Some time later—Rhi hadn't glanced at the clock since Matt left—she fell into bed, feeling discontent and off-set. When Matt had gone Rhi had gone back down to the basement, but there was no fight in her and she'd only stared at her punching bag, lumpish and utterly lifeless un der the light of the bare bulbs. Sighing, she'd switched off the light again and trudged back upstairs, checked the locks on the doors, and meandered to her room. She wasn't bored, not exactly—just upset, and she wasn't sure why. Talking things out with Matt, hashing over things and finding out exactly what was going on, should have made her feel better. Of course she was looking forward to Sunday, to trying something new and who knows?—maybe meeting some more people she might like—but something had set her nerves on edge, and she couldn't dwell on the resolution she and Matt had reached, or on the new sport. She couldn't seem to dwell on anything.
The low light from her bedside lamp seemed to tangle in the silver gilt on the frame of the giant mirror resting in the corner of her room. Rhi squirmed around under the covers and managed to bring her head down to the foot of the bed, nearer the looking-glass, and lay staring at the Mirror and not thinking of anything at all. The light trapped on the silver embellishments wound its way around and around the frame, shifting as though on water that moved with an inorexable calm. It danced in Rhi's eyes and seemed to tremble on the edge of the glass itself, the way the tiny ripples at the edge of a puddle will hesitate before crossing back over the once-smooth surface. Mind completely blank, Rhi allowed herself to drift in the tiny dancing light, feeling her eyes growing heavier and heavier. The light whispered past her eyes, washing over her face...
Drifted....
Drifting
Floating
Falling
Whispers over her eyes became whispers between her ears, distant voices too beautiful and too strange for her to comprehend, but none of that was important because there wasn't anything for them to tell her yet. For now the murmurs remained far off and unconcerned, like music in an elevator but far more pleasant. Her head felt heavier than gold, her arms and legs like stone—had the house been on fire she couldn't have moved. None of that mattered, though—Rhiannon was asleep.
Her tuxedoed, faceless stranger stepped through the Mirror and helped her across the undulating threshold, into a thick world of silver curtains and gossamer. As soon as both feet were on the other side her faceless guide dissolved into the dewy velvet that surrounded her in close rows. Rhi put out a hand and knew she was dreaming, for the rich cloth folded between her fingers but she could not feel it in her hand. Looking down, she saw her bare feet were planted firmly on flagstones or cobblestones, and was distantly thankful she could not feel their cold.
I wonder where I am.
You don't know, do you?
The other voice was distant, curious, but almost unconcerned about her intrusion.
Maybe I'm supposed to be here.
That remains to be seen. Who are you?
That's a silly question. This is my dream.
Of course. Your dream.
Of course it's my dream.
I wonder if you're going to be the one this time.
Which one? What time?
We have one like you, only he's a boy. His father melts metal.
My father is dead.
So I see.
Rhi whirled, suddenly aware of someone behind her, but there was no one there—just the swimming surface of the mirror, waving a picture of her bedroom across its silvered surface. The presence was still behin d her and she spun back, and around, and around and around trying to catch whoever waited over her shoulder but they were too fast they moved too fast to quick for her to see but there was someone she was sure and she spun left and right and the silver curtains twirled with her and wrapped her arms and legs and she wasn't stone and gold any more but the rich fabric was and she was caught and a silvered rope caught round her neck and there wasn' any air but the man was still behind her---
And even in her dream the world darkened as the air left her. There wasn't room to struggle in the stone draperies, wasn't room to toss or breathe, and as the air left her it all began to fall away except for the heavy silver rope around her neck, but her arms wouldn't let her betray the stone draperies and pull it off
Maybe you will be the one this time
And now the world was charcoal and now black with silver shining in the depths like moonlight on water and now she felt something, a cold shattering against her back as she swooned and fell back through the Mirror and onto her bedroom rug
And the sweet fist of air that slammed into her lungs as she hit the floor, wrapped in sheets and blankets and bedclothes, the pillow falling away from her face.
"Rough night?" Mrs. Abernathy asked without a trace of sympathy, a smile dancing at the corners of her eyes as she sipped her morning coffee. Rhi only grunted, padding in her bare feet to the refridgerator. Yawning at the frigid selection presented, she took the carton of chocolate milk off the shelf and sat with it at the kitchen table, staring numbly at the brown cow on the front until Ms. Abernathy plunked a glass down in front of her.
"I got home around eleven and you were already asleep," Mom continued. "Are you feeling alright, honey? I saw you ate the whole pizza yourself, and I hope it didn't upset your stomach—"
"I didn't sleep well," Rhi mumbled, finally pouring milk into her glass. Which was true, she reflected—even after neatening her sheets she hadn't been able to get back to sleep, and didn't not sleeping fall under the heading of not sleeping well?
"Another nightmare?" Mom asked. Rhi nodded but didn't elaborate.
"Honey, I know you didn't like the idea before, but it's not too late to talk to someone about your dreams," Mom continued tentatively. "I still have nightmares, but they're fewer and further between since I've been to counseling, and they don't all...don't all involve your father."
"I got tangled in the sheets and dreamed I was choking," Rhi sighed, "not about Dad. There was nothing about Dad in it."
"Oh. Well."
Rhi drained her glass of milk. "HOw was dinner last night?"
Ms. Abernathy smiled. "Very nice, thank you. We went to a very nice restaurant downtown, and there was a live swing band and we all got up and danced a bit."
"Who did you dance with?"
"Well, Carol had to teach me the jitterbug again, and another woman, Susan, and I showed everyone the Charleston, and Andrew and I danced a little," she finished hastily.
Rhi raised her eyebrows and Ms. Abernathy reddened. "So," was all Rhi said.
"We only danced to part of one song, and just so Carol could help Mark with his foxtrot," Mom said defensively. "And I think I danced with Susan and Carol more than either Mark or Andrew. Really, neither of them was very steady on his feet after we'd been there a while."
"You were drinking?"
"Only a little sherry after dinner, hon. And Carol drove home."
"But the others?"
"We'd all had a long day, darling, and I promise none of them were any worse off than I was." She paused. "I didn't even see Andrew near the bar."
"Well."
"Are you this expressive at school? No wonder this Matt is so enamored of you."
Rhi pulled a face at her mom. "Matt, for your information, is not enamored of me."
"So you're not going to the Prom together?" The disappointment on Mom's face was almost painful, and Rhi was glad enough to be able to relieve it.
"No, we are. As friends. But we're going, which means...." Rhi trailed off, suddenly realizing what it meant. "I guess it means I have to find a dress or something, huh."
"Oh, honey, wonderful! You know, I was a little disappointed when you and Dan didn't go to junior prom last year, I was so looking forward to finding you a dress! Of course, you've gotten taller since then—"she gave Rhi a critical once-over, "—but you still have such a unique shape, you'll be able to find hundreds of things all the other girls won't have a chance of wearing. HOw tall is Matt?"
"Uh..." Rhi shook her head. "I dunno, maybe my height, maybe an inch taller?"
"Well, we'll put you in flats, then, but that's fine. YOu've got nice ankles, you can wear pretty much anything. Oh, and your hair! There's a salon near the office, I've heard great things from Susan about them—I'll give them a call tomorrow and get you an appointment."
"Mom, Mom, take it easy!" Rhi said. "I've got plenty of time to do all this. Besides, tomorrow's Sunday and I don't think they'll be open."
"You're right, hon, I'll have to wait till Monday. But isn't Prom in a couple weeks here? You don't have all the time in the world, Rhiannon. In fact, we could go out to the mall today and look for a dress. Did you have plans?"
"Uh, no, but—"
"Alright then. YOu go get dressed and whatnot, we'll get going and see if we can't find you something to wear. Let's hope you're not the only one waiting till this late, but if we can't find something today we can go out next weekend too. Hurry up, honey," she added, "the mall's open by now, we want to beat the rush! It'll be fun, I promise."
----------------------------
What followed was the most challenging trial of Rhiannon Abernathy's young life. Ms. Abernathy was right, in that Rhi's angular shape and slender frame opened up scores of possibilities to her that someone else (of, say, April's proportions) wouldn't have been able to consider—but that didn't make any of the decisions any easier. There wasn't any magical design or fabric or color that pointed to the 'perfect' dress, and in Rhi's opinion, Ms. Abernathy didn't make things any simpler. A strapless top that Rhi liked failed to pass Ms. Abernathy's inspection because it made her shoulders look bony; the vibrant red Mom fell in love with turned her into a radioactive tomato. They shared the opinion that fluffy 'Cinderella skirts' turned her into an inverted thistledown and were inevitably too short, making her exposed ankles knobby. For a brief, panicky moment, Rhi found herself stuck in a rhinestone monstrosity that made her look like a fruitcake, the zipper pinned in a fold of slick fabric hopelessly out of reach. It was one of the few moments of mirth she and her mom shared that day—three hours into the search, and all she'd found was a pair of earrings she liked.
The Abernathys slumped together on a bench in the middle of the mall, disgruntled at the utter lack of success in their hunt.
"What if we start with the shoes?" Mom suggested halfheartedly. Rhi roused herself out of her brown study and looked around at her mother. "It's entirely possible that once we find the right shoes the rest will—"she broke off abruptly.
"Will what?" Ms. Abernathy didn't respond, staring off into the distance as though she'd seen someone she knew. "Mom? What is it?"
Ms. Abernathy grabbed Rhiannon's hand and hauled her off the bench, towing her through the crowded shopping mall as though she were motorized and her daughter were only a cargo she carried. Weaving skillfully through the masses of shoppers Ms. Abernathy homed in on a shiny platinum storefront, resplendant with rotating neon lights and pounding dance music. Through the shopfront Rhi was towed, spun, and planted in front of a mannequin that stood in the low windows.
"Mom—"she tried again, but Ms. Abernathy was examining the dummy from headless top to bottom.
"This is perfect, Rhi, perfect!" Mom chirped, circling the mannequin. Rhi finally took her eyes from the shark that had been her mother five minutes ago—and saw that her mother might, for now, be right.
The mannequin, narrow-waisted and small-chested like Rhi herself, was hiked to a height that (had it posessed a head) was close to Rhi's. From the abbreviated neck draped a silky black halter top that wrapped around low on the back to drop to a point over the front and back waist. The skirt flowed from there straight to the floor, floating just above it in satiny folds. At the neck and the lower hem were scattered tiny handfuls of diamondlike stones that sparkled with just enough brilliance to flatter even a headless mannequin.
It would even go with the earrings Rhi had already bought.
"I want it," Rhi said.
Forty minutes later Rhiannon and Ms. Abernathy strolled gaily down the fairway towards the parking lot, Mom with a shoebox and jeweler's bag, Rhiannon with the garment bag containing her new dress. Her shoes were simple black flats; to the faux diamond earrings purchased earlier they'd added two silver haircombs, a trio of sparkling bangles and a pair of opera-length black gloves. The Abernathy women chatted gaily about plans for Rhi's thick black hair and the probable color of Matt's tie—
A tall man with dark hair and a distinctive gait turned the corner to the parking garage, just down the corridor. Rhi's heart froze in her throat as Ms. Abernathy siezed her arm.
"Mom—"Rhi's voice sounded strangled—she couldn't seem to get enough air to make it sound normal.
"Honey, it's...it's nothing, I'm sure..." But Mom's strides lengthened and quickened anyway, like her body needed to identify this man, even if her mind didn't want to.
The pair of them hurried, half-running down the cement corridor towards the corner where the man had turned. Under the orange sodium lights of the parking garage the man ahead of them lost any distinct coloring, but the darkness of the hair and beard were unmistakable.
It can't be it can't be it won't be but maybe....
He fished in his pocket for a set of keys, jangling them in one large palm until the right one appeared—just like—
Now Mom was running, jogging awkwardly with the shoe box against her chest. Rhi clutched the dress bag to her, trying to hold it with both hands while knowing she should put out a hand to slow her mother. Ms. Abernathy moved faster yet—
"Mom—"Rhi tried again, but hope and fear and tears choked her off and Ms. Abernathy didn't hear her.
The shoebox slipped from Mom's hands like a captive thing offered freedom. The clatter of the shoes and jewelry on the pavement of the garage echoed like a rock fall. The achingly familiar man at his blue sedan (blue, I can see blue now, it shouldn't be blue it should be red) turned at the sound to see the two women kneeling, trying to retrieve their lost belongings and composure.
His nose was wrong—too small—setting his face on the wrong planes, destroying the curve of his forehead and eyebrows. His mouth curved down, sneeringly, not up, not kindly, not like it should have. Rhi stared at him, stared, strength and hope draining from her like water. She was stone again, cement like the floor of the parking garage, pavement like the rough slabs she knelt on.
It wasn't him.
It's not him.
Of course not.
It's not him.
"Rhi—"Now Mom's voice sounded rusty, jagged like an old knife. Ms. Abernathy stared at her daughter and Rhi stared back, and neither of them could believe how suddenly haggard and worn and old the other looked. As though they'd been through hell.
Again.
"Let's go home, honey," Ms. Abernathy whispered.