Through the Door (The Thin Veil) - By Jodi McIsaac
PROLOGUE
Today was the day.
She was finally going to tell him.
Cedar ran her fingers through her long black hair, her stomach twisting with nerves. She was weaving her way through the crowd at the Halifax Busker Festival, her boyfriend, Finn, following in her wake. Anything could happen here, with its cacophony of street performers and artists and musicians, which is why she never missed it. This year, she hoped, would be one to remember. It all depended on how he took the news.
“So? What do you think?” she asked, spinning around and fixing her mossy green eyes on him. He was looking over his shoulder at something behind them, but at her question he turned back to her and grinned, brushing a wave of brown hair off his forehead.
“The festival? I think it’s beautiful chaos. Sort of like you,” he said, his eyes crinkling. Cedar laughed and kissed him. He smelled like honey and lime and pepper, and it made her heart beat faster, even though the air around them was thick with salt air, hot pavement, street kebabs, and the sweat of performers. The crowd poured itself between stalls hawking everything from incense to kilts, and gathered in knots to watch the entertainment. There were bodies everywhere—some dancing, some singing, some drawing, some coaxing music out of unrecognizable instruments, everyone beckoning and beguiling the passersby. Cedar watched, amazed, as a contortionist twisted himself into impossible positions, and a fire dancer spun and leapt and tangoed with the flames. She lingered at every artist’s stall, admiring the work and discussing technique and influences.
“Maybe next year you should bring some of your work,” Finn said.
“Mmm, maybe,” she said. They stopped and talked to a chalk artist creating 3-D images on the pavement, and Cedar’s face lit up when the man told her he had seen her latest show at a local gallery. Cedar and Finn joined in an impromptu swing dance and then continued on to the next street corner where some old-timers were entertaining the crowd with a set of Cape Breton fiddle tunes. Finn winked at her and pulled his tin whistle out of his back pocket, joining in with a tune here and there as the men played and sang. Then one of the old men hauled him in from the crowd and sat him down on an upturned bucket, insisting he put his whistle to good use and join them for a song or two. Finn laughed and quickly complied, his brown waves bouncing as his body moved with the music. The crowd loved it: this young pup who could keep up with every song the wizened fiddlers threw at him. Finally, he bowed his way out and rejoined Cedar, who had been clapping and dancing along with the rest.
“Two years together, and you can still surprise me,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him again.
“Surely not. I’m an open book,” he said, his rich golden eyes widening in mock surprise.
Cedar swallowed. “So, listen, there’s something—” she began, but stopped when she noticed he was no longer paying attention to her. He was looking away, his brow furrowed. She turned to follow his gaze, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“What are you looking at?” she asked. He shook his head.
“Nothing. I just thought I saw someone I knew, that’s all.” He dropped her hand and continued down the street. She followed him, glancing back at where he had been looking. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to tell him. But she didn’t want to wait much longer.
Finn stopped in front of the theater and looked back at her, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Want to go see the magic show?” he asked.
Cedar groaned. “Oh, no. You’re not going to try to convince me again that magic is real, are you?” As an artist, Cedar thought magic was a lovely and romantic notion, but lately Finn had been taking it far more seriously, bringing home dusty old tomes from the university library and telling her stories of gods and heroes as if they had actually existed.
“Magic is real,” he answered her. “If you want it to be. You just need to open your mind a wee bit more.” He put his hands on her head and ran his thumbs along her eyebrows, which were arched in skepticism. She laughed and pulled away.
“You’re all the magic I need,” she said. “But, yes, I’ll come see the show with you. Emphasis on the word show.”
The sun had set when Finn and Cedar left the theater and joined the crowd spilling into the warm August air. The show had been highly entertaining, even mystifying, and Cedar had found herself daydreaming about what life would be like if magic were real, as Finn insisted.
The plaintive strains of Bob Marley accompanied them as they flowed through the throngs of people. “Come,” she said to Finn, taking his hand and pulling him toward its source. A crowd was growing around three young musicians playing “No Woman, No Cry.” Finn moved behind Cedar and wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing their bodies together. Cedar closed her eyes, and together they swayed to the music, wrapped in the night air and the knowledge that, at that moment, they were the only two people on earth. Now, she thought to herself. Now is the time to tell him.
Without warning, she felt a cold wave sweep over her, and Finn stepped away as if she had shocked him. She looked up at him and noticed with alarm that all the color had drained from his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, putting her hand on his arm. He jerked away and continued staring off into the crowd, a look of horror marring his beautiful features.
“Finn?” she asked. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
He shook his head, but when he turned back to her, his face had relaxed and his eyes were clear and calm. “I just felt sick all of a sudden,” he said. Then he smiled though it seemed forced to Cedar. “Maybe too much street meat for one day. I think I should head home.” She nodded, and they made their way through the crowd. She watched him carefully. His eyes kept darting around them, and his body was tense, as if ready to fight. She tried to follow his line of vision, and for one moment she thought she saw a bright flash of red quickly disappear around the corner. Then there was nothing. When they reached the door of her apartment, he didn’t follow her inside or kiss her goodnight.
“I’m sorry our evening had to end early,” he said, standing a foot away from her. “It was an amazing day. One I’ll always remember.” Then he turned and walked away.
The next day Cedar went straight to Finn’s apartment after work, only stopping to pick up his favorite takeout curry for dinner. Her stomach was once again fluttering nervously. They would be alone together, with no distractions, and she would be able to share her news. She let herself in, and then stopped short.
It was empty. The furniture was gone; the walls were bare except for the holes where her paintings had once hung. A window was open, and the breeze made a few dust bunnies dance slowly around the floor toward her. In a daze, Cedar walked through the apartment, looking for a note or some indication of what had happened. There was nothing. She stood where the bed used to be and slowly pulled her phone out of her pocket. The automated voice on the other end told her his number had been disconnected. She sent off an e-mail, and felt a bone-deep cold creep over her as she read the immediate reply. No such user here.
When she spoke, her voice sounded hollow, as void as the apartment that loomed around her. “I’m pregnant,” she said. But there was no one to hear.