“How did dinner go?”
“Well. I told them I want to apply for art school.”
Will looks both impressed and surprised. “How did they take this new information?”
“Better than I expected,” I admit. “They realized Boston College was their thing, not mine, and said as long as I research my options and keep an open mind for other things, I can do it.”
“That’s so awesome, Ro,” Will says. He takes my hand as he says it and the earnestness of it makes me flush.
“It is, isn’t it?” I say, squeezing his hand.
As an answer, Will leans forward and kisses me. I want to sink into him and stay that way for a week, until we have to get in our cars and go to separate places. But he pulls away too soon, and I can’t help but pout.
Laughing, he takes his pinky and pushes my bottom lip back in line. “I think your dad liked me,” he says.
“He loved your act. The corny jokes really did him in.” I twitch my nose at him. “Mom liked you too. She thought you were cute.”
Will huffs hot breath onto his fingernails and polishes them on his shirt. “What can I say? I can’t help being dashingly handsome.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I don’t know how she managed to see it with that God-awful mustache you draw on yourself.”
“Hey, you promised me a better one but you haven’t delivered the goods.”
“That’s true, I did promise.” I lean over and grab my paints and a fine-tipped brush out of the pile of art supplies between the air mattresses. “Let me remedy that now, Jacques.”
“Eh eh eh,” Will laughs in a distinctly French way. “But o’ course, zere ees one zing zat we must do first, no?”
“And what is that?” I ask, my mouth itching to break into a grin.
Will wiggles his eyebrows. “Zis,” he says, and kisses me again.
I promised him a better mustache, and I will deliver. But for now, that mustache is just going to have to wait.
20
THE LAST DAY
The last morning of the Renaissance Faire, I eat breakfast with the whole gang: Will, Davis, Ramón, Quagmire, Patsy, and even Suze and Grant, because I insist and pull them to our table.
Quagmire and Davis try to outdo each other with jokes this morning, and I laugh in between sips of Ramón’s black sludge excuse for coffee and bites of what will be my last sticky bun for at least nine months. Will takes my hand under the table, which Ramón notices and grunts his approval.
When we’re finished eating and I set off to do the day’s tasks, it’s hard to say good-bye to Will even for just a few hours. We don’t have much time left, and it seems like I’m aware of every passing minute. I feel them all slipping through my fingers as I try to catch them and latch on, but nothing stays.
But it’s not just Will who deserves a good-bye. He’s not the only one who’s changed me this summer.
I walk toward the stables, taking the long route through the village. The place is busy like the day of the Revel, only this time instead of setting something up, they’re tearing down. Striking for the season, Lindy explained yesterday when the whole process started. Yesterday we still had customers, and the place still felt alive with excitement. Today the energy is much different. Not sad, really, but subdued—the feeling of moving on.
I stop walking and watch. Robbie’s inside her little shop, wrapping teacups in newspaper. There’s a box marked RO next to her, and it’s an impressively small box. Save for a handful of teacups, most of what I painted was sold. Magda’s sweeping the porch of the bakery, and I notice that for the first time the smell of cinnamon and yeast isn’t pervading the air. On down the row I can see Lindy talking to the guys from The Bone Needle and Davis saying something that’s cracking her up. Everyone is packing their belongings and wares away. Soon, this place will look like a ghost town, an abandoned bunch of streets and buildings from the Renaissance, a time capsule from the wrong era.
It’s kind of a shock that all of this won’t exist after today. I’ve loved this place so much, grown accustomed to the smells and the sights and the sounds. I’ve even grown to love how crowded it can be, and the crazy people who wear elf ears, and the children who are longing to see dragons. Tomorrow it will just be empty, and quiet, and that is the saddest and weirdest thing in the world to me.
“Where do they all go?” I whisper to myself.
“Some go on to other faires.” I jump, and then smile as I realize Robbie’s come out of her shop and is standing next to me. “There’s a Viking festival down in Pennsylvania that a lot of people go to. Some people have other jobs.”
“And where do you go?”
“I, uh, I teach. Elementary school art.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal.
For a second I imagine Robbie surrounded by a bunch of six-year-olds, her instructing them on their finger painting or their construction paper shapes, and my whole face feels like it’s cracking with my huge smile.
“That fits you.”
“Thanks,” she says, and looks legitimately flattered. “You should come teach an art class. Hell, take ’em off my hands the whole day if you want.”
I laugh. “Deal.”
We hug, and when I can’t find the words to tell her thanks for her guidance and for the time she spent with me this summer, she just nods and says, “I know. Me too. I’ll see you next summer, Ro.”
After that I finally make my way to my original destination: the stables. Although Sage and I may have had a falling out, the pony she introduced me to is going to keep a considerable chunk of my heart when I leave, as well.
Jiffy lifts his head when he sees me, snorting his hello. I open his pen and take out a grooming brush. I take my time, combing out his mane and tail and really digging into the strong muscles that must get so tired when he carries me or the children down at the menagerie. I get lost in the repeated motion of it, finding calm and solace, my worries melting away.
I don’t worry about Will and when we’ll be able to see each other again. I don’t worry about applying for art school or the other research I promised my parents I’ll do. I don’t worry about if I’ll be able to finish my present for Suze and her family. I don’t even think about saying good-bye to anyone, or how sad it was to work my last shifts in the tavern and the face painting tent yesterday. The pony is patient, as if he knows this is our last time. Then I take his big horsey face in my hands and rub along the middle of his snout.
“Bye, boy. Thanks for not throwing me off. Or getting me lost.”
His big, wide-set eyes blink at me in understanding.
“I hope I’ll see you next year,” I say, and it’s the God’s honest truth. I couldn’t imagine a summer without King Geoffrey’s Faire now, but I don’t say that. There are too many other factors I have to keep in mind.
I leave the stables before I get teary. My plan is to grab my supplies out of my tent and head over to the Mulligan wagon to finish up my final thank-you for them. As I round the bend, however, I see Ramón sitting on the front porch of the tavern, his legs dangling over the sides, and I realize he needs a good-bye as well.
As I get closer, I see he’s in street clothes, which is unusual. Usually, even on off days, he’s in a tunic and rustically sewn pants. But today he’s wearing an old Grateful Dead concert T-shirt and a pair of khakis that have been cut off around his knees, revealing skinny, hairy legs. I try not to stare.
When he sees me he pauses, gives me a sour look, and says, “Go away.”
I take that as an invitation and sit next to him, watching as he scrapes his knife against a nearly finished wooden troll.
“I’ll miss you, Ramón.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I will. I’ll miss your sticky buns and your yelling and your good advice.”
A tiny smile turns up the corners of his thin lips. “But mostly the sticky buns, right?”
“Mostly the sticky buns,” I agree with a laugh.
Then Ramón holds up the trol
l to the sunlight, turning it as he inspects it. It must meet his standards because he nods at it, sets his knife down, and brushes off all the wood shavings. Then he surprises the hell out of me by handing it to me, looking hopeful and embarrassed at the same time.
“For me?” I ask dumbly.
He nods. “For you.”
I look down at the little troll in my hands. It’s different from the others. The eyes are bigger and detailed with lashes, the ears are prettily pointed, and underneath its hat, the troll has a mess of curly hair. Though it has a huge belly and Ramón’s trademarked bulbous nose, it’s clear who this troll is meant to be.
“You made a troll of me!” He nods at me, proud of himself. But my smile falters. “I hope you didn’t cut your hands too badly.”
Ramón flips his left hand over and points to a tiny red mark on his palm that’s in the shape of a horseshoe. “It will help me remember you.”
I grin down at my troll likeness. “I’ll always remember you, Ramón. Thank you. I love it. You’ll be back next year, right?”
“Yes. King Geoffrey’s Faire is my home.”
“Where will you go now?”
Ramón shrugs before closing up his knife and tucking it into his pocket. “Viking Festival. Celtic Festival. Wherever Magda wants to go.”
“Magda. I see,” I say, happy to hear that perhaps they’ve finally admitted they love each other.
“Will you come back?”
“I want to,” I tell him. “But I don’t know if I can. It will depend on my college choice.”
“If you want to come back, you’ll come back. You’ll find a way,” Ramón says, and it might just be his best piece of advice yet. We sit in silence for a moment. Off in the distance I can hear people calling out good-byes in the village. It makes my chest feel tight and achy.
“I have to get going,” I tell him, standing. I tuck the troll into my pocket. “There’s a project I have to finish before I leave.”
Ramón grunts in understanding, and stands up too. Then, without warning and before I can prepare myself, he’s wrapped me up in a bear hug that nearly cracks my ribs. I squeal and giggle, which makes him laugh-grunt in response, and when he unhands me I take a step back so I can look him in the eye.
“Thanks for this troll. And for everything, Ramón.”
“Yeah. Get out of here. Before I get angry.”
With one last wave, I round the bend and disappear into the woods.
I tuck an unruly curl behind my ear and concentrate on the final details of the Thank the Mulligans Project.
The mural, my surprise for Lindy, Peter, and Suze, is almost complete. It’s taken me nearly all the free time I had (after work and time with Will, of course) to get it done before the faire closes, but it will be so worth it to see their faces when I pull the drop cloth away and reveal it to them.
The idea is simple enough. I played off their Revel costumes and used a dove to represent Lindy, a hawk to represent Peter, and a peacock to represent Suze. The hawk and dove rest in a giant oak tree at the center of the mural, both of them keeping a watchful eye on the beautiful peacock standing at the tree’s roots. The roots stretch downward and look like they’re growing right into the side of the wagon, and beyond the tree is the rest of the forest. In the distance, over the tops of the leaves, I painted the village bell tower and the opening gates, but I also included the points and stripes of a couple of big tops, to represent their circus days. On the other side are the tops of stables and a few animals, their brown and black forms barely more than shadows beyond the trees. A sign saying MULLIGAN’S FANTASTICAL CREATURES hangs on one of the stables. The sky above fades to black and the constellations are out in full force: Orion, the Big and Little Dippers, and Aquarius.
It takes me nearly an hour to finish the details I was saving for last: the gold and silver of the birds’ wings, the shadowing of the trees that provides depth, the troll hiding behind the very first tree, and finally, my signature.
It’s the first time I’ve ever put my signature on anything meant for someone else, and I take my time, giving the R and D of my name an extra curlicue, and adding one simple phoenix feather underneath it. When I’m done I step back, wiping my hands on the discarded drop cloth, and admire what I’ve done.
It’s by far my best work, which is fitting, because the Mulligans have certainly brought out the best in me.
I take a deep breath and open the front door of the wagon. “Hey, guys . . . I’m done.”
Lindy drops the dish she was washing back into the sink, Peter sets aside his book on rare eagles of the Northern Hemisphere, and Suze, who was apparently just pacing in agony at the wait, squeals out, “Finally!”
As they all exit the wagon, I step out of the way of the mural and motion to it, like the glitzy hostess of a game show.
“Rowena! My goodness. It’s beautiful!”
Peter stands there looking at the mural. He doesn’t say anything, but I hear him swallow, and when I look at him, his eyes are filled to the brim.
Suze falls in behind me and gasps too, sounding so much like her mother that I have to smile. “Ro. This is amazing! I mean, holy crap.”
Lindy tucks me under her arm, pulling me in hard and tight. “What a career you’re going to have.”
We stand there in silence for a while, just looking. As they admire my work, I try to comprehend that I’ve made something that means so much to this family, this family who has come to mean so much to me. My heart is so full of pride it could burst.
“Thank you for this,” Peter finally says. His voice is gruff and wavering. “We’ve never had anything like this before.”
“Okay, everyone, group hug. Come on. It’s far overdue,” Suze says, and the entire Mulligan family crowds in around me until we’re all squeezing and sniffling.
“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me this summer,” I tell them. “I feel like I have a whole other family now.”
“You do,” Lindy insists.
“And a new best friend,” Suze says, and we all pull apart reluctantly. “Seriously. We’ve got to hang out. Amherst isn’t that far away. We could meet in between and go shopping or something.”
Shopping with Suze? Yes, please. It would be so much fun to hang with Suze in the modern real world, even if it might be startling at first to see her work her Renaissance wench charms on innocent waiters or retail clerks.
“That sounds awesome, Suze. I mean, ‘yea, verily!’ ”
Suze gives me a wry look. “I think it might be time to lay off ye olde Kool-Aid.”
We’re giggling at that when the village bells ring that it’s the top of the hour, four o’clock to be exact.
“Oh my goodness. I haven’t even packed yet,” I say, horrified. We have to be out of the faire at six so Jeff can clean up the grounds and lock up for the season.
“I’ll help,” Suze says, and before we start off, I give Lindy another quick hug and wave good-bye to my surrogate family one last time.
Packing is easier than I thought it would be. Mainly because, except for my art supplies, I throw everything into my suitcase without any sort of rhyme or reason. The art supplies I pack carefully, each brush in its own little case, each tube of paint tightly sealed. Suze helps in her own way, which is to say she picks through her own stuff to make sure she hasn’t accidentally stolen some of mine, and gabs with me.
I turn to her, holding up the three dresses of hers that her mother tailored to fit me. “What about these?”
“Keep them.”
“But they’re yours.”
“They don’t fit me anymore.” She looks down at her chest and then at mine. “No offense. Besides, you’ll need something for next year.”
“But what if I can’t come back next year?”
“You will,” she says. “You’ve caught the Ren Faire fever. Even if it’s just for a visit, you’ll be back. Because I’ll be here. And Indy.”
I turn so she can’t see my goofy grin.
“Ramón says that if I want to, I’ll find a way.”
“He’s a wise man, that Ramón.”
“Tell me about it.” I sink down onto my mattress, which has been deflating since I pulled the stopper out half an hour ago. It lets out a sad whine when I sit. “So what will happen with you and Grant?”
“Fairemances,” Suze says, as if that’s all the explanation needed. “It was a good season. Maybe next summer we’ll hook up again. We had a good thing going.”
“But you won’t talk to him until then?”
“Nah, it’s not that deep. We didn’t have much of a connection beyond . . . well, you know.” Suze’s smile is downright naughty. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll meet a guy at college who will sweep me off my feet.”
“And if he’s a history major specializing in the Renaissance, even better,” I say, and Suze agrees, adding, “And shaggy hair and abs that could crack walnuts wouldn’t hurt either.”
Suze tosses my last article of clothing, the sandals from The Bone Needle, into my suitcase. I have to sit on it to get it to close and zip.
“What about you and Will?”
My heart flutters at his name, then sinks slowly as I think about leaving him. But I give Suze a smile and try to make my voice sound neutral. “We haven’t really talked about it. He’s coming to say good-bye later.”
What I really want to tell Suze is that I don’t know how I’m going to survive not seeing him every day, and that I’m going to sob my eyes out all the way back home after I tell him good-bye.
“Yeah, but you and Will . . . there’s a real connection there. It’ll happen, Ro.”
Suze pushes herself up from my suitcase and hands it to me. It feels a ton heavier than it did when I first arrived, and it should. After all, now it has three Renaissance dresses, a couple of teacups, canvases and paints, and a whole set of Polaroids.
“Have room for one more thing?”
Suze and I turn. Will’s standing at the entrance of the tent, holding up his IT’S ALL SO TRIVIAL sweatshirt. If it still smells like him, there’s no way I won’t be taking it home with me.
My Faire Lady Page 25