Home in Time for Christmas (9 page)

This venue offered jalapeño poppers, and Keith thought Jake should certainly try them as a tasty treat. And Jake seemed to enjoy them.

“Heading on to a pub now. Mahoney's,” Keith advised.

The band at Mahoney's was actually Irish. Jake
grinned as they took seats at a booth and ordered Guinness stout.

“I know that ditty!” he told them.

“I'm familiar with it,” Melody said.

“I can dance to this,” Jake told her, grinning. “I can even lead.”

“Well, I can't dance to it,” Melody said.

“I was willing to take a chance,” Jake said. “Have some faith—in me? Please?”

She nodded. He spoke quietly as they headed for the dance floor. “Basic steps,” he said. “Very easy, I swear. Point your right toe, straight out from your knee. Step, and bring your left foot together behind it—one, two. Then, right toe to your left knee and do a wee hop. Right leg back, and hop on your left foot.”

“This isn't easy—it's complicated!” Melody protested.

“Easy, you'll get it. Just doing it, you'll get it. Now, right foot on the floor behind your left foot, three small steps behind you, starting with your left, repeat it two times, all with your right foot in front.”

“Jake, this is a lot harder than step, step, back step!” Melody told him.

“But you've got it.”

And more or less, she did. The band was encouraging them, the place was clapping. She was hopping, spinning and laughing, and having the time of her life.

“Hey, buddy!” the fiddler player asked. “You play, too?”

Jake looked at Melody.

“
Buddy
is an expression. He doesn't know your name,” Melody advised.

“Should I play with them?”

“If you know a tune.”

“Several.”

“Go on up!” Melody prodded.

He hesitated, then accepted a fiddle. He spoke with the band members for a minute, and then they began to play.

Keith came to stand behind Melody.

“There's the coolest guy I've met since I don't know when,” Keith said.

“Too bad he's crazy.”

“Maybe he's not.”

“Keith, please! What he's saying is impossible.”

Keith swung her around. “Melody! How do we know that for sure? A man on the moon—that's crazy. Space travel, laser surgery, microchips—they're all crazy. Maybe, just maybe, he's telling the truth.”

Melody watched Jake.

And Jake seemed to be in his element.

“He wants to go home,” Keith said. “He's worried sick about his sister.”

“And that's…commendable, I guess. Whether it's real—or in his head,” she said firmly.

“Pity,” Keith said.

“What's a pity?”

“He will figure out a way to go back. With or without your help. He'll figure it out somehow.”

“Why is it a pity, if it's what he wants?” she asked.

Keith looked at her. “Because I wish that he would stay. And if you decided to get honest with yourself for just a minute, you wish it, too.”

He started to walk away from her.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“Where are you going?”

“I'm going to get another Guinness and watch the music. Don't want to waste that limo, eh?”

“Yeah, wait a minute, how are you affording that limo?”

“Building Web sites, sis, building Web sites. If you were smart, you'd let me build one for you—and you could start selling your art. Then you'll quit worrying about breaking up with Mark, 'cause, ya see, though it's none of my business, that's not going to make it.”

She opened her mouth to protest that she hadn't been hanging on for gain—in any way or form. It wasn't true.

She had been having a hard time trying not to hurt Mark.

But maybe, just maybe, she had been hanging on too long.

Because she did lack faith.

In herself, as well as in others.

“E
ye of newt and toe of frog?” George teased, slipping into bed beside his wife. She had barely noticed him coming to bed, she was so engrossed in her reading. He recognized the book; it was one of the old diaries from the attic.

“You know, you could offer that diary to the Peabody Essex Museum and make a mint, maybe,” George said.

“Lovely, dear,” she replied.

“The moon fell into the Atlantic tonight,” George said.

“Hmm. Great.”

“The sun is due to drop into the Pacific at 3:00 p.m. eastern time tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Mona!”

“What? What!” The old diary nearly went flying as she jumped.

“Why on earth are you so spell bound?” he demanded.

“It's this journal—by Serena Mallory,” Mona said.

George groaned. “I know—
you
are related to her somehow, and her talents for witchcraft have come through the genes through the centuries!”

“Don't be silly, George. We're not related. You and I bought this house when I graduated from nursing school. No, I'm just reading what this woman wrote, and it's fascinating. George, it's all relating.”

He plumped his pillow. “What's all relating?”

“You and I, dear.”

“We have been married since time began,” he said with a sigh.

She was no longer completely concentrating. She gave him a good jab in the ribs.

“Ouch!”

“Speak for yourself, my love.
I
am not that old.”

“Hmm.”

“And, my dear husband, you do recall that
you
might be considered an alchemist.”

“Right. Just like Merlin. Where's the sword? I can pull it out of a stone.”

“George, Merlin couldn't pull the sword from the stone. Only King Arthur could do that. No, what I'm saying is this. Serena Mallory speaks—sorry, writes—with a lot of metaphors, but she had tremendous faith. Beautiful faith, really. Magic existed in her world to protect the good. Those who did not practice goodness and love pretty much deserved what evils the earth might cast their way, but those who were fighting for their poorer neighbors or for justice—”

“Truth! And the American way,” George put in.

She rewarded him with a warning glare.

“We're not talking Superman here, George.”

“Just superpowers, eh?”

“My darling, you must take me seriously here. I do that for you. Have I ever protested at the rise of our bill for fire extinguishers?”

“No,” he said, giving her a peck on the forehead. “No, you have not.”

“Well, we all know that you folks teased me for years about my belief in tea—especially green tea. And now, of course, the health benefits of tea are touted all over the place,” Mona said.

He nodded. “Um, Mona, I don't think that the health benefits of tea align with magic.”

“Hear me out. I told you about the reference to a sort of black hole by the scout who knew the Massasoit chief?”

“What?”

“Research, George, research.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, Serena Mallory believed that such places existed, and when they didn't exist, certain herbs could be combined to create a fissure in time and place, bringing the black hole where it needed to be.”

“That's impossible. A black hole is—a black hole.”

“A black hole in space, perhaps. We don't really know what a black hole is yet, do we? But, perhaps, as well as in space, there are black holes in time. And a black hole in time must be found. And perhaps other elements are needed for a black hole to be at the time that the black hole is needed in time. Maybe Serena even knew how to move a black hole in time.”

“That's impossible, Mona.”

“George! How dare you—you know that things exist beyond what we see.”

“Well, of course, but—”

“But, but, but! Is it science, George, or is it magic? Or maybe a bit of both exist.”

“All right, dear, go on.”

She smiled and told him, “Guess where the black hole is?”

“I thought that you thought that it could be moved?”

“Maybe—but it has to be somewhere to be moved from that place.”

George groaned. “Okay, where is the black hole?”

“Out in our backyard.”

George stared at her, then shook his head. “Mona—how long have we owned this place? A quarter of a century? How many dogs and cats have those kids brought home? We've never lost a single animal. No, once they get here, we seem to keep them.”

“The black hole isn't just open. I believe that either herbs and magic or sound waves and frequencies—your line—can create the black hole.”

“Mona, could we turn out the light now?”

“Almost, George. Just think about it, okay?”

“I have been playing around back there with sound waves, microwaves and frequencies for almost as long as we've been married, Mona.”

“Right place, right time, right circumstances and a bit of magic.”

“So, you're trying to tell me that this fellow, Jake, isn't really a friend of Melody's. He dropped into her car magically when she was on her way home. If that's so, he didn't come through the black hole.”

“Roses!” Mona said.

“What?” George demanded. He fell back on the bed, groaning as he covered his face with his pillow.

“Roses, coated with a mixture of herbs. Perhaps it's only illusion. Perhaps they cause a mist in the air, and what happens is all real and tangible, but not seen.”

“Mona, can we watch Jay Leno?”

“George! The last passage here was written just before Christmas, 1776. Serena Mallory is about to head to New York City because she's gotten word that her brother is to be executed as a warning to other Patriots. Listen, George!” She began to read aloud. “‘Through the Great God Our Father and all the blessings on earth of ancient gods and goddesses, through all that has been put at human disposal, and mostly, through all He has granted through our hearts and the power of love and the human spirit, I swear that I shall prevent such a cruelty. And at this time of the year when we have chosen to celebrate the birth of His Only Son, our Christ, He will not allow injustice, so I believe, and in my belief, I will travel. I am armed with my faith, and with the knowledge He has granted, and with the wisdom of my mothers, and the goodness of the earth. So much is put here for us; so much lives in our hearts. I know that He will travel with me, and that love and the spirit will prevail.'”

“Is that it?”

She knuckle punched him gently in the shoulder.

“What do you mean, is that it?”

George yawned. “You have an hypothesis. It must be proven, my love.” He chuckled and turned around, punching his pillow. “Whatever makes you happy, my dear.”

 

“Is there a castle in Gloucester?” Jake suddenly asked.

“Yes, actually there is,” Melody said.

“A castle?” Jake said again, perplexed.

“We've got a few of them in the United States these
days. Some are called castles—because they were built as castles, they're as grand as some castles—and some are castles because really rich dudes had them brought over from Europe, brick by brick, stone by stone, or whatever,” Keith explained. He'd had his share of Guinness. He was leaned back happily in the limo, arms across his chest, a semi permanent smile plastered to his face.

“Why?” Melody asked Jake. She was smiling, too. She didn't know why.

Yes, she did.

Guinness stout.

Their last stop had been the most fun of the evening. Jake had done more playing. A violinist—a very pretty one—who sat in with the band on a few numbers was also a good Irish dancer. She'd managed to get Keith out on the floor.

He'd done pretty well, too. In spite of the Guinness—or because of it.

“I've been asked to play at the castle. They will pay me. Their usual fiddler has a family commitment, and if I fill in for him, he can make his mother and wife happy.”

“Oh,” Melody said. “When?” she asked worriedly.

“Tomorrow night. If I'm here.”

“Dude, where else will you be?” Keith asked. “Home.”

“But you are home,” Melody said. “You told me, my parents' house was your home. So you've come home.”

She realized that Jake had not imbibed quite as much Guinness as she and Keith had. He'd had a few drinks, but he'd been busy playing and dancing, as well.

He was looking out the window—they were still in Boston proper, and he was studying it with that gaze of amazement and wonder with which he looked at so much. He was a kook, but he was still someone with whom she did find herself more taken on an hourly basis. He was surreal; he was, in a way, an intangible, though he was flesh and blood. And despite all that, something about him seemed rock solid; there was a moral fiber running through him that was steady and sure.

She wished that she was that steady herself.

“I'm home, but not home. And I know that you understand. I've watched you—the two of you—together. You know what it is to be a sister and a brother. I could take anything, I believe, if I just knew that Serena was safe, that she was happy,” he said.

Melody looked out the window.

He was damn stubborn, too.

Of course, with her luck, when his memory returned, she'd find out that he was a married banker from Orlando who had been taking part in some kind of theatrical recreation.

She felt a sudden punch in her arm.

“You are pretty cool now. Well, you've grown into being cool,” Keith told her. “You used to be a real bitch, but now you're pretty cool.”

“And you used to be a pain-in-the-ass dork, but you're coming around, too,” Melody told him.

Keith laughed. “You're only saying that because I finally got muscles, and now your friends think I'm a hottie. And a younger man. Seductive. Hot.”

“No, no, I don't think that's it,” Melody told him.

“See?” Jake interrupted quietly. “I have to get back.
If my being here, being alive, caused Serena any hardship, I couldn't bear it.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, I'm not at all certain that I would have called my sister a bitch, and I'm quite certain that she's unfamiliar with the word
dork.
”

“She is a bitch,” Keith said sagely. “But I'm not a dork,” Keith said, waving a hand in the air.

Melody gave him a push and he fell back against the seat, grinning. “How will you ever know?” Melody asked him. “I mean, you are here. You are flesh and blood. How will know about your—your sister?”

“I got here somehow. That means I can get back. Somehow,” Jake said.

“Well, meantime, are you going to play with the band tomorrow?” Keith asked, leaning forward again.

“I certainly believe that I should,” Jake said. “I have been accepting your kind charity long enough. I must repay you somehow.”

Melody didn't tell him that one night of a paying music gig was not going to give him much. She smiled and nodded. “Hey, if it's a private party, will we be able to come?”

“I can tap on a tambourine—or Irish drum,” Keith suggested hopefully.

“And I can…I don't know what I can do. Sketches or caricatures for folks,” Melody suggested.

“I will call my new friend Donald on that marvelous creation, the telephone, tomorrow, and find out what is possible,” Jake said.

When they reached the house, Keith stumbled a bit as he tried to exit the limo. Thankfully, he'd taken care of the driver when he had called for the limo, Melody
discovered, dreading the thought of going through her brother's wallet for his credit card.

Jake, trying to get Keith's arm around him, was unaware of the quick discussion she carried on with their amused driver. She was glad. She had just realized how it must have been hurting his pride to accept all that they had done for him.

“Whoa…whoa, Nellie! Slipping on the ice here,” Keith said.

“Keith, there is no ice tonight. Come on, let's get you up to your room. And shush! You don't want to wake Mom and Dad. You're the good kid, remember?” Melody said.

“Shh! Shh!” Keith told Jake.

Melody caught his other arm. Together, they led him to the porch and up the steps. At the door, he suddenly decided that he needed to start singing one of the slightly off-color Irish ditties they had learned that night.

“‘My wild Irish lady lass, sweetest lips and biggest ass—'”

Melody clamped a hand down hard over his mouth.

“Sorry,” Keith muffled out.

They made it into the house and up the stairs. In Keith's room, Melody had barely drawn his covers down before he plopped face-first into his bed.

“Go on, Melody. I'll take care of him,” Jake said.

“His shoes, just his shoes.”

“I can take care of him. He's taken wonderful care of me. I will take care of him,” Jake insisted.

Melody nodded. “Okay.”

She slipped out of the room and down to her own. She lay in her bed, and she stared at the ceiling.

It was impossible.

Why did he seem so much like the real thing?

She lay awake, still. She listened, but she didn't think that her parents woke up.

There was a soft tap at her door. “Yes?” she whispered.

The door opened a crack. Jake stood there, a dark silhouette against the hallway night-light.

“I just wanted to let you know, your brother is all set, and fine.”

“Thank you, Jake.”

He hovered for a moment. It was her parents' house—even if he were someone with whom she'd been having a wild and turbulent affair, she wouldn't have asked him in her room.

And yet…

She wished that he would come in. She'd like to be held by him. She just wanted to touch him.