Daddy mistook my reaction for delight and laughed with me. If he had looked at my face, he would have realized his mistake, but his rapt gaze was fixed on the forest, a dark, formless mass barely visible in the light of the waning moon.
“Rowan said I shouldn’t tell anybody, but I knew you’d understand.”
Something wet on my hand. Champagne from the paper cup crushed between my fingers.
“Everybody thought I was crazy. My wife. The doctors. But I found a way in. Took me years, but I found it.”
He rocked back and forth, hands gripping his knees, as if to restrain himself from racing into the forest.
“If only I’d come to Rowan in the beginning. It kills me to think of the time I wasted. Not that I regret reaching the Borderlands. I saw things you can only imagine. But I knew I’d only touched the tip of Faerie. Sometimes, I glimpsed it through the mist. And heard that music.”
High-pitched and silvery, like the rippling glissando of a harp.
I must have made some sound because my father peered at me. “Don’t worry. Rowan already told me he wouldn’t leave. But he doesn’t have to, see? That’s the beauty part. He just has to open a portal and bam! I march out of this world and into the other one. Piece of cake. In a way, I owe it all to you.”
All I could do was stare at him.
“Well, Lee helped. His lighting, anyway.”
When I just continued staring, Daddy exclaimed, “The Secret Garden! The storm at the end of Act One. It was like Lee had been there that night.”
His gaze returned to the forest. “For years, it was just bits and pieces. Like a dream you half recall the next morning. The leaves rustling in the breeze. The thunder rumbling off in the distance like timpani. The sky shuddering with heat lightning. The whole forest seemed to shimmer. But that wasn’t the lightning.”
He drew in a deep, trembling breath and let it out on a sigh.
“Oh, Maggie, if you could have seen them. You can’t judge by Rowan. He’s trying to pass as human. It was like they carried the light of the sun and the moon and the stars inside. And when they came gliding through the trees—like a cloud of fireflies…”
Just like that other Midsummer. The fireflies dancing in the meadow. The glowing ball of light vanishing into the woods. The night Caren and I had come so close to discovering the secret of the Crossroads and glimpsing what my father had seen decades earlier.
“I’d forgotten most of it until opening night. But with the lights and the music and the Dreamers drifting onstage, circling around that little girl…that’s when all the bits and pieces finally fit together. And when the Dreamers left…” His voice caught. “It was like I was losing them all over again.”
My father leaping out of his seat. His desperate shout. That frail figure tottering down the aisle, arms outstretched.
It was not me he’d seen on that stage. It was not me he wanted.
He was reaching for them.
He had spent half his life pursuing them. Why had I been stupid enough to imagine he would stop?
“I begged Rowan to open a portal that night. But he wouldn’t. He said I’d promised to do the Follies and Into the Woods and told me I had to honor my commitments. And he was right. It would have been wrong to walk out. But after the season’s over…”
I sank onto the bench. Daddy slid down beside me.
“He’ll open a portal if you ask him. I know he will.”
I forced myself to look into his eager face. “So you’re just going to turn your back on this world?”
The steadiness of my voice astonished me. Even more astonishing was my calm—as if I’d always known I would face this moment and had been preparing for it since the night he had crept out of the theatre.
Daddy drew back, frowning. “Look, I’m grateful for everything you and Rowan have done. But there’s nothing for me here.”
“There’s your wife.”
“My ex-wife.”
“And your daughter.”
He shifted uncomfortably on the bench and stared off into the darkness. “She’s better off without me.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know Allie. My ex.”
My calm shattered. He was only one who had ever called her by that nickname. Mom had always hated it.
“She’d have taken good care of her. Brought her up right.”
“You don’t even want to see her? To find out?”
“I’d just screw her up. Again. Besides, she’s a grown woman now.”
“Thirty-four.”
“Something like that.”
“Not ‘something like that.’ Exactly that.”
“So she’s thirty-four. And I’m a crappy father for not remembering, okay?”
“No, Jack, it’s not okay.”
I slowly rose and stared down at him. I was shaking with anger and had to take a moment to regain control of my voice.
“Maybe your life got turned upside down because of what happened here. Maybe any man would have fallen apart. And maybe your wife had no choice but to divorce you. But you had a child. And you abandoned her.”
“I did what I thought was best,” my father mumbled.
“For you! You always did what was best for Jack Sinclair. A couple of visits after your wife kicked you out. A couple of postcards saying ‘Daddy will always love you.’ How many birthdays passed before she stopped hoping for a card? How many times did she cry herself to sleep, wondering why you had forgotten her?”
My father leaped to his feet. “I didn’t forget! I never forgot!”
His breath was coming as hard and fast as mine, his eyes glaring with the same anger, his chin stuck out with the same belligerence. And he was blind to the resemblance.
“Even now, you can’t see it, can you?”
His anger shifted into something else—wariness, perhaps. Or fear.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
From the direction of the house, I heard someone shout my name. Dully, I realized it was Rowan. Well, he’d started this tangled chain of events by calling my father to the Crossroads. It seemed only fitting for him to be here for the big climax.
“Let me help you put the bits and pieces together, Jack. Just like opening night of The Secret Garden. Alison reverted to her maiden name after the divorce. And she changed little Maggie’s name, too.”
His eyes flew wide. He shook his head and stepped back, only to bump into the picnic bench and collapse gracelessly onto it. And all the while, his eyes remained fixed on my face, scanning my features the way I had cataloged his that first night.
“Oh, Christ…” he whispered.
The footsteps pounding toward us abruptly halted. Then they resumed, much more slowly. They stopped again, so close behind me that I could feel the heat of Rowan’s body.
I wasn’t aware of edging away until I discovered that I was standing much farther from the picnic table. Nor was I sure if I had unconsciously tried to distance myself from them or if I was trying to preserve the strange bubble of calm that surrounded me again.
Not calm, really. Emptiness.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t either of you tell me the truth?”
He seemed strangely insubstantial—as if part of him had already left this world.
Rowan’s gaze remained fixed on me as he quietly explained: Jack’s fragile mental state, the shock, waiting for the right time. The same words he had offered when Jack discovered how much time had passed. Always, it seemed, we kept circling back, revisiting the links in the endless chain of spells and curses, explanations and excuses. Yet nothing ever really changed.
“I should have realized. There were so many clues.”
I had been just as blind. Longing for the transformational ending of The Secret Garden, I had created the same kind of fantasy that Mary imagines in “The Girl I Mean to Be:” the characters in a picture-perfect setting, all wounds healed, all wrongs forgiven.
If I had been less caught up in th
at fantasy, I might have recognized the clues Rowan had given me: his fear that I would be disillusioned, his plea to postpone Mom’s meeting with Jack, his quiet warning that I needed to let him go.
So many clues—and I had ignored them all.
Like father, like daughter.
“I’m sorry, Maggie. If I had known…”
“Would it really have made a difference?”
Although I’d spoken gently, he winced.
“Would you honestly give up Faerie for me? For anyone?”
His hesitation answered me more clearly than any words.
I nodded and began walking toward the steps.
“Magpie…”
My breath whooshed out like I’d been punched in the stomach. Rowan’s anxiety stabbed me. I flung up my hands, warding off Jack’s words and Rowan’s power. Then I slowly turned.
“I will always be your daughter, Jack. But I am not your Magpie. I’m Maggie Graham. The executive director of the Crossroads Theatre. Call tomorrow is at one o’clock.”
I started up the steps, only to discover Alex hurrying down them and Janet watching from the upper patio. As Rowan started toward me, I shook my head.
“No.”
Although my voice was little more than a whisper, both men stopped short.
Such a tiny word to hold such power.
Rowan spoke my name, his voice low and urgent, his power pleading with me to stay.
“No,” I repeated.
I took the only escape route available and hurried down the steps to the drive.
CHAPTER 37
LEAVIN’S NOT THE ONLY WAY TO GO
TOO LATE, I REMEMBERED THAT I HAD PARKED MY CAR at the theatre after my morning trip to the grocery store. Not that I could have reached the garage anyway. I barely made it to the drive before I heard Rowan’s footsteps behind me.
I veered up the hill toward the side of the house.
“Maggie!”
The ground was terraced, each level connected by a short series of steps. But it was a steep climb and I was panting before I reached the halfway point.
“Wait!”
The light streaming from the windows flung bands of illumination across the level ground at the top, but here, I had only my memory and the unpredictable moonlight to guide me. Twice, I stumbled, but managed to regain my balance and keep moving.
“Talk to me, damn it!”
I had no breath to talk and no desire to stop, although my body was drenched with sweat and my legs had begun to ache. As I mounted the final set of steps, a blur of movement to my right startled me. The next thing I knew Rowan was blocking my path.
It seemed childish to dodge around him. Worse, it was useless. He’d just pull his “faster than a speeding bullet” act to thwart me again.
He had the good sense not to touch me with either his hands or his power. I didn’t want to be touched by anything Fae at that moment. Janet, Alex, Rowan…all of them sensing every emotion, battering at my defenses. That was why I had left. With all their fucking magical power, you’d think they would understand that and leave me alone.
“Talk to me. Please.”
“I can’t do this, Rowan. Not right now.”
I started walking. Rowan kept pace beside me.
“The evening of my panic attack. You said we had to be able to talk. To deal with things together.”
“I also said we had to be honest.”
He checked suddenly, but caught up with me a few paces later.
“I wanted to tell you the truth. But you were so happy during rehearsals for Into the Woods. I just couldn’t bring myself to hurt you.”
“I know.”
Again he checked and hurried to catch up with me.
“But…I don’t understand…”
“Glass houses, Rowan.”
“What?”
“I’ve been lying to my mother all summer. Trying to protect her. Why should I be angry at you for doing the same thing?”
“But—”
“I’m angry at myself. For being stupid enough to believe he could change.”
“Now that he knows you’re his daughter—”
“He might stay out of some sense of obligation, but he’ll always want Faerie more than me.”
My voice cracked and I pressed my lips together. I felt more than saw Rowan’s hand come up, but I just quickened my pace.
The parking lot was an oasis of fluorescent light. Rowan must have thought I was going to the apartment because he had to veer sharply to follow me to the car. As I fumbled for my keys, he slapped his palm against the window.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
The hotel was booked. I didn’t want to wake Hal. Besides, then I’d have to contend with Lee’s Faedar.
“You shouldn’t be driving when you’re upset.”
“I’m fine.”
“Please. Let’s go up to the apartment and—”
“I don’t want to go to the apartment!”
“You can’t just drive around all night.”
“Maybe I’ll crash in the lobby of the Bough. It doesn’t matter! I just need to be alone.”
“I’ll take Jack to the cottage. You’ll have the apartment to yourself.”
“I need to get away, Rowan. From everything and everyone that reminds me of Faerie.”
His hand slipped from the glass. His shocked expression shattered what was left of my self-control.
I blurted out an apology, flung open the car door, and slid inside.
“Are you coming back?”
His voice sounded hollow, as if every emotion had been drained.
“I’ll be here for load-in.”
It took three tries before I managed to shove the key into the ignition. I slammed the door and backed out so quickly that the car skidded on the gravel.
As I neared the top of the lane, I glanced into the rearview mirror. Rowan was still standing in the parking lot.
His small, lonely figure blurred. I gripped the steering wheel hard and hit the accelerator.
I made it about half a mile before I pulled over and indulged in the release of tears. Then I blew my nose and kept going.
I drove aimlessly, grateful for the dark, winding roads that forced me to concentrate on my driving. But I kept seeing Rowan’s forlorn figure. I was angry with myself for hurting him, angrier still that his persistence had driven me to it—and terrified to realize that I couldn’t bear to be near him.
Had Mom felt like that when she kicked Jack out? Or had love leached away long before that?
Thank God, I had never told her that Jack had returned. Just imagining what I might have put her through brought on another fit of the shakes. Better to envision her sleeping peacefully beside Chris, untroubled by the ghosts of our past. Ghosts had no place in this world. And Jack Sinclair had no place in our lives.
The lyrics of “No More” kept running through my head, an ironic counterpoint to my turbulent thoughts. No more giants, the Baker pleaded. No more witches or curses or lies. But even he realized that he couldn’t ignore them, any more than he could forget the false hopes, the reverses, the good-byes…
Damn Stephen Sondheim. Why did he have to write my fucking life into a musical?
I turned on the radio, hoping to drown out the lyrics, but the brief bursts of music vanished as soon as the car descended a hill.
At some point, I realized I was hopelessly lost. If my car had a GPS, I might have been able to punch in the name of one of the rare streets I passed. Lacking that, I just kept driving until I stumbled onto Route 9. Unsure of my bearings, I turned west. Within a few miles, I realized I was heading toward Bennington rather than Dale.
I wished I could keep driving. I wished I could crawl back into my protective bubble.
No more feelings. No more questions. Just running away. Escaping the ties that bind.
That was the Mysterious Man’s solution. And Jack’s.
Like father, like daughter.
But the Mysterious Man warned the Baker about the dangers of wandering blind. Which was exactly what I’d been doing for the last hour.
I could never outdistance my thoughts or escape the ties that bound me to the Crossroads. With every mile that separated me from the theatre, I became more conscious of them: the concern of my staff, the bewilderment of my father, and most of all, the anguish of the man who loved me.
The man I still loved. But my blithe confidence that we could surmount every obstacle had been shaken.
No matter how human he acted, Rowan was innately different. He had powers I would never understand, weaknesses he could never conquer. If I couldn’t accept that, I should break it off now.
But would I be able to do that? Even if I wanted to? Maybe I was ensnared by Fae glamour as surely as my father. Or maybe that was simply the nature of love. Another sort of trap—and just as dangerous.
“Give him a chance, Mom.”
“To do what? Break your heart a second time?”
“That won’t happen.”
“You know who you sound like? Me. Thirty years ago.”
Was I repeating her mistake—trying to make Rowan over into something he wasn’t, something he could never be?
Always more questions. Just different kinds.
But one thing I did know. Like it or not, I was Magpie, the child pounding her fists on the window as her father walked out of her life. And Maggie Sinclair, the girl who watched her identity disappear just as her father had. Without those girls, Maggie Graham would never have made that fateful journey to the Crossroads.
So many spells. So many ties. Blood and friendship. Duty and obligation. Commitment and love. How do you break free without dooming yourself to loneliness? Even then, the ghosts are always there, lurking in the shadows of memory. Sooner or later, you have to face them.
Rowan had taught me that.
I waited for a truck to roar past, then made a quick U-turn. Running again, but this time, back to the family I had been given and the family I had chosen.
Although I was driving faster, the odometer seemed to spin more slowly. By the time I coasted into Dale, my eyes felt like they were lubricated with sand. Main Street was deserted at this hour, but the streetlamps were so bright after the dark road that they made me squint.
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