The Puzzle Master

by Heather Spiva

  “Anyway,” she said suddenly on to other things, “You need to get out there and mow the lawn. Daddy said he was going to, but forgot last night, so come on. Stop pouting and get out there.”

  She put a hand through his hair, patted his chin and headed for the washing machine. Her actions said that she loved him, but it didn’t feel that way. All he felt was anger and rage at the injustice. Leila always got what she wanted, Mason did too. So, where did that leave him?

  Out to mow the grass.

  He felt that fuzzy feeling move in his lungs and he puffed on his inhaler. He walked back into the garage.

  Boy of his word. He snorted. Man of his word. Another snort. His daddy hadn’t even mowed the grass … he hadn’t kept his word. Why should Marshall?

  Marshall backed the crusty lawn mower out and yanked on the cord. It sputtered. Nothing. He did this about five times, and finally the mower roared to life. He pushed it onto the green and began his last Monday morning of summer vacation.

  He had to have a better plan, he thought. The “no” from his mom just wasn’t going to work this time. He steadied the mower, while his brain worked, and he tried not to sideswipe the hydrangeas while making his plan-of-attack.

  He had to find out what the surprise was. He had to get to Luke’s tonight—even if it was the last outing he ever had.

  Chapter 2: Iris

  All that day, Marshall thought about his plan. He had to get to Luke’s without his mom knowing. But by four in the afternoon, he almost didn’t care if she found out. A surprise from Luke had to be something good. He would risk grounding for a month just to have it.

  By dinnertime, Marshall had made up his mind: he was getting out.

  Leila and Marshall were sitting at the dinner table when their father walked in from work.

  “Daddy!” Leila yelled, running up to give him a hug. She glanced at Marshall once then faced her father again, hand on her waist. “Daddy, Marshall is grounded for coming home late this morning.”

  His father set down Leila and patted her on the head, ruffling her blond hair. His father had never wanted to move to Sacramento. The only reason they were there, and had been for nearly ten years, was because of Marshall’s asthma.

  Marshall was about to hug his father, but after Leila’s words, it seemed all wrong. Marshall just nodded at him instead. It didn’t help that he always felt his father blamed him for being there; that they’d left the coast of Washington all because of his condition. Summers there were paradise. Not anything like sticky Sacramento. And here he was, disappointing him again.

  His father frowned. “Is that true?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Marshall, fiddling with the silverware. “But only by two minutes.” His dad took off his tie and Leila went back to her seat with a smile on her face.

  “Thanks a lot,” Marshall hissed at her. “You could’ve waited like ten minutes to tell him. He didn’t need to know right now.”

  “I’m just telling the truth,” she whined back. He wondered how long she’d been planning to tell their father.

  “You’re such a pain.”

  She lowered her eyes, but forgot all about it, when his father noticed the finger painting drawings from that morning. Leila beamed and explained her pictures. Mason came to the table with earphones on.

  Marshall scowled at him too.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Mason asked, nodding his head to an inaudible beat. Their mother motioned him to take of his earphones. He sighed, but snapped them out of his ears.

  Marshall kept quiet. But he should’ve said something, because Leila ended up explaining it again. “Marsh is busted for coming home late this morning.”

  “Shut up, Leila.” Marshall felt worse with every passing second. He slumped into his chair.

  “Why is this all such a big deal?” And why now? Marshall thought. Of all of summer, this was the worst time to have come home late. He had a surprise waiting for him this time.

  “Don’t say those words!” his mother said, dishing out mashed potatoes onto Leila’s plate. They came out of the spoon with a splat. No one got to say shut up and get away with it in the house. It was bad form. Instead, they were supposed to tell mom or dad if someone was saying something they shouldn’t.

  Yet, somehow, that was never quite as effective as actually spitting out those words into the aggravator’s face. Marshall was glad he’d said it. It was about time she stayed quiet.

  But it didn’t last for long. Dinner was loud, as usual. Leila was talking about everything. She could out-talk the whole family, and still be ready to talk again. Mason was trying to canoodle a car from dad. Marshall just wanted to evaporate into thin air.

  “All I’ll need it something to get to school and back with,” he explained for about the hundredth time. Marshall rolled his eyes. Leila jabbered to her food, and then to herself.

  Their father was thinking about what Mason said, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere, maybe still on work at the office. Mom was up and down getting the food, and grabbing a bite in between. Her apron was dirty with fingerprints; wiped away barbeque sauce, bits of jam, a mashed carrot.

  “Just something,” Mason pleaded. “Anything. I’ll pay you back. I’ll find odd jobs around the neighborhood.”

  “Like mowing the grass?” Marshall interjected, with a flick of his fork.

  Mason shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

  “So he gets paid to mow our grass, but I have to do it for free?” Marshall’s eyes flashed. He thought he tasted blood.

  “Ooooooh, Marsh mallow is mad again,” said Leila. “Better watch out.” She smiled at him through bites of mashed potatoes.

  “Shut up!” said Marshall. “Would you just stop talking!”

  “Hey, cut it out … all of you,” their father said. That quieted them, but only for a moment. Marshall glared at his brother and sister. But Leila glared back, and Mason’s eyes were so angry he could’ve been darting arrows from them. He really wanted a car. But who cared? Marshall couldn’t stand being taken for granted. Mason got whatever he wanted; Leila was too smart for all of them. Yet, his parents punished him?

  “Marshall, you don’t get to be rude just because you can’t go out tonight,” said his mom, buttering a biscuit. She took a bite and helped herself to some iced tea.

  “I’m not being rude,” he said with disdain. “Why should I mow the lawn when Mason can do it for pay?”

  “That’s enough now Marsh,” said his father, turning his head to look at him.

  “Dad, you’re the one who should’ve mowed the lawn in the first place.”

  “I said that’s enough!”

  “No, I’m supposed to be a boy of my word and be home on time, but you can get out of your word, and then Mason can do your job for money?”

  Marshall could feel a tingle deep in his chest, and his throat began to scratch. His mind pushed away the looming penalty. Marshall was beyond the boundary of talking back. And he wondered now how bad the punishment would be: Spanking? No free time this weekend?

  But he lost his train of thought when his mother hissed, “Marshall! Don’t talk to your father that way …”

  Marshall didn’t listen. “I’m tired of this,” he said with a hoarse voice, anger burning a hole in his heart. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears.

  “Then you can leave the table!” said his father. “No dinner.”

  His lungs felt like they were collapsing. He had to get out of there.

  “I will then!”

  Marshall stood up, crashing into the front of his plate, and rushed to his room. He didn’t dare slam the door, because that would lead to a worse punishment. The Thompson family wasn’t allowed to slam doors either. What was he doing here? The four of them seemed to get along just fine without him. In fact, they were better off without him.

  He took a puff from his inhaler and breathed deeply then lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The air conditioning unit rattled like a pan of hot oil and corn.
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br />   Suddenly, he smiled and sat up. His plan was going full-tilt now. He was going to do it. Yes, he absolutely had to do it. Even if they punished him for a year, he was going to do it.

  Marshall grabbed his hat and scrunched it over his eyes. He got his stack of cash, months of allowance and birthday money, and shoved it into his pocket. He also grabbed his house key.

  Marshall crossed the room and opened the window opposite the air conditioning unit. He slipped out and closed the window. He was right next to the garage. Perfect. Marshall tried to stay clear of any windows. Leila was probably spying on him right now. But he didn’t care. He just had to get to Luke’s—that’s all that mattered. With so much frustration pent up in the house, the heat was almost refreshing. Marshall inhaled, and felt his lungs relax has he exhaled.

  The side gate was already opened. All he had to do was tiptoe in and get his bike. Piece of cake. He just hadn’t expected the neighbor cat to be sitting by the door when he got to it.

  The cat began meowing the way cats do when they want to be fed or pet and Marshall didn’t want to speak to her for fear of it continuing to meow. That would be detrimental to his plan.

  “Missy, go on, get away!” Marshall hissed. He batted at her. She meowed some more. “Missy, get out of here.” Marshall was sure someone would hear him. The kitchen table was just inside the door. He was about ready to pick her up and chuck her over the fence when she stopped and finally waltzed away.

  Marshall eased back into the garage. He kicked up the stand and wheeled it out the side door. It was a tight fit, but he’d done it a hundred times. Just a few seconds more, he thought. One-step more, and then another step—and he’d be a free bird.

  The evening heat slammed him in the face as if he’d run into a row of hanging blankets. And for a brief moment, it suffocated him. But somehow, the warmth only made him feel stronger

  As soon as he was on the driveway, he hopped onto the seat and pedaled hard, as if Benton and Brewster Williams were right behind him. They were twin brothers who lived a few doors down. Even though they were the same age as Marshall, they were the fastest kids he’d ever seen on bikes. They raced him repeatedly, every chance they got. But last summer, Marshall stopped racing them when they’d won nine out of ten times. It was old. He was tired. And his asthma usually kicked in really well at about the third race anyway, so that by the time he got to nine times, he raced as fast as a slug.

  Marshall didn’t look behind him until he was two blocks away and when he did, no one was there. Leila wasn’t out in the street yelling at him; no car was coming after him. He had done it! It was almost like running away. Marshall was so happy he felt like he could fly.

  The strip mall, deserted again, was just as it had been in the morning. Marshall parked his bike, locked it, and looked up to see the closed sign hanging on the door.

  His heart sank.

  Had he gotten the wrong day? Luke had said tonight. Marshall thought through the old conversation. If he risked disobeying his family for nothing, then he had absolutely zero to work with if—or when—they caught him. There would be no treasure, not even an excuse from Luke: nothing.

  Marshall leaned his head on the glass window. The lights were still on.

  Just then, someone pinged on the glass in front of him. He saw a girl, standing in the other side of the windowpane, staring at him with the largest brown eyes he’d ever seen.

  He stepped back. He wasn’t sure what he should do, so he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  She walked to the glass door, and opened the lock. The mini blinds on the door shuffled back and forth like a grass skirt. And she stood there, with the door open, the cool air conditioning beckoning him in like a crisp glass of ice water.

  He had to go in.

  She said nothing. Her hair was short, in dark brown—nearly black—ringlets. Her eyes were large, but her face was pale and gaunt as if she spent very little time outdoors. Marshall thought that perhaps her eyes looked large because she was so thin. She looked like a paper doll. He wondered how old she was.

  He walked in and she shut the door behind him, re-locking it. The familiar smoke screen was in his peripheral vision. Mr. Luke was at the front counter, reading a newspaper.

  “There you are!” Luke said loudly, feet coming off the counter. His cigarette was in his hand this time, and he gestured wildly, pausing to take a drag. “Didn’t know if you were going to come! The way you had to leave this morning, I was wondering if you’d make it back here.”

  Marshall winced at the naked truth of the comment. He had to ignore the nagging at his conscience; the one telling him he shouldn’t be there. “Me neither.”

  The girl stood next to Luke, staring at Marshall like he was a new book.

  “Have you met my niece then?”

  “Uh …” They hadn’t even said hello.

  “Come on now Iris, don’t be shy.” The girl stepped forward, after her uncle nudged her and she extended her hand. “This is my niece Iris. Iris, this is Marshall, the kid I told you about.”

  Marshall smiled. What had Luke told Iris about him?

  “Nice to meet you,” Marshall said.

  She barely smiled, and almost bowed her head. Then she was back to Luke’s side, face as ashen as a ghost.

  “Well,” said Luke after he took a big drag of his cigarette and snuffed it out in a tray, “Guess you came for my surprise didn’t you.” He laughed loudly, which promptly turned into a cough. He doubled over and then two seconds later, it was over and he was his normal self.

  “Come back here, this way,” he said motioning them to follow. He led them to a back room, the only other room in there, except for the bathroom, and opened the door.

  The room was dark and quiet, but it wasn’t full of smoke and it wasn’t full of stuff like the big room. There was a table and set of chairs, and refrigerator, and television. It was like a family room, or something you’d see in a regular home. Not in a store, or a junk store for that matter.

  “Mr. Luke, I didn’t know you had this room back here,” Marshall said in awe, eyes caressing every light, every chair, and even the dust on the top of the mini refrigerator.

  “Suppose that’s because you spend most of your time looking at stuff out there,” and Luke laughed. Mr. Luke was right. Marshall hadn’t even looked this way. Ever.

  The girl stood by the door after the other two went in.

  “Come on in Iris, you might as well make yourself at home here. You’re gonna be spending a lot of time in this place.”

  Iris stepped in gingerly.

  “Excuse me Mr. Luke, is she, Iris, is she staying with you now?” Marshall looked at her and she looked away to the noisy air conditioning unit, intent on studying it from where she was. It reminded Marshall of his own air conditioning back home, in his room. For a second, the consequences of running away for this trip tugged at his conscience. But he stuffed those thoughts away when he saw Iris watching him.

  Luke nodded. “I suppose so. She used to live with my sister, her aunt Norma, but Norma is in bad health. Had a stroke, you see, can’t do anything now. So Iris’s come to live with me.”

  “Her aunt?” Marshall asked. He looked back at the girl. “But what about her parents?”

  Luke looked down at Iris and then at Marshall. “Her parents are dead.”

  Marshall thought he heard wrong. “You mean she doesn’t have a mom or dad anymore?”

  “No,” said a small, sweet voice. Iris walked into the room and faced them. “It was a long time ago,” she said.

  Marshall was relieved. He felt bad for talking about her in front of her.

  “Oh, okay,” was all he said. He felt stupid.

  “So about that surprise,” Luke said and walked over to the table. He tugged open a paper bag. He brought out a box; a flat, rectangular box. Marshall took in a breath and held it.

  “I think I remember something about you liking puzzles,” said Luke, folding up the paper bag and tossing it into th
e garbage and missing. “Well, this is something else.”

  Marshall walked over to it. He let his breath out, and then drew another one in. “It’s amazing.” he said in a whisper. “I can’t believe it … it’s incredible.”

  Iris walked next to him, her eyes as large as a bowls, the whites of her eyes like milk. “What is it?”

  Marshall looked at her as if she was crazy. “What is it? It’s a puzzle.”

  “Oh … is that all?” She looked at the front of it. It was a picture of golden foothills, mixed with oak trees that looked like the size of twigs. There were a few houses, some barns, cattle and horses. But the most amazing things about it was its size.

  “No way,” Marshall whispered. “No way!” he said again, this time loudly. “This is a ten-thousand-piece puzzle! I’ve never even heard of that before.”

  Luke stood there with a pleased smile on his face, and then coughed.

  “Glad you like it,” he said rubbing his chin. He was fidgeting, toying with his shirttails. Marshall figured he needed another cigarette. “I’ll just be out front,” Luke said. “But I’m glad it’s to your liking.”

  “Absolutely,” Marshall said slowly. “Thanks.”

  Luke smiled and got out of the room quicker than a bolt of lightning.

  Marshall looked at the puzzle again, delighted at the find. All these times in the shop, the talk with Mr. Luke, and he had remembered: Marshall liked puzzles. But this puzzle was the biggest, sweetest, most beautiful puzzle he had ever seen.

  Iris watched him from the corner of her eyes. Marshall noticed again that her skin was like the color of fresh paper, and clear like clean water. She seemed so fragile. And she definitely seemed like she didn’t understand his excitement.

  “What’s so great about this one?” She asked, trying to figure out the mystery and joy on Marshall’s face. “Is this one unusual?”

  Marshall’s mouth opened. “Don’t you know anything about puzzles?”

  She shrugged her shoulders again. “I’ve maybe done one or two.”

  “This is the biggest piece-count I’ve ever seen. Can’t believe someone would give this away—this isn’t junk at all! It’s the cream of the crop.”