"Don't tell Mom and Dad," she said, tears wetting her cheeks. "I just wanted to see Bakker alone, so I told them I needed to study, and I had them drop me off here while they went to lunch. Its just—we're always with other people. I didn't know he would think—"
"Oh, Mary K.," I said, trying to soothe her. "It was a huge misunderstanding, but it wasn't your fault. Just because you said you wanted to see him alone doesn't mean that you're obligated to go to bed with him. You meant one thing; he understood another. What's awful is what an ass he was being. I should have called the cops."
Mary K. sniffled and drew back. "I don't really think he was going to… hurt me," she said. "I think it kind of looked worse than it was."
"I can't believe you're defending him!"
"I'm not," said my sister. "I'm not defending him, and I'm definitely breaking up with him."
"Good," I said strongly.
"But I have to say, it really wasn't like him," Mary K. went on. "He's never pushed me too far, always listened when I said no. I'm sure he'll be really sorry tomorrow."
My eyes narrowed as I looked at her. "Mary Kathleen Rowlands, that's not good enough. Don't you dare make excuses for him. When I walked in here, he was pinning you down!"
Her brows creased. "Yeah," she said.
"And he knocked the bat out of my hands," I said. "And he was yelling at us."
"I know," said Mary K., looking angry. "I can't believe him."
"That's more like it," I said, standing up. "Tell me you're breaking up with him."
"I'm breaking up with him," my sister repeated.
"Okay. Now I'm going to go change. You better wash your face and straighten your room before Mom and Dad come home."
"Okay," said Mary K., standing up. She gave me a watery smile. "Thanks for rescuing me." She reached out to hug me.
"You're welcome," I said, and turned to go.
"How did you stop him, anyway? He said. 'Ow! and then fell against the bed. What did you do?"
I thought fast. "I kicked his knee and made it buckle," I said. "Made him lose his balance."
Mary K. laughed. "I bet he was surprised."
"I think we both were," I said honestly. Then, feeling a little shaky, I went downstairs. I had shot a bolt of light at someone. Surely that was strange, even for a witch.
CHAPTER 15
Who I Am
September 1, 1982
Today we're moving out of this hellhole, to a town about three hours north of here. It's called Meshomah Falls. I think Meshomah is an Indian word. They have Indian words all over the place around here. The town is small and very pretty, kind of like home.
We already have jobs—I'm going to waitress at the little cafe in town, and Angus will be helping a local carpenter. We saw people dressed in queer old-fashioned clothes there last week. I asked a local man about them, and he said they were Amish.
Last week Angus got back from Ireland. I didn't want him to go, and I couldn't write about it until now. He went to Ireland, and he went to Ballynigel. Not much of the town is left. Every house where a witch lived was burned to the ground and now has been razed flat for rebuilding. He said none of our kind are left there, none he could find. Over in Much Bencham he got a story that people have been telling about a huge dark wave that wiped out the town, a wave without water. I don't know what could cause or create something so big, so powerful. Maybe many covens working together.
I was terrified for him to go, thought I'd never see him again. He wanted to get married before he left, and I said no. I can't marry anyone. Nothing is permanent, and I don't want to fool myself. Anyway, he took the money, went home, and found a bunch of charred, empty fields.
Now he's here, and we're moving, and in this new town, I'm hoping a new life can begin.
— M.R.
Late that afternoon I decided to hunt down my Wicca books. I lay on my bed and cast out my senses, sort of feeling my way through the whole house. For a long time I got nothing, and I started to think I was wasting my time. But then, after about forty-five minutes, I realized I felt the books in my mom's closet, inside a suitcase at the very back. I looked, and sure enough, there they were. I took them back to my room and put them on my desk. If Mom or Dad wanted to make something of it, let them. I was through with silence.
On Sunday night I was sitting at my desk, working my way through math homework, when my parents knocked on my door.
"Come in," I said.
The door opened, and I heard Mary K.'s music playing louder from inside her room. I winced. Our musical tastes are completely different.
I saw my parents standing in the doorway. "Yes?" I said coolly.
"May we come in?" Mom asked.
I shrugged.
Mom and Dad came in and sat down on my bed. I tried not to glance at the Wicca books on my desk.
Dad cleared his throat, and Mom took his hand.
"This past week has been very… difficult for all of us," Mom said, looking reluctant and uncomfortable. "You've had questions, and we weren't ready to answer them."
I waited.
She sighed. "If you hadn't found out on your own, I probably never would have wanted to tell you about the adoption," she said, her voice ending on a whisper. "I know that's not what people recommend. They say everyone should be open, honest." She shook her head "But telling you didn't seem like a good idea." She raised her eyes to my dad, and he nodded at her.
"Now you know about it," Mom said. "Part of it, anyway. Maybe it's best for you to know as much as we know, rut not sure. I'm not sure what the best thing is anymore. But we don't seem to have a choice."
"I have a right to know." I said, "it's my life, lea at I can think about. It's there, every day."
Mom nodded. "Yes, I see that So." She drew in a long breath and looked down at her lap for a moment. "You know Daddy and I got married when I was twenty-two and he was twenty-four."
"Uh-huh."
"We wanted to start a family right away," said my mom. "We tried for eight years, with no luck. The doctors found one thing wrong with me after another. Hormonal imbalances, endometriosis… it got to where every month I would get my period and cry for three days because I wasn't pregnant."
My dad kept his gaze on her. He freed his hand from hers and wrapped his arm around her shoulders instead.
"I was praying to God to send me a baby," said Mom. "I lit candles, said novenas. Finally we applied at an adoption agency, and they told us it might be three or four years. But we applied anyway. Then…"
"Then an acquaintance of ours, a lawyer, called us one night," said my dad.
"It was raining," my mom put in as I thought about their friends, trying to remember a lawyer.
"He said he had a baby," my dad said. He shifted and tucked his hands under his knees. "A baby girl who needed adopting, a private adoption."
"We didn't even think about it," Mom said. "We just said yes! And he came over that night with a baby and handed her to me. And I took one look and knew this was my baby, the one I'd prayed for for so long." Mom's voice broke, and she rubbed her eyes.
"That was you," Dad said unnecessarily. He smiled at the memory. "You were seven months old and just so—"