Chapter 9

Jeremy woke from his nap to find James was dressed and ready for his day. He was sitting on the coffee table watching him.

“Mom said let you sleep,” James said, minimal stuttering. Snakes and Ladders was on the table. “Will we play later?”

“Let’s see what later brings us,” Jeremy said.

“Is th, th, that a no?”

“No. It’s not a no. It’s not a yes,” Jeremy said. “I don’t know what today has in store for me. I believe you and I will meet again, and if that moment allows for play, you and I will play. Alright?”

“Alright,” James agreed.

Tory was listening to this, in the shadow of a door. She entered the room in a playful style. She was dressed in a black dress, one piece. The straps holding the dress crisscrossing in such a way as to make a star that connected to the neck. It was tight at the bosom, narrowing at the hips, flaring out at the thighs. The boots hugged her legs, extending up above knees. She wore a wide brimmed hat, and was the perfect image of a modern gothic witch. She had a black bag with gold Ouija Board planchette as a clip.

“Alright boys, let’s head out,” Tory said, tossing Jeremy his backpack.

James grabbed his own backpack and led the way. Jeremy followed James, Tory pulled the door shut and locked the door.

“Don’t imagine I am a push over,” Tory said. “I run a tight ship. We’re always on time.”

“I am always early,” James assured her. “If you’re on time, you’re late.”

Tory patted his cheek as she passed him. “We’re going to be a great team.”

Tory opened the door for her son and he climbed in. He put his pack down on the floorboard, climbed in his seat, and blocked mom from helping him with the buckles. “I g, g, got it.”

“Okay,” Tory said. “Hands. Closing the door.”

“You could buckle me in,” Jeremy offered. It was impulsive and there was the hint of regret.

“Are you flirting with me, Sir?” Tory asked, stepping closer, feigning offence. “I will have you know, I am a witch. I can make things happen.”

Jeremy actually looked down. Tory touched his chin, bringing his head back up.

“Were you homeschooled or do you have ASD?” Tory asked.

“Yes to the first, probably the second,” Jeremy said.

“So, you’re not use to someone participating in your narrative,” Tory said. “Practice with me. You’re safe.”

“Okay,” Jeremy said.

She pointed for him to get in. She went to the driver side, got in, closed the door, checked James, started the car, clicked her own belt on, gripped the wheel, said a safety prayer, and then looked up into the rearview where she made eye contact with son.

“You secure?” Tory asked.

“Check.”

“Am I secure?”

“Check.”

“Is Jeremy secure?”

“I can can can’t see…”

Jeremy said check.

“We have our gear?” Tory asked.

“Check, check, check.”

“What’s left?” Tory asked.

“T-t-t the line and music,” James said.

“No music today,” Tory said. “Give me the line.”

James changed his voice and said, without stuttering: “There's 106 miles to Chicago, we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark out, and we're wearing sunglasses.”

Jeremy looked at Tory. Tory winked at James.

“Hit it,” Tory said.

She put them in gear and pulled straight out, having pulled into a spot that didn’t require backing out. They arrived fairly quick at James school. Tory and James went in, while Jeremy waited in the car. Tory returned, got in the seat, closed the door, and turned to Jeremy.

“So,” Tory said. “Any questions?”

“Not really,” Jeremy said.

“You want to know about James’ father?”

“Not particularly,” Jeremy said.

“Are you in?” Tory asked.

“What?” Jeremy asked.

“Either you’re in, invested, and you want to know things or you’re outward bound, and are divesting,” Tory said.

“This feels like a commitment conversation,” Jeremy said.

“Everything is a commitment conversation. You cannot engage anyone without commitment to something. Commitment to understanding. Commitment to conflict resolution. Commitment doesn’t mean an end thing, something you only do for one person for all time, but rather it defines a process thing, an ongoing process thing that last forever, because the moment you stop investing, then the divesting starts,” Tory said.

“This is fast,” Jeremy said.

“Life is fast and it’s over before it’s started and so if this is a mistake, let’s make it and learn and move on and if it’s something that needs to be blown up, let’s light the fuse and blow it up, but if it’s right, it’s right, and it will be what it will be,” Tory said.

“Who are you?” Jeremy asked.

“Oh! I am so glad you asked. I am Tory Hicks, witch, Traveler, and a cat,” Tory said. “Future side kick?”

“The Manifestor doesn’t have a side kick,” Jeremy said.

“Not even a cat? That’s rather sad,” Tory said.

“It works for me,” Jeremy said.

“Would you like to meet my friend?” Tory said.

“To learn about magic?” Jeremy asked.

“To learn about magic!” Tory said.

“I don’t believe in magic,” Jeremy said.

“You can summon ghosts and apports. How can you not believe in magic?” Tory asked.

“I think it’s something else,” Jeremy said.

Tory waited for a better explanation. It didn’t seem to be forthcoming. She repositioned into driving posture, fastened her seat belt, and put them in drive.

“Fine,” she said. “So, we’re off to see the Wizard.”

“He’s a wizard?” Jeremy asked.

“No,” Tory said. “We always start with a line. We should travel with music, but you broke my radio.”

“You’ll have your tunes back in a day or so,” Jeremy said.

Tory drove. Jeremy watched the scenery.

“You’d have to give up a lot of modern conveniences to be with me,” Jeremy finally said.

“Oh,” Tory said, thoughtfully. “Yay. You’re considering me.”

Jeremy looked at her, looked back to his window.

“Thank you for telling James the truth,” Tory said.

Jeremy eyes came back to her.

“That was meaningful,” Tory said. He nodded at her. “You don’t talk much?”

“Sometimes I talk too much,” Jeremy said. “It waxes and wanes.”

“Umm,” Tory mused. “So, in addition to the loss of modern conveniences, I have to be a mood reader?”

Jeremy shook his head. “No. Don’t tap dance around me. I am serious most the time. It may appear I am sulking or moody, but I am really not. Music drains me. I am more likely to be introspective after an musical event. Or a rant. I’ve done both this morning.”

“Was that really her?” Tory asked. “Karen Carpenter?”

“I don’t know,” Jeremy said. “I hope so.”

“You hope so?” Tory asked, glancing at him but concentrating on the road. His look wasn’t neutral, but it was there and gone in a flash. “That was not moody. That was profound sadness.”

“Because if it isn’t, then all of this is for nothing,” Jeremy said.

Tory tried to make sense of it. “There’s more here.”

“Yes,” Jeremy said.

“Go on,” Tory said.

“No,” Jeremy said.

Tory was quiet. They arrived at a house that carried the look of an old mansion. Pillars, a walk way going up to the second story, symbols, brick pyramids on either side of the end of the sidewalk. The side walk that led to the front door was wider than typical; a sidewalk that was an S-shape curve. She pulled in to the drive and parked.

“You’re friend Jon lives here?” Jeremy asked.

Tory searched the question. “Sometimes.”

“He’s a Scotish Rite Freemason, or, the holder of a fraternity?”

“Oh, the house. Technically, it’s a co-ed, fraternity and sorority,” Tory said, turning off the car. “I assure you. This is not Animal House. This place is a magical shrine, it is the pillar of existential knowledge, the embodiment of the noble truth of scholarly pursuits of all philosophies and disciplines. I assure you. There are no shenanigans here.” She pulled the key out of the ignition and hooked her purse. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“There are really sophisticated, smart ass pranks from time to time, but most the time, no one realizes they got pranked. No bass humor here,” Tory said. “Come on. Bring your bag.”