by R. S. Lively
“Everything alright?” I ask, stepping up beside him.
“Not particularly.”
Glancing out over the water I see Carson Boon’s houseboat glide by. This isn’t unusual. The majority of Carson’s life is spent gliding back and forth across the bay. Sometimes when that gets too stressful for him, he’ll tie his rowboat to the ferry and go on vacation. For the most part, though, he just drifts along. A few seconds later, the boat comes back in the opposite direction and I notice Carson paddling frantically with what looks like several standard paddles taped together.
“Hey, Carson.”
“Nice to see you, Dean.”
He paddles past us, then pulls the contraption onto the deck and starts gliding by again.
“Ready?” the delivery driver calls out.
Carson assumes a position somewhere between a soccer goalie and a midwife waiting for the catch.
“Send it at me.”
The driver yanks a rope I hadn’t noticed in his hand, pulling a package in a suspiciously wet plastic bag into his grip. Taking a step back, he launches it toward Carson. The package falls into the water a few yards short of Carson, but he doesn’t move out of his pose as he drifts by. Muttering to himself, the delivery driver reels the package back in.
“How long have you been doing this?” I ask.
“Better part of an hour.”
“Alright. This time, I’m going to try to steer closer,” Carson says as he paddles back past us.
“Why don’t you just dock, Carson?”
“You know I don’t abide by the ways of the land-dwelling, Dean.”
The package shoots out toward him before Carson is in his position and he glares indignantly at the driver.
“What’s in the package?” I ask.
“No idea.” The package slides through the water and back up into the driver’s hands. “Hopefully nothing breakable or living.”
“Well, I would hope the plastic bag would preclude the living part.”
“OK. This time, I’m going to be ready.”
We look up to see Carson fighting his way back through the water and then gliding by again, tightly taping his super paddle to the handle of a large net. The blue mesh of the net flaps in the air as he paddles back in the other direction, then lets go to hold the net over the water in anticipation of the package’s next flight.
Splash.
“Seriously, Carson. You’ve been on land before. I know you have. I’ve seen it. You don’t even have to stay for long. You probably don’t even have to actually get off your boat. Just dock long enough for this nice man to bring you your package, and you can be back on your way.”
“Can’t,” Carson says.
His boat glides by, and I wait for him to paddle back. It’s a good thing the water of the bay moves so slowly. I can’t imagine paddling a houseboat against any resistance would work out as well for him.
“Why not?”
“My house broke.”
“Your house broke? Your boat?”
“Yep. Can’t dock ‘til I get that package and fix it.”
I sigh. Perfect.
“Alright. Let’s try this.”
Five minutes and uncomfortably wet clothes later, Carson is cradling the package to his chest like a baby, and the driver is walking away grumbling to himself. Even with the nice tip in his pocket, he seems to be reconsidering his life’s direction.
“Everything good now, Carson?”
The spindly old man nods, still swaying and cuddling his now-successful delivery.
“Thank you.”
I give an unseen wave and continue on toward Grant and Emma’s house. Emma’s eyes lock on the wet sections of my clothes as soon as I step inside. Shivering, I take off my coat and hang it from the hook beside the front door.
“What happened to you?” she asks.
“Carson.”
“Ah.” No other explanation needed. “Go on into the bedroom and put on some of Grant’s sweats. I’ll dry your clothes for you.”
I’ve just handed off my clothes to Emma and padded back into the living room in a gray sweatsuit and thick white socks that are taking the chill off my cold feet; when my phone rings from the coffee table where I left it. Grabbing it, I notice it’s Mr. Pfeiffer. I’m not sure what to expect and drop down onto the couch before answering.
“Hello?”
“Dean? I’m glad I got you.”
“Hi, Mr. Pfeiffer. How are you doing? How’s Anthony?”
“He’s good. Started eating again.”
“Glad to hear it. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said about my next adventure.”
“Did you have something in mind?”
“Yes. You inspired me so much with the exploration of the caves. Now that I’ve gone down into the Earth, I want to see above it.”
“We can plan a trip to the mountains.”
“That’s not exactly what I was thinking.”
“Hot air balloon?”
“Skydiving.”
I’m stunned. Something must have gotten to this man while he was down in the caves. To me, that sounds more like being above the earth and then rapidly hurtling back toward it. But if that’s what Mr. Pfeiffer wants, that’s what he’ll get. Not from me. But he’ll get it.
“That sounds great,” I tell him. “And I know exactly the person who can make that happen for you. I’m going to refer you to my brother Seth. This type of thing is right up his alley. I happen to know he skydives on a whim when he feels like his week hasn’t been exciting enough. If that works for you, I’ll give him a call and we’ll get everything set up for you.”
“That sounds amazing. I can’t wait!”
I hang up wondering if Anthony might have gotten into the liquor cabinet and led Mr. Pfeiffer astray. Emma looks at me questioningly as she hands me a cup of coffee.
“Everything alright?”
“Just a client. So, what’s on tap for this afternoon?”
“Grant got caught up with one of his clients, so it will be a little while longer until he gets home. Your mother decided she wasn’t going to bring Lily back home after I got back from work but assures me I will at some point see my child again.”
“Does she do that often?”
“Most of the time.”
I laugh.
“Well, she did raise five of us. Only having two grandchildren probably seems strange to her.”
She lifted an eyebrow at me.
“Like you said, there are five of you. That means three brothers still owe babies.”
“You can go ahead and put me at the end of the line for that one.”
“Why’s that?”
“Let’s just say the longest I’ve had a woman visiting my house on a regular basis is Tessie.”
“Who’s Tessie?”
“The woman who takes care of my plants for me because I kept killing them.”
“If you can’t keep the plants alive, why do you have them?”
“They didn’t ask to be born, Emma. Or to be left at my house by my obnoxious twin after they were bequeathed to him by his ridiculous client.”
“Savannah Mae?”
“How did you know?”
“Lucky guess. Well, I was thinking about going back up to the high school and checking on the progress of the sets for the spring musical. Want to come with me?”
I’m glad she detoured away from the marriage and babies track she was taking. Swinging by the old theater department where Emma and I had become friends sounds like a good way to spend the evening, so I head toward the bedroom. I’ve never strolled those halls in a sweatsuit and socks, and I’m not going to start now. My older brother has a slightly different physique than I do, but I manage to find some clothes that work, and we head out toward Emma’s waiting car. The temperature has dropped since the sun started going down, and we both know we’re not going to want to walk back to the house when we’re done at the school.
> Being back in the old theater gives me a burst of nostalgia. This is where I spent a good portion of my high school days, designing sets with Emma and then watching them become reality in the workshop behind the stage, even occasionally joining in on performing in some of the plays or workshops.
It was one of the ways I could set myself apart from my brothers. Most of the time we were bundled together, especially the oldest three: Grant, Preston, and me. The Laurence Boys. Sons of the wealthiest and most influential family in Magnolia Falls. We liked it that way, but at the same time, it was nice to have ways to differentiate ourselves from the others. This is where I did that. While Grant and Preston were taking full advantage of their popularity and working their way through the girls at school, I was here, putting my energy into the productions. I dated here and there, but I never met a girl who hung on for more than a few months, if they made it that long. They were either unbearably dull or immediately proved themselves to be baby social climbers, believing they could exchange their attention for my name and money.
I fall right back into the same habits and within ten minutes of arriving in the school, I’m sanding the edge of what will eventually be a house façade.
“Does he know he’s not sixteen anymore?”
Grant’s voice comes over the piece of plywood, and I stick my head through a rough window to glare at him.
“They needed help.”
“’They’ being the teenagers who are sitting out in the cafeteria stuffing their faces with chips because the old dude is doing their work for them?”
“I’m not old,” I argue, climbing up from the floor. “But, yes.”
My brother and I exchange a hug.
“How long are you around for?” he asks.
“A few days. I don’t have anything on tap until next week.”
“What’s next week?” he asks, almost sounding afraid of the answer.
“Don’t worry. It doesn’t have anything to do with Mr. Pfeiffer. That’s Seth’s thing now. Mine is just a dinner. It’s for a few people I’ve worked with before who want my help coordinating the bucket list for a friend of theirs. Nothing fancy. But I’ve hired a chef to handle the food to make sure it all goes smoothly.”
We leave the school and head back to his house, where I stuff myself back into Grant’s sweats and settle in for an evening of shepherd’s pie. I don’t even mind when Judy, Emma’s best friend, shows up with her husband in tow. It’s all a part of being home.
Chapter Four
Alice
I’m not feeling any less nostalgic and emotional than I was yesterday when I get back to Wonderland. Seeing it in the light of the early morning may actually make it worse. Standing in the middle of the rain-damp sidewalk, I lean back and stare up at the marquee.
The first thing I did after signing the papers to take ownership of the theater was replacing the huge round bulbs. Only a few of them had still been glowing when the previous owner showed me the dilapidated building, before I put in my offer. Making the entire sign light up again was, and still is, a visual reminder of the value of the theater in my heart, showing off to anyone who happens by the building that it’s still loved even if others have forgotten it.
The picture hanging in my office shows the marquee as I remember it from when I was little. My arms wrapped around my father’s waist, my eyes turned up to him with nothing but adoration, I’m standing beneath the marquee in an ill-fitting dress, a toy pearl necklace, and high heels a few shades off from a color that might match the rest of the look. I felt beautiful. He always made me feel beautiful.
This was all supposed to be for him. His death was brutal, coming on so fast it felt like I didn’t even get a chance to breathe. Everything I went through to buy the theater, and bring it back to what I remembered, was worth it when I imagine him looking down on me, so proud and happy.
Now I don’t even want to go into the office. Seeing the picture makes my heart hurt. Even when he was suffering, struggling as his body gave up on him, my father did everything he could to stay strong for my mother and me. He never wanted us to know how hard it was for him or that he was afraid, but I could see it in his eyes. No matter what he was dealing with, all that mattered to him was protecting us. Now it feels like not only am I failing, but I’m losing him all over again.
Lee pacing back and forth through the lobby is not what I’m used to seeing when I finally make it through the door. Usually I make it into the theater first, but on the days when he does get here first, I usually find him in the office. His frantic pacing makes me nervous, and part of me just wants to turn back around, go home, and hide under the covers until I can get a morning redo. Unfortunately, my life is not on a streaming service, and this episode is already in progress.
“What’s going on? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you in the office?”
“Because if I go in the office I have to be in my professional capacity, and I don’t want to do that right now.”
“Did a murder for hire show up on your to-do list today? I mean, I don’t remember putting that on there, but it could be a way to earn some extra money.”
“No, but it might not be my potentially murderous intentions you should be worried about.”
A chill goes down my spine.
“What do you mean?”
Lee reluctantly reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. One of his responsibilities at Wonderland is to monitor the email and deal with people. He’s fantastic at being the liaison of the theater and keeping things organized. He’s even responsible for the ghost-hunting Bar Mitzvah. But there is one thing he won’t do, and that means I already know what is waiting for me on the screen before he even turns the phone toward me.
My hand shakes as I take the phone, knowing what I’m going to see, but not wanting to deal with it. The email from the silent partner is even longer than the last one, and I can almost hear the vitriol coming off it.
“He’s getting really aggressive,” he frowns.
He sounds nervous. I’ve been trying to keep as much of the conflict with Q away from him as I can, so he doesn’t get too worried, but as things have heated up, I’ve had to let him in on the full extent of the situation. It puts him on edge, more for me than for the future of Wonderland, but I selfishly feel better knowing I’m not alone in this uphill battle. And, like my father, I feel compelled to stay strong for him.
“It’s all talk,” I say, even as the forceful, bordering on spite-filled words sink in. “He just wants me to give up and let him take over the entire theater. And that’s not going to happen.”
“What do you know about this Q guy?”
“Nothing, other than that he makes a business out of investing in other ones, and that he made it possible for me to buy the theater. That’s kind of the point of a silent partner. He stays in the background. That was the only reason I agreed to go along with having an investor. You know how I feel about having someone else be all wrapped up in this. I wanted to do it on my own, but it became clear pretty quickly I wasn’t going to be able to afford it without some sort of help.”
“I’m still sorry my calendar didn’t pull through the way I’d hoped.”
“It’s alright. Famous Men of the Theater done as artistic nudes was a great idea. Maybe it will catch on again during the five-year anniversary reprint. That just proves how hard it is to fund something like this independently. So, I had to do what I had to do. Q is what I would expect out of a silent partner. He gets his portion of the proceeds and, when I can, his payments toward buying him out. In exchange, he stays… silent. The whole point is to not get involved, not interact, not make things too personal because then it might start to feel less like a silent partnership and more like a really loud one.”
“I don’t know if that’s always how it works, Alice. This man owns part of your theater. The theater you have carried around in your heart practically your entire life. Don’t you think you should know something about him? Like… what does Q even mean?�
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“I’m assuming it stands for his name.”
“But what? Q—uincy? Q—uinton? Q—uirrel?”
“Quirrel?”
“Maybe it’s his middle name. His first name could be Steven.”
“S. Quirrel?”
“Could be.”
“I sincerely doubt that’s his name, but the point is he wants to stay anonymous. It keeps the relationship on a professional level.”
“Honestly, I think the professional ship sailed when this dude started throwing out phrases like ‘It’s time for you to accept your lack of financial standing and give up on this pathetic dream, bitch’.”
I glance back at the phone.
“He didn’t call me a bitch.”
“It was implied. That is a very judgmental period at the end of that sentence.”
Closing the email, I sigh and shove the phone back at Lee, so he’ll put it away in his pocket and I won’t have to look at it anymore.
“I don’t know what to do next. Every email gets pushier. He wants me to just give up, but I’m not going to do that. I don’t know what’s next, though. There is a buyout clause in the contract, and if I’m not able to pony up soon, there isn’t going to be anything left to protect Wonderland from him coming and scooping it out from under me.”
“Well, I was going to wait to tell you this, because I wanted it to be a surprise, but there might be a little bright spot. It’s not going to solve everything, but it could be a start.”
“At this point, I’m open to any suggestions. What is it?”
Lee’s grin brightens up his entire face as he spreads his arms out to his sides, stretching his long, thin fingers as far as they’ll go, like he’s trying to make enough surface area of his body to accommodate his excitement.