by B. E. Baker
“We haven’t talked in nearly four months.” He’s keeping track of how long it’s been.
My heart flip-flops inside my chest. “But for most of that time, I was living in a hospital with my brother and sister-in-law.”
“That’s the kind of person you are,” he says. “But you had a phone, I assume.”
“You’re saying that time still counts?”
“I might give you a pass this time,” he says. “But next time, toss the pride out the window and text me.”
Mr. Ferrars calls again. “Alright,” I say.
“You better take that call before they come and bang your door down.”
“Yeah. Okay. Good to hear your voice.”
“You too,” Cole says.
When I click over to see what my agent needs, a smile is plastered across my face.
“Good news,” Mr. Ferrars says.
“Oh, no. Who died now?”
He huffs. “You aren’t very funny.”
“Really? I always thought I was at least somewhat funny. That sounds like bad news to me.”
“Miss Gauvón, please pay attention. The label has agreed to add a stop in Liechtenstein, however the pay for that location will be scaled back dramatically due to limited venue size.”
“Agreed,” I say. “Actually, I’ll be donating my share of the proceeds for that location to a local charity for kids with dyslexia.”
Mr. Ferrars grumbles about the extra paperwork involved, but we finally square up the details. I go to sleep alone like always, but for the first time in many months, I’m not lonely.
18
Cole
“Are you ready?” Dad asks.
I nod my head. “As ready as I’m ever going to be.”
“You can do this,” Dad says.
I hope he’s right. I shut off my phone—can’t risk any distractions, not today. Dad and I walk toward the podium at the front of the temporary stage we built so that our people could see and hear us. We initially planned to make our plea in the government building, but far, far more citizens expressed an interest in attending than we expected.
“Thank you for coming today,” Dad says into the microphone, surveying the crowd as much as he’s able with his failing eyesight. “You all know that it has been my life’s greatest joy to serve as your prince, with the support of my wife and children, of course.”
Thousands and thousands of citizens stand shoulder to shoulder, spreading across the entire pedestrian mall and spilling into the streets. Many of them wave flags. I can’t tell what’s printed on them, but they’re waving them with gusto.
“You may be wondering why we’ve asked you here today,” Dad says. “I know we merely told you that my son and I wanted to address you personally. Most of you have met me—and many of you who live locally have waved to me every day for years when I went for my morning runs. Unlike the huge monarchies spread across Europe, Liechtenstein has always been small. It wasn’t until the rule of my grandfather, Francis Joseph the second, that my family moved here, but ever since then, we have been an active presence in not only the government, but also the lifestyle and everyday affairs of this fine nation.”
Dad pauses until the cheering fades.
“As you all know, I married my son Cole’s mother three years after he was born.” He shrugs. “It was bad timing, I know.”
Laughter.
“Of course, she had given birth to Cole before I met her, while she was yet married to her first husband. It was quite the scandal at the time. You may not remember, but I was quite the rascal in my youth, marrying a widow.”
Even I laugh this time. The image of a white haired, half-blind old man as a rascal because he married my very respectable mother and adopted her child—it’s ridiculous.
“I soon realized that as wonderful as my wife was, and still is, her son was every bit as amazing. It didn’t take long before I felt he was my son. I never formally adopted him since he would not be able to take, legally speaking, much from my estate, and his own father had left him a hefty inheritance in several places across Europe.”
People nod and murmur.
“That was one of the biggest mistakes I made,” Dad says. “I should have adopted this boy as my son the year after I married his mother, when he first began to call me Dad.” He puts a hand on my arm and squeezes. “But I am human, and I do make mistakes. More than I wish I made, but there we are.”
More murmurs.
“You also know of the tragedy that struck our family ten years ago when my second son, Noel, passed away.” Dad closes his eyes for a moment.
Many of the gathered citizens do the same, and nearly everyone in the crowd crosses themselves.
“I knew when he passed that no child of mine would inherit this responsibility that I have treasured, the job of ruling over you fine people. Two years after my son’s death, the Landtag proposed a measure that would strip both me and any future rulers of the right to veto referenda. You all voted that down, and I felt your support and faith in me when you did. But after my son’s death and my own subsequent illness, it became harder and harder for me to complete the tasks with which I had been entrusted. I tried, but I failed.”
Heads shake all over.
“I didn’t run past your homes and businesses anymore. I couldn’t see well enough to review treaties or proposed legislation. I prepared to step down and pass the mantle of leadership to my brother Franz. You didn’t know him well, as he had been living in New York at that time, but he would have done a suitable job. I still believe that he would make a capable ruler. However, my son Cole knew that stepping away from all of you would pain me, and to spare me as much pain as possible, he took over every time something overwhelmed me. You have witnessed his tireless efforts yourselves. At first he merely did as I directed, but he has grown in the past ten years, and in the past few years, he has begun changing things, for the better. He passed new education initiatives, a program for single parents to help them care for and support their children, and measures to create new roads. He has hammered out agreements with the European Union and other governing bodies, as well as other trade agreements that don’t sacrifice our rights or hike our taxes to pay for their programs.”
Everyone cheers again, which is promising.
“Today, I have a favor to ask of all of you. It’s a large one. I only ask it because of what I believe to be a grave injustice that I need your aid to rectify. You will all recall the new constitution I created, expanding my own power relative to the Landtag. But in the same amendments, I built in a failsafe for all of you, to ensure that ultimately the power here always rests with the citizens of Liechtenstein. I’m going to ask Cole to take over from here, but I hope you’ll listen to his words knowing that he has my full support. What he asks of you all today is also what I ask of you.”
I step up to the podium and look over the gathered faces. Young and old, male and female, well-dressed and roughly clothed. But all of them are watching me, listening intently to learn what favor I’m here to request of them. “Hello, many of you know already that I’m Cole. A few months ago, in spite of the financial loss it caused, my dad proceeded to finalize my adoption. I am the very same person now as I was before, but for the first time in my life, I’m legally one of you—a Liechtenstein citizen.”
Cheers. That’s promising.
“Just as you knew my father before me, you know me. You’ve seen me play football alongside your brothers, friends, sons, or even for a few of you smaller audience members, your fathers. I want to talk for just a moment about the importance of legacy. My great grandfather, Francis Joseph the second, decided to relocate his family from an impressive palace in Vienna because he felt it was important that he live among the people he governed. I think the reason that he was able to make such a wise decision is that he wasn’t raised with the belief that he would rule. In fact, it took two great uncles dying without children and a father who declined to accept the position before the task fell t
o him. But he proved more than up to doing it, which is good, because he took over when things were dire for us indeed. He transformed the economy, which was in a free fall after not one but two world wars. He brought new commerce here, and then once he found success there, he didn’t stop. He chose to bring liberty to each of you as well. He was in power when the referendum was brought that finally granted women the right to vote.”
Loud cheers.
“His son, Hans Adam the second, followed the path set by his father. If you knew my grandfather, you knew he was passionate in the defense of what he believed. A heart attack stole him from us too soon, but he weathered storms with grace, with strength, and with bravery. He taught my father to do the same.” I clear my throat. “And my father has taught me in words and by his example to follow in their footsteps. I may not have been born to my dad, but he chose me, and I chose him. I know it may not be a popular belief, but I think that the family we choose is even more powerful than the family we are given. My dad owed me nothing, but he chose to take care of me. That has meaning. Every single one of you chooses your children when you turn off your phone and take them outside to kick a ball. You choose them when you put your money aside into an education fund instead of buying the latest technological gadget. You are just as familiar as I am with the power in choosing something purposefully—in sacrificing for it.”
Silence. I better get to the point.
“Many of you know that I don’t like to speak in public. I had trouble in my early years with learning languages, even my native Dutch. I didn’t write a speech today, because reading is still a chore, and I’m likely to fumble over my words. I apologize for my failings, but that isn’t the reason I was nervous to ask you for a favor. My dad told me, when he adopted me, that he wanted me to take over for him as his regent.”
They’re still silent, but many of them look at one another, assessing their feelings on the information.
I grab the podium so my hands won’t visibly tremble. “You may have been aware that we requested the dynasts of the Princely House to consider an amendment to their House Law to allow a legally adopted child to be added to the line of succession.” I swallow. “You can guess how that vote went. They told me that even if I was suitable, other adopted children might not be. Ultimately, they were uncomfortable entrusting the important position of prince to someone who was not born into the family.” I close my eyes, and then reopen them. The citizens are silent, but they’re listening. I can’t tell whether they’re upset, supportive, or dismissive. I wish I knew. “I threw in the towel then, and you may know that I took a job working for Argenta in Antwerp.”
Murmurs, small ones, but murmurs. No one is scowling, and no one is booing. I’ll take it as a positive sign.
“While I lived there, I discovered that I longed for home. I missed my parents, my room, my friends, the restaurants that I loved. . . and all of you. I may not be my father’s biological son, but you’ll never meet someone who loves Liechtenstein more than I do. Today I’m here to ask you, selfishly, to do something for me. My father and I would like to fix two glaring errors in the House Law, but we don’t have the power to do it. Only you have that power.”
Conversations explode all around me.
I hold up my hands. “I can see that you’re confused. Let me explain. My father gave you the power—when he granted you the ability to dissolve the monarchy. I’m asking you to sign a petition that tells the Princely Family that if they don’t agree to modify the law on two points, that you’ll vote to dissolve the monarchy. For this to work, I need the signatures of a lot of you. The two points I hope you’ll demand are, first that the law be amended to allow adoptive children to be included in the line of succession as though they were natural heirs. The second is even more overdue. Article thirty-one, subsection two of our Constitution grants equal rights to women, but currently they’re not allowed to rule. It’s wrong. For my sister, for your daughters, for every citizen here, this needs to be changed.”
The applause when I finish is deafening. By the time I finish visiting with people, thanking them for their support, it’s late. Much later than I expected.
“Over seven thousand signatures already,” Mom says. “That’s more than twice what we hoped to obtain tonight.”
“We need many, many more,” I say. “But it’s a good start.”
“Most of them are taking petitions home for their neighbors and friends to sign. I imagine in the next few days, we’ll have the numbers we need.”
“What if the family still refuses?” I ask. “What if they call our bluff?”
Dad shrugs. “That’s up to you. You could be the first Prime Minister of a new government. They love you—that much is clear.”
I swallow. “I don’t think I’d pull that trigger.”
“We can deal with that roadblock if it crops up,” Mom says. “For now, we should get you food and some sleep.”
On the short drive home, I finally turn my phone on again. An unknown number, an international number, has texted me. HEY STRANGER.
It has to be Beth. It has to be. But why is she texting me now? Could she have heard about what’s going on? Is she interested because I might finally be prince again? No. That’s crazy. She’s in Atlanta. She can’t possibly know. Before I can even think of something to say, two more texts come through.
YOU KNOW HOW, WHEN TOO MUCH TIME HAS PASSED, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO SAY? SO YOU SAY NOTHING. THEN THERE’S NO WAY TO RECOVER FROM THAT. . .
WELL, THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED, AND NOW I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO SAY, SO I THOUGHT MAYBE YOU’D BE A GENTLEMAN AND LET ME SKIP ALL THAT AND PRETEND THAT WE’VE BEEN IN TOUCH ALL ALONG.
Definitely Beth. I gulp.
“Cole, are you alright?” Mom asks.
I shake my head. “No, I mean yes. I’m fine.”
“You look ill,” she says.
I tap out a reply, determined not to overthink it. I’M GAME, BUT YOU NEED TO CATCH ME UP ON A FEW THINGS SO I CAN PLAY ALONG.
She doesn’t reply immediately, and no little dots appear either. I set the phone down. “I’m fine, honestly.”
“You probably need food,” Dad says. “That was a very long day.”
They won’t give up, so I finally capitulate. I’m wiping the soup off the corners of my mouth when my phone buzzes in my pocket. “I think maybe I should head up to bed,” I say. “Maybe I do feel a little bit sick.”
“Can I do anything?” Mom stands up.
I wave her off. “Just a headache. I’ll be fine once I’ve slept it off.”
“If you’re sure,” she says.
I race up the stairs.
The text says, SURE. SHOOT.
I want to ask her everything. Is she safe? Is she happy? Has she missed me? Has she missed performing? Does she miss Europe? Liechtenstein? Did she hear that I’m fighting back, using her advice? Would Holly have told her? But I can’t lead with any of that. I need to keep this casual, calm. I finally settle for asking something to which I already know the answer, thanks to Holly. HOW IS BREKKA? HOW’S THE BABY?
DIDN’T PAISLEY TELL YOU THAT?
Well, crap. Hm. SHE TOLD ME THAT BREKKA HAD THE BABY AND SHE WAS IN THE NICU. HAVEN’T HEARD AN UPDATE SINCE.
I expect the normal. She’s so cute, or doing great, or maybe I love her so much! Instead, a photo comes through. In the past few months, one of my biggest regrets was not taking a single photo of Beth. I’ve closed my eyes and imagined her, standing on the stairs, playing at the Adler, sitting in front of the piano in Paris, but I haven’t once seen her eyes, her hair, or her smile. And now, she casually sends me one of the most stunning photos I’ve ever seen. The only thing more beautiful than Beth playing piano is Beth with a tiny baby in her arms. I’ve never particularly thought about having a baby, but I want one now. With her. BEST PHOTO I’VE SEEN THIS MONTH.
ANY OTHER QUESTIONS?
So many. Too many. How much can I ask without scaring her away again? I wish I knew whether she was dati
ng someone. I finally text, ARE YOU HAPPY? Maybe she’ll mention a guy, or her romantic status.
I AM. ARE YOU?
After the most miserable months of my life, I’m fighting for what I want, and then Beth reaches out again, out of the blue. TODAY? I text, BETTER THAN EVER.
An overwhelming desire to hear her mellifluous voice grips me. If she’s texting, why not talk? Isn’t it easier? I can pick up clues from her tone, from her pauses. And I want to hear her voice again, desperately.
“Hello?”
She answered. My smile is so wide it nearly hurts my mouth. “Hello, how was your day?” Because mine was amazing. I want to tell her all about it, but I pace myself.
“I’ve had better.”
“Uh oh, what happened?” I think about the last time she had a truly lousy day. At least, the last one I knew about. “Your favorite European flat iron won’t work in America?”
Her giggle is the cutest sound I’ve ever heard. “I hope I would have gotten that problem resolved a long time ago.”
I lean back on my bed and close my eyes. I can almost imagine she’s here, next to me, in Liechtenstein instead of Atlanta. “I thought we were acting like we hadn’t missed any time at all.”
“No, we’re just pretending that we’ve been talking every day.”
“Ah. Well, now that I have my marching orders, why don’t you tell me what made today lousy.”
“It didn’t start out so bad. I met a friend for breakfast, and after he left, the waiter asked me to dinner.” A friend who is a guy, and a date.
Relief rolls over me that she doesn’t have a boyfriend, but I can’t quite leave the waiter and friend thing alone like I know I should. “Wow, two guys in one day. Impressive.”
“For the record, the breakfast was most definitely not a date. My friend is gay and has a very good-looking husband. Actually, I have no idea why his husband stays with him, because my friend is pretty much ridiculous—and high-strung—and sort of awful. Did I say he was my friend? I meant that we work together.”
