Moonstone

by Marilee Brothers

  She started to fade away.

  "No, you can't go yet!" I yelled. Every time I got close to solving another piece of the puzzle, she slipped away like smoke on the wind.

  Faye's window cranked open. "What are you yelling about? Go to bed, Allie.

  I walked to the trailer shaking my head in disgust. Once again, I had more questions than answers.

  Of all the spirit guides hanging around SeaTac, I had to get Trilby.

  * * * *

  The next day Cory avoided me like I was the Black Hand of Death which suited me fine. Of course, the whole school was talking about the new kid, Didier Ellsworth Thompson the Third. Swear to God, that was his real name. I knew this because his mother, a stern-looking woman dressed in a man suit, marched him into algebra class and introduced him to our teacher, Mr. Boswell. She left after admonishing Mr. Boswell, "I would like you to address him as Didier, no matter what he tells you after I leave."

  Sure enough, after his mom left, the kid grinned and raked long, bony fingers through his six-inch-tall Afro. "Yo, people. Call me Diddy."

  After a stunned silence, the class burst into raucous laughter. Trust me. We weren't being insensitive to racial issues or politically incorrect. No. We laughed because Didier Ellsworth Thompson the Third was a certified Caucasian, a tall, gawky string bean with thick glasses and permed blond hair. One thing we didn't tolerate in Peacock Flats was a phony. Diddy was the real deal.

  Between classes, I overheard him tell Sonja Ortega and her friend, Salome, that he'd just moved from Seattle, where he attended a mostly black high school. It seemed like someone should tell him he'd left that life behind and he should start a new gig. But maybe Diddy was destined to be the only non-black African American in Peacock Flats like I was the only person with paranormal abilities. We all had our crosses to bear.

  I took pity on him during lunch. Alone at a table, he left his tray of food untouched and sidled up to a group of boys practicing their hip-hop moves. I watched, aghast, as he flung his gangly body onto the floor and attempted to spin on his back. When he whacked his head against a table leg, I walked over and looked down at him. His face was scrunched in pain. I nudged him with my foot. "Hey, Diddy. Yo. Get your lunch and sit with us."

  One pale blue eye opened, then the other. I reached out a hand. He grabbed it like I was pulling him from a watery grave. He shot up to a standing position, lost his balance and stumbled sideways, almost taking both of us down.

  "Hey, dude, thanks a lot," he said with a grateful smile.

  While we ate, Diddy filled us in on his unusual background. Manny, Mercedes and I gazed at him with wide-eyed wonder. Diddy obviously belonged at our table of misfits.

  "My mom hates dudes but wanted a kid so she had me planted, you know, like a seed, in her uterus.

  "In vitro," I mumbled.

  Diddy waved a hand, "Whatever. Of course, I had to be named Didier Ellsworth Thompson the Third because my grandpa's 'Junior.'" His tone was bitter.

  I nodded sympathetically. I knew all about bad names. "How come your mom didn't enroll you at Hilltop?" I asked.

  "She's real big on me being in multi-cultural settings.

  "Oh cool." Mercedes flashed him a flirtatious grin. "Mrs. Burke is going to love him, huh Allie?

  "Absolutely." What I was really thinking was, Oh, great, now I have another one to protect from Cory Philpott, who can spot a victim a mile away.

  Still, all in all, it was a pretty fair day, at least until after school. After checking on Faye, I sat under the apple tree with my algebra homework. Blaster was grazing downwind, which meant the air was stink-free.

  I heard the crunch of footsteps and looked up to see Aunt Sandra churning up gravel as she stomped down the driveway. A split second later, I caught a glimpse of Uncle Sid's shadow as he darted behind the barn. Swear to God, the man had built-in radar when it came to Aunt Sandra. I knew where he was going: His favorite hidey hole behind the tool shed, a place Aunt Sandra would never set foot because of the cow manure. Every so often, Blaster's best was scooped up and piled behind the shed for "seasoning." Uncle Sid not only sold Blaster's sperm on line, he had a thriving little manure business. Hard to believe, but people pay money for the stuff!

  Aunt Sandra wore hot pink slacks and a matching sleeveless top, not a good fashion choice for a woman forty pounds overweight. She spotted me under the tree and abruptly changed course, picking her way through the dirt and weeds.

  "Allie! Have you seen your Uncle Sid?

  I shook my head slowly. "Uncle Sid? Nope." Not a total lie, since all I'd seen was Uncle Sid's shadow. But she wasn't buying it. She glared down at me, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Time for diversionary tactics.

  "Oh my gosh." I fanned the air and pointed at her shoes, chunky, three-inch wedgie sandals topped with pink roses. "I think you stepped in something!

  Startled, Aunt Sandra balanced first on one foot, then the other, and examined the soles of her shoes. Lucky for me, the left shoe had something brown and icky clinging to it.

  "Dammit!" she swore, her face turning as pink as her outfit. "A decent person can't walk anywhere around here without stepping in shit!

  For a church lady, Aunt Sandra used colorful language. And that "decent person" comment? Guess it was okay if an "indecent" person stepped in something nasty. I coughed to cover up a titter. "Maybe you should check the barn. That's usually where Uncle Sid hangs out this time of day.

  "I'll just do that." Aunt Sandra wiped the offending shoe on a clump of weeds and started toward the barn, her chubby little heels oozing over the sides of her too-small shoes.

  I watched her disappear into the barn and wondered why she couldn't wait until supper time to talk to Sid. Something was up. But what? Inquiring minds want to know.

  It didn't take long. Aunt Sandra burst from the barn and bellowed, "Dammit, Sid! I know you can hear me. Get your butt over here!

  Uncle Sid must have figured he was busted because he popped around the corner, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. Aunt Sandra said something I couldn't hear, pointed at our trailer and led Uncle Sid into the barn. Whoa! Was this about Faye and me?

  I scrambled up and walked casually toward the barn, looking around to make sure nobody was watching. A mountain of hay bales was conveniently stacked next to the barn. I crouched behind them and heard Aunt Sandra say, "You promised! You said they'd only be here until Faye got on her feet. In case you haven't noticed, mister, she's off her feet most of the time!

  Uncle Sid mumbled an answer. I caught only, "no money" and "sister.

  "Step sister," Aunt Sandra corrected. Her voice was crystal clear. "You don't owe her a thing. How do you think I feel when my friends come over and see that piece-of-shit trailer in our yard?

  "Mmmphmmmphsick," Uncle Sid said.

  "Sick, my ass! She's not too sick to entertain Big Ed every Thursday. I suppose you think he's counseling her.

  Sarcasm dripped from the word "counseling." I shot to my feet, propelled by a towering rage. My body shook violently as I struggled to control myself.

  Aunt Sandra was on a roll. "And why does she ship Allie off every Thursday? Huh? Answer that one, Mister Smart Guy.

  I heard something heavy slam against the floor and Aunt Sandra's squeal of surprise. Uncle Sid shouted, "Give me a break, Sandra! Faye's got no place to go. You want her in a homeless shelter? Is that what you want?

  When Aunt Sandra spoke, I could tell by her voice she'd changed her approach. Her tone was soft and wheedling and sounded exactly like Tiffany when she wanted something from her dad.

  "Okay, Sid, I'll tell you what really worries me. Have you seen the way Matt looks at Allie? He's thinking about her ... you know ... like he shouldn't. Mothers know these things. All we need is for Matt to get her pregnant. Then we'll have another brat to look after.

  I inhaled sharply. My trembling legs seemed to have their own agenda and took a giant step toward the front of the barn.

  "Aw, come on, Sandra. He's sevent
een. He looks at all the girls that way.

  My sense of reason caught up with my body, and I retreated back behind the hay bales.

  Aunt Sandra's voice rose to a screech. I heard her footsteps scrape across the rough floor. "Apparently, you're choosing to ignore my feelings, as usual. Do I need to remind you the farm is in my name? Daddy wanted it that way. If I wanted to, I could kick you and your trashy so-called family out on your butts!

  After a long moment of silence, Aunt Sandra stormed out of the barn and headed for the house. I counted to one hundred slowly. When Uncle Sid didn't appear, I slipped away, another worry gnawing at my mind which, by now, probably looked like a moth-eaten sweater.

  Tell Faye or don't tell Faye? I sat under the apple tree and pondered the question. Thinking about my mother, the moonstone and the surprise I had in mind, father-wise, I chose "Not.

  Chapter Nine

  Alfrieda Carlotta Emerson. In the back of a limo drinking a soda and eating little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. On a school day. Happy Birthday to me!

  "Fifteen is special," Kizzy told me. She also told Faye, which is why my mother wrote the following note for me to take to school:

  To Whom It May Concern: Though it's really none of your business, today is my daughter's fifteenth birthday and she has my permission to do whatever the hell she wants. She'll be back in school tomorrow.

  Very truly yours,

  Faye Emerson.

  Alice, the school secretary, read the note, gave me a wink and said, "Have fun, Allie. See ya tomorrow."

  Faye thought Kizzy was taking me on a surprise outing. In a way, I guess she was. We were on our way to Tukwila, WA, home of Mike's Magic Carpets. That's right, my dad, Mike Purdy, sold rugs.

  We hit the freeway, flew by Vista Valley and headed for the interstate. Peacock Flats was located in Central Washington, the rain shadow of the Cascade Mountains. No green forests dripping with rain, no Space Needle but plenty of apple orchards, vineyards and tumbleweeds.

  Kizzy, sipping bottled water and smoking Virginia Slims, filled me in on the details as we headed west to Snoqualmie Pass.

  "I did an Internet search. Your dad's been in business for twelve years and he's doing well. Just built a brand new store, way bigger than the old one."

  "Good," I muttered into my Pepsi. "He can afford child support.

  "Oh yes," Kizzy said. "He can afford it. And if he doesn't do the right thing, you have another option.

  I knew what she was talking about. Washington State Support Enforcement. I also knew that Faye would never go for it. If we were to get any help, it had to be me.

  The way I saw it, he owed us thousands of dollars. Why should we be living like Uncle Sid's poor relations parked next to a cow pasture? Even though that's what we were. Of course, if Aunt Sandra had her way, we'd be looking for a new home.

  Tukwila turned out to be a dizzying array of shopping malls, mattress factories, fast food restaurants and, of course, carpet stores. Magic Mike's Carpet Heaven filled an entire city block and featured a gaudy sign with a guy in a business suit sitting cross-legged on a flying carpet framed against a background of bright blue sky and puffy white clouds. Above the front door, a huge banner proclaimed, GRAND OPENING! PAY NO INTEREST FOR A YEAR!

  When the limo pulled up to the front door, I got cold feet. "What if he's not here? Maybe he's gone somewhere on a buying trip. Maybe we made this trip for nothing. Maybe we should forget about the whole thing.

  "He's here," Kizzy said. "I made an appointment. I told his assistant I intend to re-carpet my whole house and that I'd only deal with the owner.

  She glanced at her watch. "Our appointment is for eleven. It's ten forty-five. Gives us a little time to snoop around. Right?

  Charlie, the limo driver, opened Kizzy's door. She stepped out and started for the store. I jumped out and hurried after her. At the very least, I wanted to get a look at the guy responsible for my curly hair and permanent tan.

  We stepped through the door and into carpet heaven. Carpet displayed on giant rolls. Carpet hanging from walls. Carpet featured in cozy little rooms complete with furniture. Carpet squares bound together in giant books. An odd chemical smell filled the air. Maybe it was nerves, but the smell made me nauseous.

  Other than Kizzy and me, the only other customers were an elderly couple on the receiving end of a lecture by an enthusiastic salesman. In a high, excited voice, he spoke of continuous filament nylon, textured cut, invisible seams and built in stain resistance while running his hands up and down a roll of cream-colored carpet. The woman sank down on a nearby couch and began to rub her temples.

  Kizzy swept through the showroom, her bearing as regal as a queen. Was she really going to re-carpet her house just so I could find my father? I trailed behind her, gulping nervously. A cluster of salesmen huddled together at the back of the cavernous room. An attractive young woman sat behind a counter, working at a computer.

  A salesman peeled off from the crowd and trotted toward us with a wide grin. His tummy poked out far beyond the gap in his unbuttoned sport coat and jiggled as he made his way through the rolls of carpet. Something about him made me want to run out of the store. As he approached Kizzy, he thrust out a hand. "Hello and welcome to Magic Mike's Carpets. My name's Dick. How may I provide you with extraordinary service today?

  Kizzy hesitated a moment before giving his hand a brief squeeze. "Thank you, Dick, I'm sure your service is extraordinary but we have an appointment with Mike Purdy at eleven.

  Dick beamed. "Oh, you're the one who drove all the way over the pass to buy carpet. Ms. Lovell, right?

  Kizzy nodded.

  Dick gave me a wink. "We'll take good care of you. Follow me, ladies. I'll take you to Mike's office.

  As we approached the counter, the phone chirped. The woman pounced on it. "Magic Mike's Carpet Heaven. This is Brenda. How may I provide you with extraordinary service today?

  After a brief pause, her faced turned scarlet and she hissed, "You weirdo! You perv! I'm tracing this call." She slammed the phone down.

  Kizzy leaned across the counter. "They make you answer the phone like that?

  Brenda rolled her eyes and gave a little huff of disgust. "I told Mike it wouldn't work.

  Dick left us in Mike Purdy's office, a luxurious room larger than my entire home, with rich blue carpet so plush I hesitated to step on it. An enormous deskcherry wood Kizzy saidsat in the center of the room. Two straight-backed chairs were pulled up next to the desk. An off-white leather couch and love seat formed a conversational setting.

  A huge astrological chart covered one wall, its midnight blue background splashed with stars and an iridescent moon. Beneath the chart were the words, "You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star ... Friedrich Nietzsche.

  The words made the hair on my arms stand up.

  Kizzy sat on the couch and picked up a magazine. I tiptoed across the intimidating carpetchecking to see if I left footprintsapproached the massive desk and studied Mike Purdy's family photos, four in all. The largest was a family portrait, mother and father seated behind three kids in the foreground. My hands trembled when I picked it up.

  The man had close-cropped dark hair. Was it curly when it grew out? Were his eyes green? I couldn't tell. I was waiting for a clap of thunder, the peal of bells or a sudden zap of electricity. Something that said, Yes, Allie, this is your daddy, the man who gave you life. Nothing tugged at my heart. He looked like a million other middle-aged guys.

  I studied the rest of the family. Blond wife. Looked a little like Faye. Two pre-teen blond daughters and a little darkhaired boy. I bit my lip and set the picture down. Why had I come here? Big mistake.

  Kizzy glanced up from her magazine. "We don't always get the answers to our questions, Allie. That doesn't mean they're not worth asking.

  I thought about what she said as I looked at the rest of Mike Purdy's pictures. Mike, the missus and kids in ski clothes standing in front of a rustic lodge, all smile
s. Mike, an arm around each daughter, standing on a beach with sand the color of sugar, the deep turquoise ocean behind.

  I picked up the last photo and caught my breath. Mike and his son each held up a fish. Mike grinned at the camera. The boy gazed up at his father, his look of adoration so intense I felt a lump form in my throat. And, oh yeah, the kid looked exactly like me. Same long skinny legs, same green eyes, same dark curly hair which meant, of course, Mike was my father. I set the picture down.

  "I've got two sisters and a brother." Tears welled up in my eyes. "We shouldn't have come here.

  Kizzy stood up and held out her arms. She hugged me and patted my back. "The truth can be hard to handle, darling girl. What you choose to do with it is up to you.

  I snuffled a little then pushed away from Kizzy. I never used to cry, not even when I smashed my finger in the trailer hitch. What was wrong with me? I swiped at my eyes, drew a shaky breath and sat down on the love seat, my heart hammering like thunder. Why had I come here? Maybe Faye was right about leaving the subject alone.

  We didn't have to wait long. The door burst open and Mike Purdy entered the room. Dressed in a sleek gray suit with a black dress shirt and gray striped tie, Purdy had filled out since he glowered into the camera in pre-Allie days. His shoulders were broader and he'd learned how to smile, even though it looked phony. He focused immediately on Kizzy, striding toward her, one hand outstretched.

  "Mrs. Lovell? I'm Mike Purdy. Delighted to meet you.

  At least he didn't say the "extraordinary service" thing. I was happy about that.

  Kizzy stood and extended a hand, palm down, like he was supposed to kiss it. I felt laughter bubbling up. Hysterical laughter. Not now, Allie, I told myself.

  Kizzy greeted him then pointed at me. "This is my friend, Alfrieda Emerson.

  Purdy's head swiveled toward me but his eyes, green eyes, didn't really see me. "How ya doin' kid?" he said with his fake smile before turning back to Kizzy.

  Follow the money, I thought bitterly. "Fine," I said.

  Suddenly, he stiffened and turned to look at me again. His eyes were wary and slightly narrowed. He stared at me a long moment before his gaze darted away. "Alfrieda, huh? Bet you got named for somebody's old maid aunt." He jammed his hands into his pockets and turned back to Kizzy.