Her Protector

by R. S. Lively

  Dean and I get out of the car for the crossing and I notice him take in a deep breath of the air and let it out with a smile. He catches me watching him and grins wider.

  "What?" he asks.

  "That breath. It's the same kind of breath I take when I get out of the city and go visit my mother. It's away from the city. Away from the noise and the people and the smells. The funny thing is, I love all those things. I love the rush and the grit and the adrenaline. It feels like freedom. But when I leave it, I get to remember my childhood. Instead of the smell of cars and factories, it's grass and apple blossoms. It's nice."

  "Do you get to see her often?"

  "No. She never really recovered from losing both my brother and my father. Her health hasn't been great in a long time. I think there's a part of her that still feels guilty about what happened. She was the one who first met the people who got her and my father into the organization. It's not her fault, of course. That's what people like that do. They focus in on people who are trusting and want something more. I think they can see the hunger in their eyes. My father once told me that before they joined the organization, they were a young couple who was just really getting started on life, and my mother had dreams of something bigger and more impressive than the quiet life she had been given. The organization convinced her they could provide that for her, and my father followed along at first because he loved her, and then because they manipulated him, too." I realize I'm babbling and feel the heat burning on my cheeks. "I'm sorry."

  Dean shakes his head.

  "Don't say you're sorry. I like learning more about you."

  He has already explained the laws about cars in Magnolia Falls, so I'm not surprised when the woman who had been standing at the railing during the crossing drives her car into a small parking lot to the side and walks away from it. She joins an old woman in a bright green jogging suit who is performing stretches just beyond the dock. They hug with a fervor that says this is a long-awaited visit, and head off together, the younger woman strolling casually as the elder jogs enthusiastically.

  "That's Miss Mirna," Dean explains when he sees me watching the older woman. "She's been old since my father was a teenager. Nobody is positive, but there's a prevailing theory that the potatoes grown in the very back corner of her property are what keep her going."

  "Why's that?"

  "Miss Mirna's family came over from Ireland generations ago and settled in Magnolia Falls. Some say they brought potatoes with them from their family land and planted them in the back of the plot they got here, not wanting to mix them up with the ones of a different variety they bought here. Nobody knows why, exactly. Maybe they wanted to see which would grow better. Maybe they just wanted to keep the ones from Ireland just for themselves. According to my father, Mirna's mother used to say they'd been kissed by a leprechaun. Everybody figured she'd been kissing the whiskey. Anyway, as the story goes, they did exactly as they planned, and grew potatoes to sell to the other people in the village. But the family never let them near the heritage crop. Somewhere along the line, as tends to happen in nature, the plants at the back of the crop field and the ones in the heritage field found each other during pollination and created a hybrid. Those are the ones Miss Mirna eats every day. The crop field still churns out potatoes for the village. You'll probably eat some of them at the festival. But only she gets to the hybrids. One time I asked her why those potatoes were so special."

  "What did she tell you?"

  "When you take a piece of where you came from and a piece of where you are going and put them together, it's magic."

  The car glides by Miss Mirna and she glances through the window at me, and winks.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dean

  “That is a very fetching look on you, Judy,” I say as Emma's best friend approaches Alice and me.

  The green glitter, on the shamrocks, on her headband, sparkles in the sun as they bounce around on their springs. Her fluttery fake eyelashes are a different shade, this one a touch more neon, but are a nice complement to the full body green jumpsuit she's chosen for her festival attire. I notice her earrings look distinctly like marshmallows from a box of Lucky Charms, and I have a feeling there's a glue gun and make-your-own jewelry kit at her house that's responsible for several unsatisfying bowls of marshmallow-less cereal for her husband.

  "Thank you, Dean. You are looking... un-festive this morning.”

  I jangle the plastic bead necklace Lily gave me last night, indicating the green plastic shamrock hanging from it lights up with an inexplicably red LED.

  "I've got the spirit."

  "Barely, but I'll let it pass. Look at this one! She is all kinds of into the St. Patrick's Day theme."

  I realize she's pointing to Alice, who stares back at her with the same somewhat shocked expression that usually occurs when someone's first meeting with Judy corresponds with a festival or holiday of some kind. Grant still regales anyone who will listen with the stories of Homecoming Spirit Week the year he and Emma reconnected.

  "I was born this way," Alice says, gesturing at her hair. "It's always been like this and," she swirls her hand around her face to indicate her skin, "pale. All the time."

  "Well, it's working for you, girl."

  "Judy, this is Alice."

  "Oh! This is Alice. Emma told me you were bringing someone home." She leans toward me conspiratorially, the shamrocks dancing around on their springs. "She's cute."

  I lean in closer.

  "I think so, too."

  Alice joins the lean.

  "She's also right here."

  Judy grins.

  "I like her. She's feisty. Anyway, have you seen Emma? I haven't been able to find her yet."

  "No, not this morning. I'll let her know you're looking for her if I run into her, though."

  "Thanks. Enjoy the festival!"

  She trills something as she waves and walks away.

  "Did she just say ‘Erin's gold bra’?" Alice asks.

  "Probably."

  We walk further onto the marina, and I'm relieved to see the water of the bay is its normal color and has no sign of any thickening agents of any kind. The only color out on the water is Carson's boat, which is magnificently festooned in green with ropes tied into intricate Celtic knots hanging from the sides. He seems to have gathered recyclables, plastic, beach toys, and emergency supplies in all colors and crafted an upcycled rainbow that arcs over the deck and into a cooler of beer on the far end of the boat.

  "That is a very environmentally-friendly display you have going there, Carson," I shout from the railing.

  He waves, nearly knocking his towering green top hat off balance.

  "It seems appropriate thematically. You know…" he moves his hand in a slow arc over his head to follow the shape of the rainbow, "green."

  "I like it." I take Alice's hand and we continue deeper into the festival. "You know, people say all the time, out on the bay, breathing in all that saltwater has pickled Carson's brain, but I think they don't give him enough credit."

  A familiar smell touches my nose, and I pick up my pace, heading to the table set up across the street. A tall man with tiny braids hanging to his shoulders stands behind it, carefully arranging a platter with a pair of large kitchen tweezers.

  "I swear, her fucking food gets smaller every day. Dropping a Tic-Tac would seem overwhelming after these things," he mutters to himself as we approach the table.

  "Good morning, Alex," I say. "I like the new hair."

  He stands up and swings the braids back and forth.

  "Thanks. Trying something different. Judy's Gram did them. She's got agile little fingers for someone that old."

  "I was drawn here by the smell of corned beef and cabbage," I declare.

  He picks up one of the tiny creations from the platter with his tweezers.

  "Victoria is under the impression that is what this is," he says.

  “Alex and Victoria are in a never-ending battle of the wil
ls over her food,” I explain to Alice.

  "This is not food," Alex insists. "This is what food becomes in a bleak far-future world where farms have become obsolete and only small underground fetish clubs remember subsisting on anything other than capsules full of powdered nutritional goo."

  "And yet, here you are, still running the table because you love Victoria."

  "It's true." He sighs heavily. "I'm just holding out hope if the itty-bitty food trend continues, one of these days everything will become so tiny it just disappears, and then people will protest, and we can go back to big-ass burgers on glazed doughnuts and pizza slices the size of your face."

  "I don't think Victoria will ever make a pizza slice the size of her face."

  "I don't know. Things happened when she was pregnant with Nick. Scary things. We don't talk about some of them."

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Preston and Victoria walking up to us. We didn't have the chance to see them last night, so it's time for another round of introductions. Victoria scurries behind the table and offers Alex a frozen coffee topped with several inches of whipped cream. I notice the growing softness of her belly and it makes me smile.

  "Thank you," he says. He takes a sip and makes an appreciative moaning sound through the tuft of cream on his lips and the tip of his nose. "Frozen Leprechaun."

  "What is a Frozen Leprechaun?" Alice asks.

  "It's a drink Alex and I made up when we were in culinary school together," Victoria explains. She extends her hand. "Hi. I'm Victoria, Preston's wife."

  "Hi," Alice says, shaking her hand. "Alice.”

  “I’m Dean’s older brother, Preston,” Preston says with a smirk, as he steps forward and shakes her hand as well.

  “Only by a few minutes!” I protest, making everyone laugh.

  Alice turns back to Victoria. “What makes it a Frozen Leprechaun?"

  "The first time I made it, we were working on a project and had been up all night. Our coffee had gotten cold and so I threw it in a blender with some cream and a baggie of Thin Mints I found shoved in the back of the freezer."

  "It's my favorite," Alex says.

  "And not tiny," Alice points out.

  Victoria rolls her eyes toward Alex.

  "Are you complaining about the size of my food again?"

  "I'm starting a revolution, Victoria. Portions to the people!"

  He shoots his hand and his coffee up in the air.

  Alice and I laugh, and I take her hand.

  "We're going to go explore." I pop the canape in my mouth. "This is delicious, by the way."

  "Thanks. I have a cheesecake in the refrigerator at the shop with your name on it."

  Alice's hand tightens on mine, and I muffle another laugh.

  "Be sure to go down to the green. There are a bunch of artisans down there," Preston says.

  "Some of the stuff they have is amazing," Victoria adds.

  "We'll check it out."

  As much as I enjoy seeing my brothers and the rest of the family, it's nice to just walk along the street with Alice. There's nothing rushed about the pace here. The time we've spent together in New York has been dictated by the speed there, even when we didn't intend it to be. Virtually everything in the city is urgent and if you don't keep up, it passes you by. In Magnolia Falls, we get to slow down and take in the longer moments, the slower breaths, and the completely different atmosphere.

  "Tell me about growing up here," Alice says as we walk past a bouncy castle someone has written 'Blarney' across.

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Everything."

  "Narrowed that down nicely." I look around to find inspiration for where to start. I catch it right before it slides into the bouncy castle. "See that green-painted guy who just stormed the bouncy castle? That's my brother Seth. He's the youngest, and he definitely got more than his fair share of crazy. I bet if he rolls over... yep, there she is. He and Lily get along really well. She's only a toddler, but I think he has her in training to take over the world one day. He is all energy and thrills. If it exists in the world and isn't a raw beet, he's tried it."

  "Raw beets?"

  "Won't touch them. He snuck into a party Grant was having when he was about ten and Grant was a teenager. All of Grant's friends were sitting around in the living room watching a horror movie and someone plunged a shovel into the ground and pulled up a chunk of a person. One of the guys said it looked like a raw beet and probably tasted like it because beets smell like dirt. That stuck with Seth. Other than that, though, he's all over it."

  "Sounds to me like something's missing in his life and he keeps looking for it."

  "You met Grant last night. He's the oldest, and the leader if you listen to him. He's the one who started the company and we all followed suit. That doesn't make him the most serious one. That would be Preston. Victoria has done a lot to soften him up, but he's still the lover of all thing’s spreadsheet. Here's a secret about him, though. If you ever get a chance, try to get him to take off his shoes on a Sunday morning."

  "Why?"

  "Preston only wears one type of socks. He says it streamlines things and makes it so he doesn't have to think about which pair to wear on any given morning. Something about freeing up his mind for more important decisions. But the thing is, he can't stand to start the week with those socks dirty. I don't know why. I don't know what it is or where it came from, but if Monday comes and there is a pair of his regular socks dirty, the week has already gone to hell. He can be a fussy, fussy dude."

  "So, what is it about Sunday mornings?"

  "He has always done his laundry on Saturdays. I'm assuming because his life is just full of excitement. From things I have had the misfortune of over-hearing during conversations between Emma, Victoria, and Judy, he still spends his Saturday evenings in the laundry room, but Victoria is the one who's putting the loads in the gentle cycle. Preston has other reasons for enjoying the washing machine now. During all that, every pair of his regular socks gets washed. The next morning, he takes a pair of novelty socks from the collection the rest of us have given him over the years and wears it throughout Sunday. That's the first thing in the hamper every week."

  Alice giggles.

  "Unique sock habits wasn't what I was expecting. But I appreciate the tip about the laundry room. I'm going to have to remember that."

  "I'll gladly remind you." We get to the green and I look around. "And if I know my brother Asher, this is where he's going to be. He's the quiet one, always shy when we were younger. Now he lives out in the middle of nowhere on a massive ranch that's attached to an animal sanctuary. He has a basic staff and clients go out there for cowboy fantasies and farmer bucket lists, but for the most part, it's just him and his animals, exactly the way he wants it."

  "Farmer bucket lists?"

  "People want some strange things, Alice. I don't pretend to understand all of them."

  She laughs. I'm never going to get enough of that laugh. It fills me up like the smell of the water off the bay.

  "So, that's your brothers in a nutshell."

  "Yep. We were the Laurence Boys. Still are. No one around here cares about referring to five grown men as boys. All of us would probably hate it if they did. It would feel like we were being edged out of Magnolia Falls. It wasn't easy for any of us to leave here, but we had to find our own way. We keep trickling back. Grant's here full time again with Emma and Lily. Preston still has his office and an apartment in California, but now that Victoria is pregnant with their second baby, he has cut down on his traveling. When he does go back there, she and Nick usually go with him."

  "And you?" Alice asks. "Can you ever see yourself moving back here?"

  Every time I look at you.

  "I might, someday."

  Our eyes hold for a few seconds before Alice pulls hers away.

  "What's going on over there?" she asks.

  I follow her gaze and see a crowd of people in one corner of the green.

  "Let's go
find out."

  As we approach the crowd, we notice it's actually pairs of people standing facing each other. At first it looks like they are shaking hands, then I realize they are holding hands, their arms held in front of them.

  "It looks like they're playing some sort of game," Alice says.

  "Are you joining us?" a woman says as she steps between two other pairings.

  I don't recognize her. Her thick hair is black and glossy like oil down to her thighs and embellished with a delicate headpiece of flowers and golden wire. There's a hint of an accent in her voice, and a smoothness about her movements that makes her seem almost musical in her presence.

  "You are together, yes?"

  I look at Alice and then back at the woman.

  "Yes."

  "Then join us."

  She turns us to face each other and positions our hands so Alice's is rested over mine. She presses our fingers down so we hold each other's wrists. A few moments later, a man in a linen shirt and moss green pants walks up and wraps braided ribbons around our hands and wrists, binding them to each other. When he moves his hands away, I can see tiny metal charms in the shape of Celtic knots tucked among the woven layers of the ribbon. He speaks in a low, gravelly tone, and the words that tumble out are unfamiliar. It takes a few seconds before I realize he's speaking a different language. When he pauses, the woman speaks quietly in English, repeating what he has said.

  "These are the hands that will love each other."

  He speaks.

  "These are the hands that will comfort and protect."

  He speaks again, but she follows along with him until their voices combine into a beautifully lyrical sound.