Cora sat in her corner, eating a slice of her clay-like fruitcake, which she had secretly laced with a calming, non-psychoactive tincture of chamomile and skullcap. The pendulum was back in her pocket.
Chloe stared, bewildered, then looked at the yams. She smiled. “You know what? They are. Mark, try one.”
“Shhh, Chloe,” Cora whispered, turning the pendulum’s gentle arc toward her. “You’ve been holding so much tension in your shoulders. Just let it drip away, like honey from a spoon. Down, down, down.”
In the ensuing chaos, Cora simply sat back, swirling a glass of water. She watched them all with a small, serene smile. The family was a symphony of discordant notes, and she was the only one who could hear the silent, simple melody underneath.
That would be fun to untangle.
Chloe saw it and gasped. “Mark?”
Later, as they were bundling up to leave, Lila pulled Cora aside. The hypnotic peace was still on her face, a soft, rosy glow. “That was… remarkable, dear,” she said. “I feel like a new woman. How did you do that?”
Mark, who had been staring at the ceiling fan with a blissful, empty smile, obediently took a bite. “Wow,” he breathed. “It’s like… a yam from a dream.”
Seven heads lifted. But these were not the same people who had been snarling over the yams.
“Unless you have a mute button for your cousin’s whining, I doubt it,” Serena muttered.
“Traffic was a trance-state nightmare,” Cora said, kissing the air near Lila’s cheek. Her voice was soft, a little too rhythmic, the kind of voice that made you realize you’d been holding your breath.