She spun to see Aunt Hazel in her shabby flannel nightgown. Her hair was going every which way and she reeked of brandy. “It’s nearly three in the morning,” she said. “What are you doing up?”
Lisa couldn’t think fast enough to answer. Her head swam.
Dad. Evie had called Da Dad.
Hazel marched past Lisa, leaving a trail of brandy fumes, and threw on the living room light switch. Evie was hiding behind the recliner, but Hazel spotted her instantly. “What’s going on here, Evie?”
Evie’s cheeks blazed red.
Then Hazel looked at the couch. “Dave?”
But Lisa’s father was no longer on the couch. There was only a damp pillow and balled-up cotton blanket covering the large indent on the cushion where his body had been for the past three weeks. Lisa followed Hazel through the living room into the office. Her father was seated at the desk, the phone in his hand.
“Who are you talking to, Dave?” Hazel asked, hurrying into the room.
She took the phone from his hand, said, “Hello? Anyone there?” into it, then shook her head and hung up.
“We need to get you back in bed, Dave. And you children, upstairs, now!” Hazel pointed to the stairs with a shaking hand.
“Evie?”
As soon as they’d gotten back to the bedroom, Evie had turned off the lights and crawled into her sleeping bag. Lisa got into bed but knew she’d never be able to sleep.
“Yeah?” Evie said. She was just a disembodied voice in the darkness of Lisa’s bedroom. A voice from down below.
Lisa struggled to keep her thoughts straight.
“I heard you just now,” Lisa said. “I heard you call my father Dad.”
Evie was silent a moment. “You know why?” she said at last. “Because he thought I was you. You know how messed up he is from all those medicines they’ve got him on.”
“What did you say to him?” Lisa asked.
“Nothing,” Evie said.
Lisa turned, facing the wall, her mind racing.
“So I take it your Fairy King never showed up,” Evie said.
“No,” Lisa mumbled.
“Then you’re done with all of it? Like you promised?”
Lisa nodded in the dark and spoke through the hard lump in her throat. “Like I promised.”
Lisa woke up in the morning to the sound of bells, not the gentle tinkling of the fairy bells but something far more ominous. Ringing, chiming, one loud whine that went on and on, getting louder. A great whirling vortex of sound. A siren. She stumbled out of bed to the window, tripping over Evie in her sleeping bag.
“What?” Evie shouted, sitting up. Then she heard the sound and crawled out of the sleeping bag, joining Lisa at the window.
Outside, everything looked hazy in the early morning light. Two men were wheeling Da on a stretcher into an ambulance. His eyes were closed. He had an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. Lisa’s mother got in with him. She was still in her pajamas, which was all wrong. Her mother would never leave the house in her pajamas. Aunt Hazel was coming back into the house, her face tight as a statue’s.
PART III
Say, Say My Playmate
From The Book of Fairies
If you wish to cross over to the fairy realm, it needs to be done on Midsummer’s Eve.
For at least three days before, take no solid food. Drink only water sweetened with honey and tea made from the flowers and leaves of foxglove.
On Midsummer’s Eve, journey into the woods alone, near midnight. Bring nothing with you. Tell no one you are leaving.
Stand inside a circle of thirteen stones, close your eyes, and call out to the King of the Fairies. Tell him you are ready and that you come willingly. Then wait for him to take your hand.
CHAPTER 32
Phoebe
JUNE 13, PRESENT DAY
She was back in her childhood bed with the white wooden headboard. Beds are like boats, she was thinking, smiling as she navigated her way using the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. The bed was moving, rocking on the waves. Gradually, horribly, it dawned on her that it was not the ocean that caused her bed to sway. It was something below trying to get out: pushing, thrashing, clawing his way up from the trapdoor under the bed where she’d piled books and toys and suitcases full of clothes, thinking that might keep her safe. At last, he pushed through. A shadow slithered to the far corner of her room, then back toward her. It made no sound.
She wanted to run, but her legs were frozen in place, the covers heavy as lead. As the figure moved closer and lifted his head, she saw that it was Sam.
“Shit!” she yelped, sitting up on the half-deflated air mattress to find bright sunlight streaming through the window.
Home. She was home. Not in her own bed beneath the watchful eyes of the owl but on the office floor.
Double shit.
She replayed the events of the night before in her mind and felt sick to her stomach.
Squinting at the clock, heart still hammering from the dream, she saw it was a little after eight. Sam was thumping around in the kitchen making coffee. The water ran; the grinder whirred. Hearing the chirps of the cordless phone being dialed a few minutes later, she opened the office door, listened carefully, and realized right away that he was talking to his boss.
“Something’s come up,” he explained. “A family emergency, and I won’t be in for a couple of days. I’ll give you a call if it’s going to be any longer. Uh huh. Thanks, man.”
Phoebe quietly closed the door and waited, holding her breath, sure that at any moment she’d hear him come down the hall, knock softly. Maybe he’d even have a cup of coffee for her. They’d talk about the baby. He’d say he was sorry. He’d promise to keep her and the baby safe.
Just as she was expecting, she heard Sam’s footsteps come from the kitchen to the hall. Then he stopped and grabbed his keys, which jingled in his hand. He hesitated a moment, not three feet from her door, then turned and walked the other way.
“Sam?” she called, but he didn’t seem to hear.
She couldn’t believe he would just leave her like this.
And if he wasn’t going to work, where was he off to?
Phoebe pulled on her jeans and green boots, ran a hand through her sleep-tousled hair, and hurried into the hall. Sam’s truck started in the driveway.
Phoebe grabbed her purse and keys.
“Where’re you going so early?” Evie asked. She was watching from the living room, still cocooned in blankets on the couch. All Phoebe could see of her was her face with its enormous dark eyes. And the key necklace, on top of the covers.
“To see what the hell Sam’s up to,” Phoebe said, hurrying toward the front door.
Evie nodded. “Be careful,” she said, and Phoebe got a chill.
At first she was sure she’d lost him. She knew he’d turned left out of the driveway onto Lang Street, but did he go left on River or right? She looked right and saw no sign of his truck. The road to the left took a sharp bend, so it was impossible to see very far. She took a chance and went left and soon had him in sight.
She kept her distance, making sure there were always at least two cars between them. As they drove out of town, this got harder because the traffic thinned. He was heading toward the state forest. He could be going for Lisa, maybe to take her to Barre on his own now. He turned down Harrington Road, which took him away from Franny and Jim’s and into the heart of the state forest with its vast network of hiking trails. Where the hell was he going? There was nothing out this way. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. Phoebe hit the brakes, wondering if she dared follow. There were no cars between them now. Maybe he was going to take a little impromptu hike to clear his head. That seemed a very Sam-like thing to do.
But then, Sam hadn’t been acting like himself lately, had he?
She
moved her foot from the brake to the gas and rolled slowly after him.
They passed a small pond, a stand of sugar maples, and a Christmas tree farm. The road twisted and turned like a drunken snake. Phoebe clawed at the wheel with her thumbnails. Every now and then, she caught sight of his taillights and slowed. At least she hadn’t lost him yet. If he turned down a side road or driveway, she’d have no way of knowing. Each time she came to one, she hit the brakes, glanced down the road, and, seeing no sign of Sam’s red pickup, continued on.
The houses were few and far between. Seasonal cabins, mostly. A few year-round dwellings for hardy souls.
She passed a run-down trailer on the right. There were cars up on cinder blocks, an oil tank outside on bent legs. And there were Christmas decorations up—strings of ragged lights, a tattered reindeer flag, and a big shiny plastic sign on the door that said SANTA IS COMING. A warning.
And who was Santa anyway, Phoebe thought, but the king of the elves? Elves—first cousins to fairies.
“Idiot,” she mumbled to herself. The road dipped down, then leveled. Phoebe wished she was back home at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of hot coffee, instead of out here on a wild-goose chase. Evie would get up and they’d have cinnamon toast with mountains of sugar.
Up ahead, she caught up with Sam just enough to see him turn onto a side road. She followed, creeping along. She passed a U-Haul in front of a small gray house. Two guys in dirty T-shirts were loading a couch into the back of it. Up ahead, Sam was pulling his truck into the driveway of a small ranch three houses down on the left. Phoebe slammed on the brakes, put her car in reverse, and backed up so that she was hidden by the U-Haul.
The house whose driveway Sam had pulled into was set back from the road and had sickly yellow vinyl siding and a tidy yard. And in the driveway, right in front of Sam’s truck, was the black Jeep with Massachusetts plates.
“Holy shit,” Phoebe said, rubbing her eyes like a stupid comic book character who can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. And she felt more like a character in a comic book or film than her true self—surely this wasn’t her real life, her real boyfriend and father of the baby she carried inside her.
“What’s your daddy up to?” she asked, placing a protective hand over her belly.
She sat and watched in a dumbfounded stupor as Sam approached the front door and knocked. The door was answered by the bearded man who had called himself Elliot back in the cabin.
Phoebe slouched down in her seat. The fake Elliot stood talking with Sam for a minute. Then the girl who played Evie appeared in the doorway in a midriff-exposing halter top. There was no hole in her side or thick bandaging. She was intact and unhurt.
Sam seemed agitated. The more he talked, the louder his voice got. Phoebe unrolled her window all the way, straining to hear.
She caught Sam saying baby. Elliot shook his head, rubbed his face worriedly. Then the fake Evie said something Phoebe couldn’t hear.
She couldn’t risk moving any closer. Elliot shook his head, said something that made Sam relax. Then, a few seconds later, Sam was laughing.
She had to do something. Call someone. But who? The police—no, she’d sound like a crazy person. How could she possibly explain? Sam was involved; involved in what, exactly, she couldn’t say.
She grabbed the phone and dialed her home number. Evie picked up.
“You’re not going to believe who Sam is talking to right this minute,” she said.
“Who?” Evie asked, sounding half-asleep.
“The fake Evie and Elliot! He drove right to their goddamn house, and they’re all chatting away like the best of friends. The girl’s got a short shirt on, exposing this totally perfect belly—not a mark on her. Shit! He just went inside with them. What the hell is going on, Evie? Who are these people?”
Evie was silent a minute. “I think you better get out of there,” she said, sounding suddenly awake. “Don’t let them see you. Get out of there and come back home. We’ll sit down and figure out what to do next. Okay?”
“Okay, but I want to make a stop first. I want to check on Lisa and tell Franny not to let Sam and his merry bunch of goons come anywhere near her.”
“But how could Sam be involved in whatever happened to Lisa?” Franny asked. “This is his own sister we’re talking about. And her baby!”
They were sitting at Franny’s kitchen table sipping jasmine tea with honey from heavy ceramic mugs. Lisa was outside picking strawberries with Jim. Phoebe could see them through the kitchen window. Lisa was wearing overalls and a T-shirt. She looked lost in Franny’s clothes, and she had the complexion of a vampire. How could such a skin-and-bones woman give birth to a baby? Phoebe couldn’t believe that it would have been born healthy. She pictured the baby out there now, malnourished, sick, needing medical attention.
“I don’t know,” Phoebe admitted. “None of it makes any sense. I can’t believe he might have been involved with what happened at the cabin—I mean, what would be the point of all that? It seems like a hell of a show to put on just for my benefit. And when I think for even a second that he might have had anything to do with taking Lisa’s baby . . .” Her voice broke and she blinked back tears. “He didn’t say anything when he found out I was pregnant, Franny. And then I find out he’s promised his firstborn to the fairies! What other secrets is he keeping?”
“I’ve known Sam practically his whole life, Bee,” Franny said, putting a comforting hand on Phoebe’s arm. “He’d never put a child in harm’s way—his or anybody else’s. The idea of him being involved in some crazy criminal conspiracy just doesn’t fit. But he obviously knows more than he’s been letting on, right?”
Phoebe nodded, took a sip of tea. It seemed impossible that her life had spun so far out of control these last days. That the love of her life, the guy who cried at the death of the wounded owl, had become one of the bad guys.
“He may be into this deeper than I ever imagined,” she said. “When I talked with Becca, she said if I wanted to know what really happened to Lisa, I should ask Sam what he saw in the woods that night and how he got the scar on his chest. So he was there! And he saw what happened. Shit, he might even have been a part of it!”
Franny slammed her mug down and stood up quickly, reached for Phoebe’s hand. “Come on,” she said.
“Where are we going?” Phoebe asked, spilling tea down the front of her shirt as she was jerked to her feet.
“Becca knew Sam was in the woods that night.”
“Yeah?”
“Which means she must have been there too.”
CHAPTER 33
Lisa
JUNE 15, FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
“This is the worst day of my life. Period.”
Evie smiled. “Did you mean to do that? Isn’t that kind of a pun or something?”
Lisa threw a pillow down at Evie, who teased, “Missed me.”
They were in Lisa’s bedroom with the door locked.
“What’s going on in there?” Sammy asked, pounding at the door.
“Girl talk,” Evie said. “Buzz off.”
“Have you heard anything?” Sammy asked through the door. “From Mom or Aunt Hazel?”
“Um, you can hear the phone ring as well as we can, right?” Evie said. “Why don’t you go watch for them in the driveway.”
Lisa rolled over and looked at the clock. It was nearly four. All they’d heard was the one phone call from her mom this morning saying that Da was in a coma. He’d taken a lot more pills this time.
“But he’s gonna be okay, right?” Lisa had asked.
There was a long pause. “We’re not sure,” her mother had said.
“I want to see him!”
“You can’t, sweetie. He’s in intensive care. No one under sixteen is allowed in.”
“But I . . .”
“Rules are rules, love. I
’ll call again when there’s news.”
Evie spent the morning upstairs by herself, while Sam and Lisa played hand after hand of rummy. Evie came downstairs and made them all tuna melts, which she burned. Lisa couldn’t eat a single bite.
“Come on,” Evie had said. “I know my cooking sucks, but you gotta eat.”
“Stomachache,” Lisa said, her abdomen twisting and cramping.
Later, when she went into the bathroom, she found brown stains on her panties.
“I think there’s something wrong with me,” she’d told Evie.
“No, dummy,” Evie had said. “It’s your period.”
“My period? But isn’t blood supposed to be red?” This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Her mother should be there, welcoming her to womanhood. And she was supposed to feel like a woman—not a helpless kid who couldn’t even go visit her dad in the hospital. Her belly had cramped and she bent forward, grimacing. No one had told her it was going to hurt like this.
“Trust me,” Evie had said. Then she rummaged around in the bathroom closet and found a box of pads. “Get some fresh underwear and put one of these on. Then take three Advil.”
After, they’d locked themselves in Lisa’s room and Evie told her that she’d been getting her period for almost a year now.
“But how could you not tell me something like that?” Lisa asked.
Evie shrugged. “Maybe there’s lots of stuff I don’t tell you.”
“Like what?”
“Forget it.” Evie looked away. “Let’s go see what Sammy’s up to, huh?” She stood up and unlocked the door.
“Evie?”
Evie stopped, her hand on the knob.
“There’s something I want to show you. Something I found in your mom’s room.” Lisa went to her bookshelf and pulled out the dictionary. The old photo of Da and Hazel was right where she’d hid it. After crumpling it up, she hadn’t been able to throw it away. So she smoothed it out and stuck it in the M’s.
Misery.
Misfortune.
Mishap.
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