Godmother

by Carolyn Turgeon

  “I know,” I said, stroking her hair.

  “I never talk about it,” she said, “how much it hurts me, all the time. It's empty without him. I'm empty. I'm afraid it will always be like this.”

  “It won't,” I said. “It just takes time. You are so young, Veronica.”

  She sat up, wiping her face. “I want to be better,” she said. “I was so into this night, making this dress. I felt truly happy, you know? But I feel guilty, feeling happy when he isn't here.”

  “I know.”

  I could have been back in the other world. Her moon hair, her shimmering face, her wide, wet-jewel eyes. I'm sorry, I wanted to say. I'm sorry that I left you.

  “Did it ever get easier for you, Lil?” she asked.

  I stared at her. What could I say to her? It had never been easier for me. But she wasn't like me. She still had her world, her self.

  “Yes,” I said. “It gets easier. But I made a mistake in this life, Veronica. I gave up on the world. I gave up on everything. You can't do that.”

  “What if I never get over it?” she whispered.

  In the distance I could hear a church bell chiming the hour.

  I stared into her, willing every bit of power I had into her, everything I had left from the other world. What I should have done for her, for Cinderella. “You will get over it,” I said fiercely. “It is hard. It is the hardest thing in your world. But you must keep doing it, keep living. You have to. Do you understand?”

  “Everyone thinks I'm such a flake,” she said. “Always dating all these guys, these guys who are all wrong, but it's because, because I can't—”

  “I know,” I said. “It feels impossible, I know. It is the hardest thing, letting go of someone. But you have to do it.”

  “I feel like there are black holes all around me. The moment I feel okay, I step into one. I can always step into one.”

  Her eyes were so hollow, the way Cinderella's had been. I felt as if she were right on the edge of something and that I would need to use every bit of strength to pull her back.

  “I know,” I said. “When I was young, centuries ago, I envied humans for that. For being able to feel that. For being capable of such love and such grief. There is something wonderful in all of it. Do you know that? What you have. The world you have. There's so much love behind everything, so much beauty. You cannot give up on it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  I concentrated, put everything I had into her. I would not make the same mistake again. “This is what the world is,” I said. “Exactly this. This is what it means to be human.”

  We were quiet for a few moments.

  “I didn't mean to dump all this on you, Lil,” she said finally. “You're being so amazing and—”

  “It's why I'm here,” I said.

  She nodded, smiled at me through her tears. “I must be a mess.”

  “You're fine,” I said, smoothing back her hair. And she was. Her hair glittered in front of me. Her skin as soft as silk. I looked at her and thought of pearls, the insides of shells. “You'll be fine.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Now, get up,” I said. “And let's put this on you.” I stood. Carefully, as if the dress were made of glass, I unlaced it and lifted it from the mannequin.

  She stood, shaky. Wiping her eyes. She pulled off her jeans, took off her T-shirt. Her body was pale and glowing. She was wearing shimmering silk stockings and a strapless bra.

  Already she looked like she'd been fashioned from foam and sea.

  She stepped into the dress. I helped her move it into place, then tightened the lace in back, tying it into a bow. I adjusted the dress in front and smoothed her hair where it was tousled, next to her face.

  “How does it look?” she whispered. “Is it okay?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It's beautiful.”

  She would be okay, I thought. She would be more than okay: She would be happy.

  We stepped out of her apartment, out of her building, into the street. We headed up Avenue B. The air was thick with the scent of a light rain, which was just beginning to fall. A cab was approaching, the roof sign lit to show that it was available.

  “I'll get this for you,” I said. I lifted my arm. The cab stopped at our side. I smiled and pulled the door open for her.

  She looked at me. “Thank you,” she said, and reached over, for the second time that night, and hugged me. “Thank you for everything. I'll come by first thing in the morning to tell you all about it.”

  “You're welcome,” I said. I could feel tears pricking at my eyes. A relief so strong it was almost unbearable. Finally. It was right. She was okay now. She would be okay. I wondered if I should tell her that by morning I would be on my way home, to the other world.

  I chose not to say anything. She was okay now. She would be fine.

  She bent down and slid into the cab, careful to keep her hair in place, the silk of her dress smooth and straight.

  “Have a wonderful time,” I said. “Just let yourself feel everything. All of it.”

  “I will,” she said. “Thank you, Lil. Thank you for being such a good friend to me.”

  And in that moment it was all perfect: The smoky early autumn air, the glitter on her face, her moonlit hair hanging to her shoulders. The pale blue dress with its ribbons and smattering of crystals. Her pale slippers disappearing behind the door.

  I watched the cab rush up the street, its taillights fading out.

  I closed my eyes. I couldn't hear or smell the ball, but I was almost there. I could have been there. The silver stairs. The towers. The moat and the candles. The scent of gardenia. The air, smoky from all the torches. The rain and the heat. The love and grief and beauty. The whole world, all the kingdom, everything ground down and stopped until there was only this.

  My part had ended. This is where it ended. Where it should have ended. When I would have left her.

  I remained alone on Avenue B, and despite the miracle that had just occurred, the street was the same as always. Groups of young people wandering along the sidewalk, the curving shapes of pipes from inside the hookah bar on the corner. A Vespa sputtering past. An old Cadillac. A Volvo. Another cab.

  I reached into my purse and felt something soft in my hand. I looked down. I was holding her scarf, the one I had found for her. I couldn't believe I had forgotten to give it to her. I started to call her name, but she was gone, the taxi out of view.

  It felt like an omen. My body seemed to shift, turn in on itself. I couldn't breathe suddenly. I had left her once before when I should have protected her.

  I lifted my arm.

  “The Pierre Hotel,” I said as the taxi came to a stop beside me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  IWAS BREATHLESS WITH EXCITEMENT AS THE CARRIAGE moved through the night. I could feel him—dancing with girl after girl, his eyes pinned to the door at the top of the staircase, waiting for me to appear in front of him. His heart in his mouth. I knew he had not stopped thinking of me after the day I appeared in his chamber. His mind was full of me, my red hair and green eyes, my pale human skin. Like autumn leaves and milk. Of course, if Cinderella walked through the palace doors, she would make him forget me and that day in his chamber, the most important day of my life. I had to face that now: how that day had meant more to me than any day I'd spent in the fairy world. I would give up all of it for him—coasting along the fairy lake, gliding in the air above it. I would give it up for another day like that one, with him.

  I loved the feel of the ground rushing under me, the rumble of the carriage, the sensation of silk on skin, the glass encasing my feet. I heard the ball as we rushed toward it, saw the great heaps of food spread out on the golden banquet tables, the thousand candles lit up and floating in the moat, stuck in the stone walls and along the banisters of the great staircases, the hundred silver steps outside leading to the palace's front gate. The line of golden carriages out front. The ladies and lords inside, everyone drunk with mu
sic and wine and promise. Cinderella's stepmother and stepsisters in lace and pearls and emeralds, waiting to be plucked from the crowd. And he in the center of it, staring up at the door, the top of the staircase.

  Waiting for me.

  The carriage rushed ahead.

  And then there they were: the silver steps. Blinding me. So sharp and shining, perfect. And over them, at the top of the stairs, the great clock, its hands encrusted with jewels.

  I stepped out of the carriage. The glass slipper clicked against the silver, and then I was rushing up the steps, as fast as I could, so fast I couldn't see anything, could only feel the movement from deep in my body, the need to get there, to be with him again. This, I thought. This now. This is what it means to be human. I couldn't hear, could barely see. It had all just come down to this. Him waiting, me running, the hands of the clock moving forward.

  I ROLLED down the window, stuck my hand out, and moved my face into the breeze. We made a left on Fourteenth Street, then turned up First Avenue.

  The cabdriver seemed to linger at every red light, slow down just before every yellow. He was talking loudly on his cell phone in a language I couldn't recognize. I wanted to scream.

  “Please,” I said, tapping the thick divider. “I'm in a hurry!”

  He gestured to the red light and shrugged, then spoke into his cell phone more loudly than he had before.

  I would not miss New York City cabs in the other world, I thought, sitting back and closing my eyes. Clenching both my hands into fists.

  Veronica would be fine. She was not like Cinderella, who had been broken long before that night. Hadn't she been?

  I forced myself to breathe, even as the taxi lurched into traffic.

  What were the fairies doing right now, I wondered. Floating on the water? Landing on tree branches and swinging down? Taking naps in flower blossoms? Or were they right there in the taxi flitting around my neck and ears?

  “Help me,” I whispered. “Please. Make sure she is safe.”

  The night was getting colder. The taxi moved forward. Thirty-fourth Street became Fortieth, then Forty-sixth. I rolled up the window and watched the street signs pass by, feeling myself getting lighter and lighter. My wings were tingling. I could almost hear the clomping of hooves. I am coming, I thought. Just wait a little bit longer.

  “Pierre Hotel,” he said.

  And there they were. Carriages, the forest, the castle. There were the coachmen and the guards standing around, ready to escort every lord and lady through the palace doors and into the ball inside.

  I RACED up the silver steps, into the palace. The torches flaring on either side of me. One of the palace guards stepped forward to escort me into the room.

  And there he was. The prince, stepping out of the crowd of lords and ladies, just as I knew he would. The guard moved back to his station.

  “It's you,” he said. His beautiful mouth. He lifted his hand to me.

  “Yes,” I said. “I never forgot you, Theodore.”

  “Come inside,” he said, and he smiled at me, looked right into me, the way he had once, when I was hovering at the edge of a room, with no place at all in this world.

  I took his hand and let him lead me inside, to where the dancers slid across the marble floor, which shone under us.

  Everyone turned to watch us.

  He took my hand in his. His other palm pressed against my waist. It seemed to move right through me, straight to the center of my body. I lifted my face to his.

  “I was so afraid you wouldn't come,” he said. The music, light and quick, dropped over us. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. You're all I think about.”

  We began to dance. He pushed me out into the crowd and then pulled me back again, his hand on mine and his face in front of my face and his lips so close to mine. I could taste his breath, smell his scent, and I could see myself reflected as he twirled me about, his hand around my waist, pushing me out and bringing me back to him. Like dying and coming back to life.

  He stared at me as if I could disappear any second, and he did not take his eyes off me. The music forced him away and back again, away and back again. His hand clutched mine so tightly it was beginning to hurt.

  A line of ladies stood watching us. Having left the floor, standing with glasses of wine or punch in their hands. I

  could hear them whispering, “Who is she? Where did she come from?” I could feel the heartbreak of the girls who'd spent weeks dreaming of this night and already realized he was for me. Cinderella's sisters stood miserably by the stairway, unable to stop watching us.

  I could hear their thoughts: Why won't he dance with us? But they knew why. No one had ever seen anyone like me. I was not of their world, despite the blood beating through me, my human form, my pale skin, and the sweat forming on my brow.

  My body moved easily with the music. I stared back at him, into his sugar-water eyes. I felt he could see things in me that no one else could. This desire. Fairies were not supposed to want for anything. But I did. It was a secret, a gift, for him.

  The music ended. He pulled me to him, my palm against his chest, and I could feel his heart beating. I had never felt a human heart before. “Come outside with me,” he whispered, his voice ragged. My whole body flared into something else. I loved this new feeling. I felt the silk on my skin, his heart under my palm, his face next to my face.

  I could smell the rain. At one end of the ballroom, a set of elaborate doors led to a long balcony that looked out over the palace gardens. Strings of gardenias had been wrapped around the railing. The scent was so strong, made stronger by the rain just beginning to fall, that it filled the ballroom.

  He led me to the balcony, moving through the crowd of his subjects, who all stepped back and bowed or curtsied as he went past.

  It was exquisite, ecstatic.

  Outside, the rain was light. I felt wild, in love with the feelings moving through me, with his eyes that saw me, that pinned me to the spot. I pulled him to me. He slipped my gown from my shoulders. I could taste him now, like figs plucked straight from the tree.

  As the clock began to chime, I pressed into him, as hard as I could, nearly suffocating him.

  He didn't seem to notice, or to hear the flapping wings. He could not feel the air turn cold with it. I looked up and saw their faces, their bodies in flight, bearing down on me.

  The clock chimed three times, four.

  THE DOORMAN nodded and let me inside.

  As I passed through the lobby of the Pierre and headed toward the ballroom, I saw men and women in the most wondrous clothes. Handsome men in bow ties and tuxes, ladies in slinky elegant dresses. They were standing about the hotel lobby, taking off jackets and scarves, blocking my way.

  I pushed through. Into the next room, up the stairs.

  I made my way down the hall, my heart pounding. Glancing to my right, I caught sight of a dowdy old lady rushing forward, and I almost laughed out loud. That might have been me once, I thought, but not now. I was here to help her, to make sure that the human girl met the prince and lived happily ever after. I was not of this world. My hair fell down to my shoulders like fire. I could hear the sounds of the orchestra, the tapping of feet along the marble floor. The swish of my dress as I ran down the hallway to the main ballroom.

  This is who I am. I was doing exactly what I was supposed to do.

  I reached the door. Inside, a roar of laughter and talking.

  “Excuse me, ma'am?”

  “Yes,” I said, turning, noting the suited man's surprised look.

  “Can I help you, ma'am?”

  He was shocked by my beauty, I thought, lowering my eyes and looking back up at him.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “I am fine.” I turned away, searched for her in the throng of people. I could not help it if my beauty made him mad.

  And then I spotted her. She was impossible to miss, with her long body and starlight hair and the shimmering blue of her gown, against all the shorter, l
ess beautiful women in tight black. I could hear her laughing, her head bent back, as it always was. George standing next to her with a glass of wine in his hand, making her laugh.

  She was alive. She was safe. She was happy. The glow on her face! I had never seen her so happy as that, with the lights from the chandeliers glittering down on her skin, her face turned to him, and her mouth spread into a smile. She wasn't the least bit self-conscious, I realized. Together they were the most beautiful couple there. And so young. I had forgotten how young she was. She had always longed to be anywhere but where she was, and now she was here, and it was all different, everything was changed, and he would love her until she turned to ash.

  What was he saying?

  I leaned in, tried to hear, but whatever it was she was laughing at, she stopped. A moment later he put down the glass and led her to the floor. I watched her wrap her long arms around his neck, him slip his palms across her back.

  I could feel his palms across mine.

  I HEARD their wings against my ear, like insects on a summer night. A whirring all around me.

  “I have to go,” I said, pulling away from him.

  “I don't understand,” he said, his voice soft, so soft it felt as if it were coming from inside me. “Let me help you.”

  “No,” I said, my voice breaking. “It's midnight.”

  I could feel it all coming apart, feel him slipping away from me, everything cracking open, how fragile he was, how fragile she was, how everything was so fleeting, only seconds, wanting so much to be near him and knowing I could never be closer to him than this, that this is what it meant to be human, not being able to stop time, always grasping, but for that one moment, despite the pain moving through me, my broken heart, it was all so beautiful, and I was in love with all of it. All of it.

  The clock chimed ten times, eleven times, twelve.

  “I have to—” I looked into his stricken face, but I could already feel it receding from me. Their faces coming into relief. The elders. Behind me. All around me. I had to go now. There was nothing I could say to him. I pushed back into the ballroom, pulling up, fixing my dress, past the gilded old ladies, the portly men with sashes around their waists.