The Great Big Fairy (The Fairies Saga Book 4) Page 10

  “Really? That’s all?” Benji asked then looked at the tag.

  “Yes, sir; all clothing is 50% off today. Of course, if you want to pay $10, I’ll just put the extra $5 in the little red bucket here, and it’ll go to the shelter. They can always use the money for what food and clothing donations don’t cover. You know: utilities and such.”

  “Aye,” Benji said then handed her a twenty-dollar bill, “then today a few lights are on me. Put the change in the bucket, if ye would. And have yourself a blessed day.”

  Benji bit off the price tag and tossed it in the trash on the way out. Yes, people were staring at him, but it wasn’t his tag tossing: it was his size and coloring. Six foot seven always got people’s attention. Add to that his flaming red hair, and he was a standout in any group. But, hanging with McCall had given him some hints on how to become anonymous. Of course, that hadn’t been the homeless vet’s intention.

  Benji put on the hoodie, scrunched down, and imagined himself in McCall’s shoes when he met him: no job, no home, no family. Hold it: that really was his situation right now. Situation didn’t necessarily dictate attitude. He’d have to pretend to be someone else. Yeah, right—back to wrestler/actor mode.

  “Winnie the Wimp from Waukegan wooking for work—yeah, that ought to do it.” Benji sighed and went back into the pit of his belly, ignoring the world as Benjamin MacKay felt it. Instead, he tuned in with the senses of an insecure, stuttering tenth grader: short, plump, and with ears that stuck out like bat wings. It was working: he suddenly had a craving for a chocolate milkshake and an extra-large order of fries. His shoulders sagged, his neck thrust forward, and he wanted to curl up in a corner with a hand held video game. Oops, too deep. Keep the Game Boy, but come out of the corner. You still have to be able to function, Winnie.

  So, ‘Winnie the Wimp from Waukegan’ with a passport that read ‘Benjamin MacKay’ meekly purchased a round trip ticket to Edinburgh, Scotland. The ticket clerk noticed that he had been assigned a middle seat and took pity on the large, bashful man, switching him to an aisle seat on an exit row. “Have a nice trip, sir,” she said as she handed him his boarding pass.

  “Um, thanks,” Benji’s alter ego answered shyly, his muted brown hoodie pulled up over his deep copper hair. He could actually feel the embarrassment of Winnie when the woman spoke to him. Benji, still in character, glanced around to see if others had seen the little exchange. Nope, WWW was out in the open, and it was Benji down in the pit, surveying the works of the world through a Plexiglas navel. He’d just have to bear lying low and living in his cloak of invisibility for a few days.

  Ж

  “Umph,” Benji groaned as he tried to get comfortable. He had stuffed the little airline pillow inside of the hood of his jacket to keep it from shifting, but evidently his body had reached the limit of how long it would stay asleep while packed and twisted into an airline throne of nylon and plastic. Oh, for the comfort of a concrete floor and a sack of rice.

  The flight attendant was on another one of her ‘is everything okay?’ and ‘can I get you a blanket?’ tours. He wanted to ask her how much longer, but realized that it was Benji wanting to know, not Winnie from Waukegan. ‘Winnie, Winnie, Winnie,’ he chanted silently. Winnie would want to know, but would never ask. He also knew that when the plane landed, they would be at the end of their flight. Scotland. Edinburgh. So close to Barden Hall that even if he walked, he could make it in a day or less. Suddenly, Benji didn’t want the interminable flight to end.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be arriving in Edinburgh, Scotland in approximately twenty minutes. Please make sure that your tray tables and seats are in their upright positions. Check under….”

  Benji didn’t hear the rest of the spiel. He was suddenly bathed in a nervous sweat. Why did he do this? What was he going to say to them? Were they even there? Mom was raised in Philadelphia, good old Pennsylvania, USA. Maybe they moved there. What about Becky? Surely she was married by now, maybe even had a family of her own. Of course, she would be living with her husband. Maybe he lived in Europe, Africa, Asia, or even Australia? Good grief, Winnie had taken over Benji, and there wasn’t a stiff vertebra between the two personalities.

  “Sir, sir, can you sit up, please,” the flight attendant asked, smiling sweetly at the frantic passenger. “You, um, can take the pillow with you, if you’d like.”

  Benji realized that he had been using the foot long pillow to wipe his sweaty face and neck. “Um, thanks, ma’am,” he said with an honest blush. Right now, there really wasn’t much difference between Winnie and him: they were both terrified and insecure. He looked down at the pillow again and quickly assessed its potential as a barf bag. No, use slow, deep breaths, and think of video games and milkshakes. Visions of French fries not allowed until the tummy settles. Pac Man: eat my fears, gobble my apprehensions, and blast my paranoia. No one is going to see me unless I want to be seen.

  Benji let everyone else leave the plane before he even stood up. His height was definitely more noticeable in the low ceiling craft than it would be in the tall, open-aired concourse. When he finally stood up, he rose too quickly and nearly fell on his face from the change in blood pressure. He managed to grab the edge of the overhead bin for support before totally losing his legs. “Careful there, sir; it was a long flight and we don’t want you falling down, now do we?”

  “No, ma’am,” he answered softly then reached over and grabbed the bottom of the opposite overhead bin to steady himself. He nodded in appreciation for her concern, then took short, careful steps forward, this time using the backs of the empty seats to insure his upright progress. ‘Winnie, Winnie, Winnie,” he whispered as he walked down the portable hallway that joined the plane to the gate. “Don’t stretch yet; hold it in ‘til ye get to the loo.”

  Benji exited the snaky tunnel, almost able to stand up straight. He looked up and down the causeway to find the nearest restroom. He had been on the plane for over seven hours, including the boarding and disembarking, and had drunk two sodas. A little, no, a lot of bladder relief was needed.

  And then he saw them.

  Suddenly nothing mattered but finding a place to sit down, before he fell down.

  “Gregg, I don’t know if we should leave now. Shouldn’t we wait until after Becky’s had the baby?”

  His parents were right in front of him.

  The two of them were sitting spitting distance away from him, directly across from the gate he had just exited, life-sized and at full volume. They were discussing, almost bickering, about the wisdom of leaving Edinburgh while drinking lattes at an impromptu table made of an upended carry-on bag.

  Benji spun around quickly, looking for an inconspicuous seat. The airport was crowded, but he saw an open spot near a blue-haired old lady with a critter of some sort, packed inside a plastic and wire-gated pet carrier. ‘May I?’ Benji asked wordlessly with a look and a hand gesture before he invaded the animal aficionado’s little pet sanctuary.

  “Yes, yes; here, let me move this for you,” she offered and scooted aside a big bag of gifts.

  Benji glanced at the plastic seat before he sat down to make sure he hit his target. Then all of his attention was back to his mother and father, suddenly twenty feet away from him. He knew the old lady was talking to him, but he really wasn’t in the mood to converse with a stranger. He pointed to his ear and shook his head, hoping that she would believe he was deaf. Her mouth made the shape of an ‘O’ and she desisted.

  “She isna due until the end of April. I’m sure she’ll be fine. After all, she did fine with the first one. No, if we dinna leave now, we willna get another chance for at least a year. I ken ye, ye’ll want to spend all our weekends and holidays out there at Barden Hall, addin’ on to the nursery or erectin’ an indoor water park for our granddaughter. Honestly, Mona, Jim can take care of his family jest fine. He seldom goes out of town anymore, and after the baby’s here, I’ll bet he asks for a desk job.” Gregg was holding his coffee with one hand
and patting his wife’s hand with the other, trying to soften the tough words.

  “But I know he’s coming back. I can feel him, really I can,” Mona argued, changing her approach.

  Gregg inhaled then almost groaned. He patted her hand one more time then left it on her knee, his other hand clutching his half-full cup of latte. He had heard the words at least once a day for the last month. He didn’t want to believe his son was dead. No, he really ‘couldn’t’ believe he was dead because of the letter from Evie telling them that he was safe back in the 18th century with his Grandpa. But, now Mona was nearly driving him insane, insisting that their son was back in the 21st century.

  “I’m sure he’ll come see us if he returns. Now, if he’s with your father like the letter said, then he’s fine, and there’s nothin’ we can do. If he manages to come back to this time, then I’m sure he’ll find a way to contact us whether we’re here or in Aruba or Zimbabwe. If, now that’s a big if…” he admonished, waiting for her acknowledgment.

  She gave a brief nod, letting him know she understood. Yes, she understood, just like she had yesterday and the day before and the week before. Her nod changed to a gentle head shaking. He was so tolerant of her mood swings and indecisions: what did she do to get such a great, soothing husband? She was lost in her own reflections and almost missed it. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m sure he’d head straight to Barden Hall. Becky isna goin’ anywhere, except to the market or the baby doctor, so she’ll call us if he comes in; okay?” Gregg said the same words with the same love and compassion as he always did, then stopped and looked around. Something did feel different. He looked down at the cup in his hand. “Here, give me that cup. I think they used spoilt milk or somethin’. I’ve got a knot in my waim and it must be this.”

  Benji didn’t have to act the part of Winnie from Waukegan; he had been stunned back to insecure adolescent mode with the sight of his parents. He had heard everything they said, but it was only raw information, and too much for him to process right now. He knew he’d remember their words verbatim, he always could do that, but what was it they said about him being back with his Grandpa? His head automatically leaned forward to hear more, but the words had stopped.

  His father took the coffee cup out of his mother’s hand and was taking it to the trash receptacle by the big window. Now his mother was grabbing the carry-on bag and following him, out of earshot, but still in view. Even if he could read lips, it wouldn’t have done any good. The two of them were leaned up against the ledge in front of the window, his father kissing his mother’s hair by her ear, comforting her without words.

  Two minutes later, the two of them were at the gate, tickets in hand, boarding the flight to Amsterdam.

  And then they were gone.

  The spell was broken. Benji heard a yipping noise. He looked down and saw the little snub-nosed Pekinese housed in the beige plastic pet carrier adorned with little pink crowns and stars and the name Princess across the opening. All of a sudden, he felt intense pain in his belly. Not only was he gut-struck in shock, the two sodas and the long flight had caught up with him.

  He took a deep breath and looked around. First order of business: get rid of excess body fluids so he could stand up straight. Second order of business: to be determined after first order of business.

  12 Benji’s Disappearing Act

  October 25, 2013

  B illy couldn’t stop thinking about Benji. He had hoped he would stay at the new house with him, Peter, and Mom until next August, when the time was right to go through The Trees. Benji knew the offer was open, but they hadn’t talked about it: the big man always managed to change the subject when the topic came up. It didn’t make much difference, though. Billy had seen the look in Benji’s eyes: he was going to bolt.

  It was only last week that they had done some preliminary planning for the trip. Billy wanted to make sure Benji had the coin and everything else he needed, including immunizations, before he flew the coop, or house, or whatever it was. They were trying to be discreet, but Peter could tell something was going on.

  Peter had gone on a shopping spree after he incorrectly deduced that all of the talk about travelling meant that Benji was going on an extended camping trip. He bought him an elaborate, oversized backpack and something new: the latest and greatest in modern fabric technology. “Look at this,” he crowed to his red-haired idol as he pulled the camouflage fabric from the bag, presenting it to Benji like it was a royal cape. “You can take this anywhere and use it for just about anything. It’s windproof, waterproof, tear-proof, and even dirt resistant. You can throw it over bushes to build a quick hunting blind, poke a few sticks underneath it for a tent, wrap it around a timber frame for a boat, and could probably cobble together a little basket and hibachi to make it into a hot air balloon!” He lifted the edge of the sheet and held it in front of his own khaki-covered loins, “Or even make a kilt out of it,” he laughed and nodded at Benji’s jeans.

  “Yer too good to me,” Benji said, his voice squeaking just a little as he swallowed his embarrassment. “Thank ye.”

  Billy knew what it was. He hadn’t meant to find a new family, but he had. If he was going back to the 18th century in nine months, he didn’t want to have a strong bond to break in the 21st century. No, it wasn’t the bond that was in danger; it would be his big heart that would break. Leaving for Benji was self-preservation.

  Benji had disappeared last week, leaving only the flimsiest of notes. ‘I’ll be back through when the time is ripe.’ “Funny man,” Billy said softly. “Not the time is right; no, he’s speaking of the plum time to travel. The time will be ‘ripe’ next August 17th.”

  Billy sat down in his big, overstuffed chair and mused aloud, trying to sort it out. “I still don’t understand why he didn’t take the truck? I thought he had changed his mind about it. He did say it would be faster and easier than ‘hoofing it.’ Well, he must have had a good reason. I doubt it was pride. From what I’ve seen, no task was beneath him. He was very gracious when accepting help, too. There must be something eating at him. Well,” he sighed, “at least he stayed on until Mom’s place was done. It would have been nice for him to be at the house warming party next week, but, oh, well.”

  Peter walked in on Billy’s conversation with himself. “He’s gone for good? I thought he was just going camping, then going to stay in North Carolina for a year. Isn’t that what he said?”

  Billy paled. Peter was home a day early. Had he overheard him talking with Benji about the August 17th window for time travel?

  Peter spoke up, “I thought he wanted to work for a year or so, and then go see his grandpa or something. I know you offered him money.” Peter saw the look of shock on Billy’s face. “No, dear, that’s fine with me. I know there’s nothing ‘like that’ going on between you two. If I didn’t know better, and I don’t, I’d believe you two were brothers. But, since I’ve met your real brother and you two look so much alike, I doubt that Benji could even be a long lost cousin. It’s just that he was so, how can I say this? He was just so comfortable to be around.”

  “Yes, he fit right in, at least emotionally. I know Mom sure loved him,” Billy sighed.

  “Well, I think he may have liked her a little too much,” Peter said cautiously.

  Billy gave him ‘the look,’ so Peter explained. “Didn’t you ever notice? When Bibb would do something for him, whether it was to bring him a glass of water or a give him a hug for fixing the mini blinds, his eyes would tear up? I think he has, or had, a mother and he’s missing her, missing her a lot!”

  Billy didn’t say anything lest he say something he shouldn’t. Peter picked up on his partner’s reluctance to continue the topic of conversation, so changed the subject. “When do I get to meet your father? It seems like he just got here and now he’s gone. I hope he didn’t do it on purpose. You did say he was happy for us, didn’t you?”

  “Shoot, Peter, he trusts my character judgment; if I love you, h
e loves you. It’s just that he’s going nuts, taking care of all the legalities back in London. He said he didn’t give two hoots in Hell about the title for him or James. I mean, it defaulted back to James when he left and returned to him after he found those papers. It’s a good thing James left me that letter with all of the people to trust in the UK, and who to look out for. He was darned smart to have Ladmo, or whatever his name was, make another copy of his hiatus papers from Parliament or whatever those documents were. Both the original and original copy just ‘happened’ to disappear which was mighty convenient for the wrong people.”

  “Yeah, and the warning about James Bradford, his buddy from The Club, was a good one, too,” Billy continued. “You know, I don’t think he knew that good old JB was his ex-wife’s brother. And, I just found out that JB and the MacLeods have been in cahoots for years, two generations, anyhow. JB and Clotilde are at least second cousins to those slime balls. But, now that the lies and deceptions have been revealed, Dad can make a clean cut of his life in England and move here to North Carolina. He said before he left, he personally wanted to oversee the disposal of his assets. He also wanted to make sure all the fires were put out. He didn’t want any old issues flaring up down the road.”

  “Yeah, well I was glad he married your mother and acknowledged you first, before he did the denouncing or renouncing or whatever it’s called. I mean,” Peter shook his head in amazement. “Wow; that was a biggie. I mean, getting rid of the title and the authority, you a British Lord…”

  Billy interrupted him. “There wasn’t much authority to it. They passed a law about 20 years ago that said the seat in the House of Lords wasn’t going to be hereditary anymore. If Dad hadn’t left and put James in as his proxy, James never would have had anything but the honorary title.”

  “Yeah, Lord Billy Burke Melbourne: that has quite the ring to it,” Peter said then started sniggering.