Second Star to the Right

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “And come to think of it, what do I collect when I do prove it?”

  “Don’t you think you’re carrying this a bit far?”

  “Not at all. Things considered a lot more crazy than this have been proven. Take Copernicus, for example, claiming that the earth revolved around the sun. Nuts! Or Gandhi, that fasting and prayer could change the course of government. Insane! Seems to me you’re just afraid I’ll win.”

  Faye smirked, feeling like a gambler holding a pair of aces. “Okay, Dr. Know-It-All. You’re on. But if you can’t prove the existence of Peter Pan, then you have to admit, to my children, that there are no such things as Peter Pan, Santa Claus—or fairy tales.”

  “And if you lose, you have to admit to your children that you believe.”

  Faye felt a shudder and sat ramrod straight in her chair. “No, I won’t do that. I can’t. I do not believe in fairy tales.”

  “Who’s talking about fairy tales?” He leaned across the table and tapped her hand gently. “Faye,” he said with a note of sincerity that drew her in, “I’m talking about believing in what can only be imagined. About things like infinity, about alternate realities. About reaching the stars.”

  “Stars,” she said with a heartfelt sigh. “I don’t know much about them. I’ve learned to stay grounded.”

  Jack leaned back and lifted his eyes to the sky. “Ah, Faye, I’ve studied stars all my life, and I don’t know the first thing about them either. I’m agog at the flood of knowledge pouring in from the Hubble Space Telescope and the Keck Telescope in Hawaii. I can only sit and wonder and speculate in awe. That’s why I say we can’t limit our thinking to traditional lines of thought and theory. It’s time to loosen up, time for a little nontraditional thinking. Look out there, Faye,” he said, extending his hand in a wide arc.

  She looked at him instead, seeing the brilliance of his intelligence lurking behind boyishly long, curled lashes, and a sense of wonder that shone more bright, more enticingly than any constellation.

  “The universe is a vast, interrelated system that is revealing new life and new laws,” he continued, speaking earnestly. “Though admittedly I can’t explain with certainty how it all works or how it all began. We just can’t take it all in. There’s so much to learn and to understand.” He turned his eyes from the stars to meet hers, and they sparkled with enthusiasm. “Don’t you see, Faye? Anything is possible!”

  For one moment in time, she felt that she could believe him. Faye found herself leaning forward, getting sucked into his theoretical world. It was entirely too seductive. It made her nervous to think that her own well-constructed world could be shaken at such fundamental levels. She wanted—needed—immutable facts and order in her life. Schedules and routines. Low-risk ventures. Expected results. Absolutism.

  “You make it all sound so charming. So utterly beguiling,” she replied, looking away from the light in his eyes. “Frankly, I believe it’s just childish whimsy.” She spoke with mock enthusiasm. “Anything is possible... Just listen to a baby laugh and think of fairies...“ She snorted. “Really.”

  “Is that so bad?”

  She nodded. “Yes. When reality hits you over the head like a sledgehammer. Then the only stars you see are from being knocked down and out.”

  He sobered, and asked, “Did that happen to you, Faye?”

  She rebuffed him with a wave of her hand. “Tell me someone it hasn’t happened to. Listen, let’s change the subject, all right? I’ll agree that if you can prove the existence of Peter Pan, I’ll admit that I believe in all that stuff.” She sat back with satisfaction. “I’d say that was a pretty safe bet.”

  “I would, too. And so would Wendy.”

  “Very funny. Speaking of whom ...” Faye moved her chair closer, and said in a low voice, “I never see her. Are you sure she’s all right up there?”

  Jack leaned closer and with mock gravity, eyed the third-floor window. “Do you think she’s watching us now?”

  Faye glanced quickly up at the window. It was empty. When she turned to face Jack he was leaning back in his chair, his eyes dancing and his mouth smirking. Faye flushed with embarrassment. “Well, she might have been,” she muttered.

  “She was. Earlier. Wendy was watching the show tonight from her window. You didn’t see her?”

  “No! Darn, I always miss her. Maddie and Tom have seen her several times. They’re fascinated with her. Especially Tom. He knows he’s under strict orders not to bother her, so naturally, every time I see him he’s got his eye glued to her window. At bedtime, he leans out of the bedroom window to check if her window is open.”

  “And is it?”

  “Of course.”

  While they chuckled at the predictability of a child’s curiosity, Jack poured Faye another gin and tonic, then refreshed his own. Faye watched him leisurely stretch across the table while he served. His long, lanky body had a natural grace that was self-assured. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find him too attractive for a friendly neighbor.

  “How’s the sitter situation coming along?” he asked.

  She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled a long, weary sigh. “That brings us right back down to earth. It’s been hellish, I can tell you. I spent my first week here interviewing candidates sent over from an agency. The ‘dream nannies,’ I like to call them. Sweet-smelling, plump, middle-aged women who look like Mrs. Doubtfire and speak like Mary Poppins. Unfortunately, they all wanted much more money than I could afford to pay. I’m sure they were worth it—and can get it—just not from me.”

  She took a long sip from her drink. ‘‘My job was about to begin, and I had no one. Trust me, this isn’t the kind of job where I can ask for a week’s extension for babysitter problems. As far as my boss is concerned, children only exist as a sales motivation. So as a last resort, I hired an eighteen-year-old local girl, referred to me by the friendly chemist down the block.”

  “She must have been the one with the tattoos,” Jack wryly observed.

  “I figured she had one for every year of her life. As luck would have it, Maddie was fascinated... Especially with the nose ring. Then there was Angela. A graduate of the Thud School of Baby sitting. I came home one night to find Maddie serving her cookies while she watched television.”

  “And where was Tom?”

  “Under the bed.”

  She waved away another refill, even though she was enjoying the light feeling in her head and the tingling in her toes. It had been a long time since she’d felt her spine soften. “So I ended up asking Mrs. Lloyd, of all people, and she recommended Mrs. Jerkins.

  Her mother’s visiting nurse. It seems this way she can do double duty. Mrs. Jerkins is happy because at fiftysome years, she earns more with less wear and tear. Mrs. Lloyd has someone in house for her mother without spending more.”

  “And that makes Mrs. Lloyd happy.”

  “Correct. And I have someone competent. The kids aren’t fond of her, but they tolerate her. It’s a compromise, like most things.”

  Jack tilted his chair back on its rear legs and skewed his mouth. It was on the tip of Faye’s tongue to reprimand him and tell him not to tilt. Maybe it was the gin, but she didn’t feel at the moment like being Jack’s mother...

  “So,” Jack drawled, circling his thumbs, “how does Tom like Ol’ Horseface?” He smiled when he saw Faye’s surprised expression. “That’s her nickname, you know.”

  “Why am I not surprised that you know her nickname? And no, I didn’t know. I have to admit Mrs. Jerkins is a nag of an old woman, but damn. Now I’ll never be able to look at her without thinking, Ol’ Horseface. Jack, please don’t tell the children. I don’t like them using...”

  “I didn’t. They told me.”

  “Oh.”

  He shrugged and rolled his tongue in his cheek. “I’ll discourage it of course.”

  "Of course you will.” She shook her head, then took a long sip from her drink. He was irascible, yet he had an honesty that inspired trust. So unlike her ex-h
usband who could chat, make jokes, and backslap readily, yet never made a woman feel comfortable.

  “Faye, I don’t mean to pry, and you can shut me up if you want to,” Jack said, drawing himself into an upright position. His face grew more serious, and his gaze deepened.

  “What’s the story with Tom?” he asked quietly. “I’ve spent a lot of time with him, but he never utters a word. Not a sound. I know it’s not just me. He doesn’t speak to anybody. I only ask because I care about him. I don’t want to expect him to be able to do something that he can’t.”

  Faye pursed her lips and swirled the ice in her glass as the mood for banter fell flat. The evening air suddenly felt degrees warmer, too close. The buzzing of the cicadas pressed, and she felt the familiar pressure of her guilt weigh heavily down on her, making it difficult to breathe.

  “If you’d rather not talk about it.”

  “No,” she said. “It’s a fair question, considering how much time you’re spending with the Maddie and Tom.”

  She shifted her weight and stared down into her drink. The sound of ice cubes clinking in her glass triggered the memory of other nights, horrible nights when Rob had had too much to drink. Those nights their suburban home was a war zone, and she was the main target. She didn’t want the children frightened or to feel threatened by Rob and told them to stay in their rooms. But of course they heard. One night, Tom came running into the room, his face red with fury, his fist bunched. She’d called out for Tom to stay away, to go back to his room. But he ran to her defense.

  Faye swallowed and closed her eyes, seeing again the man’s fist connect to the child’s head, wishing she could go back in time and stop it, change it. Instead she was cursed to relive it. It was very, very hard to speak of it.

  “Tom’s father hit him. Once, very hard.”

  She glanced furtively up at Jack’s face to gauge his reaction. Jack’s lips had tightened into a grim line, and there was no disguising the fury in his eyes.

  “Rob meant to hit me. I know that. The next thing I knew, Tom was lying on the floor. I took him to the hospital.”

  “It’s neurological?”

  She shook her head. “No. The doctors said he suffered no neurological or brain damage. But he never spoke in public again. The child psychiatrist calls it elective mutism. Apparently, Tom chooses not to speak. He can, but won’t. Except to Maddie— and sometimes to me. I used to think he was punishing me, you know, for letting it happen.” She paused. “Hitting me was one thing, but hitting my child...That was my line in the sand. I threw Rob out, filed for divorce, and never looked back.”

  “I don’t think Tom is punishing you. He adores you. It’s obvious.”

  She shrugged. “He depends on me. He’s so shy, so afraid. The doctors say he needs a tincture of time. And to feel safe and secure.”

  “So do you.”

  Surprised, she looked into his eyes and wondered if he really understood after all. No one had ever thought that she, too, might need a shoulder to lean on. She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked into Jack’s face.

  “Yeah, so do I,” she conceded. She took another deep breath. “But it doesn’t matter about me. I have to focus solely on my kids.”

  “Is there any chance he’ll come after them?”

  “There’s always a chance. He did once. I’m always on guard.” She didn’t want any pity. Nor did she want to go into more history. “No big deal. I’m just a single mom raising two children.”

  He admired her strength and determination, and wondered at the toll it took. She seemed so small and fragile to be so strong. Looks could be deceiving, he knew. Like the new metal composites he worked with in the lab. Thin, delicate woven strands strong enough to go to the moon and back.

  “Will Tom get better?”

  “You mean, will he talk in public again? I hope so. I’m counting on it.” A small smile escaped. “I guess there is one thing I definitely have to believe in. If I could just find some way to get him to open up a little.”

  “We will.”

  She looked away, moved close to tears that he’d used the word “we.” Not that she entertained romantic notions. Not at all. She felt buoyed simply because maybe she had a friend who cared in this big, scary world.

  They sat in a companionable silence while the moon rose high in the sky, bathing the objects below with a soft, almost magical glow. The white flowers were especially luminescent in the twilight. This was their hour, she thought. When the bright, brassy colors of the day receded into the shadows and the luminous, contrasting whiteness reigned. Night insects, too, awakened to the moonlight. Moths buzzed noisily near the light of the windows, and crickets serenaded with the toads near the fountain. In the twilight, the garden did seem otherworldly. She felt her guard slip a little more and propped her feet on the opposite chair, leaning full back.

  The moonlight cast a strange glow on the patina of the bronze fountain, too. Faye found herself staring at the boy’s face. It was a nice face, sweet yet cocky—a boy destined to find adventures. Maybe it was the gin and tonic, maybe it was the summer’s balmy breezes, but she cupped her chin in her hand and smiled affectionately back at the bronze boy, enamored. A giggle erupted. She could have sworn she saw the statue smile back.

  “The fairies are out,” Maddie exclaimed, running outdoors. “Look, Mom!” she cried, pointing to the tiny lights flitting through the garden.

  “Those are fireflies, Maddie,” she corrected. “Not fairies. See what you’ve started, Jack? The next thing you know she’ll be saying the moon is made out of cheese.”

  “Swiss cheese.” He laughed and waved Maddie over, smiling reassuringly at Faye, who sat in the moonlight looking as delicate and lovely as a fairy. A fairy who didn’t believe in fairy tales. “Your mom’s right, kiddo. These are fireflies. And do you know what they’re doing?”

  Maddie leaned against Jack and wrapped her thin arm around his shoulders. “Flying.”

  “Yes, but not just flying. They’re flashing their lights in a dance of courtship. Each beetle has its own light organ that holds over five thousand cells. These are packed with minuscule granules of chemicals and a catalyst called luciferin. When the granules and luciferin meet oxygen, energy is transmitted and, presto! The courtship lamp is lit.”

  Faye’s mouth opened in wonder to match her daughter’s. She never knew that. “You really are a good teacher.”

  “But,” Maddie persisted with a frown. “What about the fairies? They die if you don’t believe in them. The book said so. You believe in them, don’t you?”

  Faye cast Jack a victorious glance.

  He mouthed back at her, “Closet clapper,” as he reeled Maddie up onto his lap. “Sure I do,” he replied to Maddie. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t accept that at least most of these lovely lights are due to an energy reaction in flying beetles. Look at them all, Maddie. Isn’t nature magical, too? Not being fairies doesn’t make the fireflies any less a wonder. By September, you’ll see all the twinkling lights fluttering in the grass. That’s because all the baby larvae live on the ground for two years and use their lamps to hunt snails and slugs, which helps your garden.”

  “Wow,” she breathed, transfixed.

  Faye, too, felt caught in his spell and felt a quiet comfort watching him with her daughter.

  “I can hardly wait to tell Tom.” Maddie straightened and looked around the garden. When she turned to face Faye, her small face was troubled:

  “Hey, where is Tom?”

  Chapter 8

  “Wasn't Tom with you?” Faye felt the familiar fear clutch at her throat.

  “No,” Maddie blurted out, appearing cornered in the iron chair. “I thought he was with you.”

  “Take it easy,” Jack said, standing up. “He can’t be far. We haven’t even looked around yet. He’s probably hiding in the boxwood.” He hurried to the hedge, feeling a tightness of apprehension in his chest, and crawled behind the dense shrubs, ignoring the scratches as he searched ever
y nook and cranny. No one was hiding there. He climbed out to see Faye watching with wide eyes, gripping Maddie’s shoulders. When he lifted his hands to indicate no one was there, Faye and Maddie turned on their heels and ran back into the flat. The panic in Faye’s voice vibrated as she called out Tom’s name, over and over, in room after room.

  Jack made a quick but thorough search of the outbuilding, then followed them inside. Faye was walking back and forth across the living-room floor, her hand grasping her forehead, mumbling to herself, “What do I do now? He can’t have come for them. Not yet. He couldn’t have gotten in.”

  “Who?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

  “Their father. He took them once before. That’s why I left Chicago. I... I don’t think he could be in England yet, but I’m not sure. Where could Tom be? He was right here, a moment ago. I never should have left him. I never should have gone outdoors.”

  “Slow down, Faye. He’s around here somewhere. That rascal might be playing a game.”

  She stopped, and her pale face was rigid with decision. “No, not Tom. He doesn’t play those kinds of games. I’ve got to call the police,” she said, striding toward the phone and grabbing the receiver. Then lowering her head on her hand, she said in a panicked voice, “God, I don’t want to call the police. Please God, don’t let this be happening again.”

  “Faye,” he said, placing a calm hand on her shoulder. He could feel her trembling beneath his palm. “Are you sure he’s not under the bed?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. How many places can a little boy hide?”

  “Plenty. Maddie, you know his favorite hiding spots. Have you checked them all?”

  The little girl nodded. She was white-faced with worry, no doubt blaming herself.

  “I’m going to call the police...” Faye lifted the receiver. Maddie leaned against her for comfort, moaning softly. Faye only punched in the first digit when she stopped and stared just beyond Jack, her eyes agog and mouth open.

  Standing in the doorway was a sweet-faced, delicately boned, fragile old woman with white hair like spun glass piled on her head, and the brightest, merriest delft blue eyes Faye had ever seen. And holding her hand with a look of pure triumph on his face was Tom.