Page 51 of Impractical Magic

Chapter 19: Where’s Wallace?

Aphra pushed open the old, weathered door of Sometimes a Great Notion, and Scarlett followed her inside. She still wasn’t certain she really knew this person, even though Nate said she did. But if someone—anyone—was inclined to be kind to Scarlett, this was not a moment she was inclined to say no.

Muted light spilled over shelves, casting long shadows that played across the floorboards. Like every shop in downtown Oak Haven, Aphra’s place was decorated with a collection of scarecrows—but hers were far better-dressed than most, in velvet dresses with billowing sleeves, floppy hats and an impressive array of silk scarves.

“Why don’t you have a seat by the window,” Aphra said. “I’ll fetch some tea.”

Scarlett’s footsteps fell softly on the worn wooden floorboards as she wove her way past aisles crammed with baskets overflowing with yarn, from the softest merino to the rustiest tweed. Over there were quilting fabrics in seemingly endless varieties; over here sat every color of thread imaginable. But in the very center of the shop was something curious: a thrown-together collection of basic-looking sacks, boxes, and what appeared to be cages. Both the objects and the display itself looked hastily made—very out of character with the effortless charm and perfection of the rest of the shop. But the sign beside them made sense of the mishmash: “Hand-Woven Magic-Dampeners: Safely Contain All Errant Magic.”

Aha, Scarlett thought. I expect there’s been a run on those today, what with the grove in the state that it’s in. A pang of that same old guilt rose in her chest, but then she thought, Well, at least my fuck-ups are good for business.

She settled in an old chair, made welcoming by a collection of hand-stitched pillows. Looking around the store, she found it impossible to imagine the “hectic day” that Aphra had described at the town meeting—everything seemed so soothing and relaxed. You’d never know that just hours earlier, the store had been awash with wrongly colored yarn, broken-hearted needles, and a very confused sheep.

“That you, babe?” A woman’s voice echoed from somewhere deep in the shop. “How’d the meeting go?”

“Yes, I’m home,” Aphra responded. “I brought a friend back for tea.”

Aphra returned from the back room, carrying a tray with a teapot, two well-loved mugs, a plate of cookies, and a half-pint bottle of whiskey. Accompanying her was a Black woman, her braided hair pulled back in a scarf. She wore sweatpants and a Stanford sweatshirt, yet still managed to look stylish.

“This is Scarlett,” Aphra told her. “Scarlett, this is my wife, Dayo.”

“You’re one of the famous Melroses,” Dayo said.

“I am,” Scarlett replied. “More like infamous, at this point.”

Dayo grinned. “Yeahhh, I was trying to be polite. Well, welcome home? I guess? Do you feel welcome?”

“At this precise moment, I do. But in general? Not so much.”

“Have faith, I’m sure things will improve. Okay, I’ll let you two catch up.” Dayo turned and gave Aphra a kiss. “Don’t be too long, babe.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Aphra said.

Dayo went back upstairs, and Aphra settled in a chair opposite Scarlett. “We’ll let that tea steep for a minute. Dayo is a bit impatient because tonight is usually the night we watch The Wire. I know, I know, that puts us way behind the times. But things move slowly in Oak Haven, as you probably recall. And we’re very concerned about Wallace.”

“You should be,” Scarlett replied.

“Hey, no spoilers!”

“Sorry. Say, I couldn’t help but notice your display of magic dampeners. I take it you don’t just knit with yarn around here.”

Aphra met her gaze with an amused smile. “With all due respect to yarn, it’s one of the least interesting materials I use.”

“You know, Aphra . . . I feel like Oak Haven has gotten a lot more interesting since I left.”

“We have a speakeasy in town now.”

Scarlett gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief. “We DO NOT.”

“No word of a lie. Dayo runs it, in fact!”

“Really?! That’s fantastic.”

“Yeah . . . actually she and Zahir are talking about opening a real place. The speakeasy is really just a shack in the Chatterjees’ back garden. But they want to do craft cocktails and pub food, that kind of thing. They’re just having trouble finding the right location. But it’ll happen. Hey—you stick around long enough, maybe Dayo will hire you.”

“Well, all right.” Scarlett grinned. “I will take that under advisement. Although, I think my mother would be pretty scandalized by a Melrose girl waiting tables. But my mother is down on pretty much everything.”

“Right.” Aphra smiled. “Tough old Kelly Melrose. Some things never change.”