Magic

TWELVE

The term fool’s gold had taken on a whole new, personal dimension for Bryan. In the three days since he’d discovered the possibility of there being a treasure hidden somewhere in or around Drake House, he had spent nearly every waking moment searching for it. He had inspected the house from its musty, cobweb-filled attic to its dank, dark cellar. He had painstakingly examined every wall and floor in search of hidden compartments. He had experienced considerable excitement upon discovering a secret vault in the basement, only to be visited by crushing disappointment hours later when he finally managed to get the thing open and found nothing inside but some old National Geographics and a ship in a bottle.

His search of the grounds had been no less futile. If Arthur “Ducky” Drake had buried his booty, he had certainly left behind no clues in the lawn as to where it was. Of course, nearly sixty years had gone by. Whatever Ducky might have left behind could have been long gone by now.

Bryan heaved a sigh as he went over it all in his mind yet again. He’d spent the entire morning in the study, mostly sitting and staring. This had presumably been Arthur Drake’s favorite room. It was where the man had hung his portrait. It was probably where he had written the journal Porky and Rat so coveted-the journal Bryan had photocopied in its entirety before handing it over to them.

He went over the last of the entries again, then pulled his glasses off and rubbed at his weary eyes. The nearest thing to a clue he had found in Drake’s writings was mention of his pleasure boat, the Treasure. It was on that craft Ducky Drake had met his end on Armistice Day, 1931, when the ship had gone down with all aboard her. The last few notes Drake had made in his journal after the mention of “sticking the pig” were about his concerns over the whereabouts of his vanished friend A.W. and a couple of vague references to having some workmen come to do minor repairs around the house-plumbing and brickwork and the like.

Maybe Arthur Drake and his gold were both now lying at the bottom of the Pacific. Maybe Lorraine Clement had been correct in her hunch that Wimsey had been the elusive gentleman bandit, in which case poring over the Drake journal was a waste of time. But if Wimsey were the thief, why wouldn’t he tell Addie where the gold was? Because it wasn’t there?

Maybe Rachel was right, he conceded. Maybe it was all a big wild goose chase.

“That’s no way to think,” Bryan muttered to himself in disgust. Pessimism had never gotten anybody anywhere.

Pushing himself up out of the desk chair, he stretched and cast a cursory glance over his shoulder at the image of Arthur Drake that hung on the wall. He would unravel this mystery as he had unraveled dozens of others over the years. But he needed a clear head to do it.

He had run himself into the ground, spending his days searching for the gold and his nights watching out for signs of Wimsey, not to mention their other nocturnal visitor. What little time he’d spent in bed he’d spent making love to Rachel, trying his best to bind her to him in the most elemental way he could, trying to show her with his body how much he loved her. He couldn’t escape the sinking feeling that his message wasn’t getting through. Or maybe she was simply ignoring it.

Even though they hadn’t argued again, neither had things been the same as before their fight. There was a tension straining their relationship. Bryan could sense the invisible barrier Rachel was erecting layer by thin layer between them. She might have forgiven him for his harsh words, but she couldn’t forgive him for believing in things that couldn’t be seen or touched. And the harder he tried to convince her that his outlook was a better one, the farther she drifted away from him.

She had been working as hard as he, slaving over the state of Addie’s finances and struggling with Addie herself, fighting a futile battle to repair her relationship with her mother before it was too late.

Standing by the French doors, Bryan heaved a sigh. Outside, the morning had turned blue and beautiful. He flung open the doors and drank in the scents. The air was fresh with the tang of the sea and the sweetness of sun-warmed grass and wildflowers.

It was the kind of day meant for playing hooky. It was the kind of day meant for picnics and handin-hand walks, for taking leisurely drives along the shore and making love under the afternoon sun. It was the kind of day too many people let pass by, sure that another would come along at a more convenient time in their lives. Bryan knew for a fact that wasn’t always true. You had to enjoy life moment to moment because tomorrow was a promise that wasn’t always kept. Too many people waited until it was too late, then looked back on their lives with bitterness and regret.

He couldn’t let Rachel be one of them.

Determination giving him a fresh burst of strength, he strode to the desk and picked up the telephone.

“My word, that’s a lovely color on you, Abbey,” Aunt Roberta commented. “Just lovely. And the feathers are really you. Don’t you think so, Rebecca? I think they’re really her.”

Rachel sighed wearily and raised her head, looking past the sea of bank statements, bills, and canceled checks spread out across the dining room table to where her mother sat in a pool of yellow light near the window, glowering at her.

Addie wore another of her nondescript loose housedresses and had an emerald-green feather boa draped around her neck. In her hands she clutched a pottery ashtray the size of a Frisbee, and every so often she thrust it beneath Roberta’s cigarette to catch the fallout. Roberta sat in a rocker beside her, pumping the thing as if she were out to set some kind of record. Smoke billowed from her nostrils, giving the impression that her boundless nervous energy came from a combustion engine.

“For goodness’ sake, Rowena, you look exhausted!”

“I’ve had a lot of work to do.”

“Stealing my money,” Addie muttered.

“There isn’t any money to steal, Mother,” Rachel shot back. Gritting her teeth, she tamped down her temper. “I’m trying to help you. I came back here to help you.”

Addie narrowed her eyes. Her lips thinned to a white line of disapproval. It made her so angry to see Rachel going through her business papers. It made her angry to know she couldn’t have gone through them herself because they made no sense to her anymore. She certainly didn’t want Rachel sifting through them looking for yet another way to humiliate her and snatch away a little more of her independence.

“She’s not my daughter, you know,” she said to Roberta.

Rachel rolled her eyes.

Roberta’s black brows arched up. “She’s not? I thought she was. Bryan said she was. He told me Ramona was your daughter.”

“Ramona who?”

“Your daughter.”

“I don’t have a daughter. Pay attention here, Roberta,” Addie said crossly, smacking the woman on the arm. “After all the sacrifices I made for my daughter so she could go on to greatness as a soprano, she ran off with a nightclub singer.”

“Oh, my gosh, Althea,” Roberta whispered in shock, crossing herself with her cigarette. “My gosh.”

Rachel tuned out. She really didn’t have the energy to deal with her mother today. She had been on the telephone half the morning with a woman from the California Health and Welfare Agency, discussing financial aid for people with Alzheimer’s. The bureaucracy was incredible, the benefits negligible in relation to the expenses a chronically ill person faced. She had to consider Addie’s loss of income, housing costs, medical costs, cost for in-home help or respite care, the normal costs of living, taxes, miscellaneous expenses. And somewhere down the road she would have to deal with the expense of putting Addie in a nursing home.

As badly as she wanted to care for her mother herself, Rachel realized that would eventually become impossible. Addie’s condition would inevitably decline to the point where she would need constant care and supervision, and Rachel would not be able to provide that and keep a job as well.

She planted her elbows on the tabletop and rubbed her hands over her face. Already the strain was getting to her. What was she going to feel like after months, even years of this? Despair welled inside her at the prospect of a bleak, joyless future.

Bryan.

His name drifted through her mind as if someone had whispered it low and soft in her ear. Warmth cascaded through her, enticing, like forbidden fruit. It was strange, but just thinking about him relaxed her.

“Come along, angel,” Bryan said briskly.

Rachel’s head snapped up. Cautiously, she turned to look at him as if she didn’t quite believe he would be there. But there he stood, looking rumpled and sexy in his snug jeans and faded Notre Dame sweatshirt.

“Come along,” he said again, taking her by the hand and tugging her out of her chair.

“Where…?”

He flashed her a brilliant smile, “To play hooky.”

Rachel dug her heels in. “Bryan, I don’t have time to play hooky.”

“I’m not giving you a choice.”

There was definitely something steely and predatory about his smile, reminding Rachel that there was a great deal more to this man than what so pleasingly met the eye. A shiver danced through her at the glint of determination in his deep blue gaze.

“Bryan, I would like nothing more than to take a day off, but I have responsibilities.”

“They’ll still be here when we get back.”

“Bryan, honey, what are you doing with Rhonda?” Roberta asked.

“I’m abducting her, Aunt Roberta.” He let go of Rachel’s hand, quickly bent and put a shoulder to her stomach, and heaved her up, wrapping his arm around her wildly flailing legs. She squealed in surprise.

“Oh, well, fine, dear.” Roberta smiled and waved her cigarette at them. “Have a nice time!”

Addie stuck her tongue out at them.

Bryan frowned at her and turned back toward his aunt, balancing Rachel on his shoulder as if she were a sack of potatoes. He gave Roberta a meaningful look. “You and Addie keep each other out of trouble, okay?”

“Trouble! My stars, honey!” She cackled and coughed. “What trouble could we get into?”

“I shudder to think,” Rachel grumbled. She wriggled on Bryan’s shoulder as he carried her out of the room and down the hall. “Bryan, neither one of them should be left alone.”

“Don’t be silly. Aunt Roberta is a little unique, but she’s perfectly capable of being left on her own.”

“Personally, I think it’s a toss-up as to which of them is loonier, but the point is: I shouldn’t be leaving Mother.”

“Rachel, you can’t spend every hour of every day with her. It isn’t good for either one of you,” he said, toting her down the porch steps and across the lawn. “Think about it. You’re going to be taking care of Addie for a long time. Do you want to end up hating her because you shackled her to you like a ball and chain and threw away the key?”

She was silent as he deposited her in the passenger seat of her car and went around to the other side. Any retort she might have made was silenced by the knowledge that she already had feelings of resentment toward her mother. Hadn’t she wondered herself how bitter she would be in the end?

“Don’t worry about Aunt Roberta.” The Chevette started with a squeal of protest that settled into a pathetic whine. “I explained to her all about Addie’s illness.”

“When?” Rachel asked in surprise. She thought he hadn’t done much of anything lately except search for his ridiculous buried treasure.

“When you had your nose buried in work, I imagine.”

“Better submerged in trying to solve my problems than burying my head in the sand or running off to do Lord knows what-”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” he said as he turned the car out onto the busy coastal highway. “We’re going ballooning.”

Rachel was momentarily struck dumb. For one terrible instant her heart stopped. When she found her tongue again, she said, “Going what?”

“Ballooning.” Bryan grinned, his handsome face lighting up with excitement. “Up in a montgolfier.”

“Turn this car around right now,” Rachel demanded in her sternest voice, proud that none of her sudden panic came through in her tone. She thumped her index finger against the dash. “I mean it, Bryan. Turn this thing around and take me home right this minute.”

“Sorry, angel,” he said. “I’d rather take you to heaven.”

She could tell by the set of his jaw that he wasn’t going to back down. The man could be unbearably stubborn. Well, if he thought he was going to get her into the basket of a hot air balloon, he had another think coming. Of all the silly pranks, dragging her away from work for an afternoon of absolute foolishness. The idea was completely… tempting.

Settling back into her seat, Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and fumed. This was precisely the reason she and Bryan didn’t belong together. He wanted to dazzle her with magic and fun when there simply was no room in her life for either.

They turned off the main road and headed east over the hills. Even this narrow, winding county road was busy, clogged with tourists out for a day of gawking at the beautiful scenery. The lower slopes of the golden hills were speckled with dark fir trees, and the heavier forest worked its way up toward the incomparable blue of the summer sky. They passed sheep farms and apple orchards.

Finally, Bryan slowed the car and turned off the road onto a dirt path where a colorful wooden cutout of a balloon was tacked to a fence post. The sign read SKY DRIFTERS BALLOON RIDES. Rachel swallowed hard.

They parked near an enormous weathered gray barn, beside several cars with out-of-state plates.

Bryan turned and gave her a serious look, though his eyes were twinkling. “Do you walk from here or do I get to carry you some more?”

“I’ll walk,” Rachel replied in a cool tone, her slim nose in the air.

Still, he took her by the hand when they got out of the car, as if there were some danger of her making a break for it. A loud hissing roar sounded on the far side of the barn. It was a sound that Rachel might once have imagined coming from a mythical dragon. Of course, she didn’t believe in dragons anymore, at least not the green, scaly kind.

They rounded the side of the barn, and her heart went into her throat. Some distance away, in a large open field, a balloon was tethered to the ground, its gaily striped bag swaying in the gentle breeze. Several young men in casual dress were leaning indolently against the wicker gondola, obviously having fun shooting the bull. There was another roar as one attendant sent a blast of heat from the burner into the balloon. The striped bag rippled as the air inside it expanded.

“She’s all ready for you, Bry!” the slender, bearded man called as they neared the enormous contraption. He pulled his leather gloves off and slapped them against his thigh. “Great day for it!”

“That’s what I thought,” Bryan said with a grin, tugging a reluctant Rachel nearer the balloon.

Her eyes were riveted to the narrow wicker basket even as the introductions were made. The name of Bryan’s bearded friend and the rest of the balloon crew went in one ear and out the other. She’d never been afraid of heights, she reflected, but then, she’d never been asked to go up in a balloon. She could feel her face going pale as Bryan nudged her closer.

“You’ll love it, sweetheart,” he promised as he lifted her into the gondola.

It didn’t seem as necessary to express her skepticism on that point as on the next. “Do you really know how to fly this thing?”

“No,” he admitted with a mischievous grin. He pulled on the gloves his friend handed him and swung himself gracefully into the craft. “But I’m pretty sure I can make it land. I managed to do it once near Berlin, and there were people shooting at me then, so this should be a piece of cake.”

Rachel stared at him in horror.

His friend took pity on her. “Don’t worry, Rachel, he knows more than he’s letting on. Besides, you’ll be tethered to the ground the whole time. Bryan just wanted a place where the two of you could have a nice, private picnic. Pretty romantic, huh?”

Rachel gave him a blank look, but it was too late to ask questions. Picnic? Who could think about food at a time like this, she wondered as the ground crew moved away from the gondola and the balloon above them tugged the basket up a few feet off the ground. She dug her fingernails into the dry brown wicker and watched in horrified fascination as Bryan attended the burner. Flame roared up into the fabric bag. He shot her a wink as they lifted into the air, but mainly he kept his eyes trained on the instrument panel that hung from the framework just below the burner.

He did indeed appear to know what he was doing, which left Rachel free to experience her first ascent in a montgolfier. The sensation was not unlike going up in an elevator-a wobbly elevator that swayed slightly with their movements, an elevator that had no safe, solid building around it. She braved a peek over the edge, and her stomach fluttered the same way it had on her first roller coaster ride. The crew stood on the ground below, waving happily at her, growing smaller and smaller as the balloon lifted higher and higher. Then the tether lines pulled tight, halting their flight.

“Well, what do you think?” Bryan asked.

She dragged in a deep breath, ready to tell him exactly what she thought of this irresponsible escapade of his, but the words caught in her throat as she took in the view around them. It was spectacular. She could see for miles in every direction. Golden hills, soft green pastures, dark patterns of forest. Northern California in all its rumpled wild charm lay beneath them. In the distance she could see another brightly striped balloon floating free above the countryside. To the west the ocean stretched across the horizon, a ribbon of misty blue between the coast and the fog bank. And the beauty was not only in the landscape, but in the silence-it was exquisite and absolute.

The sudden sense of peace was so startling, it brought tears to Rachel’s eyes. For days now she had been feeling worn out and beaten down. Her focus had narrowed to a kind of tunnel vision that allowed her to see only what was wrong with her life. She had been ignoring all this wondrous beauty, had shut it out of her life. And Bryan had given it back to her.

She turned to him now with a tremulous smile and said, “I think I love you.”

His wise, warm blue eyes sparkled, and he slid his arms around her and kissed her.

They stayed aloft admiring the view while enjoying a leisurely picnic lunch of fresh croissants, cheeses, grapes, and an excellent bottle of California white wine. They talked about everything they could think of that had nothing to do with Addie or Drake House or money. They stood and enjoyed the silence and the simple pleasure of being alone together. It was a wonderful treat. A perfect way to spend part of a perfect afternoon.

Sadly, Rachel knew they would have to come down to earth, both literally and figuratively. But she held the memory of their golden afternoon in her heart as they drove home. Maybe there was some merit in the occasional burst of reckless frivolity. She felt refreshed, rejuvenated. If that wasn’t magic, she didn’t know what was. Somewhere up in the sky she had left behind her guilt over abandoning Addie and their troubles for a few hours, and she didn’t miss it a bit. Now she felt ready to go back and face her financial troubles, ready to try again with Addie. And she had the man beside her to thank for it.

The real jolt to earth came as they turned up the coast road at the edge of Anastasia and headed north, toward Drake House. On the opposite side of the road a police car and a tow truck sat with their lights flashing. Officers and other assorted folk milled around. Traffic had slowed to a crawl, allowing all passersby a clear view of the trouble.

A rusty powder-blue Volvo station wagon had taken out a roadside vendor’s cart, then mushed its nose into a stone retaining wall. There were flowers everywhere-on the road, draped across the car’s hood and roof, crushed beneath the wheels of the police car. There were roses and daisies and carnations and tiger lilies, flowers of every color. It looked almost as if someone had strewn them about to make the scene of the accident look less tragic. The vendor’s cart had been reduced to a pathetic pile of toothpicks, and the vendor, a huge woman in a Hawaiian muumuu and a tennis visor, stood beside it looking stunned.

Rachel’s eyes widened in horror as realization dawned. “Oh, my-oh, my-That’s Mother’s car!”

Bryan was already steering the Chevette to the shoulder. They abandoned the car and made their way across the road, grim and silent.

“No more gawkers!” Deputy Skreawupp commanded in his gruff monotone. He scowled at them, his jowls drooping like a truculent bulldog’s. He pointed an index finger at Bryan as if it were a loaded gun. “This is police business, bub. Now, get out of here, or I’ll flatten you like pie crust, and I can do it.”

“That’s my mother’s car!” Rachel said, pushing her way past the deputy’s pot belly.

“Humph! Batty Addie’s gone and done it this time,” he said, flipping back a page in his pocket notebook. “Driving without a license, expired tags, reckless endangerment, destruction of property-”

Rachel wasn’t listening to the litany of charges. Her heart was hammering in her ears as she stumbled to the open driver’s door of the Volvo, where Addie sat with her legs out, her garden boots planted on the gravel. She was as white as the waxy day lily that was stuck under the windshield wiper. “Mother! Mother, are you all right?”

Addie looked, her eyes wide. She was still stunned from the accident, and the confusion of its aftermath had short-circuited her brain. She stared at the young woman crouching down in front of her and tried to concentrate on the girl’s face. She was someone Addie was certain she should recognize.

“Rachel?” she murmured uncertainly. Fear shivered through her. She’d never felt so old or so frail… or frightened.

“Mother, what happened?” Rachel asked gently. She took one of Addie’s thin, cold hands between hers and held it, both to comfort her mother and to reassure herself.

“I’m… not… sure,” Addie said slowly, tilting her head this way and that, as if the movement might jar loose a memory.

“I am,” Roberta said.

Bryan’s aunt was still strapped into the passenger’s seat. Her hair stood up around her head like an abused Brillo pad. “She can’t drive worth a damn, can she? It’s a good thing we remembered our seat belts. My gosh.”

It was a good thing they had remembered their seat belts, Rachel reflected, shaking her head. Too bad neither of them had remembered Addie wasn’t supposed to get behind the wheel.

Deputies came then to take the two ladies’ statements and Rachel wandered away from the wrecked car. Hugging herself, she stood beside the retaining wall and stared out at Anastasia, nestled below, picture-postcard perfect with its Victorian buildings and boat-filled bay.

“Nobody was hurt,” Bryan said, coming up behind her. He refrained from mentioning that the flower vendor was threatening to sue. He would speak with Alaina about that. Rachel looked rattled enough as it was. “I’m afraid Aunt Roberta misunderstood me when I told her Addie couldn’t drive. She thought I meant the car was broken, so, when she looked under the hood and saw that the only thing wrong was that the coil wire wasn’t hooked up to the distributor cap, she just fixed it,” he explained apologetically. “She learned to be a mechanic in the army. She was a WAC.”

“Wacky,” Rachel muttered darkly.

“That too.”

She wheeled on him suddenly, jabbing an index finger to his sternum. “I never should have let you talk me into leaving Mother with her! She’s certifiable; any sane, responsible person can see that.”

Bryan winced. “Rachel, I’m sorry. I should have been more thorough about disabling the car. I’ll accept responsibility-”

“Since when?” she asked angrily. All the fear and fury and frustration crested at once inside her, and she unleashed it on him without hesitation. “Since when do you accept responsibility? You’re the most irresponsible person I know. You with your don’t-worry-be-happy mentality. Everything will take care of itself. Everything will turn out fine,” she said bitterly. “If you knew anything about accepting responsibility, this never would have happened! I would have been home to keep an eye on Mother, not off in the wild blue yonder with you!”

She paced away from him, shaking her head in self-reproach.

“Don’t beat yourself up with guilt, Rachel. An accident happened. Nobody was hurt. I’ll take care of the rest. It’ll all work out.”

He couldn’t have chosen a worse phrase had he been deliberately trying to goad her. His last four words rang in her ears. She could hear Terence saying them and Bryan saying them, and she could see herself dealing with the messy reality while they blew it off because nobody had gotten hurt.

“Why can’t you face reality?” she asked, her violet eyes full of pleading and pain. “Things don’t just work out, Bryan. Things don’t just turn out fine. We struggle to do the best we can and we still get kicked in the teeth. That’s reality, not buried treasure and eating Brie in a hot air balloon.”

She shook her head again, lifting her hands to cradle it as it hung down. “I should have known better. I should have known from the start.”

I should never have gotten involved with you.

Bryan’s head snapped back sharply. She didn’t have to say the words; they arced between them like an electrical current that seared his nerve endings with excruciating pain. Their love meant so little to her, she was wishing it away. It was inconvenient, getting in the way of her noble self-sacrifice. His own defense mechanisms snapped into action to stem the flow of blood from his battered heart.

“Fine,” he said tightly. “You shouldn’t have any enjoyment in your life. God forbid! There’s work to be done, sins to be atoned for, hair shirts to be worn.”

Rachel grabbed his arm as he started to turn away from her. “Don’t you go calling me a martyr. I’m a sensible, practical person trying to deal with a nightmare in a sensible, practical way.”

“Oh, right,” he said sarcastically. He smiled a rueful parody of a smile. “Maybe I should have taken my cue from you and behaved in a sensible, practical way, because I sure as hell didn’t need the kind of aggravation falling in love with you has been.”

It was Rachel’s turn to wince. The pain wasn’t entirely unexpected. She’d told herself from the start Bryan would cut his losses when the going got rough. That was what dreamers did.

“Well, don’t let me stand in your way,” she said softly, opening her arms wide in a gesture of resignation. “There’s no time like the present. I’m certainly not going to try to stop you.”

Bryan stared at her long and hard, doing everything he could to hide his own hurt while he looked for some evidence of hers. She was bitter and disillusioned and had meant every word she’d said. She hadn’t believed in his love from the beginning, not really, not in the way that mattered most. It was clear she was determined to carry out her plans for her penance, and he had no part in them. Or maybe in some perverse way he did. It made her sacrifice only greater if she could look back on their relationship and think of what she had given up, of what might have been.

“Fine,” he said, looking past her to the crumpled powder-blue Volvo, where Aunt Roberta was having an animated conversation with the erstwhile flower vendor. “I’ll move my aunt out to Keepsake. I’ll stop by tonight for our things.”

He didn’t look to Rachel for confirmation or approval. He didn’t look at her at all. He simply walked away. She watched him go, thinking he looked like a stranger. There was an air of cold authority about him as he took his aunt by the arm, murmured a few curt words to her, and led her away.

Rachel wondered if she had ever really known him. But the point was moot. She was never going to have the chance to find out now. He was walking out of her life, taking all the light with him. As the fog bank rolled in around her, she thought of her future and ached at how empty it would be.