Page 106 of The Change
Jo laughed. “Are you kidding? Harriett’s never beenon.”
“You ever wonder what she knows that we don’t?” Nessa asked.
“Every day,” Jo said. “I almost want to give her a call when I wake up in the morning and ask her if I should bother getting out of bed.”
Harriett soon reappeared in the garden with a bottle of champagne in one hand, three flutes in the other, and two more bottles tucked under her arms. Nessa rushed over to help her.
“Geez, Harriett. Do you figure we have enough champagne?” Jo asked.
“We’ll see,” Harriett said. “There’s more where that came from. Have a seat. I’ll start a fire.”
Jo and Nessa sat side by side on a wooden bench that faced a fire pit Harriett had built in her garden. The late-August day had been blistering hot, but the evening breeze that came in off the ocean was cool and sweet. Soon a fire was dancing inside the circle of rocks, which resembled a miniature pagan henge.
“Now,” Harriett said once they all had full glasses in their hands. “Tell me.”
“You sure you’re ready?” Jo joked. “You don’t want to make some pigs in a blanket or knit us all flute cozies?”
“I’m ready.” Harriett seemed to have lost her sense of humor.
“Okay then.” Jo shot a quick glance at Nessa, who was gazing at her champagne with thirsty eyes.
As Jo recounted the events of the morning, Harriett listened closely. She didn’t ask any questions. She drank in the information like soil absorbing the rain.
“I know what this means after what happened to Lucy,” Harriett said when Jo had finished. For a moment she seemed more humanthan usual—like the woman Jo had met in a parking lot years before. “Here’s to both of you.” She lifted her glass and drained its contents in a single gulp.
It was an oddly somber toast.
“Wow,” Jo said.
“Yes, here’s to Jo.” Nessa lifted her champagne glass and put on a cheerful smile.
“Skål.” Harriett guzzled her second glass of champagne, then humorlessly poured herself a third and downed that one, too.
“Thanks, guys.” Jo wondered if her announcement had conjured bad memories for Harriett. Perhaps she should have been more sensitive. She knew Harriett’s advertising career had ended abruptly. But it was hard to believe that anything as mundane as a job could remain a sore spot for the woman Harriett had become.
While Jo and Nessa chatted, Harriett couldn’t seem to sit still. She had quickly drained most of the first bottle of champagne by herself, but she didn’t appear to be drunk. She walked among the plants in her garden like a general inspecting her troops, stopping to sniff at a leaf here, judge the plumpness of a berry there. The silver in her hair had overtaken the blond, and it reflected the moon’s shimmering light.
“So what does Art think?” Nessa asked Jo. “He must be proud.”
“Oh, definitely.” Jo beamed. “Doesn’t hurt that he got some good news of his own today. His latest play is being produced! He met with the investors this morning.”
“That’s wonderful! I’m so glad things are turning around for you. I was starting to wonder if we’d all been cursed.” Nessa’s good cheer faded as she reached up to massage her temples. She was sure her brain was about to burst out of her skull.
“How are the migraines?” Jo asked quietly.
Nessa wished she could report that they were improving. But the truth was, she’d spent most of the day in her darkened bedroom. She’d been leaving Harriett’s potions unconsumed, hoping she’d finally understand the message that the headaches were trying to send her. The pain felt like a writhing ball of chaos, static composed of unintelligible voices. Sometimes, when she listened closely, it would seem as if a single word or thought might break through. But then, just as quickly, it would sink back under and be lost in the din.
Nessa looked up to see Harriett looming over her. She handed Nessa a tiny bottle of green gunk. “Drink it,” she ordered, and watched as her command was obeyed. Then she took a seat at the fire and turned her attention to Jo. The unearthly golden glow had returned to Harriett’s eyes.
“Did she mention the weeds?” Harriett directed the question at Jo.
“Sorry?” Jo responded.
“Claude,” Harriett said. “Did she mention the Scotch broom?”
“As a matter of fact, she did,” Jo told her. “Apparently, the plants have taken over the Pointe. Claude asked if you might be willing to help with the problem. I’d be really grateful if you did, Harriett. I know you hate the people out there, but I’d consider it a personal favor.”
“Are you able to contact her?” Harriett asked.
