by Luanne Rice
Today she was back, braver than ever. Was Nell with him? Madeleine craned her head to see—no, the passenger seat was empty.
Her heart was beating so fast, she felt as if she'd run a marathon. She was sure her face was bright red—and her lips felt so dry, and her hands were sticky on the steering wheel.
She hadn't told anyone of her plan—not Chris, not Dr. Mallory, not Stevie. Her therapy had been going well; she was starting to feel better after just a few sessions. She felt clearer about everything—if Jack would just give her a chance, she could talk to him. She could sit with him, face-to-face, rely upon their old love for each other to lead her into exactly what she needed to say. She purposely hadn't told Stevie that she was coming; although she knew that her friend would support her desire to set things right, she needed to do this all by herself.
As she pulled out quickly behind Jack's car, she nearly rear-ended him. She had to calm down—she hadn't expected to be this frantic. Talking in her therapist's office was one thing. It was safe there—free from the reality of confrontation. But here, at the beach, anything could happen.
She saw Jack catch sight of her in the rearview mirror.
Their eyes met and held.
What was going to happen? Madeleine clutched the wheel and coasted into the driveway outside a beach cottage, directly behind her brother.
JACK COULDN'T MOVE. He parked the car in the sandy driveway and looked into the mirror, straight into his sister's eyes. The castle blueprints and plans lay on the seat beside him. He'd been thinking of Aida's words of wisdom, and of Stevie asking him to stay. He had planned to go straight over to Stevie's and tell her that he was calling Ivan Romanov in the morning—contract or no, he was bagging the Scotland plans. Swirling around in that decision was the need to work things out with his sister.
But actually seeing her was a shock to his system. Slowly, he reached for the door handle, pushed the door open. Madeleine was already out of her car. She stood back slightly, clutching her hands together.
“Jack,” she said. Her eyes filled as she said his name. “Don't run away.”
“I won't, Maddie,” he said slowly.
He let himself really look at her. It had been a year since he'd seen her, and he saw the scars: dark red, from her neck to her shoulder, running under her dress. She had gained weight, and her face looked swollen. Her hair was neatly brushed, held back with tortoiseshell combs; she had put on fresh lipstick. Somehow the care she'd taken broke his heart. She looked so vulnerable, he didn't think he could stand it.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“I'm fine, getting better,” she said bravely. “I know I look terrible—it's from the steroids, I had to take them after the surgery, they've made me gain weight. I hate having you see me fat.”
“Maddie, you're not—”
“Please, don't say that,” she said, shaking her head, as if she couldn't stand any dishonesty between them. Jack's heart was in his throat. He took a step forward, wanting to hug her. But she shook her head harder, stopping him in his tracks, burying her face in her hands.
“I tried calling you,” he said.
“I knew,” she sobbed. “I knew it was you. Why didn't you say anything?”
“I wasn't sure what to say, Maddie. It all seems so complicated. What Emma said to you, and what she did . . . and then, the accident . . .”
“I killed her,” Madeleine said. “I wouldn't have hurt her for anything, but she slapped me, and I lost control—”
Jack's stomach clenched. He loved his sister—there was no doubt about that. But he couldn't stand to hear details of the crash. What Emma had confessed, how violent she'd been with Maddie—were too much for him to handle, even a year later.
She stopped, frozen by the stricken look on his face.
“I just want to explain it all to you,” she said.
“Let's not go down that path right now,” he said.
“It's the only way,” she said. “To make you understand that I didn't mean to destroy everything.”
“Stop, Maddie,” he said, his heart searing. Sweat poured down his neck, and he felt sick. He wanted to be reasonable. This summer had healed him a little—meeting Stevie, spending time with her, seeing Nell getting better. Talking to Aida, seeing her with her own niece. Memories of Emma—and Maddie—good memories, had been everywhere here at Hubbard's Point.
“But you have to listen, Jack—you have to!”
“I can't!” he shouted.
The silence was deafening. All the happy Hubbard's Point activity seemed to stop—tennis balls and basketballs ceased bouncing, radios were turned down, people stopped talking. No one yelled here. Jack's voice echoed in his own ears. Madeleine stood in front of him, pale and paralyzed.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
“I'll go,” she said, her voice shaking.
“No, Maddie—” he said, his hands trembling. He moved toward her, but she was already climbing into her car. She fumbled with the seat belt, couldn't get it fastened. He wanted to reach in to her. But he didn't dare touch her. She seemed so breakable . . .
“Jack,” she said. “I love you.”
“Madeleine,” he said. Their eyes met, and he felt the tears fall down his cheeks. He couldn't get the words out. He loved her too much to even say. Sometimes when he thought of the accident, he was so angry with her, he wanted to shake her. And other times, all of his considerable rage was directed at Emma—for nearly killing his sister. If Emma hadn't been having a crisis, Madeleine wouldn't have been driving her down that road.
“What?” she asked.
“Don't leave.”
“I shouldn't have come.”
The sight of her eyes was breaking Jack's heart. “Maddie,” he said. He wanted everything to be different, the way it used to be, when loving his sister had been the easiest, most automatic thing in the world.
“I've got to go now,” Maddie said.
“Don't,” he said.
“Tell Nell how much I love her.”
Her window was open, her hand on the wheel. Jack realized he hadn't even hugged her. He reached through the window, and his fingers brushed hers. She shook her head, and gulped a sob.
“You don't know how much she loves you—you have no idea, Maddie,” he said. But she wouldn't stop—she just drove away.
Jack stood in the driveway. What had just happened? How badly had he blown it? The crazy thing was, none of it made sense. It wasn't logical—it was all just too soon. One year after the accident, and seeing his sister made him feel as raw as if it had happened yesterday. Maddie hadn't killed Emma. But she had killed his idea of her.
Death had taken Emma, but she'd been ready to leave all on her own. Seeing Madeleine brought that memory right to the surface. He needed to sort through all of it, come to terms with it, find solid ground somewhere where he could get his head straight and concentrate on being father and mother to his little girl. He had to do what was right for Nell. He had left her care one hundred percent to her mother, and look what had been about to happen there. Now he couldn't afford to make any mistakes. Nell was too fragile and needed him too much.
Everything happened for a reason—that's what the nuns used to tell him at school. It was a catch-all explanation for the worst things: for kids who flunked, who got kicked off the team, whose parents died. The strange thing was, those words floated back to him now, standing in his driveway. Madeleine's coming here had shown him one thing: he loved her as much as ever. But he just wasn't equipped to deal with everything that came with it—the truth about Emma, about what a lie their life together had become.
And his instinct had been right all along—to get away, as far and as fast as he could.
NELL AND PEGGY finished swimming with the others, then ran off to hop on the bicycle-built-for-two. They had gotten really good at it, and today was Nell's time to drive it. She immediately set off for the Point.
“I know where we're going,” Peggy called from behind.
“No you don't!”
“Heart of stone, house of blue . . .”
“Her house isn't blue anymore. Besides, didn't you like being at the movie with her? It was so fun.”
“I know . . .”
Since Peggy wasn't really protesting, Nell just grinned and rode up behind the tennis courts, around the corner, onto the shady Point road. When they got to Stevie's, they leaned the bike against her stone wall. Nell took Peggy's hand, to give her courage. They started up the stairs, passing the sign.
“Can't you read?” Peggy whispered.
“She doesn't mean me,” Nell said, feeling certain.
When they got to the back door, Nell knocked loudly, wiping the sand off her bare feet. Peggy did the same. They were wearing their bathing suits, which were still fairly damp. Plus, the waves had been bigger than usual, churning up the bottom, so they had some sand in their suits. Nell considered the fact that they should have changed, and was frowning over the thought, when Stevie opened the door.
“What a great surprise!” she said. “Come on in!”
“Um, our bathing suits are wet,” Nell said. “And kind of sandy. I'm sorry.”
“Sorry, shmorry,” Stevie said. “Beach girls are supposed to have wet, sandy bathing suits. I'm glad you came. Hi, Peggy.”
“Hi,” Peggy said, in the quietest voice Nell had ever heard her use.
“I liked seeing you at the movie the other night. How are your mom and Tara? Did Joe get home?”
“They're good, and yes—Joe's back,” Peggy said, perking up. Nell saw her glancing around. Probably looking for Stevie's black hat, cape, and broomstick. Tilly sat in the corner, giving them stern looks. Nell giggled, crouched down, and held out her hand. For the first time, Tilly walked over to rub up against her.
“She knows me!” Nell said. “She helped me set the table the other night!”
“I can tell,” Stevie said, “that she's glad you're here. Guess what I was just about to do?”
“Paint a picture for your book?” Nell asked. Then, because she felt so proprietary and happy, she turned to Peggy and said, “She wrote a book all for me and my dad. About a magical castle that we went to. My dad is there now, helping Aunt Aida save the hillside from the wicked bulldozers.”
“Oh, he's there now?” Stevie asked, sounding a little funny.
Nell nodded. “He's been there every day. He showed me the drawings he did about how to keep the castle from crumbling anymore. Today he was going to look into the woods, to plan bridges and walkways. That's his specialty—bridges.”
“Cool,” Peggy said.
Stevie just smiled, but Nell thought she looked a little worried. That made Nell feel funny—as if she'd said the wrong thing. So she touched Stevie's elbow and asked, “What was it you were about to do?”
“Teach Ebby to fly,” she said. “Come on upstairs.”
“Ebby?” Peggy asked as they walked through the house.
“The bird your brother brought me. He's a crow, so I named him Ebony. Nicknamed Ebby.”
Nell saw Peggy looking around the room, at the comfortable old wicker furniture, faded pillows, hooked rugs, baskets of shells and stones, and paintings on the wall. The house was so colorful and friendly, it was as far from witchdom as it could possibly be. Nell laughed, because Peggy looked so surprised.
Up in Stevie's room, the bird was already flying! She had left his cage door open, and he was sitting on the top, cawing. As Nell watched, he flew up to perch on the top of Aunt Aida's large canvas. Then he flew up to land on a rafter.
“This is where you paint?” Peggy asked, eyes wide.
“It is,” Stevie said.
“Cool,” Peggy said.
“Look at this,” Stevie said, leading the girls to her side window. It gave onto her terrace, where the red flowers grew. As Nell looked down, she saw several hummingbirds, and she remembered that moment at Aunt Aida's with Stevie. The memory made her feel even closer to Stevie, and she leaned against her side. But Stevie wasn't pointing at the hummingbirds today.
“Can you see?” she asked. Nell peered out, at a cedar tree growing behind the blue stone terrace. Several crows were hidden in its branches.
“What are they doing there?” Peggy asked. She took a step back into the room, as if the sight of the birds scared her.
“I think they're waiting for Ebby,” Stevie said.
“They're his family,” Nell said, breathless.
“I think you're right, Nell,” Stevie said. “The crow is the Native American totem for creation, spiritual strength, and loyalty.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, I study birds,” she said. “For the books I write.”
Peggy tugged Nell's arm and mouthed, “Maybe she is a witch.”
Nell shook her head resolutely. She and Peggy stood back, as Stevie opened the window, removed the screen. A breeze blew in, moving the curtains. The crows didn't even flinch at the commotion—they just held their spots on the branches, waiting.
As the girls held their breath, Ebby flew off the rafter and began to circle around the room. He had grown a lot in the time since Billy had brought him to Stevie—he was no longer a soft fluffy baby, but a lean teenage crow. Nell grabbed Stevie's hand, without even thinking.
Ebby landed on the windowsill. He seemed to lift his head to the sky. The crows in the cedar tree all began to caw. Nell felt goose bumps on her arms. For some reason she thought of her own family: of her father, Aunt Madeleine, Uncle Chris, waiting for her.
“They're waiting for you,” Stevie whispered.
And in a flash of black wings, Ebby flew. He faltered slightly, tumbling down toward the first floor, but then caught himself and rose, rose, toward the uppermost branches of the cedar tree. His relatives saw him coming, and all lifted off at once—a glossy black cloud of wings, bearing Ebby home.
Nell realized that she had let go of Stevie's hand, was gripping the windowsill to watch him go. She saw the crows fly over the beach, into the trees behind the marsh near Peggy's house—where Billy had found Ebby in the first place.
“He's with his family now,” Nell said.
“I can't wait to tell Billy,” Peggy said, her eyes shining.
Nell looked up at Stevie. Her hair was as black as the crows' backs. She wanted to reach up and touch, to see whether there were soft, shiny feathers. She could almost imagine that Stevie was part of her own family, her crow aunt. Or mother. The idea made Nell feel like crying and laughing, at the same time.
“When I go away, will you be waiting for me?” she asked.
“Always,” Stevie said. “You can fly back here anytime.”
Nell ducked her head, hiding a small smile. But where would she be flying back from? The summer was long and wonderful, with no end in sight: Nell didn't even want to think about it. It almost didn't matter, as long as she could return to Hubbard's Point.
“Are you excited about Scotland?” Stevie asked.
Nell tilted her head. Had her father told Stevie about the dumb trip they were maybe taking there? “Not really,” she said.
“Really? You're not excited about going to live there?” Stevie said.
“Live in Scotland? Dad mentioned it, but I think he meant visit.”
“Nell—that's so far away! You can't move to another country,” Peggy said.
Stevie's face turned red. She exhaled, giving Nell the definite idea that she had said the wrong thing. Nell heard herself gasp. It couldn't be possible. Scotland was across the ocean. How could she get back here, to Stevie? And how would her aunt ever be able to find her—in a foreign land? She was moving to Scotland?
JACK WAS still in a sort of slow-motion shock when Nell came home. He had stood in the driveway for a ridiculously long time, hoping Maddie would come back. At some point a neighbor had walked past. “Everything okay?” she'd asked, seeing him stare into nothing.
“Fine,” Jack said.
He had walked into the backyard, to si
t on the picnic bench under the trees. Stevie and he had sat here the morning she'd brought coffee over. An hour passed, and then another. He didn't move. The sight of his sister sobbing had rocked him to the core.
“Scotland?” Nell called, tearing around the corner and pulling him back to the present. “We're going to live in Scotland?”
“Who told you that?” he asked, his stomach dropping.
“I'm not telling you, 'cause you'll just get mad at her. Dad, I am not going to live in Scotland,” she cried. A dog walker paused to watch.
“Come inside,” Jack said, jumping off the bench, walking over to open the screen door. Nell walked in, sand from her bathing suit raining down on the linoleum floor with every step.
“You weren't even going to ask me what I wanted?”
“Honey, I was. I am. I'm just trying to do what's best for us,” Jack stammered. He was still shaken by Madeleine's visit, in shock at his reaction to seeing her, confused about everything.
“I don't want it,” Nell said. “I want to stay here.”
Jack had thought the same thing that morning—it seemed ten years away. Everything had looked so beautiful up at the castle; and Stevie's word, stay, had seemed just like a challenge or a promise he wanted to accept. But now . . .
“What's wrong with Atlanta, Dad? What's wrong with Boston?”
“I thought you didn't like Boston.”
“I didn't like Francesca. That's all, and you know it!”
“You didn't seem very happy there.”
“Dad—I liked the swan boats. I liked the Freedom Trail.”
Jack's head began to ache. What did landmarks have to do with where a family made their home? Besides, had she liked the swan boats? He remembered her seeming sullen the day he'd taken her. And taking her to the Old North Church had been like dragging the statue of Paul Revere himself up the steps, down the aisle. Suddenly he had a premonition of what it would be like, taking her to Loch Ness, or Inverness Castle. What had he been thinking?