by Deb Caletti
Her body is wracked. He realizes—why didn’t he get this before?—that this place on the grass brings her different memories than his. He sees it now—he’s also been an asshole. In this large lake, she and his mother found each other, and she held his mother and swam with her, and brought her to shore. Her heaving shoulders tell that story. They say she’s been haunted by that.
They’ve both been haunted by that.
“I’m so sorry,” she says.
“I am,” he says.
“I can’t believe we’re here. I never wanted to come to this place again.”
“You for sure followed me today. This one is no coincidence.” Heh—she did.
“Okay, okay. Yes, I followed you. Sometimes you have to make your own coincidence.”
His arms are happy to hold her, even with all his tumbling emotions. His eyes are about the happiest they’ve been in a long, long time, just setting themselves on her. She looks like hell, like pretty much the most beautiful hell he’s ever seen. Yet, still, there’s this hole, the spot where the bomb dropped.
“Why did you do this?”
“I asked myself that a million times! I had no idea why. I didn’t. And then last night . . . I don’t know, I just realized. It’s like in the book,” Mads says. “Claudia sees the angel, and she knows it holds the answer to a question. She doesn’t even know what the question is exactly, but she’s sure the answer is there. All she understands is that, no matter what, she has to find out what the angel means.”
He takes this in. This is different than the crying explanations Mads left in her messages. He gets this. And he sees something else: They were a team even before they met.
“I have something to show you,” she says next. Her eyes have deep raccoon circles and she finds a smashed Kleenex in her pocket and blows her nose.
“Okay,” he says.
“I forgot it in the truck.”
She races back over, and he watches her. If you could see how cute she is when she runs, you’d just die. She comes back, fast, with an envelope. She’s out of breath.
“I am so out of shape,” she gasps. “I was scared you’d be gone before I got here.”
He hasn’t moved, though. He takes the envelope from her and opens it.
“It’s a copy,” she says. “I sent the real one.”
He reads. To my lawyer, Saxonberg Knightley.
When he sees the first lines of The Book, he smiles. God, he does, the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. He hopes his mom is looking down like some sort of angel right now. Because, yeah, he wants to prove her wrong about hope and life and love because he’s still so damn pissed at what she did, but he also just wants her to see. To be a part of this.
Billy just grins and grins at Mads. “Complications,” he says.
“There’s going to be a lot of those.”
“Have you talked to your mom yet?”
“I just put this in the mail last night. I figure I have until tomorrow morning to call her. I mean, I don’t want her to hear this from the lawyer.”
It’s his turn now. He needs to give her something, too. It’s how the exchange of forgiveness works. He reaches into his back pocket. He takes out the map. He opens it up. Her bracelet is inside. He repaired it with a piece of shoelace he’d cut from his pair of dress shoes. He holds the map in his teeth as he ties the bracelet back onto her wrist.
“There,” he says. Err, with the map in his mouth.
Now he takes the map, opens it, and points. “Here.”
Her face says he’s crazy. She tilts her head and squinches her eyes. She makes a little I wish scoff in the back of her throat.
Scoff, nothing. This is one thing he’s sure of. You’ve got to know that dreams are possible, like Jane Grace says. And, too, you’ve got to remember that people will be there for you, even when there are complications, even when there are big storms of dark and mess. She looks at him with her fucked-up red eyes, and he stares straight at her with his.
“This belonged to my mom.”
“I remember.”
“She kept this. It was her favorite book. It meant something to her.”
“It means a lot to me now, too.”
“We’re going, Mads. All right?”
“Oh, Billy.”
“Better pack your violin case.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
It’s a sweet summer morning when Mads opens her mouth and lets the whisper of her voice out. A garbage truck rattles down the street, and a bird tweets, and some blossom blooms on a tree.
“I can’t,” she says aloud.
She can almost feel her mother’s breath on the other end of the phone, fiery and spewing like a dragon.
“I can’t,” Mads says again, and the dragon roars, and the ogres beat their drums and form a circle. Her tiny voice is jeweled armor against the heat and the noise.
“How could you do this to me?” her mother cries. “How could you be so selfish? I can’t believe you’d betray me like this!”
Her mother yells and weeps. Mads is so, so disappointing. She is a bad daughter! She is an awful, disgusting person! It’s just her and her little truth finally spoken, as the ogres stomp around and gorge themselves on all their favorite foods, greasy guilt and oily shame. It’s a revelry.
“After all I’ve done for you? How dare you.” The fury frightens Mads. Her soul shrinks. She feels like throwing up. Mads’s apologies are meaningless; they go unheard. “I never thought you’d be just like everyone else,” her mother rages. Mads is so small and so despicable.
When Mads finally hangs up, she’s shaking. She’s trembling, and her stomach is sick. She knew it would be horrible, and it was horrible.
But look.
Even with the flames and the blame and the beating drums, she is still alive. She has spoken and survived. Sure, there will be more of this. It’s not over. Her mother is not done; it’s not that easy. But see that? Mads’s head is above water, and there is nothing muted or hidden anymore. The trembling will subside. The sick feeling will abate. Those drums? All that clatter is just Ned Chaplin’s recycling. She’s still here.
• • •
“You better not forget to turn that book in, Hare,” Mads says. “I’ve already renewed it twice.”
Harrison ignores her. He keeps eating his bowl of cereal, his eyes traveling across the words. He’s on the last few pages. Mads is breaking one of the Reader Commandments: Thou shalt not interrupt at the end of a book. She loves that weird kid, even after the trouble he’s caused.
Mads carries her cup of coffee upstairs, heads into the bathroom to finish getting ready. She dries her hair. It’s Saturday, and she’s leaving this place. It’d be a great idea to get out of town for a while, Claire said, after Mads and her mother talked.
Yes, yes it would. And now she’s going.
In the mirror, she looks different to herself. She looks older than before, but younger, too.
She finishes packing. There’s a polite tap on the door. She thinks it’s going to be Claire, with some last words of advice or maybe an organic carrot muffin, so she’s surprised to see Harrison standing there.
“It was really good.” He holds the book to his chest. Yeah, that’s how you feel when you finish a book like that.
“Wasn’t it great?”
“I wish they could’ve stayed in the museum forever.”
“Sure, but the adventure changed them. Plus, you’ve got to go home sometime.”
“I’m going to learn to play cards and make some money.”
“You’d be a shark, Hare.”
“I can make way more than twenty-four dollars and forty-three cents.”
“Especially if you play Avery.” Mads winks.
“What’s that?” He gestures toward the bed.
“It’s your dad’s old saxophone case. It was the only instrument they had in the house. You should have heard how excited your dad was when he finally found it behind all those boxes of your baby stuff.”
/>
Harrison is poking around in there. He finds the pill bottle, shakes it like a maraca.
“Hey, get out of there, snoop.”
“Did you take one?”
“Yeah, I took one, if it’s any of your business. It’s not like a miracle cure. It’s all going to take a while.”
“If you have a boner for four hours, you have to go to the doctor.”
“Noted.”
“Is this all you’re bringing? Pukey underwear and a couple of books and drugs? Don’t you need clothes?”
“Just hauled my roller bag downstairs.” Mads closes the lid of the saxophone case, shuts the clasps.
“Billy will really like this when he sees it, won’t he?” Harrison flicks the case with his finger.
“Yep.”
“Where are you gonna hide it? The sarcophagus?”
“I’m not going to actually hide it. We’re just going to buy a ticket like everyone else.”
“Bummer. You’re coming back, right?” He sounds worried.
“Better believe it. We’ll only be gone a few weeks. I told you. You can’t stay on an adventure forever. You’ve got to come home.”
“Home, here?”
“Home here, Mr. Professor.”
• • •
Billy will be arriving soon, and so Mads makes a quick trip across the street. Mrs. March, the Bellaroses’ new nanny, will be starting today, but she’s not at Suzanne and Carl’s yet. Mads rings the bell.
“You can come in,” Suzanne says, “but this place is a madhouse. You-know-who has been screaming her head off all morning, and I can’t find my keys.”
Ivy’s in her high chair, her face all blotchy from crying. She holds her arms out to Mads, and Mads lifts her up. She holds the baby close. This babysitting job is over, but it won’t be the last time she sees Ivy. When she returns to start classes, real classes, at the community college, she can come by and visit her and Mrs. March. Mads sets her cheek against Ivy’s satiny, meringue-poof hair.
“Scream and yell,” Mads whispers. “Let them hear you.”
She sets Ivy on the floor with her favorite toys—the stuffed frog and the ball that makes music. Ivy’s up in a flash, ready to walk all around like a champ.
“Carl probably took my keys to the gym. Watch. I’ll be stranded here. He probably won’t even—” Suzanne is still talking as Mads shuts the door behind her.
• • •
“So, I made a few of each. Roasted vegetables, and tuna. Dolphin safe, right?”
“God, Claire. How much can we possibly eat?”
“It’s a road trip. You’ve got to have food.”
“It all looks amazing. Thank you.”
“Thomas should be home any minute.” Claire’s shoving napkins and drinks and who knows what else into that already-stuffed bag.
“He didn’t have to hurry through his errands for this.”
“Are you kidding? He wants to see you off.”
In the distant country of Mads’s purse, there’s the chirp-chirp of her phone ringing. She and Claire freeze, meet eyes. Of course, her mother’s wrath is far from finished.
“Don’t answer,” Claire says.
“I have to.” Yes, Mads still has to. She does. Stupid change. It’s a verb way more often than it’s a noun.
Mads locates the phone, answers in the living room away from Claire. Talking in front of her feels like a betrayal of her mom. See: change, above.
“I’m calling you from a Chevron in Ellensburg,” Mads’s mother says.
The happiness Mads has been feeling all morning is shot down, a direct hit. “Mom, why? What are you doing?”
“I’m coming over. I said I’d be there on Saturday, and this is Saturday. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Mom, no.”
“You can’t mean any of this! What am I supposed to do?” She starts to cry again. She sobs and weeps. Mads hears trucks whooshing past, freeway sounds.
“Go home, Mom.”
“I will not go home. We have to talk about this. I can’t believe you’re being so selfish. You know I can’t manage all this by myself. Jesus! Do you know how upset I am?”
“Are you okay to drive?”
“Of course I’m not okay to drive! If I don’t get in an accident, it’ll be a miracle.”
“I love you, Mom, but go home.”
“You love me? I can sure tell.”
“Mom, please . . .”
“It’s those people. His brother. They’ve turned you against me.”
“No, Mom.”
“I’m coming, and we’re going home. You can’t do this to me.”
“I don’t—”
There’s a click.
“Are you okay?” Claire asks in the kitchen.
No. She is definitely not okay. Mads feels worried and devastated. There’s the burning curl of shame and its leftover debris. A cinder of fear glows orange. Every time she defies her mother for years to come, she’ll feel the same way. Every time, she’ll survive it. “She’s in the car. Heading here.”
“Looks like you and Billy better hurry it up, then.”
“Claire . . .”
“She’ll be fine.”
“You don’t understand what she can be like. She’s furious. She’s so upset. . . .”
“Thomas and I can handle it. Just get a move on.”
• • •
Maps for the lost could lead to an angel. The angel might be small and beautiful, standing alone in a room, or she could be battered and fierce, seaweed wrapped around her ankles. Either way, she would hold mysteries. You would need to find out about her. Finding out could change your life.
Mads and Claire and Thomas wait outside. The roller bag is there, too, a short, patient traveler. Mads holds the saxophone case by its handle. Two shiny metallic flashes zip down the street and then spin out in front of them. Harrison and Avery wear capes made out of pillowcases and duct tape.
“First-prize skid mark,” Avery says.
“Hey, here comes Billy,” Harrison says.
Yep. Here he comes. Claire gives her a kiss on the cheek. Thomas squeezes her arm. Come on, Mads, says that weird voice in her head. There’s a final order of business. It’s time. Do it.
She does.
In her head, Mads sticks her middle finger up to the ogres.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Take the ferry out to the Statue of Liberty while you’re there,” Jane Grace says. “You won’t believe how huge she is in real life.”
“Okay,” Billy says.
“A few days extra to veer through Yellowstone won’t kill you.”
“Sure.”
“It’s beautiful. You’ll love it.”
“Sounds good.”
“Here.” She grabs Billy’s hand. She tucks something into it, closes his fingers around it. “A little spending money. Look, dreams do come true.”
Last thing he wants to do is cry like a big damn baby. She’s making him feel all choked up and stuff. He hugs her hard.
“Thanks,” he says. “You . . .” He doesn’t know if he even has the right words. But Jane Grace, she always understands him.
“Never mind. Go on. Get yourselves out of here.”
• • •
She’s giving him a Gaze Attack. She’s sprinkling Monster Blood and Insanity Mist and Spider Venom. She’s only using her eyes and her crossed arms, but still. Ginger watches it all from up on the couch where she’s not supposed to be.
No Gaze Attack, no Poisons, no Psionics, nor Rays, nor any weapon at all can touch him, though. His energy level is high, but even more importantly, he’s taken on an alternate form. He’s retained the type and subtype of his original self but seems to have gained the natural weapons, natural armor, and movement modes of his new creature.
“Stop with the mood, old woman.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Oh, well, too bad if I am. Now, come here. I only have a minute. The dogs are in the car. G
ive me a hug and quit being bitter.”
“I’ve never even been to New York.”
“If you stop being such a mean old lady, I might take you next time.”
“Mr. Made of Money already? You haven’t even started your new job yet. How much did your uncle say he’d pay you?”
“None of your business. Anyway, I’ll get you a computer, before anything. You’re in the freaking Dark Ages.”
“You’re lucky they made things so sturdy then, unlike now.”
“After that, I’ll get Mom a real place to rest.”
“What are you talking about? She’s fine here.”
Billy disagrees, but it’s an argument for another day. Every time he defies Gran for years to come, they’ll battle. But right now, he wants to be gentle, for his own sense of peace, if not for Gran herself. “Give me a hug.”
“You know I love you,” Gran says, putting her arms around him. It’s a strange kind of love, a different version of the word he’s not sure he’ll ever understand. She leans in. Her body is always smaller than he thinks it’ll be.
“I love you, too, even if you’re a pain in my ass.”
• • •
It’s hard to drive with a dog on your lap. Billy has to sit tall so he can see around Casper’s big white head. Casper pants, and his tongue lolls out of his mouth. “You guys are going to have to get in the back when Mads gets in. We’ve got a long drive.” Jasper’s pretty comfy in the passenger seat. His head is out the window, and his nose is up in the air, taking in all the great smells of what’s passed and what’s coming.
“Best behavior, got it?”
Casper shifts. Billy’s leg is going to sleep already.
He drives fast. He’d break the land-speed record if he could. Finally, he reaches Mads’s neighborhood. Now he’s on her street. “Okay, look. We’re here,” he tells the dogs. “In the back, you guys. I mean it.” There. That was easy. Two giant dog butts shove practically right past his face. The dogs move around back there in excitement.
He knows how they feel, because, damn, man, there she is. Her aunt and uncle are both waiting with her, too, and so is her cousin, Harrison, and that neighbor kid with the big owl eyes. Mads’s hair is shiny in the sun. She’s leaning against her uncle’s truck, with her suitcase beside her. She wears her shorts and that Grateful Dead shirt and her bracelet, and she’s so cute, and . . .
