2 Unhitched (22 page)

Chapter 16

M
ORNING COMES. SECRET, WHO ONCE again snuggled with me, awakens me with more face-licking kisses. His puppy-breath warms my cheeks. Physically, I’m a lot stronger—the nausea is gone—and, for the first time in a long while, I feel driven and purposeful. I hop out of bed, eager to meet with The Potato Sack Princess. Before heading downstairs, I check on Calla.

I sigh with relief when I find her chamber door unlocked. Cautiously, I venture inside. Wagging his tail, Secret follows me.

Calla is still in bed, bundled under her covers, when she should be getting ready for school. Her eyes are swollen-red from crying. Secret jumps onto the bed and slathers her face with wet kisses. To my dismay, my sweet little girl shows no sign of cheering up.

“Mommy, I don’t want to go to school today.” Her voice is tearful. “Please, pretty please?”

How can I force her? Her heart is broken.

Let her stay in bed. She probably didn’t sleep a wink last night, and school will just be wasted on her. My poor little girl! There’s no way I can leave her. The Potato Sack Princess will just have to wait until tomorrow.

I head back downstairs. I need a distraction. I know. I’ll work on my next children’s book. With Gallant’s affair, it’s been the last thing on my mind.

At my desk, I tear out a sheet of parchment and stare at the blank page. The clock strikes nine… Then ten… Then eleven. No brilliant ideas fill my head. No words fill the page. Not even “once upon a time.” Tears well up in my eyes. I simply can no longer live a fairy tale of lies.

When the clock tells me it’s noon, I head to the kitchen where I make Calla’s favorite soup—my famous Potage de Meeshmash. The magical vegetable soup that made Gallant fall in love with my cooking. And with me. As I stir the ingredients in a cauldron, a tear escapes my eye and falls into the simmering mixture. A dash of salt. The delicious aroma wafts through the air. Calla hasn’t eaten a thing since yesterday. Perhaps this will nourish both her body and soul. If only it could mine.

Holding a tray with a bowl of soup, I clamber back upstairs. To my surprise, when I enter Calla’s chamber, she’s out of bed, dressed in her school uniform—a simple white blouse and a long navy wool jumper with a small gold crown—the Midas family crest—embroidered in gold threads on the upper left pocket.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she says, brushing her hair. “I want to go to school.”

I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. I’m glad she’s decided to go to school. Being around other children will help get her mind off Henry. Trust me, hanging around me all day would do her no good.

Calla scoffs down the soup as Secret looks on with puppy-eyed envy.

No matter how many times I’ve been to Calla’s school, The Midas Center for Early Education, over the last two years, I can’t believe it used to be my castle. The chambers have been converted into classrooms; the apple orchard into a nature learning center; my throne room into a theater for the performing arts; and my dungeon, where I conjured Snow White’s poison apple, into a science lab. Where my courtyard once stood, The Seven Dwarfs constructed a playground under Winnie’s supervision. And thanks to dear Pinocchio, it’s filled with toys, playhouses, and a jungle gym.

My castle—I mean, the school—is perched high on a cliff. At first, parents and their kids had to hike to the top, but thanks to Headmaster Diggs, they now have a fun ride to transport them up and down. A hot air balloon, from his wizardry days for which he no longer had any use. Students look forward to going to school every day just to take a ride in the balloon. As Calla and I launch into the sky and float upward to the clouds, I’m overwhelmed with sense of wonderment. The flight is exhilarating. And the view of Lalaland, with its enchanted hills and vales, charming thatched-roof villages, and dotted castles, is spectacular.

Greeting us at the landing is Headmaster Diggs himself. Formerly the Wizard of Oz, a Faraway inmate who suffered from delusions of grandeur, he decided he wasn’t really ready for retirement after constantly losing croquet matches to The Queen. So, when Midas offered him the headmaster job, he grabbed it. “I always loved working with munchkins,” he said in his inauguration speech.

Clad in his habitual black broadcloth doublet and fanciful polka dot bowtie, Diggs gives Calla a stern look.

“Nice for you to finally show up, young lady.”

Calla cowers and sheepishly scurries to the school’s entrance. Diggs winks at me. Letting me know that all is okay. I smile and follow Calla.

Little of my former palace remains inside. It’s almost unrecognizable. The halls are painted in bright primary colors instead of drab shades of gray, and children’s colorful paintings have replaced gloomy ancestral portraits. A change for the better.

On our way in, several children say hi to Calla. My sweet little girl is very popular.

The children who attend the school are, for the most part, the sweetest kids you’ll ever meet. Midas didn’t want to build an exclusive school for spoiled princes and princesses and hence declared the school public—open to royals and non-royals alike. The school uniforms, designed by Emperor Armando, help maintain equality and discipline. There’s a no-tolerance policy for bullying, elitist behavior, or discrimination of any kind. Once, Calla told me about a classmate, a snotty prince, who picked on a pixie-sized boy named Tom Thumb. He was immediately expelled. His royal parents offered to build a new wing if the boy was readmitted, but Midas said no and told them to spend their money on therapy for their son.

Wouldn’t you know that Calla’s classroom was once the secret chamber that housed my “magic” mirror. It’s located on the top level. Calla races up the seemingly never-ending spiral staircase that leads to it while I wind up it behind her, panting every step of the way. Silently, I curse the weight I’ve put on, especially over the last few days. Damn that Gallant for turning me into an emotional overeater. And a wreck.

When we get to Calla’s classroom, boys and girls, in two parallel lines, are exiting into the hallway. Mrs. Hubbard, Calla’s teacher, stands at the doorway, supervising them. She brightens when she sees Calla, one of her star students.

“Calla! You’re just in time for recess. Hurry now and join the others.”

Flashing a smile, Calla skitters to catch up to her classmates. Hansel’s face lights up when she gets in line next to him.

Mrs. Hubbard is a wonderful teacher and mother. Before she began teaching at the school, she was a destitute widow who could barely feed her own twelve children. She would have had to sell her house—maybe even have turned to a life of begging—had not Midas offered her a job. Now, she’s living comfortably, and her kids ranging in age from five to eighteen—each one as sweet as can be—are enrolled in various grades at the school.

“Is Calla alright?” she asks with genuine concern.

I take a deep breath. “Do you have some time to talk?”

She invites me into her classroom. Taking a seat at one of the student’s desks, I survey my surroundings. My eyes immediately gravitate to a charming painting that’s hanging on the back wall. It’s a self-portrait of Calla. She’s a gifted artist just like her father. My eyes travel to the front of the room where math problems and exemplary cursive letters are scrawled on the chalkboard. I swear that’s where my “magic” mirror once hung. I can practically hear it talking. Except it’s not telling me that I’m the
Fairest of All.
It’s telling me that I’m fat, stressed, and tired. Okay. My mirror was always brutally honest, even if it was just my sub-conscience making me face reality. Thank goodness, it ended up in a dumpster, cracked beyond repair.

“Calla is having some issues,” I begin. I tell Mrs. Hubbard about her infatuation with Henry the Frog Prince.

Mrs. Hubbard smiles. “It’s part of growing up,” she says warmly. “Like an imaginary friend.”

She pauses. “But perhaps her extreme reaction to Henry’s abandonment is symptomatic of something else that’s going on at home.”

I take another deep breath and just blurt it out. “Prince Gallant and I are about to get a divorce.”

Mrs. Hubbard’s eyes flutter with shock. “I’m quite frankly very surprised. Calla’s always given me the feeling that you’re wonderful, loving parents.”

Well, we maybe we’ve done okay in the parenting department, but as a couple, we suck, I think to myself.

Mrs. Hubbard’s eyes meet mine. “Does Calla know?”

“Not yet.”

“The important thing is that you don’t fight in front of her. And that you both give her all the love you can. Children are more resilient than you think.”

I impulsively hug this incredible woman, teacher, and single-mother of twelve.

Mrs. Hubbard places her motherly hands on my shoulders and looks straight into my eyes. “I hope you and The Prince can work it out. For the sake of Calla.”

A sharp pain stabs me in my gut. She has a point.

When I return home, there’s a letter waiting for me. Lately, every delivery has made me edgy, even those addressed to me. The handwriting on the envelope looks official. My heart skips a beat. It’s from a magistrate. For sure, Gallant’s sent me divorce papers. With trembling hands, I rip open the envelope and read the contents.

Dear Client:

This is a formal reminder that your next children’s book, per your agreement, is past due. Although we recognize that you are the daughter-in-law of our esteemed founder, we regret to inform you that we will be forced to terminate your contract if we do not receive it shortly
.

Yours sincerely,

Midas Publishing, Children’s Division

My stomach churns. Not only is my marriage going to be over. So is my career! By the time they review my request for an extension, King Midas will no longer be my father-in-law.

I’d better get to work
. Dewitched
was a big success. How hard can it really be to write another fairy tale? That’s what my readers expect of me. It should be a piece of cake.

With Secret curled up at my feet, I sit down at my desk and begin to write. “
Once upon a
time… ”
Okay, a good start, but now what? Once again, words won’t come. No matter how hard I labor.

I crumple up the sheet of parchment and try again. Nothing. By the time, Calla comes home, I’ve gone through an entire ream of parchment. And not a word more. I can no longer write a happily ever after fairy tale.