Practical Magic - Alice Hoffman [76]
“Don’t worry,” Gillian says. “They’ll still need you after they’re all grown up.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I still need you.”
Sally looks at her sister, who’s pouring them both margaritas. “For what?”
“If you hadn’t been here for me when all that happened with Jimmy, I’d be in jail right now. I just wanted you to know that I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“That’s because he was heavy,” Sally says. “If you’d had a wheelbarrow, you wouldn’t have needed me.”
“I mean it,” Gillian insists. “I owe you forever.”
Gillian raises her glass in the direction of Jimmy’s grave. “Adios, baby,” Gillian says. She shivers and takes a sip of her drink.
“Good-bye and good riddance,” Sally tells the damp, humid air.
After being cooped up for so long, it’s good to be outside. It’s good to be here together on the lawn at this hour, when the crickets have begun their slow, late-summer call.
Gillian has salt on her fingers from her margarita. She has that beautiful smile on her face, and she seems younger tonight. Maybe the New York humidity is good for her skin, or maybe it’s the moonlight, but something about her seems brand new. “I never even believed in happiness. I didn’t think it existed. Now look at me. I’m ready to believe in just about anything.”
Sally wishes she could reach out and touch the moon and see whether it feels as cool as it looks. Lately, she’s been wondering if perhaps when the living become the dead they leave an empty space behind, a hollow that no one else can fill. She was lucky once, for a very brief time. Maybe she should just be grateful for that.
“Ben asked me to move in with him,” Gillian says. “I pretty much told him no.”
“Do it,” Sally tells her.
“Just like that?” Gillian says.
Sally nods with certainty.
“I might consider it,” Gillian admits. “For a while. As long as there are no commitments.”
“You’ll move in with him,” Sally assures her.
“You’re probably just saying all this because you want to get rid of me.”
“I wouldn’t be getting rid of you. You’d be three blocks away. If I wanted to get rid of you, I’d tell you to go back to Arizona.”
A circle of white moths has gathered around the porch light. Their wings are so heavy and damp the moths seem to be flying in slow motion. They’re as white as the moon, and when they fly off, suddenly, they leave a powdery white trail in the air.
“East of the Mississippi.” Gillian runs her hand through her hair. “Yikes.”
Sally stretches out flat in the lawn chair and looks into the sky. “Actually,” she says, “I’m glad you’re here.”
They both always wished for the same thing when they were sitting on the roof of the aunts’ house on those hot, lonely nights. Sometime in the future, when they were both all grown up, they wanted to look up at the stars and not be afraid. This is the night they had wished for. This is that future, right now. And they can stay out as long as they want to, they can remain on the lawn until every star has faded, and still be there to watch the perfect blue sky at noon.
LEVITATION
ALWAYS keep mint on your windowsill in August, to ensure that buzzing flies will stay outside, where they belong. Don’t think the summer is over, even when roses droop and turn brown and the stars shift position in the sky. Never presume August is a safe or reliable time of the year. It is the season of reversals, when the birds no longer sing in the morning and the evenings are made up of equal parts golden light and black clouds. The rock-solid and the tenuous can easily exchange places until everything you know can be questioned and put into doubt.
On especially hot days, when you’d like to murder whoever crosses you, or at least give him a good slap, drink lemonade instead. Go out and buy a first-rate ceiling fan. Make certain never to step on one of the crickets that may have taken refuge in a dark corner of your living room, or your luck will change for the worse. Avoid men who call you Baby,