The Accidental Siren

10.10 Olivia

Six hours until the Fairytale premiere.

The forest was golden. The sun passed through the dense canopy as if the leaves were scraps of yellow cellophane, diffusing the light into a visible, tangible atmosphere.

I wanted to hold Mara's hand, but she shied away whenever I made a move. Maybe she didn't want Whit to see us touch.

It was a nostalgic afternoon. The three of us strolled through the castle estate, chatting about our summer as if it was eons ago, kicking the cardboard remains of soggy roman candles, and cringing at the yellow snapdragon stain in the driveway. Whit and I reenacted our first encounter with Danny and A.J. in the woods. Mara found the patch of onion weeds where we filmed her conversation with Dorothy. She plucked a purple flower and wove it through her hair.

“I have presents,” Whit said. “Grab my bag?”

Mara heaved the backpack from beneath his chair.

“Open it,” he said.

She unzipped the main pocket and removed a statue of a gold man holding a star above his head. She read the plate at the base of the trophy and smiled. “This one says James.”

I took it and read the text aloud, “Best Director, James Parker. Fairytale, 1994.”

“They're supposed to look like Oscars,” Whit said. “I got one for Livy for best makeup. Mine's at home--”

“On your achievement shelf?” Mara asked.

“Dead center.”

She pulled out a second trophy and read the inscription. “Best Actress: Mara Lynn Landon. Fairytale, 1994.”

“Whit,” I said, “these are--”

“Totally killer. You're welcome.”

“But the movie--”

“Disappointing, I know. But these trophies will commemorate the good times.”

Mara bent down and hugged him (a second too long if you asked me) then thanked him profusely.

“We'll finish it next week,” I said. “Maybe we can have a showing over Labor Day weekend.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That'll be fun.”

“Mr. Parker?” 

We turned around.

The voice belonged to Sheriff Beeder. He was making the rounds along the rear castle wall, collecting evidence at my father's demand. “Excuse me, Mr. Parker?” he called again.

When I realized that I was Mr. Parker, I handed my trophy to Mara and pushed Whit toward the house and man.

“Your parents want you to stay close,” he said. “Would you mind playing in the front yard until we catch the delinquents?”

“Sure thing, Officer Beeder,” I said.

“How long's it gonna take?” asked Whit.

The man flashed a jolly lumberjack smile, “The woods'll be yours again before you know it!”

“Would it really hurt if we stayed a little longer?” Mara asked.

“Well little lady, I’m afraid I have strict orders from your parents to keep you outta these woods. And as a county sheriff--”

Mara stepped forward. Her voice quivered with a subtle, yet natural southern drawl. “Surely there’s something we can do to have a few more minutes in the woods.”