To Run With the Swift

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Yes, I know. That’s what it does when it is about to work its magic.”

  Her eyes doubled in size, and she held it away from her. “Really?”

  I laughed. “Don’t be silly. It’s warm because I’ve had my purse against my body.” The audience laughed, and they weren’t laughing at me. They were laughing at her. I saw she knew that, and she didn’t like it.

  “And this is the very pouch of which we have been speaking?”

  “It is. Because it is a family heirloom, I always carry it with me. It was part of my instructions when my grandfather gave it to me.”

  She held it out toward the nearest camera. “Zoom in here. If you look closely, you can see the embroidered letters where it says Le Gardien.” One of the cameras moved in.

  I half closed my eyes, willing Le Gardien to help me get this situation back under control. As I did so, a lock of her hair, which was brushed back from her forehead, came free and fell down over one eye. It made her look ridiculous. Absently, she reached up and pushed it back. It stayed for only a second, then dropped again, but this time down the side of her face where she didn’t see it. One of her assistants, off camera, started motioning to her, making sweeping motions with her hand, trying to get her attention.

  I heard a few chuckles from the audience, but Cierra was totally engrossed in her examination of the pouch. Finally she looked up. “So, you admit that this is a magic pouch?”

  “Of course!” I crowed. “Look in the inside pocket and you’ll find a magic wand.”

  That really startled her, and for a moment she hesitated. Then she unbuttoned the flap and opened it up. She started to reach inside, and then it hit her. She jerked her hand back. “You’re mocking me now?” she snapped.

  “No,” I fired right back. “I’m only mocking the idea that this is a magic pouch. Do you see a magic wand inside? Is it stuffed with packets of ground toadstool, or dried bat wing, or lizards’ gizzards?” I laughed merrily. “I ask you, Cierra. Do I look like an enchantress to you? Some kind of teenaged witch? Come on. That’s Harry Potter stuff. Surely you don’t believe ...” I shrugged, my eyes widening innocently. “Do you?”

  Bless Le Gardien. The thoughts were marching in one right after another. I even knew exactly what tone of inflection to use in my voice.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the assistant talking to the producer. He nodded, and the monitors changed to a closeup of me. The assistant rushed in and quickly fixed Cierra’s hair, then darted back again.

  By now, Cierra was starting to smolder. This was not going quite as she had planned. “You seem to view all of this as a joke, Danni. Are you saying that this pouch played no part in the events that led to the capture and arrest of El Cobra and his gang?”

  “No,” I said easily. “I’m not saying that at all. This pouch was very important in what happened. So let me explain. Angelique Chevalier was my fourth great-grandmother. She was supposed to receive this pouch for her thirteenth birthday. She was to become what is known as a keeper of the pouch. But on that day both of her parents were killed because the local villagers thought she was a witch. She had to flee to France to save her own life, even though she was still a young girl.

  “My great-grandmother, whose name was Monique LaRoche, was another keeper of the pouch. She was a young mother when her husband was arrested and taken to Paris by the Gestapo in World War II. Demonstrating tremendous personal courage, she went into war-ravaged Paris on her own to try to save him. He was on his way to execution when the United States Army liberated Paris and freed him. Monique was there when that happened.”

  Now I looked Cierra squarely in the eye. “My middle name is Monique. My mother’s name is Angelique. We were named for those brave and courageous women.”

  “So are you the current keeper?” she broke in.

  “Yes, I am. I received Le Gardien from my grandfather on my thirteenth birthday. And when he gave it to me, he charged me to remember several important things.”

  “Ah, yes,” she said. “The Four Remembers. Tell us about those.”

  “They are quite simple, actually. First, ‘Remember that there is purpose to your life.’ Second, ‘Remember that you are unique.’”

  “Well, you certainly are that, Danni.”

  I went right on. “Third, ‘Remember that you are free to choose who you are and what you become.’ And finally, ‘Remember that you are not alone.’” My head came up, and my voice rang out. “That is the ‘magic’ the pouch holds for me, Cierra. When El Cobra was threatening to kill my family and ruin us financially, I thought of Angelique and Monique. Those two women exhibited great courage in very dangerous circumstances. And that inspired me to try to do the same.”

  To my surprise, my voice was suddenly husky. “There were times when I was frightened to the point of paralysis. But I would cling to the pouch and remember what my ancestors had done. I would remember that I too had unique gifts, that I could choose to act with courage or with fear, that I too had a purpose to fulfill, and that I was not alone.” I paused to catch my breath. “So, you ask, is the pouch magic? Is it enchanted? Yes, in its own way.” I reached out and took the pouch back from her. “And I treasure it more than you can know.”

  The audience once again erupted. I saw several women get to their feet, applauding wildly. Others quickly joined them, and soon everyone was on their feet. Cierra saw it too and had no choice but to acknowledge it. She began clapping as well. “Bravo, Danni. Bravo.”

  Rick leaned over and touched my arm. “Way to go,” he whispered.

  “Thanks.” To be honest, I was soaring. I was amazed at what I had said. And I was touched by it, too—which was a good indicator that those words had not come from me. But for the moment, I was happy to take the credit. I had turned back the Cierra tide and I guessed there wouldn’t be any more questions about the pouch.

  I looked at her and smiled. She was watching me, her eyes hooded. We sat quietly for several moments until the applause died and people sat down again. Then she smiled pleasantly. “Let’s leave the question of the pouch for a moment. It’s time for another break, but when we come back, we’ll still have about fifteen minutes. Can we talk some more about how the three of you worked together to pull all of this off?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  Rick only grunted.

  “Always happy to be of help, Cierra,” Cody sang out, making her laugh again.

  During the break Mom, Dad, and Grandpère came up and joined us. I wanted to ask Grandpère what he thought of how I had handled it, but he pulled me aside and started talking quietly before I could say anything. “She knows, Danni. She knows it all.”

  “But how? So you think those really are the notes from El Cobra?”

  “Perhaps, but it’s more than that. How does she know details like it being the Nanny Pouch? El Cobra never knew that.”

  That set me back. Good question. “Maybe they sent a team to Hanksville looking for background information on us. Any of my friends could have told them.”

  “Only some details. She has them all. It’s almost like ...” He shook his head.

  “Like what?”

  “Like they had your journal,” he said slowly.

  “But that’s not possible. It’s in a safety deposit box.”

  “I don’t know. I just know that there is something more going on here than meets the eye.”

  Just then, Cierra came back into the room and started toward us. Grandpère turned to Dad. “Stall her for a minute, will you?” he whispered. Dad nodded and headed off to intercept her. Grandpère lowered his voice, moving closer to me. “Watch yourself. She’s not done with you yet.”

  “I can handle it,” I said. “The pouch is helping me, and—”

  He grabbed my arm. “Listen to me, Danni. If she starts in on the pouch again, don’t play games with her. Here is what I want
you to say.”

  I listened with growing concern and widening eyes as he spoke urgently in a low voice. I was barely able to nod and tell him I understood before Cierra broke free from Dad and came over to join us.

  “Okay, folks. We’ve got about ninety seconds.” She laid a hand on Cody’s shoulder. “Thanks, Cody. You were delightful, but I think for this last segment, we’re going to focus on just Danni and Rick. You can sit with your parents out in the audience.”

  As she moved off, ignoring the crestfallen look on his face, I grabbed Dad’s arm. “Where’s Clay?”

  “He got a phone call. I think from Joel. From the look on his face, something’s come up. He didn’t look happy as he left.”

  “Come on, folks,” the producer called. “We’re down to about one minute.”

  “All right, Rick. I’d like to get a little more of your perspective on all this if we can.”

  “Whatever,” he said, seemingly bored. But I knew better than that. Down deep he was seething inside. Most of that was directed at Cierra, but I couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was aimed at me.

  “Early the next morning, after Danni and Cody escaped from El Cobra’s gang, they came to your house.”

  “That’s right.”

  “When you heard their story, you and your father realized very quickly that they had just put your family in danger.” When he nodded, she went on. “How did you and your father feel about that?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “You have two little sisters, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said your father immediately knew that it wasn’t safe for them and decided to take them away. How did that make you feel?”

  He leaned back, considering that. Then finally he leaned forward again. “I don’t know how it works in New York,” he said softly, “but where we come from, when friends are in trouble, you don’t stop to ask if it’s a convenient time for you.”

  A murmur of approval rippled through the audience.

  “My father immediately sprang into action to help Danni and Cody,” Rick continued. “Getting my sisters to safety was only part of that. He told me to stay with Cody and Danni and do whatever I could.”

  “Very commendable,” she said. “And that turned out to be a lot. You really were Danni’s Peeta, weren’t you.”

  He shook his head. “Peeta Melark is fiction. Katniss Everdeen is fiction. I think the whole Hunger Games analogy is a stretch. I’m surprised you are so taken with it.”

  Ouch! One zinger straight to the forehead. Way to go, Rick.

  “Well spoken,” she acknowledged. To my surprise, she didn’t seem too irritated by his answer. She actually seemed pleased with how this was going. She smiled sweetly. “So, you and Danni have been friends since you were in fourth grade?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you consider yourselves as BFFs? Best Friends Forever?”

  “I think that’s a dumb way to put it, but yes. We’re best friends.”

  She was watching him closely now, and I felt the prickles start along the back of my neck.

  “Are you lovers, Rick?”

  There were audible gasps from all over. I happened to be watching the producer, and I saw him rock back. Then I looked at Mom. She was horrified. Dad was furious. Grandpère just watched her steadily, his eyes unreadable. My face felt like it was on fire. Then I glanced at the monitor and saw that it was my face that filled the frame.

  But almost instantly, the cameras cut back to Rick. He was staring at Cierra with open hostility. “I beg your pardon?” he finally managed.

  “It’s a simple question,” she oozed. “Are you and Danni more than best friends?”

  His head came up a fraction. “Do you really think that is any of your business?”

  “I think it is a question millions of Americans are asking right now, Rick.”

  “It’s none of their business either.”

  “So can we take that as a yes?”

  Eyes dark as thunderclouds, Rick stared at her for several very long seconds. “You are something else, lady,” he said. Then he calmly stood up, ripped the microphone off his shirt, and turned to me. “You coming, Danni?”

  I just gaped at him.

  “Fine. I’ll see you outside.” And he stalked off the set.

  The sounds were coming at us from every side. Some were clapping. Others booed, and for a flickering moment I wondered if they were booing Cierra or Rick. I was too shocked to do anything but stare at his back as he disappeared.

  “Well, well,” Cierra, clearly shocked right down to her little buttons, said after a moment. “You should have warned me that your Ricardo was so temperamental. The Latin temperament, I guess.”

  I barely heard her. I was thinking of all the people back in Hanksville who were watching this—neighbors, friends. Lisa Cole! I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull the ground in after me.

  Cierra broke into my thoughts. “You don’t have to answer that question, Danni, but if you don’t ...” A sleepy smile. “Well, most people will assume that is your answer.”

  “It’s not,” I cried. “We are not ...” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. “We’re best friends. That’s all. We—we’ve only kissed one time.”

  Shocked at hearing those last words, I stared down at the pouch in my lap. Why had I said that? I glanced up and saw a pleased smile stealing across her face.

  “Ah, yes. The kiss. I believe it took place in Leprechaun Canyon, did it not? While those two men—the ones you called Doc and Gordo—were coming after you.” She scoffed openly. “And you really expect us to believe that after being friends for so long, that was your first kiss?”

  “It’s true,” I whispered.

  Cierra was shaking her head. “Come on, Danni. We’ve got school districts in Boston handing out condoms in junior high school and you’re claiming that you weren’t even kissed until just a few months ago? I’m sorry, but I find that very hard to believe.”

  My head jerked up as my Irish temper kicked in. “Well, Cierra, perhaps that is because we tend to judge others by ourselves.”

  The audience’s reaction to that was pure delight. Cierra’s face was instantly even a brighter shade of red than mine.

  “Excuse me for being a little skeptical here, Miss McAllister, but it’s not just me who’s wondering if you may not be playing a little loose with the truth here. So let me follow up on that.” She glanced off camera. “Since Rick is not here to confirm that, please tell us more about it. Where exactly did it take place?”

  “Well, it was in a very narrow spot in the slot canyon and we could hear Doc coming. We were both pretty scared.” I was suddenly back in that narrow space. I could almost smell the dust again.

  “Was it a passionate kiss?” Cierra asked, breaking in, jarring me back to reality.

  I didn’t answer her. I wasn’t about to share that moment with twenty gazillion viewers across America.

  “Was it a French kiss?” she asked, this time very gently.

  “No!” I burst out. “It was nothing like that. It was ...” I sighed, bringing the memories back. “We were just sitting there. Waiting. And suddenly I realized that Rick’s shape was looming closer to me. I ...” I half closed my eyes. “It was totally unexpected. But he leaned in and kissed me on the forehead.”

  “On the forehead?” she exclaimed incredulously.

  “Yes,” I murmured.

  “And what did you do?”

  “I ...” I looked up at her. “I tipped my head back. Then I told him that he missed.”

  “And?”

  I couldn’t meet her gaze any longer. And I didn’t want the camera to show my face. So I dropped my head and kept it down when I answered. “He didn’t miss the second time.”

  There was absolute silence in t
he studio. I couldn’t bring myself to look up. Then finally, Cierra spoke. Her voice was hushed and filled with respect. “I owe you an apology, Danni. I have misjudged you, and I’m sorry for that. You are a remarkable and very sweet young woman.” Then she spoke to the cameras. “Tom Clancy was right. The truth is sometimes more unbelievable than fiction.”

  I glanced up at the clock behind the producer. It was approaching seven minutes to the hour, which meant that our time was nearly up. I turned and looked to the side where Rick had disappeared. Where was he? Was he still in the studio? Had he watched her goad me into sharing the details of our kiss? Or was he on his way back to the hotel? Whatever it was, and wherever he was, I knew it was going to take some doing to repair what had just happened. And that made me angry. Not at him. At Cierra.

  I turned back to our host. “May I ask you a question, Cierra?

  She was looking at the notepad, and my question startled her. Before she could answer, someone—a man—called out from the audience. “Yes. Let her. I think it’s her turn.”

  Another smattering of applause. She didn’t like it, but Cierra was smart enough to know that she needed to redeem herself somewhat with her audience. “Of course.” She gave me a thin smile. “Go ahead.”

  “This packet that FedEx delivered to your studios. You say that it was from El Cobra’s attorney?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, “that is what the cover letter said.”

  “And do you have any confirming evidence that this is true?”

  “We’re checking on that now. It arrived only a couple of hours before taping. Why?”

  “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that an attorney would reveal details from his client when those details are protected by attorney/client privilege?”

  “Not at all,” she retorted. “If El Cobra gave his permission to share them, it’s not a problem.”

  “Do you think he would do that when some of these details actually provide evidence of his guilt?”