After lunch Mom drove Claire and me down to the VS Depot. I thought she’d complain, but she didn’t; she said she was happy to help. It was good that she felt that way, because there was no way I was getting Lucy’s cookie down there by bicycle. Even though she didn’t say anything, I knew there was another reason why she was being so nice—she was curious. She wanted to meet Peter. I told her she could wait in the car out front, but she insisted on parking and coming in with us. Claire was gone and in the store way before me. I was used to that. What I wasn’t used to was her coming back out again. She looked disappointed.
“Peter’s not here. There’s a lady in there instead, and her name’s Wendy.”
Mom sighed. “Well, that’s a shame. I was looking forward to meeting your friend.”
I was disappointed too, and suddenly I was feeling something else. What if it was my fault that he was gone? Maybe it was because I left without saying good-bye. Should we stay, leave? And who was Wendy?
Mom gave me a nudge forward. “I’m sure Wendy knows how to mail things.” She brushed past me and held the door open.
Mom walked over to a rack of greeting cards, and I followed her in. Claire was at the counter talking to a girl. It had to be Wendy. She looked nice enough. She was young and had her hair tied up in a scarf. I walked to the counter and put down the tray. Lucy’s cookie took up most of the space, but on the side were two smaller cookies—special treats for Peter.
The girl stopped talking to Claire and looked at the tray. “Wow, that’s some cookie!” She looked over at me. “You must be Ash; I’m Wendy. Claire’s been telling me all about you.” I waited for a handshake, but it didn’t come. Maybe she was like me—not a hand shaker. That was a relief. I nodded hello.
“I need to mail this.” I pointed to the big cookie. “And in a box.” This wasn’t like the other times—we couldn’t just stick a stamp on it.
“Okay.” Wendy nodded. “Let me get you one.” She turned and walked to the back of the store.
Suddenly Claire was nonstop tugging on my arm. I pulled my arm away, but she grabbed it again, and pointed to the counter.
She was close to tears. “The ramp! Peter’s ramp! It’s gone!”
I peered over the edge. She was right. The ramp was gone. So Peter was gone. Was it forever? When Wendy got back, Claire asked about a hundred Peter questions.
“Where’s Peter? Where’s his ramp? Is he coming back? How can we give him his cookies?”
That was a lot of questions. Wendy shook her head.
“I don’t know Peter. I work at one of the other stores with Laurie. She just sent me here for the day.”
Claire was getting worked up; tears weren’t very far away.
“So you’re only here for today?” I asked.
Wendy nodded. I looked down at Claire and patted her shoulder.
“See, that probably means Peter will be back tomorrow.”
Claire pointed to the tray. “What about his cookies?”
Wendy smiled. “Oh, I can eat those.”
Claire looked up, startled. She wasn’t in the mood for jokes.
“I’m sorry. I was just kidding,” said Wendy. “I’ll get another box and you can put them inside with a note.” She put her hand over her heart. “And I promise I won’t touch them.”
Claire didn’t react. For a second Wendy seemed disappointed, but she didn’t say anything, she just turned and walked to the back of the store to get the box.
Mom was right about Wendy’s packing skills. She did a great job of wrapping up the cookie, and Mom paid a little extra to get it there faster since it was food. Before we left, we put Peter’s cookies in a box, and Claire wrote him a note.
As soon as we got home, Claire made four more cards for Miss Sato.
She handed them to me and said, “We have to send these to the hospital.”
I looked over the cards, but didn’t say anything. We couldn’t send them. I had no idea where Miss Sato was. I didn’t even know where the nearest hospital was. I was trying to think of a nice way to say, No, I can’t do that when Mom came up with a better idea.
“Why don’t you take them to the nursing home? I’m sure they can get them to Miss Sato.”
Claire thought about Mom’s idea for a minute.
“I can give them to Sam, and he can give them to Mr. Fred, and he can give them to Mr. Gripes, and then he can show them to Miss Sato.” She paused and ran back to the kitchen table. She made three new cards—a thank-you for each person in her chain to Miss Sato.
chapter thirty-two
Because
When I came downstairs the next morning, Mom wasn’t in the kitchen, but Claire was. She was sitting at the table, drawing.
“I’m making a ‘welcome back’ picture for Peter,” she said.
I nodded. He’d only been gone a day, but I was hoping he was back too. The PJ Walker book was good again, and I wanted to talk about it. It’s more fun to be excited when someone is excited along with you. Excited alone just isn’t the same.
I put my notebook on the table and grabbed a poppy-seed muffin off the counter.
“Do you want one?” I asked.
It was kind of a test, to see if Claire would eat something other than pancakes. It didn’t look like she’d had any yet; her plate was still clean.
She shook her head but didn’t look up.
I sat down with the muffin. “It’s really good.” I took a bite.
Claire made a face. “What’s the black stuff?”
I picked one out and put it on my finger. “Poppy seeds.” I held it out for her. “They’re the special part that makes it taste good.”
She leaned forward and looked. “Seeds?” She shook her head. “That’s bird food.”
I finished the muffin. “Have you seen Mom?”
Claire nodded. “She had to go to the store for more maple syrup.” She looked up and then suddenly noticed my notebook on the table. She made a grab for it, but I was faster. I pulled it away before she got to it.
She sat back in her chair. “What’s inside? Drawings?”
“No, it’s . . .” I stopped myself before I went any further. Here I was about to lie again, but what choice did I have? I had to keep the lie going. “It’s for my writing. I’m writing a story.”
Now Claire was interested. She pushed her pencils to the side, like she was hearing some kind of fabulous secret that needed all her attention. “What kind of story?”
I hesitated.
“Is it a love story? Does it have to do with that jar thing you were holding?”
I thought for a second. Sure. Why not? If she wanted a love story, I could tell her a love story. In fact, it could be anything, because it was a story within a story—fiction on top of fiction—and I wasn’t really writing anything. This time the lying felt worse. But it was too late to turn back, so I moved ahead—colorfully. I had Claire’s full attention, so I tried to make it good.
“Well, it’s a love story. But it’s more than that. The girl in the love story has amazing adventures, because she’s got a magical jar that is filled with tickets to all sorts of wonderful and strange places.” I was surprised; it felt good to be talking about the wishes, even if it was in code. It was a release.
Claire leaned in closer. Now we were almost face-to-face. “Is the girl like me?”
I nodded. Why not? Claire would be a great character. Fun, energetic, brave, daring—but kind of sad too. “But she’s older than you, and pretty wise.”
“Like an owl?” asked Claire.
I looked down and flicked a few stray poppy seeds off the table. “No, like a person who knows and understands things.” Talking about the story almost made me want to write it. It was unlikely I’d follow through, but sitting there with Claire, I felt creative.
I stayed with Claire until Mom got back, and then I went downstairs to the basement.
I was liking this routine—time traveling after breakfast. I pulled out the jar and picked a wish. There
were a lot left in the jar—maybe thirty or forty. I was glad about that; I didn’t want to be near the end. I didn’t like ends, or beginnings even—I was more about middles. Middles were comfortable. I opened the wish and looked down.
I Hope the Lady Finds Her Shoes
Ashley and Shue were in Ashley’s room. They were looking out the window. I walked toward them and said my test words, “Beige llama.”
“Nothing’s happening,” complained Shue. She twirled the edge of the curtain around her finger, released it, and then started again.
Ashley shrugged. “We had to do it. You know that. Sometimes people need a push to fall in love.” She glanced out the window for a second and turned back to Shue. “Can we do something else instead of just sitting here watching? What if they don’t come out for hours?”
Shue ignored the question. “What if the lady comes out first?” She pointed to the back of Anderson’s. “Will she know where we put them?”
Ashley looked back out the window. “Of course! Last time, he was like Prince Charming fighting the Dumpster dragon to get her shoe. She wouldn’t forget that.”
Shue wasn’t sure. “Not much of a prince; he was the one who threw it in there.”
“Ugh!” Ashley threw her hands up. “Can’t you be just a little romantic?”
For a second I wasn’t sure what would happen next. Was Shue going to be upset? Were they going to argue?
Shue was quiet for a minute or two, and then she spun around to face Ashley. “How about this: The princess has lost her magic shoes. She’s sad, distraught, but she’s not alone—a prince has seen her. He will help her. He carries her across a rocky desert in search of the shoes. He is tired and thirsty, but he doesn’t give up. He gets his energy not from food or water, but only from her beauty. Finally he sees the shoes, but oh, no, they are being guarded by two evil boot dragons. The prince must battle them. The fight is dangerous, and the dragons are strong, but the prince is victorious. He holds the shoes up and smiles at the princess. She jumps into his arms and they live happily ever after.” Shue twirled and looked up.
Ashley was smiling. “Not bad; I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Shue looked out the window, lingered for a second, and then turned back to Ashley. “Okay, we can do something else.”
Suddenly I was back in my chair. It was fast and without pain. I smiled. Suddenly the basement door opened. The light from the kitchen shone down on the top half of the stairs.
“Can we go give Miss Sato her letters now?” It was Claire. She was leaning through the door.
She’d never come down, I knew that. “Can you hear me?” she shouted. “Are you writing?”
I put the wish jar down and groaned. The pain couldn’t stop me, but Claire could. I didn’t want to go upstairs yet. I heard Claire talking to Mom. Maybe Mom could pull her away so I could have more time.
“Am I bugging you?” shouted Claire.
Yes, she was. I waited a second, but didn’t hear Mom. I guess I had to go upstairs.
“I’m coming,” I shouted.
Now Mom was talking to Claire. I didn’t hear what Mom was saying, but I heard Claire’s response.
“See, I wasn’t bugging her.”
I rolled my eyes and put everything away. I took a deep breath and ran up the stairs. Sometimes when you are forcing yourself to do something you don’t want to do, faster is better than slower. Like pulling a Band-Aid off your arm—it hurts less.
It didn’t take me long to get ready, but Claire still complained that she’d been waiting forever. I didn’t say anything, but her forever was probably only five minutes long.
The first thing I noticed when we got to the old people’s home was Sam’s bike. Now I felt better about coming. I made Claire wait for me while I locked up our bike, and we walked in together. I didn’t want anyone telling her a different Miss Sato story than the one she already knew. All we had to do was find Sam and we’d be safe. We found Sam in the room where we’d seen him on that first day. He waved when he saw us. He was sitting with Mr. Fred, and they were looking at slides with the projector. There was a picture up on the wall, a man and woman.
Claire pointed to the woman. “Is that Miss Sato?”
The woman in the picture was much younger than the Miss Sato we knew. She was smiling, and the man she was standing next to was tall and handsome.
“Yes, those are my parents,” said Mr. Fred.
Claire looked confused.
“It’s Miss Sato and Mr. Gripes,” he explained.
“But they look so different.” Suddenly Claire seemed sad. “And so beautiful. It’s not fair that they had to get old.”
Mr. Fred nodded. Looking at the pictures probably made him feel like that too.
“I like this picture.” He smiled. “It was taken before I was born. They had their whole lives ahead of them.” He was quiet for a minute and then told Sam he could have a twenty-minute break. Sam grabbed a snack from his backpack and walked outside with us. I let Claire go first. Even though she could have given her cards to Mr. Fred, she’d held on to them. She had to do it her way.
When we got outside, she handed Sam the big pile of cards.
“Can you give these to Mr. Fred, to give to Mr. Gripes, to show to Miss Sato?”
Sam started to flip through the cards, but she stopped him. “The one on the top with your name on it is for you. But don’t open it until after you give the cards to Mr. Fred, because it’s a thank-you card.”
I could almost see Sam’s brain at work, trying to make sense of what Claire was talking about. Finally he looked up and smiled. I guess he got it.
Sam and I sat under the big tree near the front driveway. Claire ran around the other side of the tree to chase a squirrel. When she was far enough away so that she couldn’t hear us, I asked about Miss Sato.
Sam took a bite of his cheese stick, swallowed, and answered me.
“She’s getting better. She still can’t move very much, but she can kind of talk, and Mr. Fred said they’re expecting her to get a lot better.”
I nodded but was confused. What did “kind of talk” mean?
“What can she say?”
Sam put his cheese stick down and leaned forward.
“It’s kind of weird.”
I looked around for Claire. I didn’t want her to hear this. She was fine, over by the steps, digging a hole with a stick. I looked back at Sam. He continued.
“She can only say one word. It’s a Japanese word, raishuu. Mr. Fred says it means ‘yesterday.’”
Why a Japanese word? Was Miss Sato Japanese? She didn’t look Japanese. Maybe she was part Japanese. I asked about the word.
“Why is she saying ‘yesterday’?”
Sam shrugged. He said no one could figure that out, but they were trying. Miss Sato could blink once for yes and twice for no, but so far that hadn’t helped very much. It was still a mystery.
Now was definitely not the right time to ask about Anderson’s, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about it. I fiddled with the chain and key around my neck—too bad it didn’t unlock something useful, like the mystery of Anderson’s. Claire and I followed Sam back inside. It wasn’t part of the original plan, but Claire decided she had to personally give Mr. Fred his thank-you card. She said it was more polite to do it in person, but I think she just liked all the attention. I stood in the doorway while Sam got the projector running again. Mr. Fred was making a big deal of the card, and Claire was loving it. Suddenly Sam was standing next to me. I hadn’t noticed him move from the projector. I jumped.
He touched my shoulder. I jumped again. I hoped he didn’t notice.
“Can you get me something?” he asked.
“Sure.” I nodded.
He explained what he needed, and then I was off—on my little mission. All I had to do was go to Miss Sato’s room and pick up a slide tray he’d forgotten on the table.
I’m not great with directions, so I was a little bit nervous, but I go
t there without any trouble. I unlocked the door and went in. I was in a living room; off to the side was the small table Sam had described, and on it was the slide tray. I picked it up and turned to go, and there right in front of me on the wall was Miss Sato’s goldfish purse. It was the one I’d seen in the photo, but in person it was much more beautiful. Claire would have loved it. It gave me an idea: maybe Mom and I could find her one—not fancy like this one, but something cute. I picked up the tray and walked out, smiling. It was a great present idea.
When I got back to the room, I traded the slide tray for Claire. I held her by the shoulders so she couldn’t escape. It was time to leave. Claire talked nonstop all the way to our bike. The talking was fine, but her using the word “nifty” every ten seconds really bugged me. I was hoping that was going to wear off quickly.
As I was unlocking the bike, she said, “Miss Sato doesn’t have a stomachache.”
I cringed. What had Mr. Fred told her?
Claire smiled. “But she’s getting better. Mr. Fred said she’s going to love my cards. Do you know why?”
I put the lock and chain in my backpack and shook my head.
“Guess,” said Claire. She jumped on the back of the bike. We put on our helmets.
“Is it because they’re so beautiful?”
“Nope.” She shook her head.
We were pedaling now, and it was harder to hear her.
“It’s because she’s like me,” shouted Claire. “She loves goldfish!”
I nodded big so she could tell that I’d heard her. Somehow, that wasn’t a surprise.
We got home pretty fast, even though for the last half of the ride I was the only one pedaling. Claire wanted to go to the VS Depot to see if Peter was back, but it was out of the way, so I said no. After that, in protest, she refused to pedal.
When we got home, Claire left me with the bike and stomped off into the house. She was trying to punish me, but really she was giving me a gift—more alone time. I told her where I was going and headed down to the basement. I pulled out the jar, took out a wish, and hid the jar again. If Mom came down to find me, I’d be safe. She wouldn’t see the jar.
Dreamer, Wisher, Liar Page 16
