Happily Ever After: A Novel (13 page)

Chapter 23

T
hat’s her!” Lily screams, sending the lounging New Yorkers up onto their elbows. Clarissa smiles at us across the distance. The smile gives me instant chills. If I had any control over this story, Aidan would now draw his sword and step forward to defend us in the face of evil.

But no. He positions himself so it’s clear I’m the leader of this gang. Clarissa moves toward us, almost as if she is floating an inch above the grass. Lily looks terrified. Allison, still in possession of my phone, is oblivious. My mouth tastes of fear. It’s cottony and dry, and I lick my lips. This is entirely new territory. I find myself wishing I had just one little superpower, like invisibility or the ability to make fire fly from my fingertips. Hell, I’d take simple flight at this point.

Clarissa comes closer. I stand perfectly still, as if I’ve grown roots. Behind me, Aidan mumbles platitudes. Or maybe he’s pleading. I can’t tell. Lily appears to be the only one thinking straight.

“You bitch!” she yells at Clarissa. “How dare you do this? How dare you mess with my life?”

Aidan snaps out of it long enough to restrain Lily with both arms as she struggles to break free. She wants to throw herself at Clarissa and claw her eyes out. Aidan begins to sweat with the effort of holding her.

Clarissa laughs. It’s a terrible sound, high and sharp, and it rattles something deep in my chest. I want to cover my ears. The sound grows louder. The crowd, scattered around the lawn, begins to take on form. Do they know? Are they going to rise up against the malevolent witch in their presence? It’s such a strange thought, but it
is
New York. Anything can happen.

“You should be quiet,” Clarissa says. Her voice throws me back on my heels. It’s so familiar, and yet I know I’ve never heard it before. Lily goes immediately limp and silent, as if all the air has been sucked from her lungs. Aidan holds her up, a rag doll in his arms.

Clarissa does not go for Aidan and Lily. She comes right to me. My heart pounds so desperately I swear I can see it through my shirt. I clasp my hands together in front of me as if ready to fend off physical blows.

Clarissa stops. She’s taller than I am by about five inches, but she wears heels, so maybe flat-footed we’re the same. There are faint crow’s-feet at her eyes and laugh lines around her mouth, although I get the distinct feeling they are not the result of excessive hilarity. Her thick mascara and red lipstick would be more appropriate for a night out than for a morning jaunt around the park. And I can’t believe she has not passed out from heatstroke in the black, long-sleeved, form-fitting dress.

Clarissa was probably beautiful at some point. She was probably softer and less angular and less pissed off. But now she reminds me of the sharp, middle-aged suburban women I see pushing carts up and down the aisles of Whole Foods.

“You,” she says, standing inches from me, peering into my face. “You think you can make everything better?”

My lips move, but no sound comes out.

“They’re already doomed,” she says. “Once you fall in love, you have everything to lose.”

“No,” I whisper.

“You must understand it’s not enough to simply reunite the lovebirds. You need the magic, a spell,” she says, circling me. “Words. Important words. But the chances of you, of all people, figuring them out, well, it wouldn’t be fun if it were easy, now, would it?”

Clarissa drags a long red fingernail across my shoulder blades. Something in her touch drops my body temperature precipitously, and I shiver. I’ve fallen into a nightmare. There is light, if only I could reach it. But I remain planted in the concrete. In my peripheral vision, I see Aidan and Lily. Lily is still limp, but her eyes are open. Aidan stares at Clarissa and me as though he’s in a trance. If I had a brick in my purse, I would heave it at him.

“We still have twenty-four hours,” I stammer.

Darkness clouds Clarissa’s face. Her red lips squeeze into a tight line. Perhaps I’ve said the wrong thing.

“Twenty-two hours and thirty-seven minutes,” she snaps. “To be exact.”

I shrink back. Any gusto I had is gone. I’m no better than the Cowardly Lion, quaking in my tennis shoes.

“Why are you here?” Aidan shouts suddenly. “What do you want from me? I don’t even
know
you!”

The sound of his voice cracks the nasty veneer of Clarissa’s face ever so slightly. Her eyes show evidence of heartbreak, the kind with which I am familiar.

“You’re just saying that to hurt me,” she says dismissively. “But once you remember, you’ll see things my way. As for right now, I’m simply checking in to make sure you don’t
need
anything.” She waves a hand before her face, and Lily clutches her stomach as if in acute pain. Just as quickly, Clarissa lowers her hand, and Lily returns to normal.

This is bad. Really, very bad. But there are rules.

“We have twenty-two hours and thirty-seven minutes left to figure out your spell,” I say. “That’s how you said it would go.” If Clarissa were able to fudge the time, the plot of this story would go straight to hell. Where’s the tension, the conflict, if Clarissa can change the terms of the bet on the fly? The rules exist for a reason, and to them we must adhere.

Clarissa narrows her eyes, which is evidence enough that I’m right.

“He’s mine,” she whispers. “And after you fail, he will be mine forever.”

I have no good comeback. If I had an hour, the peace and quiet of my office, and a strong espresso, I might be able to come up with something. But right now, the best I can do is borrow from my eleven-year-old.

“Whatever,” I say.

Clarissa turns toward Aidan and Lily. I have no idea what she’s going to do. Hurl fireballs? Whip up a tornado? Aidan wraps his arms protectively around Lily. She makes no attempt to wrestle herself free. Maybe this will melt the ice between them. They really do look so good together, even in the face of evil and all that.

“Don’t come any closer,” Aidan warns.

Again, the laugh, like nails on a chalkboard.

“My darling,” Clarissa says. “Don’t look at me like that. You know this is for the best.”

“You’re crazy,” Aidan growls. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re up to, but it won’t work.”

Clarissa doesn’t like this idea at all. Her hand starts to come up, the one I will from this day forward associate with a very bad stomachache. Lily moans.

“Hey, Mom!” Allison’s voice reaches me as if from another dimension. “Check it out!”

Allison, playing Angry Birds, has wandered onto the field. A surge of music, coming suddenly and loudly from over my left shoulder, takes me by surprise. For a moment, I think it is Clarissa’s sinister theme music, somehow broadcast directly into my brain. But a man with dreadlocks and a filthy Bob Marley T-shirt appears, holding a boom box over his head. The people who were lounging on the grass rise and begin to form neat rows. A TV crew appears on the far side of the field. Have the media been notified about the recent break in reality? As everyone spreads out to encompass much of the field, we are pushed to one side. Clarissa is shoved in the opposite direction. The music builds. The lined-up people strike a variety of poses. Flash mob.

And this is why I love New York City, even if I did once find a dead guy in my vestibule.

Clarissa eyes the newsman with the video camera making his way into the crowd, filming this “spontaneous” event. And suddenly I have a thought. In fictional worlds, witches live quietly among us. They do not want to be known. They do not want to be on television. My priority now is to figure out Clarissa’s magic words or spell, and if she is hot on our heels, our chances of succeeding at our task drop precipitously. Ask anyone. Being chased around by a witch can be very distracting.

So I take the opportunity for what it is worth.

“I think it’s time to go,” I say.

“But I want to watch the dancers,” Allison protests.

“We have to get you to Daddy’s,” I say. “We don’t want him to worry.”

“I’ll text him,” she says. “Who was that lady in the dress?”

“Nobody,” I say.

“Wasn’t she hot?” Allison asks.

“Text your father and tell him we’re on our way,” I say, taking her by the elbow and maneuvering her away from the crowd. Lily and Aidan fall in behind us. “Hey, and then maybe you can download that music app you were telling me about last week?”

“You said I couldn’t have it,” Allison says.

“Well, I just changed my mind,” I say. “How about that?”

Technology has many uses. One of them is redirecting a child’s attention. Works like magic. And let’s hope it’s not the only magic I can conjure in the next twenty-two hours and thirty-seven minutes.

Chapter 24

T
he four of us arrive at Roger’s apartment, where I land a spot right in front of the building’s door. In normal circumstances, such a seismic shift in my parking karma would leave me giddy. But today I simply see it as further evidence the world is not as it should be. I proceed to wrestle my phone out of Allison’s hands. I gave her permission to download the music app, but she’s eleven and has been in possession of my phone for the entire ride to Roger’s apartment. Who knows what sorts of mysteries now reside on it?

In the backseat, Lily sits huddled against the door, eyes closed, trying to make herself as small as possible. She’s hoping if she concentrates hard enough, she can reverse the last day’s events and wake up in her own bed, in her own apartment, with her own stuff. A part of her knows this is not going to happen, but she stays rolled in a tight ball anyway, hovering somewhere between hope and despair.

As much as I’d like to leave Lily and Aidan here in the car as I escort Allison upstairs to Roger’s, I won’t. I think we gave Clarissa the slip at the park, but I can’t be one hundred percent sure. I’m afraid of what she will do to the two of them if I am not in the way. A vision of a cat playing with a half-dead mouse comes to mind.

Beside me in the passenger seat, Aidan looks bereft.

“You don’t remember her at all?” I ask quietly.

Aidan shakes his head.

“A disgruntled client? A fired employee?”

“No,” he says. “I have no idea who she is.”

“Well,” I say. “She certainly knows you.”

“Mistaken identity.”

“I doubt it,” I say. “She seems sure.”

“If I give myself up, do you think you’d all be safe?” he asks.

“Hard to say. It would mess up her game, and she seems to be enjoying herself. Some people are like that.”

I pull open the van door. A waft of air, tinged with the stink of baked garbage, greets us.

“This is turning into such a fun day,” Aidan says with a grimace.

Allison climbs out of her seat and across Lily to exit streetside. As she does this, her overnight bag clocks Lily in the face. Lily’s eyes well up, and I suspect it is not from pain.

“Come on,” I say. “We’ll get out of New York after we drop Allison. It’s easier to think in the country.” My redheaded, heartbroken creation doesn’t look at me. She wipes her eyes, and we file into Roger’s building.

Roger lives in a very tight one-bedroom with a single window that looks out on the concrete wall of the building beside it. His entire bedroom would fit nicely in my closet. It’s important to note that Roger did not want to live in an apartment where he had to store his yoga mats in the stall shower. No. He had much grander ideas, but our divorce mediator set his monthly living allowance at five thousand dollars and refused to be swayed by his pouting.

“This will motivate you to focus on making a success out of your yoga studio,” she told him. “And you’ll feel better about yourself.”

I didn’t mention to her that Roger would not know self-doubt if it bit him on the ass, but he was known to experience acute agony if denied access to a Marc Jacobs trunk show. However, Roger has his priorities. If you peer into his kitchen cabinets, you will not find any food. You will find neatly stacked Marc Jacobs shirts. When Allison visits, Roger sleeps on the couch.

Allison hugs him hard when he opens the door. He buries his face in her hair and breathes her in. He loves his little girl more than anything, and for that, I will always be grateful. When Roger looks up, his eyes come to rest on Lily, standing behind Allison with the rest of us. He smiles graciously, raising an eyebrow in my direction, and ushers us in.

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” he says once we are all inside. He drags me by the upper arm into the bathroom, the only place in the apartment with an actual door.

“Why is that man still hanging around?” Roger whispers. It’s a door, yes, but it’s thin as paper.

I shrug.

“And where did Princess Ariel come from?”

I shrug again. Roger squeezes my arm. He can do handstands on his fingertips, so it hurts.

“You told me at the fund-raiser, he’d be gone by morning.”

“I did?”

“I thought so,” Roger says.

“Maybe you just think I did,” I say. “You’re hurting my arm, you know.”

“Sorry,” Roger says, releasing me. “I’m concerned, that’s all. You’re behaving strangely, and normally you’re so . . . normal. Are you feeling okay?”

No. I’m not okay. I have not been okay for years. I’m forty-six and alone, except I’m never alone. I’m in charge of everything and I don’t want to be. I’m tired. My body feels old, and it sags in places I wish it wouldn’t. I want more joy. I want integration. I want to figure out the proper spell to return my beautiful creations to their beautiful world so they can make beautiful love and I can maybe eke out a sequel, so I can swing Allison’s Holt Hall tuition next year. How’s that?

“I’m fine,” I say. “Just trying to help out those less fortunate than me.”

“Oh please,” Roger says. We are close. I mean, he saw me have a baby, and that could not have been pretty. But I cannot share this with him. It goes too deep into my gray matter.

I push open the bathroom door before he can pin me down and, with a big grin on my face, enter the tiny living area. Allison is busy showing Aidan Roger’s collection of antique snow globes. Yes, he had them when we got married. No, I did not see the implications for my sex life. Lily stares out the window at the concrete wall. The window air-conditioning unit whines in desperation.

I hug Allison.

“You can each buy one thing,” I say, handing Roger my credit card. “And that one thing must cost less than a hundred dollars.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“Okay, Sadie.”

I kiss everyone, round up my posse, and head out the door.

“I like Allison,” Aidan says as we head back to the car. “She’s got some spunk to her.”

“She does,” I agree. “Girls need it these days. Life has changed a lot since I was a kid.”

Lily stops on the sidewalk. She places both hands on her hips and stares me down.

“What?” I say.

“Lily?” Aidan asks.

“It just occurred to me, Aidan,” she says, “that we know next to nothing about our
host
. Isn’t that curious?”

“I guess,” Aidan says, but he doesn’t sound sure because what does he need to know about me other than how I intend to get him the fuck out of this place?

“We should go,” I say.

Lily plants her feet.

“No,” she says. “I’m not going anywhere until you give us some details. Maybe this is all a giant brainwashing scam to cheat us out of . . .” She pauses, casting around for something to fill in the blank.

“Yeah,” I say, “that about sums up what you’ve got.”

“Come on, Lily,” Aidan says, taking her arm. “It’s hot out here.”

And for the record, in fiction, no one cares about the authors, except in very rare circumstances. We do not live in fear of paparazzi jumping out of our shrubs when we attempt to leave the house. And that is how it should be. Because if the author can’t stay out of the way of her story, she had better go off and write a memoir or something.

“Hey,” I say. “You want to find out what happens if we can’t figure out that spell? We have less than twenty-four hours and not a clue, and I’d say
that’s
what you should be worrying about, wouldn’t you?”

This seems to get through. Reluctantly, Lily gives in and follows us to the car. Fortunately, it’s the kind of day on which even the most stubborn of positions can be broken by the need for air-conditioning.