I sat at my laptop, headphones in, trying to figure out how to salvage a critical scene I’d been struggling to nail.
Rane ran a finger across Lira’s cheek, but tears continued to fall unabated. Only one of them could return through the portal, and he knew it must be her. To live without her would be unthinkable, but to die meant salvation for others.
“Go and I will follow.” His voice cracked under the strain of so much emotion.
Lira dropped to her knees. “I will not leave you.”
The portal wavered and snapped even smaller. Soon there would be no chance for either of them.
“You must.” He knelt in front of her and lifted her chin. “I must know you’re safe. Go now.”
She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face into his chest, anchoring herself to his body. Somehow in that instant, he found the inner strength to gather her up and carry her toward the portal—
God, this really was terrible.
Had it always been so bad? Or was I hypercritical, reading through Silver Fox’s eyes? I couldn’t tell anymore.
As if I’d summoned it, my phone announced I had mail, and I took a break to check who it was from, intrigued upon seeing a reply from Silver Fox. He’d changed the subject heading to read: Epiphanies. My curiosity spiked.
Claire,
I appreciate your last email. I think we both owe each other an apology. I probably shouldn’t have engaged, but wow, you came at me with both barrels. Now you’ve left me curious to find out what kind of epiphany I might have inspired with my admittedly boorish suggestions.
Since you’ve made a confession, I’ll throw in one of my own.
I was in a pretty bad place emotionally while reading your book. It was a great distraction from my morose mood, but my reaction to the romantic story arc may have been colored by my state of mind. You see, there’s this girl . . . and I can’t seem to get her out of my head, but she’s a bit of a challenge.
I can give you one more olive branch and confess that one of your scenes has stuck with me. I keep visualizing it with clarity, as if I’d seen it on the screen. It was the moment when Dane places petals on Lela while she’s sleeping. I found it both tender and powerful how he sacrifices his own magic without her awareness. You do a fantastic job there of showing how potent his love is, that he’d give everything up to infuse her with that illicit power, for nothing in return, knowing she might internalize it and then turn against him, as it would be in her nature.
Wow. My purple prose is showing....
SF
Had it been only two weeks since he’d made me cry? Reading his much nicer words about my characters soothed my wounded pride, even if he still got their names wrong. I felt a bit vindicated and less terrified my book would meet with indifference or ridicule. He’d reminded me I was proud of what I’d written. That confidence started my pistons firing again. For the first time since I’d read his review, I didn’t dread writing.
His confession had arrived at the perfect time, and I poured out pages, ignoring the near constant criticism in the back of my mind. As I stared up in the air, trying to conjure the perfect word to describe the coy expression on Rane’s face, the entire store lit up like a bomb flash. At about that exact moment, an incredible rumble of thunder exploded and shook the walls. I might have enjoyed the dramatic storm, especially as it fed me energy to keep writing, but something in the back room fizzled, and my electricity cut out entirely.
The only thing I knew how to do was check the breakers, so I grabbed a flashlight from under the front counter and went back to trip the circuit box in the back room. When I flipped the switches, the power remained out.
“Hello?” Max called from the front of the store, which meant it was time to open up, and I didn’t have power. Perfect.
I abandoned my futile efforts and went to help Max carry in my order. He looked around and asked, “How long has your power been out?”
“Not long. The storm must have knocked it out.”
He frowned. “When I pulled up, yours was the only store that looked dark. Are you sure you paid your electricity bill?”
Considering I’d just discovered an overdue Internet bill, it was a fair question. But I wasn’t in the mood to have Max dad me through this problem.
“I’m going to call the power company,” I said, following Max into the back room where he repeated my already failed attempt to flip the breakers.
He opened the back door and plunged into the rain. I worried he might try something stupid, like messing with the main shut off outside, picturing him returning looking like the kids from Jurassic Park after they’d been electrocuted, his hair frazzled and his face covered in char. I didn’t notice my fists were clenched until he came back in.
“Anything?”
He shook his head and hit the main breaker one more time, and then miracle of miracles, the silence was broken by the rumbling of the air conditioner coming to life. The lights up front flickered back on, but I’d never turned on the lights in the back room, and we stood in relative darkness.
“Sometimes,” he said, “you just have to keep trying.” He raised an eyebrow, imbuing his banal observation with hidden meaning, as if to emphasize where I’d failed. As if to underscore every failure in my life.
It grated to be rescued by Max in my hour of need. I knew my stubbornness was born more from a kind of near-sibling rivalry than true animosity, due to minor irritations that had built up over time. From him trying to correct my diving form, despite the fact that he himself had hit his head on the diving board earlier that summer, to him giving me the unsolicited caution against trying to take a senior level AP English class my junior year. If I hadn’t ignored him, I never would have started dating Dylan.
He might have meant well, but I’d never asked him to correct me or save me or tell me hard truths. If I were Rapunzel and Max showed up at the foot of my castle, I’d cut off my own hair to prove I could take care of myself, thank you very much.
It’s why I’d never shown Max my recent writing. I could only imagine how many bad habits he’d feel compelled to break. It’s also why I’d disregarded the advice he gave me last Thanksgiving.
A month before my wedding.
I’d asked Peter to spend the holiday with my mom and me, but he’d said he needed to get away from Orion for a few days. He didn’t even go visit his own parents. His non-American work buddies had decided to take the time off to go skiing in Vail, and Peter went with them. He didn’t invite me along, claiming he knew I’d want to do the whole turkey thing. He promised he’d make it up to me—and that we’d start our own Thanksgiving traditions the next year.
I was understandably pissed. I went for a long walk along the stream, wrapped in a warm sweater. My breath made puffs of mini clouds as I marched angrily along, muttering to myself and punching my fist in the air periodically. To my great surprise, when I got to the bridge, Max sat at the apex, dangling his feet over the edge, staring morosely at the gurgling water below. If he’d fallen in, he might have sprained his ankle.
Still, I hollered, “Don’t jump!”
He half smiled at me, and I sat beside him and bumped him with my shoulder. He asked me why I’d come all the way out there. I unloaded my most secret fears.
I told him, “I don’t think Peter wants to stay in Orion after we get married.”
I told him, “I sometimes wonder if he loves me, or just the idea of me.”
I told him, “I’m wondering if I should call off the wedding.”
He listened until I’d said my piece, wiping the occasional angry tear off my cheek. Finally, I just leaned against him. He put his arm around me and ruined the moment.
He told me, “I’m pretty sure Peter will take you away from Orion.”
He told me, “I sometimes wonder if you stay with Peter because it’s easier than being alone with yourself.”
He told me, “I think you should call off the wedding.”
It wasn’t what I
’d wanted him to say. Granted, I’d asked for it, but I needed reassurances in that moment. I should have known he couldn’t be more like Layla and tell me everything would work out. He’d never let go of an opportunity to solve the problem of Maddie.
I resisted the urge to push him into the freezing creek.
Knowing that Max had been so right only made it hurt that much more when Peter didn’t show up for our wedding, when he asked me to choose between him and Orion.
Standing in the dark back room of my failing bookstore now, I had to wonder if I’d made the right choice.
“Everything okay, Maddie?”
Max stepped closer, and I was tempted to confess it all. That I wasn’t okay. That my bookstore was foundering and I was afraid I’d end up alone thanks to my pig-headed independence. That my independence was a sham and I couldn’t even pass a Bechdel test in my own mind. That I was so desperate for companionship, I’d been trying to force Charlie into a lead role.
But I knew what Max would say. He’d tell me I was better off alone than stuck with the wrong man. Shit, he’d been alone since I’d returned to town, and he seemed content to remain that way. He was even succeeding at solitude better than me.
He’d tell me to let Peter go and move on with my life. But I hadn’t reached that point yet. I backed away. “I’m fine. Thanks for your help.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this.”
I paused. I told myself not to ask, not to give him an opening to plug his business proposals, but something on his face made me ask anyway. “Like what?”
“I’m not your enemy.” He licked his lips and moved toward me. “I don’t know why you no longer trust me.”
I could have told him about the time he’d promised to hold me up when I learned to skate, but he’d let go because he thought I could do it on my own. I ended up with a skinned knee. But I’d also skated, upright, for a full minute before I realized he’d fallen behind. Yeah, so I’d skated, but it would have been nice if he hadn’t made that choice for me.
Instead, for some reason, my mind drifted to tenth grade, when we’d stolen a six pack of beer and sat on the gazebo, feeling crazy and happy and utterly unafraid. Layla, the lightweight, fell asleep on the bench. Max and I walked along the creek, laughing and pretending we were drunker than we were. We reached the bridge and leaned over to watch the water below. Imagining liberation from inhibitions, we locked eyes.
Max had said, “Have you ever wondered what it would be like if we kissed?”
My judgment was clouded by a slight buzz, and I remembered thinking he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen. Whether or not the thought of kissing him had ever occurred to me before that, once he’d said it, it was all I wanted to do. And so I did.
For a split second, a rush of relief buoyed me, eliminating my teenage fear of being ugly and unlovable. Then his hands were in my hair, and I was biting his lip. He groaned my name.
The headlights of an oncoming car illuminated us, and we jumped apart. I blurted out, “This never happened.”
We never talked about it after that, and I never told a soul. Not even Layla. I trusted him enough to believe nothing bad would come of it, and maybe if we’d had a frank and earthy discussion about our natural curiosity to kiss, our friendship wouldn’t have become so strained, but we were kids. To be honest, that kind of conversation had scared me. Soon after that, Max started studying all the time, trying to outshine me academically. To compete, I had to work twice as hard. By junior year, we’d established this never-ending battle for supremacy.
I looked at Max in the here and now and said, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Max. It’s that I don’t need you.”
He swallowed hard, then stormed past me and back out to his van.
The rest of the day, try as I might, I couldn’t stop replaying our conversation. I probably owed him an apology, but it made me weirdly happy to see him lose his cool. At least when he was mad at me, he was my equal.
Despite Max’s imaginary advice, or maybe because of it, I picked up my smartphone and texted three words: Are you busy?
Fifteen minutes later, Peter responded. Working.
On a Saturday afternoon. Of course he was.
I just wanted to say . . . What did I want to say to him? What was left to say? I’m sorry.
I waited, growing nervous I’d given him too much, but then my phone buzzed.
Me, too.
A few moments later, another text appeared. What are you reading for your next book club?
Disappointed in the immediate change in topic, I responded. Gone with the Wind.
Then it hit me. Was he considering . . . ? I followed up. Are you thinking of coming to the club?
Did I want him to?
I pictured the scene. Charlie would be midway through a lecture about the problematic nature of Gone with the Wind against today’s worldview. The door would swing open like when Dylan arrived, only Peter would glide in like he owned the place. Because he did. He’d walk right up to me and drop to his knees, unconcerned about dirtying his tailor-made suit. He’d say, Maddie, I’ve tried living without you, but how could I live without my heart and soul? I was wrong. Will you take me back?
Except that would never happen. He cared too much about his clothes. And he’d wait me out before he admitted he’d made a mistake.
There was no answer to my question. Typical.
Even Max’s imaginary advice was spot on.
I turned back to my laptop and stared at my blinking cursor through unfallen tears until I had to admit I wouldn’t write anything I’d want to salvage. I’d run out of juju. Even the hero of my creation, Rane, couldn’t figure out how to properly save himself and the woman he loved. At least my heroine had more than enough power to rescue them both. If only I could reach deep inside and find a well of untapped magic to rip me from one world into another.
I no longer knew which world I’d choose.
Chapter 12
We didn’t open our shops on Sundays thanks to Gentry’s insistence that we dedicate the Lord’s day to community service. Not everyone was on board with this ordinance, but at some point before my return, the council had voted to approve it, and Gentry had never let the topic come up for review.
So on Sundays, before or after church, we might organize a 5k for charity or pitch in to gather fallen limbs after a freak storm. We’d get an email sometime before seven in the morning requesting our presence on Main Street. It would be signed from the entire council, but Gentry would be the one holding a clipboard and checking off names of able-bodied citizens who’d materialized.
When my personal email dinged before my feet had hit the floor, I knew it would be a summoning.
All of the local business people showed up to help, so it took almost no time. Up the street, Max helped Shawna. He didn’t even look my way, and that was fine. I kicked a bunch of twigs into the street.
Gentry called over, “You’re not getting all the sticks. Make sure you get those small ones, too.” He clapped his hands like he was leading a high school production of Grease. “Oh, and Madeleine, I heard your power went out yesterday. You need to get an electrician over to make sure you’re up to code.”
“But—”
“Also, your window’s been vandalized again.”
I turned around and saw it. Some hooligan had painted an E and an R strategically so now it kind of read the Messy Store. Shit. Now I’d have to repaint. More money down the drain.
Gentry noticed Midge handing out cups of lemonade and made a beeline for her, finger wagging. “Midge, let the people work.”
After an hour or so, Gentry declared the sidewalks, streets, and other public spaces satisfactory and released everyone in time for church services. Before we left, he reminded those of us on the city council that we needed to prepare for Fourth of July activities.
“Email me your progress, please!”
I slipped away and went to scrape as much of the errant paint off my window as I cou
ld.
Max passed behind me and said, “You should install a video camera to figure out who’s doing that.”
I hollered, “It’s probably you.”
He called back, “I would have changed it to the Musty Scone.”
I muttered under my breath. “If you were in charge, it would be called the Bossy Store.”
That made me giggle to myself.
As soon as I was satisfied with my handiwork, I fled to my writing cave, opened my latest file, and typed in bursts of inspiration, happy once again to hide in the world I controlled.
Lira struggled with the bonds, her wrists chaffing and bleeding. The light was fading, and soon, she’d be left in the dark. Knowing what the darkness would bring made her panic, and she tugged ever harder, but the spell had been powerful. Magic had ensnared her; only magic would free her. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, trying to forget the shadows creeping across the floor, ever closer, carrying Creed knew what. She reached into the depth of her essence and touched the potent stream, the source she couldn’t control. Maybe if she just—
Her eyes snapped open. Light filled every corner of the room. It emanated from Lela.
Dammit.
I’d mistyped my own character’s name. Thanks, Silver Fox. I hit the backspace key, then leaned back in my chair and stretched. How had he managed to impact me in the space of fifteen days and four emails?
I wondered where he lived, how old he was, what he looked like. On the Book Brigade website, they hadn’t posted any images of the reviewers, but the About page, listed their bios.
Silver Fox hails from the Midwest where he grew up de-tasseling corn in the summer and burying himself in books in the winter. He prefers mainstream or literary fiction, but does not feel guilty that he has a soft spot for genre fiction, especially fantasy. The first book he remembers reading was The Little Prince, and he’s been reading whatever he could get his hands on ever since. If you think Silver Fox would be the best reviewer for your book, feel free to specify him in the submission.
Dating by the Book Page 10