Faerie Tale. Raymond E. Feist

first seeing the house, she had inquired into her husband’s mental health, only partially joking. It was all the good things he saw, sturdy turn-of-the-century construction, hardwoods used throughout and every joint dovetailed and pegged, with nails only an afterthought. It was made of materials a modern builder could only dream of: ash, oak, and spruce now rock-hard with age, marble and slate, teak floors, and copper wires and pipes throughout. But Phil couldn’t see that it was also a living exercise in gracelessness, a testimony to Herman Kessler’s father’s knowing what he liked without the benefit of taste. The first Kessler had built an architectural hodgepodge. A gazebo, stripped from some antebellum plantation and shipped north to this gentleman’s farm, sat off to the left of the house, under the sightless gaze of Gothic windows. Regency furniture clashed headlong with Colonial, while a stuffed tiger’s head hung upon the wall of what was going to be Phil’s study, looking balefully down upon the ugliest Persian rug Gloria had ever seen. All in all, Gloria decided it would be a good year’s work fixing up Old Man Kessler’s place.

      She entered the house and moved quickly towards the back door, expecting to have to shout for the boys for ten minutes before they’d put in an appearance. But just as she was about to open the screen door Patrick’s voice cut through the late afternoon air. ‘Maaa!’

      She pushed open the door, a half-smile on her lips as she watched her twins approach from the woods behind the house. Bad Luck loped alongside the boys and a young man walked behind. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and practical-looking boots.

      When the boys were within shouting distance, Patrick yelled, ‘This is Jack, Mom. What’s for dinner?’

      Gloria glanced at her watch and realized it was getting on for five. ‘Hamburgers or chicken. Whatever your father brings back from town. Hello, Jack.’

      ‘Hello, Mrs Hastings,’ answered the young man with a grin and a decidedly southern lilt to his voice.

      ‘How did you manage to cross paths with Heckle and Jeckle here?’

      ‘I noticed the boys were wandering down a gully. Spring floods can come quickly if you don’t know the signs.’ Seeing a tightening around Gloria’s eyes, he quickly added, ‘Nothing to fret about, Mrs Hastings. There’s been no rain in the hills for a couple of weeks, so there’s no chance of a flash flood. But it’s not a good place for the boys to play. Thought I’d mention it to them.’ Gloria fixed a disapproving eye upon her boys, who decided it was time to vanish into the house in a clatter of sneaker-clad feet on the porch steps, punctuated by a slamming screen door.

      Looking briefly heavenward, Gloria turned her attention to Jack. ‘Thanks, Mr …’

      ‘Cole, Jack Cole. And it’s no trouble, Ma’am. I hope you don’t mind my being in your woods?’

      ‘My woods?’ asked Gloria.

      ‘Your family’s, I mean. Your property line runs back a half-mile beyond the creek bridge.’

      ‘A half-mile. We own property for a half-mile from the house?’

      ‘More than that. The bridge is almost a quarter-mile from here, Ma’am.’

      ‘Gloria.’

      For a moment he looked embarrassed, then he said, ‘Excuse my discomfort, Ma’am, but I haven’t met a lot of actresses.’

      Gloria laughed. ‘God! What are you? A fan, out here in the wilderness, after all these years?’

      ‘Well, I’ve never seen you onstage, Ma’am, but I’ve read about your husband, and they mentioned your career in passing.’

      ‘Fame, so fleeting,’ Gloria said with mock sorrow. ‘Anyway, just the fact you knew of my humble career calls for a drink, assuming the refrigerator is still working and you’d like a beer?’

      ‘With deep appreciation,’ he answered with a smile. ‘I’d been hoping to meet you and your husband.’

      ‘Then come inside and I’ll scare up a beer for you. Phil should be back with the food shortly.’

      Leading the young man into the kitchen, Gloria pulled the kerchief from her head, letting her ash-blonde hair fall freely. Suddenly she was aware of a desire to primp, feeling both amused and alarmed by it. She hadn’t been in front of the cameras since before the twins were born, and had lost a lot of the automatic checking of appearance that was almost second nature to young actresses in the film jungles. Now this young man, little older than Gabbie from his appearance, made her wish for a mirror and a washcloth. Feeling suddenly silly, she told herself she wasn’t going to apologize for her appearance. Still, he was handsome in a way Gloria liked: unselfconscious, dark good looks, athletic but not overly muscular. Gloria smiled inwardly in anticipation of Gabbie’s reaction to the young man. He really was cute. Turning towards Jack, she said, ‘We’re still uncrating around here.’

      Jack looked concerned. ‘I’m sorry if this is an inopportune time, Ma’am. I can visit another day.’

      She shook her head as she opened the refrigerator. ‘No, I just mean pardon the mess.’ She handed him a beer. ‘And it’s “Gloria”, not “Ma’am”.’

      Jack’s eyebrows went up as he regarded the white bottle. ‘Royal Holland Brand,’ he said approvingly.

      ‘Phil is that rarest of all birds, a well-paid writer. He buys it by the case.’

      Jack sipped the beer and made an expression of satisfaction. ‘I can imagine, considering the success of his films. Still, I’ve often wondered why he hasn’t written another book.’

      ‘You’ve read one of Phil’s books?’ Gloria asked, suddenly interested in the young man.

      ‘All of them. And all the short stories he’s published. They should be put in an anthology.’

      ‘You’ve read all three of Phil’s books,’ she said, sitting down.

      ‘Four,’ Jack corrected. ‘He wrote that romance paperback under the name Abigail Cook.’

      ‘God! You’ve done your homework.’

      Jack smiled, a boyish grin on a man’s face. ‘That’s exactly what it is, homework. I’m a graduate student up at Fredonia State –’

      Conversation was interrupted by an explosion through the door in the form of the twins and Bad Luck. ‘Dad’s here!’ yelled Patrick, with Sean echoing his cry.

      ‘Hold it down to a dull roar, kids,’ commanded Gloria. As expected, she was ignored. The unpacking was a constant pain for Gloria, but the boys thought food from the local fast-food emporiums two nights running a treat.

      Phil came through the hall door carrying two barrels of the Colonel’s best. Setting them down, he kissed Gloria on the cheek and said, ‘Hello! What is this? Cheating on me already?’

      Gloria ignored the remark. ‘Phil, this is Jack Cole, a neighbour. He’s a fan of yours.’

      Phil extended his hand and they shook. ‘Not many people pay attention to who writes a movie, Jack.’

      ‘He’s read your books, Phil. All of them.’

      Phil looked flattered and said, ‘Well then, Jack, there are fewer people still who’ve read my … Did Gloria say all of them?’

      Jack grinned. ‘Even Winds of Dark Passion by Abigail Cook.’

      ‘Well, I’ll be go-to-hell. Look, why don’t you join us for supper. We’ve both original and extra crispy, and there’s another bottle of beer where that one came from.’

      Jack appeared about to beg off when Gabbie entered the kitchen carrying paper bags filled with rolls, potatoes, and other accompaniments for the chicken. She was on the verge of some comment when she caught sight of Jack. For a brief moment the two young people stood facing each other in an obviously appraising fashion, and equally obviously both approving of what they saw. Jack’s face slowly relaxed