The Memory Witch Read Free

into a deep depression the next. A calm exterior would sometimes accompany harsh and angry words. I had many of the same traits, so I didn’t blame her for her erratic moods. We understood each other probably better than anyone else in the world.
    I made the walk of shame into the living room and I expected instant recriminations. Instead, I was surprised by the appearance of an old woman sitting across from my mother on the flowered loveseat. My mother was still dressed in her scrubs and was holding a teacup. I noticed the tremor immediately in her hands as the tea sloshed over the sides. I sent her a questioning look, but she refused my attempts at eye contact. I turned my attention to the elderly woman instead.
    The unfamiliar woman sipped her tea calmly. She looked at me with unabashed interest and I immediately felt like I was being closely inspected. I guessed her age to be in the mid-seventies or perhaps even older. She had white hair that was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her frame was petite and it was accentuated more when compared to the height of my statuesque mother. The woman’s mouth was set in a tight line as her gray eyes turned away from me and looked at my mother. Expectedly, I waited for someone to speak.
    My mother cleared her throat and set her tea on the mahogany coffee table in front of her. She seemed upset, but I had a feeling it had nothing to do with my sleepover at Tanner’s house. “Quinn, will you sit with us?”
    “Of course,” I agreed. If it meant staying out of trouble, I would willingly perform a juggling act to appease my mother.
    I sat on the sofa next to my mom and volleyed my head between the two women. My mother spoke first. “Quinn, this is Stella Corey, she’s an…old friend of our family.”
    I jumped back as the woman cackled at my mother’s introduction. I gave her a startled look, but the woman addressed my mom instead. “Bridget, you haven’t told the girl anything?”
    My mother tucked a piece of her blond bob behind her ear. A brief look of guilt passed over her expression before she gave the woman a murderous look. “How the hell was I supposed to explain any of this? I was hoping it would never come to this.”
    “Meaning you were hoping I’d be dead by now,” Stella replied dryly before calmly taking another sip of her tea.
    My mother’s lack of response seemed to confirm this sentiment. I knew my jaw must have been on the floor over this exchange. Stella smiled at my shock. “I have to say, Bridget, I never imagined she would turn out so beautiful. When I met you, you were skin and bones and a tangled mess of blond hair.”
    “She’s smart too,” my mother admitted. She said pointedly to Stella, “She has a scholarship to Lehigh in the fall.”
    “Well, that’s not my fault, dear. You knew the terms when you came to me.” Stella waved her off dismissively.
    I was tired of the mystery surrounding the exchange and took my mother’s hand in mine. She looked regretful as she examined our intertwined fingers. “Mom, what’s going on?”
    “Where do I begin?” she asked rhetorically. She looked to Stella for help. The old woman simply shrugged her shoulders and leaned back further into the loveseat.
    My mother’s eyes were moist when she twisted back to face me. “Quinn, I’ve never told you the entire truth about your childhood.”
    My breath hitched. I wanted to take in this moment because I had a feeling my entire life was about to change. For years, I begged and bargained with my mother in order to convince her to tell me why she thought I lost my memory. It seemed surreal that it could actually be happening. Whenever I brought up my father or the reason behind my select amnesia, she said that we have to stop living in the past. He was dead and talking about it wouldn’t bring him back.
    My mother began, “I met Stella when you were eight years old. I had heard about her from a cousin of mine. It was believed by my family that Stella was