Page 63 of Hallows End
“I don’t know what the two of you said in your heads, but that was so darn sweet. I think Lorelei will be here soon. We’re bringing dinner by so we can all be together.”
“I love that,” Lucy says with a smile. “One day, we’ll all get dressed up like this and have our photo taken together.”
“You know I love a witchy vibe.” Breena waggles her eyebrows as Lorelei parks in the driveway.
I notice that Breena is wearing a pink dress, and Lorelei has on a purple one.
“I could snap a photo of the three of you now,” I offer. “All three of you are lovely. And…what was that term? Ah, yes,witchy.”
“Photoshoot!” Lorelei exclaims as she hurries over and wraps her arms around Lucy.
Breena patiently takes a few moments to coach me on how to use her camera, and then the three of them form a line, holding each other’s hands.
They look at me, all somber, and I press the button on the camera.
The shutter clicks.
Next, Breena lays her head on Lorelei’s shoulder, and Lucy reaches across Lorelei to take Breena’s hand.
It’s a beautiful action of solidarity that moves me.
These three women are linked by more than blood.
They have spent many lifetimes together.
“I’m hungry,” Lucy declares after a few more images. “Let’s set up a picnic in the garden. The sunflowers are still blooming.”
“That sounds lovely,” Breena says, and the four of us gather the supplies that Lorelei brought with her.
When everything is set up outside, I decide to take my leave.
I want the three of them to enjoy some time together alone.
And I have some questions for their mothers.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” I tip my head down to kiss Lucy.
“You’re not hungry?” she asks with a frown.
“I’ll snag something. Don’t worry about me. Just reach out if you need me.”
I wave, then leave out of the back garden gate to walk the mile or so to the aunts’ house.
Astrid already has the door open, waiting for me.
“I didn’t call ahead,” I say with a smile. “My apologies.”
“You never have to call when you’re set to visit a couple of psychic witches, honey. We already knew.” She gestures for me to come inside. “Hilda and I were just having dinner, and we have plenty to share. I hope you like corn chowder.”
“Now that, I know.” The house smells like the soup and sends me back several hundred years to when I was a boy in my mother’s kitchen.
The grief and homesickness almost knocks me off my feet.
“What’s the matter?” Hilda asks with a frown when she sees me. “You don’t like corn chowder?”
“I love it,” I admit as I sit in a chair at the table. “It just took me back to my mother’s kitchen, and I was surprised. I’m not often homesick anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Astrid says and reaches up to gently pat my cheek as if I’m her child. “From everything I’ve read and heard in my research, your mother was a wonderful woman.”