wicked witches 07.5 - christmas witch by Amanda M. Lee Page B

“We’re sorry you’re … not crazy … but can you come home long enough to be Santa for us? It won’t be the same without you.”
    “I can’t do that, Thistle,” Bernard said. “This isn’t a mental hospital, no matter what your Aunt Tillie told you.”
    “It’s not?” That was a relief.
    “It’s a rehabilitation center,” Bernard said. “I’m trying to kick a few bad habits.”
    “Oh,” I said, realization dawning as I glanced around the room again. Things were starting to make sense. “That’s really good, Bernard. I … now I feel like an idiot.”
    “It’s okay,” he said, waving off my embarrassment. “I’m glad someone cared enough to come looking for me. That’s the reason I’m here. I realized my life was going to stay bad as long as I let the demons keep ahold of me. I’m trying to get rid of the demons.”
    “Not real demons, right?” Clove prodded.
    “Not real demons,” Bernard conceded. “They’re personal demons. They’re strong, though, and that’s why I need to be here. Do you understand that?”
    Thistle and Clove nodded in unison, but Bay remained rooted to her spot.
    “Can’t you just come home for a few hours?” Bay asked.
    “I’m really sorry, Bay,” Bernard said, his face kind as he studied the tiny blonde. “I should have realized what my disappearance would mean for the school pageant and the town Christmas party. I honestly didn’t think that far ahead. That’s on me, and I apologize for making such a mess of things.
    “I can’t come home, though,” he continued. “Not yet. I’m not ready.”
    “What you’re doing here is more important, Bernard,” I said, meaning every word. “We shouldn’t have tracked you down like this. You have a right to privacy. Don’t worry about us telling anyone what you’re doing here.”
    “You can tell people,” Bernard replied. “It will probably be better for me if you do. That way … well … hopefully people won’t try to tempt me when I get home.”
    “Do you know you left dirty underwear on your bedroom floor?” Clove asked.
    “How do you know that?”
    “She has a wild imagination,” I answered for her, clapping my hand over Clove’s mouth before she could say anything else. “Well, I wish you well, Bernard. When you get back to town, we’ll all be waiting and ready to help you.”
    “Thank you, Tillie.” Bernard turned back to Bay. “You know the real Santa will still visit you, right?”
    “There is no real Santa,” Bay replied, her tone positively pitiable. “It’s okay. You need to get better.”
    “I really am sorry, Bay.”
    “It’s fine.” Bay kept her head high as she turned and walked out of the room.
    I offered Bernard a few more apologies and then dragged Clove and Thistle into the hallway. Bay was waiting and she was clearly upset, even though she was too stoic for tears. I still hurt for her. “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s okay,” Bay replied, her face drawn. “You can’t fix everything.”
    When did that become the rule? “I’m still sorry. At least we know Bernard’s okay, though.”
    “We do,” Bay said, nodding. “We also know Christmas is officially ruined. I want to go home now.”
     

Nine
    The ride home was completed in silence. Clove and Thistle tried to keep some form of conversation going initially, but Bay was having none of it so they all shut their mouths and focused on the scenery as it blurred by.
    On most occasions I’d welcome the silence. This was different.
    I led the girls into the house shortly before dinner, Thistle and Clove scampering off to wash their hands while Bay dejectedly threw herself into the corner chair in the kitchen, where she proceeded to pout.
    Winnie eyed her only child for a few moments, her hands busy chopping vegetables, before turning to me. “Do I even want to know?”
    “Probably not.” On the way home I considered how much to tell my nieces, and while I knew I could probably convince the girls to lie for me, I