A Modern Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,86
album Jennie had posted. Two pictures in, she already had the sniffles. Jennie was a genius with a camera. Her grandson with purple hair, cuddled up in sleep against the flat rock at Ocean’s Reach. Aervyn in the sandbox, little-boy glee as he levitated a sand castle. Three rapt faces watching a flower bloom in Ginia’s hand.
The last photo wasn’t one Jennie had taken—it didn’t have her distinctive artistry—but it staggered Lauren all the same.
It was a picture of her and Aervyn, sitting face-to-face on a flat rock, surrounded by impossible light. She looked every inch the witch he did.
…
Jamie wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Nat nervous before.
He held open the door to Chez Lollo, the fancy restaurant where they were meeting her parents for lunch. The Smythes had flown in from Boston for what Nat referred to as “their quarterly checking-up on me”. She’d told him very little else.
They were going to feed him; how bad could it get? Jamie looked around the restaurant as they followed the very starched hostess. Not a hamburger in the place, and some of the stuff on people’s plates didn’t look like food. Damn. He had manners—he just didn’t like to have to use them.
The hostess stopped by a table where an older couple sat, looking like the opening shot in a ritzy financial-planning commercial. The hand Nat slid into his was clammy and not entirely steady.
“Mother, Dad, this is Jamie. Jamie, these are my parents, Walter and Virginia Smythe.”
Still feels like a financial-planning ad, Jamie thought. He pulled out a chair for Nat. “Really nice to meet both of you. I have a niece Virginia, although we call her Ginia. She loves Nat.”
“I don’t approve of nicknames,” Virginia said. “Natalia, I see you haven’t developed the habit of timely arrivals, as of yet.”
Jamie blinked. What was this, a trip to the principal’s office?
He looked at Nat. Besides her clammy grip on his hand under the table, she was utterly composed. Or utterly vacant, like she’d tucked Nat away and trotted out Natalia Smythe from some storage closet. He wasn’t a fan of Natalia.
He realized the silence meant Virginia’s question hadn’t been rhetorical.
“My fault. I was finishing up some programming code, and that delayed us.”
“You work with computers?” Walter sounded like that might be an acceptable occupation.
“I do. My family created a video and online-gaming world, Enchanter’s Realm. My sister and I handle most of the programming, although my nieces are starting to make a real contribution.”
Dead silence. Strike one. Most people thought making video games was pretty cool. At the very least, it was usually a conversation starter.
He dug around for something else to try. “Is most of your family in Boston?”
Virginia nodded decisively. “The Smythes have lived in Boston for over two hundred years. We’re waiting for Natalia to wrap up her youthful adventures and return.”
Crap. That would be strike two.
Nat spoke. “My yoga studio is here, Mother. My life is here, for the foreseeable future.” Jamie saw just a glint of humor in her eyes. Ah, there was his Nat. He was more than a little tempted to bring up toddlers and snowmen. Foreseeable future, indeed.
“The future can always be changed,” Virginia said.
To hell with this. That pitch was high and over the plate, and guys who didn’t swing at those were wimps.
“I’m so glad you realize that. It must be hard when your children grow up and live their own lives.”
Virginia gaped. Solid line drive—now go for the double. “You must be so proud of Nat. She’s an excellent businesswoman. Spirit Yoga has a sterling reputation.”
Virginia was still gaping. “Well, yes, I’d expect that of a Smythe. I’m sure Natalia does quite well with her little enterprise.”
Jamie stood up. Time for a different playing field. Any good gamer knew you wanted the battle on your turf. “Why don’t we take a walk to her studio? It’s only a couple of blocks away. I’m sure you’ll want to see how it’s grown since the last time you were in town.”
Three shocked sets of eyes were plenty of confirmation that Mr. and Mrs. Smythe had never set foot in Nat’s studio.
Walter almost stammered. “But we have a reservation.”
“Not a problem.” Jamie smiled. “My place is just around the corner from Spirit Yoga. Once we’ve done the tour, I’ll cook for you. I make a mean spaghetti sauce.”
Jamie took Nat’s arm and led her out of the restaurant. Nat’s parents followed in more than a little disarray. They were probably allergic to