“One step at a time,” Chris said.
“Yeah. That’s my new mantra.” I paused outside their room, my palm a little damp as I gripped the brass doorknob. Then I flung open the door. “Welcome to your private rose garden.”
Mom drifted through the “suite,” making more gratifying noises as she admired the canopy bed, the floral draperies and bedspread, the bouquet of pink roses on the table in the sitting area, and the claw foot tub in the bathroom that had cost me a fucking fortune.
“It’s beautiful, Maggie. When you called it the Rose Garden Room, I was afraid it would be…”
“Too girly?”
“Too flowery. You know. Flowered curtains and bedspreads and pillows and wallpaper.” Mom shuddered. “Who can relax in a room with flowered wallpaper? It gives me a headache.”
“It gives me the creeps. Like I’m staying in Sleeping Beauty’s castle and the vines will eventually strangle me.”
Chris stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Now there’s an idea. An inn where every room is decorated in a different fairy-tale theme. The Sleeping Beauty Room. The Snow White Room.”
“With a glass coffin instead of a bed,” I suggested.
“The Hansel and Gretel Room with its charming wood-burning stove—ideal for incinerating unwanted guests.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “The pair of you.”
She used to say that when Daddy and I embarked on one of our flights of fancy. But her voice held affection now instead of the exasperation I remembered from childhood.
“Maggie? You’ve got that tense look again.”
“I forgot to order flowers for the fund-raiser,” I lied.
Mom continued to study me during dinner, but Chris, God love him, kept refilling the wineglasses. By the time we said good night, Mom was pleasantly tipsy and too tired to study anything other than the inside of her eyelids.
The next morning brought a final frenzy of cleaning before the fund-raiser. Amanda did a terrific job at the matinee, but I was glad Chelsea was on the docket at night; her performance was the kind of big bang donors expected for their bucks.
After the matinee, Hal accompanied me up the hill to oversee my toilette. Naturally, he’d helped me pick out tonight’s dress, too.
“What do you think?” I asked Janet as I descended the stairs.
“I told her the jade silk brings out the green in her eyes,” Hal prompted, “and the Chinese style evokes an air of exotic mystery.”
“The plunging neckline should bring in some last-minute donations,” Janet remarked.
“You don’t think I look like the lone Caucasian cast member of Flower Drum Song?”
Janet examined me critically. Then began singing “You are Beautiful.” From Flower fucking Drum Song.
“I hate you.”
“At least it doesn’t have dragons on it like Mei-Yin’s.”
“Mei-Yin’s wearing her dragon dress?” I demanded, turning on Hal.
“How was I to know? She didn’t consult me!”
“Maybe later, the two of you can put chopsticks in your hair and treat us to a rousing rendition of ‘Fan Tan Fannie.’”
“I’m changing.”
The doorbell chimed and Janet grinned. “Too late now.”
Within half an hour, nearly a hundred guests were milling around the Bates mansion, the front porch, and the patios and garden. We’d kept prices modest, but the dozen “Angels” who’d popped for the five hundred dollar tickets ensured that the evening would be a financial success.
Three minutes with Bernie’s daughter Leah made me wonder yet again how he survived the off-season. He endured her fussing with a resigned sigh, but Sarah finally said, “Lighten up, Mom,” and began talking about her recent graduation.
Hard to equate this self-assured young woman with the plump, awkward girl who had been my cast mate. I’d grown so accustomed to the agelessness of the older staff that it was Sarah’s transformation that seemed unnatural. Maybe by the time I was eligible for Social Security, Janet might have sprouted a few gray hairs, but Rowan would look exactly the same.
You knew that going in, Graham. Deal with it!
I could only spend a few minutes with Sarah before resuming my duties. I was so busy chatting up patrons that I merely waved to Mom and Chris. When I finally caught up with them, I found her working the room just as hard, praising past productions and the dedication of the staff and board.
“They should have appointed you executive director,” I noted.
“Actually, I hate these affairs. I just put on my game face and play the devoted patron of the arts.”
“The devoted and fabulous patron of the arts.” Hal paused in the sunroom doorway to fling open his arms, then hurried over to envelop Mom in a hug. “You look gorgeous as always. What I wouldn’t give for that complexion! Please tell Maggie she doesn’t look like a Caucasian cast member of Flower Drum Song. She’s been obsessing all evening. You must be Chris. I can’t believe it’s taken this long to lure you up here.”
“And you must be Hal,” Chris said, smiling. “Alison’s told me so much about you, I feel like I know you.”
“I hope she’s been equally kind in her description of me,” Long boomed, edging into our circle. “Alison, Alison. Don’t break my heart and tell me that this is your inamorato.”
“Call your cardiologist,” Chris advised as he held out his hand. “Chris Thompson, Inamorato. You must be Long Martindale, Impresario.”
“I have the good fortune to be the president of the board of directors. But if you’ve won the heart of the fair Alison, then you are the fortunate one.”
“We have swords in the prop room,” I noted. “If you want to fight a duel on the front lawn.”
“Behave,” my mother said. “And you, too,” she added, eyeing Long sternly. “Honestly, I think you’d flirt with any female between seven and seventy.”
“My cut-off is eighty,” Long whispered. “But I might have to revise my limit. I see a very rich, very elderly widow who’s in need of company.”
After he excused himself, Chris remarked, “You know, he may not be as much of an ass as you suspect. It’s hard to tell with theatre people. They’re good at playing roles offstage, too.”
“Some are.” My mother favored me with a speculative glance.
I took that as my cue to beat a hasty retreat. When I spied Nancy talking with Bernie, Bea, and Frannie, I wobbled out to the patio as fast as my spiky heels would allow.
When Nancy smiled, I realized just how much the events of the last few days had been weighing on me. She had kept me sane during our season and we’d shared a lot of ups and downs since, including my struggles to steer a course for the theatre and hers to survive the budget cuts at the library. And while she knew nothing about the secret of the Crossroads, she understood more about my relationship with Rowan than anyone. I could always count on her for sensible advice and a sympathetic ear. At that moment, I longed for both and wished I could drag her off to a quiet corner and blurt out everything.
Instead, I just hugged her. When I stepped back, everyone eyed me uneasily; clearly, my hug had been a tad desperate.
“Everything okay?” Nancy asked.
“Great!” I snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and downed the first in a few deep swallows.
“You just thirsty or trying to drown your sorrows?” Bernie asked.
“Thirsty. I’ve been yapping with donors nonstop.”
“Well, save the second for a toast,” Bea said. “Here’s to a successful fund-raiser.”
As we clinked glasses, Frannie giggled. “I hope we do this every year. It’s fun getting all dolled up.”
Bea, of course, always looked gorgeous, a statuesque blonde easily mistaken for one of Wagner’s Rhinemaidens. Put her in a slinky sheath dress and she could set the Rhine on fire. Nancy looked businesslike in her tailored navy suit. Frannie’s flowered silk dress made her look like a stocky nymph transplanted from the Rose Garden Room.
Judging from her fuchsia fingernails and newly brown hair, she’d stopped in at Bea’s Hive of Beauty.
I glanced nervously at my watch. “Should I start rousting people out? It’ll take forever to get them all seated.”
“I’ll give Janet the high sign,” Bernie said. “If anyone can get ’em moving, she can.”
“Great. I’ll talk to the caterers and—”
“Frannie and I are sticking around to make sure everything’s packed up,” Bea said.
“Sorry. I’m anal. And you guys are the best. You totally busted your asses for this.”
“We’re going make a fortune!” Bernie gloated. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll be able to afford some new lighting equipment. Or a turntable for the stage.”
“Or a weekend of inpatient mental health care.” My comment elicited more uneasy glances. “Lighten up, I’m joking!”
Bea and Frannie departed to supervise the caterers. Bernie followed, cautiously navigating through the crowd leaning on the same cane he’d used during Brigadoon.
“Okay, they’re gone,” Nancy said. “So do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”
Evening sunlight glinted off her glasses, making it seem that her eyes were shooting fire. As I pleaded Arthur’s death, the opening, and the fund-raiser, she shook her head impatiently. “This is me, Maggie. I know you. Is it your mom? Did she—? Oh, Lord. She’s coming.”
In an instant, her expression shifted to one of apparent delight. It always amazed me. I was the actress with a face that gave everything away, while Nancy—the most sincere person in the world—could convince a sunbathing meteorologist that it was going to snow.
I just prayed she could snow my mother.
“I was lecturing Maggie about working too hard,” Nancy said. “Right lecture, wrong time. You should already be at the theatre,” she scolded. “You’ve got to warm up the cast.”
“Warm-ups can wait,” my mother said. “What’s going on, Maggie? You’ve been as jumpy as a cat ever since I arrived.”
“Hey, it’s been a tough week and—”
“It’s more than that and you know it. More to the point, I know it. You’re acting evasive. Just like you were that first summer here.”
“Maybe this should wait until after the show,” Nancy suggested.
“I thought we were through with that,” my mother continued, as relentless as the pit bull Rowan had once called me. “The secrets. The lies. I can’t do that again, Maggie. I won’t do it. If something’s bothering you, then for God’s sake, just come out and—”
“Rowan’s back.”
My mother’s eyes widened. Then her lips compressed into a hard line.
“Rowan?” Nancy said. “Came back?”
I nodded, all my attention focused on Mom. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away, but I know you’ve always had…reservations about him. And I wanted us to have a good time this weekend.”
“I can’t believe it,” Nancy said.
“Imagine how I—”
“Who does he think he is?”
Nancy’s vehemence left me speechless; I thought she would be on my side.
“You haven’t heard boo from him since he left and now he waltzes back into your life?”
“He needed time. To figure things out. And be sure of his feelings.”
“What about your feelings?”
“He loves me, Nance.”
Her expression softened. “I knew that two years ago. But he still left.”
“It all happened too fast. We weren’t ready.”
“And now you are?”
“Yes.”
The quiet certainty in my voice silenced her. Mom’s face was blank—as if she’d borrowed Rowan’s expressionless mask.
“Say something!”
“What do you want me to say? You know how I feel about that man.”
“Give him a chance, Mom.”
“To do what? Break your heart a second time?”
“That won’t happen.”
She gave a harsh, brittle laugh. “You know who you sound like? Me. Thirty years ago.”
“It’s nothing like—”
“Enough. I’m not going to change your mind about Rowan Mackenzie and you’re certainly not going to change mine about him.”
“Will you at least talk with him? Will you do that much for me?”
She opened her mouth, closed it again, then snapped, “Fine.”
With that, she stalked into the house. I just stood there, already regretting the impulse that had led me to suggest that she and Rowan meet. But I couldn’t let her go home without trying to convince her of his sincerity.
Aware of Nancy’s concerned gaze, I managed an unconvincing laugh. “That went well.”
“She’ll come around.”
“In another ten or fifteen years.”
I’d worry about winning her over later. First, I had a show to deal with.
Then I realized I had an even more pressing need.
“Do me a favor, Nance? I’ve got to talk with Janet. Could you go to the theatre and tell Reinhard I’ll be down in five minutes?”
“If you want me to wait for you…”
“No. Thanks. Just keep Reinhard from pulling out all his hair.”
I didn’t have to search for Janet. Seconds after Nancy disappeared into the house, she strode onto the patio and demanded, “What happened?”
“I spilled the beans. About Rowan. I had to! Mom and Nancy knew something was up and Mom was going nuts and—”
“Just once, I wish you were as good an actress offstage as you are on.”
“Tell me about it.”
“How’s Alison?”
“Tickled pink.” I dropped the sarcasm and gave Janet the highlights, adding, “I’ll have to go to the cottage tomorrow morning and fetch Rowan. Unless…could you call him?”
“Call him?”
“You know. The way you…communicate with each other.”
“On our magic faery phones?”
“Well, I don’t know how it works!”
“Not like that.”
“Then I’ll go—”
“No. I will. Someone has to stay with Jack.”
“Right. God. I’m sorry I made a mess of things.”
“Please. This barely rates a “three” in the long list of Crossroads Theatre crises. Come on. Reinhard’s hair will be standing on end.”
As we hurried down the hill, I admitted, “I know this wasn’t what we planned, but I’m glad it’s all out in the open with Mom.”
“Except the part about her traumatized ex-husband camping out in the woods with your faery lover who rescued him from shapeshifters in the Borderlands.”
“Yeah. Except that part.”
CHAPTER 16
RUNNING IN PLACE
THE NEXT MORNING, ROWAN WAS WAITING for us in the picnic area. He must have ducked into the apartment for a quick shower, because his hair was still damp. As my mother scrutinized him, I realized that his eyes were their usual green instead of the muddy hazel his Fae glamour had made them appear at their first meeting.
Did he think she’d be too pissed off to notice? Or hope that the passage of time had dimmed her memory? He could always claim that he’d gotten contact lenses, but it wasn’t like him to be so careless. He must have wanted her to see him as he truly was.
As they nodded to each other, I jumped in to introduce Chris, adding, “He’s a lawyer. And Mom’s…um…gentleman friend.”
“I trust you’re not here in a professional capacity,” Rowan said, shaking Chris’ hand.
“I think I’m the designated referee.”
“Don’t be silly,” I lied. “You’re practically a member of the family.”
“A position I have not yet achieved,” Rowan said.
“No,” my mother replied. “Since Chris has been part of our lives for the last two years, while you were—”
“In absentia. Yes. Shall we sit?” Rowan gestured to a picnic table. �
��Or we can go up to my apartment if you prefer.”
“No. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Mom…”
“Maggie says she loves you, Mr. Mackenzie. And that you love her. While that might reassure her, it’s not good enough for me. You hurt her deeply when you left. More deeply than I think you realize.”
“It was a painful decision. For both of us.”
“And now you realize it was a mistake?”
“No. It was the right decision. At the time. But people change, Mrs. Graham.”
“Some do. Others suffer disappointments and scurry back to familiar places—and familiar people.”
Rowan stiffened. “If you’re implying that I came back because I was afraid no one else would have me—”
“I’m saying that if you’re not in this for the long haul, it would be kinder to walk away now, instead of putting Maggie through that pain again.”
“You’re asking for guarantees that neither Maggie nor I can give you. I can only tell you what I told the staff: I love Maggie. I want to build a life with her. And I will do everything in my power to make her happy.”
“It takes more than love to keep a relationship going. It takes hard work and commitment. If you’re going to run at the first sign of trouble—”
“I am not Jack Sinclair.”
Mom’s breath hissed in.
“When I make a commitment, I stick to it. And I’m sticking to Maggie. I realize I’ve given you little reason to trust me. And I’ll do my best to change that. But please understand that neither your distrust nor your lectures will drive me away. They will only create a deeper rift between us and make your daughter miserable. So I suggest we keep a respectful distance and allow Maggie to decide if I am the right man for her.”
Their eyes locked in a challenging stare. Chris and I watched them anxiously, heads swiveling back and forth like spectators at a particularly lethal tennis match.
“Fine,” Mom snapped. “Is there anything else?”
“Just this.”
Rowan reached into the back pocket of his jeans and held out a silver spoon.
My mother’s face underwent several rapid changes of expression before settling back into a frown.
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