Change Places with Me

by Lois Metzger

  DEDICATION

  To Jordan Brown

  

  EPIGRAPH

  Between grief and nothing, I will take grief.

  —William Faulkner

  Don’t worry, be happy.

  —Bobby McFerrin

  

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Part 1: Forget-Me-Not Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Part 2: The Glass Coffin Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Part 3: You Are Here Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgments

  Back Ad

  About the Author

  Books by Lois Metzger

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  PART 1

  Forget-Me-Not

  

  CHAPTER 1

  She woke.

  And for a split second saw nothing but a cloud of red light.

  Where am I? She could use one of those maps with an X, like at the zoo, that clearly say YOU ARE HERE.

  So—this is weird.

  She blinked a few times, the red light dissolved, and, like a stalled hydro-bus that finally hummed to life, she caught up to herself. I’m Rose, in my own bed—and in a granny nightgown, ugh. Gotta get rid of this thing.

  She’d slept so deeply; she took a big, slow, luxurious stretch, her long arms and legs spreading out over the bed, and brushed her pale-brown bangs away from her eyes. Yellow light poured in through the window and dust in the air sparkled—so beautiful. It’s Saturday—no, Sunday, school tomorrow. Did I finish that thing for Mr. Slocum? He’ll mark me down an entire grade if something’s late . . . he has it in for me, anyway; he thinks I’m not listening in class, but I am!

  Rose glanced up and saw her stepmother, Evelyn, arms crossed, leaning against the doorway in a black-and-white kimono tied tightly at her waist.

  “Good morning,” Rose said.

  Evelyn stared as if Rose had said something shocking.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?” Rose said. “You’re making me feel like something we might dissect in bio.”

  “Well, it’s just—you slept so long. It’s almost two.”

  “You’re kidding! I never do that!”

  “I just wanted to be sure you’re not, you know—coming down with something, or anything like that. I mean, there’s always something going around. . . .”

  Evelyn didn’t ramble like this; she chose her words carefully and precisely. Her expression was even more serious and cautious than usual, always such a contrast to her lush auburn hair, and those blue eyes, the blue of a darkening sky. Rose had blue eyes too, but lighter.

  “I’m absolutely fine, couldn’t be better,” Rose said. “I’m happy, really happy, practically bursting with it.” She almost added, This day feels like a gift you don’t need to unwrap, because these words had sprung into her head, but maybe that would sound too corny. Anyway, she heard something right outside, like someone saying hoo, hoo. “What’s that sound?”

  “The birds? There’s a pair of mourning doves on Mrs. Moore’s windowsill.”

  “Have they been there long?”

  “Well . . . I’m pretty sure they come back every year to nest.”

  Rose wondered why, if that was the case, she was just noticing them now. “Morning, like the beginning of the day, or mourning as in sad?”

  “Sad.”

  “Imagine, a whole species of birds always in mourning, never getting over it. You don’t see me boo-hooing over anything, do you? Or hoo-hoo-ing, like the birds?” Rose smiled at her own joke, but Evelyn didn’t, which almost made Rose skip a beat. “Hey, you don’t have to just to stand there, you know. Don’t be such a stranger, as Dad used to say.” She patted her bed.

  Evelyn entered slowly, hesitating, as if there was a force field in the doorway. She sat so lightly on the edge of the bed that Rose could’ve pushed her off with a gentle nudge.

  “You smell nice,” Rose said.

  “Lavender. It’s the soap.”

  “I guess I forgot.” Forgot? Was that the right word? Her stomach let out a long growl. “Wow, I’m starving.”

  “I’m not surprised. You didn’t eat much yesterday.”

  “Right. I was at the zoo.” Rose couldn’t forget that—what kid in high school went to the zoo anymore? But she had loved it. She’d seen a gorilla with a baby clinging to her neck. The baby had soft, shiny eyes, and the mother’s expression said, I will keep you safe and sound. Rose had felt so close to the gorillas; it was like she could’ve taken a step and joined them. Only there must’ve been a glass wall or something separating them. “But you weren’t with me. So how’d you know I didn’t eat?”

  Evelyn touched her long, slender throat; she had on a gold necklace with a heart-shaped pendant that caught the light. “You came home so tired. You went straight to bed, no dinner.”

  Of course. She’d been so tired. “You don’t like zoos, do you?”

  “Not much.”

  “How come?”

  “The animals might look like they’re free, but they’re not. That bothers me after a while.”

  “It might be the safest place for them.”

  “Yes. It’s a complicated issue.”

  What a nice, grown-up conversation. Rose could show that she could respect another person’s opinions even if she didn’t agree with them. “They don’t call it a zoo,” she said. “They keep telling you that when you’re there. It’s the Bronx Global Conservation Center.”

  “A rose by any other name.”

  “What? A rose—?”

  “It’s an expression. It means you can change the name of something but it doesn’t change what it is.”

  Rose shook her head. “Why should you be stuck with something that no longer fits? I wasn’t born with the name Rose—but it’s perfect for me.”

  “I’m glad,” Evelyn said, but didn’t sound either glad or sad.

  “You get up on the wrong side of the bed or something?” Rose asked. “Dad used to say that, too. I never understood it, because I sleep next to a wall. What could I do, fall into the wall? He had some really corny expressions, like, I’ll be ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Why would he say that? He didn’t grow up on a farm—and I know I never visited one with him—we hardly ever left Belle Heights.”

  “He . . .” Evelyn blinked a few times. “He had a grandmother who said it.”

  “Really?”

  “Mm-hmm. She actually did grow up on a farm. Your father adored her.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Clara.”

  Rose laughed—a laugh that just burst out of her. It felt a little strange, as if someone else was laughing and she happened to be close by. But who else would it be?

  Evelyn blinked again, then got up. “Would you like some eggs, Rose?”

  “That would hit the spot! Something else Dad would say.”

  Evelyn left. Rose looked out her window at Belle Heights Tower, the building across the w
ay that used to be five stories and then, seemingly overnight, got ten more stories added to it, and now it loomed over all the others. She’d always hated the extra floors, having grown up with the older view. An old friend of hers had moved in there and she’d never even visited her. Now Rose glanced up and noticed, for the first time, a rooftop garden bursting with leafy trees against a white sky. What a great place to be a plant, she thought. If I were a plant, I’d want to live there.

  Rose got up and took a shower. In the soap dish, Evelyn’s oval, lavender-scented soap always battled for space with her own undyed, fragrance-free soap, which sat there like a block of wax. That had been her dad’s kind of unscented soap, too. Now she found herself reaching for Evelyn’s. This is what you should do, she told herself. Grab things, exist at the center of your life, not the edge.

  But it felt, oddly, as if someone else had told her this and she was only repeating it.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Mm,” Rose said as she ate. “These scrambled eggs are fantastic—so rich and creamy. I love the cheddar cheese. It’s like I never had them before.”

  “Same old, same old,” Evelyn said.

  “Have I told you lately you’re a terrific cook?”

  “No,” Evelyn said, “but thank you.” She was finishing up a soft-boiled egg in a special eggcup made of thin white porcelain and using a tiny silver spoon, smaller than a teaspoon, which she’d found long ago at a flea market.

  Rose remembered how, as a kid, she’d thought it was gross that Evelyn got things from flea markets, but now she admired Evelyn’s resourcefulness. The round kitchen table was near the window, overlooking a few trees and the sidewalk that led to Belle Heights Drive. A light breeze blew in, rustling blue curtains, and the air smelled sweet. Rose had put on overalls and a flannel shirt and found herself feeling uncomfortable, as if she had on too much fabric. She took a bite of some rye toast. “What’s with these planes? That’s the third one in fifteen minutes.”

  “There are always a lot of planes.”

  Which was true—Belle Heights, Queens, was between two big airports. “Is it extra noisy today?”

  “Not particularly.”

  Rose also heard a blaring sound, like an elephant’s trumpet. “What is that?”

  “A tow truck, picking up another hydro-bus. There’s a petition going around to get rid of them and bring the old buses back.”

  “I hope you didn’t sign it. I like how they look, all red and sleek, with that ladder in the middle and the elevator for handicap accessibility.”

  “Those elevators never work.”

  “I know. But Belle Heights is never the prototype for anything, and now we’re the first place in the whole city to get buses with hydrogen drives.”

  “I wasn’t sure you liked them. When we took that one to Spruce Hills, it kept stalling—you didn’t seem too pleased about that.”

  “Well, I should’ve realized—new things take time. There are always kinks to work out.”

  Evelyn tightened her lips as if she was about to say something but then didn’t.

  “It’s all these steep hills in Belle Heights, that’s the problem—ouch!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I bit the inside of my cheek.”

  “You’re not used to talking so much.”

  Evelyn didn’t really need to call attention to the fact that they usually ate in silence, did she? Especially since they were having such an enjoyable, relaxed talk now. Anyway, that wasn’t the problem. Rose had recently bitten this same spot before, and nothing hurt so much as biting the inside of your cheek twice. Except that there was also a spot on her jaw just beneath her left cheek that hurt, too; a dull, throbbing ache.

  “So, Rose, I need to go to work now,” Evelyn said. “Is that okay?”

  “Of course,” said Rose. Why wouldn’t it be? “What will you be doing today?”

  “I have a client interested in a condo in Spruce Hills.”

  “Do you like showing places to people?”

  Evelyn nodded, getting up and gathering dishes.

  Rose reached out, put her hand on Evelyn’s arm. “I’ll do that.”

  Evelyn looked down at Rose’s hand. “You usually just wash. I clear.”

  “It’s okay—leave it.” Rose took her hand back. “So what do you like about it?”

  Evelyn still gazed at the spot where Rose’s hand had been. “Well . . . I like finding the right space for people.”

  “How do you know when the space is right?”

  Now Evelyn glanced up, at the low ceiling. Their two-story apartment house had low ceilings, except the living room was sunken so it felt more spacious—and Rose realized that she appreciated Evelyn’s nice way of taking a generic Queens living room and giving it a certain polish. Mounting a quilt on the wall, draping a colorful piece of silk on the cozy big blue armchair, reupholstering the couch herself with thick, flowery Italian fabric, putting down an old rug with a diamond pattern that was so big it was like wall-to-wall carpeting. She used to hate that rug and tried to avoid stepping on the diamonds, but there were too many of them. So dumb!

  “All these questions, Rose,” Evelyn said. “I’m not used to it.”

  Was she bringing this up again? “Isn’t it better than not talking?”

  “Yes, it’s—it is better. So. I get to know the client a bit, and then try to imagine a good fit in terms of space. If clothing is said to be a second skin, a home is a third skin.”

  “I’m comfortable in all my skins! Did my dad ever go with you?”

  “No—he worked such long hours, remember?”

  “Yeah.” Her dad had been a camera operator for a TV production company. “One time I said he came home at two billion a.m. He thought that was funny.”

  “Rose, I’m so sorry, but this client is meeting me—”

  “That’s okay! I’m good.”

  “I didn’t sign it,” Evelyn said.

  “Sign what?”

  “The petition. To get rid of the buses. Just so you know, I’m not against everything new.”

  Rose sat on the stoop—not a real stoop, just a few brick steps that led to the door of her redbrick apartment house in a long row of two-story apartment houses that were all connected—which, it occurred to Rose, made them truly neighbors, people who should care about one another, even if they were all squished together like houses on a Monopoly board before you traded them in for a hotel. She remembered playing that with her dad, how he always made bad trades on purpose to let her win.

  Rose looked up; the October sky was the color of concrete. So the sidewalk matched the sky. Maybe it wasn’t the most vivid or gorgeous color, but there was something harmonious about this, like the universe was in balance. She heard Mrs. Moore’s Dobermans scuffling on the stairs behind her, and she got up. As soon as the dogs saw her, Rose knew, they would be on top of her, leashed or not.

  “Oh, I didn’t see you!” Mrs. Moore said. “You’re never out here! Down, Cocoa! Down, Fudge!”

  “They’re really sweet,” Rose said, though she’d almost gotten knocked down. “Which one is Cocoa? Which one is Fudge?”

  “It doesn’t matter. They don’t listen to their names anyway.”

  Rose patted the dogs’ strong backs, and they licked her hand. It turned out Cocoa was the one with ears that stood straight up while Fudge’s drooped. She gazed into their eyes—so gentle and trusting! Some people, not Rose, might only see their size and power. Then she wondered about Mrs. Moore, who’d always lived alone. Rose wanted to reach out to her—Because that’s the kind of person I am, she thought, as if describing herself to someone she didn’t know. “Can I walk the dogs for you?”

  Mrs. Moore looked at her. “I thought you were afraid of them. Just last week, you seemed so alarmed—”

  “I’m not scared now, and I’d like to keep you company.” Rose, at nearly six feet tall, towered over Mrs. Moore, who was tiny and stooped with a swirl of hair like white cotton candy. “I really
want to try things I’ve never tried before.” As soon as Rose said it, she knew it was true, and decided that for the next week she was going to do exactly that, every chance she got—starting today, Sunday, October 21, 2029.

  “I’d be delighted,” Mrs. Moore said, tilting her head up at Rose while handing over the leashes. “A word of warning—they pull.”

  Rose held a leash in each fist and got a good grip on them, but the dogs gave her an immediate demonstration of their strength. Basically they carried her along.

  “We’ve never had a proper sit-down chat, have we, my dear?” Mrs. Moore said, still gazing at Rose and walking quickly to keep up. “Not that we’re sitting down! But I’m so pleased. I always tried to talk to you—you never said a word.”

  Evelyn had brought this up, too. Why mention something from the past if it was no longer true in the present? Such a waste of time, Rose thought, as if you moved to a new house and someone kept pointing out, “You used to live over there,” like you didn’t know.

  At dinner Rose told Evelyn about taking Mrs. Moore’s dogs to Belle Heights Park. “The park looked amazing,” she said. “Some leaves are turning already, burnt orange, the color of fire. I don’t think the leaves have ever been this beautiful. We sat in the dog run. I got so dusty—good thing I had on overalls, though you know what? I’m getting sick of wearing them all the time. When I was walking Cocoa and Fudge, they were all over the place. I thought dogs were supposed to heel.”

  “When they’re well trained. No doubt Mrs. Moore spoils them terribly. You weren’t afraid of them?”

  “I love animals,” Rose stressed. It seemed important that Evelyn realize this and remember it. “Did you sell that place today?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s great! You found the right space for that person. This pasta—it’s amazing. What is it, just garlic and oil?”

  “And a little red pepper, to give it a kick.”

  Evelyn still had on work clothes—a crisp white blouse, black pants, gray blazer, flats. That gorgeous hair spilled over her shoulders, and that smell of lavender, so exquisite. Rose noticed, too, lines around Evelyn’s mouth and eyes. When had Evelyn gotten older? Her skin had always been smooth as a lake. “You know, I saw a video the other day. There’s this new thing. You go into a special room and high-pitched sounds zap your skin, get rid of your wrinkles. Not that you’re all wrinkly or anything.”