The Rules of Magic (Practical Magic 0)(37)

“Franny, we’re not getting through anything without incident,” Vincent said. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Try,” Franny urged. She nodded to Jet, who was not paying attention to anyone and seemed caught up in her own sad world. Jet stared out the window, tears flowing down her face. “Let’s just get her through this,” Franny whispered to her brother.

Ever since the accident she had felt the burden of being the oldest. Overnight, and without warning, Franny no longer felt young. She was not going to get what she wanted or do as she pleased. She had come to understand that as she and Vincent sat together in the hospital. Today she had pinned up her straightened hair and had taken a black Dior cape from her mother’s closet, which carried the scent of Chanel No. 5, Susanna’s perfume. Franny knew that from now on she would be held hostage by her responsibilities.

When they reached the cemetery, the Boston Owenses, most of whom they’d never met before, had already gathered. They were introduced to April Owens’s disapproving parents, although April was nowhere in sight. Some cousins from Maine who had a farm known for its miraculous rhubarb, which could cure almost anything, from influenza to insomnia, were in attendance, and of course Aunt Isabelle sat in the front row, beside Franny. A heat wave had begun, but Isabelle wore her long black dress and a shawl she had knitted to keep evil at bay. All of the women had bunches of hyacinths, which Jet and Franny were given as well. The flowers were to remind them that life was precious and brief, like the hyacinth’s bloom.

The minister was married to an Owens and led a congregation in Cambridge.

“I look forward to seeing you in the fall,” he told Franny. They all knew she’d been accepted to Radcliffe.

“Perhaps,” Franny demurred, not wanting to commit herself.

Franny assisted their aunt over the tufted grass when they left the burial site. They went into a small bleak hall where cakes and coffee were displayed on a lace-covered table. There were pots of hyacinths everywhere.

Isabelle’s voice held real tenderness. “We never know the end of the story until we get there. Let me suggest a possibility for the immediate future. You three could move in with me.”

Franny shook her head. “It’s not possible.”

“At least stay for the rest of the summer,” Isabelle urged. “Give yourself some time to decide what comes next.”

“Thank you, no,” Franny told her aunt. “We’ll go back to New York.”

“Suit yourself. That tall boy will be happy, but will you?”

They could hear a siren. On the street a police car led a long line of cars, including a hearse. Levi Willard’s funeral procession was passing by.

“It’s a shame,” Isabelle said sadly.

“Because he’s a member of our family?” Franny asked. She very much wanted to know the secret April had spoken of.

“Because this could have been avoided if his father had learned not to hate. I think we should refrain from telling Jet that his funeral is taking place today. It’s too much for her to bear.”

“So you’re not going to tell me anything,” Franny said.

“Yes, if you must know, we’re related to the Willards.”

“Why is that a secret?”

“Why is anything a secret? People want to protect themselves from the past. Not that it works.”



Franny left her aunt to search for Vincent and Jet, whom she found in a corner.

“Let’s get out of here,” Vincent said. He was half-drunk, never a good state to be in.

“There’s April.” Jet pointed to the opposite corner, where April was sitting on an overstuffed chair, a baby girl on her lap. They approached with caution.

“Seriously?” Franny said, in quite a state of shock. “A baby?”

“I’m sorry about your parents.” April turned to Jet. “And I’m sorry about Levi. I heard he’s being buried today.”

Franny gave April a look that was so harsh and foreboding April felt smacked. She understood what she was being told and quickly backtracked, surprised by how much more powerful Franny now seemed.

“Or maybe it’s tomorrow,” April hedged. “Don’t ask me. I don’t have a moment to think straight.”

“Hello, baby.” Vincent sat on the edge of a coffee table and offered his hand, which the baby grabbed and held on to. No female wanted to let him go. This one’s name was Regina. Her eyes, of course, were gray.

“I suppose you can fight fate, but I’m glad I didn’t fight this,” April said of her daughter.

“You wouldn’t have wanted to,” Jet remarked with real emotion. “She’s a gorgeous baby,” she added when Franny looked puzzled.

Now Franny’s curiosity was piqued. “What happened to Regina’s father?”

“Drowned,” April said. “Wouldn’t that be my luck? Flash flood. What are the scientific odds of that?”

“Not a very high probability,” Franny remarked. April’s lie had fallen to the floor, heavy as lead, but Franny didn’t dare kick it, for fear of what other disturbing information might spring out at them.

“Well, congratulations are in order,” Vincent said, itching to have a drink. He stood and saluted, then found his way to the bar, where whiskey sours, their parents’ favorite cocktails, were being served.