Bruno followed his direction and stepped out of a privet hedge between two buildings onto a narrow street. He headed toward the main street about half a block away and found the bookstore on the far side. Bruno walked to the corner and stopped on the sidewalk across the street from the entrance. Through the window he saw Celia straightening books by the register. There was an older woman, too, with short white hair, arranging a display.
Two women walked up to the door. From across the street Bruno recognized his neighbors Alice and Gertrude. When they entered the bookstore, the other woman greeted them familiarly, and Celia came over to say hello. Then she went back to work and the three women huddled, instantly engrossed in conversation.
Bruno craned his neck to see Celia, feeling a bit like he had on those nights in her backyard, standing under her window. Even from this distance he felt her pull. He stepped into the street.
“Hey, Bruno, what are you doing here?”
It was Tomasi coming down the walk, looking as surprised as Bruno must have.
“I . . . was just taking a walk,” Bruno said.
“Nice haircut,” Tomasi said curtly, and Bruno realized with horror that it was almost an exact copy of Tomasi’s. It hadn’t occurred to him when he had chosen it. “Do you live around here?”
“Kind of. Not really,” Bruno admitted. “Do you?”
“Yeah.” Tomasi gestured behind him. “I was coming to pick up Celia from work and walk her home.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Were you going to go in and say hello to her?” Tomasi asked.
“No, I’ll just see her tomorrow,” Bruno said. “Goodbye.” He turned and walked back down the narrow street toward the hedge. When Bruno looked back, Tomasi was standing there staring after him. Finally, Tomasi went into the bookstore.
Bruno crept back down the street toward the store. In the window Tomasi and Celia were talking by the front counter. She looked at him with a fondness Bruno had never seen on her face at school.
Bruno returned down the alley, back through the privet hedge and into the clearing. Gardner was waiting. “You don’t visit very long, do you?”
“I couldn’t. Her boyfriend was there.”
“Her boyfriend? Who’s that?”
“Tomasi,” Bruno told him.
“Tomasi? Tomasi’s her boyfriend,” Gardner repeated to himself. “Well, that’s a shame.”
“Why is it a shame?”
“I thought you were her beau.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“And again, I say that’s a shame. So you’re the errant suitor who is content to gaze upon his lady, without any hope she’ll ever reciprocate?”
“No, I’m just a fool,” Bruno said.
“I don’t think so,” Gardner protested. “You have plenty going for you if you’ve found your way into this clearing.”
“But Tomasi is Kind, too,” Bruno said.
“Yes, I know. He travels differently, but he is Kind.”
“And he’s older, and taller, and stronger, and she loves him.”
“What makes you sure she loves him?”
“I’m sure.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she looks at him the way I look at her,” Bruno said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You know Celia’s an Ambassador?”
“Of course.”
“Will she take my power?”
“You don’t have much to take at this point. But no.” Gardner looked at Bruno. “You don’t know who to trust, do you? That’s got to be rough.” Bruno’s head felt light. When he turned to look for the hedges that led home, some bright stars trailed in the corner of his vision. “You’ve been here too long. Off you go. That’s the way.”
“Good night,” Bruno called as he stumbled through the hedge.
“Good night.”
THE NEXT DAY BRUNO arrived at the library during his morning free period and was surprised to find Celia there, her head bent over her hands, her long hair draping down to the table.
“Hey, don’t you have class?” Bruno asked her.
She looked up, and it was obvious she’d been crying. “I do. I just . . . I don’t really care.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting down across from her.
“I saw her. Mariette, the ghost, whatever. It’s really Mariette.”
“Whoa.” Bruno couldn’t imagine how it felt to have a friend die, much less to see that friend’s ghost. “Was it hard?”
Celia nodded. “She looks so beautiful. When she was alive her hair was always kind of a mess, and she didn’t really pay much attention to the clothes she wore.” Celia laughed despite herself. She shifted a piece of paper in her hands and pulled a compact out of her purse. “But now, when I saw her . . . I was walking through the science wing, and I happened to look into an empty classroom as I passed—and there she was, standing over by the window. I recognized her immediately. It’s like she’s almost completely there, but you can just barely see the sunlight shining through her.” Celia looked at herself in the compact mirror and tsked at the way her makeup had run.
“But now her curls are beautiful, and she has this amazing sweater. I can’t even describe the colors and the pattern. It’s perfect for her.”
Bruno watched Celia like a film. She had drifted away into her memories, and he was reluctant to tug her back. “Did you talk to her?” he asked quietly.
“Well, I talked. I don’t think she can. She didn’t say anything at all. I told her I had been hoping I would see her, and that she looked beautiful. I hugged her. I hugged a ghost!” Celia hiccupped a laugh that had a sob caught in it. “She was so warm and soft. I can’t believe what I’m . . . Do you think I’m crazy?”
“No! Not at all,” Bruno said. “I mean, I might have, before. I hope I get to meet her.”
“Me too. You would have been friends; I’m sure of it.” Celia smiled at him, and to Bruno it felt as though the sunlight she had described was passing through him. Then her eyes grew sad again. “But that’s not even all. I started babbling about the old chemistry teacher, Mr. Sumeletso, and everything that had happened after she died, but she stopped me.” Celia unfolded the small piece of paper she had been clutching. She handed it to Bruno.
He took it and read, Stone Hill—Wednesday—7:49 p.m.
“I’ve been holding it since she gave it to me because I was scared it would disappear, and I wanted to show it to you. It’s her handwriting, just like when she was alive,” Celia said. “She was gone when I looked up from reading it. I was standing by myself in an empty classroom.”
“She gave this to you? I mean, it’s for you?” Bruno asked.
“Yes. And it’s pretty clear how I’m supposed to interpret it, after all the stories we’ve heard about other people’s encounters with her.”
“Tomasi . . . someone is going to cheat on you tonight at Stone Hill. What is Stone Hill?”
“It’s a very fancy restaurant. I don’t know how Tomasi could afford to take someone there,” Celia said. Her voice had turned bitter.
“But you and Tomasi, you’re—”
“I thought we were!” Celia’s eyes blazed, even as they filled with tears. “Maybe I’m a fool, but I really think I love him, in whatever way a stupid teenage girl can be in love. And I really thought he loved me, too.” She reached for her sketchbook. “Look, he even said he loved me when he denied it!” She opened to a page covered in handwriting and turned the book around, thrusting it across the table.
Bruno stared at the written transcript of a conversation in two different hands. “Is this how he writes in your notebook?”
“Yes. Read it.”
Are you there? Mariette says you’re going to cheat on me tonight. Care to explain?
What? She gave you one of those notes?
Yes! What are you doing tonight?
I thought I was seeing you! Do you think I would cheat on you?
Of course
not, but what am I supposed to think now?
I will go with you wherever the note says you are supposed to go, and I will be with you the whole time. I love you and I would never cheat on you.
I’m really freaked out about this!
I understand. I’m sorry. Do you want me to come through?
You can’t—I’m in school. You’re in school.
Okay. I’ll come after school. What time does the note say?
7:49 at Stone Hill.
The restaurant? I have better taste than I realized.
That’s not funny!
I’m sorry! I will do anything to prove to you Mariette is wrong.
Thank you.
UM
UM
“What happened at the end?” Bruno pointed to the UM.
“Oh, that’s how we say goodbye when we write,” Celia said. “UM stands for ‘understand me.’ It’s a Depeche Mode reference. Do you know the song ‘Shake the Disease’?”
“No,” Bruno said.
“If you hear the lyrics, you’ll understand.”
“So you’ll be together,” Bruno said.
“Yeah, but I’m still scared. Every one of Mariette’s predictions has come true. Every person who has gone to the appointed place at the appointed time has caught the person they love kissing someone else. What if we get to the restaurant and some girl runs up and kisses him, and he has to admit he’s been seeing her? What if it wasn’t even a date, but she works there or something, and he would have been going to meet her if I hadn’t told him about the note?”
“I don’t know him that well, but he doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would do that,” Bruno said.
“No, he doesn’t.” Celia sighed.
Bruno thought for a moment. “Are you depressed? People say Mariette has that effect on some people.”
“Not depressed, just freaked out about the note. I don’t know what that depression thing is about. Hey, where did it go?” Celia looked around the table and lifted up her sketchbook. “Do you still have it?”
“No, I . . .” Bruno couldn’t remember if he had handed the note back or set it down. They looked on the floor.
Celia sighed again. “Well, at least you got to see it before it disappeared.”
“You know, I think it’s good that you told him. Would you rather assume the worst and take the opportunity to try to bust Tomasi in the act, or assume the best about him and hope it’s a misunderstanding? The first one doesn’t sound like you.”
“I guess you’re right. Oh, I just want this day to be over.”
“It will go faster if you go to class.”
“True. It’s almost time for history.” Celia straightened her stack of books. “I’m sorry to unload on you like that. There isn’t really anyone else I can talk to about a lot of this.”
“I don’t mind,” Bruno said sincerely.
IT’S WRONG TO WISH BAD things on other people. Bruno repeated the idea over and over to himself. He’s good to her and he makes her happy. What if it wasn’t true, though? What if he was cheating on her, after all, and his offer to go with her was a bluff? She would break up with him, wouldn’t she? And she would turn to Bruno to talk about it. Wouldn’t she? He didn’t know the first thing about love, but from all he had heard, he was pretty sure it wasn’t selfish, and Bruno’s desires felt incredibly selfish.
I don’t deserve her, he thought. Why is this whole thing a big knot that I can’t untangle? If I loved her, I wouldn’t want anything to cause her pain. He checked the clock: 7:40. It was time.
He went out his back door and headed off down the grassy alley behind his house. Gardner was waiting for him in the Ebentwine clearing.
“I need to go to Stone Hill,” Bruno told him.
“Who’s there?”
“Celia and Tomasi should be, soon.”
“Are you spying on them?”
“Kind of, but they’re spying, too.”
“Well, that makes it okay, then,” Gardner said, only half sarcastically. “Turn down there.”
Bruno thanked him and set off. Soon he emerged from the trees onto the grassy border of a parking lot. Stone Hill was on the far side, across the street; a man in a red jacket stood at the valet stand. Bruno crept behind a row of cars along the edge of the parking lot toward the restaurant. He caught sight of Celia and Tomasi approaching from the opposite side. They were moving as hesitantly as he was. From the shadow of a fence he barely could hear their hushed voices.
The front door of Stone Hill swung open, and Celia and Tomasi hid behind a large potted bush next to the awning. A man came out and gave a claim check to the valet, who loped across the street and into the parking lot without noticing Bruno.
Bruno looked at his watch: 7:48. And he had no idea how Mariette’s prediction could possibly be fulfilled. The restaurant door opened again, and a woman exited. She slipped into the arms of the man and accepted a kiss.
“Mom?” Celia had emerged from her hiding place, with Tomasi following her.
The woman reeled around in surprise. “Celia? What are you doing here?”
“We were taking a walk. What are you doing? Who is this?” Celia pointed at the man, who stared at her.
“This is Steven. Steven, this is my daughter, Celia, and her boyfriend, Tomasi, who have mysteriously chosen this neighborhood for a stroll, even though it’s across town from where both of them live.”
“Are you on a date?” Celia asked her.
“Yes, I am, and the funny thing is that at dinner tonight I had just been discussing with Steven how it was time for me to tell you about him.”
“Mom, that’s great! I’m very happy for you. You know I wanted you to start dating! I had no idea,” Celia said, pivoting instantly to joy.
“Thank you. Seriously, what are you doing here?” Celia’s mother looked at Tomasi.
“We just felt like going somewhere. We had no idea,” Celia said.
“Well, my date isn’t actually over yet. Could we talk about this when I get home? Assuming you’ve walked back there by then?”
“Oh, Tomasi drove. We’ll be fine. I’m sorry for ruining the moment.”
“It’s okay.” Her mother laughed, shaking her head.
“It was nice to meet you,” Celia said to Steven, who said something Bruno couldn’t hear. The valet pulled up with Steven’s car, and Bruno slipped away.
A FEW DAYS LATER BRUNO forced himself to pay attention while he mowed Alice and Gertrude’s lawn after school. Twice he’d come within inches of decimating the flowers at the edge of the grass. He was trying to figure out what a note from Mariette really meant. Up until Celia’s, the pattern had seemed clear: Receive a note and go bust your love—boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife—cheating on you. It had set Suburban on edge; Mariette had pulled a curtain back, and things people might have suspected but never fully acknowledged suddenly were laid bare. Bruno wondered how often relationships in high school were based on love. There were class systems to be upheld, and there was social power to be wielded. There were superficial desires to gratify and insecurities to be manipulated. Perhaps that didn’t change once high school was over.
And there were plenty of ways to respond, once a note from Mariette brought it all crashing down. Some people reserved their anger for the person who had betrayed them, but plenty of them had enough to spare for Mariette, even if they couldn’t reach her. Other people, perhaps those who had believed their relationship was secure, joined the ranks of the brokenhearted, the shattered, the depressed—a small battalion that was growing each week. It was hard to imagine a high school in which more people were in therapy, on antidepressants, or just moping around aimlessly, shrunken inside their clothes. The anger from the others was strangely refreshing because at least it added some energy to the increasingly hushed Suburban halls.
But this note from Mariette had yielded a different result. And following her revelation to Celia, Mariette had sent a boy to a movie theater, where he had witnessed hi
s sister kissing her girlfriend—news to him in two respects, but not a betrayal.
So what was the pattern, then? Bruno believed there had to be one. All of Mariette’s notes had pointed to a kiss and a surprise. Someone kissed someone else, and it was a surprise to the person who witnessed it.
Was that it? Someone unexpected kissed someone unexpected?
ON FRIDAY AT DIABOLIQUES he waited for an opportunity to talk with Celia. Tomasi was never far. When he looked at Bruno now, there was suspicion in his eyes.
And while he might have protested, in his heart Bruno knew he deserved all of Tomasi’s suspicion, and more. So Bruno avoided Tomasi, which only confused Celia, who clearly expected the two of them to have become friends, considering the secrets they shared.
Regine, Sylvio, and Marco danced, oblivious to the unspoken tensions among the other three. And across the floor the St. Dymphna boys posed and preened, turning the room into a chessboard with two sets of black pieces. They danced now and then, but they seemed more interested in observing the others and trading knowing looks.
Bruno decided to seek out Cassandra. He found the fortuneteller easily enough on the mezzanine and was relieved when she welcomed him, patting the sofa next to her.
“Don’t let it affect your relationship with Celia,” she said to him before he could speak. “She only wants the best for you.”
Bruno fumbled to catch up with her. “I . . . I love her.”
“Of course you do!” Her laugh made him feel justified and foolish at the same time. “And because of it, you will do things that will feel like turning a knife against yourself. But that is another time. There is something else you want to discuss now, isn’t there?”
Pull Down the Night (The Suburban Strange) Page 11
