​Chapter 2
 
            When the sun set, Mace pulled into a rest stop.  "Time for a break."  Zoey took the two sandwiches out of their bag.  Bologna.  She handed one to Mace and ate the other herself. 
            "She loves you, you know," he said into the darkness of the cab.
            "She loves herself more."
            "Can't help that.  Some people are strong.  Some aren't.  She loves you the best she can."
            "Why couldn't she wait till I was out of school?"
            "'Cause that's what she's afraid of.  Was scared you'd leave her.  She can't stand being alone.  She'd put up with almost anything not to be by herself."
            Zoey put a hand to her fabric pouch.  She'd never thought of her mother that way, but now she could see the truth of it.  Her mother was weak.  Afraid of everything.  Maybe afraid of Life.  Zoey enjoyed solitude.  She could lose herself in a book or in forming clay on her pottery wheel.  But her mother drank when she was alone.  Hid from whatever memories crept out of the crevices.
            "Try to sleep," Mace said.  "We won't get there tonight.  Might as well be rested.  I'm giving myself a two hour nap, then we'll be on our way again."
            Zoey didn't think she could sleep.  She was too upset, too worried, but once Mace hit the road after his brief nap, the rhythm of the tires must have lulled her.  It was daylight, close to noon, when Mace pushed her shoulder. "Almost there."
            Zoey rubbed sleep from her eyes and looked around.  The world was green, a lush landscape of emerald fields and lawns.  Clouds dotted a blue sky.  She rolled down her window and inhaled fresh, crisp air. 
            They passed neat, picturesque towns with blocks of clapboard buildings painted to look like Victorian greeting cards.  Awnings protected windows from too much sun, and flower boxes spilled blooms onto sidewalks.   Zoey had never seen tourist areas like these.  She'd read about them.  Books were her escape, but her life consisted of rundown apartment complexes and cracked cement courtyards. 
            They drove farther until the blue sky turned overcast.  A worn, weathered sign read Welcome to Prosperity.  The instant the town started, the green stopped.  It was as if someone had drawn a circle around it, and rain and sunshine refused to pass its borders.  Zoey blinked her surprise.  Rundown fences dotted the perimeters of dusty fields.  Barns needed paint.  Houses needed repairs. 
            Mace drove past the business section and gave a low whistle.   "No wonder your mom hated this place."  Austere brick buildings marched in a row on both sides of the street.  Circling the area, houses squatted in rectangles of bare lawns.  Porch roofs sagged.  Steps tilted.  The entire area looked as though a high wind could blow it away.
            "I can't believe how much it's changed."  Dread knotted in Zoey's belly.  What had happened to Prosperity?  
            "Have you been here before?" Mace asked.
            "No."
            He gave her an odd look. 
            "Déjà vu?"  She wasn't sure why, but she knew this town.  She had no idea how, but she thought she could name the people who lived in most of the houses.  Susan lived in the tri-level on Third Street they passed, and Debra's father ran the newspaper office.  She frowned.  The lawns were dead—no trees or bushes.  They looked naked and tired.  That's not how it should be.  Prosperity had been quaint and picturesque. 
            "Your aunt's farm's just down the road."  Mace watched for street signs and turned right onto County Road 8. 
            Zoey stared as they passed a farm with white fences and plump cows.  The Waterson place.  A bubble of happiness welled inside her.   Its white house sparkled on a green hill.  The grass spread from one side of its property to the next, then abruptly stopped.  Why? she wondered.  Why did this farm look prosperous when no one else's did?
            Mace slowed when they reached a small, sorry looking bungalow that sat back from the road.  Paint chipped off the clapboards.  Dust covered the windows.  The yard was nothing but packed dirt.  "This is it."
            "But this is Devon's place.  His mom lives with him."  How did she know that?
            "Not according to your mother.  This is the address she gave me."
            Zoey's heart sank.  "Does my aunt know I'm coming?"
            "Your great aunt." Mace pulled into the gravel drive and cut the cab's engine.  "Yeah, she's expecting you.  Better get along now."
            A lump caught in Zoey's throat.  Was he just leaving her?  "Would you wait to make sure someone's here?"
            "I can give you that."  He leaned back to stretch.  "But there's no use stalling.  There's the door."
            Zoey gripped her suitcase and climbed out of the cab.  She was starting up the drive when the house's front door opened and a woman rushed from the house. 
            "Darlin', you made it!" 
            Zoey's fears melted.  The woman's face was the exact image of the face she'd conjured.  A map of wrinkles creased her skin from too much time in the sun.  She was tanned and freckled, but every part of her looked friendly.  Her graying hair was pulled back in a knot at the back of her head.  If it were possible, her gray eyes smiled.  Dressed in faded jeans and a plaid shirt with cut-off sleeves, she seemed like a practical, no nonsense woman.   Zoey tried to guess her age.  Fifties?  She looked fit and full of energy.
            "Come here, child." 
            The minute Zoey was swept into the woman's arms, Mace carried Zoey's belongings to the front porch.  "You set?" he asked her.
            "I guess."
            "Good luck, kid."  He started his engine and pulled away.  He didn't look back. 
            Zoey watched him go with a sinking feeling.  Her life line to the past was cut, and she felt set adrift.  Would her mother ever wonder how she was doing?  Would she even think of her?  Anger knotted in her stomach.  She hated her mother. 
            Her aunt stepped back to look her up and down.  "Lord Almighty, you're the spitting image of Cordelia.  No wonder your mother and you never got along."
            "Cordelia?"  Zoey frowned.  Her mother had never said much about her family or the town where she'd grown up.
            "My sister, long dead.  I'll tell you the story later."  She took Zoey's suitcase and led her toward the porch.  "Take a load off, honey, and I'll bring us some lemonade.  You look plumb hot in those black clothes.  Why not take your shoes off and roll up your pants?  I'll only be a minute."
            Zoey sank onto the bottom step and gratefully slid out of her gym shoes.  She stretched her legs and enjoyed the feel of the earth under her bare feet.  She wiggled her toes, and blades of grass pushed their heads out of the packed soil.  A tingle of energy shimmered through her.  More grass sprouted, and Zoey pulled her feet back onto the wooden step.  She narrowed her eyes.  How had that happened?  She stretched out a leg and placed her foot on the soil once more.  Energy hummed through her.  Grass sprang up.  It thickened and spread, growing from the porch steps to the asphalt street.  Then it started toward the back of the property until it covered every inch of the yard.  A dead tree, bare and lonely, leafed out.  An oak.  And then the grass stopped.
            Zoey touched her fabric pouch filled with dried herbs and plants.  It hung from the leather thong that always circled her neck.  Something was different here.  She'd never felt happy energy before—good vibes flowing like sunshine through her veins.  But why did the grass stop?  Why didn't it keep growing?  Did she only have enough goodness in her to pull off small blessings? 
            Her aunt carried a tray with glasses and a pitcher of lemonade, cookies and sandwiches from the house.  She put it down and looked around her, took a quick breath.  "Yup, it skipped a generation, just like the other girls'.  You've got Cordelia's gifts, all right, just like people said.  That's a fact.  Now we're in for it."
            "In for what?"
            "Nothing we can't handle, hon.  You'll see."
            Zoey studied her aunt's sincere expression.  So different from her mother's.  Her mom's gaze usually slid away, hiding something.  This woman looked directly at her, ready to take on anything.  Talk about opposites.  But what were they taking on?  Zoey's hand reached for her pouch and her aunt's eyes widened. 
            "When did you make that?"
            Zoey frowned, trying to remember.  "When I was little."
            Hannah looked at the oak tree, healthy and thriving, at the back of the property.   "Oh, girl, you have more talent than you realize.  That's good, because I'm guessing you're going to need it."  Before Zoey could ask more, her aunt waved a hand.  "Not now.  Let's get you settled first.  Then we can talk."