Western Waves (Compass 3)

“I know. So, ask.”

“Is there any chance that Jeff is hurtful toward Stella?”

Maple raised an eyebrow. “Did he do something to her?”

“Yes, well, no. Not physically that I can tell. I just have a bad feeling.” I shifted in my shoes. “He’s rude to her. And undermining. And a drunk.”

“Oh, yes. He is all of those things.”

“But she pretends to see the best in him.”

“Oh, sweetheart, she’s not pretending. It’s her gift and her curse—seeing the best in people.” She picked a lighter and lit a bunch of sticks and leaves. They began to burn and create smoke as she waved it around in the space. “Saging,” she explained. “It rids negative energy.”

“You’ll probably have to use a lot on me.”

She smiled a sincere grin. “Not as much as you’d think.” She placed the sage bunch on the fireplace in a vase and then wiped her hands clean on a rag sitting on the table. “So, you think Jeff is toxic.”

“I do.”

“And you’re worried about Stella’s safety.”

“No.” I cleared my throat. “I’m not concerned about her life.”

Maple laughed and walked over to me. She placed a hand against my forearm. “It’s okay to care, sweetheart. It doesn’t make you weak.”

I didn’t respond because I didn’t care.

Right? Right. I didn’t care. But…

“He speaks down to her as if she lacks intelligence.”

“Yes. Between you and me, I think he’s a prick. I did a few readings on him, and well… he’s not a good person.”

“Based on your tarot cards?”

“That and based on actual interactions with him.”

“Why does she stay with him? It’s clear he’s awful.”

“As I said, she sees the best in people, and you”—she walked to the kitchen and began to heat her kettle—“see the worst in individuals.”

“My gift and curse,” I muttered.

“You’re quick to catch on.”

“What do I do? How do I show her he’s no good without her being defensive?”

“That’s the tricky part. She’s protective of the ones she loves. Even those who are undeserving of her protection. If you come at her sideways about one of her people, she’ll attack.”

“I only know how to be blunt.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” She tossed a few herb-like substances into a mug, poured hot water onto it, and then handed it over to me. “I think gentleness is at your core.”

I huffed, taking the mug from her. “Did your tarot cards tell you that about me?”

“No. Your eyes did. You’re not the only one good at reading people’s energy. I’ve been studying people since before you were even born. Both with tarot cards and without.”

I sipped the tea and made a face.

She laughed. “Cat piss normally has people reacting that way.”

My eyes bugged out of my head. “I’m sorry, what?!”

Her chuckles vibrated off the walls. “It’s a joke, and your reaction is worth the price of admission. Dandelion tea can be a bit bitter to some. The lavender should help, though.”

“I’m not a tea person.”

“I know.” She smiled. I hated it. I hated it because she stared at me as if she knew all parts of me. I didn’t like people who were able to read me. It made me feel too vulnerable. “My advice for you? Be the person toward Stella that Jeff isn’t.”

My brows knotted. “How do I do that?”

“Simple. Be yourself.”

“I’m not a nice person.”

“Just because you keep lying to yourself doesn’t make it true. Do you know what Stella needs? A friend who’s in her corner, standing up for her when she doesn’t do it for herself.”

“You want me to be her friend?”

“No.” She shook her head. “You want to be her friend. That’s why you’re pacing on my front porch overthinking everything right now.”

“What if she doesn’t want to be my friend?”

“For a man who’s good at reading people, you sure missed this mark, huh?” Maple laughed. “Don’t be so naïve, Damian. Stella has been trying to be your friend from day one.”

I grimaced and thanked her for the advice even though it didn’t seem helpful at all. As I began to leave, I hesitated and looked back at Maple, who was back at her tarot cards. “Have you done readings on me?” I asked.

“Yes, I have.”

“And what have they told you?”

“What does it matter?” She smiled wide, the kind of smile a grandmother shared with her too young to understand grandchildren. “You don’t believe in this stuff anyway. Have a good day, Damian.”

For weeks, I’d been putting off meeting with any of the wicked stepmothers for as long as I could, but I finally had to face the fact that I had to meet each of them one-on-one. The first one up was Rosalina. She invited me to a musical, and I was somewhat grateful for that because it meant we didn’t have to talk to one another for a good two hours.

I couldn’t focus on the show, though. I found myself studying everything about her instead. Was that my nose? Did she have my side profile? I tapped my fingers when nervous, the same way she had during the performance? Was she nervous? If so, why? Because of the money? Because of the show? Because she was my mother?