Spellcrossed (48 page)

I managed a smile. My father had returned to me once, his resurrection as miraculous as the Mysterious Man’s. But there would be no miracle this time. The choice I had made brought with it the knowledge that I would never see him again, never know if he was safe or happy—or even if he was alive.

“Well,
you
better come back,” I said. “Bring Viola up for a vacation.”

“You can count on it.”

Debra was one of the last to leave. As she looked around the lobby, she said, “I’m actually going to miss this old place.”

“Then you should consider a return engagement. I’m preparing the budget for a Halloween murder mystery night. If the board goes for it, I’ll need someone to help run it. And then there’s
A Christmas Carol
. You’d bring a new level of feistiness to Mrs. Cratchit.”

“Great. Another mother with a dead child. Can’t I just be a ghost and scare the crap out of kids?”

“The Ghosts of Christmas Past and Present are up for grabs. Rowan’s got his eye on the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come.”

“Well, he’s appropriately wraithlike.”

“Name the role and you’ve got it. I can offer you the same fabulous salary you got this summer. And a room at your favorite Vermont hotel.”

“At least, I won’t roast like I did this summer.”

“You won’t sleep much, either. Every time the heat comes on it sounds like ‘The Anvil Chorus.’”

“You really have to work on your sales pitch.”

“Think about it,” I urged her.

Caught by my serious tone, she nodded. “Okay. I will.” She turned to go, then hesitated. “You survived without him most of your life. You can do it again.”

Before I could reply, she strode out of the hotel, leaving me to wonder if she and I had traveled parallel paths through life.

I hoped I would find out, but only time would tell if I could lure her back to the Crossroads. No matter what Rowan said, people sometimes needed a little push. And my sales pitch wasn’t really pushing. It was just my version of calling the Mackenzies. If Debra answered the call, I would sit back and let the drama unfold. And maybe tweak it a bit like any good director.

I was heading back to the front desk when the bell over the front door jangled again. I turned to discover Bernie and Reinhard walking into the lobby.

The last bird was flying home.

“You know, Reinhard doesn’t have to drive me back today,” Bernie said.

Much as I would have liked him to remain, I shook my head. How could I explain all the gear we were purchasing—or why Rowan and I were escorting my father into the woods instead of driving him to an airport or train station?

“You’re the best,” I whispered as I hugged him.

“I’ll be back for the September board meeting. You need me before, you call.”

Gregarious Bernie and gruff Reinhard. One had been my first friend in the cast. The other had begun as hectoring
stage manager and become my rock. Always in the background unless a crisis arose. Always lending me his quiet strength. Advising me, scolding me, but never saying, “You must do this.” He allowed me to take risks and hovered nearby in case I crashed and burned, hiding his worries lest they add to mine.

He was more of a father to me than my own.

Impulsively, I threw my arms around him. When I finally released him, his smile was strangely tender and I knew he had sensed what I’d felt. Then his frown returned and he said, “So. The hugging is finished. Now, we go.”

I called Mom that afternoon. When I told her that Daddy was moving on, there was a long silence. Then she asked, “Are you okay?”

“I told him he should go.”

“I figured that. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Mostly. It’s the right decision.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“No. But it’s not like when Rowan left. I have a life now. Things to look forward to.”

“Do you want me to come up?”

“Not for my sake. But if you want to see him again…”

“No.” Her voice was as firm as mine. “Good-byes aren’t your father’s strong suit. And we already said ours.”

“How are things with you and Chris?”

Another silence, even longer than the first. “Things are…okay.”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning we’re working on it and stop prying.”

“You pry into my life all the time.”

“I’m your mother. That’s my job.”

“You sound like the Witch in
Into the Woods
.”

“I didn’t lock you in a tower for fourteen years. Or blind your Prince Charming.”

“No, you just threatened to castrate him.”

“Not lately. How is Rowan?”

“He’s good.
We’re
good.”

I wished I could tell her that he had ventured into town three times since that first dinner. That he had endured the short car ride to Hill with just a trace of queasiness. That he had made similar trips to have dinner with Hal and Lee, to visit Reinhard’s office and Javier’s antique store. Instead, I talked about the final performances of
Into the Woods
and my mixed feelings at facing the end of another season.

As we were about to hang up, I asked, “Is there any message you want me to give Daddy?”

“No.” Then she added, “Tell him to take care of himself. And try not to go nuts again.”

Daddy and I both went a little nuts during the days that followed. We had agreed to give ourselves a week after the show closed to gather the supplies he needed. I sat him down Monday morning to create a list. We rush-ordered some things via the Internet and scoured the shops of Dale and Bennington for everything else. Between the freeze-dried foods and the all-weather gear, I felt like a mother preparing her little boy for his first camping trip—on Mount Everest. But at least, the frenzy of preparations distracted us from his imminent departure.

By Saturday, all that remained was the farewell barbecue at the Bates mansion. Neither Daddy nor I ate very much; the “Last Supper” overtones were all too obvious. But we did our best to keep up a good front until Rowan’s blueberry cobbler had been demolished and Reinhard rose from his place at the picnic table.

“So. Tomorrow Jack will leave us. And like all farewells, this one brings a mix of emotions. We are sad to see him go. Even I, who was not so sure that he should stay in the first place. But. He is about to embark on a
great adventure. One he has longed to take for many years. And for that, we should be happy.”

His gaze lingered on me for a moment before drifting around the table.

“Those of us who remain are very lucky. We know the joy of finding our heart’s desire.”

He smiled at Mei-Yin. Lee pressed a quick kiss to Hal’s cheek. Javier rested his palm on Catherine’s stomach. Alex stared at his plate, thinking of the wife he had lost and perhaps, the woman who might fill that void in his heart. Janet watched him. Then her gaze rose to my bedroom window. To Helen’s bedroom window.

I twined my fingers through Rowan’s. I’d always hated that line near the end of
The Wizard of Oz
when Dorothy announces that if she ever goes looking for her heart’s desire, she will search no farther than her own backyard. If it isn’t there, she tells Glinda, she never really lost it to begin with.

But sometimes, you don’t know what you’ve lost. And even when you do, you might have to go farther afield to find it. It had taken me years to reach the Crossroads. My father had traveled much farther and spent far longer on his quest. And although he had yet to find his heart’s desire, we
had
found each other.

“As Jack resumes his journey, I offer this blessing. One that my mother taught me a very long time ago.”

Reinhard raised his mug of beer. Benches scraped against brick as we rose, bottles and glasses uplifted.

“May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back.”

Around the table, voices softly chanted the words of the traditional Gaelic blessing.

“May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rains fall soft upon your fields.”

Rowan’s arm around my waist. Daddy’s eyes shining with unshed tears.

“And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.”

It was the perfect ending to our dinner and to my father’s season at the Crossroads. But when we returned to the apartment, we discovered the farewells were not quite finished.

“Christmas came early this year,” Rowan said.

A giant wicker basket sat on the sofa, filled with assorted boxes wrapped in Christmas paper and bedecked with ribbons and bows. I understood now why Rowan had sent us ahead to the barbecue. He had been setting the scene—again.

“A few things from the staff,” he said. “They thought it might embarrass you to open them at the barbecue.”

“It’s too much,” Daddy whispered. “How will I ever thank them?”

I exchanged a glance with Rowan and said, “Write each of them a note.”

“But what will I say?”

“I’ll help you.”

There was a Swiss army knife from Javier and Catherine, antibiotics and detailed instructions on their use from Reinhard. Mei-Yin had contributed a wicked looking cleaver, Bernie a dozen toothbrushes and enough dental floss to strangle the entire population of Faerie. Hal’s small watercolor painting of the barn made my throat tighten. Lee’s gift of aftershave and condoms made us laugh.

Alex’s gift touched me the most. The tiny digital recorder came with a plastic baggie filled with batteries and a note that explained that he had programmed a selection of show tunes as well as two Crossroads musicals:
Into the Woods
and
Carousel
. If my father never saw my face again, my voice would be with him, singing, “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”

Daddy abruptly excused himself and hurried to the bathroom. By the time he returned, we both had our emotions under control.

There was only one gift left, a small envelope that
bore Janet’s handwriting. Daddy pulled out a rectangular piece of paper and gave a soft cry.

It was a photograph of me. Janet must have used an industrial strength telephoto lens to get the close-up of my profile. The sunlight streaming over my left shoulder turned my hair to fire. The right side of my face lay in shadow, but you could still see my pensive expression as I stared off into the distance, lost in thought.

“When was this taken?” Rowan asked.

“I don’t…”

And then I remembered. It was the afternoon of Arthur’s funeral. I’d gone out to the garden to seek a little peace before our final dress rehearsal.

“Midsummer’s Eve,” I whispered.

“You look so faraway,” Daddy said.

I had seen that same look on his face, always at odd moments when he thought no one was watching. A little dreamy, a little sad. My father yearning for Faerie and I, for the lover I had lost to it.

“There’s one more thing,” Rowan said.

He held out a small manila envelope addressed to Janet. Daddy and I exchanged startled glances when we saw my mother’s return address label.

“What would she be sending to Janet?” I asked.

“I think she wanted someone else to see it first. And decide whether to pass it along. There was no note. So we’re not sure if she intended it for Jack or for you.”

“You open it,” Daddy said.

The top of the envelope had already been slit. Inside was a smaller envelope. From its size and shape, it might have held a greeting card. But it was another photo, its colors faded with age.

The bottom of the Christmas tree filled the background. Discarded wrapping paper and open boxes were scattered around it. I was probably four or five years old, dressed in my red-and-white candy cane pajamas with the feet. Crushed to my chest was Moondancer, the unicorn
My Little Pony I had wanted so desperately. And sitting opposite me, his mouth open in the same round “O” of delight, was my father in his Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer pajamas and goofy antlers.

Both of us so impossibly young, so impossibly happy.

“This is for you,” I said as I passed the photograph to him.

My voice was as steady as my hand. But of course, I had seen that picture countless times. Its twin was in one of my old scrapbooks—pasted there by my mother.

Daddy’s breath caught. He studied the photograph for a long moment. Then he walked over to his battered old backpack, unzipped a compartment, and withdrew something from it.