by Jen DeLuca
Next to me, one of the vendors sighed. I recognized her; she sold tarot cards and crystals out of a booth shaped like a traveling wagon. She leaned over to the woman next to her. “So much pretty on one stage.”
Her companion nodded. “Should be illegal, those legs. Thank God for kilts.”
The tarot card seller sighed again. “Too bad he’s such a manwhore.”
“Really.” The word slipped out before I could check it, and the two women turned to me with a conspiratorial grin. There was that feeling again, of being a Faire insider, with access to the best gossip.
“Oh, yeah.” She leaned a little closer to me, and I did the same, as if she were about to share a secret. “I’m pretty sure he’s got a girl at every Faire.”
“Oh, he does,” the other vendor said. “Wonder who it is here.” She glanced around the audience as though she could identify Dex’s Willow Creek hookup by some kind of secret symbol. A really satisfied smile, maybe. I bit hard on the inside of my cheek. If he was discreet enough to not blab about it, then I would be too.
“No idea,” I said, pleased at how noncommittal my voice sounded.
“Lucky girl, though.” The tarot vendor placed her hands on her belly, as if she were quelling butterflies that had gathered there. “I bet she had a hell of a summer.” She snickered, the other vendor joined in, and I forced myself to do the same, even though my laugh was a little hollow.
At the end of the song the two women slipped out of the crowd and back to their booths. As the next song started, there was a touch on my elbow.
“Good morrow, milady Beatrice.”
My attention slid away from Dex and to a different MacLean altogether. Daniel, Dex’s cousin, managed the Dueling Kilts. He usually lingered somewhere in the back of the crowd like this, dressed in his uniform of a black T-shirt and black jeans. How the man managed to not die of heatstroke dressed like that in the middle of August, I’d never know.
“Well met, good sir.” I bobbed a quick curtsy, still in character. Then I dropped the accent. “Faire’s about over, you know. You can call me Stacey now.”
Daniel’s laugh was a quiet exhale. “I’ll try and remember.” He took off his black baseball cap and shook out his hair, and I was surprised anew at how red it was. Just long enough to fall into his eyes, his hair was usually obscured by the hat he wore all the time. “New necklace?” He raked his hair out of his eyes with one hand before settling the cap back on his head, eclipsing that bright hair again.
“Hmm? Oh. Yeah.” My hand went to the dragonfly around my neck, the silver warm now from lying against my skin. “Just picked it up this afternoon.”
“Looks nice.” He raised a hand as though he was going to touch it, but he changed the movement to a gesture in the pendant’s direction instead, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Means change.”
“What?”
“The dragonfly.” He nodded in the direction of my cleavage, current resting place of said dragonfly. “In a lot of cultures the dragonfly symbolizes change.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t that deep, and for a moment I felt a little ashamed of that. But the hell with it. I shrugged. “To me, it symbolizes pretty.” He laughed, a real laugh this time, and I couldn’t help but remember that frisson of dissatisfaction that had seized me when I’d first picked it up. Time for a change, I’d said to Simon. Huh. Maybe this dragonfly knew what it was talking about.
I opened my mouth to tell Daniel about this, but he’d already turned his attention back to his cousins on the stage. Not for the first time, I contemplated the MacLean DNA. Dex and Daniel were both tall, but that was where the resemblance ended. Dex was dark, solid, and strong-muscled, a man who looked like he was about to rock your world in a dangerous way. Daniel was lean and fair, with bottle-green eyes to go with that red hair, and more of a swimmer’s build than a bodybuilder’s. Daniel looked less like he was about to rock your world and more like he knew exactly how you took your coffee and would bring it to you in bed with a soft smile just for you. While the Kilts played the Faire, Daniel stuck around to man their merchandising booth. It didn’t seem like enough to keep him busy, but maybe Dex and the others required that much supervision.
Daniel was a comfortable, easy presence, but I always felt a little awkward around him, since I was pretty sure he knew all about Dex and me. There’d been that one night this summer when I’d run into Daniel at the hotel ice machine at two in the morning. There’d been no explaining that away.
Sure enough. “You . . . Um.” Daniel cleared his throat, and I glanced over. His eyes were still on the stage, but his mouth twisted as he bit the inside of his cheek. “You know about Dex, right?”
I blinked. “Well, I’m familiar with him.” Very familiar, but he probably wasn’t looking for details.
He shook his head and leaned a shoulder against a tree, hands still shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. “I mean, you know he’s . . .” He sighed and turned those green eyes my way. “You know he’s kind of a player, right?”
“A wench at every Faire?” I raised my eyebrow, and his laugh in response was more of a snort. “I’d heard that.” I sighed a dramatic sigh and looked back at the stage. “Guess I’m not as special as I thought.”
I’d meant that as a joke, but Daniel didn’t respond. I turned my head, expecting a knowing smirk on his face, but instead a flush crept up the back of his neck as he studied the ground. “I didn’t say . . .” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t mean that you . . . I mean, you’re . . .” Finally he sighed in exasperation and looked up at me again. “I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”
Oh. That. I waved an unconcerned hand. “Don’t worry. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” It was my turn to blush at the words I’d just said. Big girl. My hands went to my waist, nipped in to a ridiculous degree by this corset I wore as part of my costume, as though I could push on my ribs and make myself even smaller. I wasn’t one of those people who hated their body, but sometimes I was very conscious of the fact that I wasn’t model-thin. That was one of the many reasons I loved being at Faire. Here, my voluptuousness was an asset: my chest looked incredible all hiked up like this, and the corset gave me an hourglass figure I could never achieve the rest of the year.
I cast around for something else to talk about. Anything. “So. Off to the next one, right? Are you going to the Maryland Ren Fest? I think just about everyone here hits that one since it starts next weekend.”
He nodded. “Yep. It’s so close by that it’s a no-brainer. And it works out really well. We can try out new material here, where the audiences are smaller, and then hit up the big one next.”
“Sure.” I pressed my lips together. I knew this. I knew that our Faire was stupidly small potatoes compared to the Maryland Renaissance Festival, which was one of the biggest in the country. We weren’t even in the same league. “I bet you’re glad to see the back end of Willow Creek every year.” I looked hard at the stage as rage bubbled in my chest. I loved this Faire. I loved this town. But that didn’t mean that everyone did.
“Not at all.” If Daniel had picked up on my reaction, he didn’t say anything. When I glanced back to him he was looking at the stage too, not at me. “This is one of my favorite stops. Considering I travel about ten months a year, that’s saying something.” He paused, glancing at me quickly before looking back to the stage again. “I like it here.”
And just like that, my lick of defensive anger dissolved, and relief swept through me like a cool breeze. “Yeah. Me too.”
Onstage, the Dueling Kilts finished their set, and Dex lifted his chin in my direction. I’d already raised my hand in a wave when I caught Daniel doing an identical chin-raise in response. Ah. I turned the awkward half-wave into a too-casual check of my hair. Of course. Wench at every Faire. And Dex was done with both me and Willow Creek. On to the next one.
; I shook off the sting of disappointment as I turned back to the lane, making my way up front for pub sing. We were down to the last hour or so in this year’s Faire, and I was going to wring every possible moment out of it. Current feelings of frustration aside, these weeks in the woods were so much more fun, so much more interesting, than my real life.
I fiddled with my necklace again, tracing the dragonfly’s wings between my fingers. Change, huh? Good luck with that, dragonfly. I’d lived in Willow Creek my whole life. Nothing changed around here.
I should have known better.
Dragonflies don’t mess around.
Two
Ren Faire season was my favorite time of year. From tryouts in the late spring when we put the full cast of volunteers together, to weekend rehearsals spent learning songs and dances, enduring crash courses in history and etiquette, and practicing our accents, to finally the four weekends spent out in the woods at the Faire site through July and August, fully inhabiting our characters, Ren Faire season made me feel more alive. More vital. It was a life lived in full color, with music and laughter and oppressive summer heat and tight costumes.
So it stood to reason that those first couple weeks after Faire ended were my least favorite. Color leached out of life when I took my outfit to the cleaners and Beatrice the tavern wench was literally packed away for another year. Instead of looking forward to every weekend with excitement and slightly sore feet, all I had to look forward to now was another week at work. There was a bright side: being a receptionist at a dentist’s office wasn’t as flashy as being a tavern wench, but the clothes were certainly a lot more comfortable. I never understood why those of us on the business end of things had to wear the same scrubs as the hygienists, but they came in cute colors and it was like wearing pajamas to work, so I never complained.
But it was all so . . . blah. Just two short weeks ago I’d been running around in the woods in my costume, trading bawdy jokes with patrons, clapping along to music I only heard once a year. Karaoke at Jackson’s had nothing on dirty drinking songs. But karaoke was all I had these days, so when Friday night rolled around I got ready to go out, as usual. Only I made the mistake of checking social media first.
So blessed to welcome Charlotte Abigail Hawthorne. 7 pounds, 3 ounces, perfect. We’re both doing great! My best friend Candace looked great, anyway. A little sweaty, but she’d just pushed out a tiny human so that was to be forgiven. Charlotte looked mostly red and wrinkled, like a grumpy potato with hair. But I clicked “like” on the photo anyway and added a congratulatory comment: Looking good, bestie!, along with a heart-eyes emoji.
But was she my bestie? Candace Stojkovic and I had gone through every grade in school together, we’d cheered together, we’d graduated from high school together. But we’d lost touch after college, what with me staying here in Willow Creek and her marrying her college sweetheart and moving to Colorado. Thanks to the internet and social media we’d stayed in each other’s lives, as much as we could, by clicking “like” on photos and tossing down witty comments. But that wasn’t really “bestie” status anymore, was it? I’d become nothing more than a Facebook friend with my best friend. That . . . didn’t feel good.
Enough. Time to go out.
I fastened the dragonfly necklace around my neck—the one bit of Faire I decided to keep as part of my daily life. All ready to go now, I took a selfie and put it up on Instagram: Someone told me recently that dragonflies mean change. So here I go doing something different tonight! JK I’m going to Jackson’s as per usual. #FridayNight
A couple likes popped up pretty quickly, but I examined the pic with a critical eye. My roots were due for a touch-up: the brown was really coming in, almost as dark as my eyes. My eyebrows made it clear that I wasn’t a natural blonde, but there was no need to be this blatant about it. The necklace looked nice, though, and so did my smile. I’d always been known for my smile, wide and open and happy, first in high school and then later in college. It was a part of me, something I wore like a favorite pair of jeans. Even though sometimes it felt as false as a push-up bra. Tonight it felt especially padded, but I kept it on anyway. That was the Stacey everyone wanted to see, after all. Ennui-filled Stacey was no fun, so I left her at home.
Jackson’s was our local dive bar/hangout, the only real hangout in Willow Creek, actually, so I was guaranteed to see some friends there. Sure enough, I found myself in a booth with my Ren Faire compatriots, celebrating the end of another successful season.
“Fine.” Simon raised a bottle of beer to his lips. “I’ll admit it. Shortening the season from six weeks to four was a good idea.”
“Told you.” Emily nestled into his side and took a smug swig of her own beer. “Fewer man-hours are required, we saved money on the acts, and that cash goes right back in our pockets for next year. That’s what it’s all about, remember?”
His brows drew together. “I’ve been doing this Faire since day one. I think I know what it’s all about.”
I caught my breath. This was a touchy subject. Simon Graham had started this Faire over a decade ago with his older brother, Sean. We’d lost Sean to cancer a few years back, and ever since then Simon had grown more and more protective of everything having to do with Faire. Emily had shaken him out of that when they met last year. And while he’d finally been a little more open to change this year, to call Simon a micromanager was an understatement.
So my eyes darted from Simon over to Mitch Malone sitting next to me, who met my look and answered it with a roll of his eyes. Mitch had never had the patience for Simon and his darker moods, even when we were kids. He and Simon weren’t the closest of friends, for all that they’d been working together for years to put on this Faire. In fact, the four of us represented most of the Faire’s organizational committee.
I decided to venture a reply. “I think what Emily meant was—”
But Emily came to her own defense, lightly whacking Simon on the chest with the back of her hand before grinning at me. “He knows exactly what I meant.”
“Wait a second.” I put down my wineglass—I was the only one at the table not drinking beer, what a rebel—and reached across the booth for Emily’s hand. When she’d smacked Simon, the light had flashed off a diamond ring I’d never seen her wear before. A diamond ring on her left hand. “What the hell is this?”
My voice came out a little shriller than I’d intended, and more than a few heads turned at the sound of me yelling at Emily. But I didn’t care. I glared at her first, then Simon. I probably shouldn’t glare at the thought of two of my closest friends getting engaged, but too bad. “Is this what I think it is?”
Emily’s only reply was a giggle, and Simon’s stern expression melted into a smile as he looked at Emily’s hand in mine. “It is,” he replied, and his smile widened, something I didn’t think was physically possible. Simon didn’t smile like that when he wasn’t a pirate. “Emily agreed to marry me.”
I squealed, and only the fact that I was sitting on the inside of the booth kept me from running around to hug them both. Launching myself across the table crossed my mind, but I managed to restrain myself.
“Well, hot damn! That’s great, you two!” Mitch put down his beer bottle and stretched his arm across the table, offering Simon a fist bump. Simon was not a fist-bump guy, but he returned the gesture anyway.
Me, I stayed on topic. “When did this happen?” I examined her ring. It was a tidy, perfect diamond, nothing showy. Much like the man who had given it to her.
“Um . . .” Emily chewed on her bottom lip. “Monday afternoon.”
“Monday?!” My response was practically a shriek. “That was four days ago!” I dropped her hand and sat back in the booth. “Were you planning on telling anyone?” It was inconvenient that I was so happy, because I really wanted to be mad at her for keeping this news from me. From all of us.
“Of course!” Emily looked chastened.
“We were going to tell y’all tonight, actually. We . . . well . . .” She looked up at Simon, and they did that thing that couples do: communicating without words, just via facial expressions and a raised eyebrow. They looked married already.
“We were hoping we could ask the both of you for a huge favor.” Simon cleared his throat, and Emily picked up on his train of thought.
“We want it to be a small wedding, and my big sister April is going to be my matron of honor. But Stacey, you’ve been my best friend since practically the day I moved here to Willow Creek. Would you be my other bridesmaid?”
“Of course!” I clapped my hands over my mouth, and tears shone in her eyes as our joy fed off each other. “Oh, Em, I couldn’t be happier! This is going to be so great!”
“And. Um.” Simon cleared his throat again and looked out into the bar, then up toward the ceiling, and then finally back to where Mitch and I sat across from him in the booth. “Well, as you know, Mitch, I don’t have a brother anymore . . .” His voice faltered, and Emily covered his hand with one of hers, threading their fingers together. Her touch seemed to give him strength, although his smile had thinned. “So I wanted to ask if you would stand up with me as best man at our wedding.”
Mitch’s eyes were round. “Dude. Are you kidding?” That was all he said at first, and in the silence that followed, Simon deflated a little.
“No. I mean, I wasn’t kidding. But . . .”
“Dude.” He extended his hand again, but instead of a closed fist for a fist bump, it was open. Simon took it and the men shook hands, Mitch placing his second hand over their joined ones. “Of course I will,” he finally said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “It would be my absolute honor.”