Kitchen Witch

24 | The Ask

Charlotte and Maratha sat on the bright red Muskoka chairs at the top of the dunes, overlooking the red sandy beach and rolling waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Charlotte had picked them up at a spring yard sale and given them a fresh coat of paint only weeks ago. She had lugged them up the sandy path and placed them to take in the view, envisioning that one day she would have company to enjoy them with. It was early evening, and despite the warmer days, the evenings still held a slight chill. Martha was draped in a beautiful soft beige pashmina scarf, her long legs stretched out and a glass of Tidal Bay balanced in her hand. Charlotte had manifested a warm breeze that enveloped them, staving off the chill. The breeze brought with it the delicate, sweet, subtle floral scent of the wild primroses that were flourishing in the bushes that lined the dunes. It was a little early for them to be in full bloom, especially since the lupins were still in abundance. Charlotte didn't question it and instead took in their aroma as if sniffing the notes from a glass of wine and felt her body relaxing with it. 

The events of the day, offloading into the breeze. Charlotte and Martha had sat at the apothecary island for hours talking. Charlotte had opened up about all of it. She described the day in the store when all her memories came flooding back, how she had blocked away all memory of magic over the years. Martha had known about Charlotte's family's tragic accident, but it wasn't something that Charlotte had spoken much about. Charlotte had always been very quiet about her childhood growing up with her grandparents. Charlotte had instead focused her attention on her children and tried her best to create a happy and loving childhood for them. Something that became harder over the years, shielding them from his anger and control. When the girls had grown and needed less of her attention, she found a new purpose in making teas: to help friends. That was until the day he found out and ended it. Charlotte shivered involuntarily, shaking off the memory, and instead reached out for the bottle of wine to refill their glasses. The sky was entering that golden period, painted with swathes of pink and purple.

Martha had been incredibly supportive, listening to Charlotte's story unravel and taking it in. She sat watching the sky change colour, lost in thought. She understood why Charlotte's mind had hidden the memory from her. The mind was an incredible thing, and it would try to protect oneself as best it could. Having suffered such horrific loss herself, she felt herself wishing for the gift of forgetfulness. 

She turned to Charlotte, "Do you think you could help me forget?"

"I'm not sure I understand–" Charlotte felt her heartbeat quicken in an anxious response.

"Could you use your magic to erase my memory of Alex?" She said it quickly and matter-of-factly.

Charlotte took a quick intake of breath and the warm breeze went still.

"I can't do this. I can't take this any longer. The pain, it's all-devouring." Martha ran her free hand through her hair; her face broke, her mask of calm composure cracked, and tears fell freely. "Of course I love him, and all of his precious memories–" Her voice cracked. "My sweet boy–but what good are they when they only cause such immense pain?"

"Martha, I'm so sorry–" Charlotte reached out and placed her hand on top of Martha's who didn't pull away. "Even if I could, and I'm not sure I can, do you want to be robbed of all the beautiful, loving memories of him?" 

Charlotte's heart felt like it was going to break just thinking of the sweet little boy who played side by side with her Airlie. But one look at Martha, and she could see the excruciating pain she was in. She loved him so much; he had been her life, her joy, her heart, and he was taken away far too young. Heather had told her how she had barely gotten to say I love you over Facetime before they intubated him in the hospital. The pandemic protocols were so strict then that she wasn't even allowed in the hospital, let alone his room. He never came off the respirator except in death.