Gordon and I spent a lot of time at Millicent’s house, because both her parents worked as well, and she had a pool and giant backyard with a small forest beyond the fence. If we weren’t swimming in her pool on sunny days, we were biking to the corner store for candy, or venturing into the woods to catch fish with our hands in the river, or making plans to build a fort.
“Why do we have to call it a fort?” Millicent asked. “Let’s call it a clubhouse.”
“That’s such a girlie thing to call it,” Gordon argued. “I suppose you’ll want to hang curtains and have a tea set.”
“Maybe,” she replied, defiantly.
I strode past them to walk ahead, searching for a good spot to build our future clubhouse.
“What about right here? The ground is flat and there are four trees in a square. It would be easy to hammer the planks onto the trunks. See what I mean?” I spread my arms wide between two of the trees.
Gordon strode closer. “Except that on a windy day, if the trees sway, the walls will move and it’ll probably fall apart.”
Millicent came to stand in the center of the square. “The trunks don’t move in the wind, not this close to the ground. It’s only the treetops that blow around. And these are good and solid.” She pounded the edge of her fist on the thick bark. “I think it’s a great spot.”
“Where will we get the wood?” Gordon asked.
“I can talk to my dad tonight,” Millicent replied. “He might agree to buy us some. And he’s got everything in his toolshed—hammers and nails and a saw.”
“You’re going to tell him about this?” Gordon asked, sounding concerned. “What if he says we’re not allowed? Because this isn’t our land. It’s public property. And it’s supposed to be a secret hideout. If your dad knows about it, it’s not a secret anymore. And parents… They just don’t get this stuff. They always say no.”
“Maybe your parents do, but mine always say yes to anything that doesn’t involve the TV, and they know I want to be an architect someday and design houses, so they’ll totally let me do this. Besides, do you have any other ideas about how we can get wood?” Millicent asked.
Gordon looked around. “We could chop down some trees like the pioneers did. Build it like a log cabin.”
“Clear-cut this forest?” Millicent replied with horror. “No way! Besides, we’d probably get in trouble for that. There’s gotta be a law that says you can’t do that, and I’m not breaking the law. Rules are in place for a reason.”
I held up a hand. “I vote that we let Millicent ask her dad, because we’re going to need tools. There’s no way we can keep this a secret if we’re going to do it right—and I think we should do it right.”
“I agree,” Millicent said. “Do you guys want to come for supper tonight? Mom’s making spaghetti. We can ask then.”
“Sure,” I replied.
“I can’t,” Gordon said. “I have soccer practice.”
Millicent turned to me. “Do you still want to come?”
I quickly thought about it. “Yeah.”
“Good. Let’s head back. It’s almost five.”
We trudged out of the woods together.
o0o
“So where, exactly, is the spot you picked out?” Millicent’s father asked from the head of the table, as soon as he finished saying Grace. We all picked up our forks and dug into our meals.
“It’s through the back gate,” Millicent explained, “just past the creek. We moved some rocks to make a bridge to get there.”
“That was industrious,” Dr. Davenport replied, sounding impressed. He turned to look at me and nodded. “Well done.”
Millicent’s father was a G.P., and I admired him more than anyone I’d ever met. He was smart about everything, and not just doctor stuff. He knew about carpentry and car motors, and he was always talking to us about what was happening in the world—like wars in other countries, or interesting facts about history and politics. He didn’t talk down to me, and that’s what made me enjoy spending time at the Davenports’ house. It’s probably also what sparked my early interest in global news and current events, and eventually led me to a career in journalism.
On top of all that, he and Mrs. Davenport were super chill. They laughed about things my uptight parents would have scolded me for. It was a wonderfully relaxed household, not to mention the fact that Millicent and her younger sister Leah were close. There was no conflict or tension around the dinner table because they got along so well. Not like Aaron and me.
Millicent also had an eleven-month-old baby sister named Nina who sat at the table in a high chair and ate chopped up spaghetti with her hands. No one seemed to mind the mess she made.
“How about we all take a walk over there after supper,” Dr. Davenport suggested, “and see what’s what? There are some logistics to consider—like how you’ll haul the wood and tools out there if you have to get everything over the creek. But it sounds like you’ve picked a good spot, and where there’s a will, there’s always a way.”
He smiled at me directly and I felt a surge of pride and inspiration—that we would get our clubhouse built over the summer.
After Millicent and I helped Mrs. Davenport tidy up the dishes, we all ventured outside, through the gate, to the woods beyond.
Afterwards, we came back to the house for ice cream. While Millicent and I sat at the kitchen table with her two younger sisters, squeezing the bottle of chocolate sauce over our bowls, Dr. and Mrs. Davenport put on a Barry Manilow album in the living room. Dr. Davenport smiled at Mrs. Davenport, took hold of her hand and pulled her, spinning, toward him. Soon they were waltzing to Weekend in New England.
From the kitchen, I watched them discreetly, but with fascination, as they whispered in each other’s ears, because my parents were never romantic like that.
It was one of those strange, magical moments I knew I’d never forget.
Chapter Seven
“I really like your parents,” I said to Millicent a week later as we worked together, hammering wooden planks to the trees to build the first wall. “I love how your dad trusts us to do this on our own. My dad would never lend me his tools and let me come out here, unless he was right beside me, telling me exactly how to do it the whole time, and making sure I didn’t hammer a nail through my hand.”
Millicent laughed. “Your dad’s nice too, though.”
“He’s okay.” He had more in common with Aaron, which was why they were in Maine together and Mom and I were here.
Gordon was also away that weekend for a soccer tournament, so it was just Millicent and me getting started on the clubhouse. With only the two of us, it was no easy task to haul the wood across the creek, but we were a good team.
We would need Gordon to finish the clubhouse, however, because Millicent’s dad had only given us enough material to complete one wall. He promised to get more for us if we all worked together over the summer, doing odd jobs around his house.
That week, I mowed his lawn while Millicent used the whipper snipper and Gordon dug up dandelions. The following week, we agreed to babysit her two younger sisters and paint the deck. In return, Dr. Davenport promised to take us back to the lumber store for another load of wood.
I hammered the last nail into the final plank, while Millicent held it in place. Then we stood back and surveyed our work.
“It looks great,” she said, resting her hands on her hips. “We did a good job with the level.”
We both moved around the trees to stand inside the square, where we tried to imagine how it would look when it was finished.
“Should we build a wooden floor, too?” Millicent asked. “Or just leave it like it is?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Let’s see how comfortable it is.”
We sat down on the soft forest floor, which was covered in pine needles and tree roots that jutted out of the ground.
“It would probably be okay with four walls and a roof,” Millicent said, “but I think a floor woul
d be nicer. We could even bring some chairs out here.”
“It would mean another week of chores,” I mentioned, “to earn the extra lumber, but that’s okay. I don’t mind doing stuff for your dad. Although, I don’t know about babysitting your little sisters.”
She laughed softly. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fun. We’ll play board games after Nina’s in her crib for the night.”
We both took a moment to look around and imagine our future clubhouse with four walls and a roof. Then we sighed heavily and flopped onto our backs, looking up at the sky beyond the treetops where the wind whispered gently through the leaves.
For a long while, we just lay there, relaxing.
“I love it here,” I said. “This has been the best summer ever.”
There was something about Millicent that I found both thrilling and contagious. It was her determination and drive to accomplish something and get what she wanted. I’d seen it in those first few days when she thought she was in love with my brother. She had a single-minded focus that I found annoying at the time. Gordon had called it an obsession, but now I understood, it was just her personality. She was intense about everything, but I liked that about her.
I supposed that was why her parents kept her busy with projects like model airplanes and clubhouses in the woods.
“I really like your family,” I said.
“They like you, too.” She turned her head to look at me. “Jack, will you promise me something?”
I met her gaze. “Sure.”
“Will you promise that we’ll always be friends? And that we’ll finish this clubhouse together, and that it will always be ours? You, me, and Gordon?”
“I promise,” I said.
She let out a contented sigh and looked up at the trees again.
“Can I ask you something else?” she said, after a time. “Something personal?”
“Sure.”
She turned her head to look at me again. “Why do you hate your brother so much? I mean…I know you were mad at him for kissing Jeannie, but you say you’ve never gotten along, not even when you were little. How come?”
I watched the hazy rays of sunlight filter through the green leaves and wondered if I should tell Millicent the truth. As always, something held me back, because it wasn’t something I ever talked about. If I did let something slip, people thought I was weird.
She nudged me. “Come on. What is it? You can tell me.”
I sat up and looked at her for a moment, considering it. She sat up as well, and for some reason I knew I could trust her, that she would never betray me.
“I don’t usually talk about it,” I said, “because I did talk about it once, and everyone thought I was nuts. Aaron told my mother about the things I was saying, and she took me to the doctor. I ended up having to see a child psychologist and they wanted me to take pills. That’s when my mom told them to forget it, and she refused to take me back there, and I learned to keep my mouth shut, and everyone just kind of forgot about it.”
“Forgot about what?” Millicent asked, leaning forward slightly with interest. “What happened?”
I took a deep breath, because it was embarrassing. Sometimes I was afraid I was schizophrenic or something, even though I had no idea what that word actually meant.
“When I was little,” I explained, “about four or five, I was convinced that I was someone else. That my name was Roger and I was from Canada. I barely remember it, but Mom says I used to insist that she wasn’t my real mother.”
“Why would you think that?” Millicent asked.
“Because I had memories of another family, and I told her I missed them. She was afraid I was going to say that stuff in public or at school, and people would think I was one of those missing kids, and that she abducted me.”
“Do you think…maybe you were?” Millicent asked with wide eyes.
I shook my head and reached for a small twig on the ground, which I twirled around my finger. “No, it was something else. Kind of like another life I had lived before. When I mentioned it again to Aaron a few years later—what I really thought was wrong with me—he told me I was crazy and belonged in a mental institution, and that if I told anyone, that’s exactly where I’d end up.”
“I still don’t understand,” she persisted. “What did you think was wrong with you?”
I sighed heavily and met her gaze. “Don’t laugh, but I think I might be reincarnated, because I remember stuff from other times, too.” I tossed the twig away.
She sat back. “Wow. Did you ever see the movie Audrey Rose? I watched it last year. It was really creepy. I had nightmares.”
“No, I didn’t see it,” I replied. “What was it about?”
“It’s about a girl, our age, who has strange memories and starts acting weird. The same thing happens to her that happened to you. Her parents take her to doctors and psychologists, and finally this man comes and tells them that he thinks the girl is his daughter who died in a car accident, and she’s reincarnated. Then he hypnotizes the girl to make her remember. But I won’t tell you how it ends.”
“Maybe I should watch it,” I said.
“Or maybe not,” Millicent said. “It’s kind of scary.”
“I can handle it,” I replied.
She hesitated. “Okay. I could ask my parents to rent the video this week. We could make popcorn.”
“But don’t tell them why,” I quickly said. “I don’t want them thinking I’m crazy, and I don’t want to go back to see any more doctors. Don’t even tell Gordon. I don’t want anyone to know.”
“Just me,” she said with a smile.
I gave her a look. “You like knowing secrets, don’t you.”
“Who doesn’t?” she replied.
With that, we rose to our feet and started back to her house.
As we were crossing the creek, she said, “So is that why you don’t like Aaron? Because he said you were crazy?”
I stepped gingerly across the rocks and leaped to the other side. “That’s part of it,” I said. “But I think the real reason is because we were enemies in another time.”
She stopped and stared at me. “You think he’s reincarnated, too?”
I continued walking, and she followed. “I think we all are. Most people just don’t remember.”
Germany
2007
Chapter Eight
“Jack, can you hear me?”
At that point, I had no idea where I was, or how serious my injuries were. All I knew was that I was lying in a hospital bed and I couldn’t seem to move my body. In my mind, I felt nothing. It was as if I did not exist in physical form, although I was consciously aware of beeping monitors and the typical antiseptic smells of a hospital.
Somehow I managed to blink repeatedly until my eyelids fluttered open, and my brother’s face came into view. He stood over the bed, staring down at me with concern, urging me to speak or do something—anything—to indicate that I was conscious and aware of his presence.
“Can you speak, Jack? Are you all right? Can you say something?”
I was confused more than anything, because Aaron’s face was not one I expected to see. The last thing I remembered was driving in the Hummer with my cameraman, Paul, and two American soldiers. We were in the middle of a military convoy on our way to a remote location where an entire village had been shaken apart by an earthquake. At that time, my brother Aaron was in America…or so I’d thought. I hadn’t seen him or spoken to him in two years. What was he doing there? And where was I, exactly? It was all very confusing and unclear.
I made an effort to wet my lips and form words, but my mouth was dry as ash. I swallowed hard, and that was the moment I became aware of the pain. At first it was my head that began to throb, then I felt a deep pounding ache in my right forearm.
Next, the flesh on my abdomen began to burn, as if someone were pouring acid all over me. My breaths came short, and a hot, sudden panic washed over me. I wanted to move, but I couldn’t. My heart h
ammered in my chest and I stared up at Aaron with wide eyes, not knowing what was happening to me.
My God, my leg. It throbbed everywhere—from my pelvis all the way down to the tips of my toes, causing me to scream in agony inside my head.
At last, I managed a word: “Pain.”
Aaron nodded and bolted for the door. I heard him shout at someone in the corridor. “He’s awake and he’s in pain! We need help!”
Nurses and doctors came rushing into the room. The sight of them in such a flurry of activity around my bed only served to increase my anxiety.
“Where am I?” I asked the nurse who was pumping me full of something with a needle in a port. It was attached to a tube that entered my bloodstream, somewhere.
“You’re in Landstuhl, Germany,” she replied in an American accent. “We’re happy to see you awake, Mr. Peterson. You’re a very lucky man.”
Lucky?
I’d never known such excruciating pain before, and over the next several hours, as I learned the extent of my injuries, I found myself wishing that I had not woken up at all.
o0o
It wasn’t easy for me to comprehend what the doctors were telling me, because I was pumped full of morphine and my brain didn’t seem to work very well. But I did my best to make sense of it—that I had been in a coma for the past twenty-four hours and major reconstructive surgery had already been performed on me. They told me I was fortunate because the accident had caused no brain damage or other permanent injuries. Most of the damage was to flesh and bone, which I was told would heal—eventually.
According to the doctor who stood over my bed explaining all of this, my left femur was broken and my knee had been shattered. My face was a bloody, swollen mess from broken glass and flying bits of steel, while my arm was broken in two places. What concerned them most was my torso, which was blistered with third degree burns around my ribcage.
“You’ll have a rough road ahead of you,” the doctor said. “I won’t lie. There’s going to be a lot of pain and the rehabilitation will take time, but you will walk again Mr. Peterson, and you’ll get your life back. You have a lot to be thankful for.”
The Color of a Promise (The Color of Heaven Series Book 11) Page 3
