The Puzzle Master

by Heather Spiva

  The Tuesday before Thanksgiving break, they were bundled up in their coats sitting in their chairs with a small load of pieces left to assemble. Iris insisted that she wasn’t cold, but Marshall thought otherwise. She had on two coats, plus a sweater and a long sleeved shirt underneath that plus her jeans and boots, and she was shivering as if she was sitting in the snow with wet hair. He was going to bring that little portable heater that was stuffed in the hall closet at home next time they met.

  “I can get you a blanket,” Marshall offered, watching her try to muffle the shivers but failing miserably. “There are several for sale in the room.”

  “No, I’m fine, really.” She looked back at her pieces, intentionally changing the conversation. “So what are you doing for turkey day?”

  Marshall sighed. “Well, for one thing, dad will be home. That’ll be sort of weird.”

  “Why, because he’s been gone so long?”

  “Yeah,” Marshall shrugged and effortlessly placed one sky-colored puzzle piece next to another. He smiled. “I guess, he was traveling for the first two weeks this month, then he left yesterday, but he’s supposed to be home tomorrow and stay home through the weekend. My Aunt Jean is coming for dinner that night too; she’s dad’s sister.”

  Marshall couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Jean though, and wondered what she was like now. He hoped she wouldn’t make him hug her, or make him talk to her all night.

  Iris found another piece and connected it, hissing a small “yes.” She moved onto another section. Marshall realized he hadn’t asked her about dinner; maybe they didn’t have plans? Maybe she and Luke could eat with them?

  “So, what about you? Are you here for Thanksgiving? ‘Cause if you are, you could come over to our place and share. It would be awesome.”

  “Oh, that would be awesome,” she said, “But Uncle and I are going to visit Aunt Norma who’s stuck in the nursing home. We’re taking her out to her favorite restaurant and getting Thanksgiving that way. But thanks. You know I’d be with you if I could.”

  Marshall did know that, but he couldn’t help feel disappointed. “Sure, but if things change, just let me know. Mom would love to have you.”

  Iris smiled and her warm brown eyes made him feel comfortable and happy. He didn’t want to leave that room ever. And for the next hour, they worked on the pieces, with visions of fishing poles dancing in Marshall’s head.

  ***

  Thanksgiving was boring. Mostly because it was all so odd. That Dad was home felt foreign and strange. And Aunt Jean was practically trying to be his best friend. Leila was telling on him for everything—including when he felt like going out back for a breather away from everyone—and his mother forced him back into the house. It didn’t help that the first big storm happened upon the city that night either. There was lightning and everything. Marshall just wanted to be out in it, to watch the sky light up like a Christmas tree.

  But he was sitting in the living room with everyone eating pumpkin pie. Mason was on the phone half the time, talking to a girl. He was insistent on telling everyone that she was his girlfriend. But that Marshall hadn’t even heard of her until that night didn’t make for a very good case. Iris was more of a girlfriend than this girl. Sheesh, what a joke, Marshall thought and snickered at his brother’s antics.

  Finally, when Aunt Jean went to her room (with Leila) and the rest of the house went their separate ways, Marshall went to his bed and stared at the ceiling. He wondered what Iris was doing, and hoped Luke was feeling well enough to take care of her. He also hoped Iris was taking care of Luke. Both of them needed to be okay.

  Mason found his way to his bed, but with the phone still glued to his ear. Marshall covered his head with his pillow. All he could hear was Mason laughing and making jokes, and talking about how great he had been his last season at football. It was all so gross. Why did he have to share a room with his brother? He’d almost rather share one with Leila so he didn’t feel like he needed to throw up all the time.

  Eventually, Mason hung up, and picked up his guitar. He strummed a few chords, and tuned it, but it still sounded bad.

  “You know, you sound like a dweeb on the phone,” said Marshall still under the pillow.

  Mason strummed some more. “Not any more than you, little lover boy.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You and that dark-haired girl, you know, Rose or Clover or…”

  “Iris.”

  “Yeah that’s it. Iris. She’s totally a girlfriend; I mean you see her every day.”

  Marshall scowled. “Not every day.” But that word had a wonderful ring to it; it made his stomach flutter when he thought about it.

  Marshall was stuffed with turkey and pie, he was certain he wouldn’t have to eat for about a hundred hours, and be just fine. He also knew he’d sleep well after the food, and was as tired as anyone could be after talking to Aunt Jean for four hours. But when the lights went out, and Mason began to snore, thoughts and images flooded his mind. He couldn’t get Iris’ face out of his head.

  He finally fell asleep after staring into blackness for too long. But Marshall woke up suddenly when he heard voices. His fuzzy head was playing tricks on him, and he thought he was in the back room at Luke’s. Puzzle pieces were all over the floor, and he had to find them all, so they could finish the big one. Luke couldn’t win the bet; they had to finish the puzzle. Voices swirled around him again, until he realized it was his own voice. And Mason’s.

  “Would you get off the floor Marsh?” Mason hissed at him. Marshall stopped touching the floor, the carpet finally feeling more like real carpet than puzzle pieces. Where was he? In his room? Yes, of course. It was nighttime and Marshall was talking in his sleep.

  He stood up and slipped back into bed. “You’ve got to be quiet!” Mason said. “You were practically yelling.” He sighed and Marshall could hear the bed squeaking. Mason rolled over.

  Marshall felt his pulse in his throat. It was racing so fast, and yet, he could breathe just fine. Flashes of Iris’ face jammed his head. Marshall thought about the river, and imagined seeing the crane again. It glided toward him and landed a foot away. It was beautiful and white and it glowed in the sun as if it was on fire. And then it flew away and he distinctly heard the bird say, “Goodbye.”

  ***

  Monday came and he couldn’t wait to see Iris at school. He wanted to know how her aunt was doing; he wanted to tell her how he’d wished she’d been at his house to ward off Aunt Jean. But Iris wasn’t there.

  He couldn’t go to Luke’s because it wasn’t one of the days he was allowed to go. He’d have to wait until tomorrow. When school was over and he got home, he called her before Mason had a chance to monopolize the phone. But no one answered Luke’s phone. Maybe he was out back getting all the new deliveries? Yes, that was it. He was out back, or in the bathroom or coughing out a lung. He had to be there, somewhere, and Marshall would find him.

  Marshall waited five minutes more and then called again. But no one answered. He waited fifteen minutes more and called, but no one answered.

  He couldn’t worry about it. No, that was completely unnecessary. There was probably a hundred reasons why Luke wasn’t answering. He’d just call later.

  But, for the rest of the evening—except for dinner when they weren’t allowed to even look at the phone—Mason was on the line talking to his girlfriend. Marshall was infuriated.

  “Mason, I’ve really got to make a call,” Marshall pleaded with him every five minutes. Mason would put up his hand and nod, but he never got off the phone. By the time he did, it was past seven and Luke’s wasn’t even open then. Marshall didn’t have Luke’s home number and he kicked himself for never having got it from Iris.

  Marshall went to bed as early as he could, tuning out his brother and sister, and tried to ignore the anxiety trickling into his bloodstream like an infection.

  ***

  On Tuesday, Iris wasn’t at school again. But again,
no one asked him to her whereabouts. People stopped questioning Iris’ habits and actions anymore because she was an exception to the whole school. No kid in all of his school had cancer, let alone had cancer and survived. And because of that, everyone gave her room to do as she pleased, which included everything about Marshall.

  Marshall’s leg was moving, bouncing up and down five minutes before the last bell. And when it sounded, he took off running out the back doors like a bull out of his pen. He ran the whole way to Luke’s. Mud was everywhere, and the air was frigid. Wisps of cold air flared at his nostrils just like the bull that he was.

  The sign on the door said ‘open,’ and he could see Luke’s trademark smoke floating through the air. Good, he was there! Everything was okay. Marshall took a deep breath and sighed and walked into the front counter.

  “Hey Mr. Luke, how are you?” Luke was behind his paper and put it down when Marshall spoke. But Luke looked different; older, like he’d aged twenty years since the store had last been open just a week ago.

  “Hey kid, how was your Thanksgiving?” Marshall smiled and said it was good, but sensed so much more than the spoken words. Something was wrong.

  “Is Iris here?” Marshall asked. He leaned out to look at the back door, but it was opened and no light was on. Iris wasn’t here. Iris was still gone.

  “Yeah,” said Luke casually, “She has another checkup, so she’s in the city again.”

  “But I thought she just had one? Why is she there again?”

  Luke looked at his paper, and then at his cigarette. “Uh, just another checkup that the doctor’s wanted to look into.”

  Marshall felt like crying. “Look into?” he whispered. “But she’s fine, right?”

  “Oh, yes of course,” said Luke. He took a drag of his cigarette but snuffed it out, even though he’d just lit it. Something was on Luke’s mind. Everything felt strange, looked strange. Iris was gone. And even though he knew where she was, that Luke told him what she was doing, he felt like he was going to fall apart without her.

  “She’ll be back soon?”

  “She’ll be back in a few days Marsh; she’ll be back there with you very soon.”

  Marshall grinned. Okay, that answer would have to do. Maybe he was getting paranoid; maybe everything really was all right and this check-up was just a precaution. “I’ll be in the back then.”

  Luke nodded and Marshall headed back to the drafty room. He set his backpack down and made himself some hot chocolate. Then he stared at the puzzle.

  The entire table was filled with the puzzle. It was almost done. They had maybe five hundred more pieces to go and the fishing pole was all his. The worst part of it was that the five hundred pieces was of sky; light blue, with pale white clouds, which meant that every piece looked the same.

  He took a sip of his cocoa and burned the roof of his mouth. Marshall glanced at the lighthouse puzzle hanging on the wall. There was a note attached to it. Perfect, he thought, Iris had left another note. He set down his cup, careful not to slosh it all over the puzzle, and tore it free from the picture.

  Marshall,

  Sorry to do this to you again. Please, work on the puzzle while I’m gone. We have to get our farm finished. I need to milk the cow and gather the eggs. I’ll be back soon. This time I promise to uncover a permanent remedy for all asthmatic patients.

  –Iris.

  He smiled to himself and held the note in his hand like it was gold. He felt a hundred times better already. He read the note twice more and went to work on the sky. He found five pieces in an hour, and scolded himself. He’d have to work faster than that. Marshall had about three and a half weeks before Christmas. If he didn’t finish it before then, the fishing pole was history.

  Marshall closed his eyes and he could still see puzzle pieces: the nibs and bends, straight lines and divots—all looking back at him and taunting him. He had to finish it.

  Marshall rubbed his eyes and calculated the pieces left, along with the remaining days ahead. He needed to do about twenty or more a day to get it all done. He went back at it, finished his quota by dinnertime and left for home.

  ***

  The next day came all too soon and again and Iris wasn’t at school, but he knew she’d be home soon. He took the bus home and sat with Michael, and they talked about the latest member to the club, how Robbie from seventh grade got the most awesome doo-dad GPS system from his father, who used it on his boat. But since he’d upgraded the boat, he upgraded the GPS system, and it was all Robbie’s now. Marshall grimaced through the whole story.

  He wasn’t impressed. He knew he should’ve been. That GPS stuff was incredibly cool. He also knew that finishing a ten-thousand-piece puzzle all for a stupid fishing pole wouldn’t get him into Michael’s club. But, that didn’t bother him. Those other cool toys seemed so insincere. All he wanted was to see Iris home, safe. He wanted to be in the back of the room finishing the puzzle with her with their coats bundled over them, their fingers chilled to the bone, and their pores oozing with hot chocolate.

  He wanted her to be home; he wanted things to go back to the way they were right now.

  Chapter 13: The Big One Finished

  The following Saturday, Marshall went to the store as soon as he could. In fact, he was standing at the door at ten minutes to nine. Luke unlocked the door as soon as he saw him.

  “Suppose you want to see Iris,” he muffled.

  Marshall felt stiff for a minute, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “She is here, yes? It seems like she’s been gone forever.”

  “Oh she’s here alright, she’s here,” and Luke closed the door behind them and locked it again. Something wasn’t being said. Was Luke sick? Was that the real problem?

  “You’re okay right Luke? I mean, you’re not getting worse and everything are you?”

  Luke raised his eyebrows. “Me worse? Like sick? What do you mean?”

  “Iris’s been saying she was worried about you and your cough and everything, I thought maybe since …”

  “I’m healthier than a horse,” he said lighting up a cigarette. “Well,” and he nodded to the smoking stick between his fingers, “Doc says he wants me to quit, that’s for sure. These things aren’t too good for me.” He took the cigarette, looked at it and put it back into his mouth. “But I had pneumonia, took me forever to get over it.”

  Marshall shook his head in disbelief. “So you aren’t dying of anything?” He didn’t know what else to say. What had Iris meant with her diagnosis of her uncle? Why had she told him that she thought he was sick?

  “Me dying? Well, sure. I’m dying every day, but there aren’t any serious issues right now.” Luke took a puff and blew it out, switching on the country music station. George Strait wafted to the ceiling. “Why are you asking?”

  Marshall shook his head. “No reason, no reason.” He started to head toward the back room but Luke grabbed him by the arm.

  “Marshall, uh, wait.” Luke gulped and looked away. “Son, don’t know how to tell you this, but Iris, her last checkup was sort of a big one and uh, well, she’s too tired to do a whole lot. She’s sitting in a recliner back there, stretched out like she’s laying down—for comfort and all.”

  Marshall stared at Luke. That explanation sounded wrong for someone who didn’t have cancer. It sounded wrong for so many reasons. “I don’t understand. Why is she so tired?”

  Luke stared at the floor, covered with dirt and dust. “Why don’t you uh, why don’t you go back there and see her.” Luke lifted his head with a grin. But the devastating fact—one that Marshall would go over for days in his mind’s eye—were the tears spilling down Luke’s cheek. He wiped them away and practically shoved Marshall to move. “She’s waiting for you, don’t keep her waiting, son.”

  Marshall was numb. The feelings he thought he should feel weren’t there. He felt feeling-less, emotionless, as though everything and nothing mattered. He pushed open the back door. The room was alive with light and the puzzle wa
s still on the table where he’d left it. Luke had purchased a new space heater and it was on making the room toasty warm. The empty puzzle box sat lifeless in a corner.

  Iris was there too. She was asleep, her eyes closed head resting on the back of the seat; her body was sideways crunching into the chair as if it was a big pillow. She had huge dark rings under her eyes, and her skin was paler than he’d ever seen it. He imagined for a moment that she had turned into a ghost, and that she could disappear at a moment’s notice if he blinked too long.

  He sat down at the table. A few new pieces had been added to the picture, and their “farm” was practically done. The barn and the sky above it was all that was left. A couple hundred more pieces to go. Three weeks. They could do it.

  Iris moved awake just as Marshall found another piece.

  “Hey, you’re almost done,” she croaked. Marshall looked at her face, gaunt and waning like an old moon.

  “Yeah, but you need to finish it with me,” he said. And yet, Marshall noticed how hollow those words rang in his head.

  He knew what was happening. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he knew what was happening. His world was changing second by second to where he wouldn’t even recognize it soon.

  Maybe they’d finish the puzzle tomorrow? Yes, that was it. They would finish it tomorrow. Their farm would be ready. They had to finish it now. “We have our house and farm to go home to soon,” Marshall finally said, feeling like someone else had spoken those words.

  Iris smiled and pulled the blanket around her tighter. She knew that he knew: she didn’t have to say a word because Marshall understood.

  Her lips were dry and crusty; she looked like she could drink a hundred gallons of water and suddenly be fine. But she wasn’t fine. “The doctors say I’ve got a few weeks. The JMML came back. It’s in my liver now.” Marshall gulped and looked away, trying to stay busy with the pieces in front of him. And yet, he didn’t want her to think he didn’t care. He couldn’t have her leave him not knowing how much he cared for her. So he looked at her again.