Shades of Doon (15 page)
“Yes.” The girl nodded like I was an amnesiac grasping for lost memories. Which didn’t explain why she had a key to my place or my last season’s hairdo.
Extricating my hands from hers with an awkward tug, I asked, “What are you doing in my apartment?”
“You had to . . . leave suddenly.” Jeanie glanced away, her cheeks reddening. “So Wes made an arrangement with the landlord so I could sublet.”
“Where exactly did I go?”
Her gaze returned to me, eyes narrowed like I was an escaped mental patient. “Rehab . . . Don’t you remember?”
That’s how Weston explained my impromptu disappearance? That I was a druggie? Swallowing my outrage, I arranged my features into what I hoped made me appear contrite. “I do — that is, I wanted to know what Wes told people. How much does everyone know?”
Jeanie nodded sympathetically. “At first, Wes didn’t want to share the details of your addiction, but after the
BroadwayWorld.com
article, all the gory details were public.” She had the decency to wince. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I’d chosen Duncan, and Wes had gotten back at me by spreading his rehab rumor and elevating Jeanie to fill my void. It was nothing I couldn’t live with. Heck, the rehab scandal might’ve even helped my career. Not that it would matter unless I decided not to return to Doon.
But I would return, because that’s where Duncan belonged. And Vee . . .
Memories of being ripped from my bestie swirled in my brain like the tornado montage from
The Wizard of Oz
. Had Vee ended up back in the modern world too? And if so, where? I had the strangest impulse to look for Vee under the bed or in the closet. But my bestie had never set foot in my Chicago apartment.
Turning my attention back toward Jeanie, I asked, “Can I borrow your phone, please?”
She reached into her bag and then handed me her cell. I stood and paced to the opposite end of the room as I punched in Vee’s numbers . . . and promptly got an out of order message. That was a good sign, right? Dialing 411, I asked for Janet Welling in Bainbridge, Indiana . . . No such listing.
Of course, Janet had gotten married again, and I had no idea what Bob the Slob’s last name was. With a giggle, I entertained the thought of asking information for a listing for Janet the Slob.
“Are you okay, Kenna?”
I turned to find Jeanie frowning. Note to self: dial back the hysteria. Instead of answering her, I asked, “Can I make one more call?”
She reluctantly nodded, and I punched in my home number. After a couple rings, my father’s reassuring voice sounded. “This is Walter Reid. If you’re getting this message, Meredith and I are still on our
extended
honeymoon in Fiji. If this is an emergency, you can leave a message, and our house sitter will pass it along. Otherwise, I’ll call you when I return.
If
I return.”
Dad got married?
If I had any doubt about my time in Doon, which I didn’t, this was the clincher. There’s no other conceivable reason why I would’ve missed his wedding. Mixed
emotions burned in my throat, but I pushed them down as I rushed to leave a message. “Dad? It’s Kenna. I need to talk to you but I don’t have a number where I can be reached. And I don’t remember your cell number. But I’ll call you back, okay?”
I disconnected the call, realizing too late that I’d forgotten to say congratulations. Disappointment burned in my throat that I’d missed his big day, but I stuffed the feelings down.
I had other things to stress over at the moment. For starters, I had to find Vee.
Jeanie had begun to tidy up our apartment, so I did a quick Google search on her cell. With a half-formed plan in place, I intercepted her at my desk/dressing/dining room table to return the phone. Glancing around at my once-beloved memorabilia, I said, “I can’t stay. I have to go back.”
Jeanie nodded compassionately. “That’s probably a good idea.”
A sinking feeling dominated my stomach as I forced myself to continue. “Can I borrow some money? I need to catch a bus to Indianapolis and then take a taxi.”
The other girl’s eyes narrowed like my request was code for
I need to go see my dealer
. “How much money?”
“Sixty bucks? And I don’t suppose any of my old clothes are lying around?”
Chagrined, Jeanie bit at her lip. “Sorry. I would have kept them but they were way too big . . .”
She trailed off with a shrug forcing me to ask, “Can you loan me an outfit and some shoes?” When she frowned at the request I added, “I swear I’ll pay you back. And you can keep anything in my apartment — the posters, the signed playbills, the furniture, all of it.”
“What about when you come back?” Jeanie insisted.
“I’m not coming back. Really. I promise.” The words caused a slight sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach that I refused to analyze.
Jeanie walked to the dresser and pulled out a pair of faded yoga pants and a ratty T-shirt. I hurried to the bathroom to change and rinse the acidic aftertaste of fear from my mouth. When I emerged, she was waiting by the open door with an empty grocery bag and a pair of flip-flops. I stuffed my jammies into the bag and wriggled my feet into the shoes, which were a size too small.
Then she handed me three twenty-dollar bills that, judging from the look on her face, were hard to part with. I knew how much Adrenaline interns didn’t make — she was probably giving me her entire emergency fund. Taking the money, I repeated, “I’ll pay you back. I swear.”
“Since I’m never going to see you again, you don’t have to. Just do me one favor.” She paused until I nodded my consent. “Get help, Kenna.”
“I am,” I said, thinking of Vee and her marvelous, puzzle-solving brain. “Will you do me one favor as well?”
She raised her eyebrows as I reached for one of her stray crimson curls. “Don’t let Wes turn you into me. He’s not worth it. Stand up for yourself and be the person you’re meant to be.”
With a final word of thanks, I left Jeanie to ponder who she was and turned my thoughts toward the journey ahead. If I’d woken up in my bed in Chicago, I had a hunch where Vee had turned up — if she’d turned up. As I contemplated the day-long trip to Bainbridge, Indiana, I wondered which I dreaded more: arriving to find out Vee had been sucked out of Doon too, or discovering she hadn’t and that I would be left to figure this out all alone.
T
he streets of Bainbridge felt dull and lifeless in the autumn chill. People passed, avoiding each other’s eyes as they hurried to their next destination. Cars zoomed by, splashing oil-darkened slush and belching exhaust. My eyes watered with the onslaught, and I yanked up my scarf to cover my nose. The breeze swirled dead leaves around my feet and up inside Janet’s too-large fleece jacket. I shoved my hands into the pockets and hunched my shoulders, praying with every step for this nightmare to end, for a miracle that would take me back to my home. Back to Doon.
After Janet and Bob had left and my hysteria subsided, I’d scavenged some clothes from Mom’s closet and made myself a bowl of cereal that tasted like cardboard. I’d stared at the TV as manic characters incited canned laughter in an endless cycle of ridiculousness until I couldn’t take it anymore. So I’d headed out to find a job. Janet’s ultimatum had been clear — pay rent or get out. And sadly, I didn’t have any place to get out to.
My old dance studio had welcomed me with tiny tutued
bodies pirouetting to the sweet notes of Tchaikovsky, sweeping me back in time to all the years I’d spent teaching there. But the tranquility didn’t last long; my high school happy place had become a means to an end. When I’d found the owner, she’d greeted me with a hug and informed me there were no openings at the moment. She’d offered to put in a good word for me at her sister’s ice cream shop. I’d thanked her and headed back out into the cold.
Unable to accept the epic fall of going from Queen of Doon to Queen of Dairy, I’d decided to head back to Janet’s. The job search could wait another day.
On my old street, my steps slowed to a shuffle as I passed the same old rusted-out car parked in front of the house with pink shutters, the yard covered in over a hundred faded lawn ornaments. I then ducked under the branches of a weeping willow that had overhung the sidewalk for as long as I could remember. Nothing had changed in Bainbridge. But much like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland, I didn’t fit here anymore — I couldn’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.
Or was I?
Perhaps I was that same insecure girl I’d always been. Waves of doubt washed over me, tugging me down until I slumped into the damp grass beside the curb.
Had my time in Doon been real? Or had my vision of Jamie in the school parking lot been a gateway to madness, each hallucination sucking me deeper into my own head? My pulse thrummed in time with my accelerating heart. Was it possible that I’d invented an imaginary world to escape my crappy life, then awoken back at home with some kind of selective memory loss?
If that were true, a straightjacket could be in my very near future. I hugged my legs and lowered my forehead to my bent
knees, searching my brain for a glimpse of reality, pleas overlaying every thought.
Please, show me what’s true.
My head spun, and I no longer sat on the cold curb, but walked in a sunlit rainbow of wild flowers, my hand ensconced in warm, strong fingers as Jamie’s eyes shone into mine. Then the scene changed and I twirled in time to a frenetic fiddle, amidst hoots of encouragement as Doonians kicked up their heels around me.
Please, show me.
The weight of a diadem on my head, the eyes of the people pressing into me from every angle, and their deafening cheers as I announced the defeat of the limbus.
At the edge of the Brig o’ Doon, my best friend by my side — I whispered a prayer, and the ring blazed on my finger, its power pushing back the darkness.
Warmth spread inside my soul and I lifted my head, the doubts melting away like snow. No matter how far I went, or how fear tried to strangle me, Doon was a part of me. Always. Maybe that was faith — knowing something as truth, even without proof.
There had to be a reason that the Protector allowed a sinister force to thrust me back to my old life — something I needed to do or learn in the modern world. I walked faster. A purpose that would help me become a better leader, or help me defeat the witch once and for all. I began to run. Just like when Kenna and I found the rings at Aunt Gracie’s cottage. This was no coincidence.
Blind hope spurred me toward something I couldn’t see. Doon was my destiny, and no matter what Addie was up to, nothing and
no one
would keep me from it. I ran harder, pushing my legs to their physical limit.
Our rundown house came into view and my miracle sat on the crumbling front stairs, the glow of her crimson hair unmistakable.
“Kenna!”
At my yell, she jumped up and bolted across the lawn to meet me. We flew into each other’s arms, the collision almost knocking us off our feet.
“Vee, oh my gosh, I was so scared you might not be here! That I’d guessed wrong. I had no idea where to look for you if you weren’t in Bainbridge.”
“How did you know to check here?” I leaned back to take in her precious face, but held tight to her arms. “Where did you come from?”
“Chicago. But can I tell you all this inside? I’m freezing.”
I looped my arm through hers, unwilling to let her go, and led her into the house.
After shutting the front door and locking it behind us, I felt comfortable enough to release my hold on her. I walked over and clicked on a lamp.
Kenna stopped and surveyed the cramped living room. “It looks exactly the same. Down to the blue floral sofa and glass-top tables.”
I shook my head. “I know. It’s like after everything we’ve been through, everything that’s changed in our lives, it shouldn’t be the same.”
As I shrugged off my coat, she walked over and lifted the ratty rainbow afghan my great-gram had crocheted for me. “This thing’s seen better days.”
I could just picture Bob the Slob cuddled up with it, wearing nothing but his tighty-whities. “You
may
not want to touch that.”
She dropped it like a hot tamale. “Why do you think your mom hasn’t done any updating?”
“I don’t know. I think they sold Janet’s car too.” I shrugged. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving! All they had at the bus station were hot dogs and microwaved pizza. Seriously, how did we ever eat that st — ” Kenna’s eyes flew wide and she cut herself off. “What in the wide world of Sondheim are you wearing?”
Glancing down to see black lace and cleavage, I yanked the sweater up as far as the material allowed. I’d had to borrow clothes from Janet, including a bra and clean underwear. “I couldn’t exactly look for a job in my tank and sleep shorts.”
“Really? Animal-print leggings and white platform boots.” She wiggled her brows and shot me a smirk. “What kind of job were you looking for exactly?”
Admittedly, I hadn’t paid much attention to what I’d put on, but this was pretty bad. Then my eyes landed on Kenna’s stretched-out yoga pants, paint-splattered T-shirt, and too-small floral flip-flops — her blackened heels hanging a good inch over the backs. My giggle morphed into a full-blown belly laugh. “We’re a long way from custom gowns and handmade slippers.”
“No kidding.” Kenna shook her head as she entered the kitchen and opened cabinets, taking out bread and two paper plates. “You try traveling over two hundred miles dressed like a hobo. An old lady tried to give me a dollar at the bus station. And I was tempted to take it!”
She chuckled, but the thought of her trekking across the Midwest all alone in the freezing weather with no coat and only flip-flops on her feet sobered me. “I’m sorry, Ken. I’m so glad you made it here safe and sound. Let’s get something to eat and then you can fill me in.”
After gathering a simple meal of PB&J sandwiches and chips, we sat on my bed cross-legged, just like we did when we were kids. Kenna updated me quickly on how she’d borrowed
money from the girl who had taken over her old life and used it to catch a bus to Indianapolis, and then a taxi to Bainbridge. I was impressed.