Celia’s anger gave way to fear. She reasoned Mr. Sumeletso probably didn’t know about a few crucial things. If he had known Mariette was Kind, and the ways she had impeded his Unkind plans, he would have taken steps a long time ago to stop her from meddling. Celia guessed he didn’t know that Mariette had found his admonition, just as Mariette hadn’t been able to trace it to him. And if that was true, there was no way he could have known Mariette had shared everything with Celia. When she’d found him with Mariette by the pool, fortunately Celia had been so shocked she had done nothing to reveal all these secrets she knew. He had no reason to doubt that she took his account of the “accident” at face value.
But Celia couldn’t be sure. What power might Mr. Sumeletso have—or have soon—to discover how much she knew? And even if he didn’t find her out, how could she seek revenge for what he had done to Mariette? Who could help her? Her mind ran in all directions. There was only one person she could tell who wouldn’t have her committed. Tomasi would understand, but he was even less experienced than Mariette. What if Celia got him hurt, or worse, by asking him to take on an Unkind much stronger than he? There was some florist in a garden center by Mariette’s grandparents. Celia never had met Mariette’s parents, so what would they think if she called them and asked for their help tracking the florist down? There was the fortuneteller at Diaboliques. Celia would have to convince her to give a straight answer to a question, though, something the woman never had done. Perhaps the teacher who had helped Tomasi? There had to be someone who could stop Mr. Sumeletso, keep him from gaining more power and harming anyone else.
In the meantime, to keep herself safe, she had to hope Mr. Sumeletso didn’t suspect her of anything, and she had to be supremely careful to not betray herself. Her life very likely depended on it. She didn’t want to imagine what he might do to her if he suspected she knew the truth about him. Celia had to summon back the quiet, withdrawn girl she had been less than a year ago, and when she returned to Mr. Sumeletso’s classroom she must do everything she could to fade into the blackboard, the lab table, anything.
She wasn’t hungry, so she sat on her bed, looking at the studies she had made of Mariette during the winter, in preparation for drawing the portrait she had given her. Eventually, she flipped back to the next blank page, wondering if it would be painful or therapeutic to draw her again. But words from Tomasi were appearing there.
What hppnd 2 Mariette?
She picked up a pencil and wrote back. How did you hear? Are you at school?
Ys. I cld feel it. Ystrdy?
She drowned in the pool at school. I should have stopped her from going; I knew she couldn’t swim.
Im so srry.
Thank you. I think I’m still in shock.
Celia couldn’t stop thinking of all the parts of this story she was leaving out. She wanted to tell Tomasi everything, but she was scared of what he might do, and what trouble that would cause with his parents. No matter what, she decided if she did tell him, it wouldn’t be this way, when it was so difficult for him to communicate.
Fnrl?
It’s tomorrow at St. Francis. Are you thinking of going?
Im gng 2 ask. Myb Ill C U thr.
THAT NIGHT CELIA'S MOTHER found her on the couch in the living room when she returned home from the parents' meeting at Suburban. Celia had been there for hours, The Portrait of a Lady on her lap, but again and again her thoughts had drifted. She had imagined her mother in the school auditorium at night, and then the empty halls, and next she thought of Mariette. As much as she wanted to deny that Mariette was gone, the memory of her face—dripping and gray, her lips apart, her hair clinging to her skin—made it real, made it final.
Her mother sank down next to her and sighed. “That was probably the strangest meeting I have ever attended.”
“What happened?” Celia set the book aside.
“Well, they let parents talk for a while, and everybody said the same thing: how could something like that happen, and what steps were going to be taken to make sure it never happened again, and how were they supposed to feel safe sending their children to Suburban when all these accidents kept happening, and now a poor girl had died. Finally the superintendent got up and told us about some comprehensive safety review they’re doing, and how the pool would be locked and students could only enter the pool area with adult supervision. And I just thought, that wouldn’t have saved Mariette. The only reason she was there was to help the teacher.”
“I don’t even know why she said she’d help him. But she was so nice, she’d help anybody.”
“They’ve suspended him for the rest of the year,” her mother said. “It doesn’t sound like charges will be filed, since it was an accident. Some parents were pretty upset about that. But they’re going to have a review, and he probably will be fired.”
He’s gone, Celia said to herself. It felt as if a stifling scarf had been pulled away from her face and neck. Things still were awful. Mariette never would come back, and Mr. Sumeletso wouldn’t be prosecuted for her murder—no one was going to accuse him of anything more than negligence. But at least there was a good chance now that Celia never would see him again, and he never would find out that Celia knew the truth about him. It was cold comfort, but she felt the relief like a breeze. She breathed in, and it felt as though the air completely filled her lungs for the first time in two days. And then the dull ache in her chest flared up. It was the same ache, the familiar one, the sad hand she shook every day.
“I know you liked him. You’re doing so well in chemistry,” her mother was saying. Celia stared at the far wall. “But it’s the right thing. He was responsible for her safety.”
The scarflike fear had distracted her from this other, much older discomfort. Now Celia remembered the last time the scars on her heart had ached this hard. It had been on the first day of school, riding in a mock funeral procession, telling herself it wasn’t the same, it didn’t mean anything. She wondered what it would be like this time, taking the ride for real again, walking into another church, seeing another coffin. The ache burst the scars on her heart now and welled up until she couldn’t hold it back.
“Oh, honey, you miss her.” Celia’s mother put her arm around her and smoothed her hair away from her face as she cried.
“I miss him,” Celia gasped. “I miss her, too, but not as much as I miss him.”
“Of course.” Celia heard her mother’s voice break. “Of course you do. I miss him, too.” They sat for a while, arms around each other.
Celia remembered the quote Regine had tossed out on their first drive together. “I hate that saying—‘In the midst of life, we are in death,’” she said when her breath finally grew regular. “It makes life and death sound like rooms, or tasks. Life and death are too big to fit in the same sentence.”
“I wish you could have been older, before . . . You shouldn’t have to think about death when you’re young.”
“I’m not going to think about death.” Celia sat up, wiping her eyes and looking at her mother. “I want to think about life.”
“You should.” Her mother studied Celia’s face. “Sometimes that’s easier said than done, though.”
“It is more complicated than that, isn’t it.”
“There are some questions that just don’t have answers. But you know that.”
Celia nodded.
Later Regine called. “Are you okay?”
“I’m still in shock,” Celia said.
“We’d like to go with you to the funeral, if that’s all right with you.”
“You don’t have to do that. You guys never really even met her.”
“I know. But we’d like to be there for you,” Regine said. “Now I wish we had gotten to know her. Anyway, people know you were closest to her, so it might be good to have us around as a buffer.”
IN THE MORNING CELIA LOOKED through her closet. Almost everything in her wardrobe now could be worn in a funeral outfit, she thought wryly. Mariette had
n't owned a single piece of black clothing, though, so it didn't seem fitting to wear it now. Finally Celia put on the orange floral dress she had last worn at Halloween. She brushed her hair and lined her eyes, trying not to think about how she had planned to brush Mariette's hair and make up her face just days before. Sitting there at her desk in front of her mirror, she felt her throat tighten and the tears push out. "Oh, there's no use," she scolded herself. "Just stop, right now!" But she couldn't follow her own advice. After a minute she wiped her eyes and started her makeup over again.
Regine picked her up and they made the rounds, adding the beads to the Rosary before they headed to the church. “The first day of school, I thought we were in a funeral procession,” Celia told her.
“Yeah,” Regine said in a low voice.
“I never thought we really would be going to one.”
“Me neither. Is this in poor taste? We don’t have to take three cars.”
“No, it’s fine. This is what we do. This is who we are.” Celia let her thoughts wander, and in a minute Regine asked her why she had laughed quietly. “I was thinking about the mix Brenden could make: This Mortal Coil, Christian Death, Death in June, Southern Death Cult. And think of the songs: ‘Ashes to Ashes,’ ‘Dead Souls’ . . .”
“Celia, he wouldn’t do that.”
“I know. What does it mean that so much of the music we like is so gloomy? We’re not gloomy people. Not at all.”
Regine considered for a moment. “The way I understand it—the way it makes sense to me—is we see the value of looking around in the ugliness to find something beautiful. We look around in the darkness for the flicker of light. But maybe that’s wishful thinking. Maybe we’re just looking for ways to be different.”
“No. It kind of sounds like Mariette,” Celia said.
When they entered the church, Celia looked around, but she wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see. She was worried Mr. Sumeletso might come, but she told herself he wouldn’t be welcome. Celia wasn’t surprised there weren’t a lot of kids from Suburban in attendance. Most of the student council had come, and Brenden introduced them to Celia. She could tell they were uncomfortable, but she shook their hands and accepted their condolences.
Despite the poor showing from school, a number of other people of all ages were there. Some looked like high school students, though they weren’t from Suburban. Others could have been Mariette’s grandparents. Celia wondered if Mariette had a large family, but most of the people kept to themselves and didn’t speak to anyone else. It reminded Celia of the way people distributed themselves at Diaboliques: mourners were ranged throughout the church, dressed a little unusually, not speaking much, looking mysterious and thoughtful.
“Wow, Mariette knew a lot of people,” Brenden said as they took seats.
“Hey, is that Tomasi?” Liz asked. Celia followed her gaze and found Tomasi on the far side of the nave. He was looking at her already, and when they made eye contact, he raised his hand. Celia raised her hand back to him.
“Did you know he knew Mariette?” Liz asked.
“It’s kind of a long story.”
Throughout the ceremony, Celia couldn’t take her eyes from the casket, thinking the same thoughts she had thought over and over at her father’s funeral: She’s not in there. Not really. She’s not in there . . . After it was over, she went over to pay her respects to Mariette’s parents and little brother. The Hansens were a short couple, plainly dressed, and she could see Mariette in both of them. The boy was grade-school age. He looked scared and tired, and Celia could remember those feelings when she had stood in his place. “I’m Celia. I went to school with Mariette.”
“Oh, Celia!” Mariette’s mother’s face brightened, and she hugged Celia tightly. “She spoke about you all the time. Thank you for coming.”
“I’m so sorry,” Celia said.
“Thank you. I know you meant the world to Mariette. Thank you for being such a good friend to her.” Mrs. Hansen looked a little glazed, and Celia would have understood completely if she had taken a pill in an attempt to keep her composure.
“I always felt like she gave me more than I could give her in return.”
“That’s Mariette.” Her mother dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Tell me, are most of these people here from Suburban? Are they teachers?”
“Actually, no. The principal is here, and that’s her homeroom teacher. The student council is here, and a couple of my friends, but I think that’s all,” Celia told her. She was pretty sure she knew who the other strangers were, and she hoped Mrs. Hansen wouldn’t grow too curious.
“I just figured they were from school. Is it rude to ask them how they knew Mariette?”
“I don’t know, but if they’re here, I’m sure it’s because Mariette meant something special to them,” Celia said, and she meant it sincerely, even if Mrs. Hansen couldn’t understand. She wondered what those people would say if Mrs. Hansen asked them.
“That’s very nice to hear. You know, I was straightening up her room, and I found a note addressed to you on her desk. I’ll be sure to get it to you.”
“Thank you. If I can be of any help, with school, or anything . . .”
“I’ll let you know.”
Celia turned to make her way back to her friends, but she saw Tomasi waiting to speak to her, so she went over to him. He was in his uniform of black shirt and trousers. His face was soft with concern.
“I can’t believe this happened,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Celia.” He reached to hug her a little hesitantly, and she slipped inside his arms and enjoyed the comfort of his embrace. For a moment her idea of him blended with who he really was.
“Do you know all these people?”
“No. I think more experienced Kind can feel when another Kind dies. It must be like the way they—we—can recognize each other. I don’t really understand it. But everyone mourns when something like this happens.”
“They’re all Kind, right? None of them are Unkind?”
“I don’t know them, but of course they’re Kind. I’ve never met an Unkind—at least, not that I know of—but I assume the difference would be obvious. Maybe I’m wrong about that.”
“Mariette was sure she was safe. She’d made some kind of charm.”
“She was almost as new as I am. The night we met she told me some of the things she was doing, and I don’t know if half of it had any effect at all. She must have felt like she was supposed to face it on her own. Maybe I wouldn’t have asked for help, either. But she should have.”
“That wasn’t really her style,” Celia said. “She was the most independent person I’ve ever met. Are you going to get in trouble for being here?”
“No, that’s calmed down a little,” Tomasi said. “Just a little.”
“So, you kissed me . . .” Celia began, searching his face.
“Because I like you,” he said. “You’re wondering if it’s for other reasons. I’m sure my admonition is about you. But I wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t really like you. You know”—he put his hands gently on her arms—“none of this matters, really. One day I curse the world for mixing me up in all this. The next day I feel like I understand, and I try to make peace with it. But I’ve never embraced it and tried to live up to my calling. Maybe I should. One thing I know for sure: there is no honor in deception and manipulation, and nothing good can come from them.”
“What power would you gain?”
“I have no idea. You don’t find out until it happens. It’s all a matter of faith.”
“Wow.”
The Rosary were watching the two of them intently. “Your friends are waiting. I’m glad I got to see you,” Tomasi said.
“So what happens? With you and me?” she asked.
“Honestly, that’s up to you,” he said.
“I want to see you.”
“I want to see you, too. Hopefully things will continue to calm down at home, and then I’ll be able to.” He half smiled at h
er. He was a different person from the brooding creature who had stared so intensely at her all those months ago at Diaboliques. He turned to walk away, but she caught his hand and drew him back to her. Celia put her arms around his shoulders and hugged him again. She could tell he was surprised, but his arms encircled her waist.
“I’m so sorry about Mariette,” she said in his ear. “You might not have gotten to know her well, but she was one of your Kind. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“It won’t,” he murmured. “I’m glad I got to see you.”
When Celia returned to the Rosary, Regine asked, “What haven’t you told us?”
“Forget that, go straight to the juicy details,” Marco said.
“He lives close to the bookstore,” Celia said. “He stopped going to Diaboliques because he caught pneumonia, and he’s only been better for a little while.” She chose the lie because there was no way she could tell them anything approaching the truth. They watched as Tomasi exited a side door of the church.
“No, the juicy details,” Marco said.
“What do you mean?”
“I could see the chemistry between you two from fifty feet away!”
“Oh, don’t talk about chemistry now,” Celia said.
21. GOD’S OWN MEDICINE
ON THE NEXT DAY, back in school Celia quickly grew tired of questions from people with whom she’d never spoken before. “If you’re so interested, if she was so important to you, why weren’t you at the funeral?” she snapped. People started to steer clear of her, and she wound up feeling isolated in a way that reminded her of her life a year before, when she had wanted desperately to be left alone and then felt so lonely whenever she got her wish. Celia knew the way to walk that meant Stay away. Before, she had used it in an attempt to be invisible, and then she had learned to use it to reinforce her mystique and that of the Rosary. Now she dared the people around her to get in her way. She had anger to burn.
She arrived at the chemistry lab, where a pear-shaped woman with a chopstick in her hair studied the class list. Celia’s relief to see the replacement teacher was small compared to the tinderbox of emotions she associated with the lab room. The traces of evil Mr. Sumeletso left behind were chased around the room by her joyful memories of Mariette. Lost in thought, Celia was startled when the new teacher called her name. Celia went up to the desk.
The Suburban Strange Page 23
