Sympathetic Magic(47)

“Yeah, but I’m working up a sweat. It’s not the same as standing still.”

He had a point. “Okay, I’ll just watch for a few minutes, and then I’ll go back inside.”

“Good idea.” He ratcheted the blower back up and continued down the driveway, appearing to cut an open path in the dead center. As she watched, he disappeared around the curve, although she could still hear the blower at work. A few minutes later he came back, and she could see better that he was going in circles, working out from the middle, so all the snow he’d just blown would keep getting pushed farther and farther to the edge.

During that time, she felt the cold beginning to seep up into her boots, sending icy little tendrils all through her body, and she realized she couldn’t stay out here much longer. She waited until Lucas was close enough to hear her, and then she called out, “I’m turning into a popsicle, so I think I’d better get inside.”

He nodded and smiled, then went back to pushing the snowblower. It felt wrong to leave him outside, working, and go back into the welcoming warmth of the house, but there really wasn’t much she could to help. At least he looked like he knew what he was doing.

Of course he does, she told herself as she went back up the front walk and climbed the steps to the porch. He’s lived in Flagstaff his entire life. He should be an expert at that sort of thing.

Since her boots were caked with snow, she paused at the door, pulled them off, and banged them on the porch floor to get the worst of it off. Dangling them from one hand, she went inside, then noticed a rack there, apparently for depositing muddy or snowy shoes. So she left the boots there and padded into the entry in her stocking feet, feeling strange to be in the house without Lucas, and doubly odd to be doing it with no shoes on.

He hadn’t really mentioned what she should do to amuse herself while he was busy. Yes, there was the TV back in the family room, but she’d never been much of one for television. She realized then, what with one thing or another, that she hadn’t checked her phone since the afternoon before. Anything could have happened during that time.

With that thought to spur her, she hurried up the stairs to her room, where she’d left her phone charging on the dresser. She picked it up.

Nothing. No calls, no texts, no emails. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Her mother had forwarded her a stuffing recipe that she thought might be something fun to try at Thanksgiving. Sylvia loved stuffing. Margot hated it, and yet invariably got stuck on the stuffing squad year after year.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she set the phone down on the dresser. So much for having to be on call, day in and day out. Had she manufactured a need where there was none, or was Lucas right? Had her duties as elder changed irrevocably once the Wilcoxes were no longer a threat?

Her brain didn’t quite know what to do with that. She left the bedroom and paused in the hallway, hesitating. All of the doors along that corridor stood open, which seemed to indicate that Lucas didn’t mind if she looked inside them. It wouldn’t really be snooping, would it, if he’d given her tacit permission?

It felt like something of a gray area, but her feet seemed to propel her forward on their own volition. The room next to hers was clearly his home office, with built-in shelves and a big desk on which sat a silvery laptop, now closed. That room had more books in it than she would have expected of Lucas, who’d never seemed like much of a reader to her. She wouldn’t poke through them now, although if the snow decided to kick back up again, she might be in search of reading material in the near future.

I’m sure Lucas would be more than happy to entertain you.

That thought made a flush rise to her cheeks, and she made herself keep going. Next to the office was a bathroom with the same tile and slate flooring as the one she’d been using. Opposite the bathroom was another bedroom, this one apparently also intended as a guest room, although smaller than the one where she was staying. A daybed with a cover in cheerful stripes of red and orange and blue and green sat up against one wall, and directly opposite was a low dresser. A painting that looked like one of Connor’s hung over the dresser, its autumnal colors echoing the hues of the daybed cover, but that was the only furniture the room contained.

At the end of the hall was the master suite. Margot took the quickest peek inside, catching a glimpse of warm terra-cotta-painted walls and sturdy furniture similar to what was in the bedroom where she’d slept, although this set was darker in tone. The bed was large, and rumpled. Apparently Lucas hadn’t bothered to make it before he came downstairs.