“I will take that for what it’s worth,” Mama says.
Nathan nods like she asked him a yes-or-no question, which she did not. Then he says, “You don’t have to. I’m going to Omar.”
“For what?” Mama looks surprised but happy but mad. It is confusing.
“For the mayoral go-ahead. For official permission to repair the dam.”
“He’ll never give it,” our surprised happy mad mother says.
“He will”—Nathan also looks like more than one feeling—“because that’s what the people of his town want.”
“Omar’s on our side.” Our mother crosses her arms over her chest.
“Omar’s on Bourne’s side,” Nathan Templeton says.
“Me too,” says Mama.
“Me too,” says Nathan.
But this cannot be accurate. Nathan’s side and Mama’s side are opposites.
Three
I go to the bar with Nora, mostly so I don’t have to look at Mab, don’t have to think about what happened to bring Nathan Templeton to our door, don’t have to consider the hard-won, blown-glass-delicate, slight-as-corn-silk victory which has been squandered here and how and why. If she hadn’t gotten up and left the table when she did, I would have had to, and it was good she couldn’t raise her gaze from the floor because I could not have met my sister’s eyes.
But the other reason I go is to take care of our mother, who is pretending unconvincingly not to be rattled by Nathan’s visit, by Nathan’s confidence, by Nathan’s conviction that he’s a better man than his father, when what he wants and what he’ll do to get it have come straight down the bloodline.
It’s a perfectly ordinary night at the bar. Even though the cat’s so far out of the bag as to render the very notion of bags immaterial, she doesn’t tell the guys about the dam. She’s sorry, of course she is, about their jobs and their plans. She wants to let them be hopeful a little while longer. She’s not worried—she’s certain as sunrise Omar will pick her over Nathan Templeton a thousand times in a thousand—but she’s maybe a little bit worried. For their part, the guys are just happy to be back in her good graces. It’s a quiet evening.
Toward closing, the door opens, and Nora’s head bobs up and her eyes light, but it’s not Omar. It’s a face no one’s ever seen in here before.
River.
At first only his head and shoulders come in. His legs and torso remain outside. But the cold air is earning him dirty looks—that’s not the only reason maybe, but it’s the one he can address—so he comes all the way in and lets the door close behind him.
But before it even meets the jamb, Nora’s pointing back out. “You can’t be in here.”
He raises his hands. “I know. I’m sorry. I know. I just wanted to talk to her.”
Me. He’s pointing at me.
“No.” Nora shakes her head. “No way. You’re not twenty-one. Get out of here.”
If River were a hundred and eight, she still wouldn’t let him in this bar. But the rest of it’s not her decision. He turns, cowed and embarrassed, and walks back out the door. And I start after him.
“Mirabel!” Nora gasps. The Get back here young lady! she’d roar if she could is all over her face, but she can’t say that to me. That’s not how it works between us, but more importantly, she and I have fought so long and so hard to make it possible for me to flout my mother’s wishes and storm away from her in a fit of pique to follow a boy she disapproves of. However much it looks like heartbreak, this is a moment of triumph. Also a moment of triumph. “No,” she says, but it sounds more like Please.
I don’t ignore her. I meet her eyes. And I tell them the truth of it with mine: I have to. I have to go.
A small sound escapes from deep inside her, but she can’t utter the words she longs to any more than I can.
I press the wall switch to open the door and follow River out into the night.
Outside it’s cold, dry and windless and star-scattered, but I am warm, deep in the bones warm, deep in my muscles even. He’s come to find me. He’s come to me.
The first thing he says is “Thank you, Mirabel.”
I shiver and nod.
“Thank you for meeting me. Thank you for talking to me.”
I start down the sidewalk, away from the bar. He follows.
“I know my dad came to your house. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” my Voice asks, and he nods. Yes. That’s the right question.