The Last of the Moon Girls(54)
Lizzy had been five or six when she realized her relationship with Rhanna wasn’t normal, when she started school and saw how other mothers—real mothers—looked and dressed and acted. Rhanna had never been the healthy-snack, Purell-packing kind of mom. She’d been too busy partying to bother with things like checking homework or shopping for backpacks. Althea had done those things.
In third grade, her teacher had invited all the moms to come in and help the kids decorate Christmas cookies. Rhanna had been the only no-show, leaving Lizzy with a dozen gingerbread men to decorate on her own. Mrs. Gleason had taken pity on her and stepped in, assuring her as they piped frosting onto the crispy brown men that something must have come up to keep her mother from being there.
What Mrs. Gleason didn’t know was that two weeks earlier, Lizzy had dropped the take-home flyer into the first trash can she passed on the walk home. She couldn’t bear the thought of Rhanna showing up in her tie-dyed T-shirt and stringy bell-bottoms, standing next to moms in pastel twinsets and neatly pressed khakis. Being teased for being stood up seemed infinitely better than being teased for having a hippie mom who reeked of pot and patchouli.
But that was water under the bridge. She was here, and Rhanna was somewhere else. Or maybe she wasn’t anywhere. She’d probably never know, and it didn’t matter. Not really.
A shadow suddenly darkened the doorway. Lizzy turned to find Evvie behind her, a grin on her face and a glass of lemonade in her hand. “As my mama would say, you look like you could use a good scrub.”
Lizzy peered at her grime-streaked hands, then wiped them on the front of her T-shirt. “I’m afraid I’d have to agree with her.”
Evvie stepped inside, running her eyes around the shop. “You’ve been busy, I see. Wish your gran was here to see it.”
“Me too,” Lizzy sighed, recalling the days when the shelves had been lined with an assortment of tonics and remedies, each bottle and jar hand-labeled in Althea’s careful script. Now the shelves stood empty, and those days seemed a lifetime ago. She accepted the lemonade from Evvie, downing half of it in one go, then wiped her mouth, leaving a fresh smear of grit on her chin. “What am I doing, Evvie?”
“Don’t you know?”
Lizzy blinked at her. “Honestly? No. I’m supposed to be getting the place ready to sell. Instead, I’m making soap for Louise Ryerson’s granddaughter. It’s crazy.”
“It’s not,” Evvie shot back. “In fact, it’s the sanest thing you’ve done since you got here. This place is in your blood, little girl. This shop, and this soil, and that house—it’s all part of you. So is caring for people. That’s all healing is—trusting the magick, and sharing a little of it when you can. Your gran knew that.”
Lizzy shook her head. “I’m not Althea, Evvie. I don’t have that in me.”
“You do. You just forgot where to look. It’s why your gran left you the book—to help you find it. And you will, when it’s time. The best magick always takes us by surprise. We plan our lives like we’re in charge, lay all the pieces end to end like we think they should go, and then zing! Something happens we never saw coming, and we end up somewhere else. Sometimes it’s right back where we started.”
Lizzy met her gaze squarely. “And sometimes it’s not.”
“Maybe,” Evvie said thoughtfully. “The best thing any of us can do is get out of our own way.”
“And trust the magick?”
Evvie’s coppery-green eyes lit with a conspiratorial gleam as she reached for Lizzy’s empty lemonade glass. “Something like that. Come on inside now, and get cleaned up. Feels like maybe you’ve got some reading to do.”
Lilies . . . for rebirth.
My dearest girl,
I am back as you see, returned to the page to scribble down things that are on my heart, things I hope will help you after I am gone. But there is selfishness here too, make no mistake. I’m not so noble as I thought myself when I began all this. I vowed when I lost Rhanna that I would never press you into a life you did not want. But now, as my candle burns down, I find my regrets make poor companions. And so I must turn my thoughts to the future, Lizzy—your future—and try to sway you a little.
I have placed a lily between these pages. As you might guess, it was not an easy flower to press, too fragile in many ways to survive the harshness required to preserve it. But in the right hands, with the proper care, even the most fragile thing can withstand hardship and, in the end, yield a new kind of beauty—and so many lessons.
Renewal. Rebirth. Reincarnation.
Different words that all mean the same thing—the return of life to a thing believed spent. The end. The beginning. They have always been one. A part of the Circle into which we’re all born. It’s been taught in many ways down through the years, in many traditions, but the promise is always the same: the hope of a life to come. It’s the natural way of things—or the supernatural way if one prefers—an unimpeachable truth etched in blood and bone.
Because we are all a part of the One. And so we must have a care, remembering that nothing is ever lost. Its seed—its purest essence—is always there, waiting to manifest a newer and better version of itself. With us to guide the process, to nurture and protect, heal and bring forth. It is our purpose—our raison d’être. Yours and mine, and all the Moons before us.