Bewitching Belle
it scooting across the table.My sister Miri has been dating the same guy, Phillip, for several years now, but they’re still young and there is much life to be experienced. It’s her first year out of high school, for gosh sakes! Why would she want to rush to the altar?
Unless… I chew on my nail and stare at the invite. Unless she’s pregnant. I suck back a breath.
Ohmygosh! That’s exactly it!
Miri is racing her blooming baby bump to the altar because she’s prego. Holy burping black cat! A vision of her holding a baby and standing at Phillip’s side spreads across my inner eye. My chest warms, as does the desire to help her bless her soon-to-be family. Auntie Belle, my inner voice sings. A tiny smile creeps across my face.
“I see you’re staring at the invitation again,” Mom says, pulling me back to the now, but the thought of babies continues to bounce around my mind.
“What?” I jerk and snap to my mom, then glance between her and the invite. “Oh, yeah. I was just thinking about what I should get her. Maybe some birthing beads.”
“Birthing beads.” Mom’s voice pitches and she startles, sloshing coffee from her mug.
“Did I say birthing? I meant blessing. Blessing beads.” I attempt to cover. “Total brain fart. Sorry. How’s the leg doing?” I ask as a diversion attempt. She merely huffs in response, be it to my question, my attempt, or my slip—I can’t say.
But I honestly want to know about my mom’s leg. Some days, it bothers her more than others. The issue is in her foot, and it started shortly after our escape from Caleb’s burning home. She landed on it wrong, and now she experiences severe arthritis in the morning and at night when it gets cold. Sometimes, like this morning, she requires the assistance of a cane.
Using two hands, Mom holds her mug of coffee at her breast, leans back against the counter, and closes her eyes. Her shoulders are drooped. Her entire demeanor appears defeated or depressed. She takes a sip of her coffee and snaps her gaze on me. “Learn from your sister’s mistakes, Belle, and make better decisions.”
“Stop it, Mom.” My inner muscles are fighting between walking away or defending my sister. I cross my arms and heave a sigh. “Miri doesn’t make any more mistakes than the rest of us. You need to stop blaming her for Caleb and the fire. She was not the mastermind behind any of that. She was a victim just like us.”
Mom drops her head. Falls silent. I press my fingers to my lips and internally cuss.
Why did I do that? Why did I say his name?
Ever since the night of the fire, the mere mention of Caleb has been some sort of a trigger for Mom. Although she won’t admit it. I suspect she blames herself, and that guilt drops her into an unresponsive state of depression.
“Mom?” She doesn’t respond. I push to a stand and cross the kitchen, shake her shoulder. “Mom?”
No change.
The phone rings. Abandoning my mom reactivation attempt, I answer the phone.
“Hey, Belle,” Miri says. “I want to make sure you’ll be on time this Saturday. We have a set appointment and it would be rude to show up late.”
“You can count on me,” I reply.
“Oh good.” There’s a hint of relief in her words. “I don’t want to decide on a cake flavor without your input.” She pauses. “Mike will be joining us, by the way.”
“Of course he will.” My chest hiccups with a silent giggle. “Who’s going to turn down free cake?” My voice chirps with genuine pleasure at the prospect of seeing Michael. Our family Christmas celebration was only a week and a half ago, but I don’t get enough sibling time to fill my cravings.
“Not Mike, apparently,” she responds with a giggle.
“Rest assured, I haven’t forgotten about our date,” I tell her. “I’m actually looking forward to it. See you then.” We say our goodbyes, and I hang the phone back on the wall.
“I suppose you’re planning some magickal spell to bless her latest mistake? Hence the birthing beads.” She pronounces “birthing” with a bite of irritation. She limps toward the hallway, coffee mug in her free hand. I’m not sure if her mention of a mistake refers to Miri’s marriage or the thought of a baby on the way. Possibly both.
I sigh and resign to drop any attempt at a comeback. Instead, I focus on my collection of herbs and spices lining the wall.
“I have almost two weeks until January’s full moon.” I trace my finger along the glass jars filled with natural goodness. “Should be plenty of time to collect and bless some beads, as well as find the ideal gift for a new mini Miri or mini Phillip.”
Mom stops in her tracks and spins back to me. “A baby?” Her voice pitches. “Are you certain?”
My mouth pops open, and I suck back my breath. The oxygen lodges in my throat. My hand flattens against my chest. Why did I say that in front of my mom? Why did I give my suspicions away regarding a possible baby?
The mug tumbles free from my mom’s hold. Her favorite coffee cup crashes to the kitchen floor, smashing into pieces and splashing hot liquid in all directions.
Once more, she falls into a reactionless void.
Stepping around the coffee-splattered mess on the floor, I guide Mom down the hall to her room and to a seated position on the bed. My lips remain sealed through the entire process, holding back any further unnecessary slips.
“Baby or no baby, things will work out fine for Miri,” I say in an attempt to smooth over the damage I’ve dealt. I tap Mom’s hand, remove the cane from her hold, and lower her to her pillow. “Why don’t you rest this morning.” I kiss her forehead. “I need to get to school, and I don’t want you doing anything strenuous while I’m gone.
Mom’s eyes are half closed and