my appearance. His behavior is a seismic shift from a few weeks back—well, at least for me it was a few weeks back—when he helped me into the 1905 outfit he kept at Jess’s store. Then, his fingers lingered on my skin, like he was looking for any excuse to make physical contact.
Now, it’s like he’s dressing a child who’s late for the school bus—a child he doesn’t especially like. I know I can’t have it both ways. I should be relieved, and in one sense, I am. But this shift in his personality is too abrupt, too extreme, for me just to accept without question, especially after Julia raised doubts about his loyalty. I don’t know what changed him, what turned him into someone I barely recognize, but we need to talk.
I grab his hand as he stashes the brush in the drawer. Again, he shakes me off and drops a black velvet ribbon in my lap. “Put your key on this. It looks stupid on the cord.”
The shorter ribbon definitely works better with the dress and will make it harder for Houdini to miss, but again the words and his tone aren’t in character. I attach the key to the ribbon and tie it behind my neck.
“Better?” I ask with a tentative smile.
“You’ll do.” He holds the evening bag out in my direction. “Now could we get moving?”
The smile freezes on my face. “Who peed in your coffee, Kiernan? Why are you acting this way?”
He lets out an annoyed huff and replies with mock patience. “Kate, we need to go or we’ll be late. Do me a favor and at least try to act professional.”
Both his tone of voice and the words are clearly intended as a slap in the face. I feel tears spring to my eyes and look away to hide them. There’s a brief glimmer of something that looks like remorse in his expression when I glance back, but he gets it under control quickly.
“Fine.” I snatch the purse from his hand. “But as soon as we’re done, you will tell me what the hell is going on with you.”
Kiernan wasn’t exaggerating. The Hippodrome is less than three minutes from the Queen’s Hotel. For the first two blocks we use the boardwalk. Flocks of seagulls swoop along the beach, and they have the place pretty much to themselves. One lone couple huddles together on a driftwood log a yard or so beyond the reach of the tide. It’s cold—cold enough that I wish Kiernan had added a coat to my costume rather than this useless cape.
The theater is a block in from the shore. It’s general admission, and there are already people milling about, so perhaps Kiernan was right to suggest arriving early. Of course, he could easily have set the coordinates so that I jumped in an hour or two before the show and avoided a last-minute rush.
We push our way through to the front of the theater so that I’ll be in position once they start asking for volunteers. Kiernan put the hammer and nails into the little evening bag I’m holding, and the handle sticks out in plain view. It looks stupid, and I wonder if Kiernan’s preparations aren’t overplaying my assigned role as the helpless little woman.
There are maybe three hundred seats in front of us as we enter the plush red auditorium, so my first impression is that it’s much smaller than the one at Norumbega where Kiernan performed his Boudini act. Then I glance up and see that there are two seating levels above us. Most of those seats are already filled, so I’m guessing they’re the less expensive option.
I locate two vacant chairs in the second row, just to the left of center. Kiernan puts his program on the seat next to me and says he’ll be back later. “Keep an eye out for a stage manager.” He nods at a door to the side of the stage that’s slightly ajar. “Then announce loudly that you have hammer and nails. And don’t get all pissy if they laugh at you.”
“Why should I take it personally? I didn’t pick this costume, so they’ll be laughing at you, not me.”
A faint ghost of his old grin surfaces, but disappears almost immediately.
Now, it’s like he’s dressing a child who’s late for the school bus—a child he doesn’t especially like. I know I can’t have it both ways. I should be relieved, and in one sense, I am. But this shift in his personality is too abrupt, too extreme, for me just to accept without question, especially after Julia raised doubts about his loyalty. I don’t know what changed him, what turned him into someone I barely recognize, but we need to talk.
I grab his hand as he stashes the brush in the drawer. Again, he shakes me off and drops a black velvet ribbon in my lap. “Put your key on this. It looks stupid on the cord.”
The shorter ribbon definitely works better with the dress and will make it harder for Houdini to miss, but again the words and his tone aren’t in character. I attach the key to the ribbon and tie it behind my neck.
“Better?” I ask with a tentative smile.
“You’ll do.” He holds the evening bag out in my direction. “Now could we get moving?”
The smile freezes on my face. “Who peed in your coffee, Kiernan? Why are you acting this way?”
He lets out an annoyed huff and replies with mock patience. “Kate, we need to go or we’ll be late. Do me a favor and at least try to act professional.”
Both his tone of voice and the words are clearly intended as a slap in the face. I feel tears spring to my eyes and look away to hide them. There’s a brief glimmer of something that looks like remorse in his expression when I glance back, but he gets it under control quickly.
“Fine.” I snatch the purse from his hand. “But as soon as we’re done, you will tell me what the hell is going on with you.”
Kiernan wasn’t exaggerating. The Hippodrome is less than three minutes from the Queen’s Hotel. For the first two blocks we use the boardwalk. Flocks of seagulls swoop along the beach, and they have the place pretty much to themselves. One lone couple huddles together on a driftwood log a yard or so beyond the reach of the tide. It’s cold—cold enough that I wish Kiernan had added a coat to my costume rather than this useless cape.
The theater is a block in from the shore. It’s general admission, and there are already people milling about, so perhaps Kiernan was right to suggest arriving early. Of course, he could easily have set the coordinates so that I jumped in an hour or two before the show and avoided a last-minute rush.
We push our way through to the front of the theater so that I’ll be in position once they start asking for volunteers. Kiernan put the hammer and nails into the little evening bag I’m holding, and the handle sticks out in plain view. It looks stupid, and I wonder if Kiernan’s preparations aren’t overplaying my assigned role as the helpless little woman.
There are maybe three hundred seats in front of us as we enter the plush red auditorium, so my first impression is that it’s much smaller than the one at Norumbega where Kiernan performed his Boudini act. Then I glance up and see that there are two seating levels above us. Most of those seats are already filled, so I’m guessing they’re the less expensive option.
I locate two vacant chairs in the second row, just to the left of center. Kiernan puts his program on the seat next to me and says he’ll be back later. “Keep an eye out for a stage manager.” He nods at a door to the side of the stage that’s slightly ajar. “Then announce loudly that you have hammer and nails. And don’t get all pissy if they laugh at you.”
“Why should I take it personally? I didn’t pick this costume, so they’ll be laughing at you, not me.”
A faint ghost of his old grin surfaces, but disappears almost immediately.
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