She plucked a few deadheads from the potted geraniums neatly and precisely. It was time to stop blaming Rob for crushing the joy from her soul, she decided. She had no more time for blame. Or the heart for it. The contentment came at last because the anger and fear that had burned in her heart for so many years had been doused by the liberal flow of affection she’d felt within these walls. Her grip of fear had loosened. Faye didn’t feel she was alone battling the world. Here she had Wendy. And Jack. Friends who cared about her in ways that mattered. Why did people always think that support meant money or advice? Support is a hand held when you’ve failed, a smile in the morning when you leave to face the world, a laugh shared till your sides ache and tears flow down your cheeks.
Faye gave the porch a final sweep, then walked down the steps and around back to the garden, passing through the ornate black-iron gate, careful to close it tightly to keep children and puppy in, and strangers out. She relished the scents of Wendy’s roses, the soft yellow light pouring out from the tall, charming redbrick house, and the quiet hush of twilight. Skimming her hand along the cool brass of the fountain, she hummed the tune that played in her mind, especially on nights like this when she could hear the reedy pipe music clearly in sync with the crickets rubbing their hind legs and the song of her children’s laughter pouring out from the nursery windows. The symphony swirled around her, making her so heady and joyous she felt she could almost fly. On a night like this, with her heart dancing in the air in time to her music, Faye simply had to close her eyes and smile to soar.
* * *
The following night, there was a crash landing in the children’s bedroom.
“Tom,” Faye argued, tapping her foot, “you must let me wash your shirt. You’ve worn that one for three days straight.”
Tom’s eyes were mutinous and he clung to his hunter green T-shirt as fiercely as any pirate of the Spanish Main would his treasure.
“You’ve a drawer full of shirts,” she argued. “At least let me take it just for tonight I’ll have it clean for you in the morning.”
“He won’t let you, especially not at night” Maddie explained this to Faye as though she were the adult speaking to the child. “You see, Mom, Peter wears a costume of green leaves held together with sap. Tom wants to be ready should Peter Pan come tonight.”
Tom had not only taken to wearing green exclusively. He also dragged a sword from his hip and was forever jumping from high places such as chairs, the third step of the staircase, and, of course, his mattress. His mood had improved dramatically, however, especially since his outing at The Neverland Theme Park and Nana’s arrival at No. 14. Faye could hear him laughing and even singing when he was upstairs in the nursery. So she tried to humor him, mumbling to herself about how that wild savage Peter could use a good mother, all right. And a good washing.
“Well, tomorrow is Saturday,” she began again. “What if I promise you we’ll go to Harrods first thing in the morning, and I’ll let you pick out seven new shirts, all green if you like, one for each day of the week. Would you let me have this one to wash tonight? I’m sure Peter wouldn’t mind if you wore, say, this yellow one. In the fall, leaves turn to yellow.”
Instantly his face softened, and he wiggled out of his dirty shirt and handed it to his mother. She accepted it gracefully. The shared victory was so much sweeter than if she had chosen to dominate. Faye felt a pang of love when she saw how his arms and belly had filled out in the past weeks. They weren’t so much like bean poles, and he had tan lines across his arms, what they called in the Midwest a farmer’s tan.
“Then it’s only fair I get something, too,” said Maddie.
“Yes, that’s true. What do you want? A new top? Shoes?”
“I want a thimble,” Maddie declared, her arms folded across her chest. “Wendy says that Peter keeps her thimble on a chain close to his heart. He told her it was like keeping Wendy close. I want a thimble so I can give it to Peter, too.”
“Very well. Though we’ll have to take it to a jeweler to figure out how to get it on a chain.” Privately, however, she wished they wouldn’t take such a literal translation of Wendy’s stories. The lines between reality and fantasy were growing blurred, and it made her uneasy.
She helped Tom into the yellow shirt, supervised the brushing of teeth, tucked them into their beds, then listened while Maddie regaled her with the further adventures of Peter Pan. Tom listened intently, occasionally nodding for emphasis. At the point when the Indians were dancing a tribute to Peter, he grew so excited he had to jump up on the bed and pantomime the dance himself, whooping and hollering like a wild thing till Maddie and Faye were rolling on the bed in laughter.
“Mom, I like it when we laugh like this. I want to laugh all night long,” Maddie exclaimed later, after they’d calmed down and were wiping the moisture from their eyes.
“Me too,” Faye replied, feeling a twinge on her heartstrings. “But it’s already way past our bedtimes. So in you go. Tomorrow we’ll laugh some more, okay?”
Maddie and Tom glowed with happiness and scrambled to obey.
Glowing herself, she tucked them in again, gave them sound kisses on their foreheads, and turned out the lights. “Sweet dreams, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
“Open the window, Mom!”
Faye pulled back the lace without hesitation this time and opened the double-hung window farthest from the beds. A summer’s breeze laden with the scent of Wendy’s roses swirled through the room, rippling the lace and bringing a sigh from Maddie. She met her mother’s gaze and held it, thanking Faye in a million ways with the heartfelt smile before she yawned and closed her eyes. Tom’s eyes were bright in the moonlight as he coupled his hands under his head and stared out through the glass at the stars in the purple sky. Real stars this time, she thought with satisfaction. Not fake ones on the ceiling.
Resting her hand on the doorframe and watching her sleeping children, Faye realized that they’d be all right. They had a home, a garden, a puppy. They’d shown responsibility with Nana. Soon school would begin and they would have new friends, activities and experiences that would balance out their preoccupation with fantasy. She sighed. Her babies were growing up.
With a bittersweet twinge she recalled Wendy’s words. Sometimes the hand that rears a child can hold on too firmly. A soft hold, a gentle nudge encourages the child to fly and to make his or her own discoveries. Faye realized it was time for her to learn not to hold on so tight. She wanted to help them mature into independent adults. Tomorrow, she thought, it would be a good start to let Maddie and Tom choose their own clothes.
Later, Faye fell asleep counting new resolutions, but was awakened from her sleep by high-pitched giggles from Maddie and Tom’s bedroom. Prying open an eye she saw the time glowing in green on the alarm clock and let out a puff of exasperation.
“Goofing around till midnight is pushing the envelope much too far,” she grumbled, pulling herself out of bed. “Give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile,” she muttered as she approached their room, ready to lay down the law. Suddenly she stopped, startled to see a small flickering of light shine from under the door followed by another burst of giggles, muffled by palms.
What were they up to, her sleepy mind asked? She pushed open the door and peered inside the darkened room, eyes alert. Maddie and Tom lay motionless in their beds, pretending to be asleep. The flickering light was gone. Her mind raced to recapture the conversation in the pub, something about lights...and fairies. Nonsense, she told herself, shaking the wild thoughts away. It was all that talking about Peter Pan before bed that got her imagination going.
“No more fooling around! Good night,” she said in a stern voice that brooked no further nonsense.
“Good night, Mother.”
Satisfied that peace was restored, she closed the door gently behind her. Just before it clicked shut, she could have sworn she heard a faint tinkling of bells.
* * *
They had a wonderful time shopping
at Harrods. Faye wasn’t a shopper by nature. She never understood the appeal of racing through rack after rack of clothing, trying on a dress or pants in cramped, poorly lit dressing rooms with bad mirrors that made your skin look sallow and your bottom too wide. With children it was far worse, messing about with all those buttons and zippers and the whining and complaining. Usually she’d end up in a bad mood before they even got to the store.
On this day, however, she began by changing her attitude. Instead of considering the day a chore, she viewed it as an outing that her children would direct. She set a budget and let them loose. Maddie and Tom thought it a holiday and though they made a few choices that Faye might not have, she was surprised to discover that her children had their own distinct tastes and preferences.
When they finally returned from Harrods, all smiles despite the overcast skies, they found Jack sitting on the front stoop, tossing a football in his hand. Nana, spotting the children, whined and strained at the leash.
“It’s about time you got home,” Jack said, looking put out. The day’s slight drizzle had seized his curls, molding them into a helmet.
“Aw, what’s the matter?” Faye asked, hoisting the parcels from her arms to her hip. “Don’t you have anyone to play with?”
He tossed the football to Maddie, who missed it and scrambled to chase after it.
“As a matter of fact, no” he replied, standing up and taking the parcels from her arms. “I thought we’d go to the park this morning and show these Brits that a football is a brown-pointed pigskin, not some black-and-white round ball. Not only were you guys not home, but now the weather’s clouded over.”
The sight of him in his T-shirt, frayed shorts, and sneakers, worn without socks, of course, frowning like a lost boy, sent her heartstrings humming. She couldn’t deny she had feelings for the man. Like a brother, she told herself firmly. Sometimes an older brother—kind, patient and mellow. At other times like these, a younger brother, with as much wide-eyed piquancy as her own Tom. It was part of his relentless charm.
“Well we’ve had a perfectly splendid time, and it looks like it’s going to be rainy all day. You’ll catch your death of cold if you play football today. Tell you what. We’re all hungry. I’ll make us some nice cheese sandwiches and soup.”
“And cookies?” asked Maddie, handing Jack his football.
“Sure, why not.”
“Great,” Jack replied, beaming at the thought of a home-cooked meal, much less fresh-baked cookies. “Let’s cook in my kitchen. It’s huge, and most of the time it’s never used.”
Faye’s curiosity was piqued. The children had been down in Jack’s flat many times to tend to Nana; they had no qualms at all about just barging in anywhere. She’d been dying to see it for herself but couldn’t bring herself simply to wander in, even if his door was open. Privacy was something she respected too much. So she’d resorted to shamelessly pumping the children for information, but the best she could get from them was that Jack’s flat was “big and messy.”
“I’ll just get the supplies and come on down. Chocolate chip sound good?”
“Is there any other kind?” he replied. Just give me a minute to pick up a bit.”
“You mean a lot,” Maddie said with a roll of her eyes.
“Come on and help, Miss Priss,” he teased. “There are puppy toys everywhere I step.”
Of course, she was eager.
“You too, pal,” he said to Tom, tossing him the football. Tom caught it and gave it a jaunty flip.
“Nice catch,” Jack said with approval. “Keep it.”
Faye looked away lest they see the emotion flare up in her own eyes. Did Jack know how much his involvement with her son meant to her? Did he see the boy’s growing admiration and confidence with grown-ups?
In her flat, Faye helped Tom into his new sage green shirt, then after he hurried off, she changed into a light cotton sheath dress and freshened her face. She gathered her sundries, cookie sheets and oven mitts then made her way down the back stairs to Jack’s flat. The puppy stood at the foot of the stairs and barked when she heard the footfall, then dribbled in excitement at the sight of Faye.
“The story of my life,” she quipped, while Tom and Maddie hurried to wipe up.
“Oh my!” was all she could say when she passed through a small entryway and stepped into the marvelous kitchen that dominated Jack’s flat. It was as unexpected as finding the bright sun of Provence on a foggy London day.
Wendy had explained how once the basement was a warren of rooms making up the kitchen, pantry, and a few servants’ quarters. When the building was changed to a triplex, the walls were knocked out to make this one spacious room, painted now a soft, pastel yellow. A delft-tiled fireplace dominated one wall, and before it nestled a long, scrubbed wooden table surrounded by bright-yellow-painted chairs with blue-checked cushions. A narrow hall separated it from the street side of the flat, where she supposed the two cramped bedrooms and a small front room were. French doors opened up and out to the garden, inviting the fresh green and the sweet air in.
It was the old Aga stove, however, that had Faye almost on her knees. After months of cooking on a small metal box with two burners, she almost wept when she imagined cooking on this grande dame of an oven. It was a mighty tool, a proud cobalt blue, six dark black coils and shiny white knobs. Nary a grease spot, a burnt bit, or a crumb littered its surface, because Jack confessed he never touched the thing except to boil water.
“To think,” she said, eyes crinkling with pleasure while running her fingertips over the bright enamel. “When I’m old and dying I can tell my grandchildren that once in my life, I cooked on an Aga.” Then rolling up her sleeves, she declared, “It’s time to put this war horse back into action.”
“You can use it anytime you like,” Jack offered with a hopeful expression.
“I just might,” she replied, stroking the blue enamel.
After the late lunch they spilled out into the garden. While Maddie and Faye dug peat moss into the soil, Tom and Jack played pirates.
“Be careful,” called out Faye, frowning at the sight of her son and Jack whacking at each other with wooden swords. Tom wore his treasured pirate’s hat, Jack a make shift hook fashioned from a wire coat hanger stuck into his sleeve. “Someone can get hurt.”
“So, my beauty,” Jack called back, brandishing his hook. “Do ye dare to give me hook orders? Perhaps ye’d like to walk the plank?”
“You’re hopeless,” she said, not succeeding in hiding her smile. “Just remember it’ll be you who’ll walk the plank if anyone gets hurt.”
Tom chuckled under his enormous tilting pirate’s hat. Jack thrilled at every noise Tom made, whether it was a chuckle, a burp, or an outright laugh like he’d heard at The Neverland Theme Park. Jack’s hope was to elicit a word from the boy by summer’s end.
“Peter Pan, you codfish,” Jack shouted, raising his hook high into the air. “Ye’ve met your match. Prepare to meet thy doom.”
With the gleam of triumph in his eye, Tom had at Jack once again. The wooden swords thudded dully as they met in the air, tap, tap, tap. Jack was jubilant, ducking and swerving, leaping over chairs, escaping from Tom’s hot pursuit behind the hedges, having an absolutely wonderful time. In fact, he couldn’t remember having such a good time since...
Whack. Jack felt Tom’s sword hit him squarely in the back of the head. He saw stars and sank to his knees. In the misty, swirling blackness he saw a man in a black pirate’s hat approach him, all evil eyes and long, curling mustache. Jack shuddered, drawing back.
“Hook,” he muttered.
“Jack, Jack, are you all right?”
Blinking, Jack’s vision cleared, and he saw Faye’s worried face bent close before him. Sulking right behind her with eyes wide with worry under the pirate’s hat was Tom. Jack rubbed the back of his head and nodded.
“Sure, sure, I’m fine. It was just a tap. Nothing at all.”
“See what I mean, Jack Graham
?” Faye exclaimed, her relief audible in her voice. “I told you someone would get hurt.”
“Nah, I’m not hurt. Just surprised. It was all my fault,” he added, reaching out to pat Tom’s arm. “Never turn your back in a fight, and never, never, forget to duck.”
Tom exhaled mightily, his eyes moist with relief.
“Well, come sit down while I get you some ice,” she said, helping him to his feet and clucking with her tongue while checking the back of his head. “That little tap is going to be a big goose egg.” She guided him to a chair and, placing her palm on his shoulder, forced him to sit. “Now stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Before leaving, she gathered the swords and, tucking them under her arm in a righteous sweep, marched into the kitchen.
Jack rose and walked over to Tom, wrapping a consoling arm around his shoulder and giving him a man-to-man shake. “Don’t worry, pal. She’ll let you have them back after she cools down.”
Tom’s thin shoulders shrugged with seeming acceptance, no doubt relieved that he didn’t get a punishment. He turned to leave, then paused. Suddenly, in a swift, clumsy rush he turned back toward Jack, reached out to hug him fiercely around the waist, then ran off into the house, Maddie at his heels. This time Jack felt the sword directly in his heart.
“I thought I told you to sit down,” Faye said, returning to the garden to find Jack standing with one hand on the back of his head, staring off with a bemused expression on his face. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look a bit confused.”
“Oh, I am,” he conceded. “But not from the whack.”
“Well come over here and put your feet up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a teasing smile, but in truth he was enjoying the mothering.
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