Unlike the others, cheating with their ghostly bodies, I tire out after a while. “You guys . . . keep playing,” I say, hunching over to catch my breath with my palms resting on my thighs. I want them to keep playing, even if it’s without me. Truth is, I don’t want the good times to end. There’s no telling if we’ll ever laugh like this again.
Oliver wastes no time before he’s at my side. Concern shadows his face. “No, it’s fine. We should all sit a spell.”
“Daylight’s wasting, anyway,” Doc says, consulting the sky as he steps out from his hiding spot. “It’s probably best to move on before someone crashes this party.”
His words fall over me like a blanket of dread. No one argues with him.
With apples pried from the heavy arms of the trees, we take turns bobbing for apples until we’re soaked. Even Aunt Perdita, who had turned up her nose at the idea of dunking her perfect golden mane in frigid hose water, joined in.
Pin the Tail on the Donkey rounds out Maggie’s list of favorite party games. Of course, we all throw the game to let her win. At least, I think we all throw the game. Oliver might really have horrible aim.
“So, you’re telling me the donkey isn’t outside?” Oliver pulls off his blindfold and winks at me.
Maggie giggles and clutches Oliver’s hand. She pulls him over to the long dining room table that we’d covered in a pink plastic tablecloth. “C’mon, Ollie. Let’s have ice cream!”
“What? No cake?”
“We’re saving that for last,” Letty says. She’s wearing a rainbow-colored party hat printed with prancing ponies. It’s tilted to the side, making even stern Letty look ridiculous. If I squint hard enough, I can almost imagine she’s someone capable of having fun. Almost.
After our dishes of chocolate-chip ice cream—of course—Maggie tears into her presents. Aunt Perdita insisted on wrapping them with fancy paper and sparkly cloth bows, a leftover skill from her days as a trophy wife. “I took a class,” she’d said. I couldn’t tell if she was proud or embarrassed.
Seven gifts for seven guests. Each time Maggie loosens a bow and rips off the paper, her face lights up and she claps her chubby hands.
“Oh, I love it,” she says when she gets to Oliver’s present. “Just what I always wanted . . . What is it?”
“Well, that was a lucky guess on my part, I suppose.” Oliver grins. “It’s a bracelet I made from some of Jasper’s tail hairs.”
“Cool!” Maggie stuffs the bracelet over her fist and onto her arm. It’s way too big for her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Really?” I scrunch up my nose. “That’s so weird.” But, secretly, I’m jealous I don’t have my own piece of Jasper jewelry. That horse was a pain in the butt, but he did save my life.
When Maggie finishes opening gifts, Letty snaps to attention. “I’ll grab the cake from the kitchen if someone could give me a hand.” She shifts the baby in her arms.
“I will!” The words burst from Aunt Perdita’s lips before anyone else has the chance to say anything. Six startled faces turn to her and she grimaces. “I mean, I’d be happy to help.”
Letty, still not a fan of Aunt Perdita, fixes her with a steely stare. After a moment suspended in time, she says, “Fine.”
My mouth drops open.
“I trust you know how to care for a baby, Perdita?”
If Aunt Perdita nods any faster, I’d be worried about whiplash. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life. You have no idea.”
Letty hesitates, then her face softens. “Fair enough. Just remember to support her—”
“Hold on!” Doc Blevins shoots out of his chair. “Before you do that, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Perdy.”
Aunt Perdita’s head swivels in his direction like a cobra ready to strike. “Can it wait?” she hisses, clearly annoyed with her baby-fix delay.
Doc’s used to Aunt Perdita’s moods, and doesn’t show fear. “No, it can’t.” He tugs at the edge of his suit coat to straighten it and closes the distance between them. “If I wait, it might never happen. Please just give me a minute—that’s all I need.”
Aunt Perdita deflates a little, the venom draining from her fangs. “Oh, all right.” She forces a polite smile, but I notice her eyes shift toward JoJo, still in Letty’s arms. Maggie’s crown falls off and she scrambles from her chair to retrieve it.
“Now, I know I’ve earned my time here, fair and square; but what I never deserved is—” He draws in a shaky breath. “—you.”
Maggie bumps her head on the bottom of the table as she stands up. Her face turns red and she lets loose with an ear-splitting howl. Thick tears spill from her stormy eyes.
“Magnolia! Shh! You’re all right,” Letty says. “Here, Perdita. Take the baby.” She bounces JoJo in her arms, even though she’s not making a peep.
A look of panic flashes in Doc’s eyes as Aunt Perdita reaches for the baby. “You’re the most important thing in my life, Perdita. Forgive me if . . . But I—”
Aunt Perdita nestles the baby in the crook of her left arm and beams down at the little one.
Doc doesn’t hesitate, tipping my aunt’s chin upward. He dives in for a kiss, and all I can see are the whites of my aunt’s eyes just before she and JoJo vanish forever.
“—love you,” Doc whispers to the empty space in front of him.
Oliver springs to his feet, toppling his chair with a crash. “I’m so sorry, Doc,” he says. But Oliver has nothing to be sorry about because Doc is gone.
Letty closes her eyes for a split second, then moves to Maggie’s side. Maggie’s no longer crying, her small, pink mouth slack as the plastic crown slips to the floor again with a clatter.
“Time for cake,” Letty manages. She shuffles from the room, patting Duke on the shoulder as she passes. Duke’s jaw clenches and unclenches, and his gaze never leaves his hands.
The five of us who remain gather around the cake—chocolate with chocolate frosting, like it even matters. Letty tries to light the candles with a match, but her wiry hands tremble too much to strike it on the matchbook. Oliver takes over, and in no time at all Maggie’s candles glow.
We sing “Happy Birthday” as Maggie cups her hands over her giggles. The firelight dances in Maggie’s eyes and her blonde locks surround her like a halo. Letty mouths the words to the birthday song, and I catch her wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. Duke insists we sing extra verses of the song until candle wax spreads across the top of the cake and the flame nearly puts itself out. Oliver’s hand never leaves mine. If I could, I would bottle this memory and put it up on a shelf, only to pull it out again the next time I felt sad.
Soon, or maybe too soon, it’s time for Maggie to make a wish. She pinches her eyes closed, sucks in a breath, and blows out her candles.
And then she vanishes.
Chapter 27
Duke’s the last of the children left.
I find him later the next day, sitting cross-legged in the orphanage’s small front yard, picking long blades of green. He holds the grass between his thumbs and raises it to his lips, trying to whistle. He completely ignores me when I plop down next to him.
“Hiya,” I say. I wait for a moment before nudging him with my elbow. “Anyone home?”
Duke brings his hands to his mouth again and blows, making a noise closer to a bodily function than a musical instrument.
I roll my eyes and gently push his hands away from his mouth. “You’re not going to answer me?”
He half-shrugs and lets the blade of grass slip from his grasp. His shoulders fall into a hunch. It’s easy to see, now, how much the burden of watching over the girls had weighed on him over the years. Duke may only be a boy, but he’s braver than men twice his age.
“Maggie, Tessa—even JoJo—they’re more alive than they ever were here. Don’t you think you deserve that, too?” I bring a hand to his chin to force him to look up at me. Even so, his thick black hair hides his eyes.
“I dunno,�
�� he mumbles, turning away. His fingers comb the earth in search of another fat spear of grass.
My heart breaks because he’s struggling like this, and it’s my fault. We let the silence fall over us for a while—or, at least, it seems like a while without the chirp of birds or the whir and clack of nearby insects to keep time.
“What if I don’t want to leave?” His voice cracks when he finally speaks. I’m not sure if emotion or eternal hormones are the culprit.
“Don’t want to leave?” A tight laugh escapes between words. “Why in the world would you want to stay? It’s not going to get better.”
The fact that the others have gone won’t change his fate—they all died in that fire once upon a time. Every night the smoke will rob his lungs of air until he slips away, and the flames will finish the job. True happiness doesn’t exist within these city limits.
Duke squints past his bangs and focuses on the car parked at the curb directly in front of us: a powder-blue station wagon with an advanced case of leprosy. “What if . . . What if they don’t want me there?”
“If anyone knows what it feels like to be alone and unwanted, it’s me,” I say, with a hint of my own sadness. “And believe me, I’ll miss having you around to pick on. But I want to help you move on to something better. Let me help.”
He sweeps his hair aside with the back of his hand as he considers my offer. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen his eyes. They take my breath away—the shade of golden wheat rippling in a sun-soaked field.
After a long moment of silence, he says, “I’m scared, Lucy.”
“You? Scared? Psssh.” I bump into his arm with my shoulder. “Seriously, though, what’s next will make Mitte seem like . . . well, torture. Because this really is kind of an awful place. You know that, right?”
“But, Letty—”
I hold up my hand to silence him. “Quit worrying about everyone else for once, Duke. You’re allowed to be selfish—you’re a teenage boy.” He opens his mouth to interject, and I shush him again. “Letty’s tough. She’ll be just fine, and we both know it.”
He looks over at the car again and draws in a deep breath. “Dad said he’d take me out on the country roads and let me try driving when spring came around again.”
My eyes dart to him at the confession, but I disguise my surprise by turning my attention to the station wagon.
I can barely make out Duke’s monotone voice. “Never did get to take that drive. But what’s done is done, ya know?”
“What happened to him?” I ask quietly, hoping the question won’t startle him away like a wild animal.
He shrugs. “His heart gave out or somethin’. All I know’s, I ended up here at the orphanage, on account of nobody else wanting me.”
“Don’t worry. They want you where you’re going.” My heart thunders in my chest as I speak, overwhelmed by what needs to happen to rescue him from this torture. “Understatement of the year.”
His gaze hasn’t left the rusty station wagon. The blade of grass trembles between his fingers.
I wrap an arm around him, more to calm myself down than him. “Can you hold on a little while longer while we make a plan?”
“That’s . . . fine,” he says with a nervous gulp. His shoulders finally relax.
I leave him there, still sitting cross-legged in the grass, to prepare. Forget about Duke being scared, I’m pretty darn freaked out, myself.
The dawn breaks before I’m ready. I spent hours crying until my swollen eyes can barely hold themselves open. I shower, taking an extra-long time under the warm spray, not sure if I’ll ever feel the water on my skin again after today. The house lies as silent as a mausoleum. As I walk from my room to the kitchen, I take in every curve of the architecture and run my fingers along the smooth painted wood trim along the walls.
The coffee pot sits a quarter of the way full, leftovers from the last pot Aunt Perdita had brewed before she found peace. I sigh. It’s not like I’m really dying for a cup of coffee, I just wanted to distract myself for a few minutes before what comes next.
Oliver waits on the front steps, and turns to smile at me when I step through the door. He draws me close to his body, and mumbles in my ear, “Good morning, sunshine.” A thrill of excitement courses through me at his nearness, and it takes every bit of strength to pull myself away from his embrace. Nothing sounds better than hiding myself away with him somewhere to work on our unfinished business. It’s not my time, though. This is about Duke.
We walk together, hand-in-hand, until we reach the orphanage. Duke’s already there, looking excited and terrified, while Angus works at jimmying the door of that old blue station wagon with a wire coat hanger.
“Angus,” Oliver claps the burly man on his shoulder, “I really appreciate your help with this.”
Angus sticks his tongue out of his pursed lips, an impossibly soft pink thing amongst the wild tangle of his red beard. The door pops open, and he grunts in appreciation. He straightens himself up and takes Oliver’s hand. “Least I can do after knocking him out.”
My eyes don’t leave the long twist of wire and the way it slices the air every time Angus moves. He’d agreed to help, but I struggle to put aside the memory of him about ready to clock me, intercepted instead by Duke.
My feelings must be painted on my face, because Angus turns to me and extends his gloved hand. “No hard feelings, missy?”
I hesitate, pretty sure there are still some hard feelings left. We need Angus to pull this off, though. And something tells me he needs us, too. I lose my hand in his giant grip and shake.
“Now, I figure you’ve got a couple minutes, tops. You know what to do?” The mountainous man looks each of us in the eye, and we all indicate we do, but no one sounds very confident. He nods, the end of his ginger mane lifting in the soft breeze.
Before we leave, Letty pulls Duke into a big hug. “Have fun, Duke.” Such simple words, but I know she’s referring to so much more than what we have planned. He squeezes her back, the muscles in his forearm quivering.
Yeah, have fun, Duke. You deserve it.
After Duke wipes his eyes and pulls himself back together, he climbs in the driver’s side of the station wagon and reaches over to pull up on the passenger door lock. I pull in one last long breath, but it’s no use. This is, hands-down, the most careless thing I’ve ever done, no less in my least favorite mode of transportation. I get in on the passenger side and strap myself in, then tell Duke to do the same.
“Listen to me, Duke. We don’t have time for me to really teach you once Angus gets the car running. So, what you need to know is that the pedal on the right is the accelerator, and the big one on the left is the brake.”
“Right, brake; left, accelerator. Got it!” His voice betrays him.
“No, it’s—”
The engine roars to life, or as much life as the rickety hunk of metal possesses, and Angus slams the driver’s door closed. “Go now,” he bellows, slapping the hood of the station wagon with his hand.
Duke clenches his eyes shut, sucks in a big breath, and stomps on the accelerator. The station wagon rockets forward, clipping the corner of another car parked along the side of the road.
My stomach twists, but Duke laughs at what had just happened. Somehow, he manages to swerve away from the car he smashed into and finds the empty lane between the parked vehicles. Our time is running out, especially with the crash.
“Okay, give it a little more gas—slowly,” I urge. He does as I ask and we coast along the sleepy road, running a stop sign as we do. Duke whoops out the window at no one in particular. His smile takes over his face, and for a minute I forget where I am. I grin and holler with him.
“I’m driving! I’m really, really driving!” he shouts over the deafening rattle of the unmuffled station wagon. “Thank you, Lucy. Really.” He fixes his liquid golden eyes on me and, like that, he’s gone.
It happens so fast, so much faster than I’d expected. None of us had thought about the car b
eing unmanned when Duke moved on. Panic washes over me, watering down my bittersweet feelings about Duke’s departure, as the station wagon careens toward a glistening fire-engine red Corvette on the side of the road. The passenger side of the rickety old station wagon smashes into the other car and drags its way to a reluctant halt. Somehow, I pulled it together enough to prepare for the impact and I don’t get hurt—pretty miraculous for someone like me, whose most recent car rides have trended toward killing people. I don’t want to jinx myself, but things might be looking up for me.
A flash of movement in the rearview mirror catches my eye: Oliver running after the station wagon. If I’d had more time to watch him, I might have noticed his stride, his pace, his natural speed—things a runner appreciates about another runner. If my heart wasn’t hammering in my chest, maybe I would be able to hear the staccato crescendo of his heavy boots striking the pavement as he approaches. I let my eyes linger a little too long on his face darkened with concern for me—proof of the connection we share. A confusing connection, but still a connection. His connection is all I have left.
There’s no time for any of that, though. We’ve broken the rules, big-time.
I’ve got to get out. No one knows how long we have, we just know one thing for sure: I can’t be in this car when they get here.
When the station wagon crashed, the passenger-side door—my door, of course—wedged against the once-pristine red Corvette, leaving me no choice but to scramble to the driver’s seat if I want to get out. I’ve never been in a car this primitive, and I’m pretty sure it’s a death trap in as many senses of the word as I can think of, but lucky for me the front seat is one big long bench and I don’t have to try to climb over gear shifters and cup holders to get the heck out of Dodge—or Plymouth, I guess. I shimmy across the seat, sucking in a breath to brace against the sear of pain sure to tear through each faulty joint in my Frankensteined body, but nothing happens. The usual roll of nausea that follows the pain is nowhere to be found, either. I almost feel . . . normal. A short laugh bubbles from my lips at the idea of normal, but I raise a trembling hand to my forehead. I push my fingers beneath the edge of my lavender scarf to check and see if maybe, just maybe, I’m not really broken anymore.
In the Middle Page 18
