The woman who answered the phone asked me to spell his last name.
I gave it my best guess. “I think it’s spelled H-O-F-S-T-E-T-T-E-R. First name, Gordon. He came into the ER earlier this evening.” I was careful to speak quietly, knowing that Frank was asleep on the other side of the wall. Nothing worse than a hyped-up ten-year-old awake after midnight.
I heard the sounds of a keyboard clicking before she came back on the line and said, “I’m sorry, we don’t have a patient by that name.”
“Does that mean he was released?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t give out that information. Hospital policy.” She did sound a little sorry, anyway.
I hung up feeling better. Best-case scenario—Gordy had been stabilized and released. They didn’t keep anyone at the hospital anymore if they didn’t have to. Last I saw, the old guy was doing pretty well. Considering he’d been electrocuted.
Thinking about Gordy nudged something in my brain. When I remembered what I’d forgotten, I almost smacked my forehead with my palm like they do in the movies. I still had his wad of paper in my jeans pocket. Or at least I thought I did. Oh man, I hoped it hadn’t fallen out at some point.
I got up and crossed the room to where my clothes were on the floor in a crumpled heap. It only took a second to check my pocket. Relieved, I found the folded paper still there.
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I took off the rubber band and unfolded the paper to find it was wrapped around a silver medallion. As large as a belt buckle, it was octagonal in shape and had what looked like a clear gemstone in the center. I held it up to the light and found that it looked more like glass than crystal—old glass, the kind with ripples in it. Around the glass, a spiral pattern was etched. The same kind of spiral I’d seen in the field.
I set the medallion down and turned my attention to the paper, but it was blank except for some light scribbles. Just something to wrap the medallion in? No, there were some numbers and some shapes, so light I could barely see them. I set it aside for now.
I folded the medallion back in the paper and tucked it under my keyboard on my desk. It would be safe enough there. I’d figure it out tomorrow.
I turned out the light and settled back under the covers, happy that it was Saturday night, because that meant I had another day before the school week started up again. I’d had an unbelievable week, but I wanted a break from thinking about it. Maybe things would die down and life would get back on track.
Sunday was usually my time to do homework and relax, except for the weekends Frank stayed over, and then the day had a whole new meaning, as I was reminded the very next morning. “We’re going to the comic book store!” he said, bouncing around the kitchen. It was nearly noon, and he’d been up for ages while I tried to sleep in. For at least two hours I’d overheard Frank pleading with my mom to let him wake me up, while she held firm, saying he should let me sleep. I appreciated it. She would be justly rewarded when Mother’s Day rolled around. “Comic book store, comic book store!” The kid was like Tigger on steroids.
I spooned more Lucky Charms into my mouth and regarded him with amusement. The school had him tested for ADD and it had been ruled out, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. “We aren’t going for a while,” I told him, “so you might as well find something to do for the next hour.”
“Not a whole hour,” he wailed. “Why can’t we leave when you’re done with your cereal?”
“Sorry, Frank. I’m not doing anything until I take a shower.”
An hour later, Dad gave us each twenty dollars and dropped us off at the entrance to the strip mall. “A little something for my two favorite guys,” he said, pulling out his wallet and ceremonially handing us each a crumpled bill. I almost turned down the money. It’s a little embarrassing at my age, but then I thought, Hey, twenty dollars! For nothing. And Dad seemed so happy to be handing it out I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, tucking it into my pocket.
“You’re welcome, son.”
The strip mall parking lot was known for being crowded; cars often had to pull over or back up to let other cars through. It was a poor design, according to my dad, and he said the lanes were oddly configured. This was his excuse for dropping us off at the entrance instead of driving us right up to the door. Truthfully, I preferred it that way. If anyone from my high school was there I’d rather they not see my dad driving me like I was a sixth grader. Walking wasn’t that much cooler, but it was better anyway.
Ahead of us on the sidewalk, three boys about Frank’s age were running in circles trying to push each other into the parking lot, in front of oncoming cars. Compared to them, Frank looked like a rocket scientist. I was just about to make a comment, when Frank said, “Russ, can I ask you a question?”
“I think you already did.”
He continued without acknowledging my cleverness. “Why doesn’t my dad love me?”
“What?” My legs stopped mid-stride and he stopped walking too. “Who told you that?”
Frank’s head drooped and his lower lip quivered. Jeez, the kid was practically crying. It was hard to believe that only ten minutes earlier he’d been jumping-out-of-his-skin excited about comic books. Talk about a mood switch.
“Was it your mom? Did she say that?” I asked, anger rising from my chest.
“No.” He shook his head and toed a crack in the sidewalk.
“Who then?”
“No one ever talks about him,” Frank said. “What’s his name? What’s he like?” He looked up and I could see his eyes had filled with tears.
“I don’t know. I never met him. Neither have Grandma or Grandpa.”
A woman with a stroller approached and expertly maneuvered over the curb and around us. When I turned my attention back to Frank, I saw that he was waiting for me to say more. I leaned over to look him in the eye. “Here’s the thing, Frank, I don’t know anything about your dad. Your mom is the only one who would be able to tell you anything about him. I honestly don’t know if he loves you or if he doesn’t love you. But I’ll tell you one thing, if he doesn’t, it’s his loss.” I rested my hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Because you’re just about the greatest kid I know.”
“Really?” He looked at me with those needy puppy dog eyes, and I felt a surge of anger at his father for putting him through this.
“Yeah, really. If you want to know the truth, I feel sorry for the guy. He’s got this really cool son and he’s missing out. Meanwhile, I’m lucky because I get to hang out with you on the weekends.”
“Mom said you think I’m annoying. She told me not to bother you so much.”
Oh Carly, I thought, why would you say that to him? I punched him on the arm. “Okay, you can be a little bit annoying at times, but I can deal with it. We’re war buddies, right?”
He wiped his eyes with his knuckles. “Don’t tell anyone we talked about this, okay, Russ?”
“Talked about what?” I said, and then gestured for him to keep walking. “Come on. It’s Sunday afternoon. Let’s go hang at the comic book store.”
Power House Comics had been around since before I was born. Comic books took up most of the store, but the place also carried trading cards, posters, and collectibles like superhero figures. As generous as my dad had been, twenty dollars wouldn’t go far, but if Frank came up short I was willing to kick in some of my own money.
A jangling bell signaled our entrance. The place was fairly busy for a Sunday, but no one looked up. A dozen customers, mostly teenagers, flipped through classic comic books in freestanding fixtures, looking for that one rare find. Those comics were sealed in plastic so they’d retain their value, while the newer ones were displayed in revolving racks. Frank went right to the racks. Comic books weren’t an investment for him; he just liked to read them. Buying new, he’d get more for his twenty dollars.
Some kind of crazy techno music filled the place, and two teenage girls swayed to the music in front of a glass case displayin
g action figures. Girls often came into the store, hoping to catch the eyes of the guys, but it rarely worked. Generally speaking, comic book aficionados are serious customers and a little on the shy side. Not a good combination for picking up chicks.
I wandered around a little bit, killing time while Frank decided what to spend his money on. We’d be here at least an hour or two, and then I knew he’d expect we’d walk down to the frozen custard shop afterward where he’d have a cone and I’d have a root beer float. In a way, I reflected, my dad and I were Frank’s only male influences, if you didn’t count Carly’s revolving-door boyfriends, and I didn’t. I decided to be nicer to the kid from now on.
I leaned against a glass counter and pretended to study the contents, very old comic books dating from the 1960s. I put my hands flat on the counter and, closing my eyes, paid attention to the electricity in the store. I sensed the flow into the fluorescent lights overhead and the cash register at the main counter behind me. The electricity didn’t always come in one continuous stream. Like water flowing through the tap, there were variances. I took a deep breath and tried to figure out what I was supposed to be doing with this new awareness. I didn’t know if it was connected to the way I’d healed Mallory’s finger or not. Probably not, I decided. It felt like two separate things.
“Can I help you?”
Jolted out of my thoughts, I glanced up to see a familiar face. “Mr. Specter?”
He grinned. “Mr. Becker. Imagine seeing one of my favorite students here at Power House Comics.” Mr. Specter looked just as he had in science class earlier in the week: same glasses, white shirt, and sweater vest. It was him, no doubt about it, but I still had trouble believing what I was seeing. Looped around his neck was a plastic-covered tag with his name, Samuel Specter, topped by the store logo.
“You work here?”
“Yes, I do. Sometimes.” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief he’d produced from his vest pocket. “The owner is a good friend of mine. I fill in when he’s shorthanded.”
I had trouble wrapping my brain around this. I mean, I knew teachers didn’t make a lot of money, but I’d never seen one working in a store before. “Do you like comic books?”
“I have a certain fondness for the genre,” he said, putting his glasses on and carefully folding the handkerchief into a neat triangle before tucking it back into his pocket. “In my opinion, comic books are an incredible art form like no other. And of course, like many readers, I have a special regard for the superhero concept.”
“Oh.”
He pointed to the comics in the case below. “I love reading about ordinary men who acquire superpowers through extraordinary means, and who then grapple with everything that comes along with it—defeating villains, moral dilemmas, secrets from family and friends, alter egos. There’s no end of possibilities, wouldn’t you say?”
“I guess so.” Was I imagining things, or was he staring me down? What did he know, if anything? I glanced back to see Frank talking to the three boys we’d seen on the sidewalk outside. The smart ones who were trying to push each other in front of oncoming cars. Frank had a comic book clutched to his chest, and one of the others, an obnoxious-looking boy wearing a backwards baseball cap, was trying to take it away from him. “Excuse me,” I said to Mr. Specter. “I have to check on my nephew.”
I hurried over to Frank’s side and caught the other boys making taunting noises, but I couldn’t make out the words. “What’s going on here?” I demanded. The three looked to be a little older than Frank, and all of them were full of undeserved swagger. The ringleader, Backwards Cap Boy, had “bully” written all over his face. I can tell you right now that under the same circumstances, at their age, I would have backed away from a bigger teenager, but not these three. They had balls of steel.
“We’re just talking to Frank,” Backwards Cap said. “Right, Frankie?” The other two kids, one with a weasel-face and one who looked not too bright, stood alongside their leader, grinning like they thought the whole thing was funny.
Frank didn’t say anything, but held the comic book to his front, his forehead aimed at the carpet. “Whatever you’re doing, you’re done now,” I said to them and grabbed Frank’s arm, pulling him over to the other side of the store. In low tones I asked, “What were those punks doing? You can tell me.”
He glanced their way and I thought I saw fear in his eyes. “It’s okay, Russ. They were just playing around.”
“It didn’t look like playing around to me.”
“I don’t mind them, really.”
I considered for a moment, and let it drop. “Well, okay, if you say so, but I’m sticking to your side from now on.” We spent the next hour looking through racks of comic books. I told Frank I’d make up the difference if he went over his twenty-buck limit, and he reacted like Christmas came early. I watched Mr. Specter as he worked behind the register, making small talk, ringing up sales, giving change. He did a good impression of a store clerk and he never looked my way, so why did I feel like he was spying on me? At the same time I also kept an eye on the three punks. Such little scumbags, so full of themselves. I was relieved when they left the store. They didn’t buy anything, of course.
When it was time to check out, Frank, feeling shy, tried to get me to handle the transaction, but I told him he had to take care of it himself. Mr. Specter greeted us when we walked up to the counter. “So you’re Russ’s nephew?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” Frank set his comics down.
“Mr. Specter is my science teacher,” I said, although why I bothered to explain I didn’t know. Frank didn’t seem to care.
“I taught Carly Becker too, way back when,” Mr. Specter said. “Is she a relation of yours?”
“She’s my mom!” Frank said, suddenly interested.
“I didn’t know you had my sister as a student,” I said. Most of my teachers were Carly’s age. It never occurred to me that she and I would have had a teacher in common. I’d heard enough about her high school years that I could only imagine his opinion of her.
“Oh yes, indeed, she was a memorable student.” He picked up a comic book and scanned it, then worked his way through Frank’s pile. “A freethinker.”
That’s one way to put it, I thought.
“Did my mom get good grades in your class?” Frank asked. Inwardly I winced, since I was sure of the answer.
“It was a long time ago, and I don’t remember what grade she earned,” Mr. Specter said. “I do remember some spirited discussions in that class. She and the Hofstetter boy were quite the pair. They always had something to say.”
The name Hofstetter hit me right between the eyes. How many could there be in Edgewood? There had to be a connection. “The Hofstetter boy—is he related to Gordon Hofstetter?”
Mr. Specter nodded. “Was related. His grandson. A sad, sad story. The boy died in a car accident his junior year. Gordon never got over it.” He looked at Frank. “That will be twenty-two dollars and sixty-eight cents, young man.”
I had to know more. “Do you know Gordon Hofstetter?”
Frank fished around in his pocket for his money, and not finding it, started emptying his pocket, one thing at a time. Bottle caps, gum wrappers, loose change. The kid carried around more junk than anyone I knew. Mr. Specter didn’t get impatient; he just smiled and answered my question. “Gordon and I were once good friends, but we’ve drifted apart. He’s had a lot of troubles, poor soul.”
“Alcohol?”
“That came later. Gordon had a sad life. His wife died giving birth to their only child. He raised that child, a boy, by himself. It was hard. And then years later, his only grandchild, David, died in a horrible accident. David was a good kid. He’d just gotten his driver’s license and must have been driving too fast. They’re not sure what happened, but his car went down the embankment on Highway 12 and exploded. The firefighters came to the scene too late to do anything but contain the fire.”
“How terrible.” I tr
ied to look sympathetic, but I didn’t really feel that way, maybe because I didn’t know the family. Instead, I was fascinated by the thought that maybe this David Hofstetter was the true love my sister had mentioned. Her words echoed in my mind: When I was your age, I found true love, and it hasn’t happened since. I keep looking for it, but nothing compares. And then: He died. My parents had to know about this. How was it that no one ever mentioned it to me?
Mr. Specter absentmindedly fingered one of Frank’s bottle caps. “Gordon never got over it. And after that, David’s parents moved away to California and Gordon felt abandoned and alone. It’s no wonder he turned to the bottle to drown his sorrows.”
“Found it,” Frank said, triumphantly holding his twenty in the air for a second before handing it over. I got out my wallet and gave Mr. Specter a five-dollar bill to cover the balance.
The cash drawer opened with an old-fashioned ding, and Mr. Specter made change, which Frank was going to take until I cleared my throat and moved his hand aside. I was putting the singles in my wallet and Frank was scooping his junk off the counter when Mr. Specter said, “What’s this?”
I glanced up to see him pick something up from the counter. He peered intently at it over the top of his glasses.
“That’s a stone from my collection,” Frank said.
“He collects everything,” I explained. “The kid has buckets filled with stuff.”
“I’m sort of a collector myself,” Mr. Specter said. “Would you consider selling this to me?”
Frank said, “Maybe.”
“I’ll give you twenty dollars for it.”
Frank’s eyes got big. “Twenty dollars? Sure thing!”
Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 12
