Shades of Doon Page 11

  “I left it . . . um . . .” When it came to lying on the spot, I was a Padawan to my BFF’s Jedi. As a result I blurted, “It’s in my suitcase and the airline lost it.”

  Janet cocked a brow. “Why on God’s green earth would you put your cell phone in your suitcase? Seriously, Ronnie, of all the harebrained, stupid things to do. Don’t you dare think that I’ll replace — ”

  I didn’t dare think anything when it came to Janet. I stepped forward, raised my brows, and stared her in the eyes. “I need to use your cell phone immediately.”

  Janet blinked once, twice, three times, and then stepped back out of my way.

  “Ohh . . . little Vee’s grown a backbone.” Bob’s voice, deep and whiny at the same time, made me want to punch him.

  “Mom, where’s the phone?”

  Deep brackets appeared around her mouth before she answered. “In the kitchen, by my purse.”

  Rushing through the hallway and into the cramped kitchen, I ignored the sick waves of déjà vu washing over me. After five long years, I knew every crack in the plaster and every creak in the floorboards. The tiny house, held together with duct tape and a prayer, was all we’d been able to afford after my dad left. It made me wonder what Janet and Bob were still doing in this dump.

  I stumbled over a peeled-up corner of linoleum and grabbed Janet’s smartphone off the counter. Scrolling through the contacts, I searched for the name Walter Reid. If I ended up here, then maybe Kenna ended up with her dad in Arkansas.

  I’d spent half my life glued to Kenna’s side — surely my mom had her family’s contact information programmed into her phone. But after scrolling through the “R” section twice, I’d come up empty. I keyed in a “W,” praying it would be under his first name. I scanned the short section of contacts and the blood froze in my veins.

  Welling, Paul. I clicked on my dad’s name with a trembling finger. It was a local number. My pulse accelerated, and my heart pounded in my ears as my finger hovered over the call icon next to his name.

  “Vee, I need that back. You showing up here out of the blue is going to make me late.”

  Janet’s voice snapped me back to reality. I had to find my best friend. Quickly committing my dad’s number to memory, I switched to the Internet.

  “I just need three minutes, Mom.” I glanced up and met her eyes, the lump in my throat growing larger by the second. “Please.”

  Her expression softened in a rare show of vulnerability, and in that moment, she was my mom again. The one who read me bedtime stories, braided my hair with rainbow ribbons, and watched movies with me when I was sick — the woman she’d been before my dad broke her heart. “Maybe I should take the day off work.”

  Tears burned behind my eyes and I stepped toward her, ready to throw myself into her arms and sob like a baby.

  “No way, Janet.” Bob stomped into the kitchen as he tugged a sweat-stained ball cap onto his head. “If you miss another day, you’ll lose that job. And they’re talkin’ layoffs at the quarry.”

  Janet whipped around and shoved a finger in Bob’s chest. “You said you were looking for another job. What happened to the construction position? Or the delivery job? You’re really a . . .”

  Tuning out their squabbling, I searched whitepages.com. When I found a Walter Reid on the correct street, I tapped the screen to connect the call.

  As the phone rang, I moved into the living room, farther away from the noise. Three rings. Please pick up. Five rings. Please let her be there. Seven rings.

  Please God . . .

  “This is Walter Reid, If you’re getting this message — ”

  No idea what to say, I ended the call.

  “I have to go, Ronnie. Give me my phone.” Back to her old charming self, Janet stuck her hand out and glared.

  Reluctantly, I gave it back to her.

  “Don’t think you’re off the hook either. We’ll be having a long discussion tonight about your future. And if it involves you staying here longer than one night, you’ll be paying your part of the rent.”

  “Come on, Janet!” Bob yelled from the kitchen. Apparently they only had one car, because Janet turned and followed him out the back door. With a slam and a squeal of tires, I was alone.

  Curling into a ball, I rocked back and forth on the sofa, willing the tears to come. But I felt numb — hollow and emptied out. Like my heart had been torn from my chest and I’d never feel anything again.

  Then I heard Jamie’s voice, deep and ragged, so clear it sounded as if he were in the room.

  “ . . . Dinna let an evil scheme steal your faith. There is nowhere you can go . . . nothin’ that can keep us from finding our way back to each other . . . Do you hear me, Verranica? Doon is your Calling and you . . . you are mine.”

  Finally, the tears came.

  CHAPTER 12

  Mackenna

  Ishifted in the darkness thinking about how a comforter was fittingly named. The soft weight formed a cozy cocoon that enveloped me in a pleasant sleep. Every time my brain tried to tell me to get up, the comforter lulled me back to dreamland. Whatever the day would bring in the kingdom of Doon could wait while I snoozed for just a few more minutes. Something about that thought wasn’t quite right . . .

  I blinked at the bedside alarm clock. Five fifteen in the morning — too early for man or beast. Wait . . . since when did Doon have power?

  I sat straight up in bed, searching the cluttered space. At the far end of the room the electric glow of a digital clock cast a greenish tinge against the wall. The faint memory of burrito stink filled my senses as I oriented myself to the familiar surroundings: microwave, fridge, desk/dressing/dining room table, single chair, and my bed. The walls were decorated with Broadway posters and the snuggly comforter depicted two silhouettes, one light, one dark . . . and green. Glinda and Elphaba — a present from my dad when I’d left Arkansas for my internship.

  Holy Hammerstein! I was in Chicago, in my studio apartment.

  The confusion of waking up in my old space caused me to struggle out of my comforter’s siren pull and stagger to my feet. I still had on the fleecy pajamas I’d specially chosen for my slumber party with Vee and Emily. What exactly had happened?

  The doorknob began to jiggle, causing hope to blossom in my chest that Duncan would be on the other side. But if that were the case, wouldn’t he knock? He wouldn’t just open the door and barge in. The only person I knew cocky enough to do that was Adrenaline Theatre’s Artistic Director, Weston Ballard.

  In my mind’s eye, Wes’s entitled face morphed into Adam’s as the events of my last few minutes in Doon came rushing back. The science nerd I thought was a friend had stolen my ring, along with Vee’s, and somehow forced us out of the kingdom.

  My heart began to accelerate as the door knob turned with a soft click. I edged backwards forgetting about the bed until I landed on the mattress with a thump. Light spilled into the room from the hallway as the door opened, illuminating the intruder. Not Duncan or Wes, but a petite, female form. The bands around my chest loosed and my breath whooshed out in relief. The sound drew the girl’s attention. Her head whipped in my direction and she screamed. Before I could stop myself, I started screaming back.

  For several seconds we shrieked at one another in the darkness until the girl flipped on the light. Blinking like mole-men against the harsh glare, we both fell silent.

  “Kenna? Is that you?” Her voice was vaguely familiar, but since I was essentially blind, I couldn’t place it.

  “Oh my gosh — it is you.” The girl’s form rushed over to the bed. “We were all so worried. How are you?”

  “Okay . . .” Or not. Up close, I could see the girl’s delicate upturned nose and brilliant red curls. She reminded me of — me. Only her hair at the roots was nearly black, and suddenly I could picture her with a dark pixie cut. “Jeanie?”

  “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 las
t 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.

  CHAPTER 13

  Veronica

  The 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.