"Breadcrumbs attract ants," said Willy somberly, his face deadly serious—as if he thought sugar didn't. Wasn't that a hoot, and inwardly, Willy was laughing.

Nora's hand dropped to her side, still holding the candy. She'd never seen Willy not nervous before, and Willy was not nervous. So assured was this person, she thought someone might be playing a trick: dressing like Willy to fool her. It didn't seem likely Willy would wait up to escort her back to her family himself.

Now that he was sure Nora had seen him, Willy stepped smoothly out of the shadows, halting well before he was within arm's reach of her.

It was no trick: as he stepped into the light, Nora could see it was really Willy. Though caught off-balance at seeing him, after what she'd learned about Willy's past this evening, her first inclination was to step forward and lay her hand comfortingly on his arm—a touch said so much more than words, and far less clumsily—but the distance Willy so purposefully kept between them made that a non-starter. Of course. With a twinge of sadness at all that Willy was missing by avoiding even simple human contact, Nora raised her hand with the Square Candy in it to her heart instead.

Willy had known it would throw Nora for a loop if he met her himself, but—an unexpected surprise—he hadn't known what a time of it he'd have keeping a straight face. It was the darnedest thing! The breadcrumbs and sugar bit aside, hearing Nora talk out loud to a Square-Candy, and call it darn cute, was darn funny. Willy stood taller to make it easier to stay serious, consciously bringing his keen amethyst eyes to bear on her. Willy was dying to know how he felt about whatever Nora had heard tonight, and he wouldn't know that until he knew how she felt about whatever she'd heard tonight. This was his golden opportunity to find out—he almost laughed putting it that way—but Willy believed he wouldn't find out the truth unless he came across as imposing, and that meant no laughing. Having already taken his turn, Willy stood majestically, waiting for Nora to take hers. What she said next, and how she said it, would tell him lots.

Nora took a step back, as if the thoughts running through her head were crowding her, making her need more room. The glow of the Factory, lit up for the first time in years; the charmingly whimsical candy welcome; the glimpse into Willy's past; Charlie's adoration and complete trust of this man; the caliber of the people she was meeting who knew and thought the world of him; his generous invitation to her family to come and live in his Factory, despite the harm it might do him: when did all these separate things combine to become a heap? A heap of evidence that this oddly somber someone sizing her up, was someone on whose side she now knew she unequivocally wanted to count herself. Why, good gracious, she thought: that would be tonight: right this minute!

Willy was studying her thoughtfully, waiting for her, and resisting the urge to squirm—Willy never looked at you directly, so this was very strange—thoughtfully Nora realized she only felt intense curiosity. There was no feeling of mistrust: neither from him nor for him. Had the mistrust she'd felt up to now been a reflection of the mistrust Willy felt? He certainly had cause. Nora quickly averted her eyes as one of those causes popped into her head: those braces. Try as she might, Nora couldn't resist imagining those braces, on this man, and wanting to get off on the right foot with him now, she knew that what her mind was up to was the wrong foot, absolutely. Not being able to stop herself, Nora did her best to look away.

She still wasn't speaking and looking for a clue, his deep violet eyes steady, Willy catalogued every nuance of Nora's movements, minutely analyzing each one. He was rusty at this now, but he'd been good at it once. Then it had been a matter of survival. First cradling The Eyes in her palm, protectively bringing it close to her heart, Nora had thoughtfully taken a step back, giving him more space. Willy liked that, and almost smiled. Then she hastily averted her eyes, but at the same time—the nervous flicks of her head in his direction giving her away—itched to look at him.

One side of Willy's jaw clenched in a lopsided frown. That behavior meant only one thing: she'd seen the braces. Willy carefully kept his shoulders square, but sighed almost silently all the same: That mare's nest. He knew if she'd seen the photos, it would be irresistible not to try to imagine those, but at least Nora was doing the right thing—looking away—so determined to see this through, Willy stayed put. It wasn't so bad: Nora seemed as nervous as he, and he was doing a far better job than she was of faking aplomb. Inordinately pleased with himself, before Nora could see it, Willy let go his frown and likewise squashed the lurking smile that threatened to replace it. Nora's absence aside, dinner had gone well, and so far, Nora's return wasn't going badly either. It was hard to keep his good spirits under wraps, but remaining remote was important in this game.

While he waited for her move—Nora was taking a bizarrely long time to think up something to say—Willy wondered idly if he should drop on over to Libby's, and pick up those photos—why, gosh darn it, were they still floating around? The Dentist was long out of the picture—and having got his hands on 'em, he could burn 'em—yeah, burn 'em: that's it— Willy's mind floated on. An icky, inky, revolting little delicacy for his fiery friend the incinerator to enjoy. Hm. The image of the flames, tenderly licking the edges of the curling, shrinking sheets—turning them into tiny pieces of blackened ash—was inviting lovely; and wasn't it funny—before the blackness, the chemicals on those sheets would burn in a riot of glorious colors. Hm, again… his focus beginning to stray with these toasty imaginings, Willy lifted his index finger and thumb to his chin, considering.

Catching the motion, the image of the braces imagined and banished, Nora turned back to find Willy surprisingly lost in thought, but his eyes flashed back on her instantly, the hand on his chin dropping like lightning to his side, once he realized she had turned.

Nora was again struck by the difference in Willy's demeanor tonight: in place of the nervous Nelly she knew, bent on avoiding people at all costs, stood a man the picture of confidence: daunting in a way that verged on frightening, even with that hat and silly haircut. Was this the way Willy was in his Factory? Or the way he was when he knew you better? Or, Nora gulped involuntarily, the way Willy was when he didn't care to know you better?

Nora thought of the newspaper interviews given by the bratty kids and their parents after the tour, finding their harsh characterizations of the famous Chocolatier, in this manifestation of the man, believable. Standing here, Willy was like a cactus: though immobile, unapproachable. Maybe this was the way Willy was when you were in big trouble. Nora had no idea, and letting her imagination run rampant, speculating, wasn't doing her any good.

Nora turned to the small talk remedies she'd been taught to use in awkward situations like this, discarding every one. Late, isn't it? Still up? Nice night. Dinner good? She knew they were all as wrong as they were obvious. It didn't help that she never imagined Willy would greet her return himself. Ahlia, perhaps—no, too young to stay up—but maybe one of the other Oompa-Loompas: she'd met a few more today. Why not Noah, with a map? She knit her brow in consternation. Noah was a man of few words, but he was adaptable: maybe by now, Noah didn't need a map.

Growing tired of waiting for Nora to say something, and judging it a bad sign she hadn't, Willy subtly shifted his stance, his appraising eyes now half-closed, but still never leaving her. Deliberately slowly, he swapped his walking stick to his other hand, managing to make the meaningless exchange somehow ominous.

Nora was running out of time to say the right thing, and she knew it. Willy couldn't know she'd changed her mind about him—Again! She bit her lip with regret at how not-so-long her 'undying' gratitude lasted—if she didn't tell him. Watching him, she knew it was only a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, before he dismissed her as a lost cause, and turned away: politely ignoring her—possibly for years: Joe could vouch that Willy was a master at that. Nora dreaded the place on the sidelines Willy was going to make for her. But how do you tell him, without opening up old wounds, or embarrassing him?

Still at a loss, Nora started to feel panicky, her mind racing. What did you think?—her brain purred at her relentlessly. This is why he's here: to find out what you think! To stall for another speck of time, Nora cleared her throat. The little eyes on the candy in her hand moved at the noise, and she looked down to see them looking up at her. Her brain clicked onto a new track. If doing the right thing, was the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing, was the right thing. She caught her breath. If that was the case, a completely out-of-line, none-of-her-business, insensitive question was the right thing. Ridiculous, but with nothing else coming to mind, Nora took the chance. After all, she'd be saying it to a man who made candies too adorable to eat.

Taking a deep breath, standing straight and tall, Nora looked her would be benefactor boldly in the eye. "How can you possibly be so cheerful, Willy, after all that?"

Her artful question releasing him the right way from his dreadful suspense, Willy giggled fiendishly. He moved his walking stick diagonally across his chest, protectively, but Nora saw his eyes, and they were sparkling. Her heart skipped a beat at her daring, but thanking her lucky stars, she was glad to find herself on the right track.

"See Spot run," said Willy, bringing the giggle under control, his face falling slowly back into its somber cast. "Run, Spot, run." Staying somber continued to prove difficult for him, and with a little flourish, he relaxed his grip on his walking stick, returning it to his side. The giggle was in appreciation for Nora's standing tall, refusing to be cowed, but this wasn't over yet.

Having answered Nora's question, perfectly reasonably in his view, but in a way he knew most parens—heck! Why fight it?—most people considered cryptic and obscure, Willy waited expectantly for the shadow of annoyance, or worse, to flit across her face. If it did, that would tell him more about what he wanted to know.

In another unexpected, but pleasing surprise, Willy saw no flit, and the game was still on. Whatever Nora had heard, had made her more tolerant, without any sign of pity. Willy loathed pity directed at him, almost as much as he loathed eating breakfast cereal. Almost, because pity directed at a man of his wealth was highly unlikely, but you never knew when you might run across breakfast cereal: it was everywhere. Increasingly interested, Willy waited for Nora's next move.

Nora knew a non-sequitur when she heard one, but she'd been around Willy long enough now to know, that what might seem random made perfect sense if you saw it from Willy's perspective. The trick was seeing it from Willy's perspective, and she despaired of that. It would take years, she knew, to learn—if that was even possible. Confused about how to keep going—but knowing Willy expected her to—she studied the carpet, as if written in its threads what to do next would leap out at her. It wasn't, and it didn't, but something better did: from nowhere—in a supernova of insight—it dawned on Nora that only Willy knew where Willy was coming from, and no one but Willy ever would. So the trick wasn't figuring out where Willy was coming from if you couldn't guess: the trick was knowing he was coming from somewhere, and letting him explain. The laughter of salvation bubbled out of her, and she looked up with a smile.

Willy's somber expression was gone, replaced by a sly smile of his own. If Nora was laughing, she was on to something, and it might be the right something. Hallelujah!

Caught off-balance by her own boldness, and his openness, Nora looked at Willy shyly, but Willy, for Charlie's sake as much as his own, nodded encouragingly: for a paren, Nora was doing well.

Nora took another deep breath. "That's from a book."

Willy nodded. "It is. A book any four, almost five-year old, can read." No flit, and assumed sense: that was enough for Willy, for now. With the evaluation satisfactorily over, there was no need to explain further and Willy moved on. He felt fine about Nora spending the evening with Libby: points and bonus points for both. Using the top of his walking stick, Willy pointed to the Square-Candy-that-Looks-Round and asked unguardedly, "Are you gonna eat that?"

Rolling with the change of subject, Nora sensed in Willy's now relaxed manner and casual speech she had crossed a line she needed to cross, and she was still standing. Relief filled her, and she answered as if talking to an old friend. "My father eats them, but I can't. They look at you, and they're too cute."

"I've heard that," Willy sighed, tilting his head. "Darn cute."

Nora ducked her head. Willy was funny, but she was serious about her reasoning for not eating them, and didn't want to laugh.

The tip of the walking stick tapped the carpet, once, quickly. "He's the grumpy one."

Nora looked back up, surprised Willy was continuing the conversation. "Sometimes."

"Why did he try to follow me?"

The fact that Willy Wonka wondered about people, when everyone she knew wondered about Willy Wonka, tickled Nora immensely, and she abandoned trying not to laugh, giggling like a school girl. "That was the morning you took Charlie's model of the Factory to your office."

"My model of the Factory," Willy interrupted, standing stiffly. "Charlie gave it to me." He looked at her reprovingly from under his hat, and the eyes she could just see, peeking out from under the brim, were dark. "You know that. You were there."

Nora's heart missed another beat, afraid she'd broken the tenuous thread of understanding just spun between them; but as she tended to assume the worst, she decided to assume the best: if Willy took words literally, literally, he was right. Nora swallowed, and forged back into the explanation. "I… um… stand corrected— the morning you took what was formerly Charlie's model of the Factory to your office."

Nora paused, happy to see Willy nod, and relax once more. "Dad wanted to tell you that when you announced The Golden Ticket Contest, he told the family the closest any of us were ever going to get to your Factory was Charlie's," Nora wasn't taking any chances, "now your, model. He wanted to point out he was right and wrong— the model made it to the Factory, and so did we." Nora smiled. "He thought having the model, you'd like hearing the background."

Willy flashed a genuine grin: these parens were on the right page. "He was right. Unexpected irony. I like it." The 'Charlie's, now your, model' she had thrown in for good measure was a tad more literal than even he would be, but flights of fancy demanded accuracy, or they became flights of folly, and folly could hurt you: in big ways. Keeping the details straight was a good way to keep yourself straight, and if he was someday going to let them roam around the Factory on their own, they needed to grasp that, and take it seriously. Whether she knew it or not, Nora was already learning.

Lifting his walking stick, Willy pointed at the golden doily on the floor. "You can keep that. It's part of the irony."

"Irony?"

"About the Factories. Maybe if you use the doily to display The Eyes, your pater won't eat it." Willy giggled as if they were co-conspirators. "The Eyes, I mean— not the doily."

Nora smiled. Willy had made a joke: a simple joke, but he had included her. She felt good: Terence and Charlie: Move over! Without voicing the objection she'd have made earlier in the day, Nora scooped up the small, intricate, golden doily. Libby's earlier question about the fates of successful apprentices was still unanswered in her head, but Willy's comment about irony was making her think: accepting this doily might be about one of them.

Nora could only think of two fates for successful apprentices, and Libby, having asked the question, didn't answer it. Nora held the delicate object admiringly in her hand. Neither path seemed possible here: apprentices strike out on their own, or they take over the business. If the latter, this doily would be Charlie's. Is that what Willy meant when he said the irony of the Factories? That he had Charlie's, and Charlie would one day have his? Did Willy mean that one day, this entire Factory would be Charlie's?

Standing in the great Chocolate Factory itself, Willy Wonka standing not three feet from her, the thought made Nora catch her breath. Willy was undeniably making a place for them: if she was right, it meant a dream she'd never dared dream for Charlie—who dreamed himself, every day and night, he might be a part of this Factory—had come true in a way even Charlie had never dared dream.

Happy to see Nora pocket the doily without the expected helping of tiresome fussing, with a twirl, Willy threw his walking stick into the air, and deftly caught it. "Home James! No— that's Terence, and he's already home. Your turn! Follow me."

Having risen, Nora saw that Willy was already headed back toward the shadow he'd appeared from: the vestibule with the spiral staircase, and port for the Great Glass Elevator. "Willy?" Nora was too keyed up now to sleep, and making the most of this, she had another question.

Not impatiently, Willy stopped and turned back, barely hesitating before he answered. "Yes?"

Without the high squeak of nervousness, Willy's voice was melodious. Terence and Charlie were probably used to it, but Nora wasn't. She played back the sound of the 'yes' in her head.

Weight on one leg, his head cocked expectantly, Willy stood easily, his walking stick an afterthought loosely balanced in his gloved hand. Nora's questioning tone when she called out his name made him perfectly content to let her take all the time she liked. After what he'd implied, she might have an inkling of his plans for her son, and if she had…

Nora took the plunge: "The irony you mentioned— do you always say so much, saying so little?"

Willy's answering laughter was gentle indeed. "There's many a slip twixt cup and lip," he said softly, in a velvety voice Nora had never heard before. "I'll grant you you're a quick study, but I haven't said a thing."


Warmest thanks to dionne dance and Celeste K. Raven for your very welcome reviews. I'm not fond of cliffhangers, but this and the previous chapter would have been far too long as one, and that, I'm sad to say, was the likely place to put the break.

I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. Thanks for reading and I do hope you'll let me know your impressions.