Page 85 of Big Witch Energy

“I don’t think I appreciate the casual nature of your tone, sir,” Caroline replied. “And you’re just trying to avoid getting back on the boat.”

“Yes.” Edison nodded. “Yes, I am.”

Chapter 17

Caroline

Several Pop-Pie Negotiations Later…

It was weird for Caroline to walk from Gray Fern Cottage to her parents’ house. She’d trudged the same path back and forth from her cottage to The Wilted Rose, over and over, for so long, it had become a muscle memory. How long had she stayed in that unhealthy pattern, just because it was safe? But she supposed, after all, it wasn’t safe, because Rose had basically been keeping them hostage on the island under the threat of death for generations—even if they didn’t realize it.

At least, that was what Caroline told herself, when she found herself standing in front of the bar. It felt like some strange alien world that she was afraid to enter now. The last time she’d walked through that door, she’d been ambushed. She’d nearly died. It wasn’t the center of her world anymore, the thing she had to fight for, and she wasn’t sure when that changed. It was probably the moment that Riley stepped off the ferry.

She’d spent so much time being afraid of what could happen if she left the island, she never considered the threats that could come from it. But now the world had opened up to her with a speed and breadth that left her dizzy. And she hadn’t decided what to do with it just yet. She’d never considered the possibilities of her life, and everything felt like too much too soon, and yet not enough.

She opened the door and found her family polishing glasses, resetting the taps. The family tchotchkes, minus Rose’s painting, had been replaced in the alcove over the bar. Wally looked miserable, but no more so than Will, who—according to Mina—was coming up on his fifth consecutive day of work without being able to get out of it. Her mother had actually gone to Will and Tabby’s place to roust him off his couch and march him into work. Caroline cleared her throat to keep the laugh contained.

“Hey there, apple dumpling,” Denny called from the swinging kitchen door. He carried a crate of carefully plastic-wrapped liquor bottles to the bar top and set it down.

The kitchen was largely unchanged, other than a coat of fresh paint, and as a historical piece, the bar was also treated to a new varnish face. But the ceiling was whole again, and snowy white. The wood paneling had been painted the color of fading sea mist. The outside windows had been replaced with a french door added so the barroom opened out onto a properly braced and refurbished deck. The ancient floor had been stripped and refinished to a high shine. Hell, Caroline was pretty sure that Cole rebuilt all the booths on the exterior wall.

The new color, the new shiny finishes, the lack of “spilled beer smell” made the barroom seem like an entirely different place. It was open and clean and free from the regrets that weighed the very grain of the wood down for centuries.

Cole might have been a treacherous, murdery psycho, but he did a nice job with carpentry.

Gert sidled up to Caroline, carrying another crate of booze. Caroline hissed, taking the crate out of her hands. “Oh, Mom! Your shoulder’s not up to that just yet.”

“Well, consider it physical therapy,” Gert grunted.

“Dad’s here?” Caroline asked.

Gert’s brows rose. “Well, apparently, he gave some thought to what you said about us needing him. And he decided you were right, it was time to sit up, or something.”

Caroline smiled. Across the room, her dad winked at her.

“I don’t remember asking you to talk to your father on my behalf,” Gert drawled.

“Well, somebody had to,” Caroline said. “And we don’t count on Wally and Will for things.”

Gert pressed her lips together, trying to suppress a smile. “Caroline.”

“I know, I know,” Caroline snickered, feeling a bit more confident in poking at the bruise of her brothers’ previously coddled state. “They help in their own ways.”

Gert nodded. “Exactly.”

“Unless those ways involve lifting,” Caroline added.

Gert snorted. “Caroline.”

Caroline’s lips twitched. “Or cleaning.”

“Sweetheart,” Gert said.

“Or unpleasant tasks, of any kind,” Caroline said, shaking her head.

“Caroline Anne!” Gert laughed.

“That was the last one,” Caroline promised before lifting her hands and crying, “Oh, or saying no to Tabby!”

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