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Rowan and Heather(continued) By Eilis O'Neal "Only because she has such a full life," he
said. "I admire her ability to make so many friends." "She's always been that way. Empathetic. Easy for
people to like." He watched her put away the groceries after she assured
him that he need not help, since he didn't know where anything went. "She admires your skill with cosmetics," Rhys
said, his voice giving nothing away. I wonder how much of my "skill" she told him
about, Rowan thought as she strained to put some chips in her tallest
cabinet. A cool hand touched her wrist, and Rhys gently took the bag
from her and placed it on the shelf. He paused and regarded her. "You don't wear much
makeup, for someone so good with it." That's because it doesn't work on me, she thought. Indeed, she had never been able to alter her own face. One set of desires, one soul, did not seem to be enough to make the magic work. "Well, I spend so much time around it, it's no wonder," she said with forced lightness. He was standing too close. She could smell him; he smelled of earth and leaves, with no hint of cologne. She felt dizzy, as if she had stood up too fast. "I'm like those who work at McDonald's. They can't
eat fries." He didn't seem to hear her. "You're much more difficult
than your sister." "What?" She felt as if drowning. She gulped
for air, standing with her back pressed against the counter. In the hall the doorbell rang. Rhys gazed at her for a
second longer, then turned and went to the door. The dizziness, the
feeling of being caught in a trap, went with him. Two weeks later, her mother came to visit. Predictably,
Lydia did not knock but let herself in with a cheery, "Hello, sweetie!" "Hi, Mom," Rowan called from her bedroom. She
hung her work clothes up and went to find her mother. She stood arranging three pots of herbs on the window
ledge above the sink. Rosemary, clover, and thyme. Though Lydia was
one of the leading professors of botany at the university, she did not
look it. As usual, she wore a long broomstick skirt, this one a startling
orange, with a bit of mud clinging to the hem. Glasses with red frames
poked out from the curly hair that surrounded her face and then falling
wildly to the middle of her back. Rowan smiled and walked over to her mother. "You
have something on your cheek." She blinked and turned her face so that Rowan could rub the spot away. "Probably dirt," she said. "I went to the herb show today. Look, I brought you
some." "I'll just kill them. I think I drowned the last
bunch you brought over." "Well, those were succulents," Lydia said, as
if that settled the matter. "I'll mark on your calendar when to
water these." The watering schedule for the herbs for the next two months
written out, the two went into the living room to drink some tea. "Your
sister is quite enamored of her new beau," Lydia said as she sipped
her drink. "Have you met him?" Rowan nodded. "Haven't you?" "No. She's usually so good about trotting them by
my office when she's on campus." Lydia shrugged. "I guess
she's just busy." Or she doesn't want you to meet him, Rowan thought. But
no, Heather was always eager to show off her new boyfriends to her family
and vice versa. Maybe he wants to meet as few of us as possible,
she thought, though she didn't know why. "Well, next time you see her, mention that I'd like
to meet him," Lydia said, and turned the talk to the new lab they
were building on campus. After her mother left, Rowan got ready for bed. In a fit
of responsibility, she decided to put the tea things away before getting
under the covers with her book. She took the cups and saucers into the
kitchen and had begun rinsing them off when she noticed a book on the
counter. The Folklore of Plants, the cover read. It must be her
mother's. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that it was too late
to call and tell her that she had forgotten it. I'll take it to her before work tomorrow, Rowan thought.
Instead of putting it with her purse, however, she picked it up, sat
down on her bed and let the pages slide through her fingers. Two dog-eared
pages caught her attention; their mother had always chastised her daughter
for turning down the corners of pages. The dog-ear marked the middle of the H section, each entry
containing a short description of each plant's folklore. The entry for
heather was underlined in pencil.
Frowning, Rowan stared at the entry for a moment. The
words perhaps not as normal as you think lingered in her head,
and though she could hear them, she couldn't seem to remember who said
them. She flicked to the other marked page and found herself looking
at the entry for her own name.
She went no further. That's weird, she thought; Mom named
us after plants, but plants that have things to do with faeries? Rhys's
face, with his twilight eyes, filled her mind. "You're much more difficult than your sister." The words were so loud in her head she thought she might
have heard them out loud. The book fell from her hands and thumped onto
the ground. The impact cracked the spine. Don't be stupid, she thought, leaving the book
where it was and pulling the covers over her head.
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