A Stroke Of Magic (17 page)

With that realization, I was finally able to talk. “Missy delivered a message from Troy.” My voice shook. “It hit me in a way I didn’t expect.”

Ethan reached over, stroked the line of my jaw with one finger. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware Missy and Troy knew each other.”

Oh, yeah. I never had gotten around to sharing that connection with him. “She’s a friend of Troy’s wife. That’s where all the pent-up friction came from.” In halting speech, I told him the rest. When I finally finished, I sighed and waited for his response.

White-hot anger blazed over his expression. “He’s a spineless coward. People who don’t take responsibility for their children deserve…” His eyes snapped shut. When he opened them again, the fury was either gone or well hidden; I wasn’t sure which. “Troy should have had the decency to talk to you himself, rather than sending a message through his wife’s girlfriend.”

“I’m actually okay he didn’t. I don’t want him involved, anyway. That’s why my feelings confused me so much. The anger makes sense. I’m not sure why it hurts.”

Lifting my chin, he stared into my eyes. “It’s not about you. It’s about your child.”

That was when it hit. I’d already hardened myself to Troy’s betrayals. Old stuff, in the past, done and over with. But this betrayal wasn’t really about me. It was about my daughter, and she’d done nothing wrong. So it made sense. The pain I experienced was the pain of a mother. “My first lesson in motherhood. I wonder if the rest will hurt this much,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

Ethan pulled me into his arms. My cheek rested on his chest. His arms tightened around me, and the rest of my tension evaporated. Being held by Ethan? It felt right. It felt real. And that made absolutely no sense. “Some will. Some won’t. I wish I could give you more advice, but what do I know? I haven’t faced the joys of parenthood yet.”

He kissed the top of my head, and we disengaged from each other. “Thank you for listening. It seems you’re always seeing me at my worst.”

“You do seem to have the most curious group of people you surround yourself with. But it adds to your charm.” Then, as if getting back to business, the take-charge Ethan appeared. “I’d like to help you when you get the papers from Troy. I’ll have my attorney go through them for you, if you’d like.”

“That would be great.” I watched him curiously. I could almost see him checking off a list in his head.

“He should, at the very least, be financially responsible. Are you sure you want to give up your right to monetary support?”

“I am. I really don’t want any connection to Troy.” Beatrice flickered into my mind, and I groaned. “His mother wants to meet me, though. She’d like to be a part of the child’s life. I don’t know what to do about that.”

“Is she going to go for legal visitation?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Can she?”

“If she wants to try, she can. It doesn’t mean a judge will give it to her.” I must have looked panicked, because he squeezed my hand. “Don’t stress over it. You might want to consider meeting her, even if just to rule out that possibility.”

Ugh. “Yeah. I guess. But the thought of meeting the woman who raised Troy doesn’t exactly fill me with happy feelings.”

“She might be a perfectly nice person who happened to end up with a not-so-nice son. It happens, Alice.”

Another point I couldn’t argue. “I’ll have Missy set up a meeting.”

“If you want company, I’d be pleased to go with you.”

“Yeah. I might. I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” He must have decided business was taken care of, for now, because the other Ethan returned. His voice softened. “You scared me, when I first saw you out there. You were so white, and your eyes were filled with so much pain.” He paused. “You look more like your normal, beautiful self now.”

And then, out of nowhere, that
thing
passed between us. “I really like you,” I blurted.

“I really like you too. I wasn’t lying when I said I find you in my thoughts constantly.”

“No. I mean I really,
really
like you. And it startles me.” Why had I said that? I so needed to learn to keep most of my thoughts to myself.

Desire, strong and deep, darkened his eyes. But he didn’t reach for me. “There’s nothing wrong with being startled. It reminds us we’re alive. It makes us think. We have plenty of time to get to know each other. Plenty of time to see where this goes. There’s no rush.”

“Right.” But did we? Maybe. Maybe not. D-Day was approaching faster than I’d anticipated, and I definitely heard the clock ticking away.

“Hey. What’s with those worry lines?” He rubbed at the skin around my eyes with his thumb. His touch sent a zillion little trembles zipping over me.

How to say what I couldn’t explain? “Lots of things are changing for me soon. I’ll understand if it’s too crazy for you.”

“If you take it one day at a time, then changes come really slowly. Let’s just see where this takes us. I’m not going anywhere.”

I thought about what he’d said, and I nodded. “Fair enough.”

“I had a thought. Are you busy on Saturday?”

He’d changed the subject so fast, I didn’t get—at first—what he was leading to. “Nope. No chaos is planned for this weekend. For once.”

When he grinned, my heart tumbled. It was just that simple. “Are you still up for that date? I’d like to spend the day with you. I’m fairly certain I can guarantee a chaos-free day. I might even get a laugh or two out of you.”

And I did, more than anything, want to spend Saturday with him, so I said, “Yes.” Suddenly, everything brightened, and my good mood fully returned.

Just like magic.

The next three days passed excruciatingly slowly. Not only because I couldn’t wait for my date with Ethan, but also because I missed Chloe. And that situation didn’t appear to be changing anytime soon. Here it was Thursday afternoon, and I still hadn’t connected with Kyle. But it wasn’t like I hadn’t tried, because I had. After getting his number from Shelby, I’d called three times and left three different messages. He just hadn’t returned them.

I’d try again tonight. But geez, you’d think if he were my ever after, he’d have shown a little bit of interest by now. And that raised my hopes for Ethan. Because
there
was a man who’d definitely shown some interest.

On arriving home after work, my entire plan for the evening was to eat dinner, try to contact Kyle, and then maybe talk Chloe into coming over. I wanted to see how she was doing. I also wanted to tell her about Troy and the upcoming meeting with Beatrice. Of course, this plan went down the drain the second I unlocked my front door, because what greeted my eyes wasn’t merely the unexpected; it was the craziest of the crazy. Five men—complete strangers, by the way—sat at my dining room table. Each of them seemed to be filling out some type of paperwork. Not only that, but they were all shirtless. Seriously.

I might not have known what was going on, but I certainly knew who was behind it. My eyes narrowed. Speaking to the entire room, I asked, “Where is she?”

One of the guys—the very blond, artificially tanned one—looked up from his form. “Are you the artist?”

“Where is she?” I asked again. Weirdly, I wasn’t even angry. Just a little perturbed. When no one answered, I raised my voice. “Grandma Verda? Where are you?”

The response came from my bedroom. “In here! Come see, Alice!”

Lordy. Why wasn’t I surprised to come home and find half-naked men in my home, with my elderly grandmother shouting at me to get to my bedroom? Well, actually, that was sort of a question that answered itself. After all, we were talking about my grandmother.

Before I went to see what she was doing in my bedroom, I stopped next to the man who’d just spoken. “What is this about?”

“A modeling job,” the blond beefcake said, nodding to the form in front of him. “There were a bunch of us here earlier, but the old lady sent away everyone who didn’t have scars or birthmarks on their backs.”

“Oh. I see.” And I did. Way too clearly. “So, what are you filling out?”

“It’s a part résumé, part medical history, part IQ test thing.” Then, lowering his voice, he pointed to one of the questions. “Who was the sixteenth president of the United States? The choices are Abraham Lincoln or John Adams.”

“It must be a trick question, because the sixteenth president of the United States was George Washington,” I whispered. I expected him to laugh. Truly, I did. So when he drew a very straight line underneath the other two choices and wrote in George Washington’s name and then circled it, I didn’t know if I should feel badly or laugh.

One of the other guys looked up. With rich auburn hair, bespectacled green eyes, and a splash of freckles on his cheeks, he appeared intelligent, friendly, and more than a little of the apple-pie variety of cute.

He frowned at me. “That’s mean.”

“I didn’t think he’d believe me. It was meant to be a joke,” I shot back.

“What? It’s not George Washington?” the blond guy asked. “Why’d you tell me that?”

I sighed. “I was teasing. It’s Abraham Lincoln.”

He glared at me doubtfully. “Are you teasing again?”

“Alice! Come here!” Grandma Verda screeched.

“No. I’m not. I swear. Just mark it. You’ll get that question right.” Though maybe not many others. Not that it made a lick of difference, because I was having no part in whatever scheme Grandma Verda had set up.

Deciding it was time to find out exactly what that scheme was, I strode to my bedroom to find her perched on the edge of my bed with my sketchpad open next to her. Yep—to
that
drawing. She’d brought my sixth dining room chair into the room, and it sat at the far end of the bed. And in that chair sat another man, also without his shirt on. And, of course, he was seated so that his bare back faced my grandmother. I watched in partial disbelief, partial respect, and partial annoyance as, with a fancy digital camera I’d never seen, she snapped a few more pictures. For one, she got so close to the poor man’s back that she could have counted his hairs. Of which, I’m sad to say, he had plenty.

“Okay. Thank you, Will. We’re finished.”

Standing, he pulled on his T-shirt. “When will you be making a decision?”

“Oh, I’m not really sure. But we’ll contact you either way. Just be sure to leave your application, completely filled out, on the dresser there.” She pointed. I followed her finger and gasped. The stack of forms sitting on the dresser was huge. Really huge.

Will did as she asked, and then left the room. Me? I reminded myself that my grandmother had the best intentions, and only half shrieked, “What are you doing?”

“Come here, Alice. Take a look at the pictures I have so far.”

“No! How many men have you paraded through my bedroom today?”

“If you’d come here and look at the photos, you’d be able to see for yourself. There’re a couple who I think match your drawing, dear. Most don’t. But I figured it didn’t hurt to get the photos so you’d have a bigger pool to choose from.”

“Um. Grandma? If the scar doesn’t match, why does it matter how large the pool is?”

Wait a minute. Oh my God; she’d done it. She’d dragged me into this conversation.

Blithely ignoring me, my grandmother continued, “I also made them fill out paperwork, so you’ll know something about them before you set up any dates. I think it will be quite useful.”

Yes.
Useful.
Sure. “Please explain to me how you accomplished this,” I said, fighting to remain calm.

She clapped her hands. “Oh, it was simple. I put an ad in the paper, asking for artist’s models, and ran it all last week. I got so many responses! I had to stagger their appointments. I’ve been doing this since Monday afternoon, after leaving Enchanted Expressions.”

“You’ve been bringing strangers into my home since Monday?”

She sniffed. “Yes! All for you. Unfortunately, most of them I had to send home, because the newspaper neglected to print my ad correctly. It was supposed to say ‘scar or birthmark on right shoulder’ in the description, but they left out the ‘right shoulder’ part.”

“And how did you get so many of them to apply?”

“I think the bonus did the trick,” she said, still browsing through photos.

“And what is the bonus?” I knew I shouldn’t ask.

“Just money.” She sighed and shook her head—I wasn’t sure if it was at me, the bonus, or the picture she perused. “A
lot
of money for a job like this. But only one bonus for one person. Oh, and only if he’s your soul mate. Of course, I didn’t say that part.”

I had more questions. So. Many. More. But I gave myself a minute to be sure I really wanted to know the answers.

Deciding full disclosure was for the best, I said, “Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. Why did you decide to place this ad? Did you find out something about Ethan that you haven’t shared with me?”

Her light blue eyes skittered to me and then back to the camera. “I don’t know anything for sure.”

“But you know something? What is it?”

“I still think it could be him. I just wanted to give you more possible soul mates to choose from. You do have a time limit, you know. Your baby won’t wait to be born.”

“Quit evading the question. What new information do you have that shows it might not be Ethan?” And yes, this question was one I didn’t really want answered. But I needed to know, like it or not.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. It’s not a big deal. I was telling him about all the scrapes you used to get into as a child. Climbing trees, falling off your bike, that sort of stuff.”

“Go on.”

“And I asked him if he’d ever injured himself as a child. Anything that would leave a scar, for instance.”

A small amount of relief slid in. It didn’t sound as if she’d actually seen his bare shoulder. “And?”

Wrinkling her nose, she laid her camera down in front of her. “The only scar he has is on his leg. At least, that’s what he said. He was playing one day when he was young, and he knocked a glass vase over. He fell on the broken pieces and ended up with ten stitches. Can you imagine?”

“So you know for sure he doesn’t have a scar on his shoulder?” It was as if someone had punched me in the gut; the agony was that strong, that sudden. “Why didn’t you tell me this immediately?”

“Because he might have a birthmark there. Or something else.” She shrugged. “He might even have a scar there he doesn’t know about. It’s not like we look at the backs of our own shoulders every day.” And then, in an obvious move to prove her statement, she crooked her neck at an awkward angle, trying to see her own shoulder. “See? It’s nearly impossible.”

“Nice try, Grandma.” But she was right about the birthmark part—it was still a possibility. Picking up my drawing, I peered closely. Yeah. It could definitely be a birthmark.

I pretended I didn’t hear the little voice in my head. The one insisting it resembled a scar far more than a birthmark. “If he’s still in the running, why all these men? Why the ad?”

“When I’m done here, I’m going to have all these pictures printed, and then I’ll label them. Each man will have his own file with his application and photos! Then, you, Elizabeth, and I can go through each and figure out the men who match the best.”

“You really don’t think it’s Ethan, do you?” I whispered.

Finally, she looked at me. “Oh, honey, I don’t know. But we need to have a backup plan.”

Before I could respond, the auburn-haired model stuck his head in. “I’ve finished filling everything out. What’s next?”

My grandmother’s face lit up. “Well, come right in here then.” She held out her hand for his paperwork. He gave it to her, and she glanced at it. “Hello, Aaron. Take a seat in that chair, with your back to me, and we’ll get this finished nice and quick.”

I let her do her thing and left the room. Cloistering myself in my art studio, soon to be my daughter’s bedroom, I pushed my disappointment away. Well, I tried to. But it wasn’t that easy. I tried to convince myself that all hope wasn’t lost. That Grandma Verda could be wrong. Or, if she wasn’t, that just because Ethan didn’t have a scar on his shoulder didn’t mean anything. He could still be “the one.”

With a heavy spirit, I hung up the phone. I’d spent the last hour in a heart-to-heart chat with my sister, and for the first time since she and her boyfriend Nate had gotten together, an air of trouble stirred in their relationship. Well, I didn’t think so, but she did. Or rather, she worried there might be trouble. Apparently Nate had a new partner at work—a very young, beautiful, and blonde female cop.

Elizabeth said she was fine, but I’d heard the undercurrents in her voice that told me she was concerned. You couldn’t find a much better guy than Nate. He was about as good as they got. So, I was fairly sure the blame for her discomfort didn’t rest with him, but came from her experiences with her ex-husband and his blonde and willing receptionist. Also, my sister’s feelings were natural. After all, she and Nate had only been together for a few months, so she was bound to cross this bridge eventually. But that didn’t make the crossing any less of a struggle.

Sighing, I tried to push her fears out of my mind so I could focus on the picture I’d been attempting to draw. “ ‘Your magic, your powers, will give you the answers as you need them,’ ” I murmured, repeating the last bit of advice I’d received from Miranda.

Okay, then. So why—no matter what I tried—did I continue to come up blank? “Damn it! I just want to know what’s going to happen.”

A spark zapped into me. It began at my toes, rushing up my body at lightning speed, pulsating through my arms, and then, with an electrifying tingle, it zapped straight into my fingertips. Tiny sparkles of light danced from my fingers to the pencil, like a miniature display of fireworks. They grew and grew until the sparkles bobbed in the air, the light of them blinking like a thousand fire-flies on a summer night.

In that moment, I felt the magic like I never had before. It was inside of me. It was all around me. It
was
me. The energy continued to flow, the strength of it so great, I nearly dropped the pencil in surprise. But I held on, captivated by what was happening, enthralled by the very power. My hand trembled, and the pencil began to move.

Just like before, no image met my mind’s eye, but without me having the slightest inkling of what I was creating, the magic took control. No hesitation existed in my strokes; they were solid and sure, and they swept across the page, creating the barest of outlines. Two people, a man and a woman, took shape. They stood at the front of a wide room. Candles and flowers filled the space around them. I drew more quickly, the pencil going from broad strokes to small, fine ones, filling in details throughout. From the stained-glass windows, to the wooden pews filled with people, to the flickering flames on the candles. A flower here, a pair of hands clasped there, and a crying baby all came into view. Oh! My parents were there too, in the front pew.

A wedding. The scene coming to life in front of me, created by my own hand, was that of a wedding. More details were added, and then, finally, the pencil moved to the couple about to walk back down the aisle, hand in hand. My breath caught in my chest. Was this it? Had I finally found the key to my soul mate’s identity?

The bride’s dress was traditional, with plenty of lace and pearls. This surprised me, because I am not a lace kind of girl, but the picture had to be of me. Who else? I continued to draw, continued to shade. Shivers coated my skin. My eyes watered and I needed to blink, but I refused to, too afraid that the magic would stop and the bride and the groom’s identities wouldn’t be completed. I had to finish this.

My heart raced and I swallowed, trying to calm myself. My baby danced inside of me, and I laughed. Through all of this, the magic swirled, the colors increasing in vividness around me, the lights growing brighter. And then, when I began drawing the faces of the couple, my movements slowed. I pulled air deep into my chest and then huffed it out, my eyes never leaving the page, the couple before me.