The sight of my cool, hard, weary eyes frightened me.
My fear had come true.
Those were my mom’s eyes looking back at me.
I fingered the hair at the nape of my neck, wondering if she’d recognize me now.
I remembered the morning I got it cut.
“What have you done?” Seonaid stared at me in shock.
I felt numb to her shock. To any shock. “I cut it.”
She rushed at me, touching a short strand. “You didn’t just cut it. You massacred it.”
It was true. My long hair was no longer. I’d asked the hair stylist to give me a pixie cut. “Are you annoyed I cut it, or annoyed because I didn’t have you cut it?”
“We both know I wouldn’t have done it.” Seonaid shook her head at me, tears filling her eyes. She cried all the time. Enough tears for the both of us. “He loved your hair.”
“Well, he’s not here anymore.”
“Nora …” Her face crumpled and suddenly I was in her arms.
I hugged her back, my arms as tight around her as they could be, and whispered soothing words as she sobbed, hard, shuddering, wracking sobs.
“We need to go,” I whispered finally. “We need to get Angie.”
Reluctantly, Seonaid stepped back, wiping the pools of mascara from the corners of her eyes. I stopped to stare in the full-length mirror that hung on the wall by the front door. Jim had put it there for me when we first moved in. Straightening my black dress, I looked at myself, feeling disconnected from the image in front of me. Who was that young woman in the widow weeds with hair so short it made her eyes too big? Too big and blank, like all the emotion had been leached out that morning in the supermarket. I recalled crumpling to my knees in Angie’s arms in the international foods aisle. I remembered crying so hard I thought I’d never be able to breathe again. My tears then seemed to have taken all my grief with them as they splashed onto my clothes, onto Angie’s shoulder.
Now I felt … nothing.
I blinked, coming out of the memory. My hair was still pixie short. But I was no longer numb.
The feelings that overwhelmed me some months after Jim’s funeral were too much. Whatever strength had kept me moving, kept me going, wrapped up in the steel of nothingness, dissipated over time. Until the feelings started to seep through the diminishing steeliness. I didn’t want to deal with them because I was afraid of who I’d be once processing them was over.
So, how did a young woman go on after the husband she was planning to divorce died suddenly of a brain aneurysm at the tender age of twenty-four?
I straightened my costume, grabbed my backpack, strode out into the coffeehouse, and stood in line to order an Americano to go, all the while the staff barely blinked at what I was wearing. After a few months of the same routine every week, the baristas were used to me.
Coffee to go, I strode out into the world, unsurprised when no one paid attention to me as I strolled down the street past the university buildings. This was why I loved this part of Edinburgh, and the city in general. People were used to everyone marching to the beat of their own drum, and barely took notice of anyone dressed out of the ordinary.
I cut across The Meadows, the park behind the university buildings where, on sunny days, you could find people having picnics, playing soccer and other sports, and kids laughing and playing in the play area. The sky was overcast today, but it didn’t matter—it was Festival month. The Edinburgh International Festival, or the Fringe, I’d come to learn, completely engulfed the city during August. Streets were crammed full of tourists, and billboards, walls, and storefronts were covered in leaflets for stand-up comedy shows for famous comedians and ambitious newcomers. There were plays, one-man shows, concerts, book festivals, art events, and film premieres from all over the world. Jim used to hate it. He hated how we couldn’t get a seat in our favorite pub or restaurant in the city center, or how you couldn’t walk a beat without tripping over tourists. The only thing he did like was the pop-up beer gardens that appeared everywhere.
But I liked the Fringe.
I liked the energy and the vibrancy, the smells, and the noise.
I liked how easy it was to disappear in the crowds.
And The Meadows set up with tents and crowded with people was a much easier sight for me than the one that greeted me weeks before. Students, everywhere. Sitting with their backs against trees with textbooks open around them. I’d always looked away quickly because the longing inside me was a betrayal. I had no right to the feeling.
Before long I’d arrived at the red brick, late-nineteenth-century building that housed the children’s hospital. I passed through the accident and emergency department, and took the stairs to the same floor I took the stairs to every week.
Seonaid’s friend, Trish, was a nurse supervisor and the only reason I was able to dress as Peter Pan and visit the kids here. After Jim died, after it became harder to deal with the mess of emotions left behind, all I could remember was the measure of peace I used to feel visiting the children’s hospital back in Indianapolis. The joy it brought those kids when I turned up to entertain them made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile. Although I’d written to Anne-Marie to explain my sudden absence, I’d never stopped feeling guilty about abandoning those children.
I’d tried to explain it to Seonaid and was met with resistance at first.
“No.” Seonaid shook her head stubbornly. “You won’t have time.”
“How so?”
“Because you’re going to apply for university.”
I didn’t want to talk about that. A block of ice settled in my stomach. “No. I’m not.”
Seonaid flinched at my tone. “Nora …”
“Do you think your friend, Trish, would talk to me about it? Let me visit the kids once in a while? A volunteer entertainer?”
She looked at me like she was half afraid I was losing my mind. “A children’s entertainer?”
“Yes.”
“And you used to do this back in the US?”
“Yes.”
“And Jim knew about it?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“What’s the big deal? And I’m mentioning it now, aren’t I?”
“The big deal is the timing, Nora,” Seonaid insisted. “It’s been ten months. Not a long time in the grand scheme of things … but you need to start moving on with life. Going after the things you’ve always wanted. Like an education.”
“This is what I want,” I said. “Are you going to help me out or not?”
Despite not understanding it, at all, Seonaid did put me in touch with Trish. And Trish, although surprised a twenty-two-year-old would be interested in being a children’s entertainer, gave me a shot, despite my lack of professional credentials.
I have to admit to being secretly pleased when she gushed about how brilliant she’d thought I’d been when I acted out chapters from the first Lemony Snicket book.
“Trish said you were amazing.” Seonaid looked at me suspiciously that night. “Like really bloody good. She’s surprised you’re not in an acting program.”
The praise settled deep in my bones, alighting an ages-old longing and ambition. I didn’t show how much the words affected me, though. “That was kind of her.”
Seonaid narrowed her eyes, studying me as if she were trying to uncover all my secrets. “I worry about you, Nora,” she whispered.
“Don’t.” I gave her a small smile. “I had the best time with the kids today. I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.”
“Good,” she murmured, but the concern in her eyes remained.
“Ye’er here,” Jan, the staff nurse, said as she approached me in the corridor en route to the children’s common room. As supervisor, Trish was usually busy on the days I visited, so Jan was the one who I dealt with mostly.
“As promised.”
Jan grinned at me. “I’ve never met a more dedicated volunteer.”
I wanted to smile but after my last visit, I was worried I’d be told not to come back. “And the parents are okay about me visiting?”
A parent had been here last week and had been, as was their right, full of questions about my business at the children’s hospital. She hadn’t been impressed to learn I wasn’t a professional children’s entertainer, but someone a member of staff knew. She insisted on sticking around to watch me, and I’d had to shove my nervousness aside, and pretend to be Peter Pan telling stories to kids who needed to stop growing older and sicker for a while.
“Mrs. Stewart thought ye were very good with the children,” Jan reassured me. “She was miffed she hadn’t been told about yer visits, which is fair enough. I thought all the parents had been made aware of ye, but she must have slipped through. Anyway, she’s happy to let Aaron continue to participate in yer visits.”
Relieved, I exhaled. “Good. I love my time with the kids.”
Jan shook her head at me, grinning. “Ye either have the biggest heart of any young woman I’ve ever met, or ye’er hiding from something when ye come here.”
I sucked back my next exhale like she’d slapped me.
Rubbing my arm in comfort, she said, “I think it’s a bit of both. And no matter … the results are the same. Ye’er doing a good thing.”
My tension melted as I realized she wasn’t going to press me about my reasons, but led me toward the common room and announced me to the kids.
Poppy, a little girl who had kidney disease and was treated with four-hour dialysis three mornings a week, beamed at me. “Nora.” She gave me a tired smile, and I grinned, peace moving through me rapidly, my whole body relaxing. The day I visited was a dialysis day for Poppy and despite how exhausted she was after treatment, she’d insisted to her mom that she be allowed to stay and listen to my readings. Jan always set her up in a big comfy chair with a lap blanket, and her concerned mother collected her at the end of my visits. Although Poppy’s mother was concerned about leaving her kid after treatment, and rightly so, she understood that her little girl needed to feel like there was more to life than her kidney disease.
And some American chick dressed as Peter Pan, acting out stories, took her away from that for a little while.
Why the Peter Pan costume, you ask?
“What the hell have ye done?” Roddy said as I approached him in the church at Jim’s funeral.
“What?”
“Yer hair?” He glowered at it.
“I cut it.”
“Aye, ye dinnae say. Ye look like fuckin’ Peter Pan.”
“She looks bonny.” Angie gave me a kiss on the cheek, her eyes welling up, her lips trembling. “She’d look like an angel no matter how she wore her hair. Jim would think so too.”
“Jim would lose his heid.” Roddy grunted. “He loved yer fuckin’ hair.”
That’s why I cut it off. “I felt like a change.”
“Peter fuckin’ Pan,” Roddy grumbled as we shuffled into the front pew together.
It made sense to me, not only because of the hair, but because of everything the boy who couldn’t grow up represented.
I smiled, taking in the room. Seven kids today, all of whom I recognized from last week. “Hey, guys,” I marched into the room with a swagger a la Peter Pan. “You ready to go on another adventure?”
“Uh … Peter?” Jan said, sounding amused.
I looked over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
Jan approached me and spoke in low tones. “There’s someone else who wants to visit with ye today. Would ye mind? Her name is Sylvie. Her mum, Nicky, was a nurse here and Sylvie got used to being around us. Nicky passed away not too long ago. She lives with her uncle but her dad sees her when he can. She was supposed to be with her dad today but he had a work emergency and Sylvie asked to be dropped off here. It’s becoming a regular occurrence. We don’t mind. It’s the wee lass we feel for.”
It sounded like a terribly sad situation. I understood those. “It’s definitely no problem.”
She disappeared to fetch Sylvie and I grinned at the room, my fists on my hips, my feet braced apart. “Are you all ready?”
“What are ye reading today?” Aaron quizzed from his place on the couch. He was holding an iPad in his hand, but his attention was on me.
“Oh, I’m taking you on the best adventure today. Just you wait.”
After talking to the kids for a minute or so, one of the double doors opened and Jan walked in with her hand on the shoulder of a tall, pretty girl. She wore her white-blond hair short, so the ends tickled under her chin.
My breath lodged in my throat.
Jesus Christ.
She looked like Mel.
“Nora—I mean, Peter, this is Syl—
“Sylvie Lennox.” The girl stepped out from under Jan’s hand. “I’m ten and I stay with my uncle Aidan in Fountainbridge. We stay right on the canal there.”
All I could do was stare, not just because she reminded me so much of Mel, but because she was so much younger than I’d first thought. Ten years old. And yet, there was an otherworldliness about her. Experience. Losing her mom.
“Hey Sylvie. I’m Peter Pan.”
“No, you’re not,” she said quite seriously as she walked over to me. She slowly lowered herself to the ground and crossed her legs. “Jan called you Nora. And you look more like a Nora than a Peter. Plus … Peter Pan is fictional. And a boy.”
Enchanted by her and her cultured Scottish accent, I lowered myself to my haunches and grinned. I whispered, “Why not pretend? Everyone else here prefers Peter to plain old Nora.”
Sylvie appeared to give this serious consideration. And then she nodded. “Okay. But I want to know Nora too.”
A lightness danced across my chest, chipping away at the layers of aching weight. “You got it.”
I stood up and faced the rest of the group who waited patiently for me to begin. “Last night, I went on the greatest adventure. I traveled all the way from Neverland to this magical place called Indiana. There I met a girl called Melanie and she took me on a really cool journey filled with heroes and villains.” I pulled out a book from my bag and showed it to them. “Now I’m going to take you on the same voyage.”
“So … did you fly back to Neverland this morning? And then fly back again?” Poppy squinted at me in confusion.
“I did.”
“But … how is it possible?” Aaron, a ten-year-old recovering from leukemia said, suspicious.
Sylvie piped up, “Because time stops in Neverland.”
“Exactly right, Sylvie. Remember, guys, I told you that in Neverland, dreams are born and time is never planned.”
“I wish we lived in Neverland,” one of the youngest kids, Kirsty, said.
“How do you get to Neverland?” Poppy asked.
“You have to fly there,” Sylvie said. “With pixie dust.”
I grinned down at Sylvie. Someone had clearly read Peter Pan or at least seen the movie. “Exactly.”
“But how do you get there? Where is it?”
“Up there. In the sky.” I pointed upward. “Second star to the right and straight on till morning.”
“Okay, we get it. Nora, just tell us what adventure Melanie took ye on?” Aaron asked, shuffling forward on the couch to peer at my book.
I laughed at Aaron’s reluctance to play along but gave him what he wanted. I opened Roald Dahl’s Matilda and gave them my cheekiest smile. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
We were halfway through chapter three when Sylvie’s hand shot straight up.
I stopped reading and mock scowled at her. “Not enjoying the adventure?”
“Yes,” Sylvie said, nodding vehemently. “But I wondered … can I be Miss Trunchbull?”
In the few months I’d been visiting the hospital, not one of the other kids had asked to read with me. Something stirred inside me. Affection. Immediate affection that made no logical sense. But I felt it as I gazed down at this girl, stunned by the feeling.
“Of course.” I held out my hand and Sylvie grinned at me, taking it, allowing me to pull her to her feet.
From there we began reading together, and I had to try to stifle my delighted laughter at Sylvie’s brilliant and dastardly Miss Trunchbull. She had all the kids laughing at her horrible villain, and my time with them flew faster than ever before.
Jan came in to let me know time was up, and the kids groaned, pleading for me to stay.
“Peter Pan has to get back to Neverland. If he stays away too long, Tinkerbell misses him,” Jan said, coming into the room to take Sylvie’s hand. “Time to wait on your dad, sweetheart.”
“Wait.” Sylvie tugged on her hand and hurried over to me as I packed my book into my bag. She leaned over to ask, “Will you sit with me while I wait for my dad?”
“Now?” I looked over at Jan who nodded. “Sure.”
“Great!”
After I said goodbye to the other kids, I followed Jan and Sylvie back to the nurses’ station. “I’m going to change first.”
Sylvie looked up at me like a little adult. “Okay. I’ll wait right here.” She gestured to two waiting room seats backed up against the wall.
Curious over the little girl who reminded me so much of Mel, I hurried to change into my jeans and shirt, and returned to her.
Her whole face lit up at the sight of me. “Nora.”
I smiled because you would’ve thought she hadn’t seen me in weeks. “Hey, you.”
“Where are you from?” Sylvie asked quite abruptly.
“I’m from America. Do you know where that is?”
“I’ve been.” Sylvie sat up taller, expression brightening. “Uncle Aidan took me and Mum to Disneyworld a few years ago. Is that where you’re from?”
“No. I’m from the Midwest. Indiana.”
“Like in your story about the girl? Melanie?”
“Yeah. Did you enjoy today? You seemed to know an awful lot about Peter Pan.”
“My mum read it to me. It was her favorite book. Uncle Aidan still reads it to me from time to time.” She looked at me with those serious eyes. “She died. Last year.”
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