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“What about your friend?” Mom asked, glancing to where Idris was looking decidedly ill.

“He’s not my friend, and he’s not my problem.” If he wanted to do draining, badly designed (according to Owen) spells as a prank, and overreach himself by making the spell a little too elaborate, he could live with the consequences on his own. I wanted to get away from him before he recovered enough to do something more serious to us.Advertisement

“There was something odd about that boy,” Mom said in a conspiratorial manner when we were safely outside the deli. “I think maybe he was hitting the sauce a little too early in the day.” She made drinking motions with her hand, as though she felt I wouldn’t get what she meant. “Mavis Alton used to show up to UMW luncheons at the church acting like that, and we all knew she’d been sipping the cough syrup, if you know what I mean. Maybe he has a problem. Mavis sure did. She had to spend a month at a ‘spa’ to get over it.”

“Oh, he’s got problems, all right,” I said. I wondered if a Ritalin prescription would help or hinder our cause.

When we got back to my apartment late that afternoon, Dad was there having coffee with Gemma, Marcia, Jeff, and Philip. Dad was laughing at something as we came through the doorway, and I hoped Gemma and Marcia had enough sense to edit whatever they told him for parental consumption. Not that I’d done much of anything worth editing, but that was about to change.

“I’ve finished our Christmas shopping,” Mom declared as she dropped her armload of shopping bags on the floor. “We have presents for the boys, their wives, the grandkids, and my sisters. You’re on your own for your side of the family.”

Dad took a sip of coffee, savored it, swallowed it, and said, “I take it you’re speaking to me again.”

“Spending your money was rather therapeutic, and we had a good time at lunch.” I wouldn’t have called it “good,” but if she wanted to think of it that way, who was I to stop her?

“Did you get anything, Katie?” Gemma asked.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” I opened the Bloomingdale’s bag and pulled out the shoe box with a flourish.

“Those aren’t—”

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“Yes, they are.” I slid the lid aside to show her.

“Oh my God!” she squealed. “I’m so glad you got those!”

Marcia leaned over. “Let me see.”

I took one shoe out of the box and held it up for inspection. “Gorgeous, huh?”

“Oooh,” Marcia breathed. “Put them on and let us see.”

Mom rolled her eyes as she took off her coat and draped it over the sofa arm. “Honestly, you girls and your shoes. Katie, honey, if you’re going to show the shoes off, show them with your new dress while you’re at it.” She addressed Dad. “I bought Katie her Christmas present early.”

Gemma made shooing motions at me, moving me toward the bedroom. “Go on, show us the whole outfit.”

I went into the bedroom, shut the door behind me, and took off my clothes before putting on the dress. As a finishing touch, I slid into the shoes. I felt that same burst of power I’d noticed when I first tried them on, and I was glad I hadn’t let my practical side win.

Before I went back into the living room, I admired myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. I didn’t even look like myself. I looked older, more sophisticated. Yes, even sexy, and that wasn’t a word that applied to me very often. Then, with a deep breath, I opened the door.

Jeff let out a low wolf whistle. Philip rose slowly from his seat, a look of awe in his eyes. I couldn’t remember ever getting that look from any man. Gemma applauded and Marcia shook her head slowly in admiration. Dad swallowed hard, then said roughly, “You look real nice, baby.”

Only Mom seemed relatively unaffected. She eyed me critically, then said, “Well, I guess you’re right. Those shoes do go with that dress. It makes a nice outfit. But I still say if you were going to spend that much money on a pair of shoes, they should be shoes you could wear every day.”

“They wouldn’t be special if you wore them every day, Mrs. Chandler,” Gemma said. She turned, saw Philip still gazing at me, and elbowed him in the ribs. He blinked and sat down.

“I hope Ethan has something good planned for New Year’s Eve,” Marcia said. “If he doesn’t, he doesn’t deserve to see you looking like that.”

“I was hoping for something a little sooner than New Year’s,” I said. “Maybe not the full outfit, but I have to wear the shoes on our next date.” pqdm.com