The helicopter rose into the air. I struggled to my feet and limped to the porch railing to wave as long as there was any chance Sky might catch a glimpse of me. Finally, its shape faded into the Scottish mist.
I hadn’t realized Dad stood beside me. “Happy?”
I nodded, though “happy” failed to capture one percent of the emotional overload.
Let’s get you back inside.”
I hobbled with him, unable to wipe the perma-smile off my face despite my throbbing—most likely broken—toes. I had thrown a doozy of a fit the night before when I’d thought Sky had once more ditched me. Unfortunately, my rage had been no match for Helena’s sturdy, outdoor chaise. Kate, the all-sufficient housekeeper at Helena’s Isle of Skye home, bustled out the door to assist on the other side until I finally plopped onto the couch of Helena’s sitting room.
“Well,” Helena sighed. “My most successful intrigue to date.”
I turned to face the four smug, smiling faces. “Okay you con-artists, how long have you been planning this?”
They were only too eager to boast of their plotting and deceptions.
“I asked Wally for your parents’ phone number, let’s see, two months ago?” Helena turned to Mom and Dad who nodded in agreement.
However, the more they spoke of inter-continental phone calls and moments when they thought it would all fall through, (only three days ago it had seemed Sky wouldn’t be able to break away from the tour) I felt a bit sad. Was such an elaborate ruse truly necessary for Sky to commit to me?
“Don’t worry, Esther.” Helena read my thoughts. “He would have come ‘round eventually on his own, but I’m too old to wait. Besides, nothing makes me feel more alive than a little manipulation.”
Light dawned as I recalled my first meeting with Helena. My eyes narrowed and I shook an accusing finger her way. “That bit at the airport. You fake! And here I thought I was doing a good deed.”
“I had already spotted you. Just consider it a little test you passed with flying colors. I knew the girl Lester was so taken with would never allow an old lady to miss her flight.” Helena always used his given name of “Lester” when referring to her famous grandson. She winked as she continued. “Besides, I liked getting to know you on my terms, without being his grandmother. How dull would that be? This way we became friends in our own right.”
“And you!” I turned on my dad. “You’d better be glad I’m too happy right now to hold a grudge. When I think of the torture I’ve gone through for two years—”
“Which will seem like no time at all when compared to the rest of your life,” my dad broke in with a stubborn jut of his chin. “It was my job to make sure my instincts about that boy were correct.”
I had to call him on that. “You were trying to get rid of Sky.”
Dad held up his hands as if in surrender. “Have children of your own. You won’t blame me.” His face became serious. “But there has been a genuine change. If not, you can bet I’d still try to run him off.”
Even my mysterious stalker that night in Stirling was none other than Quentin, Kate’s husband and Helena’s long-time employee following Helena’s orders. “Sky’s hired hand wasn’t equipped to follow you across the ocean and you decided to be independent so we had to make do,” Helena explained.
Realization dawned once more. “So I was being followed for protection? Even at home?”
“Watched twenty-four-seven,” Helena confirmed. “Though Lester thought his future with you was ruined, he couldn’t help himself. How it broke my heart when he shared some of what you two had been through together. I called your parents that very night and started hatching our plan. I knew Lester would call it ‘meddling’ but,” Helena batted her eyes, giving a glimpse of the accomplished flirt she must have been in her younger years, “it’s what I do best.”
“Kinda creepy to think someone’s watching all the time. I thought the guy who hung around the ranch was a reporter, or that I was paranoid.” I giggled as I recalled the mysterious man who had followed me that night on the quiet streets of Stirling. “Yes, Quentin’s technique was a bit less… discreet.” It was funny now, but at the time I was frantic to realize a strange man dogged my steps.
“How could I have explained to Sky I brought his girl halfway around the world only to lose her somewhere in the Highlands?” Helena stated.
“Poor Quentin. He felt such a fool when you gave ‘im the slip,” Kate added as she bustled in with a platter of homemade scones, fresh from the oven.
So it went for most of the morning. Each had their own contribution to reveal in the grand scheme and, for all their deception, how could I remain angry?
“Ya shoulda seen your face, Miss,” Kate grinned as she refilled Helena’s coffee and tucked a blanket over the older woman’s legs, “when ya thought we was tryin’ to set ya up with the Master. You turned fairly green ya did!”
Soon, Helena brought out many of the family portraits that had been stashed away to keep me from guessing Sky’s true identity. There was a lovely one of Sky as a baby in the arms of the beautiful, blonde, young Emma. Another family portrait included both parents, an adolescent James, and Sky at about the age of three, dapper in a velvet suit with wide collar. Even then, the smiles appeared a bit strained. Sky’s father Everett was a handsome but stern-looking man with the same piercing, gray-blue eyes he had passed on to his son.
We talked about the birthday masquerade ball the night before that Helena proclaimed her favorite to date. “My relatives are much nicer when they don’t know who they might be offending,” she declared. “By the way,” she added with a sly grin, “did you recognize anyone else of your acquaintance?”
I searched my memory of the previous evening, of the arboretum lit like a fairy tale, of dancing with Helena’s masked and charming grandson whom I’d had no idea was Sky, the man I loved. I sorted through the other guests I’d met while dancing and chatting in my fake French accent, the sultry voice worthy of the Blue Fairy guise I’d donned for the party. “Wait a minute. Mr. Light-on-his-feet Captain Hook. That was Wally, wasn’t it!” Sky’s tour manager Wally was an excellent dancer. But beneath Captain Hook’s long locks, the bald head I’d come to love was well-disguised.
Helena laughed and nodded. “And the young jester?”
“That wasn’t Jeremiah. But he’s so tall.” I was astonished at how completely I had fallen for the disguises as further deductions revealed that Harpo had been none other than Adam, Sky’s Jamaican prankster friend and keyboardist. “I at least should have guessed that one,” I said as I recalled a hint of gold in his smile. “He never would have gotten away with it if I’d heard him laugh.”
“Well, the rest of them, except for Chloe of course, still don’t know you’re here,” Helena commented. “And I can’t wait to see their faces when I tell them.” She rubbed her hands together in anticipation.
“Marti’s never going to believe this,” I muttered as the happy discussion rolled on. Truth was, I needed to pinch myself to believe I was going to become a part of Sky’s life. I would belong in this home and by his side. His friends would be my friends. His family and my family would become “our family.” Our lives would intertwine in every way. I looked toward a future bathed in a rosy glow. Only three weeks, then he would be with me and we would start making plans.
I hardly needed my foot to heal since I felt able to walk on air.
~~
Two weeks later I sat at Mrs. Bell’s porch table with a cup of tea and fresh cake before me, telling my tales of Scotland, Sky, and Helena.
This visit with my dear eighty-something friend Mrs. Bell was bittersweet since she was recovering from a fall and the effects were, as she said, making her “act like an old lady.” Her usually glossy hair and mischievous eyes were a bit dull and her hands shook when she brought the flowered teacup to her lips. She was going to move in with her daughter’s family. In fact, much of her belongings were already in boxes, ready for the impending move. But she didn’t want to talk about that. Instead, she drank in my tales of the Highland hills and budding romance, combing over the details as if we were chatting about one of our favorite novels. “I knew that boy would have a hard time forgetting you, Esther.” She sat back with a satisfied smile. “I do love a happy ending.”
Later, at the apartment with my roommate and bestie Marti, we ate popcorn and debated what movie to rent. “Do wives of superstars do normal things like rent movies?” Marti quipped.
“I don’t know.” I copped a snooty tone. “Perhaps a servant can swing by the video store for us.”
Marti and I knew the fancy-free days of hanging out in our apartment were coming to a close. I wasn’t the only one moving forward. Actually, my lifelong pal had a fiancée of her own. Marti’s hand sported Tom’s glimmering engagement ring.
There had been a very nice development since Sky returned to the tour. He called every day. Sometimes the hour was odd due to the time difference wherever he was in the world, but I assured him this was fine. Just that morning, Sky woke me at 7 a.m. during his lunch break in London. We talked until 8 a.m. my time when he had to attend a press conference. The sound of his parting “I love you” played over and over in my ears—my new favorite song.
I was so “nauseatingly in love” as Marti put it. She rolled her eyes and exclaimed, “Oh Lord!” every time she caught me staring into space with a dreamy expression, or sighing as I absent-mindedly tore lettuce. Honestly, I hardly cared to eat at all since love was so fulfilling. So far, Sky and I had managed to remain under the radar so I was basking in the glow without having to deal with photographers in the bushes.
On this particular evening, the television was tuned to the news as we prepared to order pizza. In the middle of me alleging there couldn’t be real meat in pepperoni, Marti exclaimed, “Oh my gosh! I’ll bet nobody walked away from that!”
The TV flashed the ugly image of a black car wrapped around a concrete bridge support. Bold words scrolled across the bottom of the television screen.
RECORDING ARTIST SKY IS IN CRITICAL CONDITION AFTER A TRAFFIC ACCIDENT OUTSIDE LONDON. THE DRIVERS OF BOTH VEHICLES WERE PRONOUNCED DEAD AT THE SCENE.
I stared at the words, each one a dull knife plunging into my heart. I stopped breathing, waving my hands before me in a vain attempt to block their brutal meaning as I sank to my knees on the floor.
I was hardly aware Marti’s arms were around me, the only thing keeping me from shattering to pieces as she whispered, “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.”