Practical Magic

Since none of this is going to happen, Gary nods and heads for the door. He has always known when to step aside, and when to sit by the road and just wait for whatever was going to happen next. He saw a mountain lion one afternoon because he decided to sit down on the bumper of his truck and drink some water before changing a blown tire. The mountain lion came padding toward the asphalt, as if it owned the road and everything else, and it took a good took at Gary, who had never before been grateful for a flat tire.

"I'll have the Oldsmobile picked up by Friday," Gary says now, but he doesn't look behind him until he's out on the porch. He doesn't know that Sally might easily have followed him, if her sister hadn't pinched her and whispered for her to stay where she was. He doesn't know how badly this thing inside Sally's chest hurts her, but that's what happens when you're a liar, especially when you're telling the worst of these lies to yourself.

"Thanks a million," Gillian sings out, and by the time Gary turns to look behind him, there's nothing to see but the locked door.

As far as Gillian's concerned, it's all over and done with. "Well, hallelujah," she says when she goes back to the kitchen. "We got rid of him."

Sally is already dealing with the lasagna noodles that have been congealing in the colander. She tries to pry them out with a wooden spoon, but it's too late, they're stuck together. She dumps the whole thing into the trash and then she starts to cry.

"What is your problem?" Gillian asks. It is times like these that provoke perfectly rational people to say what the hell and light up cigarettes. Gillian looks through the junk drawer, hoping to find an old pack, but the best she comes up with is a box of wooden matches. "We got rid of him, didn't we? We seemed totally i

"Oh," Sally says, completely disgusted. "Oh," she cries.

"Well, we did! We pulled it off, and we should be proud of ourselves."

"For lying?" Sally rubs at her leaking eyes and nose. Her cheeks are red and she's snuffling like crazy and she can't get rid of that awful feeling in the dead center of her chest. "Is that what you think we should be proud of?"

"Hey." Gillian shrugs. "You do what you have to." She peers into the trash at the globby noodles. "Now what do we do for di

That's when Sally throws the colander across the room.

"You are in bad shape," Gillian says. "You'd better call your internist or your gynecologist or somebody and get a tranquilizer."

"I'm not doing this." Sally grabs the pot of tomato sauce, to which she's added onions and mushrooms and sweet red pepper, and pours it into the sink.

"Fine." Gillian is ready to agree to any reasonable plan. "You don't have to cook. We'll get take-out."

"I'm not referring to di

"Are you out of your mind?" Gillian goes after Sally, and when Sally keeps heading toward the door, Gillian reaches for her arm.

"Don't you dare pinch me," Sally warns her.

Sally walks out onto the porch, but Gillian is still right behind her. She follows Sally down the driveway.

"You're not going to see that investigator. You can't talk to him."

"He knows anyway," Sally says. "Couldn't you tell? Couldn't you see by the way he was looking at us?"

Just thinking about Gary's gaunt face and all the worry that was there makes her chest feel even worse. She's going to find herself suffering from a stroke or angina or something before this day is through.

"You can't go after that guy," Gillian tells Sally. There's not a bit of nonsense in her tone. "We'll both be sitting in jail if you do. I don't know what would make you even consider this."

"I've already decided," Sally says.

"To do what? Go to his motel? Get down on your knees and beg for mercy?"

"If I have to. Yes."

"You're not going," Gillian says.

Sally looks at her sister, considering. Then she opens the car door.

"No way," Gillian says. "You're not going after him."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Maybe I am." She isn't going to let her sister screw up her future just because Sally feels guilty about something she didn't even do.

"Oh really?" Sally says. "How exactly do you plan to get to me? Do you think you could possibly ruin my life any more than you already have?"

Wounded, Gillian takes a step back.

"Try to understand," Sally says. "I have to set this right. I can't live this way."

A storm has been predicted, and the wind has begun to rise; strands of Sally's black hair whip across her face. Her eyes are luminous and much darker than usual; her mouth is as red as a rose. Gillian has never seen her sister look so disheveled, so unlike her usual self. At this moment Sally seems to be someone who would rush headlong into a river, when she hasn't yet learned how to swim. She'd jump from the branches of the tallest tree, convinced all she needed for a safe landing were her outstretched arms and a silk shawl to billow out and catch the air as she fell.

"Maybe you should wait." Gillian is trying her sweetest voice, the one that has talked her out of speeding tickets and bad affairs. "We can discuss it. We can decide together."

But Sally has made her decision. She refuses to listen; she gets into her car, and short of jumping behind the Honda to block it, Gillian can't do anything but stand and watch as Sally drives away. She watches for a long time, too long, because, in the end, all Gillian is watching is the empty road, and she's seen that before. She's seen it much too often.

There's a lot to lose when you have something, when you're foolish enough to let yourself care. Well, Gillian has gone ahead and done it by falling in love with Ben Frye, and her fate is now out of her hands. It's riding along, sitting shotgun in that Honda with Sally, and all Gillian can do is pretend that nothing is wrong. When the girls come home, she says that Sally's out ru

"I thought we were having lasagna," Kylie says as she and Gideon set the table.

"Well, we're not," Gillian informs her. "And can't you use paper plates and cups so we don't have to mess around with washing dishes?"

When Ben arrives with di

By now, Sally has probably spilled her guts to that investigator. For all Gillian knows, Gary Hallet has gone over to the mini-mart on the Turnpike that's open all hours and rented a tape recorder so he can get her confession in her own words. Trapped with no recourse, Gillian has a major migraine, one that Tylenol couldn't begin to cure. Every voice sounds like fingernails against a chalkboard, and she has absolutely no tolerance for even the smallest piece of happiness or joy. She can't stand to see Antonia and Scott kissing, or hear Gideon and Kylie teasing each other. All evening she's been avoiding Ben, because for her Scott Morrison's philosophy really holds true: What is the point? Everything is about to be lost, and she can't stop it; she might as well give up and call it a day. She might as well phone for a taxi and climb out the window, with her most important belongings tossed into a pillowcase. She knows for a fact that Kylie has plenty of money saved in her unicorn bank, and if Gillian borrowed some she could get a bus ticket halfway across the country. The only problem is, she can't do that anymore. She has other considerations now; she has, for better or for worse, Ben Frye.