Something shiny caught my eye. On the shelf beside the cash register were black velvet boxes with silver bracelets. A silver heart with an etched rose hung off the chains. The handwritten yellow sign beside it read: Silver Bracelets for Your Loved One! Only $19.99!
My lips pressed tight; searing tar roiled inside my gut, making me want to wail. "I'll meet you in the lobby, okay?" I handed Orin my items, then stormed out of the store to escape the cashier's narrowed eyes and my husband's lies which followed me throughout miles of railroads and woods and highways and hell. I snapped Sam's cheap silver gift off my wrist and tossed it into a garbage can in the lobby, my blood ready to boil. I should chuck my wedding ring in as well, I thought, then spotted a pay phone in the corner.
My chest tightened. I could call Sam.
Did I want to call Sam?
I glowered. No. I want nothing to do with the bastard. But then again, I couldn't leave him worrying about me, wondering about me, fearing I was dead in a ditch. That would make me as bad as him. Despite everything, he was still my husband and I was still his wife. Even if he no longer loved me—even if he preferred men—I had taken a vow to honor and respect him. I needed to officially end our relationship so we could both move on with our new lives.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my overcoat. It just needed to be a quick phone call. Assure him I was safe but our marriage was over. Easy. I grabbed the receiver. He probably won't even answer, I thought. He might even be with his lover. My eyes narrowed. Fine. Good. Leaving a message was easier. I pressed the phone to my ear, pushed zero, and spoke the number.
The operator told me to hold. The sound of nothing hummed in my ear, telecommunication's abyss. I stared at graffiti carved into the phone's metal plate. Gabe & Maria. I wondered if they were still together.
"Here is your party," the operator said.
"Miriam?"
Sam's voice was tinny on the echoing connection. He sounded robotic, inhuman. I almost slammed down the phone.
I cleared my throat.
Um ... What had I planned to say again?
"Hey..."
"Where the fuck are you?"
Cheater, cheater, marriage eater.
My thumbnail slid up and down the phone-cord, clicking against the metal grooves. "I don't know. I just called to—"
"You ran away to humiliate me! How the hell do you not know where you're at?"
I clenched the phone-cord, the metal slick in my sweating palm. My husband didn't care that I had vanished. He didn't care if I was safe or what I had gone through. All he cared about was how my predicament affected him. Anger blazed behind my eyes. My impulse was to stamp it out as I always did, but I had been cold for far too long. I was such an idiot. How did I believe Sam had ever loved me, when he refused to even listen to what I said?
"Well?"
My jaw started to quake. "It's not like that."
"Miriam?" Orin stood past the phone's privacy shield, out of view. He sounded worried, almost scared. I hardly knew this stranger beyond a few spoken paragraphs, had stepped out of a convenience store for three minutes, and he already cared more about my wellbeing than the man I had shared a life with for thirteen years.
A slight pause hung on the line. "Who the fuck is that?" Sam said.
My knuckles glowed white against the black receiver, the bones ready to burst through the skin. "I gotta go."
"So help me God, if he—" I slammed down the receiver before Sam finished.
Orin's shoulders relaxed when I stepped out from behind the privacy shield. He smiled and handed me the knapsack full of my new belongings. "The cashier says we pay for the showers at the—are you okay?"
I flung the strap over my shoulder. "Yeah. I-I phoned my husband to let him know I was safe and to end our marriage. It did not go well."
Orin sighed and shook his head. I winced, expecting him to scold my stupidity for calling. "Your husband is an idiot for not appreciating your good heart," Orin said. His hug warmed me more than the overhead vents. "Come. Let's get the rest of you cleaned up."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I pushed quarters into a slot, then opened a door to a tiled bathroom. "Meet me in the restaurant whenever you finish," Orin said. "And leave your dirty clothes outside the door so I can start our laundry."
I spun around to face him. "I do the laundry."
"Don't be silly. Enjoy yourself."
"But—" I started. He waved his hand dismissively, then paid the stall across from mine and closed the door behind him.
I locked my door, then stripped out of my grimy clothing, separating my black bikini briefs from the pile. They were the only pair of underwear I had and they hadn't been washed in days. I couldn't leave them for a stranger to launder. Especially a man. What would my mother say?
I would say you're acting like a disgraceful slut, my mother's voice grumbled inside my head. Have you seen my cigarettes?
I inched the door open and slid my filthy clothes outside for Orin to wash, minus the bikini briefs. I felt guilty and vulnerable, as if I was surrendering my responsibilities and identity to a stranger. I went to hand-wash my underwear with shampoo in the sink ... then stopped. I leaned on the basin, naked, slumping deep into my shoulders. What exactly was my identity? Sam's wife? Gas attendant? Spineless homemaker?
I cracked open the door and slid my underwear into the pile outside.
Shampooing my head was like shampooing a tumbleweed. Water slid off my body in black streams, making me feel like a bag lady caught in the rain. My fingernails were packed with filth, and a rotting leaf clogged the drain. I groaned. How embarrassing. Although I still didn't know what Orin wanted with me, I wouldn't blame him if I stepped out of the shower and discovered he had fled.
I scrubbed away the campfire and the mud and the humiliation until the water became tepid and the bathroom became claustrophobic from peach scented steam. I toweled off, shoved my wedding ring into the bottom of my backpack, brushed my teeth, and rubbed antibiotic ointment onto my ankle. The cuts were red and tender, but not infected or as deep as I had imagined, thank God. My new jeans were too baggy, the heels of my new socks rested above my ankles, I lacked underwear, and my nipples pointed through the long-sleeved shirt. Still, cashmere and silk had never felt finer.
"Miriam!" Orin stood in the back of the diner, waving me over from behind a fogged glass divider. His hair was like dry sun-kissed sand, gleaming beneath the fluorescent lighting. I sunk into my shoulders, patting down my wet tumbleweed. The shampoo had been powerless against the snarls the train and elements had created in my hair, and I felt too guilty to ask Orin to buy conditioner or a hairbrush. Although sheep shears seemed a better option. My hair was halfway to dreadlocks.
I sat in the booth seat across from Orin. A gray spider hung from a silk thread beside his ear; Orin leaned in close, his lips pursed seriously. "Uh huh. Right. Got it. Will do." The spider scurried up its line and disappeared into the overhead light fixture.
"Enjoy your shower?" Orin asked.
"I did," I said, picking at a knot in my hair the size of a newborn kitten. I glanced at the ceiling. "What was that about?"
"The chickadee is outside on the roof. He wants us to bring him some hash browns before he leaves." I blinked, unsure if Orin was pulling my leg or not. Two waitresses approached our table, their trays crowded with loaded dishes. "I hope it's okay I already ordered."
"Just as long as it's not turkey," I said, wanly.
The waitresses examined me with one narrow eye, then set down three stacks of Mickey Mouse pancakes with chocolate chip smiley faces, two orders of hash browns, two spinach omelets, a double order of bacon, cinnamon toast, a sweet roll, four mugs of hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream, two glasses of water with lemon, a pitcher of maple syrup, and eighteen packets of honey.
"Anything else?" the shorter waitress asked me.
An insulin shot, I thought, but said: "No, thank you. This is fine."
The waitresses left. Orin tried to
drown one of the Mickey Mouses with maple syrup.
"I take it faeries like sweets?" I said, pulling an omelet in front of me. The sight of it made my mouth water.
Orin peeked up at me like a kid caught with his fingers in the jam. He set the syrup aside, but Mickey was already a goner. "Not all faeries. It's been years since I've eaten Earth food. I guess I got carried away," he said, his ears' pointed tips reddening. "Of course, if I'm promoted, I'm sure I'll be sick of it soon enough."
"Promoted to what?" I asked, then bit into my omelet.
"To retriever. Currently I am a border sentry. We defend the section between the faerie Realm and Earth."
"Are they near one another?"
Orin seesawed his hand. "More like on top of each other." Apparently he saw my confusion because he added: "Think of them as two different frequencies instead of physical lands, like radio stations if you will. And, like radio stations, sometimes you can hear two stations at once. Those are the borders I patrol."
"And coming to, um, Earth's frequency, is part of your promotion?"
Orin grinned and puffed up his chest. "Yup! It's taken years, but the Realm finally allowed me this trial assignment. It's been rough since there wasn't enough time to issue me an Earth ID or driver's license, but if I succeed in their recovery mission the Realm will promote me to a retriever."
"What are you recovering?"
"You, of course," Orin said, and stuffed Mickey's ear into his mouth.
I snorted. "How can you recover something you've never lost?"
Orin chewed and swallowed, hard. "Well, ya see." He paused, shoved more pancake into his mouth, and pretended to admire the glass divider's vine etchings.
Adrenaline twinged my arms and legs. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"You're-a-changeling-the-faerie-Realm-accidentally-lost-and-we-need-to-take-you-back-before-a-darkling-kidnaps-you-first," Orin said in one breath, his mouthful of pancakes muffling the words.
"I'm sorry. Did you say I'm a changeling?"
Orin nodded, chewing.
"As in a faerie swapped for a human infant?"
Orin swallowed and wiped his mouth. "Yes. Your family isn't your real family, and humans aren't your real species. You're a faerie, like us." He gulped down some hot chocolate, then licked the dollop of whipped-cream off his upper lip. "Which is great news! Being a faerie is much better than being a human."
I lowered my forkful of omelet. The eggs now tasted spiced with dread. Nearly twenty-eight years ago my mother had gone into labor two weeks early, mere days before moving from California to Ohio for my father's career. She always said she knew I would be a difficult child because my birth had caused so many hardships. A birth which became the catalyst for my parents' divorce when my mother couldn't deny she had birthed a brown-eyed baby. A brown-eyed daughter born to parents whose eyes were both blue.
My stomach tightened around the omelet. My mother had lost her husband and reputation because of a faerie trick? No wonder she hated me. Although, if I was a changeling, then my mother wasn't my real mother. I also hadn't been born early. My parents' real child had. Their blue-eyed child.
I leaned back in the booth. "This is impossible."
"Nope. It is real. Rare, but real," Orin said. "Besides, why would I lie about this?"
"Maybe you're a psychopath."
"And I trained a chickadee to talk and sent a darkling after you all in the name of a sick joke?" He shook his head. "You are a changeling, Miriam. Look." Orin slid around the table; springs groaned as he sat in the booth beside me. He had changed into a black turtle neck and corduroy pants, the burgundy ribbing worn away on the knees. He pushed my hair back and ran his thumbs along the tips of my ears. The ridges were flat, bumpy, vaguely resembling the edge of a pie crust. Mild deformities I had spent a lifetime hiding underneath hats and headbands and hanging hair.
"See? The tips of your ears are pressed."
I patted the knotted hair over my reddening ears. "What do my deformities prove?"
"They're not deformities," Orin said. "Darklings kidnap newborn faeries. If we are unable to get our babies to the Realm's safety in time, we fold their ears and swap them with a human until it is safe to retrieve them."
A hostess seated a father and young son diagonally from our booth. They had the same deep set eyes, the same flame hair, the same cleft chin. The boy swung his feet, his sneakers knocking the bench with all the carefreeness of a child who knew he was safe and loved. His father sat tall and proud, a red bear who knew without doubt his cub was his. I felt a pang of envy. The boy's existence would never cause his parents' divorce. And he would never, ever doubt where he belonged.
"You still doubt." Orin sighed. "Humans accept you as another human because they don't know any better, but I bet they treat you differently. Standoffish? Rude? Am I right?" I bit my lip. Orin followed my eye. The waitress went out of her way to take the father and son's drink order, meandering around tables to avoid our booth. "We intimidate humans, though they don't understand why," Orin said. "They sense our magic. They fear it."
"I have no magic," I said.
"Of course you do. All faeries do."
I remembered watching Orin in the sunlight, how my skin had tingled like a scandal, how I had stared at him as if he were a secret paradise. But Orin was a jewel. I was a mouse. Surely I didn't cause such reactions in people because I was like him.
"Hold still," Orin said, then weaved his fingertips into the roots of my wet hair. He tugged gently against the mats, then his hands slipped to the ends. My eyes widened. Across the restaurant, the cook shouted out an order; a domed bell dinged. Orin slid his hands through the rest of my hair, tugging no harder than if dragging his fingers through flour.
Orin smiled and folded his hands in his lap. "Much better."
I slid my fingers through my wet hair. Not a single knot or tangle. "How did you...?"
"I didn't, really," Orin said. "Water wants to travel in a straight line. It'll carve landscapes to do so. I just encouraged the water to follow its instincts." He smirked. "Hair tangles are easy to conquer compared to a riverbank."
"My God. You used magic. Actual magic."
Orin's eyes twinkled. "Face the restaurant's entrance." He pulled my hair back when I did, as if gathering a ponytail. When I looked back his hands were cupped and full of water. I gaped at him, petting my dry hair. Orin clapped his palms closed; steam puffed out between his fingers, spiraling to the ceiling and fogging the glass divider.
"That's amazing!"
Orin shrugged. "It's just nature communication. Simple stuff."
"Simple?" I laughed, brushing my hair with my fingers. The steam faded off the glass. "I could never do anything like that!"
"But you can. Don't you see? You are a faerie, Miriam. And if you are strong enough to leave your husband, you are strong enough for this." Orin squeezed my hand. "This is why the Realm made you my first assignment. I don't think a changeling has ever been lost before, but it happened and the Realm is determined to set it right. I am here to bring you back to where you belong. Follow me. Come home."
My chest tightened. I twisted a lock of hair between my fingers. With a few sentences Orin had cracked the ceiling of my reality. Its center was collapsing and sunlight rushed into the gloom. I felt dazed, squinting through the settling dust to see this new world he promised. Dare I escape my isolation through the opening Orin offered? It was warm and exposing, a long awaited validation of my existence, my truth. But freedom was a lofty climb with muscles I had never used before. I might exhaust myself before I escaped, slip and plummet back to loveless isolation and break my back on the floor of my prison, only to stare at a light I was too weak to embrace.
Then again, staying would drive me crazy with questions and doubts and never ending re-evaluations of life and self. If Orin spoke truth, then my whole life had been a lie.
The waitress returned with the father and son's drinks. No glares between them. No stiffening of postures. No fidget
ing or hurrying to escape. Their smiles were genuine. They were strangers, yet shared an unspoken social connection. My eyes welled with tears.
Orin pulled me to him. "Don't cry," he whispered in my ear. "This is a happy day."
Maybe it was stupid to trust the pointed-eared stranger. But a spark of hope had ignited inside me and I had nowhere else to go. Orin didn't shy from me or glare or ignore my existence. He knew where I came from. He knew how I felt in a world that felt much too big. And he wasn't the only one. A whole community awaited my return.
"The Realm wants to help you," Orin said, hugging me tight. "But faeries are not darklings. We will not kidnap you."
I crumbled against his chest like a found child who believed they had been forgotten. And I guess I was in a sense. In the span of a morning my perspective of Orin had shifted from stranger to companion to friend. Potentially my savior.
"Okay," I said, and forced a smile. "Show me the way."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Orin threw his words like strips of steak and I was unable to get my fill.
Cars zipped past us on the four lane highway; an eight foot cinderblock wall blocked our view of the town to the right, confining us to the road. The snow had melted, and the moist pavement glistened with oil stains, soaked litter, broken tempered glass. My feet pointed west, but my eyes remained to the side, watching the faerie man with his thumb pointing out to the traffic. He had talked about the Realm since the truck stop, explaining festivals and commerce, deeds and politics, happiness and community, acceptance and warmth. He explained how every faerie had a purpose, whether on the Realm or on Earth. Some faeries helped plants to grow, some guided the elements, some protected faerie secrets, some encouraged nature to thrive, others worked in social and government support, and much more. Everything I had spent a lifetime seeking waited for me beyond a stone gateway in the Sierra Nevada, my personal happily-ever-after. I grinned like a child enchanted with fairytales and fantastic adventures. Only this time I didn't believe the stories Orin told me were real—I knew they were—and my heart practically glowed.
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