Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
“The real world?” I repeated.
“The real real world,” Maxine said.
“But how? How do I get from here to there?” I gazed at the world on the other side of the mirrors, the so-called real real world.
“Magic, of course.”
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “How do I get back after I finish the job?”
I had a feeling chanting “Our revels now are ended” wouldn’t work quite as well in the real world.
“Once your new writer starts writing you, you’ll be back in your book,” Maxine said.
“But while I’m out there…I’ll be alive?”
“So alive that if you fail in your mission, well…I hope you like Santa Barbara, California, as much as I did, because you’ll be living there.”
“I’m not opposed, but I’d rather be home with Duke and Koshka—” I looked around. “Wait, where is Koshka? He was right here.”
“Oh, damn.” Maxine shook her fist in frustration. “Why did I ever give you a cat? Do you know how hard it is to keep up with a non-speaking character in a scene? He’s back home at Pilcrow House. Or will be if you complete your mission.”
“And you’re sure a new writer will know how to solve my mystery? Find the real March Hare? Get Pops back? Figure out what my mother was trying to tell me?”
“Absolutely. Especially that one,” Maxine said, pointing to the mirror containing the redheaded writer. “She’ll find every clue I laid out.”
“That’s a relief. Glad someone knows what the heck’s going on.”
“She will. She’s already angry at herself because she knows how it’s supposed to end but can’t bring herself to write it. But once you have a word with her, she’ll change her mind.”
I was barely listening by this point. My heart raced at the thought of my heart racing. Real body. Real life. Real beating heart in a real world. One thing kept repeating over and over in my head: I’m going to be alive. I’m going to be alive. I’m going to be—
“I’m going to be alive,” I said aloud. “Happy birthday to me.” I looked to Maxine. “How do I get there?”
“Pick a mirror,” she said. She walked from mirror to mirror. “That one leads to my living room. And that one there will take you to the changing room at the public beach near my house if you want to get your bearings first. Lots of options. Pick one and go.”
“I can pick any mirror?”
“They all lead to somewhere I know and love.”
I went to the wall and walked along the ones close by. One looked into Maxine’s bathroom, another into her hallway, another her office…then I found one that seemed familiar. Not that I’d been there, but I’d been to places like it before.
“I just go?” I asked her, glancing over my shoulder. “Just like that. Just… whoosh. ”
“Whoosh,” she repeated, then snapped her fingers and pointed.
“And after I whoosh? Then what?”
“Find my husband, Anthony. You’ll need his help.”
I took another breath. “Okay,” I said. Go to the Real World. Find Anthony. Talk a recalcitrant redhead into finishing my book. I can do that. Should I run? Like a running start?”
“I won’t stop you. But before you go…a parting gift.” She reached behind her and pulled out a familiar black umbrella. “In case it rains.”
“My umbrella,” I said, taking it from her hand. “Thank you.”
I felt more like myself again.
“Remember…once you’re through the mirror, that umbrella is just an umbrella. You won’t be able to work any of your usual storycraft. There is magic in the real world. It’s not as flashy or showy, and it’s easy to miss if you aren’t looking for it, so I’d suggest looking for it.”
Being real sounded like a lot of work.
I clung tight to my umbrella and started forward. Then I stopped and turned to her.
“I’ve never been real before. Any advice?”
Her eyes softened. “Advice on being alive? I’d be a fool to think I could tell anyone how to live their life. But you can always count on Shakespeare. Hamlet Act 1, Scene Three. To thine own self be true. ”
I smiled back at her. “Good advice.”
“You should also know…by the time you get there, I’ll already be gone.”
“Oh. I wanted to say goodbye.”
“Then we’ll say goodbye here,” she said.
Her eyes filled with tears that she seemed too proud to shed. I stepped forward to hug her, but she held up her hand to stop me. If I held her, I realized, she might not be able to let go.
“I’m still mad at you about my mother,” I said instead. “But I really appreciate you giving me a cat and Duke and Pops and a nice house and even the stupid car. And a very cool job. Thank you for everything.”
“My pleasure. And thank you for giving me something I could give the world.”
“You’re welcome.”
“All right. Bye, kid.”
I took a step toward the mirror I’d chosen.
“Rainy?”
“Yes, Maxine?” I said.
“There’s a scene in Through the Looking-Glass where Alice meets the old, feeble White Knight.”
“I know that scene.”
“You know, I always thought of Alice in Wonderland as a comedy about how silly and nonsensical it is to be a child. But Looking-Glass ? It’s a tragedy because as crazy and confusing as it is to be a kid…
it’s better than getting old and dying.” She held up her trembling hands and looked at them. I sensed I was losing her.
“Why are you telling me this, Maxine?” I asked gently.
“Sorry, mind wandering. Getting foggy up here.” She tapped her temples. “Time for me to go through my Looking Glass. Too bad. I was enjoying this life.” She took a breath and seemed to pull herself together. “Sorry, where was I?”
“The White Knight and Alice.”
“Right. The White Knight escorts Alice to the end of his move. Then he gathers his horse’s reins, and as he’s about to leave her, he says, ‘ You’ll wait and wave your handkerchief when I get to that turn in the road?
I think it’ll encourage me, you see. ’ And she does.
Alice waves at him and thinks maybe she did encourage him a little.
” Maxine laughed at herself, dashing her tears away with her thumbs.
“Maybe you’ll wave at me when you go? I think it’ll encourage me.
I mean…you’ve never lived before, and I’ve never died before. ”
“Let’s wave at each other then,” I said.
“Good idea. You always had such good ideas.”
“Great minds think alike.”
I started again toward the mirror I’d chosen, walking sedately. I’d given up on the idea of making a running start and leaping through the mirror. The risk of cutting myself seemed too great. And really, honestly, I wasn’t quite ready to leave Maxine yet.
When I reached it, I turned back around.
“Did you love me?” I asked her. “I know that’s a stupid question but—”
“I wouldn’t have written all those books about you if I didn’t love you. I did want to shoot you out of a cannon every now and then, but only when the writer’s block hit.”
I laughed.
“Thanks again,” I said. “For everything. Literally everything.”
“It’s been a pleasure working with you,” she said.
She raised her hand and waved at me. I waved back. It did seem to work. I was encouraged, and I think she was too.
“Tell Anthony…Well, you know what to tell Anthony,” she said, and in her last moments, she imparted into my mind and heart exactly the words she wanted me to say when the time came.
“Got it,” I said. “Bye, Maxine.”
A standing mirror suddenly appeared at Maxine’s side. A bright and beckoning light poured from it. “Here we go,” she said, “the next chapter.”
She stepped through the mirror and was gone.
And for the second time that day…
—
…Rainy March fell through a looking-glass.