I don’t know if Michael is “good” like Anna says. But he sure is smooth. He hooked Dad with sports talk and an intelligent argument on the worth of an MBA if you already have a business of your own. There are now plans for the two of them to pal around with some of Dad’s colleagues to help Michael explore his options, which Michael could not be more grateful for.

He got Sally with the organic food thing, even promising he’d try to find a visiting chef for the next two weeks, since starting Monday Mrs. Hamilton will be on vacation. Apparently he’s on the lookout for an entirely new menu, and there are a few “brilliant” organic chefs who have been clamoring to help him create it. Why not have one of them cook for us for the two weeks as a trial run? He would be sure they keep Sally’s nutritional needs a priority in the planning, of course. It’s the least he could do, crashing in on our guesthouse for a whole month. I could almost hear Sally’s heart fluttering her adoration.

And then there’s me. I wasn’t going to be taken by him. No way, no how. Not going to happen. And then he started petting Scottie after dinner. And he kept at it for a whole half an hour—no “nice little kitty now scoot” from this guy. And then he kept looking at me like we share something important, like we really know the score and the rest is just a game. So he got in. I’ve heard of girls melting with a look, and always assumed it was just a combination of ignorance, stupidity, and a low tolerance to flattery. But there I went, melting like an ignorant, stupid, flattered girl. My heart actually hurt a little when I heard his schedule—which is packed to the brim these next four weeks. I have no idea when he planned to actually spend time with Anna or Bea. Or me.

“You looked uncomfortable in there,” he says to me, slowly walking the gardens of the back yard like they did when courting in the old days. Just give me an idiotic parasol and the scene will be complete.

“You swept them off their feet,” I say, not afraid to show I both honest and annoyed. “That makes me uncomfortable.”

“I was authentic with them both, I thought,” he defends.

I have to think about that. Is that possible? Could he have been authentic with all three of us?

“I just really hate them sometimes,” I say. “It seems weird that anyone my age would like them. I mean, I love them, or at least Dad, in addition to hating him. But you seemed like you actually liked them. I just don’t get how that could be real.”

Michael shrugs. “I just like people in general. Always have. You can find something good in anyone, so I figure why not find that and connect through it? The world would be a better place.

I think about the world being a better place, and what kind of guy talks like that. Even thinks like that.

“So you really did like them?”

Again he shrugs. “I don’t know them well enough to like them or not like them. But I’m going to live here for a month and I want to get along with them well enough to have them trust me with you. As well as send good reports back to Aunt Helene. It would be suicide to dislike them right off the bat.”

“So you are snowing them for your own purposes?” I accuse.

“No. I’m just meeting them where they live and letting that be the starting point of the conversation. I didn’t suck up to your dad and say I wanted an MBA. And I could see by the way Sally was picking at her food that it was a pretty important part of her life. It’s smart, not manipulative. Why do you hate them?”

I sigh. “I don’t hate them. They are just so… I don’t know… superficial is the word, I guess. All they care about is the stuff they buy, or buy me. It is so over the top and they never seem to notice I don’t care about that. Like this watch. It was $3,800 and has like nearly a dozen diamonds. I got it as a gift for Valentine’s Day, sitting on my breakfast plate.”

“That’s really nice,” he says, sounding confused.

“I got it for Valentines Day! You can imagine what Christmas is like around here? Totally unwarranted. Besides, it was just Sally’s excuse to up her monthly shopping standard while making it look like she had me in mind. Pretty soon she’ll be taking her pre-nup money, and suing for her standard monthly retainer, then running like my mother and his other wives did. All the while Dad just sits there, fat dumb and happy, thinking it is a good deal because that way they stay young and skinny and pretty.”

Michael stops and puts a hand on my wrist to stop me, too. My pulse jumps. I look at him, which is a mistake, what with those amazing eyes. “Look,” he says quietly, “I grew up like you did. So I understand how money can hurt you. But I also know there is no such thing as a simple person. Everyone hurts. Everyone. Sometimes the rich more than any, because they are supposed to be happy with what they have, even if they are not. And all they know how to do is use more money to try to make it better, which it never does.”

I stare at him, thinking maybe he does understand. At least some of it.

“I know the way they are hurts you,” he continues, so it’s probably fair to hate them for it, in a way. But that hate will limit you, not them, if you hold on to that. You’ll become like them if you don’t figure out a way to deal with it.”

“You don’t want to get an MBA,” I say, uncomfortable, “you want to be a shrink.”

He doesn’t laugh. “No, I want magic. I won’t say any more about this, because I can see you don’t want me to. But think about it. They can only get to you if you let them. Now tell me about your visit with Anna. Will she see me?”

I’m enormously relieved to be off the topic of my family, but not so sure I’m ready to talk about his. “I don’t know,” I say, sorting out what to say for the hundredth time since I left Bea. “When I asked her what to say to you all she said was “welcome home” and she didn’t tell me what I could or couldn’t reveal to you.”

“Uh!” Michael looks to the sky in frustration.

“So I went to see your great-grandmother to ask her about it.”

Michael looks back, instantly excited. “And?”

“She said she’ll meet with you. At my house. It needs to be when your Aunt Helene is flying, like actually in the airplane.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Something about it being safest. Oh, and she wants to meet Mrs. Hamilton, our cook, so we better make it quick if she’s off for vacation next week.”

“This is amazing!” he says, spontaneously hugging me. “Thank you! Thank you!”

I pull away, afraid to be that close to his body. It’s like a live wire, I swear. “Do you know when your aunt is going to be on a plane?”

“No, but I can get onto her computer and find out. She has her whole itinerary there.”

“And you can just go look?”

He nods. “I saw her password.  Well, sort of.  I felt it, and I was right. That’s how I found out where Anna is. That’s how I find out a lot, actually.”

I have to think about that. Anna said Michael was such a good person. Like, inherently good. But that can’t include hacking into someone’s computer, can it? Of course, Bea said it wasn’t so simple as that.  So who knows?

“Do you know what my email password is?” I ask, just in case.

He looks at me with a totally serious face. “I don’t want to spy on you, Julie.”

“Call me ‘Mayden.’ Anna and Bea call me that.”

“Mayden it is,” he says, smiling. “But what you really want to know is if I could feel your email password if I wanted to, right?”

“Could you?” I ask, not sure I want to know.

“Do you want me to try?” he says with a beautiful, mischievous grin. “Give me a test run?”

What the heck. “Sure. Why not? Try.”

Without warning, he turns me around and comes closer behind me. He puts his hands on my hips and moves in until his face is in my hair. I can feel his breath on my neck. I’ve never felt anything like it in my life.

“Think of your password,” he whispers. I get shivers up and down my spine, and I think of it over and over.  Scottiegirl. Scottiegirl. Scottiegirl.

“It’s Scottiegirl,” he says after several deep inhales and exhales.

I jump at the password spoken aloud, freaked out totally and completely. I turn to face him and step back to gain a little distance.  True the what they say about these kinds of situations, my knees are actually feeling weak. “That’s all you have to do. Stand up close to someone and listen in?”

“I don’t have to stand close,” he says, smiling with his eyes.

“Then why did you?” I demand to know, pulling further away. I try to gauge if he is snowing me, too. Let him not be, that’s all I silently ask.

“Because I wanted to see what your hair smelled like. It’s so wild, all those colors, and the red streaks. I was thinking strawberries, but it’s not that. What is it?”

I ignore his question. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with girls this summer?”

I’m frustrated, even angry, with the way he is confusing me.

“You’re not just a girl,” he says, oh so slick. Or maybe not.

“I’m not?” My voice sounds all sickeningly airy and breathless. Why does everything with him feel both good and bad?

“Now way,” he smiles. “You’re a girl who gets magic. Really gets it. And that is rarer than rare to find.” He reaches out for me, barely touches my fingers.

I pull back. “Don’t do that,” I insist. “And don’t mess with me, like with Dad and Sally. And everyone else, for all I know.”

“I’m not,” he says, now looking confused himself.

“I don’t want a boyfriend,” I blurt out. “In specific, I don’t want you for a boyfriend. Okay?”

He looks at me like he’s considering if I’m serious or not, and so I make the most serious face I could possibly make. I don’t want to get hurt by this guy. Not this guy.

“Okay,” he says, nodding like he gets it. “We will be friends, though, right?”

“Totally,” I say, feeling myself finally breathe.

‘Okay,” he repeats. He starts to talk, then stops, then finally starts again. “It’s not because you like Jake, is it?”

Anna’s words about the rivalry between the two great-grandsons jump back into my memory, as well as me having to choose. Bea said it was nonsense, but maybe it is not.

“No,” is all I say.

For a minute I think to say there’s a guy named Rod interested in me, which would be partly true. But with Michael’s magic, he would likely see right through it. Best leave it alone.  All of it.

“Okay,” he says, one last time, but you can see his mind still clicking away, trying to figure things out.

Right about now, I can only hope I do before he does. 

“So,” I say in an attempt to change the subject, “how do we get Helene’s schedule?”

“I can drive over now. She’s already left town, but she’ll be flying a lot this month. She always does. Has a hard time staying in one place. You want to go to the house with me?”

For some reason, the idea of going into the infamous Helene’s house seems risky. Not for Michael, but for me, and surely for us both. Not sure why. Just one of those things I know.

“No. From what I can gather, there’s something in the magic that is more powerful when people are together.”

We turn to walk back toward the car and I realize the night will be short. It makes me sad, but also glad that there will be more nights. A month’s worth.

“Can you tell me anything more about the magic?” he asks as we turn to walk to his car. “Like what it’s for? How they use it?”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say, or not say yet,” I admit.

“But Anna said welcome home,” he says, “so she must be okay with me knowing she can talk. And Bea must be okay with me knowing she is close enough that you were able to go see her after Anna, and be back before dinner.”

“You know, it would be easier if you were not so smart,” I say, finally laughing a little. I realize it could be fun to be his friend. I mean, I’d still be cautious, at least until I hear word from Anna or Bea it’s okay to be open with him. But we could have a nice month. I think.

“It would be a whole lot easier if you were not so smart,” he returns in a good-natured tone. 

I try to imagine if Anna would mind me talking about her, or Bea. I guess they’d want to speak for themselves. But if I could, I’d tell him about the shapeshifting, of time and also into animals. It would sound crazy, and maybe I shouldn’t even think about it near him. He could catch on. But I think it would comfort him, to know the way he shifts with Dad, and Sally, and me, is sort of like what they do. Like there are a thousand different worlds in this one, and they just tune into the one they want. That would be some kind of magic, wouldn’t it?

“What are you thinking?” he asks me.

“Nothing,” I say, only now realizing I’ve been smiling to myself.

“Yea, well, it’s a beautiful nothing then,” he says.