by Becky Wade
Sixteen
John was in a black mood.
When he’d arrived home from the party earlier, he’d whipped off his tie and jacket, then yanked free the first two buttons on his shirt. He’d stared into his refrigerator, fuming, until he’d finally remembered that he wasn’t hungry. Then he’d gone into his living room and turned on a Netflix series he’d been watching about two government agents. The show offered action, gun fights, and explosions.
This is television, he wanted to tell Nora. Slow-moving shows set long ago in Europe weren’t entertaining. The actors looked like they were dressed for Halloween, and all they did was talk. Between their accents and their old-fashioned language, he had a hard time understanding what they were saying. He also had a hard time caring.
Even though his perfectly good show was on and a perfectly good interrogation scene was happening, John couldn’t concentrate. He slid lower into his sofa and bent his elbow over his eyes.
An actor from Northamptonshire had come from England to be with Nora. And even though the show and the actor meant nothing to him, they obviously meant a lot to her.
Duncan plays the role of my favorite character. Nora’s cheeks had been pink, and she’d been breathless when she’d introduced him. Duncan had stood next to her looking full of himself, and John had wanted to punch him in his English face.
Women all across America were in love with actors. It was what bankrolled the careers of Hollywood’s leading men. What were the chances, though, that an actor would travel to see a female fan?
One in a thousand? A million? Yet he’d just watched it happen.
It sounded like Nora had been communicating with Duncan for years, like they messaged each other all the time. Duncan had even said that Nora talked to him about the Navy SEAL. The two of them had been talking to each other about him. What had Nora told Duncan? And if she’d told Duncan about him, why hadn’t she told him about Duncan?
There was no doubt that Duncan had a thing for Nora and that the two of them were perfect for each other. Duncan was probably the type of man who’d enjoy making antique recipes and visiting museums.
Duncan was also the type of man who’d get to keep his eyesight.
Maybe Duncan’s arrival was God’s way of telling John to back off Nora. The timing, Duncan showing up when he had, made it look like that was exactly what God was saying.
However, John was in pretty close communication with God, and he didn’t sense God leading him to back off. The idea of letting Duncan have Nora affected him like a hand gripping his throat.
He prowled from the sofa and stalked into the cold night air of his deck.
He’d waited to break up with Allie. Then, after he’d broken up with her, he’d waited again because he hadn’t wanted to rush. If he’d called Nora the day after breaking up with Allie, it would have been disrespectful to both women, and it wouldn’t have reflected well on the seriousness of his intentions toward Nora. He’d also waited because he’d been torn. He’d needed time to come to grips with the fact that he’d be asking Nora to date a man who was losing his sight. He’d wrestled with that. Was still wrestling with it.
In the end it didn’t matter why he’d waited. Regardless of his reasons, he’d waited too long.
What was he going to do?
If Nora felt about him the way that he felt about her, then a visit from a British celebrity would make no difference. He could hold his silence and wait until Duncan left.
Only he’d never told her how he felt about her, nor explained his condition. Surely . . . surely she knew how he felt. Surely she’d been able to tell tonight how he felt.
But maybe not.
What was certain: Over the next few days, Nora would have to make decisions about Duncan and him without the benefit of complete information. His time in the Navy had taught him that disasters happened when people made decisions based on incomplete information.
Could he stand to wait and risk her choosing Duncan?
Could he step back and let Duncan have her? Was that what a truly unselfish man would do?
Could his pride stand it if he went to Nora and told her outright about his blindness and his feelings for her?
John had no answers.
The powerlessness and bitterness he’d been pushing down for months concerning his blindness gathered into a black hole of jealousy.
He’d waited too long.
“We haven’t seen your sister since we parked,” Duncan said to Nora. “Are you worried?”
“Not at all.” Nora’s breath came in puffs. They’d been hiking for well over an hour in the national forest. “If Britt can be believed and this alleged Wagonwheel Lake really is somewhere ahead of us, then she’ll be waiting there. We’ll probably find her wrangling dolphins.”
Britt had gotten them going on the correct path, then left them in the dust kicked up by her hiking boots. Though they all carried a portion of their picnic lunch in three separate backpacks, Nora knew that Britt had given herself the heaviest one. It hadn’t slowed her down.
“How about we stop and take a breather?” Nora suggested.
“Yes, please.”
“Just because Britt’s a specimen of adventurousness and athleticism doesn’t mean we have to be.”
“Hear, hear.”
They sat on a log that had fallen parallel to the path. She handed him a bottled water, unscrewed the cap on her own, and listened as he continued to fill her in on the behind-the-scenes politics of Northamptonshire.
They’d been following a twisting path over tree roots and occasional trickles of water. It was so green here at the forest’s base that it seemed almost otherworldly, more suited to fairies than humans. A haze the color of emerald tinged everything. Springy ferns blanketed the ground. Algae, moss, and lichen crept up tree trunks and fell from the branches like cobwebs. In the distance, Nora could hear the tumble of a river, a sound that only underscored the quiet of their bower of nature.
“On movie sets the writers are far down the chain of command,” Duncan was saying. “But on television sets, the writers are king. Try as I might, I just haven’t been able to get myself into the good graces of Hugh Mackinsby.”
“I don’t know about that. Your part is delicious.”
“My part is small. I wish you could have been there during my meetings with the team when the series was in pre-production. There was such enthusiasm for Adolphus and his storyline. Such enthusiasm for me in the role. It was all optimism and great expectations.”
“Do you think part of that was tied to the team’s optimism and expectations for the show as a whole?”
He appeared to mull her question over.
“The show is outstanding,” she stated. “It must be difficult for everyone involved to put out something so outstanding and not be immediately met with commercial success. Whatever amount of frustration you or the producers or the directors are experiencing, I share, because the show should be a runaway hit. It’s that good. That deserving.”
“I agree with you, of course. I’ve blown a gasket plenty of times over the status of the show. Ultimately I’ve had to make peace with the fact that no one actor can control the fate of an entire show. Not even me. I’ve given my role my level best. You know I have.”
“I know you have, and it absolutely shows. You were nominated for an award by the British Academy of Film and Television, don’t forget.”
“That was two years ago, and I didn’t win. Little good the nomination did me with Hugh, because he’s yet to lift Adolphus up and bring him to the fore.”
No one besides Duncan wanted additional screen time for Adolphus more than she did. However, Nora’s sensible side wouldn’t let her forget that Adolphus had been a secondary character from the start. Duncan had the exact same size role now that Hugh had allotted him in episode one, season one. It wasn’t as if Duncan had been promised the moon and given a one-pound bag of moon dust. It was more that he’d been given a one-pound bag of moon dust, been thrilled with it at fi
rst, but grown disillusioned with it over time.
“It’s difficult to be filled with hope when you accept a role,” Duncan said, “and then to feel unappreciated as time goes by.”
“You’re not unappreciated by the Devotees.”
He smiled at her gratefully. “You and that group have kept me going, Nora.”
“You can count on us to continue supporting you.”
Until now she’d only ever seen Duncan through the lens of a camera. It dazzled her to look at him without a filter. He wore an Adidas track suit with pant legs so slim-fitting they tapered inward over his calves. He’d double-knotted the laces on his pair of Pumas. The getup read as European, yet not at all Adolphus-like. Adolphus wore muslin shirts, cravats, cutaway coats, breeches, boots.
All morning long she’d been startled by the contrasts between Duncan and Adolphus. It was ridiculous! Adolphus was the fictional creation of Hugh Mackinsby. Duncan was the person who brought Adolphus to life.
She’d had an online friendship with Duncan. Yet, in many ways, Adolphus was the man she knew inside and out, the man she loved.
Adolphus was a genius. He spoke with such speed and complexity that Nora often had to rewind and re-listen to his dialogue just to make sure she’d deciphered it correctly. She’d memorized some of his witticisms, and she and her fellow Devotees quoted them to one another.
Adolphus was brooding.
Adolphus was tortured by the tragic death of his mother during his boyhood and the abuse and neglect he’d endured in the aftermath.
Adolphus was quiet.
Duncan did not speak with great speed and complexity. Honestly, it wasn’t humanly possible for anyone to speak off the top of their head the way Adolphus did. Not only could neither Duncan nor Nora aspire to Adolphus’s level, but neither of them were even as witty in actual conversation as they were with one another online.
Duncan was not brooding. Quite the contrary. He was easy with people. Personable. Energetic, even.
Duncan wasn’t tortured. He was the adored only son of a journalist mother and professor father. He’d been raised comfortably and with every advantage and opportunity.
Duncan was not quiet. In fact, the two of them had been talking without a moment’s pause. She’d put in hours of conversation already today. Hours.
Duncan enjoyed verbally dissecting a subject down to the tiniest detail. Just when it seemed everything had been said that could be said, he’d pose a different way of looking at the subject, then consider it still more.
An overabundance of conversation was far preferable to having nothing to say. At the same time, Nora was accustomed to communicating with Duncan in snappy, bite-sized pieces. When their hike was over and they returned to Merryweather, she’d need a vacation of silence and a book in order to recover from all the talking.
John had said far less during their entire trip to Oregon than Duncan had said so far today.
John. The thought of him caused a pang deep in her chest. She’d heard nothing from him since last night. She’d gone over and back over how she’d reacted to Duncan’s arrival at the party and John’s subsequent departure from it.
She wished she hadn’t called Duncan a celebrity. Also, it hadn’t been necessary to say that he played the role of her favorite character. Other than those two regrets, she didn’t see—short of shoving Duncan into the basement and hiding him—how she could have done things much differently. She’d had to bring him forward. Once she had, she’d asked John point-blank to stay and have cake with her. He was the one who’d refused.
Even so. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d let John down. The way they’d left things last night had been hovering over her like a storm cloud.
“My contract is up after this season.” Duncan nudged a pebble with the toe of his sneaker. “I may not renew. Let Mackinsby write me off. Then we’ll see how he likes the great backlash he’ll receive from fans.”
If the Earl of Cumberly or Craddock were written off Northamptonshire, there would be as great a backlash as fans of a modest show could muster. Nora and the other women on Team Adolphus were a small minority. Backlash from them would be akin to a ripple in a pond.
“I’ll die if Adolphus leaves the show,” Nora said.
“You will?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes. Adolphus is a fantastic character, and you do an outstanding job playing him.”
“There are several talented actors in the cast.”
He was fishing for more compliments. She suspected that he didn’t regard any of the other actors on the show to be as talented as he was. “Yes, several. But none who are as talented as you.” The words made her feel a bit like the mirror in Snow White.
“Do you really think so?” he asked.
Must she tell him a million times? A billion? “Yes, I really think so.” Surely other actors, secure actors, didn’t require this much praise. Nor would secure actors probably have encouraged an actor/fan relationship like theirs in the first place.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re adored by many, Duncan. Many. And there must be hundreds of actors who would covet your job.”
“Thank you.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “It’s really good to talk to you, Nora. You get me. You understand. I think I just really needed this. To see you. To clear my head.”
“Of course.” Which did he need precisely? To see her? Or to clear his head? She’d known for some time that he relied on her support. She was a steady friend, an enthusiastic fan, a willing PR volunteer—all positions that his grandmother could just as easily fill. Did he feel differently toward her than he did his grandmother?
He broke the contact of their hands and passed over his half-finished water bottle. She dutifully zipped it into her backpack.
“Shall we forge on?” he asked.
“Let me get a picture of us first.” This was the fifth picture of the two of them she’d taken. She was almost faint with desire to post one of the photos to the Devotees of Adolphus Brook group with a blithe status update along the lines of Look who came to see me!
Oh, the gloating. Oh, how she selfishly wanted to broadcast the message that, of all the Devotees, she was most special to their revered Duncan. The woman who’d been left by her fiancé for someone better was Duncan’s favorite.
Nora typically uploaded share-worthy photos to social media within thirty seconds of having taken them. So far, though, she hadn’t posted a single picture of herself with Duncan. She’d hesitated because she knew that a photo of the two of them together would give the Devotees a reason to resent her. She and the other members of the group had always enjoyed their like-minded and fruitless adoration of Duncan. A picture with Duncan would separate her out like a sheep that the herd pretended to be happy for but no longer liked.
She hadn’t decided not to share pictures of her with Duncan. How could she not share them?! For the moment, she’d simply decided to wait and think longer about the pros and cons.
Nora extended her arm for a selfie and centered their images on the screen. Duncan adjusted the angle of his face and served up the bemused arch of his lips that she’d seen him serve up in dozens of photographs over the years. It was his patented smile. It was quite possibly the very same smile he gave his grandmother.
By the final night of Duncan’s visit, Nora was ready to take a vow of silence. She’d gone to the Library on the Green early the past two mornings, crammed as much work as possible into a few hours, then spent the rest of her time with Duncan.
She’d driven him into the city, and they’d visited the Chihuly Garden and Glass exhibit at the Seattle Center, picked up coffees at the first-ever Starbucks, and walked up and down the aisles of Pike’s Place famous seaside market. During every minute of their time together, they’d talked.
Talky, talkety, talk talk talk.
A dull fog had overtaken Nora’s brain around noon today and steadily worsened. It was now seven forty-five in the evening, and she’d deposit
ed Duncan at the house five minutes ago. Then she’d stolen away to her dad’s hammock tucked into the woods near Bradfordwood’s back terrace.
Her entire body felt drained dry. Sore eyes. Pesky headache. Heavy limbs.
She relaxed into the hammock, sinking into the blessed quiet the way she’d sink into a warm tub full of gleaming bubbles. She was desperate for cinnamon toast and tea chased by a Tylenol. For her pajamas. For time spent burrowed under the covers with her novel. She’d head home and see to all of that. Just as soon as she could muster the energy.
Her phone binged. If Duncan had sent her a text, she might have to hurl her phone into the canal.
But it wasn’t Duncan who’d sent the text.
Is it all right with you if I stop by tonight? John asked.
Her pulse kicked, then sped. This was the first she’d heard from him since Grandma’s party. She’d been at war with herself over whether or not to reach out to him. She’d decided that if he hadn’t contacted her by the time Duncan left tomorrow, then she’d contact him. Now this. Word from him. Praise God.
Of course! she typed. I haven’t forgotten about the talk we didn’t get a chance to have the other night.
I haven’t forgotten either.
I live at 12 Blackberry Lane, Merryweather. What time?
Thirty minutes?
Perfect.
Suddenly she didn’t feel especially drained. Nor terribly interested in following through on the vow of silence thing. She slid behind the wheel of her car and checked her reflection in her visor mirror. It had rained today, so even though she’d blown her hair dry this morning the way Javier had instructed, the style now looked mussed. Her makeup wasn’t bad, just mostly gone. Her pale pink skinny jeans, new Tretorn sneakers, and white cotton top were decent. These days, she only had decent outfits thanks to Willow. She finger-combed her hair, applied lip gloss, and started home.
The sky darkened into a deeper and deeper shade of ebony as she drove. What did John want to talk to her about, exactly? Dating her? Please please please. Could he be . . . returning to the Navy? Moving away? Did he need to confess a secret about his book or movie? Was there something about Allie they needed to discuss? Had he fallen in love with someone else entirely—not her and not Allie? Her experience with The Dreaded Harrison assured her that such a thing was possible. Was something the matter with one of John’s family members? Or maybe he wanted to talk to her about hiring her to do more research. Into his parents’ ancestry, perhaps?
