Page 5 of Home Is Where the Witch Is
“I already told you that,” Maggie grinned, before Rosie shot her a look to be mindful about what she was saying in front of mundanes. Luckily they all seemed far too excited about the game to have notice Maggie’s slip-up.
“You next, Rosie!” Veronica said, helping with the blindfold.
The next moment, Rosie couldn’t see. She held out her left hand, and felt Maggie take it solidly. She smiled as Tammy put a bow in her hand. They both helped to turn her so she wouldn’t be sure where the poster was exactly, before Maggie lead her toward it.
Rosie stretched out the bow, wanting to make sure that she at least placed it on the poster. No one wanted to be the person who couldn’t get in the same neighborhood as the game, let alone the same street. Pressing the bow to the poster paper, Rosie grinned triumphantly and then removed her blindfold.
“Mom!” Maggie laughed, slouching forward and slapping her knee with amusement. “You put it right in the middle! How’re we supposed to guess?”
Rosie sagged, pretending to be exasperated. “Must still be a secret,” she teased with a shrug. Okay, so maybe she was a teensy bit exasperated. it would have been nice to be able to plan outfits and nursery colors and everything that came along with it. But she wasn’t about to sweat the small stuff. She’d much rather have a healthy baby, and she already knew that hers was a risky pregnancy because of her age.
“God’s will!” Sophia said knowingly. “You’ll know soon enough, I’d wager! When my Thomas was born, I was all out front like you are. Maybe it’s a boy!”
“I was out front with Sarah,” Elladine added. “I think each baby has their own way of lyin’, and their own way of comin’ out too! Don’t you worry,” the other woman nodded knowledgably. “Your little one’ll be along any old day now!”
“I sure hope you’re right,” Rosie said. She began collecting some empty snack platters, intending to take them through to the kitchen and escape what was shaping up to be yet another bout of war stories from the trenches of motherhood.
“I know I am. Now,” Maude cooed. “How about some sweet tea? This baby-guessin’s got be feelin’ drier than a popcorn fart!”
“I’ll get it!” Tammy chirped, seemingly grateful for a reason to leave the room and head to kitchen two steps behind Rosie. As soon as they were both together and out of earshot of the other ladies, the pair of them dissolved into giggles.
“Do they know how unhelpful these stories are?” Rosie whispered to her bestie. “I’ve already given birth once, and even I don’t want to hear them!”
“They’re terrifying!” Tammy agreed. “I don’t want to be rude, but it’s more than I ever needed to know about vaginas. I’ve done my lamaze classes—isn’t that enough torture?”
“Apparently not,” Rosie teased. “We also need to know about boobs swelling, and accidentally peeing ourselves when we sneeze?—”
“Stop! Stop,” Tammy wheezed, holding her belly as she tried to suppress her giggles. “It’s too much!” The pair laughed with tears in their eyes, letting it out in each other’s company before Rosie got down to the real business of kitchen catch-ups.
“How are youreallyfeeling?”
“Over it,” Tammy sighed good-naturedly. “You?”
“Same,” Rosie agreed, before glancing in the direction of the living room.
“We’d better get back in there,” both ladies said at once, before grinning at each other and starting their waddle back to the party.
Later that eveningwhen she was well and truly babied-out, Rosie sprawled on the velvet patchwork couch in the living room of Carol-Ann’s house and watched the slow-turning world of Mosswood pass by. As the hours marched on she watched kids coming home on their bikes before dusk, the inevitable ‘rush’ of three neighbors coming home from work around the same time, and then the sprinklers in the yard across the road coming on once it was cool enough for the plants to get a decent drink of water.
It was a different kind of scene to the one she would have experienced at Fox Cottage. Watching from the porch up there might have given a show of any number of critters coming out of the woods to forage in the grass around the cottage for food. The stars were always so much clearer up there—what she could see of them around the wispy tops of the pine forest, anyways—and depending on the time of the month, she could see the moon and worship her in the way she’d become accustomed to.
There were no monthly naked nature walks for her now, though. That was a luxury that came with living apart from the rest of the town, and knowing the wards around your home made it virtually impossible for anyone to see your pasty white butt unless they had express permission to be in the space. She’d put up some wards around Carol-Ann’s place, but even so, the land area was small enough that she could stand by the back fence in the yard and still look into the kitchen window of the lady next door.
As she contemplated the different type of life she was experiencing here in the ‘burbs of Mosswood,' the living room grew darker and darker. The sun had long since slipped over the peak of the roof, leaving the front yard cast in that liminal light between day and night. Everything should have been left painted in an deepening dusk, but something strange was happening.
The mail slot in the front door was emanating a soft, golden glow. Rosie blinked, narrowing her focus to see better in the deepening dusk that was very much present on the opposite side of the living room window. The sun had definitely set, and there was no way for it to be gleaming around the edges of the mail slot the way it was. And then, as she watched, a thick, creamy white envelope slipped through the slot and whooshed to the floor with an authoritative thud.
Intrigued, Rosie watched to see what would happen next. She recalled a movie with a famous boy-wizard whose house was flooded with letters flying through its every orifice, and she couldn’t help but feel like she needed to duck for cover. Several anxiety-filled moments later, it seemed she was safe from death-by-post and she was faced with an entirely new horror.
With a light frown creasing her brow, Rosie resigned herself to being the one who was going to have to pick that envelope up off the floor.
It took her a few moments and a whole lot of effort to heave herself up from the couch, and even more time and effort to waddle to the door. Then she began the agonizingly slow crouch that would let her reach for the envelope. Rosie was nothing if not determined. She placed the palm of her left hand on top of the nearby dresser for support as she did the pregnant-woman’s plié, knees moving outwards and heavy belly moving downwards.
Her fingers closed on the envelope on the first try, and she let out an excited whoop of triumph. After weeks of barely being able to tie her own shoelaces, it was wonderful to be able to accomplish even something as small at this. But when she straightened, she moved her back the wrong way. It gave a nasty twinge and she yelped at the sudden zing of pain, straightening even more quickly than she should have in an attempt to prevent further ouchies.
Declan found her upright and gripping the edge of the dresser for dear life, the envelope having fallen from her hand and back to the floor.
“Are ya alright, love?” he asked frantically as he raced into the room, hands outstretched to catch her as though he thought she might still be falling. Hell, her back was so sore now she wouldn’t be at all surprised if she were to fall flat on her ass.
