“At the same time.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned this summer it’s to keep trying to untangle that mess. You taught me that, Maggie. Don’t you go forgetting it.”
The staff gathered in the green room and waited for the cast to leave before we began the debriefing. Jack was the last to emerge from the Dungeon. He flashed a nervous smile when he saw us and started when I took his arm and led him down the hall toward the production office.
“Can you believe I went up on my lines? I’ve never done that in my life. But I’ll be fine for the opening.”
“Why don’t you sleep on it? You can let me know tomorrow if—”
“I don’t need to sleep on it. I’m ready!”
I noted the truculent thrust of his chin with brittle amusement.
“Okay. I’ll see you at one o’clock to run the opening. If that goes well, great. But if I think your nerves are getting the better of you, Bernie goes on.”
Without a word, he stalked down the hallway and disappeared around the corner. I slowly walked back to the green room. I knew the staff would support whatever decision I made. I just hoped it was the right one.
“He says he can go on. I’m not so sure. I’ll decide after tomorrow’s rehearsal. Either way, Bernie, I need you to be ready. I can’t risk a meltdown like we had tonight. If Jack’s out, you can dress with the rest of the cast. Otherwise…” I glanced at Rowan who nodded. “Use Rowan’s apartment. It’ll only undermine Jack’s confidence if he sees you in the dressing room.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Javier, please make sure Bernie’s armchair is stage right so we can move it out in a hurry if Jack folds.”
“Do we really need the chair?” Bernie asked. “I feel like such an old fart sitting there.”
“But you look like the guy who used to introduce Masterpiece Theatre.”
“Only small, balding, and Jewish.”
“It works, Bernie. Yes, it saves you from all those entrances and exits. But it’s like you’re actually telling the story to the audience.”
“Maybe we should try that with Jack,” Hal ventured. “I could put together a storybook. A smaller version of the ones onstage. And paste his scenes into it.”
Once again, I found myself torn between my roles as daughter and director. This time, the director won.
“We’ve all bent over backward to help Jack. Either he performs the part as rehearsed or he doesn’t perform at all.”
CHAPTER 41
NO MORE
JANET AND I WERE YAWNING OVER OUR COFFEE the next morning when she suddenly shoved back her chair and jumped to her feet.
“What’s wrong?”
“Rowan. Something’s upset him.”
“What?”
But she had already run out of the kitchen. By the time I recovered from my shock and stumbled to the front door, she was racing down the hill, bathrobe billowing behind her like giant blue wings.
I tore after her, terrified that Rowan had been hurt. She must have sensed my fear because she stopped at the bottom of the hill and waited for me to catch up with her.
“He’s fine.”
“Then…”
“I don’t know, Maggie!”
As we approached the theatre, I noticed the stage door hanging open. Then I saw Rowan standing in the picnic area.
His wet hair hung in unruly tangles over his bare shoulders. Tiny rivulets of water oozed down his back. As we hurried toward him, his shoulders rose and fell. Then he turned.
“What is it? What happened?”
“It’s Jack. He bolted.”
“Bolted?”
“He said he wanted to take a walk. I could feel his restlessness, so I agreed. I’d just gotten in the shower when I felt this stab of panic…”
I searched the treetops for the crow that must have frightened him. Only when I registered the sympathy—the pity—on Rowan’s face did I finally understand.
Last night’s bravado had crumbled. And instead of talking to me or asking Rowan for help, Jack had run off.
Why was I surprised? It was what he did best.
Rowan was still talking, but his voice failed to penetrate the roaring in my ears and the pounding of my blood and the pressure inside my head.
“Son of a bitch!”
I slammed my fist into the trunk of a tree.
The pain felt good, a refreshing shock to my system. Then, of course, my hand just hurt like hell.
Rowan’s fingertips glided over the abrasions, trailing cool relief, just as they had that afternoon two years ago when I’d fallen in the woods. Circling back to the past yet again. This whole summer seemed like one endless circle with stumbles in all the same places.
“I’m sorry, Maggie.”
“You’re not his keeper.”
“He’s probably gone to the cottage. I saw him running…”
“Into the woods?” I gave a short, bitter laugh. “I thought he might bolt when he found out I was his daughter. Or when he learned Mom would be here.”
But naturally, he was more concerned about his performance.
“I think he was too embarrassed to face you. To admit that he couldn’t do it.”
“And he thinks it’ll be easier to face me after this?”
“He doesn’t think, Maggie. He just reacts in the moment.”
Which works great onstage. In real life, not so much.
“I’ll get dressed and go after him.”
“No.”
No more stumbling around the circle.
No more chasing the false hopes and impossible dreams.
Just…no more.
The show was a huge hit. I was happy for the cast—especially Bernie. The audience warmed to him the moment he walked onstage. He unhurriedly made his way to the armchair, hung his cane over one of its wings, unbuttoned his suit coat, and eased himself onto the leather seat with a little grunt. Then he surveyed the darkened house with a smile that said, “Okay, folks. I’m settled in. You do the same.”
That was the only moment I felt really connected to the show. The rest of the time I was far away, noting the laughter and the applause and—near the end—the occasional sniffle. It was the same at the reception afterward: I heard myself saying all the right things to the cast and the audience and the press, but it was like I was playing a role without fully inhabiting the character.
When Jack was still AWOL the following morning, Rowan again volunteered to go to the cottage. I told him to suit himself; I had no intention of accompanying him.
He was gone most of the afternoon and arrived at the house alone. By then, I was dressed to meet Mom and Chris for dinner.
“Was he at the cottage?” Janet asked.
Rowan nodded.
Stupid to feel relieved. As stupid as spending the day worrying that he was lying in the woods with a broken leg or a broken neck. Especially since I would have cheerfully broken his legs and his neck after what he’d done.
“He’s sorry he ran out,” Rowan said.
“He’s always sorry when he runs out.”
“I took him some food. And clothes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I didn’t think you’d want him to go hungry.”
“I don’t care if he starves!”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t tell me what I mean.”
“You’re just angry.”
“And don’t tell me what I feel! I’m just glad he’s out of our hair while Mom’s here.”
“And after that?” Janet asked.
“He’ll get hungry.”
“So it’s back to the ‘starve him into submission’ plan?”
“I’m not…look, he chose to run off. Why should we reward that behavior by ferrying food to him?”
“All right,” Rowan said. “If that’s what you want.”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for him? To plead with him to come back? I’ve spent too much of my summer—and my life�
�doing that. If you want to play Meals-on-Wheels, knock yourself out. Just don’t expect me to play helping professional. Not this time. Jack can spend the rest of the goddamn summer at the cottage for all I care. The only way I’m talking to him again is if he comes to me.”
CHAPTER 42
IF MOMMA WAS MARRIED
I TOOK A LOT OF DEEP BREATHS ON THE DRIVE to the Bough, knowing Mom would pick up on my emotions in a heartbeat. I just hoped I could put her off the scent by telling her it had been particularly hellish Hell Week. At least that wouldn’t be a lie.
Although I was only a few minutes late, I found Chris pacing the lobby.
“Sorry. Last minute hair crisis.”
“Not a problem,” he replied, treating me to his usual affectionate hug. “Your mom’s still getting dressed. Want to grab a drink in the lounge?”
“God, yes!” When my reply drew a startled look, I said, “Sorry. Aftereffects of Hell Week.”
Might as well start planting the seeds now.
The lounge was only half-full, mostly locals enjoying a quick brew before heading home. We snagged two pints and hunkered down at a table near the back of the room. We both took fortifying swigs of ale. Then Chris thumped his glass on the table and said, “I wanted to talk with you. Alone.”
For half a second, I thought he was going to tell me that Mom had finally accepted his proposal. But his gloomy expression hardly suggested a prospective bridegroom bubbling over with excitement.
“I asked your mother to marry me—again. And she turned me down again.”
“But…why?”
“She says she’s happy with the way things are.”
“But you’re not.”
“I’m sixty-four, Maggie. I want more than sleepovers on the weekend and dinner on Wednesday. I want to go to sleep with her at night and wake up beside her in the morning. I want to vow before God and my family and friends to spend the rest of my life with her. Maybe that’s hopelessly old-fashioned, but—”
“No. It’s lovely.”
I wanted the same thing.
Groping for something to reassure him, I said, “People stay in committed relationships for years without getting married. Look at Lee and Hal.”
“At least they live together. She won’t even consider that. Look, I know her marriage to your father was a disaster. And that it’s taken her a long time to get over it. Hell, it took six months before she’d even go out with me. But she’s been divorced for more than twenty years and we’ve been together for two. If she thinks I’ll run out on her the way he did—if she doesn’t know me any better than that by now…”
“You’re nothing like my father. And she knows that.”
Chris stared into his ale. “I’m sorry to unload on you like this. I just…I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ll think of something,” I promised.
Chris picked at his food, while Mom nattered on about the glories of Vermont. When our coffees arrived, he pushed back his chair and announced that he needed to take a walk.
Mom waited until the sound of his footsteps faded, then said, “He’s even more transparent than you are. Obviously, he’s told you everything.”
I nodded.
“I don’t know why he felt compelled to involve you.”
“Because he didn’t know where else to turn.”
“Maggie, Chris and I have been over and over this. He wants to get married. I don’t.”
“Do you love him?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Yes or no.”
“Of course I love him,” she snapped. “But I like my independence, too.”
“Being married doesn’t necessarily mean you lose your independence. Reinhard and Mei-Yin are hardly joined at the hip.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because it is! Now let’s drop this.”
“Are you willing to risk losing him?”
“It won’t come to that.” Her fingernail tapped a nervous tattoo against her coffee cup. Then she must have realized what she was doing, because she folded her hands in her lap and asked, “Shouldn’t you be getting to the theatre?”
“No.”
We glared at each other and retreated to our coffees.
Another frontal assault would be ineffective; when Mom was upset, she tended to fight rather than withdraw or admit her feelings.
Gee, who does that sound like?
I attempted a conciliatory smile. “You could move in together. If you didn’t want to take the plunge. That would—”
“Only encourage him to believe that, sooner or later, I’ll agree to marry him.”
I gave up on conciliatory and went for the bombshell.
“Is this about Daddy?”
Her coffee cup rattled violently against the saucer. “If you think I’m still carrying a torch for Jack Sinclair—”
“No. I think he hurt you so badly that you’re afraid take a chance with Chris. You’re scared he’ll leave you like Daddy did. So you’re pushing him away before he can.”
“Thank you, Dr. Phil.” She flung her napkin on the table and signaled the waitress. “But I’m afraid our time is up.”
I spent most of the show going over those conversations. I could understand if Mom didn’t want to discuss her personal life with me—or take advice from her daughter. But if she refused to open up to the man she loved, the relationship seemed doomed. Her chance for lasting happiness was slipping through her fingers, and Chris and I seemed powerless to prevent it.
I could think of only one person who might.
I followed Rowan to his apartment after curtain calls. Without bothering to remove his makeup or costume, he poured us each a healthy slug of whisky, waited for me to take a sip, then sat beside me on the sofa. He nodded sympathetically as I described the problems Mom and Chris were facing, but when I broached my plan to deal with them, he drew back, frowning.
“You want your mother to talk with Jack?”
“I don’t want them to talk. But I can’t think of anything else that might jolt her out of the past and save her relationship with Chris.”
“It’s their relationship, Maggie. It’s up to them to save it or not. I don’t think we should be interfering in their lives.”
“This from the faery who’s been calling Mackenzies here for more than a hundred years.”
“I called them, yes. But I never forced them to confront their problems.”
“You pushed me hard enough.”
“But I never said, ‘It’s all about your father.’ I let you discover that for yourself. Over the course of three months. Do you really think your mother will take one look at Jack and decide she wants to marry Chris?”
“Maybe not, but—”
“And what if it makes matters worse? This isn’t like giving Alex a little push toward Debra.”
“Don’t you think I know that? But I can’t just stand aside and watch things fall apart. She’s stuck, Rowan. And unless something happens to…unstick her…she’s not only going to lose Chris, she’ll never be able to move on with her life.”
“Then let me use my power to—”
“No.”
“I’m not talking about brainwashing her. Just reminding her that she loves Chris and doesn’t want to lose him.”
“She already knows she loves Chris and doesn’t want to lose him. And when your power wears off, she’ll be right back where she is now.”
“At least, talk to Chris first. See if this is what he wants.”
“I can’t. If he’s part of this, it will only convince her that he can’t be trusted.”
Rowan shook his head. “She’ll be furious, Maggie.”
“I know.”
“She might never forgive you.”
“I know!”
“Do you really want to risk everything? Not just Chris’ relationship with your mother, but yours, too?”
“No! But I don’t think I have a choice.”
The next morning, though, I called Nancy before she left for work. I’d brought her up to date on The Life and Times of Maggie Graham when she made her opening night “break a leg” call. It took less than a minute to fill her in on the latest installment.
She was silent for so long that I expected her to offer the same objections as Rowan. Instead, she said, “I think they should meet. Not because it will save her relationship with Chris; that’s something they have to work out for themselves. But she has a right to know about Jack.”
“Even if he’s…moving on at the end of the season?”
“I think so. But you know how I’ve hated this cat-and-mouse game you’ve been playing. Think how relieved you’ll be to get everything out in the open.”
Except the fact that my father was “moving on” to Faerie. And my lover was opening a portal so he could get there.
That afternoon, Rowan accompanied me to the cottage. I spent most of the walk steeling myself to face Jack again—and mentally vowing to keep our conversation short, sweet, and drama-free. This was a straightforward business proposition, after all, not a reconciliation.
Jack answered Rowan’s knock. His smile faded when he saw me.
As he began stammering an apology, I said, “I need you to do something for me, Jack. And if you’re willing, I promise that after the season is over, Rowan will open the portal to Faerie for you.”
I watched the shifting play of emotions across his features: confusion, wariness, disbelief, shock—and finally, a joy so profound that tears filled his eyes.
Once, perhaps, he had regarded me with such joy. Now, only the Fae could evoke it.
After all that had happened, the upwelling of grief surprised me. Resolutely, I swallowed it down. I was accustomed to losing my father. The important thing now was to keep my mother from losing Chris.
CHAPTER 43
I PROMISE YOU A HAPPY ENDING
OVER THE NEXT TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, my confidence eroded. After watching me pace the living area, waiting for Mom and Chris to arrive, Rowan said, “We can still call this off. Just leave Jack in the Smokehouse and send Alison and Chris off to do some sightseeing after lunch.”
Spellcrossed Page 31