Or maybe it was just that, as a child, he was comparatively helpless. Harder to frighten the gypsy woman with the banishing potions and magic.
“Cool t-shirt,” Marty enthused, dropping to his haunches so he’d be on Finn’s level. “You like Star Trek?”
“Not really, but I like Star Wars. Did you see Rise of Skywalker? It was super cool.”
“I did see it and I liked it too,” Marty answered with a quick nod.
Finn eyed him narrowly. “You like Jurassic Park too?”
“Of course, man!” he said, shaking his head like that question was too easy to answer.
“What about Predator?”
“Get to the choppa!” Marty sang out, in a near perfect rendition of Arnold.
Finn nodded. Marty had passed his tests. But then he eyed Marty’s shirt with the supreme skepticism you only find in very young boys. “What’s up with your t-shirt? You get it at a convention or something? It’s kind of weird.”
Marty glanced down at his shirt with a frown. “I made it, actually.”
“You made it?” Finn asked, his tone sounding awe-struck, like he didn’t realize one could make t-shirts—like they only came from Target and magically appeared there.
“Yeah, I’m a marketing consultant and a graphic designer and I’m also a handyman.” He pointed at the lettering on the shirt. “This one was a potential logo for the local cleaning service. They went with a different design, but I got to keep the shirt.”
So I had a part-time handyman and a full-time graphic designer for a neighbor? Maybe my luck was starting to improve. I could use promotional materials for my new store to help get the word out. I didn’t so much as have even a logo yet…
The problem was, I wasn’t sure I could afford Marty. Was this what Ophelia had meant out on the porch when she’d said he wanted something from me? Marty Zach looked too guileless to be a con man, and Finn seemed to be warming to him, which usually boded well.
Finn had inherited a talent from our Traveller blood; he was an incredible judge of character. He’d been trying to tell me for years that my last boyfriend was rotten. Eventually, I’d seen the truth for myself—after the jerk had cheated on me repeatedly. Maybe it was a fault of mine, but I wanted to see the best in people. Some people call that gullible, I guess. And maybe it is. But, I liked to think of myself as an eternal optimist. Hopefully ‘gullible’ and ‘optimist’ weren’t one and the same.
But, no, if Finn had a good feeling about McFly, I trusted that good feeling. Finn had yet to be wrong.
***
We ended up leaning against the kitchen island, eating soupy ice cream with plastic spoons.
Normally I wouldn’t have condoned dessert before dinner, but poor planning on Marty’s part had forced my hand. The soft serve ice cream from Stomper’s Creamery, the local hangout, was in dire need of being consumed post haste. And it just so happened to be delish.
The last of the raspberry truffle ice cream slid like sweet nectar down the back of my throat. I hadn’t had ice cream in ages, too busy trying to work off my last ten pounds that was stubborn as an old goat. I’d forgotten how much I missed sweets.
And then there were the beer nuts. I eyed them with anticipation every few minutes or so. I will get you my pretty, I promised. You and your dipping sauce too.
“So, where are you from?” Marty asked.
“Los Angeles,” I answered.
“And what brings you both to Haven Hollow?” he continued, after successfully navigating an entire scoop of fudge ripple into his mouth.
“Mom’s crappy ex-boyfriend and an even crappier ghost,” Finn answered as he dug into his ice cream with renewed zest.
I felt my eyes go wide as Marty looked at me and we both smiled in embarrassment.
“Ghosts, huh?” he asked.
I laughed the question away and then rubbed the back of my neck as I tended to do when I was nervous. Ordinary people didn’t react well when the subject of magic and ghosts was brought up. I figured Marty wouldn’t be any different.
“I, uh… I thought it might be easier to start my business here than in Los Angeles,” I said, settling on a half-truth.
“Oh, and what business is that?”
“Gypsy magic potions,” Finn answered. I was debating sending him outside.
“Gypsy potions?” Marty repeated.
“Yeah, Mom’s a gypsy,” Finn answered. “So am I, but I don’t have the same powers she does.”
“Um… haha,” I laughed and rubbed the back of my neck again, figuring this was probably the last time we were going to see Marty Zach.
“What does it mean to be a gypsy?” Marty asked, sounding genuinely interested.
“It means Mom comes from a super magical family,” Finn answered.
“Is that so?” Marty asked as he looked at me.
“There are different sects of gypsies,” I answered, shaking my head at Finn. “There are gypsies descending from the Romani people and Irish and Scottish gypsies.”
“We’re Scottish gypsies,” Finn said.
I nodded. “We’re descended from Scottish gypsies called Travellers.”
“And so I’m figuring your people were pretty nomadic?” Marty asked.
“They were, back in the day, yes,” I answered. “And those who still follow the Traveller way are still nomadic today.”
“Yeah, in the old days, they used to live in horse-drawn wagons,” Finn said.
“Right. Scottish gypsies date back to the 12th century,” I continued. “And lots of them continue to travel around, working in circuses and fairs and things like that.”
“But, you don’t travel around?” Marty asked.
I shook my head. “I was never really into the moving around thing. I like to be settled in one place.”
“Yet, you just moved to Haven Hollow?”
I nodded. “But I was in Los Angeles for the majority of my life.”
“And your family? Are they still nomads?” Marty asked.
“Not really. My mom and dad moved around for a little while, but then they settled in Washington State to be close to my grandmother, who is getting on in years.”
“That’s GG,” Finn supplied.
Marty nodded. “So how does the magic stuff enter into it?”
“Well, mom makes potions and her potions are magical. They heal people,” Finn said.
I didn’t want Marty to think we were crazy, so I decided to dim Finn’s explanation down a bit. “Part of gypsy culture is living off the land and applying natural fixes to common ailments. It’s basically holistic medicine and it’s been handed down through the generations, from my mom and my grandma, before her.”
“We call Mom’s magical concoctions potions,” Finn added.
“Holistic magic potions?” Marty repeated. Strangely, he didn’t seem surprised.
“Holistic… remedies,” I corrected. “Anyway, I found a great little space for my shop right on Main Street. I still have some shelves to put up and I need a bunch of marketing materials and a sign, but I should be able to open in a week or so.”
Marty nodded and swallowed another gargantuan bite of ice cream. “Isn’t all that holistic stuff big in L.A.?”