Magic (4 page)

“You tried?” Bryan blurted out. Shame crawled around in his stomach. It hadn’t occurred to him that Addie’s side of the story might have been biased.

Rachel gave him a cool look, her pride returning to rally around her. “There are lots of things you don’t know, Mr. Hennessy.”

Bryan pushed his glasses up on his nose and nodded. “Oh, yes. I readily admit there are lots of things I don’t know.” He tossed her his most inane grin in an effort to lighten her mood and said, “ ‘A man doesn’t know what he knows until he knows what he doesn’t know.’ Thomas Carlyle. I’ve adopted that as my motto.”

“I see,” Rachel murmured, though she clearly didn’t.

Bryan was unconcerned. The point was, Rachel’s eyes had lost their tragic quality. She was no longer staring after Addie with an expression of shattered hope. She would have to deal with those feelings later, he knew, but at least the intensity of the impact had been defused.

He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and gazed up at the chandelier, his blue eyes drowsy with thought. “Of course, John Wooden once said, ‘It’s what you learn after you think you know it all that counts the most.’ For instance, did you know that an alligator’s length in feet is the distance between his eyes in inches?”

Rachel opened her mouth to comment, then closed it and simply stared at him. How had he gotten on this topic? Who in his right mind would try to measure the distance between an alligator’s eyes? The man was a lunatic. A rumpled, handsome lunatic.

She shook her head, deciding she had to be a little off the beam herself to be going on this way about how sexy this strange man was. Finally she decided to ask a question that seemed more pertinent. “Who’s Lester?”

Bryan sobered and sighed. “There is no Lester. Um … your mother thinks she owns a parakeet.” He shrugged apologetically. “If she does, I haven’t been able to find it.”

“Oh.”

“I keep meaning to buy her one, but I forget things. I’m sure I’ve written myself a note about it,” he said, pulling a fistful of paper scraps from his pants pocket. He sorted through them, frowning.

“That’s all right,” Rachel said.

Addie thought she owned a parakeet. This man, who was a virtual stranger, intended to buy her one to placate her. How sweet. What a sweet, sexy, rumpled con man he was. Her heart warmed, then she caught herself and shuddered, cursing her wildly swinging emotions. She felt as if she were trying to keep her balance on the deck of a ship pitching violently in a stormy sea.

Stuffing his notes back in his pocket, Bryan watched her from under his lashes. She looked so lost. In a way it made him think of Addie at the instant her mind snapped from normal to non-functioning. But then Addie would retreat into her fantasies. Rachel didn’t have that option.

Without thinking, he took a step toward her. Odd, but he felt almost as if he’d been pushed toward her. When he caught himself he had already begun to reach out to her. Stopping in his tracks, he slapped his hands together and tried to look decisive. “You must have a suitcase or something out in your car. I’ll go get it.”

He turned and let himself out, taking big gulps of the cool night air as he crossed the porch and jogged down the steps.

“Holy Mike, that was a close call, you moron,” he grumbled to himself. His sneakers crunched on the gravel drive as he headed for a beat-up little Chevette that was parked beside Addie’s old Volvo wagon.

The farther he got from the house, the steadier he felt. The sea air was refreshing. Moisture from the fog that had rolled in at sunset dampened his skin. He leaned against the roof of the little car and let the sound of crashing waves wash the tension from him.

Drake House stood on a cliff overlooking the bay on the very northern edge of Anastasia. Because of the lay of the land and the size of the estate, its nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away. The house on its lonely precipice was a giant sentinel, a gaudy reminder of a bygone age.

It might have looked like a happy, magical place once with its turrets and gingerbread and gables. Now, run-down and in dire need of a coat of paint, it looked like something out of a horror movie. The land that stretched out before it had at one time been a beautifully manicured lawn. There had been gardens and even a maze. He’d seen pictures of it in
Anastasia’s Architecture: A Pictorial Essay
. The gardens had long since gone to weed and the maze had become a tall, tangled mass of wild brambles.

The few people who came to visit Drake House called during daylight hours, bowing to superstitions they would never voice. Most of them came to browse through the antiques Addie had collected to sell. The kids of the town sometimes came to the end of the driveway at night. Bryan had seen them—groups of four or five kids who weren’t brave enough to come any closer. They stood down at the gate, shoving each other through the portal but never farther. They were thoroughly convinced the place was haunted. They were also scared to death of Addie.

Addie. Bryan glanced up at the house and caught a glimpse of her silhouette as she passed a window. He knew she was going to all the bird cages she had collected, filling the little dishes with seed. In the morning he would clean the trays out before she got up, or she would be upset thinking there was something wrong with Lester. It never seemed to bother her that Lester wasn’t in any of the cages. Unless, of course, she was seeing birds that weren’t actually there. Ghost birds.

He found his pencil and a crumpled bit of paper and made a note of that, then shook his head as he tucked the scrap of paper into his hip pocket and forgot about it. Addie could be fairly lucid. At times she was sharp as a tack. Then in the blink of an eye she would be talking to people who weren’t there, feeding birds she didn’t own.

It was a sad situation, but it wasn’t any of his business, he reminded himself. He’d dealt with his own sad situation; he didn’t need to get wrapped up in another.

Rachel watched her mother go from bird cage to bird cage, panic tightening her throat. Addie couldn’t be this bad already. The possibility that she was terrified Rachel. The further her mother retreated from reality, the less chance there would be for them to reconcile.

In her own mind, because she had only just learned of the problem, Rachel felt as if her mother had just developed this illness. She wanted to forget that Addie’s decline had doubtless begun several years earlier, and her mother had either ignored or hidden it for a long while.

Addie had moved to Anastasia upon her retirement from teaching music in Berkeley, not long after Rachel had gone on the road with Terance. According to Dr. Moore, the people of Anastasia had labeled her erratic behavior “eccentric,” and, by the good doctor’s own admission, the town had more than its share of oddballs, so Addie hadn’t really stuck out. It was only after she had backed her Volvo clear across Main Street and into the front of the movie theater that anyone had thought to alert Dr. Moore.

“Mother, it’s very late,” Rachel said wearily. She leaned against the door frame of the parlor, letting it support her weight for a moment. Now was not the time to try to deal with any of this mess—the illness, the emotional baggage, Bryan Hennessy. “You should be in bed.”

Addie set her birdseed down and turned toward her daughter, arching a brow. Resentment burned through her. She resented Rachel for leaving her, for abandoning their dreams, for trying to tell her what to do now. She resented the fact that it had taken a call from that idiot Moore to bring her daughter home. The pressure of her feelings built inside her like steam, which she vented on Rachel.

“I won’t have you telling me what to do, missy,” she snapped, eyes flashing. “I’m not some incontinent old woman who needs to be taken care of like a child.”

Rachel reined in her own ready temper, forced a sigh, and hung her head. She was so tired. She’d driven clear from North Platte, stopping to sleep only once for just a few brief hours. Before the marathon drive had been the marathon fight and subsequent end of her relationship with Terence. And before that had been the devastating news of her mother’s illness. All of it weighed down on her now like the weight of the world on her shoulders. At the moment she would have given anything for someone to lean on, just for a minute or two.

The image of Bryan Hennessy drifted through her mind. For an instant she could have sworn she felt a man’s arms around her. How absurd, she thought, shaking free of the strange sensation.

“What room should I take?” she asked. “I’m going to bed.”

“Not in my house.”

Rachel’s head snapped up as her heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“I don’t want you here,” Addie said bluntly. “Go away.”

Rachel stared at her mother. She couldn’t have moved if her life had depended on it. Maybe she couldn’t have expected to be welcomed with open arms, but she hadn’t expected a total rejection either.

Addie raised her fists suddenly and jigged around like an old-time prizefighter, her braid bouncing, a truculent light in her eyes. “Go away! Get out of my house!”

“Mother, don’t!” Rachel ordered, wincing as Addie popped her one on the arm.

“You’re a traitor! I don’t want you here!”

“Mother, stop it!” Rachel shouted, dodging away from another blow.

She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. She had been bracing herself for a fight, but not one like this. As she backed into the hall and toward the front door, she kept thinking that any second she would wake up and discover it had all been a dream, a strange black dream. But how far back would the nightmare go, she wondered dimly. A week? A year? Five years?

“Get out! Get out!” Addie chanted. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from saying the words over and over, but she couldn’t bear to look at Rachel’s face as she said them, so she turned her back to her daughter and went on shouting. It was as if the floodgates on her emotions had been suddenly thrown wide. Anger and hurt spewed out unchecked.

Rachel pressed her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. Abruptly it all become too much. She turned and bolted for the front door, knocking over half of Bryan Hennessy’s equipment as she went. She flung the heavy door open and ran out onto the porch, where she stopped and leaned against a post, feeling dizzy and sick.

“What happened?” Bryan asked, setting her two suitcases down on the ground at the bottom of the steps.

“She threw me out,” Rachel whispered, stunned. “She doesn’t want me here. She meant it. She told me to leave and never come back, and she meant it.”

She sounded so small and lost. Bryan’s heart twisted in his chest.

Rachel hugged the wooden column as if it were the only solid thing in a world suddenly turned to illusion. “I have to help her,” she murmured to Bryan beseechingly. “She’s my mother. I have to help her. She’s my responsibility now. But she doesn’t want me here.”

“Look,” Bryan said, climbing the steps to the porch, “it’s late. Addie gets really irrational when she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep.” He wanted to tell her that everything would seem better in the morning, but the bald truth was Addie could be irrational at
any
time. There was no guarantee of her behaving any differently tomorrow.

Rachel faced him, leaning her back against the post. She wrapped her arms across her middle, fighting to hold herself together. In a matter of days her whole world had torn loose from its moorings. All the dreams she had believed in had died. The rainbow she had followed away from home hadn’t ended in a pot of gold. And the home she had returned to was full of strangers. The nightmare wasn’t going to end when she opened her eyes in the morning. The bad dream had just begun.

“My mother is losing her mind.” She uttered the words as if she had only just realized what they meant and what the ramifications for her own life would be.

She looked up at Bryan through a shimmering window of tears. It suddenly didn’t matter that he was a stranger or that she had questioned his motives. He was someone’s son. He had a family somewhere, a home he would return to one day. Maybe he would understand a little of what she was feeling, and she needed so badly to share it with someone, just for a minute or two.

As the first fat tears teetered over the barrier of her thick lashes, she said, “What am I going to do?”

Bryan instantly forgot his vow of non-involvement. What man could stand there and watch this lovely creature crumple like a wilting rose? He could offer her his strength if nothing else. He took her gently into his arms, as if her body were as fragile as her spirit, and pressed her cheek to his chest. Sobs tore through her, terrible, wrenching sobs. She didn’t seem strong enough to cry so hard, he thought. He could feel her sobs echoing through his chest, and he had to fight down the knot in his throat.

She was hurting—not physically, but with the kind of pain that comes from confusion and broken dreams and mourning a lost future. He could understand that all too well. He could understand her need to be held. He couldn’t understand his own overwhelming need to hold her, but even as his brain tried to decipher it, his arms tightened around her and his lips brushed against her temple.

“Shhh … you’re too tired to think straight. Let’s get you settled in. Well talk about it in the morning,” he murmured, not even aware that he had included himself in her dilemma.

Even though he whispered something about going inside, he made no move to leave the porch. He simply rocked her gently back and forth as the mist swirled around them and the sea crashed in the distance. He knew a strange contentment in holding her, but he didn’t question it. For the first time in a long time something was soothing the ache in his heart. He didn’t dare wonder why.

They entered the house through a back door, passed through a corner of the large dark kitchen, and went into an old-fashioned pantry, where Bryan opened what appeared to be a tall cabinet set into the wall. Rachel followed him, mute, as they went up a dusty, unembellished servants’ staircase, a place hung with cobwebs and bare light bulbs dangling from thick black cords in the ceiling.

“I’m sorry about breaking down that way,” she said, embarrassed now that the tears had dried. “I don’t ordinarily do that kind of thing.”

“That’s okay. You don’t ordinarily get chased out the house by your mother either,” Bryan said. “Careful on this step. Stay to the right. Dry rot, you know. You have to watch for stuff like that in these old houses.”

Rachel glanced down at the crack in the wooden tread as she bypassed the step altogether, wondering how much of the rest of the house was rotting away. She had hoped to get by without investing much in repairs before they sold the place. What money of hers she had managed to keep out of Terence’s slippery hands wasn’t going to go far. Her mother had been running an antiques business for several years, and then there was the money from her father’s police pension fund, but their expenses were going to run high. She had to consider Addie’s medical bills, the deposit on an apartment in San Francisco, and their day-to-day living expenses. She had no idea how Addie had taken care of her money recently. If Bryan Hennessy was an example, she had been squandering it with a lavish hand.

A ghostbuster. Rachel shook her head.

They exited through a door that blended into the paneled wall of the second-story hallway.

“Here we are,” Bryan said softly. He put on a pleasant smile and slid the hidden door shut with the toe of his battered sneaker. “Just like in the movies, huh?”

Rachel took in little of her surroundings. Her normal curiosity had been diluted by the circumstances of her visit. Maybe in a day or two she would find it interesting that the house had a secret stairway and real mahogany paneling, that the floor in the foyer below was made of imported Italian marble. Right now none of that penetrated her senses. Nor did the musty smell of old carpets and draperies. For the moment it was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other and follow Bryan Hennessy down the hall.

“Don’t read too much into your mother’s reaction tonight,” he said quietly, slowing his long strides and turning to regard her with a serious expression. He carried a suitcase in each hand and his faded blue shirt was stained dark from her tears in spots across his chest. “You took her by surprise. She doesn’t handle surprises very well.”

Rachel thought of Terence and Addie’s reaction to him, and she smiled sadly as she reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, she never did.”

“She’ll probably be perfectly composed tomorrow.”

A weak smile was the best Rachel could manage. She hoped her mother was perfectly composed in the morning, but that wouldn’t help her tonight. She felt shaken to the very foundation of her soul. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the wild fury in her mother’s eyes as she’d shouted at her to get out of the house. Remembering the scene now sent a shaft of pain through her so sharp, it nearly stole her breath from her lungs. She had known it would be difficult coming back, but she’d never imagined anything like the bizarre scene she’d been a part of. It didn’t even help to know it was the illness that made Addie behave irrationally. There was just too much true emotion beneath the madness to easily push the outburst aside.

“You can take my room for tonight,” Bryan said, shouldering open a door and standing back in invitation for her to precede him into the room. “It’s the only spare bed with sheets on it.”

“I can’t throw you out of your bed,” Rachel protested, going to stand over the heat register, hoping it would chase away some of the chill that was permeating her bones.

“A little while ago you were ready to throw me out of the house,” Bryan said with a charming smile, trying to tease an answering smile out of Rachel. He kept his gaze on her as he bent to set her suitcases down beside the dresser.

Rachel closed her eyes and sighed. She managed a wry twist of her lips, but that was all. There was no way she could handle this man on any level—teasing, arguing, anything. Aside from being tired enough to drop, her feelings toward him were completely tangled. He was a stranger, a man who was taking her dotty mother’s money to hunt for ghosts. He was an antagonist who seemed to disapprove of her. He was inane one minute and serious the next. He was an attractive man, arousing needs in her that had been left unattended for too long. He was a compassionate human being, offering her comfort and support. That would have been a confusing mix for a person to handle on the best of days, and this was most certainly not the best of days.

“Get some rest,” Bryan whispered.

He didn’t remember crossing the room. He didn’t remember making the decision to touch Rachel Lindquist, but his finger was crooked beneath her chin and he was tilting her face up as if he had every intention of kissing her. It took a considerable effort not to do just that. Her lips were slightly parted. Her thick lashes were lowered, laying like a pair of delicate lace fans against her pale cheeks.

Desire ached all through his body, throbbing a little harder behind the suddenly close confines of his jeans. He cursed his rogue hormones. What was the matter with him—acting like some randy stallion when this poor girl was so physically and emotionally exhausted she seemed near collapse? What was he doing feeling attracted to her anyway? For all he knew she had come there to pack Addie up and hustle her off to a rest home. The only significant facts he knew about her were that she had run off five years ago and hadn’t come back.

But she had tried to call … and she had cried on his shoulder … and she looked so small and sad.…

He shook his head for the umpteenth time that night, amazed by his sudden, strange feelings. True, he had always had a soft spot in his heart for a damsel in distress, but he wasn’t interested in getting involved with one just now. No. His life was falling back into order; that was all he wanted to concentrate on now. He wasn’t interested in taking on the problems of a complicated mother-daughter relationship or the raft of troubles that would accompany Addie’s illness. He didn’t want to concentrate on Rachel Lindquist and all the pain and broken dreams he’d seen in her eyes.

She opened her eyes and stared up at him, and yet another blast of heat seared through him.

“Get some rest,” he murmured again, backing away before he lost all sense.

“Where will you sleep?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, forcing one of his silly, sunny smiles as he moved toward the door. He had the distinct impression he wasn’t going to sleep at all. “I’m a magical being; I can sleep anywhere. Tables, chairs, stairs. I once spent the night in the trunk of a Mercedes-Benz, but that’s a long story and I’m really not at liberty to divulge the details. Suffice it to say they put all the luxury features in other parts of the car.”

Rachel stared at him, amazed. She wanted to laugh. After all the horrid things that had happened in the past few days, she wanted to laugh at Bryan Hennessy because he was silly and funny in a way unlike anyone she had ever known. It amazed her that she still had a sense of humor. She felt a little warmer inside because of it.

“You’re a very unusual person, Mr. Hennessy,” she said with a wry smile.

He beamed. “Why, thank you.”

Rachel chuckled. “It wasn’t exactly a compliment.”

“It was to me. We Hennessys pride ourselves on being unique.”

“You’re certainly that,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.

“The bathroom is down the hall on the right,” Bryan said over his shoulder as he started out the door. “Watch out for the faucet in the sink, it sprays like a geyser every once in a while for no apparent reason. I think it may be possessed. Poltergeists often take up residence in the plumbing, you know. No doubt the result of faulty toilet training when they were toddlers. That’s my theory anyway.”

“Mr. Hennessy,” Rachel blurted out, a part of her loath to have him leave.

“Bryan,” he corrected her, turning back and bracing a forearm against the doorjamb. He felt old enough as it was these days; he didn’t need this lovely little thing calling him mister. He had to have ten years on Rachel Lindquist—at least. At the moment she didn’t look a day over fifteen, and still he wanted to kiss her. That thought left him feeling like a lecher.

“Bryan,” she said hesitantly, clasping her small white hands in front of her. “Thank you for giving me your room and … for … everything.”

She couldn’t quite bring herself to say “holding me.” She wasn’t comfortable with the idea of having turned to a stranger that way, pouring her pain out to him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried in front of someone. Not even when her mother had told her she could never come home had she let the tears fall with a witness present. She hadn’t cried in front of her mother, nor had she cried when she had gone outside and gotten in the car with Terence. Her fierce pride hadn’t allowed it.

But tonight she hadn’t been able to keep the tears in check. They had fallen in torrents onto Bryan Hennessy’s solid chest. And he had held her as if it had been the most natural thing in the world.

Bryan stared at her for a moment from his position in the doorway. She stood beside the bed, looking vulnerable in her baggy purple sweater, her baby-fine hair framing her face in wisps. Her skin looked as soft and rich as cream. Her eyes were like pools of twilight. Longing ribboned through him. Without a word he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Immediately Rachel felt lonely. Lonely for a lunatic. How silly, she scolded herself. She was lonely for a con man just because he had a nice smile and a weird sense of humor. That was hardly like her normal, practical self.

To take her mind off her feelings, she busied herself getting ready for bed. She was so tired, it took all of her flagging concentration to accomplish that simple task. She pulled her nightgown out of one battered suitcase and changed into it quickly. It wasn’t a nightgown precisely, but an extra large T-shirt with a bust of Bach silk-screened on the front above the words “I go for baroque.” Foregoing her nightly ritual of washing her face and brushing her teeth, she removed the pins from her hair and let it fall in waves past her shoulders. She pulled back the covers of the bed and slipped between them, groaning in relief as her weary body settled into the mattress.

As exhausted as she was, she couldn’t sleep. She lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling for a long while, trying not to think of anything at all. But she wasn’t able to blank her mind. Thoughts kept creeping in from the edge of her consciousness—thoughts of Addie, of Terence, of the past, of the future, of Bryan Hennessy.

The pillow she lay her head on carried his scent. The sheets that enveloped her body had covered his. The mattress beneath her had dipped beneath the weight of his lean, athletic body. Those thoughts seemed almost unbearably erotic to her. She moved restlessly, sexual awareness arousing all her nerve endings so that the gentle rasp of the sheets against her skin had all the impact of a caress. Her suddenly fertile imagination conjured up an image of him tying beside her, his big hands stroking her soothingly, his lips feathering kisses along her jaw. Her nipples tightened, and a dull ache coiled low in her belly.

Joining all the other emotions jumbled inside her was a vague sense of guilt and shame. She had no business thinking such thoughts about a man she hardly knew. It wasn’t like her to indulge in sexual fantasies anyway. She had never been a particularly sexual person. She discounted her feelings as a reaction to stress. She was feeling overwhelmed. It was only natural to want to turn to someone, to be held, to forget.

And there was so much she would have liked to forget—the dreams she had abandoned, the ones that had drifted away, the opportunities she had squandered.

Finally giving up on the idea of falling into a peaceful sleep, Rachel turned on the ancient lamp that sat on a lace doily on the stand beside the bed. She propped her pillow against the massive carved headboard and leaned back against it.

The light cast its glow on only half the room, leaving the farther corners shrouded in shadows. There was an enormous, sinister-looking armoire standing opposite the bed with one door open and athletic socks hanging out of the top drawer as if they were trying to slither out and escape. To the right of the bed an assortment of junk lined the wall—old steamer trunks, wooden chairs, and a bird cage large enough to hold a vulture. To the left of the bed was a dressing table with a cracked mirror. There were books piled on it, and charts and notes were strewn across the top of it as if it was being used as a desk.

On the nightstand beside the bed was additional evidence that Bryan Hennessy occupied the room. There was a watch that was either running down or was set for the wrong time zone. Rachel picked it up and examined it more closely, telling herself she had a right to know who this man was her mother had invited to stay in her home. It was a nice watch, gold with a brown leather band that was curved by long use to the shape of its owner’s wrist. It had an old-fashioned face—no glowing digital readout, but script numerals and delicate hands. The back was engraved
WITH LOVE, MOM AND DAD. 1977.