Joy raised her glass, which contained just a few sips of wine, in deference to the baby. Her eyes were bright. “I hope that wherever Mom is, she can see our happiness and take part in it,” she said.
“I’d like to toast my new father,” said Tanner, lifting his glass as well. “For raising the woman I love, and doing such an awesome job.”
Steven cleared his throat loudly, perhaps to cover a catch in his voice. “I believe the wine’s making me a little sentimental,” he said. “Not to mention sleepy. I think I’ll head off to bed… and I’m sure I’ll drop off so quickly that I won’t even notice if my daughter should happen to spend the night in the basement.”
Joy hid her face in Tan’s shoulder and smothered a giggle. The wine had made them all a little giddy—if it was the wine.
That night Tanner went to sleep with Joy in his arms. And when he woke in the night, heart thudding in his chest, from dark dreams of the succubus reaching out for him with implacable fingers, his fear ebbed away in the warmth of his bride-to-be where she lay curled into his body. Lightly, so as not to wake her, he touched his lips to her cheek and rested his palm against the roundness where their unborn child slept. And he fell asleep again, safe and content.
Chapter 17
Maddie knew she’d put off apologizing again to William for too long. After the slap in the face of “She Says Yes,” she’d told herself that he wasn’t in a receptive place yet. But now that Tasha had opened her eyes to just how much she must have messed him up, she knew she needed to scrounge up the courage to talk to him again and try to make things right.
The next afternoon, she tracked him down in the music building’s auditorium, where he was doing homework in the audience section while Sheila and two other senior dancers rehearsed a number. He looked up from his work as Maddie took the seat beside him. “Oh, hey,” he said, politely but without warmth. “What’s up?”
That empty politeness was what did her in. She forgot all her carefully rehearsed eloquence.
“William, I’m sorry,” she blurted.
His eyes behind his hip new glasses showed only confusion. “For what?”
That was even worse. She was going to have to remind him.
“For—you know. When I… when we…”
“Oh.” He got it.
“I never meant to hurt you,” she rushed on. “And I’m sorry I got so defensive afterward. So I just wanted to say again how sorry I am, and—and that I miss you. I miss being friends. And, um, I was hoping that maybe you can forgive me, so maybe at some point we can, you know, be friends again.”
“Well, of course,” he said, sounding mildly surprised. “We’re friends. Always have been.”
Was he deliberately making this harder? Maybe he was still bitter, and this was a passive-aggressive way of getting back at her. But she needed to get through this.
“You were right about a lot of things that I didn’t want to admit,” she said. “And I shouldn’t have said it didn’t mean anything.”
He sat back and fixed her with a challenging stare. “So what did it mean?”
Taken by surprise, she floundered. “Well, that I trust you, I guess. And that when I was feeling really low, you’re the person I knew I could turn to.”
He turned that over for a minute before saying lightly: “Nah, I’m not buying that. If it had been Jeremiah or Blake or anyone else it would have been the same. Not that I think Blake would have been as accommodating as I was.”
That stung. “You weren’t some kind of security blanket, if that’s what you mean. I wouldn’t have reached out to just anyone the way I did to you.”
“Actually, I kinda think you would have.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but the words still pierced. “That’s what hurt, you know: when I figured out it wasn’t really me you wanted, just a warm body. After being in love with you for so long—”
So Tasha had been right. She had hoped that maybe she was wrong, that Maddie hadn’t unwittingly picked on the one guy who was most vulnerable, but it looked like she wasn’t going to be spared that guilt.
He seemed to mistake her expression for surprise.
“Yeah, I never told you, but I had a major crush on you. So when it seemed like you might like me too, I got my hopes up. It was a communication fail, that’s all.” He spoke of it so casually, as if… as if it didn’t matter. Which evidently it no longer did.
“I wish I’d known,” she said through the tightness in her throat.
He shrugged. “No harm, no foul. We’ve both moved on, just like you wanted.”
This was so completely not what she wanted that she couldn’t think of anything to say.
Up on the stage, the dancers were dispersing; rehearsal was over. Sheila came to the edge of the stage and waved. William returned the wave and began stuffing his books into his backpack.
Maddie was still unable to speak. William seemed to take pity on her.
“I guess that came out kind of harsh. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. And I was kind of a jerk, especially writing that song. Let’s just forget the whole thing, okay? Water under the metaphor of your choice.”
She managed to nod.
He reached out to give her shoulder a little squeeze as he stood. “I’m glad we talked,” he said cheerfully. “It’s good to clear the air. I’ve got to run now, I’m meeting Sheila. See you at dinner?” Without waiting for an answer, he strode off. She heard him whistling as he walked away.
Even if he hadn’t been so obviously happy with Sheila, she knew he was over her. He wouldn’t have told her about his crush if it hadn’t been completely over. And touching her shoulder like that—that kind of casual physical contact had never existed between them before. The true kiss of death: Maddie had now become just one of the guys.
She couldn’t dwell on it right now, though. Maybe it was a good thing that she had to get to rehearsal. She tried to focus her thoughts on Shakespeare as she made her way to the theater. That was much safer than dwelling on William.
As an assignment for Mr. Dudley’s class, she and Clark were rehearsing a scene between Helena and Parolles in Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well. Today the teacher was sitting in to offer guidance, and he and Clark were waiting for her in the theater when she arrived.
Maddie started things off with Helena’s monologue about Bertram, the man she loved who was out of her reach. Today the words struck home in a way they never had before.
“My imagination / Carries in’t no favor but Bertram’s,” she recited.
“I am undone. There is no living, none,
If William be away.”
Her voice was shaking. She took a deep breath and tried to steady it.
“’Twere all one
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me.”
And he is, she thought, he really is above me, and she heard her voice wobble dangerously.
This wasn’t good. Get a grip, Maddie. She cleared her throat and picked up with the next line. “In his bright radiance and collateral light…”
It was a cruel coincidence that the speech went on to describe Helena’s longing for the unattainable Bertram, how she couldn’t take her eyes off him even though it tormented her to be near him. With grim concentration Maddie was able to hang on almost until the end. But then she came to the line “But now he’s gone,” and her voice cracked on the last word.
She squeezed her eyes shut and took a long shuddering breath. There was silence in the theater. Finally she repeated, “But now he’s gone.” She could only force out a whisper. “And my idolatrous fancy / Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here?”
It was Clark’s cue to enter, but when she looked up she saw that he was just standing there staring at her, his script dangling disregarded from one hand. She looked over at Mr. Dudley, who was leaning forward in his seat, hands clasped under his chin. She realized her face was wet with tears.
Mr. Dudley said, “Wow, Ma
ddie. That was really something. Are you all right?”
She nodded and turned on a bright smile. “Sure. I’m fine.”
“Do you need to take a break? No? Well, that was really impressive. I don’t know that I would have gone in that direction, but you really sold it.”
“Thanks, it really felt right.” God, she was such a liar. “Was the crying too much?”
“Not at all, it was really powerful. Just watch that you don’t wander off script when you work up to that pitch of emotion.”
“What did I get wrong?” She shook her hair back from her face, starting to relax. Maybe she hadn’t given herself away.
Clark chimed in then. “The name of the guy you’re in love with,” he said. “It’s Bertram, remember?”
“Right, what did I say?” But she knew before he told her.
“William.”
She produced a light laugh. “I guess I was thinking of Shakespeare,” she said. “I’ll be more focused next time.”
Clark just regarded her with that searchlight gaze that she knew meant trouble. “Riiight,” he drawled. “Shakespeare. Sure.”
Sometimes he could really be a brat.
“I think I’d like that break after all,” she said to Mr. Dudley. “Mind if I—?”
“Sure, get some air. Take ten.”
Once outside the stage door she breathed in the chilly air gratefully and let it out in a sigh. Then jumped when a rich baritone voice said, “Fancy meeting you here.”
Blake was leaning against the wall, smoking. Waiting for Clark, probably. She thought for a second about ducking back inside, but the cigarette decided her. “D’you have an extra I can bum off you?”
“Sure. You look like you need it.”
“God, yes. Thanks.” She lit her cigarette from his and took a deep drag, closing her eyes as she leaned against the wall next to him. Technically, smoking was prohibited on campus, but a lot of students—and some teachers—could often be found huddling outside furtively puffing at any hour of the day.
“I thought you quit,” said Blake presently. He was keeping his tone impersonal, and she felt a pang of remorse because she knew why. He was remembering their last one-on-one conversation, which had consisted of a lot of yelling on her part. She’d made a pretty big scene when he broke up with her because he’d realized that he was gay.
“Every time a relationship goes south I pick it back up,” she said. “There should be some kind of breakup first-aid kit, with cigarettes next to the vodka and Kleenex.”
He almost smiled at that. “Throw in chocolate and an Adele CD, and I think you’ve found the invention that’ll make your first million.”
She expelled a long stream of smoke. “Speaking of breakups, I owe you an apology. I said some things…” Ugh, she didn’t want to think about what she’d said. “I took some things personally that I shouldn’t have,” she amended. “I’m sorry about that.”
He looked at her searchingly as he flicked ash from his cigarette. “You twelve-stepping or something?”
“Nah, I’ve just had too much time on my hands lately, so I’ve been doing some navel-gazing. Thinking about things I wish I’d done differently.”
“I hear that.” He ground out his cigarette under the heel of his boot. “I’ve felt bad about the way we left things too. You know I didn’t mean to lead you on, right, Mads? I just hadn’t figured out who I was yet.”
“I get that now. It’s just, at the time, it felt like I’d been a kind of lab rat. For what it’s worth, I think you and Clark are really good together.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I think so too.” Then, in a different voice, “So, this relationship that’s gone downhill—would this be William again?”
There was no point in trying to deny it; he’d been present for that first disastrous attempt at putting things right. “Not so much ‘again’ as ‘still,’” she said as the stage door opened and Clark emerged. “I—I screwed up, Blake.”
“Screwed who?” inquired Clark. “Oh, screwed up. Gotcha.”
“Bitch.”
“Now honey, you know I love you.”
“If you do, you’re the only one,” she said. Then her face crumpled, and Clark put his arm around her as she fought off another attack of crying. She sensed rather than saw the two of them exchange a worried glance.
“Take it easy, sugar,” said Clark, and Blake asked, “Do you want me to talk to William?”
“No!” She pulled away and groped in her pocket for a tissue. “He’s happy now, he’s with Sheila. I don’t want to mess that up for him on top of everything else.” She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “I’ve just got to figure out how to move on, I guess.”
“So it is William you’re pining for,” Clark mused. “Blake told me about you two falling out in the AC rehearsal that day, but I didn’t know how bad it was until you had your Oscar-grab moment in there.”
“Blake, please tell me you haven’t told anyone but Clark,” Maddie begged.
“Of course he hasn’t,” said Clark, before he could answer. “My shell-like ear is the only receptacle Blake pours his secrets into.”
“You have such a gift for making everything sound dirty,” said Blake, amused, slipping an arm around Clark’s waist.
“It’s the secret of my charm. Now, Maddie, what you should do is get back on the horse. How about that stallion in trig, Jason? He’s been checking you out.” She shook her head. “Not even a quick little gallop?” he coaxed. “Some time in the saddle may be just what you need.”
“That horse is dead, you can stop beating it. No, I don’t feel like going out with anyone, and it never works out anyway. Maybe I should take a vow of celibacy or something.”
“Spoken like a true Shakespearean heroine,” said Clark approvingly. “An Oscar and a Tony, I’m thinking. Now come on, hon, you need some comfort carbs. Mr. Dudley says he’s done with us for today, so it’s Belgian waffle time.”
She let them lead her off to the dining hall for empty calories and their recap of the latest episode of their favorite reality show. She tried, she really did, to let them take her mind off William.
But starting that night, and continuing over Thanksgiving break, she began having a recurring dream.
She was back in the underground passage leading from the library to the theater building, where Mr. Dudley had taken them during the storm. But this time she was alone. The bare lightbulbs overhead cast a sickly light on the crumbling brick walls and left patches of shadow where anything could have been hiding. Maddie was hurrying through the passage, one hand on the wall to guide her steps where the light did not show her way. She didn’t know what she was hurrying toward, only that something terribly important depended on her.
When she reached the big set storage room, she felt compelled to search every single aisle between the racks of old junk. Every time she came to the end of a row and turned, she felt a surge of dread at what she might see when she rounded the corner. Whatever it was that she needed to find, she was frightened of finding it.
Finally she came to the last aisle before the big open area at the back of the chamber. On the wall she could see a moving shadow of whatever was back there, and it made her heart thump with unease. Strange sounds reached her ears. She summoned up her courage, and rounded the corner.
And woke up.
The feeling of dread was still with her when she woke. It made no sense. She didn’t want to think about that weird hallucination she’d had, thinking she saw Sheila in the underground chamber. That had been unsettling, but nothing to be scared of—or at least, nothing scarier than the prospect of spending more time with Sheila. Maddie decided that she had had some kind of intuitive sense that Sheila was going to intrude on her circle of friends, and that had made her misread some optical illusion as her least favorite person on campus.
So why was the dream so frightening? Sheila didn’t frighten her. Annoy, exasperate, enrage even, but nothing else.
“Cowgirl up, Mads,�
�� she told herself. “You need to look this thing in the face. Its pasty, nose-jobbed face.”
The first day that she was back on campus after the break, she added a new item to her bookbag: a heavy Maglite flashlight. When Mr. Dudley’s class ended, she headed to the theater.
Fortunately nobody was using the stage right now, and there was no one around to see her as she raised the trap door at center stage. She turned on the flashlight and shone it into the small chamber below. Then she descended the ladder.
Halfway down, she was able to reach the switch to turn on the lights. The place was dreary, but not frightening. The light bulbs overhead provided plenty of light to show her way. What few shadows there were didn’t move mysteriously of their own accord. Maybe her sense of the dramatic had gotten the better of her. “Way to overreact, drama queen,” she muttered, but she felt so relieved that her step was almost jaunty as she walked along the passage, sending the beam of her light into the scraps of shadow, finding nothing more alarming than an occasional spider and a discarded soda can.
When she neared the storeroom she made certain not to let her pace slow. In her nightmares she might be a cowering ninny, but not in real life. She strode down the room, turning her flashlight beam into each aisle as she passed it, but saw nothing amiss. She had started to hum as she cleared the last of the shelves and walked into the open space beyond.
What was waiting for her stopped her short.
Under the sickly yellow light of the single light bulb, Sheila stood. Her back was to Maddie, but the skinny ballerina figure and blazing hair made her identity clear. At her feet was a prone figure—her captive. She began to read aloud from a sheet of paper that she held in one hand.
Her other hand held a hunting knife, the kind Maddie’s cousins used to skin game. The blade gleamed like new in the wan light.
“By blood and fire, by earth and song I conjure you,” she was saying. Strange echoes curled back from the walls of the vault. There was a muted roaring, like a distant crowd of hundreds of people all shouting at once. It made her think of battle scenes in movies. “O dark lord of music, possess now your votary—”
Casting Shadows (The Ash Grove Chronicles) Page 19
