I bathed Sparky in warm water, apologizing to her with my human words, but I was still livid when I found my missing cell (in my car, beneath the seat) and called Kit. Be gentle, I thought, taking deep and calming breaths as the phone rang. Tell her you love her. Voice mail picked up. I waited for the beep.
“You’re such an ass. You left the door unlocked again and my father’s dog got outside and nearly died from hypothermia. Isn’t ‘first, do no wrong’ part of some sacred doctor code or something? Maybe you should read up on it.” I hung up and brushed my hand over Sparky’s warm, dry coat, as she burrowed more closely against my leg. “I think I handled that pretty well,” I told her. “All things considered.”
I FELT THE SLOW pulse of time that night as I had just once before. My father’s truck still sat outside of my house and his dog on my couch, but I saw no sign of the man himself. I reached for my old senses, the ones I used to rely on, but I couldn’t sort my anxiety from any possible omen of disaster.
Only the dark seemed comfortable, as I stepped out into my backyard. Cold air rolled over me as long minutes passed. The multicolored glow from my landlady’s window disappeared as she turned her tree off, went to bed. Sleet came again and pelted against my hood, until a song evolved from the rhythm of nature. Tribal. Compelling. I breathed it in. Swayed with my hands over my head. Moved my limbs to it. But I’d never been graceful on my feet. I slid, fell. Sudden laughter burbled up in me as I lay there on my back, staring up at night.
“Mayfly. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” my father said, when I nearly leaped out of my skin.
“Dad, I was so worried.” Felt my heartbeat, strong and hard beneath my hand. But thank God. He was here. Whole and well and … here. Muscles I hadn’t even realized were clenched relaxed as I followed him inside, back into the living room.
“I have something for you,” he said, just as I saw it. Beside my couch sat a miniature boat, made into a coffee table—the wood burled and polished to a high sheen, a generous loop of lanyard on either end, twin seats under a pane of glass.
It took a second for me to find my voice. “Did you make that?”
“Christmas present,” he said sheepishly.
So that’s what had been under the tarp in his truck. “You knew I wouldn’t go back with you.”
He didn’t answer, just wrinkled his lips—a man sorry to be right.
“You’re leaving now, aren’t you? I can tell.”
“In the morning,” he said. “Right after you.” He held out an envelope, waggled it at me. I took it, tucked my finger beneath its seam, and tore. Inside was a plane ticket for a trip that would begin in less than ten hours. Destination: Rome.
“I can’t take this.” I set it on the table. “Dad, I’m sorry for everything. We should talk about—”
“I’m tired of talk.” He did look tired, the creases around his eyes as deep as I’d ever seen them. “You have time off now. You want to learn about that sword, and the man who can tell you what you want to know is on the other end of that ride,” he said, picking the ticket back up, holding it out to me again.
“How did you get that?”
“Found your airport. Small thing, but it’ll get you a plane to Newark, and from there to Rome.” The airport. No wonder he’d been away for so long. “So you’ll go,” he said, like it was a done deal.
Excuses reared up like students with their hands raised high, but when I gave them their chance they lacked spine.
“I don’t have time to pack.”
“There’s time enough.”
“I can’t take a keris on a plane—not after 9/11.”
“I asked about that,” he said. “You won’t be able to take it in your carry-on, but you can pack it in that big blue suitcase of yours. About time you used it properly.”
“I can’t leave Sam.”
“Kit said she’d take care of Sam.”
“That’s a good one. Kit nearly killed your dog this afternoon leaving the door open. Sparky was outside for hours.”
He glanced at his dog, asleep on the couch. “No harm done. She checked Sparky out, even took her temperature. Everything’s normal.”
“Kit was here?”
“Not five minutes ago. Just took off.”
“See that? She’s avoiding me,” I said. “Plagued with guilt.”
“Nah, she just said she had to go back to work, grabbed a few things, and left. You’re alike, aren’t you? All work, no play. We’re going to change that. She mentioned a place a surgeon friend of hers likes in Rome, a nice hotel, and said she’d make a reservation. And your ticket back is open, so you can stay as long as you’d like.”
This was his talent: making the stiff limber, bending it to his will, reinforcing weaknesses.
“You asked why I stand by your mother.”
“I shouldn’t have said those things.” I forced my eyes to stay on his. “I’m sorry.”
“She’s hard sometimes, Maeve, but strong and steadfast like a shore. My shore. I love her for that. I don’t believe she ever meant to hurt you girls—not in any way. She did her best. I know your sister was your shore.”
“Dad—”
“Let me finish. Moira was your shore, and now she’s gone. Maybe you don’t want another shore, maybe you don’t need one, so you’ve decided not to bother looking. But what I’m seeing in you is someone who’s afraid to move at all, someone who’s decided to play it safe. That’s not living. The Maeve I used to know would take this ticket—which, by the way, is nonrefundable. Better not waste my money, or I’ll be pissed like you’ve never seen.”
What did I want to say? Don’t make me do this. But my hand reached forward anyway, and then the ticket that would change my life lay on my palm. My throat clogged. “Thanks.”
YOU’D THINK MY head would’ve been full of Italian music that night—“O Sole Mio” or even plainchant. “Harlem Nocturne” stalked through me instead, along with the image of a detective with a pillbox hat searching Rome for an empu.
Earlier, I’d pulled my passport from my saxophone case and leaned it against the lamp on my dresser. Looking at it now from my bed, in the shadow of night, its cover seemed black as a raven’s wing, though I knew it was navy. What am I doing? What am I doing?
My phone rang at five of six. Kit.
“Still feeling bad about the dog? You’ve called, finally, to face my wrath?”
She ignored me. “You’re going this morning, right?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, staring at the mound of clothes on my bed. The suitcase yawned open on my floor, and I’d yet to offer it even a pair of socks.
“What could possibly be holding you back?”
I knew what was holding me back: good, old-fashioned panic. I said something different. “I have a few appointments.”
“What appointments?”
“I need a haircut and I’m due for some color—”
“Color? Color would be nice!” she said. “And that’s the lamest of all lame-ass excuses in the history of the world. Don’t think I don’t know you cut your own hair or that I haven’t seen your stash of bleach under the sink. Don’t think I haven’t been tempted to toss every last box.” Foiled at every turn. “I can’t believe you’re not jumping at the opportunity to take this trip. You hate the break! Just think about all the hours of rest you’ll avoid by trekking around Rome.” This was a good point. “In fact, the only possible downside of this trip is that we won’t have a chance to exchange gifts, which means your chocolate won’t be around when you come back. I apologize in advance for my lack of willpower.”
Somehow she got a laugh out of me.
“Maeve! How can you even think about not going?” I felt her mental shake through the phone. “Here’s your chance to take that big leap forward!”
“Oh, stop with all that leap crap already, will you? You know how I hate it when you get all motherly on me.”
“Where do you land, and when?”
I sighed. “Fiumic
ino Airport, 7:45 a.m. Roman time tomorrow. You figure it out. Kit, Dad mentioned a hotel—”
“I’m totally on it.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Shut up, I already ate two of your chocolates. Give me your flight info,” she said, and I gave her the specifics. “All right. I’ll meet you at the airport. I want to see you off.”
“You want to strap me to the wing of the plane.” She denied it, but we both knew I’d spoken truth.
“IF YOU FORGOT to pack something, you’ll buy it there.” My father stood beside me as I waited to check my luggage, studying my face. I realized I’d been frowning.
“It’s not that,” I told him. I glanced at the woman before us, at the sleeping child over her shoulder. “I should call Mom.”
“It’s late. She’ll be off. What do you need to say?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded. “You can’t know what your mother thinks or what she’d say. Sometimes even I don’t. You just have to do for you.”
“Yeah, I know.” I looked again at the little boy.
“Hey, I thought maybe I’d missed you!” Kit strode toward us, a small gift bag in her hand and a scowl on her face. “What in Godiva’s name are you wearing?” she asked me.
“What?” I looked down at myself, but there weren’t any holes in my sweater—a billowy blue comfort—or my jeans. No stains and not too much cat fur on my coat, either.
“You’re going to Rome!” she said. “You look like you’re off to a ball game! Tell me you packed some decent clothes. Something with sparkle. Something with color. Something fitted.”
I blinked at her. Who cared about clothes?
“You’re hopeless.” She turned and smiled at my father, who’d been smiling ever since she’d arrived. Their faces had collusion written all over them. “You’re looking fine this morning, Mr. Leahy.”
“As are you, Kit. All set with the hotel?”
“It’s in the bag.” She patted said bag and handed it to me. “But no peeks until after takeoff,” she warned. “You’re going to love it!”
I tried to tamp down my concern when I saw her eyes light with a hint of the devious. “Thanks,” I said, then returned her wicked smile. “I left your present at home. I’m sure you’ll find it without any problem.”
There wasn’t much fuss over the keris after all. The woman at the counter said it would go through a security check. I watched my big bag and its blade disappear down a conveyor belt, and then I turned to Kit. “You’ll remember to feed Sam?”
“Who’s Sam? Just kidding!” she said when my eyes bugged. “Yes, I promise to take care of your cat.”
“You’ll have to actually go home to feed him. Don’t set him up with a tube and some gross liquid food. Don’t let him wander out of any wide-open front doors. And don’t stuff him into any dresses, either. His girlfriends wouldn’t like it.”
She surprised me with a hard hug. “Love you,” she whispered. “Get the hell out of the country already.”
I turned to Dad and hugged him.
“Have fun, Mayfly.”
Oh, Daddy.
Everything became a blur of waiting until, finally, I boarded the plane, and, finally, it lifted into the sky. Clouds lay outside my window, beside me and then under me as sunlight streamed in my eyes. Other people closed their shades, but I couldn’t bring myself to surrender a second of the experience.
When a flight attendant came by with snacks, I remembered Kit’s present, the details about the hotel. Inside the bag were a box of chocolates and a sepia print card picturing a woman taking a leap. I opened the card and found a scrawled note with the name of a hotel and these cryptic words:
Tall, dark, and handsome will meet you at baggage claim. Smile pretty.
My heart skipped several beats as I realized just what she meant. And then I ate all of the chocolate.
Out of Time
Castine, Maine
SEPTEMBER–OCTOBER 2000
Moira and Maeve are sixteen
A chill settled over Castine in late September. The winds blew harsh, and Daddy banned boating until spring. The cold bit through the old walls of their home in new ways as well. Poppy’s health deteriorated; he seemed unable to recognize any of them. Daddy worked more than ever, traveling to find new business as their medical bills increased. Mom cried a lot. Both Maeve and Moira took part-time jobs to help—Maeve with a boating-supply store and Moira at a bookshop.
It was through the bookstore’s owner that Moira discovered Franz Liszt, a composer and pianist who injected his music with romance and humanity. At home, she struggled with his difficult sheet music, slowly keying notes for right hand alone.
“I can play the melody on the sax if you want,” Maeve said one evening as Moira struggled with “Liebestraum No. 3.”
“I’d rather do it alone, thanks.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Moira kept a close watch on her sister, but only once did she spy Maeve walking with Ian near the docks. After, she felt so hurt, so angry, and so unwilling to discuss those feelings that she blocked Maeve. Weird, but the sense of isolation she’d once loathed felt to her now like a cocoon of safety.
That night, their mother begged them to try a card trick for Poppy—something that had always made him smile. They tried, and failed.
“I was holding a three of clubs, didn’t you know?” Maeve asked.
“No.”
“Why are you blocking me?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Kit approached her the next day at school. “Why are you mad at Maeve?”
“It’s private.”
“Is it because of my brother?”
“No,” she lied and walked away.
At night, Moira sometimes saw Ian’s shadow through the shade covering his window; he paced a lot. At school, too, he seemed restless. If only she had a single, golden opportunity, she could make him happy. She had liked Ian long before Maeve had taken him seriously, after all. Shouldn’t she have a chance with him first?
She opened Jane Eyre and read the passage she felt so intimately now: Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!—I have as much soul as you,—and full as much heart! She would prove it. She had to prove it. Somehow she would.
Two weeks later, she slipped a note into Ian’s locker.
I need to see you. Meet me outside at midnight when my parents and sister have gone to sleep. Don’t tell anyone, and don’t try to talk to me about it before then. I’ll just play dumb if you do. Just meet me.
—Maeve
The Second Will
NOEL
YOU DO NOT TRAVEL IF YOU ARE AFRAID OF THE UNKNOWN, YOU TRAVEL FOR THE UNKNOWN, THAT REVEALS YOU WITH YOURSELF.
—ELLA MAILLART
CHAPTER NINE
FAR AND AWAY
One stop in Newark and more than a dozen hours later, I stepped off the airplane to a frenzy of shouts and hand gestures. Around me, people scattered, to the turnstile or down brightly lit corridors teeming with other travelers. Overhead, announcements made in Italian—about planes boarding, planes delayed, planes arriving—flooded my ears, and even I had trouble understanding because the words spilled so fast. A group of giggling Americans clasped their translation dictionaries and clunkered through a phrase about ordering pizza as a couple ran by—“Su, sbrigati, perderemo il volo di coincidenza!”—late for their flight.
Great Zeus—err, Jupiter! I pinched myself. Rome!
For a second, I thought I saw a little girl with red hair standing beside a revolving door. Then she was gone.
Think about where you are. Don’t do this now.
Right. I inserted my Visa into a nearby machine, and it spit out euros so colorful they felt like play money in my hand. I dashed into a gift shop to pick up a tourist’s guidebook and some other essentials, then took my purchases and stood—well, paced—beside the
turnstile to wait for my luggage … and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.
After so many months, I would see Noel. Noel, who’d been weirdly out of touch. Noel, who’d been a touchstone for me since my undergrad years at Betheny U. Back then, Kit and I were fresh escapees of Maine, entrenched in school and needing to prove we could make it alone. Noel sat beside me one day in French class, and I swear we recognized something in each other from moment one—some invisible badge that attracted others who’d had their hearts trampled early and utterly. He’d accepted me as I was and taken only what I could offer. At first, it wasn’t much. Smiles. Jokes. A walk. The occasional movie when I couldn’t study anymore. Hot chocolate at the shop. Someone who grew to know me well, who didn’t know me from Before.
What a blessed relief to keep everything so neatly compartmentalized. The After Maeve without music could still function and make friends. She excelled in school and didn’t think much about her former plans or even have time for that. She was so much better off grounded.
I reset my watch to 8:30 a.m., though it felt like the middle of the night to my body. Noel was forty-five minutes late. It struck me then that I’d assumed a lot: that Kit’s note meant she’d actually spoken with him, that she’d told him the right time and place to meet me, and that he’d find me.
I tried to calm my nerves by perusing the new guidebook. Small squares lay spread across the city—Piazza Barberini, Piazza della Rotonda, Piazza delle Coppelle—and so many museums, cathedrals, places to eat. The muted sounds of “Harlem Nocturne” kicked up a notch as I scanned a map of Trastevere, home to Empu Sri Putra. Why had he followed me, given me that book, asked me to remember? Eling. What did he know about my keris?
The Last Will of Moira Leahy Page 10