Page 19 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
Regina narrowed her eyes. “How long have you been planning this?”
“I’ve known Tillie for a long time,” Violet said.
Even longer than she’d known Regina. Her sister and Tillie were born the same year and had been childhood playmates, what with the friendship their mothers shared. Violet and Tillie had five years on Regina, and when girls are younger, five years can be quite the difference. But Regina wasn’t jealous of Tillie. There was no reason to be. Tillie would never be Violet’s sister. She’d never be Violet’sfamily.
Not that it changed how Regina felt about the whole thing.
“What if I don’t want her here?” Regina asked. Her eyes drifted to the bottles of dye. With the right candle, she’d have no trouble making Tillie back out of whatever deal she’d come to with her sister. Violet turned, following Regina’s gaze.
“No spell is going to undo this,” Violet said.
Regina let out a long breath and shook her head. “You should’ve asked me about this first.” At least then she might’ve had a chance to talk Violet out of it.
“I’m your older sister,” Violet said. “I don’t have to run every decision I make past you.”
“This isn’t only your house. I live here, too.”
“I know,” Violet said. “I know. But I thought you liked Tillie.”
While Regina laughed at Tillie’s jokes and mostly enjoyed the records she brought with her—even if she did take a few listens to warm up to Billie Holliday—she didn’t like the way Tillie captured Violet’s attention, as if Tillie was the brightest flower on the vine. It wasn’t that Regina minded her sister having friends. But Regina didn’t see the need for them, not when they had each other, and not when Regina didn’t have any of her own.
Violet opened her mouth, then closed it. “She’s bringing over a few boxes tonight and the rest of her things tomorrow. She’ll be staying …” she paused, “in the empty bedroom next to mine.”
“I don’t have a say in this?” Regina asked.
“Do you want to tell the daughter of the family who keeps us in business that she can’t live here?” Violet asked.
“You mean she’s making you do this?” Once again, Regina’s focus turned toward the wax. “I’m sure I could dip a candle—”
But Violet cut her short. “No candles. I want her here, Regina. You’re not the only person in my life.”
The words stung, sharp and unexpected.
“And I shouldn’t be the only person in yours.”
Chapter Ten
Violet, 1960
Violet parked her blue 1946 Pontiac Torpedo outside of Grey’s Gifts. She’d used part of her parents’ life insurance policy—and a particularly strong green candle—to buy the car. Regina had tried to talk Violet into choosing a red model, but Violet wanted to make a sensible choice, and she was the one who would be driving it. Even now, Regina hadn’t bothered to get a driver’s license, so it was more Violet’s car than her sister’s.
The Pontiac was all rounded curves and silver accents, the paint in as pristine a condition as the engine thanks to Violet’s regular detailing, a skill she’d learned from Barbara Hartman, the owner of the diner across the street who worked as a mechanic during the war and helped Violet land on her feet after her parents’ death. Barb brought the sisters meals every day for almost a year before Violet finally found her rhythm as both older sister and stand-in mother, ready to dip and sell tapers at Grey’s. These days, Violet still brought Barb a monthly candle—the color and intention directed by Violet’s tarot cards.
Violet sat in the car, her stomach in knots as the door to Grey’s Gifts burst open and Tillie ran toward the Pontiac, her long brown hair flying loose behind her. Her yellow blouse was tucked into a pair of dark blue pedal pushers. The cuffed hem of her pants fell just abovethe calf, and the fabric clung tightly to the curves of her legs. Though her mother preferred Tillie wear skirts when working the shop—an argument Violet had overheard more than once—Tillie made it clear if her mother wanted her to continue working in the shop, she’d choose what she wore, and Violet loved her for it.
Of course, Violet loved Tillie for a lot more than her fashion choices.
She turned off the engine and pulled her bag from the passenger seat before getting out of the car. Tillie grabbed her hand in a friendly gesture that was “just the way of young women,” and it took everything in Violet not to pull her closer, to press her forehead to Tillie’s forehead and her lips to Tillie’s lips.
Violet knew she had no reason to fear her sister, but she wished their conversation had gone differently. That Regina had been thrilled to have Tillie moving in with them, that she’d given Violet the perfect opening to tell her the truth.
“How did it go?” Tillie asked.
“I told her you were bringing a few boxes today—that your parents were helping drop off the rest of your things tomorrow,” Violet said.
Tillie bounced on her toes. “It’s really happening.”
“It is.” Violet wanted nothing more than joy in that moment, but her voice came out strained.
