Second Door to the Right

by Nikki Hyson

  Lily risked taking her eyes off the road and stared at him fully.

  James, smiling innocently, added, “That’s just how I always imagined it.”

  Another beat passed, James looking at the road for her. “Lily.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Cow.”

  Instinct drove the brake to the floor, gears growling before she fully stopped. The car, rocking forward on planted tires, pressed them both into their seat belts. They stared at a jersey less than six feet from the bumper. The jersey stared placidly back.

  “Bloody hell,” Lily hissed. Grinding gears, she fumbled with reverse. “Sorry.”

  Lurching back a foot, the car died with a grunt. “Sorry,” she winced.

  Amos, who’d slid to the floor with the sudden stop, leapt back onto his seat. Half scrambling his way between them, the beagle’s nose nearly touched the windscreen. Growl rumbling up from his belly, doggy-brown eyes lit with the possibility of a good time. Before Lily could utter a word, a bay, sharp and crisp, vibrated within the tiny car.

  She groaned. “Please, Amos.”

  He bayed again, drawing extra breath, elongating the “Roo” into an ear-shattering note. Muscles rigid, tail on point, he’d become a finely tuned instrument just begging to be played.

  Tears pricked the corners of Lily’s eyes, shock from the near collision mixing with frustration. Amos would never hear the words of mortal man. Not now. Not even from her. The beagle’s bay howled on beside her ear.

  James chuckled beside her. Twisting, he laid one hand on the beagle’s breastbone, the other covering Lily’s grip on the gear shift. “Amos, sit,” he spoke calmly, soft words commanding attention.

  The dog obeyed, ears relaxing and tongue lolling.

  “Good boy.” Drool dripped on James’ sleeve. “Lily.”

  She lifted her eyes. Sniffing hard, she swallowed the lump. “Yes?”

  James smiled, which was as good as a laugh. “You’ve got this.”

  “Yeah.” She returned the smile. “I guess I do.”

  He pulled back, leaning into the curve where seat met door. “Alright then.” Looking to the cud-chewing cow, his fingers flicked out like a king dismissing the court jester. “You can move along too, Flossie.” The cow did, ambling off the road and into the ditch.

  Lily moved clutch and pedal in unison, the car rolling forward without dying. A little gas, an audible plea, and second gear closely followed first. They were on their way again.

  “So, how did you do that?” This time she didn’t take her eyes from the road at all.

  Neither did James. “What?” A note of strain invaded his tone. A hint of— fear?

  Lily pressed anyway, knowing she rambled, but it bled off the residual adrenaline. “You’re unflappable. We could’ve hit the cow. Amos howling his fool head off. The car died. You stayed calm.”

  “We didn’t hit the cow. Amos was only interested. The car didn’t die. I’d say, overall, it rated barely a raised eyebrow.”

  “The cow even got off the road.”

  “She was going anyway.”

  Lily shot him the raised eyebrow he claimed their incident was worth. “Still. Thanks.”

  James gazed out the passenger window, smile flickering. “Try running a pirate ship,” he muttered to himself. “That’ll give you some white nights.”

  Whether he meant her to hear or not, Lily pressed her lips tight. In the turn of a moment, he’d pulled a little from her. Needing space. Miles still to go, she gave it. A quick flick of the wrist and one of her mix CDs filled the car. It was dominated mostly by one of her favorite composers, Kerry Muzzey. Hope he doesn’t mind.

  Less than an hour later they slipped through a village as picturesque as a painting. James eyed each shop, each cottage they passed, wondering which one belonged to her parents. At the edge of town, Lily paused at a crossroads, turn indicator clicking loudly.

  Only then did James understand the price for her gift of the space he’d needed. Even with the music playing, her thoughts hadn’t stopped churning out possible outcomes of this meeting. This meeting that terrified her.

  “You okay?” he asked softly.

  She nodded, but her gaze didn’t stray from the road ahead. Drawing a breath, she turned right onto a narrow dirt track, and hit the gas. The landscape shifted. Rural giving way to wild, the car rocked and jumped its way over deep ruts.

  Suppressing his urge to lay hold to the car frame and buffer the growing tide of jolts, James reached for any question that might shake her free. “What exactly do they do?”

  Lili shrugged a little. “Mum paints. Father fixes books. My mother comes from an upper class family; bankers and lawyers back for five generations. Dah’s an orphan. No real prizes for guessing what her side thought of him. So, she left all of it and they came out here. Bought a little farm. They get on well enough. Mum’s an uncle who has a soft spot for her; made sure they were set up. People mail Dah first editions and antique collections from all around the world for him to rebind.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier for him to have a shop in the village we passed? At least the postman would thank him.” James groaned, a particularly vicious hole catching him in the bladder.

  Lily pumped the break a bit. “They tried once. Dah has trouble with crowds. Being in the city gives him panic attacks. They tried to visit me two Christmases ago.” She hesitated, brows drawing close with a memory. “It can be quite bad,” she said, cutting the engine. “Here we are.”

  With a jerk, the car settled, rolling to a slow stop near the kitchen door. Lily let out a sigh equaling the car’s soft hiss of relief. They both looked about the yard.

  Amos, having waited for his cue, began alternately barking and howling.

  James looked back over his shoulder. “He’s bouncing.”

  Lily swung her legs out into a sea of wriggling dog bodies. Amos still gyrating spasms of doggish joy, the back seat rocked in earnest.

  “How does he do it?” James couldn’t hide his wonder. “All four paws are in the air.”

  She opened the back door, setting the beagle free. Grabbing her fur-dusted backpack, Lily divined, “You’ve never had a dog, have you?”

  “Actually, no. My father didn’t believe city dwellers should own dogs.” James swung his own pack over a shoulder, shutting his passenger door. “He called it a frivolity and an unnecessary expense. I guess it never occurred to me after I left home.”

  Lily looked across the top of the car. “You’ve never mentioned your father before.”

  “No? I can assure you he was quite unforgettable.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “No. Died a long time ago.”

  She went to his side. “What about your mother?” One hand slipped down, covering his as it rested atop his cane.

  “I never knew her,” he said, confession little more than a whisper. James looked down, to where their hands met, unable to stop himself from uttering a soft jest. “You are a tactile little thing, aren’t you?”

  Lily winced. You foolish schoolgirl. But it had been there again. The longing to protect him. To save him. From what? Confused, gaze averted, her apology fell between breaths, as she tried to turn away.

  James reached out. “Please.” Brushing her arm, he added, “I’m sorry.”

  Her step stuttered beside him, but she couldn’t look up. What must he be thinking? “Why are you sorry?”

  “Because I’ve never had a friend before, and I find myself awkward at times.”

  Self-reproach fading, she met the gaze that sought hers. It seemed the permission he needed to continue.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said quietly, as if the dogs might hear. A struggle passed across his brow; a desire to tell her something more, and yet that fear returning.

  She didn’t need more. His friendship was enough. “Really?” she said, tone matching his. “You’ve never had a friend?”

  Small smile forming, James shook his head. “You are the firs
t, Lily Westfell.”

  Her Dah’s voice lifted across the yard, shattering the moment, interrupting with a title and a greeting that paled James’ joy in an instant.

  “Good evening, Captain. Always wondered if this day would come.”

  22

  James’ eyes slid shut, the voice rolling back years best forgotten. Damn it all. A dry chuckle scraping up the back of his throat. I would have gladly died five ticks ago. When she was still his friend. When he knew peace.

  But it couldn’t have ended a moment sooner for one simple reason. I’m the villain. No villain ever earned a happy ending. That would go to The Boy. And, if James was lucky, it might spill onto Lily as well.

  James opened his eyes. Lily, looked up at him in nothing short of utter confusion, no idea of what was about to happen.

  Reading her, he knew immediate relief. She had no clue. None of this could be her conscious doing. Let one thing in his life remain untouched by lies, deceit and betrayal. Just one.

  “I’m sorry, Lily.” James squeezed her small hand. “Know this. Nothing that happens today is your fault.”

  “What do you mean?”

  James stepped from her side, leaving her still trying to process his cryptic apology.

  His cane moved up, pinched between forearm and hip. Ready to draw the blade. Ready to begin the final stanza of the longest duel that’d ever lived. Pivoting to face his foe, he drew a breath.

  James stopped. No boy with mocking eyes and naked blade stood outside the kitchen doorway. Only an old man. Close to sixty or better, close-cropped hair the color of steel wool, this stranger wore the color muted sweater and worn canvas trousers one might find on any farmer. Face deeply lined, his eyes twinkled. James realized why Lily had been so familiar on that first day. She had her father’s eyes.

  Defeated before their swords could cross, James lowered his cane tip to the ground. “Peter, what have you done?” Resting his hand atop the handle, he exhaled a winding sigh. “How could you end our great duel this way?”

  “I grew up.”

  “You grew old.”

  Peter looked past James where Lily watched in confused silence. His smile held all the tenderness of every father. “Turns out, some things are worth it.” He leveled his eye back on James. “Can we have peace? Will you break bread with me, you old codfish?”

  James felt something creak inside him. Relief or regret? Didn’t matter. Gratitude washed it all away. “Twould be my honor.”

  Peter nodded, gaze again widening to include his daughter. “If you are her friend, she might need a shoulder when all is said and done.”

  James tracked his mortal enemy, the father of his friend, back into the kitchen without shifting stance. Peter would wait there for both of them.

  James turned to Lily, who hadn’t moved. He held out a hand, offering a smile. Fearful of what her eyes would say, his lungs barely drew air. “Coming, Lily?”

  She didn’t take his hand. She didn’t move. Lily wasn’t a lover of books, an assistant librarian, program director to the Young Writer’s group across three elementary classrooms, and municipal liaison for the National Novel Writing Month for nothing.

  She knew literary references when she heard them. James imagined she used them daily. She’d understood every word passing between father and friend, even if the pieces fitting too quickly together didn’t belong in her world.

  Lily’s eyes widened suddenly. “Breadcrumbs.”

  James’ heart thumped louder than any paper soul had a right to. It wouldn’t be fair if he lost her. Would she ever look at him the same way? Would she still give him a nudge when they walked at night, coaxing a smile he didn’t feel? He sighed. It wouldn’t be fair, but it would be just.

  He cleared his throat roughly. “Breadcrumbs?”

  “You’ve been laying them out for me all this time. Trying to tell me a thousand different ways so this moment didn’t blindside me.”

  “But I haven’t.”

  One eyebrow quirked, the corner of her mouth with it. “How to change endings?”

  James swallowed hard. “I never wanted to tell you at all.”

  “Well, we’re all stories in the end.” Lily’s gaze swept over him. Studying? Seeing him for the first time? She smiled. “Whoever is telling this one must be kinder to her characters than I am to mine.”

  There was still hope. She hadn’t cast him from her side yet. His moustache twitched. “And how do you know a woman is writing our story?” Knowledge the Guild had other plans for her teased the back of his thoughts, but James brushed it away. One problem at a time. One bridge to cross.

  Lily’s hand ticked items off a phantom list. “The lack of car chases, explosions, gun fire, and killing.”

  James kept his own council on the later. “Let’s hope it stays that way…” he started, breath catching when she laid her hand over his.

  Lily nodded, studying his face with the wonder of a child. “You’re Captain Hook,” she said without question. Seeking only to convince herself.

  Just the same, he slowly nodded his head. “Yes.”

  “And my father.” She stopped. Trying again, the words came fast. “My father is Peter Pan.”

  Gently, he agreed. “Yes.”

  “How is this even possible? Is everyone at your work from a book, or is it somehow only the two of you?”

  James drew her hand into the crook of his arm. “I think it would be best if your father told you,” he said, following Peter’s path into the kitchen.

  The warmth of home washed over James. Cutting the November chill, the aroma of fresh scones riled more than a passing hunger in his stomach. But, I’m never hungry.

  A woman, who could be Lily thirty years hence, stood at the stove straining tea. When James’ shadow crossed her work surface, the barest trace of tension stained both corners of her mouth. She knows the truth.

  James tipped his head. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Westfell.”

  “Sarah is just fine for everyday use. How was the drive, Mr…?” Turning from the counter, her eyes fell to his artificial hand. “Ah, sorry. I’ve forgotten your last name.”

  “Crawford.” Gently taking her hand, he said, “I don’t go by Hook anymore.”

  She tried to smile at the jest. Instead, a slight tremor passed through the fingertips he held so carefully. “Of course, Mr. Crawford.”

  Eyes twinkling, he let her go. “But James works just as well for everyday use.”

  She retreated with a quick intake of air, returning to her teapot as if brewing were a refuge.

  James looked to the table. Father and daughter sat side by side. For an instant he wondered if Lily trusted the books more than she trusted him. Did she distrust the moment of peace she’d witnessed outside?

  In truth, she wasn’t focused on him at all. Her hands covered over Peter’s, chair turned to face him fully, James understood the true impact of this moment for her. If he was Hook and Peter was The Pan— What did that make her?

  “Dah,” she began with deliberate calm. “Care to explain?”

  Peter cleared his throat. “Where to start?”

  Sarah claimed the empty chair on Peter’s other side, laying her hand atop the joining of husband and daughter’s. She smiled for Peter, a reminder that he’d survived this telling once before. “I’ve always liked the beginning.”

  23

  My father is Peter Pan. Sometime after three a.m., and the refrain still echoed within her thoughts. My friend is Captain Hook. Lily stretched under the quilt, claiming all three of the couch cushions, but finding no refuge. She’d realized, over an hour ago, that both men were finished offering her half-truths and dearly longed to discuss her in private. Done with secrets, she pretended not to notice and “fell asleep” where she nestled.

  Snuggling deeper into the curve of her body, Amos released a shuddering sigh. River, newly returned from the evening’s final potty break, attempted to nose her way up onto the sofa. Unconsciously or not, Amos kicked once towar
ds the inquisitive puppy without batting an eye.

  A finger snap, James’ soft summons, and the puppy padded off to the men sitting opposite. Their voices low, Lily strained to hear every word. And did.

  “Do they know about her?” Peter asked, low lest he disturb her dreams. Reaching across, he tugged gently on the pup’s ear. His eyes were clear and hard.

  James understood. Whatever Lily thought of her father’s frailty, the Pan still contained the capacity of rising to any occasion. “From the beginning, they realized there might be a connection of some kind.”

  Peter shifted against his chair.

  James lifted a hand. “No one knows she’s your kin. It’s been explained away that she’s a writer. No one’s mentioned you at all.”

  “What are their plans for her?”

  “Undecided. She seems a good source for information. They want to learn about the other writers— wrimos? — first.”

  “That’ll only last so long. They’ll see two choices. That’s as far as The Professor thinks.”

  James gazed across the room, studying the girl who slept. Amos rubbed his head into her chest, trying to reach an itch he’d have to get up and scratch. Still asleep, Lily’s hand fell to his head, rubbing the beagle’s forehead until a sigh followed a grunt. They both went still. “I know,” James said.

  “We must give them a third choice. Find it in their best interest to leave her alone.” Peter hesitated. “How much time do we have?”

  “They said they’d wait until January, but I wouldn’t guess more than a few weeks.”

  Peter nodded. “Clever drawing the ties between her and NaNo tight. It made them stop and think.”

  “Actually, Cris did that.”

  “The Count? Really?” He drew a frown. “What does he want?”

  “Haven’t figured it out yet.”

  They lapsed into silence, both thinking on problems that offered no easy solutions. The house clocks tick-tocked across the stillness for some minutes.