Authors: Debora Geary
Yeah.
Because that
worked.
She reached for the envelope.
If they sucked, maybe she could talk Elsie into another
bonfire.
A small one—paper
burned a lot easier than old-lady underwear.
The top picture wasn’t of her.
Or Josh.
It was
of a pint-sized superboy, barefoot in the grass, stuffing his face full of
noodles, wearing a T-shirt that said “I Do Magic for Cookies” in red glitter.
Lizard grinned.
The
T-shirt had been her design.
Last
she’d heard, Nell had been threatening to throw boy and shirt into the washing
machine together if he didn’t take it off soon.
Washing a small, teleporting witch didn’t sound like the easiest
job in the world.
The next photograph also made her grin, but for a different
reason.
Someone had clearly swiped
Charlie’s camera for long enough to take a picture. Someone not very good with
a Hasselbad—the snapshot was blurry, crooked, and featured one
monster-sized finger in the top right corner.
But Charlie was smiling, and that alone made the picture a
treasure.
Sucked in now, Lizard flipped slowly through the stack, grinning
at some, laughing at a couple, and sticking out her tongue at one particularly
lovely picture of her butt halfway into Aervyn’s tree house.
And then she came to Josh.
Bright, laughing eyes, full of surprise and welcome.
A face used to smiling, and hair used
to going pretty much anywhere it wanted.
She reached out and touched, fingers unable to resist.
He was beautiful, in the way that some people were when the
world hadn’t messed with them too much.
And he tempted her to believe in too many things that just weren’t
true.
She came from the place where guys juiced a girl’s drink just to
get laid.
Her fingers wept a little—and tucked the picture of Josh
at the bottom of the pile.
But Charlie wasn’t done yet.
There were more.
Pictures of Josh at his computer.
In the ball pit.
Belting
out karaoke with Danny on what could only have been a field trip to his
office.
Josh’s butt halfway up the infernal stairs.
It was a seriously nice butt.
Josh talking to the little old lady who lived next door, a flower
tucked behind her ear.
A day in
the life of a sweet, normal guy who wanted white picket fences and a neighbor
with a rose garden.
She had no
freaking idea how you grew a rose.
Enough.
Lizard
tossed the pictures down on the bed, done with longing for something that
wasn’t—and saw her own face.
One picture—the only one she’d let Charlie take.
It was the eyes, warrior bright, that she couldn’t resist.
He’d captured every nuance of
pissed-off woman—the clenched hands and bunching muscles, the really
excellent scowl, the furious words waiting to fly.
But it was the eyes that held her.
Because they said it wasn’t quite true, the fists and the
bravado and the scowl.
The eyes said she was really the girl who still brought biscuits
to Freddie’s bus.
She set down the picture with infinite care.
Right next to Josh with a sunflower in
his hand.
And looked at them both
for a very long time.
~ ~ ~
--------------------------------------
From:
Vero Liantro <
[email protected]
>
Subject:
Re: How is Melvin?
--------------------------------------
Jennie
dear,
Melvin’s cranky and asking for cookies.
So other than being rather unimpressed
at the reminder of his advancing years, I’d have to say he’s perfectly
fine.
Aervyn has come for a visit,
and the lovely Natalia is coming to hold down the fort next.
I’ve a singing lesson to teach, and
this one feels rather important.
It is always good to know the next generation is ready for the
barricades—and bittersweet to watch them in action.
We have reason to know.
All
our love,
Vero
~ ~ ~
Vero waited.
Elsie was running through some pretty scales, notes light and
airy, smile pasted on her face.
But her hands were clenched—and Vero knew it was the hands that
told the story.
Elsie Giannotto
was angry, even if most of her wasn’t willing to admit it yet.
Maybe she would push things along a little.
They only had an hour—and Vero
only had so much patience.
She
reached out for Elsie’s hand.
“I’m
sorry it didn’t work out the way you intended, love.
Passion always carries some risk, but my heart aches that
you were reminded of those risks so quickly.”
Emotions stormed onto Elsie’s face.
Ah, the girl could tap her feelings so easily now.
“Why didn’t you tell me?
You spun stories of Paris garrets and
young love, but you never told me it could be dangerous.”
True, she hadn’t—and she couldn’t feel sorry for it, even
now.
“You know of the dangers, my
sweet.
That deeply analytical
brain of yours could probably list them for me, chapter and verse.
It wasn’t that part of you I was trying
to encourage.”
Elsie paced, cheeks flame bright.
“It wasn’t my brain out there looking for a Paris
garret.
And the rest of me doesn’t
seem smart enough to be running around exploring my passions.”
Vero wondered if her student understood, even yet, what had been
driving her.
“The rest of you is
very young yet—but that doesn’t make the need to explore any less
real.”
She reached for her
student’s hands.
“Those of us with
big feelings need to voyage into the unknown.
It helps to shape who we are, to give name to those
tumultuous forces inside us.
But
it’s not without risk.
There will
be mistakes, and pain, and failure, along with the triumphs.”
“I’m not very good at failure.”
Elsie’s voice was quiet, sad.
“I’d say you’re getting much better.”
Vero lifted her student’s chin.
“And I say that with the utmost of respect.
There is value in knowing you are a
smart, strong woman.
And there is
value in knowing that smart, strong women can make less-than-perfect choices.”
“I still feel like two people.”
Elsie’s hands told the story, as much as her voice.
“The old me was very competent, or at
worst, made carefully calibrated mistakes.
The new me is silly and daring and sometimes wonderful, but
I feel like a bike without brakes.”
The answer hung there in the air.
Vero wondered if her beautiful singer was ready to hear
it.
She began to pick out notes on
the piano, the underpinnings of Elsie’s beloved Hallelujah anthem.
“Listen, darling girl.
Not to my voice, or to the words.
Listen to the notes underneath.”
Elsie listened.
And
frowned.
“They’re just the basic
chords.”
Vero smiled.
“Yes.
And yet most singers,
even the very best of us, prefer to sing with those chords supporting us.
Why do you think that is?”
It pleased her deeply when her student didn’t have to dig for an
answer at all.
“They make the
singing richer.
Lift it up higher,
give it a counterpoint.
Roots.”
“Yes.”
Vero beamed
in approval.
And waited for the
very bright woman in front of her to finish connecting the dots.
It came in a whisper, eyes bright with tears.
“I’m not two Elsies.”
“You’re not.”
Vero
reached for her student’s hands.
“You’re one marvelous, complex woman, with basic chords and high notes
and rich counterpoints.”
Elsie chuckled through her tears.
“I’m not mixing them together very well just yet.”
“You lived
thirty-two years missing half the pieces.”
Vero touched Elsie’s pendant.
“And you’ve been with us less than two months.
Don’t be afraid to live because the
music isn’t entirely fluent just yet.”
When it came, Elsie’s smile was sunshine-bright.
And Vero knew the most important part
of her job was done.
With this one.
She had one more stop to make.
~ ~ ~
A lifetime on the stage gave you certain advantages—and
one of them was knowing how to swoop.
Vero landed in Lizard’s kitchen, courtesy of Jamie’s most excellent
transport device, and didn’t give the girl time to think.
“Hello, my dear.
Elsie and I have spent a lot of time
together.
It’s time for you and I
to have some tea, don’t you think?”
One bewildered poet blinked—and then turned and put the
kettle on the stove.
Good.
She really
did love a nice cup of tea.
Vero
reached over and tickled Bean’s sweet cheeks.
“Babysitting?”
“Thea’s got a client and all the competent people were
busy.”
Lizard looked over and
grinned.
“You any good at that
diaper-changing stuff?
I think
he’s wet.”
A good actress knew when to bluff.
“Diapers have evolved a lot since my day, dear.
I think I’ll leave that project to
you.”
Lizard’s scowl was
delightful—and not nearly as well hidden as she thought.
The visit wasn’t strictly necessary.
Lizard might well muddle through on her own, and there was
help in the wings if she wobbled.
But Vero Liantro wanted a stage one last time.
A kind of swan song.
And she had some things to say.
She ran a hand gently down Lizard’s hair, smiling when a spoon
clattered to the floor.
Still
dodging love, in so many small ways.
“So, are you done being mad at the world yet, sweetheart?”
“I’m not mad.”
It
was said with enough force to bend a spoon.
“Sure you are.
You’ve yelled at Jennie, yelled at Elsie, and I’ll wager a guess you’ve
yelled at that sweet boy of yours.
Mostly in your head, but that doesn’t make you any less mad.”
A cup slammed down on the counter.
“He’s not mine.”
Vero chuckled.
“You
feel free to get as feisty as you want with me, my dear—I can handle
it.
We both know he could be
yours.”
Her voice softened.
“And I’ll wager another guess that you
wouldn’t mind that at all, if you lived in the place where miracles happened.”
Lizard’s eyes shot up.
“I’m not the one he seeks.”
“Of course you’re not.”
She tried not to laugh as fury exploded in Lizard’s eyes.
“Men never have us exactly figured out,
and that’s part of the joy and misery of walking beside them.”
“So, what, you’re the fairy godmother sent to tell me I can be
anything I want to be?”
The scowl
was enough to send Bean kicking unhappily in his bouncy seat.
Vero tickled the baby’s toes.
“Something like that.”
“That’s a load of—”
Lizard glanced at the baby and broke off.
“Ah, my sweet.”
Vero’s fingers itched to smooth Lizard’s hair again, but she was smart
enough to know when to quit.
“Sometimes, when enough bad things happen to someone, you begin to
believe you don’t deserve the miracles.”
She went on, ignoring the bunching tension in Lizard’s
body.
She understood as well as
anyone how hard it was to accept the no-strings love of a man with a very big
heart.
“So now you’re getting mad
at everyone else for things inside your own heart.”