A Phantom Enchantment (23 page)

“What's going on?” I asked.

“It's Gray. He never left.”

“What do you mean?”

“I found him camped out here this morning, and before I could get any answers from him, he ran away.”

“So he's been here the whole time?” I said. “I knew it!”

“But, Emma, do you realize what this means?”

“No,” I said.

“You did see him at the fire,” he said. “It seems like a coincidence, no?”

“What are you implying?”

“People do awful things when they're emotionally scarred like Gray is. I think he may be suffering from post-traumatic stress.”

“Post-traumatic stress?” I said. “Gray?”

He nodded. “I know a thing or two about it.”

“Oh, you had it? After your parents' accident?”

He sat down on the pew and stared at the floor. Eventually, I sat down next to him, sensing there was more to the story. “Emma, I am telling you this in confidence,” he said. “Nobody knows about this.”

I nodded and gave him my word that I'd never tell a soul.

He took a deep breath. “It was a year after the accident, the anniversary of my parents' death. I still hadn't told Claire how I felt about her, and the pain was eating through me like poison. We were seniors then, and she was leaving to go to the university. I knew I had to tell her before she left, but I didn't think I was brave enough. So I went to a café and had a few drinks. Too many drinks.

“When I got to Claire's room, I paused at her door and that's when I heard two voices. Claire was with another man. I couldn't hear what they were saying but knew from their tone exactly what they were doing, and something exploded inside me. The next few hours are a blank in my memory. I didn't know myself. All I remember is waking up in my room to the blare of the fire alarm. The hallways were full of smoke, students running and screaming, trying to get out of the building. I ran to Claire's room, and when I got to her door, I suddenly remembered that I was the one who had started the fire.”

“You?” I said. “But why would you do that? You loved her.”

“When you're sick like I was, there is no why. Maybe, subconsciously, I set the fire so I could rescue her, to show her that she needed me.”

“And did you? Rescue her?”

“No, her boyfriend helped her escape.” He laughed bitterly. “When I think what could have happened to her, or to anyone . . .” He fell silent, unable to go on.

So the rumors swirling around Saint-Antoine at the beginning of the year had been true after all. I glanced up at the chapel altar, realizing this was the perfect place for Crespeau to make his confession.

“Mademoiselle Veilleux still doesn't know you set the fire?” I said.

“Do you think she would have hired me and let me stay all these years if she knew?”

“I guess not,” I said. “But no one got hurt. And you're okay now, right? You're not sick anymore?”

He shook his head. “After the fire, I disappeared for a while. And I sought help from a therapist. Eventually, I healed from my parents' death and felt ready to live again. But I couldn't stop myself from returning to Saint-Antoine years later when I heard that Claire had become the headmistress. And when she offered me a job, I thought I'd found the answer to all my problems. I would be near her for the rest of my life, even if I couldn't have her. I thought it would be enough.

“On my first day back, I went into the maintenance closet and saw the mirror that had been in Claire's room, soot-covered from the fire but still intact. I couldn't believe it. So I cleaned it off lovingly and hung it back in her room, to remind myself of what I had done. What I was capable of and what I could never do again.”

So that was why he loved the mirror. And I had broken it, but I hadn't broken the spell. Crespeau was still stuck here, watching life from the sidelines rather than embracing it fully.

I thought about Gray and what he had endured in his nineteen years. Watching a girl drown and not being able to save her. Being marooned on a life raft for sixty-one days. And now, learning that the person he thought was his soul mate was in love with someone else. All of that could drive any person insane.

“So you're wondering if maybe Gray set the fire himself?” I said.

“I'm only saying it's a possibility,” he said.

“Well, we have to find him.”

“Yes.”

“And I have to call Gray's parents. They should know what's going on.”

Monsieur Crespeau agreed.

Making the call to Gray's parents was one of the most agonizing things I'd ever done. At first Simona was so filled with relief at the news that Gray was okay that she barely listened as I explained about the fire.

“He's been hiding out in the chapel at my school like some fugitive. Acting crazy and making threats. And now this fire . . . I mean, I don't know if he set it or not, but I think he's suffering from post-traumatic stress.”

Simona paused. “And just what do you know about post-traumatic stress, Emma?” An icy chill ran down my spine at her tone. Simona used to love me almost as her own daughter, and now she seemed to find me reprehensible.

“I only know that Gray isn't himself and he hasn't been since he was rescued from that life raft. I don't think he ever dealt with what happened to him out on the ocean. And I think it's time we notify the Coast Guard. Gray needs help.”

Simona grunted in disgust. “Do you know what will happen if we notify the Coast Guard? Gray will be subject to psychological testing, and if they uncover anything out of the ordinary, he could be discharged. The Coast Guard is the only thing Gray has left now that you have abandoned him.”

So Simona knew about our breakup. “I didn't abandon him,” I said. “Why do you think I'm calling you? I still care about him so much. I'm trying to help him.”

“Emma, your help only hurts. Don't ruin his life.”

We argued back and forth for another ten minutes, but there was no convincing her. Which meant the responsibility of notifying the Coast Guard would fall on me. And I didn't want it.

I had no reason to think Gray would start a fire except for Crespeau's story. If Gray was as traumatized as Crespeau had been, he might have done something terrible without even knowing what he was doing. Especially if he thought I was in the Studio that day.

But it seemed unlikely Gray could have gotten into the Studio without authorization. Then again, he'd been camping out for weeks in our school's chapel without anyone knowing. It was almost like he'd become a sort of phantom himself.

C
HAPTER
23

I
held off contacting the Coast Guard as I tried to make up my mind about the best course of action. I saw no reason to come forward until we knew something definitive about the cause of the fire.

On the day Elise was released from the hospital, we took her out for a celebratory lunch, where she gorged herself on wine, cheese, and pastries. I'd never seen Elise scarf food down like that before. I guess the hospital cuisine had been disappointing.

Flynn was trying to convince us all to come forward with the information about Jean-Claude's team smoking in the Studio space prior to our rehearsals. He figured it might even disqualify them from the competition, pushing our opera into first place and securing the production in next fall's season. But then Elise spoke up, as best as she could with her limited vocal capacities.

“Emma,” she whispered, “do you remember the fire in the stables during our sophomore year?”

“The fire that nearly killed me?” I said. “Yeah, I have a vague recollection.” Ironically, Gray had rescued me from that fire. It never would have occurred to me then that he could have started it. What had changed to allow me to believe such an awful thing about my boyfriend?

“Then you remember the investigation when you and Michelle tried to pin the fire on me,” she said.

“Well, you guys were smoking pot,” I said, feeling defensive. “And then you tried to pin it on Michelle.”

“I know,” Elise said, her voice hoarse. “And that was wrong. Maybe Jess and I did cause the fire that night. Who knows? But what good would have come from proving that?”

“Stop making the girl talk,” Flynn said. “She sounds like the Godfather, for God's sake.”

All similarities to Marlon Brando aside, Elise was right. Maybe she would have been expelled, but more than likely her father would have gotten her off the hook and nothing would have changed. No lesson would have been learned. It had all been a game of one-upsmanship, each of us trying to get the upper hand in our petty high school battle.

The same thing was going on now between Flynn and Jean-Claude. And the last thing I wanted was to tie up our competition in a legal battle with the Opera House and jeopardize the final outcome. If we were going to beat Jean-Claude and Yseult, I wanted it to be on our own merits and not because of a technicality

“You're right,” I said. “And I'm willing to drop it if Flynn is. Besides, if Jean-Claude is found responsible, the liability might fall on the school, and that would only hurt Mademoiselle Veilleux.”

“Yeah,” Owen said. “You wouldn't want that, would you, Flynn?”

Owen smiled at me, the first time I'd seen those dimples since our fight in my bedroom that morning. It felt like the sun coming out after days of rain.

Flynn grudgingly relented, and we decided to drop our plan for revenge.

But even after we resolved that issue, I had so many things left to worry about: Gray; my relationship with Owen; and, of course, what I was going to do with my life after this year. My college acceptance letters had finally arrived. I had gotten in everywhere except Johns Hopkins, but this barely made a dent in my somber mood. The thought of going to Amherst or Hampshire left me cold after imagining myself in Budapest or Berlin with Owen.

I called Michelle to get some much-needed perspective and told her all about the drama of the last few weeks. But I didn't tell her Crespeau's suspicions about the fire because I wasn't quite ready to accept that Gray was capable of something like that.

“So how are you and Jess?” I asked after I'd finished with my rant. “I miss you guys so much.”

“We're good. Great, really. She's going to Emerson next year so she can be near me at MIT.”

“Oh, Michelle that's wonderful!”

“Yeah, we're both really excited,” she said. “What about you? Did you hear from your schools yet?”

Okay, this was my rehearsal for telling my father. Michelle's reaction would pale in comparison to my dad's, but I had a feeling she would still disapprove. She'd had her college plans mapped out since she was eight years old.

“Yeah, but actually, I'm thinking of taking a year off.”

There was silence on the other end. Finally, she said, “Miss SAT and AP Prep is thinking of blowing off college for a year? Why?”

“Because Owen asked me to stay in Europe with him.”

“Oh, really?” she said. “There's more to this story than I thought. Spill!”

I told her all about the complications in my love life, most notably that I was in love with two men at the same time. “Do you think that's possible?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Michelle said. “I think you can love two people at the same time but you can only be in love with one of them. Does that make any sense?”

“Perfect sense,” I said. Because that was exactly it. I loved Gray, but I wasn't in love with him anymore. And I wasn't sure how I felt about Owen.

“So what would you and Owen do together in Europe, or is that too personal?”

“Oh, shut up,” I said. “We'd travel. See parts of the world I'd never get to see otherwise. I may never get another chance like this again.”

“Of course you will,” she said. “Emma, you're going to college, not joining a nunnery. Why risk everything you've worked so hard for?”

“I don't think it's a risk,” I said. “I'll just defer enrollment for a year.”

“A year is a long time,” she said. “A lot could happen to change your mind. And just what does John have to say about this?”

Michelle had taken to calling my father by his first name, which I found rather cheeky and amusing. “I haven't told him yet,” I said.

“Why am I not surprised? Look, Emma, you know I'll support you no matter what, but I think this is a mistake. But it's your life. You have to decide what's best for you.”

Yes, it
was
my life.

But when I got off the phone with Michelle, I thought about how little control we often had over our own lives. They were hopelessly entangled with everyone else's lives. I couldn't make a single decision without worrying how it would impact my dad, or Owen, or Gray, or the dozens of other people I loved and cared about. How did we ever create our own story if we were constantly revising it to suit other people's expectations?

I held off telling my father about Europe even though I knew he'd be asking for my decision any day now, and in fact, so would the colleges. Most schools wanted a decision by May first.

The one bright spot in my week was when I met Flynn and Owen at Café Rabelais so Flynn could give us some good news. And good news was something we all sorely needed.

“The competition is on again,” Flynn said, saddling up to the bar with a huge, self-satisfied smile.

“How?” I said.

“Because I'm a genius with connections.”

It turned out that he and Mademoiselle Veilleux had grown rather close over the past few months—I didn't want to know how close—and when Flynn told her about the fire at the Studio, she called in a favor with an old friend, the manager of La Péniche Opéra, where she used to perform. The company was on a short hiatus, but because the manager adored Claire, he was going to allow us to have our competition on his barge! His captain was even going to cruise us down the Seine as we performed, ending with the dramatic finale of sailing through the tunnel that ran beneath the Bastille.

“That's incredible!” I said. “But aren't you forgetting about the other tiny problem?”

“What's that?” Flynn said.

“Our lead singer can barely speak, let alone sing.”

Flynn frowned into his wineglass, but now it was Owen's turn to be the hero. “You know the solution, Emma,” he said. “You've always known it.”

Flynn's eyes popped wide open. “Dude, you're right. I can't believe I didn't see it.”

“What are you guys talking about?” I said.

Owen turned to me and smiled. “Emma, you're going to be my Christine after all.”