The Night Gift

by Patricia A. Mckillip

  “Seven bucks.”

  “I didn’t break your record and I haven’t got seven dollars!” He made me so mad I wanted to kick him, for embarrassing me in front of Neil. I turned; I heard him swear at me as I went into the kitchen. No one was there. A note on the refrigerator said “Out to dinner. Stew on stove.” So I ate stew I couldn’t taste, while I could hear their voices murmuring, laughing in the living room.

  I could smell lilac from the open window in my bedroom when I went in. I pulled the covers up over my bed and lay down and tried to concentrate on The Scarlet Letter. I read ten pages of it, then I closed my eyes. I could not comprehend how anyone could write such a boring book. I dragged my eyes open and read another page.

  When I opened my eyes again, the room was black. I heard Erica breathing in the bed next to me. I had a groove on my cheek from sleeping on the backbone of the book. I switched on my lamp, and Erica rolled over and put the sheet over her head. I got up and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. The whole house was dark. While I was drinking, the phone rang, and I almost choked. It was beside the cupboard, so I grabbed it before the second ring and said, “Hello?”

  “Joslyn?”

  My voice woke up. “Barbara? What’s the matter?” The clock over the stove said five after one, but she didn’t seem concerned with time.

  “Joslyn. You remember what I was talking about in the park?”

  Somehow, I wasn’t surprised at what she was going to say. “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m going to do it. I don’t know where yet, or how, but I’m going to do it.”

  “Okay. I’ll help. So will Claudia.”

  “Okay. But it will be a secret place, just for him, so don’t tell anyone.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Thanks, Joslyn. I know we can do it. I know we can.”

  “Of course we can.”

  “Okay. Thanks. Good-bye.”

  She hung up. I went back upstairs and undressed, and tried to read, but all I could think of, like a song that kept running in and out of my head, was that somewhere, somehow, we were going to make a place that was the most beautiful place in the world.

  The next day a scientific miracle occurred. There was a fire drill during English, so that by the time we all filed out and stood in the yard awhile, then filed back in and got lectured by Mr. Frank for talking during the drill, the period was over and my oral report was postponed until Monday. That cheered me up for the whole day. I told Claudia at lunch what we were going to do, and of course she thought it was a good idea. And then I saw Neil for a moment after school when I was putting books in my locker, and he spoke to me as though he didn’t remember the stupid argument he had sat through. So, going home in the warm Friday afternoon, with the sun dripping off trees and turning Claudia’s nose pink, I felt as if my blood were full of champagne bubbles, and I was ready to do anything.

  “We have to find a place,” Barbara said. Then her eyes came down out of the trees and she turned to me. “Joslyn, you have to read that book! You said you were going to have it done for today.”

  “I fell asleep. It wasn’t my fault. Nobody has a right to force somebody to read a boring book.”

  “I liked it,” Claudia said.

  “You would.”

  “I don’t care if it is boring,” Barbara said. “If you don’t pass English, you’ll have to go to summer school four hours a day for six weeks.”

  The thought chilled me. “I’ll read it,” I promised.

  “It’s a love story,” Claudia said. “You’ll like it. The heroine was ostracized—”

  “She was what?” I said, startled.

  “Ostracized. You know, nobody would speak to her because she had a child out of wedlock. Wedlock. That’s a funny thing to call marriage. Wed. Lock.”

  “Claudia, we have to think of a place,” I said, so she let wedlock alone and applied her mind to more immediate things.

  “A place in the mountains.”

  “It has to be a place he can get to quickly,” Barbara said. “Besides, how would we get there to make it?”

  “Well, where is there a beautiful place around here?”

  “It doesn’t have to be beautiful to start out with—we’ll make it beautiful. We’ll put the most beautiful things we can find in it, so the moment he walks into it he’ll forget—”

  “Forget what?” Claudia said. Barbara’s hair swished suddenly as she shook her head. Her face was puckered.

  “If I knew,” she said softly. “If I could understand.”

  I said comfortingly, “We’ll do it. We can do it.” I trailed my hand across a juniper bush and broke a twig off to sniff it. It smelled like the mountains on a wet day. Across the street, a little old lady with a straw hat on her head was watering her garden. Her screen door had a hole in it, as if it had been kicked, and the paint was peeling off her house, but the garden was beautiful with fuschia, roses, daisies, sunflowers, rows of marigolds, coral bells, and the tiny white flowers I never could remember the names of. I had said hello to her once across her fence, but she had just looked at me, her mouth all folded together as if she had forgotten to put her teeth in. It made me laugh thinking about that, and Barbara’s face lifted out of her hair, smiling again.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. There’s a place, but I bet she won’t let us borrow it.”

  Barbara looked across the street. She stopped, almost in surprise, so that we all bumped to a halt on the sidewalk. She gripped my arm.

  “Joslyn?”

  She made my name a question. Then I saw what she was looking at, and I knew what she was asking. I said incredulously, “That?”

  Claudia was doing a little dance behind us. “What? What are you looking at?”

  “That house,” Barbara said. Her fingers were still tight on my arm; she was staring at the deserted house as if flowers and paint were blooming across its walls under her eyes.

  Claudia said in a small voice, “But it’s so ugly.”

  “What,” I said practically, “if someone owns it? Besides which, it is right down the street from the police station.”

  “I want to go in it,” Barbara said. I glanced up and down the street.

  “There are twenty thousand people out.”

  “They won’t see us. Those big pine trees practically block the whole front yard. I just want to look in a window.” She turned to us, pleading. “It doesn’t matter what the outside looks like, does it? It’s just a tiny old house no one wants—look at the broken window, and the way the porch steps are falling apart. No one cares about it. They won’t mind if we borrow it. We could just borrow one room in it—just one room.” She stopped, her eyes flicking over our faces. When we didn’t say anything, she said, “I can’t think of any other place. I can’t.”

  “It’s trespassing,” Claudia said. “Breaking and entering.”

  “Not,” I said, “if we can pick the lock.”

  Barbara let go of my arm finally. “Is it all right? The only other place I can think of is his bedroom, and that’s where he hurt himself. Besides, the twins would come and play in it.”

  I looked at the house. It was set back in a circle of dark, shaggy pine, so almost all you could see was the door and the porch, which were paintless and sad. There were no flowers, not even a lawn; only dirt and tufts of long stray grass. The only nice thing about it was the soft purple masses of lilac flowing down from a trellis over the porch. I caught a whiff of it as we stood there. I never could resist lilac.

  “All right,” I said. “But I think we should wait till it’s dark.”

  “So do I,” Claudia said. I could tell from her face that she didn’t care for Barbara’s idea, but she seemed resigned. “I just hope we don’t all get thrown in jail. I have an operation in six weeks.”

  “If anyone sees us, we’ll just explain,” Barbara said. “Anyway, no one will.”

  “Besides,” Claudia added belatedly, turning to me, “it is too breaking if you pick the lock.”


  “I don’t see why, if we don’t break anything. But it doesn’t matter anyway, because none of us can pick locks.”

  “We won’t break anything,” Barbara said softly. “We won’t hurt anything, disturb anything. We’ll just borrow a room and make it beautiful. Does that sound illegal?”

  Claudia smiled suddenly, which made me realize how little she did that. “No.”

  We separated then until evening: Barbara had to go to her flute lesson, and Claudia was going shopping with her mother. I had nothing more exciting than The Scarlet Letter to occupy myself with, so I walked home slowly, stopping for a brief swing in the park after making sure no one I knew was watching. At home, I found my mother, whom I hadn’t seen in two days, in the living room, dressed in a long skirt and a flowered blouse. She was vacuuming, and she switched off the sound when I came in.

  “Hello,” I said cheerfully. “You look nice.”

  “Hello,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were flunking English?”

  I sighed. “Mother,” I said reasonably, “everyone flunks something in their freshman year, getting used to new studying habits, et cetera—”

  I heard a long, drawn-out, “Bullshit,” behind me. Brian, lounging in, lit a cigarette and gestured with it, “Don’t rationalize. First you flunk English, then English and science, then English, science, history and volleyball; and first thing you know, you’ve rationalized yourself out of school. I know.”

  “If you’re so smart,” I said, “why aren’t you back in school?”

  “I’m not that smart.”

  “Don’t smoke in my living room,” our mother said irritably. Our father came in then, wearing a coffee-colored suit and a cigarette in his mouth.

  “Are you ready?” he said to her. She sighed. He swept a lean finger at me.

  “You get some studying done this weekend. I don’t want you to go anywhere; I want you to stay in this house and study.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “No. I mean it. You study,”

  “But, Dad,” I wailed. Then I had a burst of genius. “Can’t I at least go to the library and get some books I need for class?”

  He eyed me, but found nothing suspicious in my demeanor. “All right. You go there; you get what you need, and come right back. No detours.”

  “Yes, sir. Where are you going?”

  “We’re going to a dinner in San Francisco,” my mother said. “There’s a casserole in the oven; it’ll be done in a few minutes. Don’t forget it.”

  “Abandoning your children again,” Brian commented. “Can I borrow your car tonight?” He had only a learner’s permit. Mom smiled at him.

  “Very funny, Sweetie. Either put that cigarette out or go outside. You know the rules.”

  “Nag, nag, nag,” Brian said mildly, putting it out.

  “Where are you going?” Dad said.

  “To a party at Neil’s.”

  Instantly all reason vanished from my head. “Oh, can I go?” I begged, clutching the vacuum. “Please? He has neat parties—everyone says so, and I want—” I stopped dancing with the vacuum abruptly at their expressions. My brother said frostily, “You weren’t invited.”

  My father said frostily, “You are to stay home and study. You should learn to listen.”

  My mother said frostily, “You heard your father. Besides, I don’t want Erica alone all evening. And since you’re standing there with the vacuum in your hand, you can finish the rug.”

  I had never, as I switched on the vacuum, felt so much like Cinderella in my life. But I cheered up gradually as I worked. After all, the deserted house wasn’t exactly a detour, and Erica would be perfectly all right left to herself for a few minutes. Neil would have other parties, and one of these days he would wake up to the fact that I was no longer just Brian’s kid sister. I was standing in a corner, vacuuming one spot over and over again, and thinking of how Neil’s eyes turned to you and stayed on your face while you spoke, his white brows peaking a little over his eyes in concentration, when Erica slammed the door behind me and said, “Phew. What’s that smell?”

  I jumped. Then I bounded for the kitchen. The casserole was burnt black; it smoked as I drew it out of the oven.

  Erica said, looking at it, “What was it?”

  It looked vaguely green. “I don’t know. The inside is probably good.”

  She turned away. “Forget it. I’ll make a sandwich. Do you know what that stupid Martin Shane did to me today?”

  I put the casserole in the sink and turned the water on. The whole thing hissed a cloud of steam like a dragon at me. “I have no interest,” I said coldly, “in what Martin Shane did to you. Did you know you broke Brian’s ‘Fair, Far Days’ album?”

  “You left it on my bed,” she said composedly. “Anyway, Liz Cramer sat on it, not me. Martin Shane dove right on top of me at swim practice. I’ve got a bump on the back of my head, and his eyebrow was cut. Feel.” She turned her head. “You can feel it.”

  I felt around in her hair. Normally it was as pale as mine, but since she started swimming on the team at her school in earnest so that she could break Mark Spitz’s record at the Olympics, it had turned a sort of pearly green. I found the lump at the base of her neck.

  “You really should wash your hair sometimes.”

  She twitched away from me. “I do. Where are Mom and Dad?”

  “San Francisco.”

  “I’m staying overnight at Liz’s tonight. Her mom’s going to drive us to the swim meet tomorrow morning.”

  “How nice.”

  “Can I borrow your—”

  “No.”

  “Joslyn! I left my tennis shoes at school, and I have to borrow yours. Please?”

  “They’re too big.”

  “No, they aren’t.” She wiffled her bare toes at me. “I have big feet.”

  She did. I sighed. “All right. But they’re brand new, and if you lose them, I’ll skin you alive.”

  “I won’t lose them,” she said contemptuously.

  “Ha,” I said with feeling. “Remember my blue sweater and my friendship ring that I never saw again after you borrowed them?”

  She banged an empty water glass down indignantly. “I did not lose your friendship ring! I lost some dumb ring you got out of a gum machine—”

  “A gum machine! Gilbert Hill gave me that ring last year at the graduation dance.”

  “Gil Hill.” She made a rude noise. “He’s skinny and his hair looks as if he chews on it—how could you go out with him?”

  I drew a breath. We got into it pretty well, dragging out things that were years old, examining minutely each other’s bad habits and unbearable friends, barring no holds since no one was there to shut us up. We had brought things to a head and were simmering down again, she reminding me of the time I had allegedly pushed her off her tricycle at the tender age of four, and I pointing out that life would be simpler and more comfortable if she would not throw everything she owned on our bedroom floor, when I realized we were not alone. Someone was breathing behind me. Erica cut short whatever she was saying, her face breaking into a little shame-faced grin.

  I turned slowly. Neil, who was used to us, said mildly, “I rang the doorbell, but you didn’t hear. I came to pick up Brian.”

  I felt like kicking the refrigerator. I felt like throwing the casserole at the ceiling. Every time he was around, some member of my family got me tangled in a stupid, childish argument. It was a conspiracy. I went to the sink and started jabbing burned pieces of casserole out of the dish.

  “Brian’s in his room,” I said shortly. I heard him leave the kitchen. Then I felt my stomach waver as if it had turned to water and fish were jumping in it. I wanted to cry, but Erica was haunting the room. She was making a peanut butter sandwich. She didn’t say anything, which surprised me. I couldn’t tell whether she was being merciful or just prudent. The phone rang, and she answered it. She handed the receiver to me, her face carefully neutral, and I realized suddenly wh
at it was. She liked Neil, too, and she had also been a little embarrassed. That made me feel better. It was not complete victory, then, but a sort of stalemate.

  Barbara said, “Joslyn?”

  “Hi.” I cleared my throat. “What’s up?”

  “You sound funny.”

  “I was just—swallowing something.”

  “Oh. Can you meet me at that house at about eight-thirty? Bring a flashlight.”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you read The Scarlet Letter yet?”

  “Oh, Barbara—”

  “Go read it.” Her voice faded a little at a babble in the background. “Kim and Sara, stop that! Go outside if you want to play Ping-Pong. Joslyn? I have to stay with the twins until my mother gets home from shopping, but I’ll meet you after that. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up glumly. For some reason, the prospect of exploring a dirty old house did not appeal to me at the moment, nor did reading The Scarlet Letter. Erica had gone, leaving the bread and peanut butter open on the cupboard. I made myself a sandwich and ate it moodily. I wanted to go to Neil’s party. I wanted to dress in my best pair of faded jeans, and my eyelet lace smock with the deep neckline and the sash. I would wear pale blue eye shadow, and comb my hair until it was smooth as the underside of a shell. Then, when Neil saw me, all memory of the girl squabbling in the kitchen with Erica would fade from his mind and he would…he would…But I couldn’t. Such was my despair that I actually got up and found The Scarlet Letter and read a few pages while I ate. It went down about as easily as the peanut butter.

  When I got to the deserted house, Claudia was there, but Barbara hadn’t shown up yet. It wasn’t quite dark, but the sun had gone down, leaving a little trail of clouds like a flock of sheep wandering home. Claudia was nervous. She was shivering a little, even though the evening was warm, and she kept switching her flashlight on and off with her thumb. Finally I took it away from her.

  “Will you stop that,” I moaned. “Half a block from the police station, and a street full of nervous old ladies, and you have to do Morse code with your flashlight.”