“Tom, grab hold of Nana,” he ordered. The puppy was romping at Wendy’s face, licking her cheeks gleefully. Jack lifted Wendy into his arms, thinking as he did so that she was no bigger than a young girl and weighed no more. He settled her gently into her bed. Tom propped a mountain of pillows behind her so she could sit up without effort, then the boy sat on the bed beside her, leaning against the pillows, taking her hand between his two small ones and staring at her face with the devotion of a pup.
“I feel so foolish,” Wendy exclaimed, her voice weak. The color was returning to her cheeks, but Jack doubted he would forget the deathly pallor he had seen moments before.
“I’ll go get Nurse Jerkins.”
“No!” Both Wendy and Tom exclaimed this in unison.
Jack stopped short and looked at them both staring back at him. Then Tom sat up, took a deep breath, and spoke with eyes alive with intent.
“You can’t, ’cause I was hiding and I heard Ol’ Horseface talking to Mrs. Lloyd and they want to spy on Wendy so they can find a reason to put Wendy into an old lady home for her own good they say but it’s so Mrs. Lloyd can sell this house for lotsa money and then you’ll hafta move and so will we and then...and then Wendy won’t be able to talk to Peter because he won’t know where she is!”
“Well put, dear boy,” Wendy said, leaning back against the pillows with a whisper of a smile.
Tom took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, satisfied that he’d gotten it right.
Jack stood, stunned by the flow of words from Tom’s mouth. Wendy didn’t seem the least surprised. Of course, he realized. The medical literature was right. Wendy was Tom’s best tonic. She’d gradually drawn him out, story by story.
“I see,” replied Jack, rubbing his jaw, gathering his wits. “But Wendy, you still must be seen by someone.”
“Nonsense, Jack,” she replied as though he were a boy who should get his knuckles rapped for such an insinuation. “I know exactly what happened. I simply forgot and took an extra dose of my blood-pressure medicine. I’ve done it before and it always makes me faint. That’s all. It’s a blessing Tootles discovered me before that wretched Nurse Jerkins, or I’d have Jane and her doctors and solicitors swarming about me like the bunch of bullies they are.”
“Wendy, I must insist. I’m sorry. Hey, don’t the two of you look at me like I’m a Blackbeard. I’m right behind you if you don’t want to see Mrs. Jerkins and get involved in that business. How about I take you to your doctor myself? Just for a checkup? No one need know.”
“At my age, there isn’t much to check!” she snapped. “They simply listen to my heart, take my pressure, give me a few more pills, pat me on my head, mutter something ridiculous about how I’ll live forever, and send me on my way.”
“Wendy,” he said, sounding much too much like a stern father for his own liking, “you must go.”
She pouted but nodded. “Very well. But only if you promise not to be a sneaky tell- tale to Mrs. Jerkins.”
He chuckled, raising his hands in the Boy Scouts’ honor sign, and said, “I swear.”
* * *
Tom was speaking! Faye practically flew home from work, her heart in her throat. By the time she crossed the threshold of No. 14 she was mute with joy, able only to hug her little boy and blubber and thoroughly embarrass him, despite the ear-to-ear grin Tom wore on his face.
She rose to scurry up the stairs to thank Wendy when Jack put an arresting hand on her shoulder.
“Wendy’s resting,” he told her in confidential tones, then led her to a quiet room where he explained the events of the morning.
“Are you sure she’s all right?” she asked, fear for Wendy striking deep in her heart.
“The doctor gave her a clean bill of health, but told her to rest. She’s not getting any younger.”
“To me, she’s ageless,” Faye whispered, looking out the window. Then, bringing her gaze back to Jack, she saw the worry etched in the lines of his forehead as well. “I can’t believe my Tom’s talking. You don’t know, Jack, what this means to me. I can’t begin to explain...”
“You don’t have to explain to me. I have a pretty good idea. I’ve been choking back tears all day myself.”
She leaned against him. “Of course you do.” Then, sniffing, she added, “You’re like one of the family.”
He wrapped his arms around her. She could’ve bitten her tongue for the slip.
“What I meant,” she hedged, “was that we’re all such a big, happy family here in Number 14. Me and the kids, you, Wendy. And of course, Nana.” She thought if she added the dog that would clearly de-escalate things. “When I shop at the grocer’s for rolls or pieces of beef or even cans of soda, I always count out five now: me, Maddie, Tom, Wendy...and you.” She didn’t look up.
“And when I plan an outing to the park or the movies,” he said “I call you. And the kids.”
“Right.” Why did her throat feel like it was closing up? Looking at her fingers, she was horrified to find that she was twiddling with the buttons of his shirt. She quickly dropped her hands to her sides and backed away, bereft at feeling his arms drop from her shoulders.
“Faye?”
“Yes.”
He reached out and lifted her chin to gaze into her eyes. “What does that tell you? About us?” he asked.
She swallowed hard and felt the blood drain from her face. How could she tell him that it told her he’d somehow become part of her everyday? How could she confess that the sun rose and set with his image in her mind? How could she lay herself so bare as to admit that he’d finagled his way deeply into not only her life but the lives of her children? And that when he left in September, as she knew he would, he would create a black hole that they would have to crawl out from? The answer was she could not.
“It tells me that we are the very best of friends.”
He paused. Then with a cocky tilt of his head, he said, “Maybe a bit more than friends?”
She sighed, and her heart took wing. “Maybe.”
* * *
For days, Faye’s heart seemed to fly from her chest every time she heard Tom utter a word, a sentence, or even a whole bunch of them mumbled together like a brilliant, spectacular bouquet of flowers. Her joy was the glue that held her together during the difficult week of hectic preparations, last-minute changes, and long days and late nights of huddled conferences with her creative team. The big presentation to Hampton Tea was the following Monday and the hysteria levels were building. All had to be buffed, polished, and readied for takeoff.
She was at the office with her team most of that Saturday, working straight through the afternoon at a relentless pace. Then just before four o’clock, knowing she couldn’t face another pot of Hampton tea that day, Faye threw up her hands, announced that they were as ready as they were gonna be, and told everyone to go home and get some rest. Exhausted herself, she limped home, wondering how she even remembered to place one foot before the other.
“I’m home!” she called, popping her head into her flat, but no one answered. A note on the table informed her that Jack had taken Maddie and Tom to race toy boats at Round Pond in Kensington Garden.
She leaned against the door and closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to collapse in bed and sleep for twenty-four hours. Yet she knew she should take this quiet time while the children were out of earshot to go the nursery and properly thank dear Wendy, who she was convinced was singularly responsible for Tom’s miracle.
Wendy was magic. A dose of Wendy’s optimism and spirit were just what Tom had needed. What they’d all needed, Faye thought, beginning her climb up the stairs.
The door to the nursery was open, but on peering in, she found Wendy sitting alone on the window seat, dressed in her best, with a bit of lace at the collar and at her cuffs. She was looking forlornly out the closed window.
“Wendy? Halloo there! It’s me, Faye.” She sensed immediately that something was wrong and entered slowly.
The tabl
e had been set for a formal tea. Drawing near, however, Faye noticed that the tea had gone cold in the cups, untouched. The little cakes and sandwiches sat stale on the three-tiered plate, and not a spoon or a fork had been put to service. Faye frowned with concern to see Wendy sitting dejected with her slight shoulders bent, like old Miss Haversham sitting amid the ruins.
“Wendy? Whatever is the matter? Were you expecting someone? Not us I hope? Oh Wendy, we didn’t forget an invitation, did we?”
Wendy blinked as one coming out of a deep reverie, then shook her head slowly and turned to face her. A sad smile flitted across her face. “Oh no, not you. Never you.” She sighed and cast a doubtful glance across the tea table. “My great-grandchildren were expected for a visit today.”
“They didn’t show up?” Faye couldn’t believe anyone could be so thoughtless. Not even Jane Lloyd’s grandchildren.
Wendy’s eyes watered under soft pink lids. “Perhaps they forgot. Or perhaps they don’t have time.” She sighed. “Perhaps my stories are not so very interesting to teenagers.”
Sympathy formed a knot in Faye’s throat as she crouched low beside Wendy and took the tiny, delicate hands into her own. She felt the old woman’s fragility and noticed that her skin was as pale and translucent as the thin pages of the book in her lap. Faye squeezed Wendy’s hand, wanting to lift her spirits as Wendy had lifted hers so many times in the past months.
“Oh no, Wendy, your stories are timeless.”
Wendy peered into her face, seemingly surprised. Faye realized with a flush of shame that she herself had never actually sat at Wendy’s knee to listen to the stories as the others had. She’d heard them secondhand from Maddie as she sat on her bedside at tuck-in time. No, she’d been no better than Wendy’s great-grandchildren, too busy to linger in the nursery for stories, too sure that they were just fairy tales meant for children. Indeed, she thought with chagrin. Too wise and mature to need advice from someone older.
Slipping down to sit Indian-style on the carpet, Faye said, “Tell me one now, please, Wendy?”
Wendy’s countenance brightened with the delight of a fisherman who’d caught the big one. She sat straighter in her chair, mustering her energy, and tapped her cheek with her fingertip as she pondered, “Which one? Which one?” Then she leaned forward and gazed down at Faye’s face. Her unusually bright blue eyes were like lanterns that peered into her mind as she poked around and lifted lids in Faye’s mind, snooping to discover what troubled her. She must have found what she was looking for because she sat back, nodding with satisfaction, and began her story in her rich, melodious voice.
“Peter Pan, as he’d be the first to tell you, can be very clever and very brave. He once employed both these talents to save the Indian Princess, Tiger Lily, from the horrid Captain Hook in Mermaids’ Lagoon. You remember that story, don’t you? Good, good. Afterwards, you never saw such rejoicing. The Piccaninny warriors dubbed Peter, The Great White Father, which of course he liked a great deal. They presented him with a magnificent headdress, and they all danced around a great, roaring fire. Tiger Lily always had a special feeling for Peter, you know,” Wendy said archly. “That night in particular she pranced and preened before him, and that silly boy’s eyes were as round and full of dreaminess as the moon.”
Faye held back a smile as Wendy paused to shift in her seat and smooth her skirt, seemingly still vexed by the memory.
“Well,” she began again, “despite the happiness of the celebration, as I watched I felt a great isolation. Peter had forgotten all about me. And the boys were too busy hooting and hollering to bother with one prim girl sitting alone beside a distant teepee.” Wendy looked at her hands while her brows gathered. “I felt I didn’t really fit in on that magical island. I wasn’t a boy, that was certain. Nor was I a squaw or a mermaid. Yet I loved the Neverland. I loved...Peter.” She paused and twisted her hands, blushing.
Faye thought, my goodness, she loves him still! And her heart felt a pang for the old lady.
“I’m embarrassed to confess,” Wendy continued, “that I was a bit weepy that night, feeling terribly sorry for myself and wanting to be home again.” Wendy looked up and her eyes brightened in the memory. “Then I felt a fluttering on my shoulder, just touching my cheek. It was feather-soft, and I heard the faint, sweet sound of bells. It was none other than Tinkerbell. Well, you can imagine my surprise, and I winced, fully expecting a hard pinch. Tinkerbell, you see, was not exactly a friend. She was quite jealous of my friendship with Peter. But there she was, plain as day, and in her inimitable fashion, she proceeded to give me what-for. I couldn’t translate exactly what she said, not understanding fairy talk, but I just knew she was angry at me for slouching off, my tail between my legs. As I sat back in astonishment and watched and listened to this mad fluttering of wings and bell ringing, it dawned on me.
“Whatever it was inside of me, whatever kernel deep inside that enabled me to believe in fairies, in Peter, in the Neverland itself, this was my source of strength. No one could ever take that away from me. As long as I believed, no matter where I was or with whom, I’d always belong. Because I was at home in my own heart.”
Wendy reached out to cup Faye’s cheek in her palm. “Knowing that I have a fairy on my shoulder, I have nothing to fear.”
Chapter 16
The morning of the Hampton Tea presentation Faye dressed carefully. She didn’t care to compete with Susan’s dramatic look or Jaishree’s leggy, sexy one, and settled instead on her own quietly professional style. Her ideas had to shine through, not her fashion sense.
The navy suit she’d bought on sale at Harrods was still terribly overpriced, but she liked it and it was conservative enough to be another warhorse in her stable. She wound her blond hair into a neat French twist, then nailed it tight with an army of bobby pins and an ocean of hairspray that made her feel like she was wearing a helmet on her head. There would be no loose tendrils today, she vowed. Looking in the mirror, she conceded that her ceremonial armor was in order. Onward to battle!
Her front doorbell rang early, and, opening her door, she was surprised to find Jack at her threshold carrying a small wrapped box.
“I’d kiss you for luck,” he teased, “but I don’t want to waste it. I have a feeling that with you I’ll only get one more.”
“A gift? Jack, I...”
“Gotta run. Break a leg, Faye,” he said, then ducked out the door.
She carried the box to the window where, looking outside, she caught a final glimpse of Jack walking in his long-legged stride down the block. My, he really was handsome...and the most thoughtful man she’d ever met. What was she going to do about him, she wondered? She unwrapped the box with shaky fingers. Inside she found a small gold star on a thin gold chain. The note read, Second star to the right, and straight on till morning! I know you’ll shine today. Jack.
Faye slipped the chain around her neck, pressing the star close to her chest, deeply touched.
A crash in the kitchen sent her running. There she found Maddie with one of her aprons tied around her waist, stirring frozen lumps of orange juice in the pitcher and Tom teetering on a chair beside her spreading impossibly huge slabs of butter on toast.
“We made you breakfast,” she was informed. “For your special day.”
Faye sampled enough to please them, despite the butterflies flapping in her stomach, assuring them with several choruses of “mmm” and “delicious” that breakfast was utter perfection. At the door Maddie and Tom each kissed her and seriously wished her good luck.
“Hurry home afterward,” Maddie ordered, wagging her finger.
Hugging them close, Faye squeezed her eyes and said a quick prayer that she’d not let them down.
* * *
When she entered the conference room the tension was palpable. Faye noticed that everyone had taken the same care with their dress. Suits were the order of the day for both men and women. Jaishree had cloaked her long gorgeous body in ivory silk; George had barely man
aged to gather his stomach into his tan gabardine; and Patrick and Harry were both in black wool. Even Pascal wore a retro number that, though he looked dashing in it, was perhaps a little too high-style for the Savile Row set that marched in from Hampton Tea at precisely ten o’clock.
The mumbling of greetings filled the air as Bernard and Susan welcomed the clients. Faye and her team waited their turn. All were on the alert this morning and plenty of groveling was in order.
Frederick Hampton-Moore, the CEO of the company, surprised everyone by driving in from the country to join the meeting. Over a dozen heads Faye caught Bernard’s raised brows, indicating to her that the stakes had been steeply raised. The CEO’s appearance meant that, so far, the top management liked what they saw. Faye nodded, understanding that Mr. Hampton-Moore’s opinion was the only one that mattered today. He was the bull’s-eye. She’d have one shot at the deal, and it was now.
Faye discreetly stroked her moist palms against her suit as she studied the old man. He was short and plump with a startling white beard that wreathed his face and met up with longish white hair that curled at the collar. Two pink cheeks emerged like ripe peaches nestled in cotton and when he smiled she thought he looked just like Santa. The thought made her shoulders lower and a smile stretch across her face. Mr. Hampton- Moore looked up, caught the smile, and his own face lit up. He came directly toward her, his hand outstretched and his vast stomach well ahead of him.
“You must be Mrs. O’Neill,” he said with uncommon friendliness. “Very good to meet you. Heard so much about you.” To the cluster of men who pressed close and smiled attentively at his side, he remarked, “Such a little thing to spearhead all this effort, hmmm?”
“Good things come in small packages,” Bernard boomed, and everyone laughed.
Faye liked the pleasant man. She smiled broadly and offered a warm response. The room quieted, and she noticed that she was the center of attention. Glancing sideways, Susan Perkins dutifully smiled but her cat-like eyes looked like she wanted to scratch Faye’s eyes out.
Second Star to the Right Page 22