“Right up here you get a great view of the cityscape.”
She was talking as if she had been here before. He had no idea where they were.
The road curved to the left and leveled out. They passed well-tended older-looking homes and were soon waiting at the stoplight of a small thriving business district.
His mother grew more and more excited, commenting on different things she saw.
“The Emerald Market? What’s that doing there?”
“Oh my god, the Admiral Theater is still here, running their cheap movies! I’m so glad they didn’t tear it down. And over there is where I used to get my shoes shined.”
His mother used to live here? When had that happened? Charlie wondered.
They drove through what seemed like a main intersection, took a right and drove several blocks, followed by a left, and another left. The houses and their lots grew larger and prettier. Those on the right-hand side sat on a bluff high above a body of water. He wondered if it was the same one they had passed when driving over the bridge.
Then his mother pulled the truck up along the side of the road. Charlie looked out his window and saw a two-tiered iron fence enclosing a large lot filled with hedges, flowering bushes, and massive trees. He could barely make out the white house through the foliage, but it appeared to be at least two stories tall. Between the trees he spotted several dormer windows at the top of the second story. The property stretched away from the road to a point extending out over the bluff. To its left, masses of blackberry bushes tumbled down the steep hill to the homes below, which must be sitting on or near the beach. Beyond the blackberry bushes sat an empty lot covered in grass and guarded by several more tall trees.
Rich people live here, he thought to himself.
“Well, honey, we’re here,” his mom said, then patted his knee. She smiled at him, and he saw her lips quivering the way lips do when someone tries to hide nerves. “Let’s get out.”
Charlie heard a door open somewhere behind the fence as his mother got out of the truck. She stepped up onto the sidewalk, and he was surprised to see that she looked like a young girl, hands behind her back, the lifelong effects of hard work and reticence momentarily washed away. He half expected her to be holding a bouquet of flowers shyly in her hands.
A woman in her late thirties or early forties with long dark hair, dressed in a full-length maroon skirt and a light-colored sleeveless blouse, opened the front gate to the house and stepped out. She was beautiful. Her eyes were deep and wide, her mouth full, and she didn’t so much stand on the sidewalk as command it. Her arms stayed at her sides, and she stared at Charlie’s mother with a clouded distant look.
A man with dark wavy hair, slightly older than the woman, dressed in khaki pants and a blue short-sleeved shirt, pushed passed the woman, his thick mustache flexing upwards as his face broke into a grin.
“Elizabeth. I can’t believe it. It’s you!” he said and came toward his mother with open arms.
“Randall!” His mother let out an uncharacteristic squeal as she raced to the man, falling into his hug. He picked his mother up and swung her around like a child.
The woman looked over at Charlie, and something in her face changed. Her eyes softened, and her mouth parted into a smile.
“Hi, Beverly,” his mother said after detangling herself from the man, who stepped back several feet and kept smiling. She took small steps toward the woman at the gate.
“Lizzy,” said the woman, and her legs began to move toward his mother.
Both women were crying even before they reached each other. Charlie watched as they stood, hugging on the sidewalk, fingers running over backs and arms and faces, as if reading Braille, shoulders shaking.
The man with the mustache winked at Charlie. “Reunions, huh?” he said, and then walked over to introduce himself.
CHAPTER 7
Answers
THE FOUR OF THEM SAT OUT on a small cedar deck off of the kitchen. They had the uninterrupted view of the water Charlie had seen earlier. Several tree-covered islands appeared to float above the water in the distance, and beyond them large mountain peaks bordered the horizon. Charlie watched the late afternoon light turn the waves to jewels. Two ferryboats traversed the waters in opposite directions leaving trails of white foam in their wakes. The air was warm enough to be pleasant but cool from the salty breeze.
Beverly and Randall had brought juice and beer out onto the round glass deck table, and his mother cut fruit and laid out crackers and cheese on a platter.
“Oh, I’ve missed this view,” his mother said. “It’s so fresh, it’s …”
“It’s been here this whole time, you know,” said Beverly, her smile not quite touching her eyes.
“Bev, let it go, okay?” said Randall. “There’s a lot to talk about.”
The women looked off in opposite directions.
“Charlie, you may or may not know this, but I’m your uncle. Beverly, my wife, is your aunt, your mother’s older sister. I understand you may need a bit of an explanation, but I say we start with something to drink, some food, and a little time to get acquainted.” There were deep dimples near the ends of his mustache, and his eyes twinkled. His wavy hair was trimmed short, and his fingers fidgeted with the collar of his short-sleeved button-down shirt. Charlie guessed he would be much more comfortable in a T-shirt and jeans.
“Charlie, I am very pleased to finally see you in person,” said Beverly. Her voice was slow and deep. He wondered if she sang as nicely as she talked.
“Pleased to meet you too,” he said. It was the first time he had spoken since they had gotten here. All three adults stared at him, and he felt his face redden. He tipped his head down into his glass of orange juice and swallowed a large gulp.
They all beamed at him the way parents do when someone compliments their children.
“Um,” said Charlie. As usual, he was having trouble finding words in front of strangers. But he didn’t know why they were here or what was going on, and he wanted to know if the ban on asking questions had been lifted. Maybe these new people would be more forthcoming than his mother.
“Um,” he said again. “Where are we? What uh, … yeah, where are we?”
“Oh,” Randall said. “You don’t know?”
“Nah, I think I slept the last coupla hours. We’re in Seattle, right?”
“That’s right. You’re in West Seattle, in the Admiral District. Which is the north part. The north part of West Seattle.” He chuckled.
“Rand, come on, that’s confusing,” his wife said, slapping at his arm. He laughed again and shrugged his shoulders.
Beverly turned to him. “Charlie, this is the house your mother and I grew up in, the house our father grew up in before us. Randall and I live here now. Your mother …” she started to stay, then stopped.
“I used to live here too, a long time ago,” his mom said. “Before I left the area.”
The tension between the adults, especially the two women, was palpable. Charlie decided that it wasn’t a good time to point out that his mother had always said she had grown up on a farm in Iowa. He could ask her about that later.
Charlie wondered what being here had to do with what had happened back at home. Maybe his mother wasn’t going to tell anybody, including her sister and brother-in-law.
“Um, Mom?” He turned to her. “Why are we here? I mean, it’s nice, really nice and all,” he added, then blushed again, knowing he sounded rude.
His mom looked out over the water. The light from the setting sun reflected off a single tear sliding down her cheek.
She opened her mouth to speak, only to shut it again, shaking her head.
“Charlie,” his aunt said. “You two were in very serious danger. Eliza- … your mother drove up here to make sure that you both would be safe. It’s safe here. It has always been safe here,” she added, ignoring the look her husband gave her.
“That’s right, Charlie. You … you saw what happened. Back at home,�
� his mother said, her voice husky. “I told you that I thought I could protect you there, but I was … I was wrong.” More tears fell, and she stopped talking. He felt sad for her, but also angry. Why was it so hard to tell him what was going on? Couldn’t she just spill it and get it over with?
“Can I say something here?” Randall asked. Both women looked at him, then nodded.
“Charlie, your mother and your aunt are, well, their family has lived in this area for a long time. A very long time. Many generations. And even before that …”
Charlie heard a snuffling noise and felt something wet on his hand. He looked down and saw the muzzle of a large black dog looking up at him, wagging its tail, a long pink tongue hanging from its mouth.
Before he even realized what he was doing, he heard himself yelling, “No! Get … get away!” He jerked his hand away from the dog. He tried to stand up, banging his legs on the table.
“No, son, no, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he heard his mother say, her words trying to be gentle.
The dog cowered and backed away from the table, its head held low.
Images of the German shepherd’s talking muzzle filled Charlie’s brain. Even though a small voice in his head told him that this was a different dog, he still couldn’t help himself from reacting.
He pushed his chair back to stand up, but it caught on a plank on the wooden deck. He hopped up and over the chair as it fell behind him, his feet barely escaping the armrest. He stood, shaking, pressed up against the sliding glass door leading into the living room. The dog slunk to the far corner of the deck, whimpering.
“Charlie, Charlie, buddy, it’s okay, really. That dog is good. Amos is good,” Randall said.
It took quite some time for his shaking to subside. He knew his face was still as red as a tomato in August. He had seen the look of surprise and hurt on the dog’s face as it had backed away from him and had watched the expressions of pity on the three adults near him, which only made it worse. He hated acting stupid around adults, who then always seemed to want to bend over backwards to let him know that everything was going to be all right. Did he really look that weak and scared all of the time? He wanted to be brave for his mother. He wanted to let these new people know that he wasn’t some scared little kid.
Half an hour later, they were sitting in the living room. Amos sat at Charlie’s feet. Once the dog had calmed down, Randall had called him in from the deck. He was a black lab mix with thick fur and a sweet face. Anyone could tell he was a good, harmless dog.
Ashamed of himself, Charlie held his hand out to Amos, who slowly shuffled up to him, head bent, tail between his legs. Charlie let his hands burrow deep into the dog’s fur. Amos groaned with pleasure, then stretched out next to him and stayed put.
“Good boy. That’s a good, good boy,” Charlie murmured, smiling as Amos’s tail thumped against the carpet.
“… thought the binding would keep him pinned to the ceiling,” his mother was saying to Beverly and Randall, who alternated between looking at her with rapt attention and stealing concerned glances his way.
“But it didn’t. We, uh, we hightailed it out of there with our few bags and drove away.”
“You did the right thing, Lizzy,” said Beverly. Her approving voice seemed to soothe his mother somewhat. She had been looking at her older sister with wariness and eagerness ever since they had arrived.
“But who was that guy, Mom? How did he do … do that to you? How? How did you, uh, you know, do that stuff with the, uh …” he let go of Amos’s fur and held his hands in front of him, trying to demonstrate the wave that had pushed the German shepherd away.
The two sisters looked at each other, then away, then back at each other again. Randall exhaled his breath, then shook his head. None of them said anything.
“Who was that waitress, and what were you doing in the car together? Why did that guy wave that knife at us today? What, what is all this?” Charlie waved his arms at them. “Can’t somebody tell me something? Anything?”
His mother winced at his raised voice. Neither his aunt nor his uncle seemed affected.
Beverly spoke first. “Charlie, I’d be happy to answer your questions. Any questions you have. But we’ll have to take it slowly. The things we have to tell you will be hard to imagine, or accept, okay? And they’ll probably raise more questions than give you the answers you want.”
He nodded, and then listened as Beverly began to talk.
“Let me see how I can put this,” she started.
Apparently Beverly and Elizabeth came from a long line of people who had abilities that most people didn’t have. There were people like them all over the world. Most of them were quiet, good people who kept to themselves, living in small towns and suburbs, keeping who they were a secret from the larger world.
But a few of their kind used their special abilities for personal gain. And a smaller group of those folks did dark bad things.
“They’re really bad people,” Randall chimed in, nodding.
“Yup, bad, bad people,” his mother added.
“Just bad, that’s all,” Beverly affirmed
If they said “bad people” one more time, Charlie thought he would scream. They were talking to him like he was stupid. But he wanted them to keep talking, so he swallowed his frustration and dug his hands deeper into Amos’s fur, which seemed to calm him some.
“You mean like the guy in our kitchen, Mom?” He knew, of course, that the answer was yes. But he wanted more details.
“Yeah, he’s one of the worst, Charlie. He, uh, he works for another person. A woman named Grace, whose sole purpose in life seems to be to …” she paused, shaking her head and squeezing her fingers together.
“To do very bad things,” Beverly finished.
“Elizabeth,” she went on. “I’m afraid this part of the story has to come from you, because I don’t know what it is or how to tell it.”
His mother’s eyes hardened, and she looked out the windows at the sky, which was dark now, as if she could find what she needed to say out among the trees and hedges bordering the grass or out beyond to where the islands sat perched on the dark water like birds nestling in for the night.
“Look, Bev, I’ll tell him as much as I’m willing. But I doubt we’ll reach any new agreements on all that crap about Dad. Charlie deserves information, not a catfight, okay?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Randall said, nodding to his wife.
“Okay, okay, but don’t look at me like I’m the problem, all right? I didn’t flee sixteen years ago, leaving no note, leaving no word …” her voice broke, and for the first time Charlie saw that beneath the woman’s stern façade lay confusion, and even deeper, hurt.
“Sorry, Lizzy,” she said to her sister. “I’m, uh, I’m just … I’ll try harder, okay?” She looked at her husband, then back at Charlie’s mother.
“You know, it’s okay, Bev. I get it. You don’t understand all of this. You may not believe me, but I’m really, really sorry. I made some mistakes. And that has been made extremely obvious to me these past few days.”
His aunt opened her mouth to respond, then decided better. Nodding, she encouraged her sister to continue.
CHAPTER 8
Anger Management Issues
HIS MOTHER, A PERSON he had known his entire life as a woman of few words, with a humble history of farming and parents from the Midwest who’d died in a car accident when she was young, who had lived with relatives until she could go off to college, began to talk. And the story she told was different from anything he had ever heard before. Maybe because it was late and he was tired, or maybe because they had spent the last two days in a car, or maybe because he hadn’t recovered most of his mind after what had happened back home in their kitchen—whatever the reason—he found himself listening with rapt attention, believing everything she said. As she talked, he saw that Beverly and Randall also listened.
“People like us have lived in small groups all over the world. In
earlier times, when communities sprang up with the advent of farming and controlled agriculture, our people had to keep to themselves, for the most part avoiding townsfolk. If they lived in extremely rural areas, it was much easier to hide from them. Over and over again, we had to find out the hard way that we don’t mix very well with regular people.
“Not like today,” she said, looking around her as if Beverly and Randall’s comfortable living room represented all that was modern, “where people can live in basic obscurity. That and the fact that science and reason helped to wipe a large part of the superstition off the face of the earth, the superstition that has always been dangerous to us.
“Our neighbors just don’t suspect us the way they used to, do they?” His mom turned to Beverly. The two sisters smiled and shook their heads as if this were an old family joke, as if they were saying, “Isn’t the world silly sometimes?”
Charlie grew restless. He didn’t like hearing his mother talk like this, like she was a lecturer delivering a history lesson or a librarian giving a talk on the ancient peoples of Europe. Who was she talking about, anyway? And why did she sound so weird?
A part of him knew, didn’t he? A part of him must have guessed after seeing what had happened in the kitchen back home, after seeing glowing pendants, waves of light, and talking dogs. But it couldn’t be, it just couldn’t. None of it made any sense at all, how could …
But what kind of people are you? Charlie wanted to shout. His mother seemed to be avoiding answering this question. And it made him mad. But he kept his mouth shut, hoping that someone would explain things better, soon.
She looked at her older sister. “Why don’t you tell the part about Dad, Bev? When he became leader?”
Beverly took a breath, then began to speak. “In 1975, before your mother was born and when I was still a young girl, our father became leader of our community here in Seattle. It was a good time, a peaceful time, and people joined from other parts of the state as well as from Oregon and British Columbia. It was not a huge community by any means, like some of the older ones found in Europe.”
The Boy Who Couldn't Fly Straight: A Gay Teen Coming of Age Paranormal Adventure about Witches, Murder, and Gay Teen Love (Book 1, The Broom Closet Stories) Page 5
