Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen

always made Claire, who was four inches taller, feel heavy and clumsy.
    Those were the familiar things.
    The rest of Sydney was a mystery. She’d been here almost a week now and Claire was still trying to figure her out. She was a terrific mother, that much was clear. Lorelei hadn’t been a great example, and their grandmother had tried, but they were nothing like Sydney. She was loving and attentive, knew where Bay was at all times but still let her have her space, let her dream and play. It was an emotional thing to watch her little sister be such a great parent. Where did she learn it?
    And where had she been? Sydney was jumpy, and she never used to be jumpy. Just last night, when Claire couldn’t sleep and went out to the garden, she found herself locked out, because Sydney would get up several times every night to make sure everything downstairs was locked up tight. What was she running from? It did no good to ask her questions; Sydney only changed the subject when asked about the last ten years. She left and went to New York. That was all Claire knew. What happened after that was anyone’s guess. And Bay wasn’t giving up any secrets. According to her, she was born on a Greyhound bus and she and her mother never lived anywhere. No, they lived everywhere .
    Claire watched Sydney walk to the pot of soup steaming on the stove. “Oh, I forgot what I came in here to tell you. I invited Tyler over for dinner,” Sydney said, taking a whiff of the chamomile chicken soup.
    Claire gaped at her. “You did what?”
    “I invited Tyler over for dinner. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
    Claire didn’t answer and made a beeline to the bread keeper, not meeting Sydney’s eyes. She took out a loaf of wheat bread and started slicing it for sandwiches.
    “Claire, come on,” Sydney said, laughing. “Give the man a break. He’s thin. He has these notes all over his house, reminding him to eat. He told me he forgets. He showed me some of his artwork yesterday, and it’s phenomenal. But, I swear to God, if he asks me one more question about you I’m going to suggest therapy. Tyler’s nice. If you don’t want him, tell him so he’ll stop mooning over you and I’ll have a chance.”
    Claire looked up immediately. “Is that why you’re spending so much time over there? You want Tyler?”
    “No. But why don’t you?” Claire was saved from answering by a knock at the front door. “It’s for you,” Sydney said.
    “He’s your guest.”
    Sydney smiled and went to the door.
    Claire set the bread knife down and strained to hear Tyler’s voice. “Thanks for the invitation,” she heard him say. “Great house.”
    “Want a tour?” Sydney asked, which made Claire anxious. She didn’t want Sydney showing Tyler the house. She didn’t want Tyler knowing her secrets.
    “Sure.”
    Claire closed her eyes for a moment. Think, think, think . What would make Tyler forget her, make him less interested? What dish would turn his attention elsewhere? She didn’t have time to make something specific.
    She didn’t need this. It was all she could do to deal with Sydney and Bay in her life, trying to ease them into her routine. And she did this knowing they were still going to leave. Sydney had hated everything about this house and this town. Even now she was trying to protect Bay from unnecessary strangeness, not explaining the garden or the apple tree to her, not telling her what being a Waverley meant in Bascom. It was only going to take one comment, one snub from someone, and Sydney would disappear again like smoke.
    But Tyler was definitely something she could control in her life. She had to try to dissuade him in any way she could. Vehemently, rudely if necessary. There just wasn’t any room for him. She was letting too many people in as it was.
    Bay ran into the kitchen ahead of Sydney and Tyler. She hugged Claire, like it was the most natural thing in the world to give a hug for no discernible reason, and Claire held her