want to. Some of the things they do are pretty gross. You won’t be able to take it.”
After that, Sally had to remain beside her younger sister on the stairs, if only to prove that she could. “We’ll just see who can take it and who can’t,” she whispered.
But Sally never would have stayed, she would have run all the way to her room and locked the door with a deadbolt, had she known that in order to compel a man to marry you when he doesn’t wish to, something horrible has to be done. She closed her eyes as soon as they brought the mourning dove in. She covered her ears with her hands so she wouldn’t have to listen to it shriek as they held it down on the countertop. She told herself she had cooked lamb chops, she had broiled chicken, and this wasn’t so different. All the same, Sally never again ate meat or fowl or even fish after that evening, and she got a shivery feeling whenever a flock of sparrows or wrens perched in the trees startled and took flight. For a long time afterward she would reach for her sister’s hand when the sky began to grow dark.
All that winter, Sally and Gillian saw the girl from the drugstore with Mr. Halliwell. In January he left his wife to marry her, and they moved into a small white house on the corner of Third and Endicott. Once they were man and wife, they were rarely apart. Wherever the girl went, to the market or her exercise class, Mr. Halliwell would follow, like a well-trained dog that has no need for a leash. As soon as school let out, he would head for the drugstore; he would show up at odd hours, with a handful of violets or a box of nougat, and sometimes the sisters could hear his new wife snipe at him, in spite of his gifts. Couldn’t he let her out of his sight for a minute? That’s what she hissed to her beloved. Couldn’t he give her a minute of peace?