Page 20 of Witch Please

“So he had my friend Fern work with her contacts to get me on a pretend panel discussing successful events in a virtual world. Of course there was no conference,” Tabitha continued.

“But there was a Fern and she had a lot of opinions on how I needed to propose to her best friend. That I needed to make sure it was memorable even though it was on a zoom.” Patrick picked up the story, his excitement quite possibly surpassing the shiny eyed, flushed cheek telling of the woman sitting next to him.

“Fern even convinced Dr. Ryan Patrick—you know the guy who should have come to my original conference—to come sit on the panel to really create some drama.” Tabitha picked the story up, the pair showing off superb skills at the verbal volley.

Tabitha and Patrick had met when he was inadvertently invited to a conference for medical doctors. A Dr. Ryan Patrick from Rutgers was the intended recipient and not Dr. Patrick Ryan the professor. A hilarious story to tell now that it was in the rearview but I’m sure it was totally mortifying at the time. They continued to chatter, talking nearly at the same time, finishing one another’s sentences as the story progressed.

“Fern also felt strongly that the proposal should be followed up with some kind of surprise flower explosion in her apartment or that I should whisk Tabitha away to some tropical island somewhere.”

“I mean…Hanover, New Hampshire, what could be more romantic, am I right?” Tabitha’s joke drew a laugh from the whole table. “Fern means well—” she put her arm on Patrick’s bicep, and the pair smiled at one another in that super giddy high on love kind of way.

“Of course.” He beamed, taking hold of her hand. “And without her, I would have never been able to pull it off.” He turned his focus back to us. “So that is the gist of the proposal. And here we are! What’s this I hear about the most unassuming woman I’ve ever met suddenly taking center stage?”

It was Sebastian’s turn to fawn and praise. Every compliment, prideful glance, or caress down my back had me getting pulled deeper into the Sebastian Doyle pond. Sometimes I still had a hard time believing that all of the years we’d known one another—neither of us had the courage to be like “hey so I like you.” So many years wasted out of fear.

“I achieved a wardrobe switcheroo while divesting myself of my costume, Professor Doyle.”

I whispered into Sebastian’s ear while Patrick and Tabitha chatted with the waitress about the specials.

“Dr. Pilar—are you propositioning me… in the middle of a restaurant?” His forehead practically touched mine—that’s how close we were, but his comment had me glancing around to make sure no one heard him. “Tell a woman you’re head over heels for her, and she goes from shy and demure to quite the sexual exhibitionist.”

His lips found purchase on my jaw just as the waitress turned her focus to us. Sebastian ordered for the two of us. It was something that he’d taken great pride in doing. As if being able to correctly guess what I would choose from any given menu demonstrated just how well he knew me and my tastes.

I noticed the most obviously pregnant woman take the table next to us. Her pregnancy or doting husband wasn’t what pulled my focus. It was how totally shredded she looked as she took a seat. As if someone had just pulled her heart out of her chest and stomped on it.

“If only I’d come back after Mom died, he would have been here,” she cried, allowing her assumed husband to pull her against his chest. “He just retired last year. I have no idea where to look now,” she continued, grinding the tears out of her eyes.

“Earth to Geenie,” Patrick tapped my foot with his own. “I asked how you’re feeling with your big role.”

“Sorry, I got distracted. That woman next to us is upset—and you know me—I hate to see anyone cry.”

It wasn’t my business. In fact it was so rude to even be eavesdropping on what was a private conversation—but now that I’d overheard a part of it, I felt invested.

“I vacillate to be honest—between being totally out of my gourd petrified and being kind of zen about the whole thing. It depends on the hour really.”

“It’s scary!” Tabitha chimed in. “I’ve had to host a few conferences—Patrick’s proposal notwithstanding—and having to sit there, staring into the void not being able to see anyone’s face. It’s intimidating to say the least. We’ll be cheering for you all day tomorrow.”

“…but that was our only hope Ted. Asher Krane was a professor here and directed the Shakespeare festival. We’re at the festival—and no Dr. Asher Krane, and no one can tell us if he’s still around. For all we know he’s sipping an umbrella drink in Tahiti!”

The pregnant woman’s voice continued to rise in volume—to the point the whole table couldn’t help but overhear.

“Does anyone even know where Asher is?” I asked Patrick and Sebastian.

He’d never left me any kind of forwarding address, but then again I’d never been very close to him. Not in the let’s have a beer and you can tell me about your life kind of way. When he retired, he’d simply retired. There hadn’t been any real pomp and circumstance around his departure.

“I thought he still lived here in Hanover,” Patrick replied, typing furiously into his cell phone.

“I thought he was heading down to Key West for an intensive study of Hemingway.” Sebastian replied, also scrolling on his phone. I assumed they were both trying to find any information they could on the internet to aid the search.

“Excuse me,” I called to her table, running out of patience with Sebastian and Patrick and their seemingly worthless information. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I heard you talking about Dr. Asher Krane. We are former colleagues of his. In fact, Professor Doyle has taken over the literary festival. I can see how upset you are—I’m hoping maybe we can help you somehow?”

The woman introduced her and her husband as Marley and Ted from North Pole, New York. We invited them to join our table. She handed me an old playbill from the nineties forA Midsummer’s Night Dream, and explained that she believes Asher Krane was the man her mom referenced. I read the clearly intimate passage that she dedicated to someone with the initials A.K. It would make sense. However, Asher Krane sleeping with students? I couldn’t imagine it. Of course, I knew Asher in his mid to late sixties and early seventies—not in his forties.

“Dr. Asher Krane has a love child?” Patrick whispered, whistling while he flipped through the playbill I passed to him.

“Marley, I took over for Asher. I’m in his old office, though I don’t think there is much there that still belongs to him. But, if you want to come and meet me tomorrow morning prior to the start of the festival I can try to help find any information on Asher that might aid your search.”

Relief spread across her face, and one plump tear rolled down her cheek. “I really appreciate any information, no matter how inconsequential. I didn’t think it would be this important to me. But ever since I found out I was pregnant with these two,” she cradled her very large belly, “there is this almost panic that rises when I think they won’t have any grandparents, and that I have very little information I can even provide to them. It just would make me feel so much better knowing something—even if it isn’t knowing him personally.”

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