He nodded and slowly turned to his plate, feeling his heart fill up his entire body, his love for Miranda and his family taking him over.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll eat. But I’m already full. Completely.”
Chapter Eighteen
Late in the afternoon on the following day, Miranda and Sariel packed up their things, taking little breaks to kiss and touch and then mess up the bed Miranda kept making.
“Okay, that’s three times,” she said, adjusting the comforter. “I can barely change my sheets once a week.”
She frowned at him, but then smiled, seeing his worry that she was really upset. “Just teach me those tricks you do. Like the quick change routine you did the first night? A robe and then no robe? Can you do it with sheets?”
Sariel put down his bag and walked to her, hugging her tightly. “Housecleaning will be a breeze,” he said. “More time for love.”
Leaning on his chest and breathing in the clean cotton of his shirt, Miranda wished they could stay at Adalbert’s. It would be so much easier than going home and having to face June and Viv. And Dan. In a way, fighting Quain had been nothing compared to the sad, confused look that would shrink June’s face when Miranda brought up Laelia. But Miranda knew she had no choice. In the two brief phone calls she’d had with June since recovering, Miranda knew she had to go home and face them all, with everyone still convinced that something terrible had happened to her. And the story that Miranda was so glad to have now, the story of her life and her connection with the Croyant world, was a story that pained June, reminded her of years of troubles in her marriage. Talking about it—if they ever managed to—wouldn’t be easy.
“I’ll be there.” Sariel kissed her forehead.
“I know,” Miranda said. “It’s just that my mother and I have never really talked. It was like she needed an interpreter to understand me, going through either my dad or Viv. Now I’ll have to do it by myself.”
Sariel squeezed with his arms, and then pushed her away, looking into her eyes. “It’ll be okay.”
She smiled, rubbing her forehead. “So you can see into the future, too?”
“No, I just know you. You’re brave and strong and can handle anything. I saw you with Kallisto and Quain. And even with my mother!”
“What? You mean her assault with the thirty years of photo albums? That was nothing! Bring it on,” Miranda said, turning back to her bag.
“No, it was her memory of my musical that was the worst torture, I’m sure.” Sariel shook his head. “She’s never shown that to anyone else.”
“You were an adorable Don Quixote,” she said. “The best production I ever saw, replete with a working windmill that turned into an actual fire-breathing dragon.”
He smiled and began to pack up his tray of healing herbs. Miranda watched him, his hair tied behind his neck, his arms strong, his body perfect in his jeans. How had this happened? Not the magic and the fight that saved creation but Sariel himself, here with her in this room?
Lucky, I guess, he thought, still busy with the tray.
Very, she thought back.
She sighed and then picked up her nightgown, feeling the flannel between her hands, the same kind of nightgown Viv wore that day she was so upset, weeping about the big secret. If Viv only knew how big the secret was.
Are you going to tell her?
Miranda looked at him. “I can?”
Sariel zipped the tray into a case and turned to her. “Of course. Moyenne all over the world know about us, but we make sure they are sympathetic. And we always have the option of taking their memories.”
“What about the things Brennus said to you about me?” Miranda asked.
“That,” Sariel said as he picked up another bag and put it in the middle of the room, “was about war. About fear. About pulling in the troops. I don’t think Quain is likely to convert Viv to his side.”
Miranda tied her bag and set it down next to Sariel’s. “What if she freaks out? Or thinks I’m crazy? Or runs around the neighborhood shouting, ‘My sister is magic!’?”
“Love,” Sariel said, bringing his hands to her face. “Sweetheart. We’ll take their memories and become an ordinary couple. We’ll show up in a car on Sunday afternoons for family get-togethers. We’ll board airplanes and travel with them on family vacations. I’ll pretend to get a normal job and wear a suit when Viv and Seamus come into the city to meet us for dinner and a play. If we’re sick, we’ll talk about going to the hospital. Either way, we’ll be together in a way your family can understand.”
Miranda stared at him, looking up into his eyes, which in the light of the afternoon room were almost bronze. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, imagining what would have happened if the three men hadn’t chased her up the street that night. She would have never found Sariel at all.
“You did find me, and I’m not going anywhere except home,” he said, bringing his lips to her forehead. “Let’s finish up and get out of here before my mom comes in with memories of my potty-training experiences.”
Miranda nodded, watching Sariel as he folded up an extra blanket. They would go home, together, and she would go to Viv’s first, by herself, and talk with her sister.
Miranda still wasn’t perfect at moving through matter, but this time, she didn’t end up in a strange basement with a dangerous woman. Instead, she appeared in Viv’s bedroom, standing by the dresser, watching as Viv leaned over the bed, changing baby Colin’s diaper.
Miranda had intended to appear in the bathroom because she didn’t want to scare Viv, but somehow she couldn’t wangle the door and, sighing, she let herself fall out of matter, knowing she would have to quiet Viv immediately.
But instead, Viv looked up, blinked, and stood straight, her hands on her hips. Viv looked much better since the last time Miranda saw her, her blonde hair washed and styled, her face not full of despair. In fact, even with Miranda standing suddenly in front of her, Viv didn’t seem surprised or panicked. She didn’t say anything, staring at Miranda, hard, her anger a flower that burst into bloom in her mind.
That’s great, Viv thought. Because you can’t see her, you’re imagining her here. Stop it. Okay, vision, go away. God, what an idiot. Because you miss her so much, you’re turning into her, imagining people coming and going. Because you think you ruined your relationship, you’re inventing this out of thin air.
“It’s really me,” Miranda said quietly. “I’m not a vision.”
Viv brought her hand to her mouth, her face pale, her dark eyes wide. “How? Miranda? How did you get here?”
So many responses ran through Miranda’s mind, and because she was with Viv and not June and Seamus and Dan, she said what was true. “I came… through matter. It was magic.”
Colin kicked his legs on the bed, but Viv didn’t look down at him, her face huge with the confusion that Miranda could read in her mind. Instead, she laid a gentle palm on Colin’s chest, blinking at Miranda.
“Matter? Magic?” Viv said quietly.
Miranda waved an arm. “Air. But Viv, don’t think about it now.”
She walked toward her sister and put an arm on Viv’s shoulder. “It’s me. I’m back.”
For a second, Viv held her breath, and then she reached up, exhaling, and put her arms around Miranda’s neck. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it. It is you.”
“It is. I’m here.”
Viv clung more tightly, squeezing Miranda hard. “What happened? When that guy called, I was sure he’d kidnapped you. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. And it was because of what I told you. About the adoption. It was all my fault.”
In Miranda’s arms, Viv began to cry. “I should have never told you. I was selfish and stupid, and I’m so sorry. I hurt you too much. I thought you ran away. I thought maybe you were going to do something worse. Something…”
Closing her eyes, Miranda pressed Viv against her, listening to her sister’s sorrow, the words in her mind: Careless, bossy, out of control, mea
n. Baby sister. Love. Love.
“It’s okay, Viv. I’m fine.” Miranda pushed Viv back, looking into her sister’s watery eyes. “I’m way better than fine.”
Together, they sat on the bed, and Miranda picked up Colin, holding him in her arms, smiling into his brand new face. “That’s a boy,” she said, jiggling him a bit. “That’s my baby.”
Viv wiped her eyes. “Were you really in London?”
Miranda nodded. “Yeah. And then in Kent.”
“With that guy.”
“Sariel.” Miranda said his name, a flush of energy electric in her body. In the corner of her thoughts, she could feel him, could see him smiling as he looked out the window of his house. Can I come over yet? he thought.
Soon, she thought back. In a bit.
Hurry up, he thought. I miss you.
“Is he—is he what you said that day after your ‘dream’? Magic and all? Fighting evildoers?” Viv wiped a milky swirl of drool off Colin’s chin. “Oh, how can I even be asking that? That would be crazy, right?”
“It would be crazy but also true,” Miranda said.
Viv shrugged. “I should have known from the poems on your computer.”
Miranda turned to Viv. “You read them?”
“Well, the police told me to read through all your files,” Viv said. “Everything was evidence. We were desperate to find out where you were. We needed to know what happened.”
“Well, those poems were just evidence that I haven’t been able to write a thing lately.” Miranda laughed, gently rocking Colin.
“Evidence that you were in love. I think your next book should be called Magic Man or Learning to Fly.“
“Snoop,” Miranda said. Colin pursed his baby rosebud mouth, then squeezed tight, his face turning red. “He’s either having a little movement in there or hungry.”
Viv sighed, taking the baby from Miranda. “He’s hungry. I was changing his diaper in between, well, breasts. Dan’s out in the living room, so I came in here to nurse.”
Miranda shook her head and laughed. “Dan will be with me until the end of time. I can’t seem to escape him.”
Viv raised an eyebrow. “I think you finally have.” She leaned against the headboard, lifted her shirt, and put Colin to her breast. “He’s found another love.”
Confused, Miranda crossed her arms. “He what?”
“During all the nightmare of your ‘kidnapping,’ he was here at the house every day. He started driving me crazy with his flyers and the ‘Find Miranda’ group, so I pawned him off on Robin. The next thing I knew, they were, well, together.”
“Dan and Robin?” Miranda felt her mouth open.
You’re jealous, Sariel thought. Don’t even try to deny it.
Don’t say that, or I’ll slam down the metal door, dude, Miranda thought. I’m relieved.
“What are you thinking?” Viv said. “You aren’t upset, are you? I thought you’d be happy.”
“Oh, I am. Believe me. Now Dan and I can just talk about my books.”
“Which,” Viv said, “are selling like hotcakes. You even got on the front page of The San Francisco Chronicle. Nothing like an abduction to rev up sales.”
Miranda and Viv laughed, and they settled into silence, nothing but the sound of Colin’s tiny sucking noises in the room.
Finally, Viv sighed. “You are what? Magic? I knew something—I mean, ever since that time you flew in the backyard. That was so amazing. Mom convinced me we both had sunstroke.”
“You remember that?” Miranda asked.
“Of course I remember,” Viv said, lightly running her finger over the soft fuzz on Colin’s head. “It not something you forget, your sister flying around the backyard. I’ll never forget your face, how you said, ‘Vivie, look at me!’ I actually tried to do it myself a few times, but I discovered that I couldn’t fly. I’m just a good jumper. Came in handy for cheerleading later.”
“I’m more of a hoverer than a flyer.”
Viv turned to Miranda and giggled. “Like hovering is normal? This is so wild.”
“I know.” Miranda sighed, leaning into Viv’s shoulder.
“So why, Miranda? How?”
“I found out about my birth mother. She was one of Sariel’s people,” Miranda said slowly, wondering how much she could tell Viv.
Viv looked down at Colin, who seemed to be slowing, his eyes fluttering with sleep. Her mind rang with the word people. “She wasn’t Dad’s reason for business trips, was she?”
Surprised, Miranda looked over at Viv. “How did you know?”
Viv gently removed Colin from her breast and put him on her shoulder, patting his smooth baby back. “You know when I said I hadn’t looked in the box?”
Miranda nodded.
“I kind of lied. I mean, I didn’t really look through it, but as I was putting it away into the trunk, a photograph fell out. Dad and a woman. A woman who looked just like you.”
“Her name was Laelia Barton,” Miranda said. “She killed herself.”
Viv pulled in a quick intake of air, and though she didn’t start to cry, Miranda could feel the tears in her thoughts. “Randa,” she said, her voice full of soft sadness. “That’s terrible.”
“Dad brought me home. There weren’t any adoption papers in the box because he didn’t need any. I was his.”
“You’re ours,” Viv said. “I knew it.”
Colin pushed out a tiny burp, and Viv brought him off her shoulder, stood up, and placed him in the bassinet by the bed, covering him with a blanket. Turning to Miranda, she breathed in.
“You know, I don’t understand any of this, really, except that you love him. And that you’re back. That’s all that really matters to me,” Viv said. “No more secrets. I promise I’ll keep it to myself, but I don’t want anything between us, not ever again. Tell me everything, even if you think I’ll go mad at the very idea.”
“There’s still Mom,” Miranda said. “I’m going to have to tell her something.”
Viv smiled, putting a hand to her mouth to cover a laugh. “She’s been out of her mind. After you called her from England, she went to her bed for a full day. She wants to talk with you about everything. Let her, Randa. Let her tell you her story. The way she knows it.”
“Did she ever tell you anything?” Miranda stood up and walked to Viv, both of them looking down into the bassinet.
“I don’t think she knows about the magic part, but she definitely knew about your mother,” Viv said. “She’ll be over later. You two can talk after dinner, after she’s calmed down. Or if she calms down.”
“Viv,” Miranda said. “For now, don’t tell anyone about me. The magic, okay? I don’t really understand it yet, and I need to figure it out first. Then maybe you can tell Seamus.”
Viv put her arm around Miranda. “Personally, I don’t want to talk about it with anyone because I’ve always hated the idea of a nuthouse. So I won’t tell, but you better find a better way to travel unless you want people to start asking questions.”
Miranda pushed a loose strand of gold hair away from Viv’s face. “I know. I’ll go back home and arrive the regular way.”
Meet me at my apartment, Miranda thought. We need to drive.
I’ll beat you, Sariel thought, flashing into matter.
Moving away from Viv, Miranda said, “And you know what else?”
“What?” Viv said, her hands on her hips again, her smile wide.
Miranda lifted her arms, smiled, and began to lift off the floor.
“I still fly!” And with that, she rose higher in the room, looking down at Viv’s amazed face, and then pushed into matter, hoping she’d beat Sariel to her apartment.
The most incredible piece of magic was that Miranda sat at Viv’s large oak dining room table with Sariel. His leg was pressed against hers, but he was talking with Seamus about rhododendrons and azaleas, acid soil, and mulch. Another miracle was that Dan wasn’t even looking at her, turned almost sideways to stare full-on at Robin, who
was enrapt by his conversation about sales distribution and advertising.
And June, who had begun crying once Miranda walked in the door and had just finally stopped, was holding Hazel on her lap and smiling at Miranda. Aunt Bell sat next to her sister, patting June on the arm. Summer and Jordie played under the table with Legos, their laughs and giggles muffled by the long tablecloth and adult legs. Now and then, Miranda felt Summer touch her shin, as if reassuring herself that her aunt was really home.
How could this happen? Miranda wondered. How could I be here in this house in this way with this man?
Lucky, I guess, Sariel thought, not missing a beat in his conversation with Seamus.
Stop saying that! she thought, smiling.
You know it’s true.
Luck had nothing to do with it, she thought back. It was magic.
Viv held Colin on her shoulder and leaned against Miranda so that Colin’s light breath was in her ear.
“It’s not magic,” Viv whispered, unaware that she’d caught one of Miranda’s thoughts. “But it’s absolutely unbelievable.”
Sariel put his hand on Miranda’s thigh, squeezing lightly. She felt a poem burst open in her mind, but she didn’t want to put it into language, put it in writing, needing the act of creating it to go on and on, nothing but the promise of perfect words on a clean page for the rest of her life.
When You Believe Page 30