Magic (25 page)

Bryan was already across the room and behind the bar. He dialed the number of Keepsake from memory.

“Shane, it’s getting exciting.”

Rachel went into her bedroom, barely dredging up enough energy to put one foot in front of the other. She was exhausted, done in, wrung Out. She couldn’t imagine being more tired without actually lapsing into unconsciousness.

After straightening out the situation at the accident, she had packed Addie into the Chevette and gone to a fast-food place for dinner. That had been a disaster in its own right, with Addie accusing the help of giving her food she hadn’t ordered because they wanted to poison her. Neither of them had ended up eating very much. By the time they had returned to Drake House, her mother had insisted on going straight to bed. Rachel hadn’t argued.

She had spent a couple of hours sorting out the papers she had left in neat stacks on the dining room table. They hadn’t been neat upon her return. They had been shuffled into one enormous multicolored mountain. The sight had brought tears to her eyes. She supposed she was lucky Addie hadn’t set the pile ablaze, but lucky was the last thing she was feeling. Finally she had given up on trying to concentrate and had dragged herself upstairs.

Maybe things wouldn’t look quite so bleak in the morning.

“Now I sound like Bryan,” she muttered, pulling her Bach T-shirt out of the dresser drawer. “A good night’s sleep won’t make everything better.”

But it would have been a comfort. To sleep in Bryan’s arms, snuggled against his warm body, her legs tangled with his. To have him hold her and kiss her hair and sing in his sleep.

She shook her head. “Whoever heard of anyone singing in their sleep?”

She pulled her sweater off and dragged her T-shirt on in its place. She let her jeans drop to the floor and lay there, too tired even to dream about being neat. Taking her hair down from its messy knot, she turned toward the bed.

There was a red rose lying on it, a perfect red rose lying on the bodice of another old dress. This dress was pearl-pink satin encrusted with seed pearls and trimmed in lace that had turned dark ivory with age. It was of the same era as the burgundy dress. It was beautiful.

Rachel let her fingertips brush across it as she picked up the rose. Tears flooded her eyes. Bryan. When had he put it there? She tried to sort out the answer to that question as she brushed the rosebud against her cheek, but her brain was too exhausted to function. He couldn’t have had time to do it that morning, but he had to have. The only other explanation was that he had come back after … after and done it, but that made no sense at all. Besides, she knew his things were still there—his clothes and magic tricks and juggling balls and all the paraphernalia associated with his odd work.

He hadn’t come back. He probably wouldn’t come back while she was in the house. She had made it more than clear that she didn’t want him around.

Sniffing back a tear, she sank to the bed and sat there clutching the rose and the satin dress. She’d never felt so empty in her life, not even when she’d left Terence in Nebraska and headed west. That was probably because she hadn’t loved Terence anymore, had never loved him in that deep, soul-searing way she loved Bryan. She couldn’t have felt this empty, because she hadn’t lost nearly as much.

She tried to tell herself it was best they had ended it now. She’d known all along it would have to end before she and Addie left for San francisco. But she had never wanted it to end so bitterly. She would have preferred they part as friends, that they let the passion simply fade away into sweet, gentle memories. That would have been nice, to have those memories stored away inside so she could take them out on long, lonely nights and smile at them and hold them close to her heart. Now there would always be a certain sadness attached, even to the best of them. And every time she took them out, there would be regret for the way they parted, for the things that might have been if only she had been able to believe in magic.

Closing her eyes, Rachel tried to block out the pain. It was no good having regrets for being practical. Someone had to face life’s problems and deal with them in a sane, rational way. It didn’t do any good wishing that someone weren’t her.

Addie stood at the door to her daughter’s room, peeking in, hesitant to enter. Rachel looked tired and miserable, and Addie couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was her fault.

She had awakened from a deep sleep, feeling strangely calm and clearheaded, but also feeling a sense of urgency. She needed to see Rachel, to speak to her.

The accident had etched itself in her otherwise foggy memory with a clarity that made her heart clench every time she closed her eyes. She had been behind the wheel, driving toward town, when whatever knowledge she had possessed about driving went right out of her head. She had suddenly looked at the steering wheel and had no idea what to do with it. She knew the pedals on the floor served some purpose, but she hadn’t been able to recall what it was. And when her brain had tried to send a message to her hands or her feet to do something, anything, the message had never arrived.

It turned her stomach to think of it. The result could have been disastrous. She might have hit someone. That strange woman who had been with her might have been injured or killed. She might have been killed herself, and then she never would have seen Rachel again.

The chill that drifted through her frail old body made her pull her robe more closely around her. She had it on inside out, but she hadn’t been able to fix it, and it didn’t really matter anyway. The only thing that mattered right now was Rachel.

The door drifted open a little wider, and she was suddenly stepping forward with her heart in her throat.

“Rachel?” she asked softly.

Her daughter looked up at her with luminous eyes that were brimming with tears. “Mother? What are you doing up? Is everything all right?”

“No,” Addie murmured. “It’s not.”

She shuffled into the room and sat down on the bed, her back perfectly straight, her hands folded on her lap. They had done this before. It might have been a long, long time ago—she wasn’t sure—but it seemed like yesterday. They had sat on her bed in the little house in Berkeley and made plans about Rachel’s future. Now her daughter sat across from her expectantly, waiting for her to say something.

“Don’t slouch, Rachel,” she admonished, tapping the girl’s knee. Then sadness settled over her like a veil, and she drew her hand away. “I’ve always pushed you too hard. Talent needs a firm hand directing it, but I pushed too hard. That’s why you left with that guitar player, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Rachel whispered.

Addie shook her head. “He’s not good enough for you.”

Rachel smiled sadly. “I know, Mother. I don’t see him anymore.”

“Good,” she said decisively. “You’ve always been a sensible girl, except for that business.”

“I wanted you to love me in spite of that. I wish you could have.”

“Love you?” Addie asked, incredulous. She stared at her daughter, certain Rachel had taken leave of her senses. “I’ve always loved you. You’re my life.”

“But you wouldn’t forgive me.”

“I wouldn’t forgive myself either. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love you, it means I wouldn’t forgive you. They are two quite different things,” she insisted.

“Do you forgive me now?”

“You threw away all our dreams,” Addie began, but she cut herself off. What good were those dreams going to do her now? They were gone forever. Rachel had to run her own life.

She straightened her shoulders and stared at the floor, at the green rubber garden boots she wore all the time because they were easy to get on and off. The hem of her pink robe hung above them, inside out. “I’m not a well woman, Rachel. I know I do a good job of hiding it, but I forget things. All the time, more and more. I forgot how to drive that car today.”

“It’s all right—”

“No, it isn’t,” she insisted sternly. “It isn’t all right at all. It’s the pits. I had a perfectly nice collection of bird cages. Do you think I have any idea where they’ve gone?”

“We sold them,” Rachel said carefully. “At the tag sale.”

Addie just stared at her, drawing a blank.

“Never mind. I came back to help you, Mother. We’ll manage.”

Addie mustered a smile and patted her daughter’s knee. “We’ll manage. We always have. We have each other. And we have Hennessy.”

Rachel closed her eyes against the wave of pain. “No, Mother, we don’t have Hennessy.”

Addie’s brows pulled together in concern. “You sacked Hennessy?”

“He can’t come with us to San Francisco. It wouldn’t work out. He’s not a butler.”

“Oh. Well …” She guessed she’d known Hennessy wasn’t a butler. He had played along so well with her, she had eventually decided to believe their little game was real. She waved her hand in a regal gesture that managed to combine resignation and regret. “He made me laugh.”

“Me too,” Rachel murmured. She bit her lip against the tears, but they fell nevertheless, down her cheeks and onto the bodice of the beaded dress.

“You mustn’t cry on satin, Rachel,” Addie said in gentle reproach. “It stains.”

She took the dress from her daughter’s hands and brushed it off before hanging it over the foot of the bed. She got up then and went to the dresser to fetch the hairbrush.

“We have to move, Mother,” Rachel said, watching as Addie plied the brush to the squirrel’s nest she’d made of her hair. “Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Addie said, staring at their reflection in the mirror above the dresser. She didn’t want to talk about moving. The idea frightened her more and more. She didn’t precisely understand why they had to move. Rachel would explain it to her if she asked, but what was the point? The decision was no longer hers to make. Her independence had slipped through her fingers. Fighting it only made her tired.

“One hundred strokes a night,” she said, shuffling across the floor to stand behind Rachel. Slowly, gently, she drew the brush bristles through her daughter’s pale gold hair, “You’ll have to count, dear, I can’t get past forty anymore. Or is it sixty?”

“That’s all right, Mother,” Rachel said, smiling through her tears. “I’ll count.”

“No.” Addie brushed steadily, methodically, her ability to accomplish the simple task calming her. “Sing for me. You have a voice like an angel. Sing the aria from
Zaïde
. Mozart was an idiot, but he made wonderful music.”

Rachel took a deep breath, swallowing down the knot in her throat, and she sang the aria from
Zaïde
, “
Ruhe sanft”—
rest quietly. It was a sweet song, the notes all purity and light and innocence. She was out of practice, but she had been blessed with a natural talent that made practice seem redundant. Her voice held an ethereal loveliness, a purity of its own that carried the song throughout the old house though she sang softly. And when she finished, the silence was absolute, as if the house itself were holding its breath in awe.

Addie put the brush aside and rested her thin, age-spotted hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “You’re a good daughter, Rachel.”

Rachel smiled. This was what she had prayed for, what she had pinned her hopes on, some sign from Addie that all was forgiven. There would be no emotional reconciliation scene full of hugs and kisses and tears of joy. That wasn’t the way of the Lindquists. But this, in its own way, was just as touching, just as meaningful. It was certainty every bit as precious to her. She had feared this moment would never come, that Addie would slip away from her and they would never be anything but strangers with nothing between them but bitterness.

She reached up to cover her mother’s hand with her own and wished fleetingly that she could have shared this moment with Bryan. But Bryan was gone. All she had now was Addie.

“Thank you, Mother.”

Addie sighed and shuffled toward the door. “Go tell Wimsey dinner will be ready soon. I just have to feed the bird first.”

That quickly Addie was gone. The fragile connection between reality and her mind was lost.

What a gift these last few minutes had been, Rachel thought, watching her mother shuffle away. Like magic.

Maybe there was such a thing after all.

Addie’s shriek pulled Rachel from her musings and catapulted her off the bed. She pulled her jeans on and ran out in to the hall, heading in the direction of her mother’s angry voice.

“I’ll get you this time, you ugly thing!”

Addie stopped halfway down the hall and flung a rock at the apparition standing wreathed in smoke near the secret door. Her form would have done a major league pitcher proud. The stone sailed high and inside, catching the ghostly figure squarely on the forehead.

He grunted in pain and fell back against the partially opened door, closing it and sealing off his own escape route. His sunken eyes went wide with panic. He turned toward the two women, raising his arms and his white cape along with it.

“I am the ghost of Ebenezer Drake!” he wailed, stepping toward them, smoke rolling out from behind him accompanied by a high-pitched wheezing sound. “I come to cast you from my—ouch!”

Addie let fly another stone, bouncing this one off his chest. Rachel grabbed her by one arm and attempted to drag her away from the advancing figure, but her mother shook her off long enough to reach into her pocket. She heaved a half-finished cheeseburger that hit her target smack in the face. Ketchup trickled down his long nose.

“Mother, come on!” Rachel insisted, pulling Addie down the hall. “We have to get the police!”

“Leave!” the ghost wailed. “Leave this house!”

Miles Porchind let himself into the study through the French doors. Dressed all in black in a vain effort to hide his considerable bulk, he waddled across the room with a flashlight in his hand, going directly to the portrait of Arthur Drake III that hung on the paneled wall behind the desk. He shined his light up at the man’s face.

“Thought you were so clever, didn’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Bryan said, stepping out from behind the curtains. “I think I was awfully clever, don’t you?”