The Puzzle Master

by Heather Spiva

  “You can’t worry about that stuff Iris,” he said, changing the tone. “My mom always says that if a door closes, then a window will open.”

  “Like you sneaking out of your house?”

  He smiled. She was hilarious for having a sad life. “Yeah, just like that.”

  “Okay. I won’t worry about it.” She smiled and picked up a box. “Here’s a five hundred piece one. It’s a picture of a lighthouse, Portland Head, Maine.” She tossed in onto the floor in front of him.

  “Good.” Marshall opened it up and dumped out the pieces. “First, we find all the edge pieces, and work on connecting those together. They form the perimeter, see, and once that’s started, the whole thing starts to take shape. After that, we sort ‘em by color, and from there, work in sections. You’ll see,” he said patting the floor.

  She sat down and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Yeah, I think I already do.”

  Chapter 5: The Truth about Iris

  After the first day of school and Marshall’s run in with the “girlfriend issue” easing, the three amigos left him alone. Every now and then, they would see Iris and him walking together to class, and a whistle or two would follow. But because they ignored him, the teasing stopped.

  On Friday after school, Iris and Marshall went to Luke’s. They ate a snack, while Luke showed them a huge television someone had dropped off, and then they finished the first puzzle. It only took them an hour, and when they finished, they both stared at it. The lighthouse stared back at them, looking silent and beautiful.

  “Wouldn’t it be great if we could actually go inside the puzzle?” asked Iris. She was on her knees, peering into the picture. The lighthouse they’d assembled was grand, covered with white and red paint. The rocks below it glistened in the sun with the water running over them back to the sea. It looked like water easing down a dragon’s crusty spine.

  “Who says we can’t?” said Marshall, pleased she had an imagination.

  “Okay then, so we can.” Iris sat back onto her bottom and crossed her legs. “I’m the lighthouse keeper, and I live in this part of the house,” she said pointing to the picture, where the main house met the lighthouse.

  “And what about me?” asked Marshall, wondering how she was sucking him into this dream world.

  “Then we’re both lighthouse keepers, and we take turns on our shifts manning the light. The house part of it is huge, and we run through it at night playing hide and seek when we get a break from duty.”

  “As long as I get to hide first,” Marshall said. He took a drink of his chocolate milk. He crooked his head. “Bet that place saw some nasty ship wrecks over the years.”

  “That’s why there’s a lighthouse silly, so they don’t have shipwrecks.”

  “What if it’s a really foggy night and the captain can’t see the shore?”

  “They have sonar, and radar, and satellite stuff now,” Iris said, straight to the point. “I lived near one in the bay, Point Bonita Lighthouse. But, they don’t even have lighthouse keepers anymore, it’s like the towers are ghosts, vanishing castles. It’s kind of sad.”

  Marshall nodded. “But this lighthouse is still stuck in the past,” he said with a smile, “We’re keepers from back in time.”

  “Oh, right,” agreed Iris. “You know, I would have to get out there and rescue the captain,” she said, pointing to the boat in the water, precariously close to the craggy rocks.

  “Why you? You’re a girl.”

  “That I’m a girl doesn’t matter. I’m a lighthouse keeper, and I saw the wreck while you were taking a nap.”

  “Taking a nap!” Marshall said, his voice suddenly high. “I don’t take naps, and I wouldn’t take naps if I had a lighthouse like that to watch over.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Then what would you be doing?”

  “For starters, I’d be fishing. Someone has to get our food, you know.”

  “And someone has to cook it,” she retorted, answering each of his responses with a sharp recoil of her own. “And I’m not going to just be the cook. I have windows to clean, and so do you. You’ll be cleaning the place as much as me. And of course, theres a garden to take care of,” she said pointing to the grassy inland hill. “Then there’s the upkeep of the lighthouse, like painting and of course we have to watch for visitors.”

  They talked for an hour more about it, deciding who would have to go out to sea with their rescue boat and retrieve the shipwrecked sailors. They discussed sea monsters and figured there had to be one just outside their lighthouse, watching them as much as they were looking for it. They talked about keeping the lighthouse lit, and the grounds taken care of, and the seagulls and salty air, and for a while, they were no longer in hot, dusty Sacramento. They were on water; they were at sea. They were away in another place; a place that neither of them wanted to leave.

  Twenty minutes later, Luke burst in the door with a phone in his hand. The mirage of lighthouse-keeping evaporated and they were back in the dusty city, sitting on a dusty floor.

  “It’s your momma,” he said with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “She’s on the phone.”

  A panicky feeling reached deep inside of Marshall. It felt like he’d swallowed his tongue. What time was it? How long had they been in there?

  “Okay.” He looked at Iris. “Be right back.”

  He held the receiver up to his ear. “Hey Mom.”

  “Marshall, where are you?”

  “I’m here, at Luke’s,” he rolled his eyes. Obviously, she called the store didn’t she? “I told you yesterday I was going to be here.”

  “Your sister’s caught a fever. And Mason isn’t home ‘cause he’s got football practice. I need you to come home for a bit, you don’t need to spend all your time there.” She sounded fierce, and angry; like she was breathing fire. It reminded him of the sea monster he and Iris had just discussed.

  “Where’s Dad? Isn’t he home?”

  “Your father’s out of town on business. I don’t want my kids out all over the place, when I’m at the doctors. I need you home.”

  Marshal sighed, the tickle in his lungs simmered down into his belly.

  “Your asthma’s just going to get worse in there,” she said. “I don’t like you spending your time around a smoker.”

  “Mom, I’m in a back room,” he hissed. He didn’t care if he was around Luke—it was comfortable. Marshall liked it. Smoke and all. “We’re just doing puzzles.”

  “Marshall, come home,” she pleaded.

  Why did this have to happen to him? Just when things were getting good too. He and Iris were going to clean the windows up in the lantern room on the lighthouse—way out there on the balcony, getting wind-whipped, where the tower stood straight above the rocks like a death-defying trick. It was going to be the biggest task of their light-keeping duties yet.

  “Okay. Uh, would it be alright if Iris comes with me?”

  “Who is Iris?”

  “You know, Luke’s niece? She goes to school with me.”

  “Oh, I suppose,” his mother said slowly. “Just get home quick.”

  Marshall hung up. “Is it alright?” he asked Luke, who was already nodding his head.

  Marshall turned around happy again. She could go to his house; he could show her all of his old puzzles, and everything.

  He jetted to the back. Iris was still looking at the picture. From the door, all he could see was her white arms and legs, pale in the light, her hair hanging around her face. She looked like a doll, a real-life china doll. And so fragile, like if she tripped or something, she would break into a hundred pieces.

  “Guess what?” he finally asked. “You get to come to my house.”

  Her face drew back into a smile. Her brown eyes were soft and clear. “When?”

  “Right now. Just talked to your Uncle, and my mom. She has to go to the doctor’s. Said something about Leila having a fever. Nothing like the first week of school to contract all sorts of germs.”

&n
bsp; Iris paused. “She’s sick?” Suddenly, Iris was paler than Marshall had ever seen her.

  “Yeah, just a little fever. No big deal. Why? What’s the matter?”

  She looked like she was about to say something, but closed her lips and bit them. “Nothing, nothing.” She looked back at the picture. “Just hope she’s okay, is all.”

  They grabbed their backpacks, and walked to his house. He pointed out the Williams twins’ home, and all sorts of other people he knew, friends she might meet at school.

  He grabbed the house key from inside a flowerpot, and opened up the house. It was hot, like outside, and felt muggy. The house smelled like egg salad sandwich and Marshall apologized for it. “My sister just loves egg salad,” he said with a roll of his voice. “Bet she asked for that before they left. She gets whatever she wants.”

  Iris looked around the house. It was small and cluttered. There were way too many knick-knacks and odds and ends, but it was homey and clean; just the way every house should feel when three children lived there. And Iris instantly loved it.

  “What’s wrong with egg salad?” Iris asked, looking at a clock in the shape of a cat. There were about fifteen plants sitting in the kitchen window. Most of them looked like they needed water, but Iris didn’t mention it.

  “Nothing.” Marshall didn’t know why he was being so mean. His sister was sick. Least he could do was be nice about it. “Anyway, mom wants me home. She doesn’t like us all out at once. Especially when dad’s out of town.”

  “What’s he do?”

  “Works for a bank. New accounts, or something.” Iris nodded, and they headed to his room. “Mom doesn’t mean anything by it. I think she feels better when I’m home.”

  Iris walked through the doorway. “Your mom depends on you. Why not your brother?”

  Marshall shrugged. “Don’t know.” Honestly, that was a good question. And he hadn’t ever thought about it until Iris asked. “So,” and he nodded to his bed, “That one’s mine. The other is Mason’s. He’s at football practice right now, so he won’t be coming home anytime soon.”

  She sat on the edge of Mason’s bed and looked at his bookshelf. “You like to read?”

  “Yeah, when Mason or Leila’s not bugging me to death about something or another.”

  She slumped to the floor and looked up at the ceiling. On the top of the ceiling above his bed, was a puzzle. It was a picture of a beach, with the setting sun behind the water, palm trees to the left and right

  “How’s it doing that?” she asked, mouth opening, her wide eyes growing wider. “How’d you get it to stay there?’

  He lay down on his bed with a sigh. “Oh yeah, that’s with this special puzzle glue. It’s a spray, and you put it over the puzzle so when it’s dry, you can frame it or put it anywhere practically and it stays together. Neat huh?”

  She nodded. “That’s what we need for our puzzles. That way we can look at them hanging from a wall.”

  “S’pose so,” he said. He rolled over and faced her. His inhaler had loosened up his pocket so it was practically sitting out in full view on the bed. But when he rolled again, it popped onto the floor and sounded like it shattered. He knew there was no way she had missed it.

  Marshall scrambled himself off the bed and sprung for it, before it rolled under Mason’s bed. He hoped she hadn’t seen it. He hoped she thought it was just something else, like a cup breaking. Anything other than the inhaler.

  He found it—just as her eyes locked on it—and shoved it back into his pocket. He plopped back onto the bed and tried to act nonchalant. But the panic had stirred up his lungs. He could feel it rising like a plume of smoke and he coughed.

  She was watching him, staring through him like x-ray vision.

  “Are you …” she paused, almost like she was waiting for him to say it first, “Do you have asthma?”

  He nodded. “Yeah,” he nodded again. “It’s not so bad though.” He patted his pocket, wishing so bad she didn’t know about it. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he wanted her to keep a good impression of him; not to know he had problems. This was one more kink in the armor.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, eyebrows knitted into the letter V.

  He faced her and then rolled off the bed into a sitting position so he was opposite of her. They both had their arms wrapped around their knees and looked like a couple of bookends.

  “Iris, that’s not something I go around telling people, especially new friends.”

  The room was almost dark now. A glow from the sunset filtered through the curtains and Iris’ face looked more doll-like than ever.

  “But my Uncle Luke, he smokes so much and yet you hang around even with your condition?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Your uncle’s place is irresistible. You know how I am when I’m there. I love it. I love puzzles,” he pointed to the ceiling. “And now…” it felt awkward, almost like he wanted to say that he loved her. “Now, you’re there and we’ve got four months left and counting to get our big one done. I can’t not go in there.”

  She was silent, and looked at the air conditioning unit, which was rattling again. The little white and red streamers were flying awry like the tail of a kite.

  “Besides, I’m still looking for that one great thing; that one treasure that I’ll find to show Michael. He’s got that stupid club, you know.”

  They were silent again. Marshall fiddled with the inhaler and brought it out. It was almost empty. He’d have to replace it soon. You know, just in case he had a bad episode. That was all.

  “You use anything else besides that thing?” she asked, staring at the hard ivory colored plastic.

  “Nah, sometimes I’ll take some medicine at night to help me sleep, so I’m not up coughing half the night.” He laughed. “Mason hates it. We share a room ‘cause of Leila, see.” He rolled his eyes. “She gets her own room.”

  He took out the inhaler and moved it from one hand to the other, tossing it like a ball. “We moved here because of my asthma, you know. It had to be somewhere far away from anything too humid and watery.”

  She looked almost happy to see the inhaler, as if that little secret was the best thing she’d heard in a long time.

  “Do other kids know you use this?”

  “Yeah, but I try not to use it at school. You know, only in the bathroom, or something. Most kids have forgotten I even have asthma.” He looked at her under his bangs. “You want to see it?”

  She nodded and took the plastic container from him, looking at all the parts, like it was the Holy Grail. “I’ve read that you could have asthma because you don’t have enough hydrochloric acid in your stomach.”

  “Hydro what?” Marshall asked scratching his head. ‘Where’d you read that?” She handed him the inhaler and he put it onto his nightstand.

  “In a medical journal.”

  He turned his head to the side. “You always go around reading medical journals? Because last I checked, most sixth graders don’t read that stuff.”

  She smiled coyly, and brought her hands up to her chin. “It’s true. You need that, and I read them, and that’s it.” She leaned her head back. “You also can do breathing techniques; learn how to control your breathing, so you don’t have to rely on that inhaler so much.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard about that. It seems too hard.”

  The room was nearly black, so Marshall flipped on his side table lamp. She held a hand up to her eyes and rubbed them.

  “How come you know so much about weird things?” he finally asked.

  She didn’t answer right away and instead stared at the bed, then at her fingers, then at Mason’s guitar sitting on the desk.

  “That’s a strange question, you know.” She still had that smile on her face, and was watching him like she knew a hundred things he didn’t know. It was getting on his nerves.

  “Well, you’re looking at me funny, and then you tell me I need hydrochloric stuff, and then—” he wasn’t sure if he
should mention the other thing. But he did. “When I said that my sister had a fever, you looked like you’d swallowed a chicken. You went chalky white.” He laughed out loud. “Whiter than usual.”

  She smiled and then grew very serious, as if she was trying to solve world peace, fix global warming and aid the aging population within the next ten years. She sighed and put her head in her hands. Marshall thought he’d done something bad for sure.

  What a stupid idiot I am, he thought. “I’m sorry Iris, I didn’t mean to say something that hurt you. You’re just so smart. I don’t know how you got that way, and I guess I …”

  “No, it’s okay,” she said, cutting him off. “Listen, you have to promise not to say anything to anyone. Not even to your family, as good as they are.”

  “They’re not that nice.”

  “No, actually, they are. They’re normal.” Marshall didn’t want to go down that route: his family was weird, no questions there. He wanted to know what her secret was.

  Marshall’s heart began beating like a set of bongos, and he was sure she could hear them.

  “What is it?” he said in a lowered voice.

  “It’s why I was hesitant to come over, when I heard your sister was sick. It’s why I was glad to hear of your condition,” she nodded her head at the inhaler. “Your asthma.”

  He leaned in ever so slightly. He didn’t want to miss one word.

  “It’s also why I’m so pale and thin and have such short hair.”

  Marshall waited for more, but nothing came.

  “And?” he asked. “Why? Aren’t you going to tell me?”

  “I am telling you.”

  “No, you’re speaking in riddles. You’re being smarter than me. I don’t know. I give up. What, are you sick too?”

  “Bingo.” And suddenly, he wished he hadn’t guessed. He wished he hadn’t said it at all. He was always being so stupid.

  She stared at the floor, her ringlets bobbing all over the place like a bunch of coils.

  “You’re sick?” he asked again, this time in a whisper.

  “In theory, but I’m not supposed to be anymore.”

  “What … what does that mean?”