Chapter Twenty-Three
Annabelle had never quite accepted that she was not a superhero.
And superheroes are never too tired to save the world.
"Ms. Swift, can I be the tree?" asked Oliver Hutchins for the third time that morning.
"Ollie, we've been through this. You're the narrator. Trees don't have lines, my love."
"But I want to be a tree."
"The tree doesn't speak, love."
"Exactly." Oliver crossed his arms with the sort of determination only a seven-year-old could muster. "I don't want lines. I want to stand there and be leafy. My dog likes trees."
Annabelle pressed her fingers to her temples. Five days until the fundraiser. Five days until everything either came together beautifully or collapsed in spectacular fashion, and she was arguing about foliage.
"We'll talk about it later," she said, mustering up her brightest smile. "Right now, let's run through the opening scene again, shall we?"
The children scattered to their positions, and Annabelle caught Nina's eye across the classroom. Her assistant gave her a sympathetic look that clearly said, You look exhausted.
Annabelle looked away. She was fine. Absolutely fine.
She'd slept four hours last night. Maybe five if she counted the bit where she'd dozed off at her kitchen table with her head on a stack of donation forms. Her coffee this morning had tasted bitter and over-brewed, but she'd drunk it anyway because caffeine was basically a food group at this point.
"Ms. Swift?" Sophie's small voice piped up. "Are we starting?"
"Yes! Yes, sorry, sweetie." Annabelle clapped her hands together. "Places, everyone! And… go!"
The rehearsal was… well, calling it a disaster would be unkind. Calling it promising would be a lie. Somewhere in between, perhaps. A chaotic mess with potential.
Marie forgot her lines. Indra tripped over her own feet. And Oliver spent the entire time making branch-like gestures with his arms despite being the narrator.
"Lovely!" Annabelle said when it was over, ignoring the way Nina was biting back laughter. "Really wonderful, everyone. We'll pick this up after lunch, yes?"
The bell rang, and the children thundered toward the door with the sort of enthusiasm reserved for freedom and cake.
Nina approached, arms full of props. "So. How are you, really?"
"Great! Fine. Brilliant, actually."
"You have a sticker on your cardigan."
Annabelle glanced down. A glittery unicorn sticker was indeed stuck to her chest. She had no memory of how it got there.
"Fashion statement," she said weakly.
Nina's expression softened. "Annabelle…"
"I'm fine, honestly. Just a bit tired. Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix." She beamed at Nina, and sweet Nina beamed back.
"As long as you’re alright. We can’t be without our glorious leader."
"Right," Annabelle said, rather weakly.
"Oh, and the book donations need to be moved, the cleaner said they’re blocking the door to the boy’s toilets."
"Right," Annabelle said again. She’d add that to her to-do list.
"Oh…" Nina began again.
"What?" interrupted Annabelle, a little sharply.
Nina blushed. "Nothing, just… I just wanted you to know that I heard Jamie Long chattering to Thomas in the playground about his new guitar lessons and, well, it was the happiest I’ve ever heard him, that’s all."
Annabelle forced herself to smile. "That’s nice."
And it was. She was glad that Jamie was happy. Even if she hadn’t had a hand in it. Even if it had taken Raven to fix things for him.
WHEN THE FINAL bell rang, Annabelle felt like she'd run a marathon. In heels. Uphill.
She was packing up her things when Lily appeared in the doorway.
"So…" the headmistress said
Annabelle's stomach sank. "So?"
Lily sighed. "You're doing it again, Ann, aren’t you?"
"Doing what?"
"Trying to fix everyone and everything." Lily leaned against the doorframe, studying Annabelle with the sort of look that suggested she saw far more than Annabelle wanted her to. "You can't save them all, Annabelle."
"I'm not trying to save anyone. I'm just… helping."
"You're running yourself ragged."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're exhausted. You're anxious. And unless I'm very much mistaken, you haven't eaten a proper meal since I cooked you one."
Annabelle bristled. "I had toast this morning."
"Toast doesn't count."
"It had jam on it."
"Annabelle." Lily's voice was gentle but firm. "This isn't sustainable. The fundraiser is important, yes. But it's not worth destroying yourself over."
"I'm not destroying myself. I'm just a bit tired."
"You're more than a bit tired. You're…" Lily paused, choosing her words carefully. "You're trying to carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders. And I'm worried that when something inevitably goes wrong, you're going to blame yourself."
Annabelle felt something twist in her chest. "Nothing's going to go wrong."
"You can't guarantee that."
"I can try."
Lily frowned. "Why don’t I take over the tickets and the seating charts and all the admin stuff?"
"No," Annabelle said quickly. "It’s almost done. And besides, you wouldn’t understand the parts that I’ve already done. There’s no point." Which was almost true.
Lily shook her head. "You can't control everything, love. No matter how hard you work, no matter how much you plan, sometimes things just… happen."
Annabelle stared at her hands. She knew Lily was right. Logically, she knew it. But there was a part of her, a deep, stubborn part, that refused to believe it.
If she just worked hard enough, planned thoroughly enough, smiled brightly enough, everything would work out fine.
It had to.
"I just need to get through the fundraiser," she said quietly. "Five more days. That's all."
Lily sighed. "And then what? You'll find something else to fix. Someone else to help. It's what you do, Annabelle. It's who you are. But you're allowed to be tired. You're allowed to ask for help. You're allowed to admit when something is too much."
"I know that," Annabelle said. Except she didn't really believe it, did she? She'd spent her whole life believing that if you just tried hard enough, if you were kind enough, if you smiled through the difficult bits, everything would work out fine in the end.
"Let me take care of some of this," Lily said softly.
"You’ve already got a job."
"So do you," pointed out Lily.
Annabelle bit her lip. "The fundraiser is in five days," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just need to get through the next five days, and then everything will be… it'll be fine. It will."
Lily looked like she wanted to say more, but instead she came over, pulling Annabelle into a brief, tight hug.
"Go home," she said. "Rest. The world won't end if you take an evening off."
Annabelle nodded, but they both knew she wouldn't.
THE WALK HOME should have been peaceful. The village was beautiful in the late afternoon light, all golden leaves and cozy cottages and the distant sound of children playing.
But all Annabelle could think about was the to-do list burning a hole in her pocket.
She needed to confirm the final numbers with Blossom for the catering. Check in with Gloria about the costumes. Email the local paper about covering the event. Follow up on the last few raffle donations. Print programs. Double-check the sound system. Make sure…
She stopped mid-step.
There was someone standing outside Arty's pub with a camera.
A very expensive-looking camera.
Paparazzi.
Annabelle's heart sank. She'd heard they were sniffing around, Blossom had mentioned seeing someone suspicious near the café the other day, but she'd hoped it was just a rumor.
The photographer spotted her and immediately raised his camera.
"Ms. Swift! Can you comment on your relationship with Raven?"
Annabelle blinked. "My what?"
"Are you and the rockstar involved? How long have you been together?"
"We're not… I'm not…" Annabelle felt her face heating. "No comment."
She hurried past, heart pounding, and didn't slow down until she reached her cottage.
Not that she hadn’t known that Raven had to deal with the press, but having them right here, having them accost her on the way home. Her heart beat hard in her chest and she thought about Raven, holed up in her cottage, trying to write her album while the world pressed in from all sides.
Another thing to worry about. Another thing to fix.
Annabelle closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Five days. She could do this. She could manage the fundraiser and help Raven and check on Jamie and keep smiling and…
No.
She couldn't think about this now. Right now, all she wanted was to see Raven. To kiss her. To forget about everything else for just a few minutes.
She dropped her bag inside her front door and walked straight to Raven's cottage.
Raven answered on the second knock, and the sight of her made something in Annabelle's chest loosen slightly.
"Hey," Raven said, stepping aside to let her in. "You look—"
"Exhausted, I know. Everyone keeps telling me." Annabelle kicked off her shoes and headed straight for the sofa, collapsing onto it with a groan. "Can we not talk about it?"
"Alright." Raven sat down beside her, close enough that their thighs touched. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Annabelle leaned her head on Raven's shoulder. "Can we just sit here in silence for a bit?"
"Works for me."
They sat like that for several minutes, and Annabelle felt some of the tension start to drain from her shoulders. This was good. This was exactly what she needed.
But then she noticed Raven's phone on the coffee table, screen facing up, showing a notification.
And another.
And another.
"You're popular today," Annabelle said, trying to keep her tone light.
Raven's jaw tightened. "Yeah. Something like that."
"Everything okay?"
There was a pause. A long one.
"They called again," Raven said finally. "The band. Henry, specifically."
Annabelle's stomach dropped. "Oh."
"They're upping the offer. More money, fewer dates, complete creative control." Raven picked up her phone, stared at it, then set it back down. "They're really trying to sweeten the deal."
"And?" Annabelle's voice came out smaller than she'd intended. "What did you say?"
"I said no." But there was something in Raven's voice. A hesitation. A waver.
Annabelle sat up, turning to face her properly. "But you're thinking about it."
"I'm not…"
"Raven." Annabelle's heart was pounding now, fear creeping up her spine. "Are you going to leave?"
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
"I don't want to do the tour," Raven said carefully. Too carefully. "But I also… I never intended to stay in Bankton forever, Annabelle."
There it was.
The truth she'd been avoiding, dancing around, refusing to acknowledge.
Raven was never going to stay.
"Right," Annabelle said, her voice tight. "Of course. I knew that. Obviously."
"Annabelle…"
"No, it's fine. You never promised me anything different." She stood up, suddenly desperate for space, for air, for something. "You've been very clear about that from the beginning."
"I'm not saying I'm leaving right now."
"But you will. Eventually." Annabelle wrapped her arms around herself. "You'll finish your album or the press will get too annoying or you'll just get bored, and then you'll leave. Back to London or LA or wherever rockstars go."
"That's not—"
"It's fine," Annabelle said again, forcing brightness into her voice even as her chest felt like it was caving in. "Really. I understand. This was always temporary. I just… I forgot that for a bit. My mistake."
She moved toward the door, but Raven caught her wrist.
"Don't do that," Raven said quietly. "Don't smile and pretend everything's fine when it's not."
"I'm not pretending. Everything is fine."
"Annabelle…"
"I should go. I have a million things to do for the fundraiser anyway."
"You need to rest."
"I'm fine." The words came out sharper than she intended. "I'm always fine, remember? That's what everyone expects. Cheerful, optimistic Annabelle who never complains and never breaks and always has a smile ready."
Raven's expression softened. "That's not what I—"
"I have to go." Annabelle pulled her wrist free and headed for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow. Or whenever. It doesn't matter."
She was halfway out the door when Raven called after her.
"I'm not leaving. Not yet."
Annabelle paused, hand on the doorframe. She wanted to believe it. God, she wanted to believe it so badly.
But wanting something and believing it were two different things.
She looked back at Raven, standing there in the middle of her cottage, looking lost and conflicted and so achingly beautiful that Annabelle's chest hurt.
"Okay," she said softly.
Then she closed her eyes for just a moment, let herself wish it all away, the paparazzi, the fundraiser stress, the impending heartbreak, and reminded herself: if you looked for the brightness, you'd find it.
Raven wasn't leaving. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Everything would work out fine.
It had to.
"Okay," she said again, and managed something that might have been a smile. "I believe you." And she went back to Raven’s arms.
Because Annabelle Swift was nothing if not an eternal optimist.
Even when optimism felt like the hardest thing in the world.