Wish You Were Eyre

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  “I don’t ever want to forget this,” I murmur, leaning on the railing. “Ever.” I shiver, more from the sheer gorgeousness of the view than anything, but Simon notices and whips off his jacket, draping it around my bare shoulders. I glance up at him. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replies.

  Straightening up again, I turn to face him. The shoes I’m wearing put us almost eye to eye. We stand there for a moment, and then finally it happens. He leans over and kisses me.

  A collective “aaaahhhhh” goes up from the other tourists on the deck and I step back, embarrassed. But no one’s looking at us; they’re watching the light show. It’s the top of the hour—sparkle time. Simon and I look at each other and grin sheepishly, and then he puts his arm around me and we lean on the railing, watching Paris. The breeze ruffles his blond curls and I lean my head on his shoulder. I have never before in my entire life been this completely and utterly happy. I want to hold onto this moment forever; I don’t ever want anything to change.

  And then everything changes.

  We take the Metro back to my hotel, and Simon gives me a long hug before we go inside. “I’m going to miss you,” he says.

  “Me too.” I have no idea when we’ll see each other again.

  “Write me, call me, text me, e-mail me?”

  “I promise.”

  He leans down and kisses me one more time. “Au revoir.”

  I love the French. They totally understand romance. Of course they’d have an expression that means “until we see each other again.” So much better than just “good-bye.”

  “Au revoir,” I whisper back.

  I float across the lobby and into the elevator, smiling all the way up to the room. My grandmother isn’t here yet, and I figure she must still be at the Flash party. I wander around for awhile, trying to pack as I relive both kisses, but especially the one atop the Eiffel Tower.

  A few minutes later the door to our room flies open and Gigi comes waltzing in. Her face is glowing.

  “Looks like you had a good time,” I tell her.

  “I’m engaged!” she cries.

  I stare at her blankly. “What?”

  “Monsieur de Roches just asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”

  SUMMER

  “They had been in London, and many other grand towns; but they always said there was no place like home . . .””

  —Jane Eyre

  Becca

  “There was a mystery at Thornfield . . .”

  —Jane Eyre

  “What the heck is he doing over there?” I mutter to myself, adjusting the binoculars.

  Across the street, a reddish light shines in the third floor window of the chocolate-colored house. I glance at the clock by the guest room bed: it’s two thirty a.m.

  It’s been like this every night since I arrived in Mankato. There’s a mystery swirling around Theo Rochester, and I intend to solve it.

  But not right now.

  Right now, I’ve got to get some sleep. Setting the binoculars on the windowsill, I cross the room and climb back into bed.

  Next morning, I’m up bright and early. The house is quiet; Gram and Frannie are still asleep. I pull on sweats and running shoes, add a hat and gloves since there’s still snow on the ground outside, and let myself out the front door. There’s no sign of Theo yet, so I jog up and down the street, warming up while I wait.

  He runs every morning—I’ve seen him from my window—and today I plan to “accidentally” bump into him so we can run together. That will give me a chance to pump him for information.

  We’ve spent a fair amount of time together this week, but always when other people are around. He’s been in school, for one thing—spring break here in Minnesota starts next week—so mostly we’ve been hanging out in the evenings. His parents had Gram and Frannie and me over to dinner once, and then last night he had a basketball game. We all went to cheer him on, which was fun. Plus, it gave me a chance to do a little surveillance. It felt too awkward trying to find out from Frannie if he had a girlfriend, as Megan suggested.

  He doesn’t.

  At least not as far as I can tell.

  It’s obvious a lot of girls would like to be his girlfriend, but that’s another thing altogether. I could see the way a few of the cheerleaders down on the court were eyeing him, and how they ran up to congratulate him after Mankato High’s win. I know all about how that works. And I spotted a couple other girls heading down from the stands afterward to say hello, too. One even stopped by our table at Mom & Pop’s, the ice cream place where we went to celebrate. Gram and Frannie kept calling it Heinz’s, after the restaurant in the Betsy-Tacy books, which was kind of embarrassing.

  Theo was friendly and polite to everyone, but I don’t get the feeling there’s anybody special.

  Which means the field’s wide open for me.

  The only problem is, I just have two days left to make my move. And solve the mystery to boot.

  I jog back down the street again, my breath puffing out in frosty clouds. I talked to Mom yesterday and she says that spring has definitely sprung in Concord, which makes her ecstatic, of course. She can’t wait to get back into the garden again. She said that my father started his new job and loves it so far, and that Yo-Yo misses me, and that Stewart still hasn’t heard from any colleges, and is practically camped out by the mailbox.

  Up ahead, I see the front door to the Rochesters’ house open, and a moment later Theo appears. He takes off down the street at a slow trot. I step up my pace to catch him.

  “Hey!”

  He looks over his shoulder, sees me, and smiles. “Hey yourself.”

  “Didn’t expect to see you out this early,” I tell him, which is stretching the truth, to put it mildly.

  “I run every morning,” he replies.

  “Really? Me too.” Which is definitely stretching the truth. I run two, maybe three times a week when I’m at home, but I’ve slacked off on this vacation.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “I dunno. Just around the neighborhood, I guess, unless you have a better idea.”

  “Sure,” he says. “Follow me.”

  He sets his pace to match mine, and we jog along in tandem up and down a few streets before turning onto one that looks familiar.

  “Isn’t this where the Betsy-Tacy houses are?” I ask him.

  He nods. “Yup. Center Street. Nannie Frannie’s favorite spot in Mankato.”

  You gotta love a guy who isn’t embarrassed to say the words “Nannie Frannie.” But that’s really what he and his brother call Gram’s best friend.

  We jog uphill toward the houses, which are museums now. I know this because I have spent time in both of them this week. A lot of time. The one on the left is Betsy’s house—actually Maud Hart Lovelace’s when she was a little girl. Across the street is Betsy’s best friend Tacy’s house—actually Maud’s childhood friend Bick Kenney. They’re pretty interesting, especially if you’ve read the books, because they look exactly the way Maud describes them in her stories, and there are all kinds of knickknacks and furniture and stuff on display, real things that Maud pulled from her life to use in her books.

  Theo smirks at me as we near the top of the street, where a stone bench sits in a secluded spot at the top of a flight of steps. It’s a memorial to the spot where the two girls used to meet when they were little.

  “Bet you had your picture taken sitting on that bench, didn’t you?” he says.

  I laugh. “How did you know?”

  He grins at me. “Because Nannie Frannie has about twenty-seven pictures of me sitting on it too. She made me and my brother pose there every Easter for years. She doesn’t have any granddaughters, so she has to make do with us.”

  We turn left past Betsy’s house and start up an incline. “Ready for the ‘Big Hill’?” he asks. “Don’t worry, it’s not that big.”

  The Big Hill is what Betsy and Tacy—or Maud and Bick—used to call the hill behind the
ir houses. I nod at him and we puff our way up to the end of the cul-de-sac at the top, then turn around and head back down toward town. We’re almost home again before I muster the courage to ask my question.

  “Um, Theo,” I begin.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I was wondering—I mean I couldn’t help noticing—” I hesitate. Forget it. I can’t do it.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” I know I’m chickening out, but how do you ask a guy about a light in his room that you’ve spotted from across the street without sounding like some kind of stalker?

  Which I sort of am.

  Instead, I sort of ask him out.

  “What I mean is, I saw that Space Cowgirls 3 is playing at the movie theater here in town—have you seen it?”

  “Nope.”

  “I thought maybe I’d go tonight,” I tell him casually. “Interested? Unless you have basketball practice, of course,” I hasten to add.

  “Sounds fun,” he replies as we slow to a stop between his house and his grandmother’s.

  I promise to call him after school and let him know what time the show starts, and he disappears inside to get ready for school.

  That was easy, I think, leaning over and placing my hands on my knees as I try and catch my breath. Why didn’t I get my Jane on sooner?

  But then it gets a whole lot more complicated.

  I walk up the path to the house, eager to hop online and tell Megan and Ashley about this new development. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my cell phone charger so I’m stuck using Frannie’s computer to stay in touch. She and Gram are awake by now, sitting in the kitchen in their bathrobes drinking coffee.

  “Nice workout, sweetheart?” Gram calls as I come in.

  “Yeah,” I call back. I take my running shoes off and pad down the short hall to join them. “Is it okay if I go to the movies tonight?”

  “Sure,” says my grandmother. “What are you going to go see?”

  “Space Cowgirls 3,” I tell her. “I think Theo’s going to go with me.”

  “I love Space Cowgirls!” says Frannie. “I have such a crush on that Jackson Ford.”

  “Me too,” says Gram. “Hey, would you mind if we tag along?”

  How am I supposed to say no?

  In the end, we all wind up going—me, Theo, Gram and Frannie, Theo’s parents and even his brother, Sam. So much for my “date.” Theo sits next to me in the theater and we share a bucket of popcorn though, so it almost passes for one. And I notice with satisfaction that heads turn as we come into the theater. Several of the girls I saw sniffing around at the basketball game and the ice cream parlor are not looking too happy about the fact that we’re together.

  You snooze, you lose, ladies, I think smugly.

  “Are you going to run again tomorrow morning?” Theo asks as his parents drop us off in front of his grandmother’s house.

  “You bet,” I tell him, even though I wasn’t. Tomorrow is my last day of spring break, and I’d been thinking of sleeping in.

  “See you at six, then?”

  I nod.

  Frannie makes hot chocolate for Gram and me, and the three of us sit around talking for a while, and then I head upstairs to bed. Turning the lights out, I get the binoculars again and sneak over to the window. Sure enough, there’s that same eerie reddish light. What the heck can it be?

  My last day in Mankato dawns bright and clear. I meet up with Theo for another run, and this time I manage to maneuver him into asking me out, sort of.

  “So what’s this I hear about some hockey championship that starts today?” I say as we jog toward the cemetery. I dangle this out there, hoping Theo takes the bait. Last night Frannie told me that the whole state practically shuts down to watch, since the games are televised. And she said that the Rochesters are all huge hockey fans. I’m hoping to wrangle an invitation.

  I do.

  “It’s a really big deal,” says Theo, lighting up. “It’s the state tournament, and eight high schools are competing. Are you a hockey fan?”

  I nod enthusiastically. “My brother plays for Alcott High.”

  “Want to come over and watch with us?”

  I pretend to think it over. “Why not?” I reply. “The only thing on our agenda today as far as I know is packing.”

  It’s been a surprisingly busy week. I didn’t think that there would be much to do in this little town, but the last few days have been filled with visiting museums, libraries, parks, lakes and all the other landmarks associated with the Betsy-Tacy books. I’ve felt a little too much like Emma Hawthorne at times, but I can tell it’s made Gram really happy to be able to show me everything, and that makes me happy, too.

  She and Frannie and I have also done other stuff, of course, like eating at a few restaurants and shopping. The best part for me, actually—well, besides trying to crack the mystery of Mr. Rochester—has been just talking to Frannie. She and Gram grew up down the road from here in a town called St. Peter, and she has tons of pictures of the two of them when they were my age. It seems like there was a story to go with every picture.

  “Come on over whenever you’re ready,” Theo tells me as we circle back to the street where he lives. “The games will be on all day.”

  Gram and Frannie are having breakfast again when I come in. “Theo invited me over to watch TV today if that’s okay—I guess some hockey tournament is on.”

  “Some hockey tournament?” squawks Frannie, pretending to be outraged. “You’re only talking about the most important championship of the year. High school games are a big deal in our state.”

  I grin. “Important. Got it.”

  “Of course it’s okay,” says Gram, shooing me out of the kitchen. “Go have fun. Just make sure you’re packed, because we’ll be leaving for the airport around two.”

  I glance at the clock on the wall. That gives me less than eight hours to solve this mystery. Not a lot of time.

  I go upstairs and hop in the shower, then check Frannie’s computer to see if there’s anything from Megan. I e-mailed her after the movie last night, but she hasn’t answered yet and she’s not online, so there’s no chance of an IM. I try and calculate the time difference between Mankato and Paris. She’s probably on her way to the airport right now, since she’s flying home today, too. I’m dying to talk to her and could kick myself for forgetting my phone charger. Oh well, I’ll see her at Logan in a few more hours. Our flights get in about the same time, and Mr. Wong offered to drive me home.

  I get dressed, choosing my outfit carefully. It’s gotta be jeans for watching hockey, of course, but I glam things up a bit with a super-soft pink sweater that’s one of my favorites. Grabbing my jacket, I head back downstairs for a quick bowl of cereal, then jog across the street.

  “Becca!” says Mrs. Rochester, answering the door. “Come on in. Theo said you’d be joining us today. Have you had breakfast?”

  I assure her that I have.

  “Theo’s upstairs in his room,” she tells me, and I start for the stairs. “Um, better wait for him to come down, okay? He’s kind of funny about . . . about entertaining guests up there.”

  The mystery deepens!

  “Oh, okay.” I follow the sound of the TV to the family room instead, where Theo’s younger brother, Sam, is already sprawled on the sofa. He leaps to his feet when he sees me.

  “Uh, hi, Becca,” he says.

  Sam is five years younger than Theo, who’s a junior. He’s at that awkward age when some boys get all shy around girls. I remember how my brother and Third and Ethan used to be. Well, how Third still is.

  “Hey, Sam. So, has the tournament started?”

  He shakes his head. “They’re just warming up.”

  I perch on the edge of a chair, wondering if maybe I should go ahead and go upstairs anyway. But I wouldn’t want to embarrass Theo if he’s in the shower or something, so I stay put. A few minutes later he appears. “Hi, Becca.”

  “Hi.”

  His
parents drift in too, and we all settle in to watch some hockey. I’m only half paying attention to the game; the other half of my mind is working on a strategy for sneaking up to Theo’s room.

  “I love your house,” I tell the Rochesters, next time there’s a break in the action. “I have a friend back in Concord who lives in a Victorian. It has a turret and everything.”

  “I’ve always loved old houses,” Mrs. Rochester replies. “I’d had my eye on this one for years, and when it went on the market a few years ago, we jumped.”

  “Of course, being across the street from my mother-in-law was an added plus,” says Theo’s father.

  We watch a little more hockey, and at the end of the second period I ask, “Um, do you think maybe I could have a tour?”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Rochester replies. She turns to Theo. “Why don’t you take her around, sweetheart? Be sure and show her the coal chute in the basement. I always think that’s interesting.”

  Theo doesn’t look too excited at the prospect, but he dutifully stands up and leads me through the dining room, where I ooh and aah over the built-in cupboards and cabinets, and then to the kitchen that, like the Sloane-Kinkaids’, has a stained glass window.

  “Eww,” I say, as we descend into the basement, which is dark and cramped. The ceiling is so low I almost bump my head on it, and Theo has to crouch. “It’s kind of creepy down here, isn’t it?”

  “Lots of spiders, too,” he replies, giving me a sidelong glance. “You probably don’t like spiders, do you?”

  I lift a shoulder. “They’re not my favorite thing, I guess, but they’re okay. You know—Charlotte’s Web and all that.”

  Dang, I really am turning into Emma Hawthorne!

  “What’s your favorite animal?” Theo asks. He’s looking at me strangely, and it occurs to me that this conversation has taken a weird turn.

  “Um, our dog Yo-Yo, I guess. Why?”

  “I mean besides dogs and cats,” he replies, ignoring my question.

  I whoosh out my breath. “I dunno, meerkats, maybe—they’re cute. And turtles.”

  “Turtles?” He looks at me with sudden interest.

  “Yeah. I had a little pet one once named Herbie. I remember how soft his tiny feet and legs were. Plus, he was just really interesting to watch. Except when he pulled everything in and sat there like a lump . . .” My sentence trails off lamely. What am I doing, talking about a stupid turtle?!