But Claire can’t shake the feeling that it does.
She kneels down and opens the cabinet under the sink. A plunger lies on its side. A ball of crumpled paper towels lurks in the far corner. And, hiding behind the pipe, is a white, label-less bottle with a childproof cap.
Claire pulls it out and shakes it once, listening to the rattle of pills inside. She opens it up and dumps a few into her palm. Small, white, round. They look familiar.
Claire opens the medicine cabinet again and pulls out the aspirin bottle. Her heart thumps. It’s the same size and shape as the bottle under the sink. She opens the aspirin bottle, dumps out the pills.
They’re the exact same.
She lines the two bottles up on the cabinet, side by side. Why would Grammy keep a bottle of aspirin in her medicine cabinet, and another, without the label, underneath the sink?
Claire opens up the label-less bottle again and takes out one of the pills. She holds it up to the light. She’s certain she’s seen it before—
And then Claire’s stomach knots in on itself. The pill drops out of her fingers and bounces across the tile.
She knows where she’s seen that pill.
Her heart racing, Claire falls to her knees and scoops the pill up again. She closes it in her fist and strides out of the bedroom, taking the long way around to the kitchen, through the sitting room, so she won’t have to walk by Grammy watching TV. The house is dark and stuffy and she feels like the walls are closing in on her, but she keeps walking, taking deep gulping breaths, until she comes to the kitchen.
Grammy’s pillbox sits where it always does, on the shelf in the kitchen window.
Claire stares at it for a few moments. The TV chatters in the distance. It sounds like some kind of talk show. The pill slips against her sweaty palm. A round of applause erupts in the living room, and Claire darts forward, grabs the pillbox.
Opens it.
In each compartment lie three identical pills. Small, white, round. Claire remembers her first day here, Grammy saying she’d already gotten her pills together, that Claire only has to make sure she remembers to take them.
Trembling, Claire opens up her clenched fist. What she finds isn’t a surprise, not really.
The pill from the stripped-off aspirin bottle is the same as the pills Grammy has been taking three times a day since Claire arrived.
Claire rides her bike to Julie’s house, the hot wind blustering across her face. She can hardly breathe, hardly think. Grammy’s been taking aspirin all this time. Her super-important three-times-a-day pills, the ones she could never afford to miss—they’re aspirin.
Claire blows through the stop sign at the end of the street, whipping the bike hard to make her turn. Her feet pedal furiously, but really it’s the confusion and anger that propel her forward. She knows she can’t stop to think. She just has to ride until she sees the tall pine trees marking the entrance to Julie’s driveway. It’s all she can do.
As soon as Claire saw the pillboxes, she dropped the aspirin down the sink and walked out of Grammy’s house. She can’t think about that. She’ll be punished somehow. Grounded. Forced to hang out with Audrey, which is worse.
Indianola flashes by. The air smells of salt water and fish, but even that’s a better smell than the gardenias in Grammy’s bathroom.
It takes Claire less time to get to Julie’s house than she expects, but by the time she arrives she’s drenched in sweat and panting hard. It’s only as she’s winding her way up the long driveway that she realizes Julie might be working.
She leans her bike up against a palm tree and takes a moment to catch her breath. She doesn’t want to think about how she must look, red-faced and exhausted and dressed in cleaning clothes.
She hopes Julie won’t mind.
Claire takes one last deep breath and goes up to the front door and rings the bell. No one answers. Claire closes her eyes. Maybe she should go back. This was a stupid idea. What if Grammy calls the cops?
The door opens.
It’s a tiny woman with long honey-colored hair, teased up high around the crown of her head.
“Can I help you?” she says, in a voice that suggests she wants to do nothing of the kind.
“Is Julie home?” Claire is hot not just with exertion but with embarrassment.
The woman accepts this, though, and she opens the door a little wider and steps back. “She’s up in her fun room. Are you that new friend of hers? Chloe?”
“Claire.”
“Ah, yes.” The woman looks like she doesn’t care. “I’m her mother. Come on in, then. You know the room I’m talking about, right? The one where she plays her games?”
“In the attic, right?”
“Mmm.” Julie’s mother shuts the door, and Claire basks for a moment in the frigid AC pouring down the hallway. “Did you run here?”
“I rode my bike.”
“You look like you’re about to die.” Julie’s mom holds up one manicured hand. “Let me get you a drink of water. Wait here.”
Claire doesn’t protest. Her mouth is parched. When Julie’s mom comes back, Claire gulps the water down and shoves the glass back at her. “Thanks!” she says, and then she heads toward the stairs before she changes her mind and decides to go back home.
The attic ladder is down. Claire can hear the Mortal Kombat music. She climbs halfway up before shouting Julie’s name. The music goes silent. Julie’s face appears in the hatchway
“Claire?” she says. “What are you doing here? I thought you had to clean!”
Claire clambers up the rest of the ladder. “I couldn’t stay in that house with her,” she says. “Grammy’s been lying to me.”
“What do you mean?” Julie helps Claire up the last few rungs of the ladder, not seeming to mind the sweat. Claire collapses down on the floor in front of the couch. Julie’s character in the game is frozen mid-leap, halfway between the ground and the sky.
“She has these pills,” Claire says, her voice shaking. “My first day here, she told me I needed to make sure she takes them every day. She acted like it was a matter of life and death, her taking these pills. And today, she had me cleaning her room, I think she was trying to—” Claire stops, not wanting to tell Julie that Grammy probably hates her. “I mean, she just likes giving me busy work, you know? And I found the pills she’s been taking. They’re aspirin. She’s been making a big deal about aspirin.” Claire covers her face with her hands and curls her knees up against her chest, trying to draw away from the outside world. For a moment she has a flickering thought that her mother set this whole thing up to get rid of her for the summer, the way she ships Claire’s brother off to sports camp ever year. She wonders if Grammy’s in on it, willing to play along so Claire’s mother can have her freedom. Except Grammy does look sick, always so pale and shaking. But she’s only taking aspirin.
Claire feels a touch on her shoulder. She drops her hands away and Julie’s sitting right beside her.
“It’s probably nothing,” Julie says gently. “I mean, maybe her doctor told her to take aspirin for her heart or something.”
Claire hugs her knees in closer. “But that’s not life or death, you know? And why did she put them in a pillbox? Why’d she keep it a secret?”
“Who knows why Mrs. Sudek does what she does? No offense,” Julie adds quickly.
Claire doesn’t say anything. She knows Julie’s trying to make her feel better, and as much as she wants it to work, it doesn’t.
“Did you ask her about it?” Julie says softly.
Claire shakes her head.
“I don’t blame you. She’s scary.” Julie grins, trying to make it into a joke. Claire doesn’t feel like laughing. “But I bet it’s nothing, I really do. Just an old woman being particular.”
“Maybe.” Claire still isn’t convinced. In a way, she knows Julie is right, that she could ask Grammy about it—Grammy’s her grandmother, her flesh and blood, it ought to not be a big deal. But it is. Claire tries to imagine h
erself sitting down with Grammy, showing her the aspirin bottle and the pillbox, and she can’t do it. Her mind goes blank at the thought. “I mean, she’s just so clearly sick. She can barely get around the house some days. But it just—it feels wrong.”
As soon as she speaks, Claire regrets it. Julie frowns at her. “What feels wrong?”
“Everything. Grammy’s pills. Her illness.” Claire stands up. Her head swoons, but she wants to walk around. She thinks it’ll regulate her thoughts. “I can’t put it into words.”
Julie frowns from her place over by the couch. Claire traces a slow circle around the perimeter of the attic. With each step the discovery in Grammy’s kitchen recedes further away from her. They’re just pills.
But forgetting about it feels wrong too.
Claire passes in front of the full-length mirror and catches a glimpse of her reflection. She’s still sweaty and pink-cheeked from the bike ride through the heat, and she reaches up to smooth down her hair.
A ghost floats beside her.
No, not a ghost—the gray dress. Abigail’s dress. It snags on Claire’s thoughts, dragging her away from her reflection and her whole reason for being here.
A gray dress. Silk. You found it in Julie’s attic.
She shakes her head. Her reflection moves with her, but then, just for a second, her reflection’s eyes flit off to the side, toward the dress.
Claire takes a step back. So does her reflection.
“Claire?” Julie appears behind her in the mirror, still frowning. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I just had a weird—” Claire rubs her forehead and turns around, away from the mirror. “This is going to sound crazy, but can I borrow the dress?”
Julie goes quiet for a moment. Then: “Abigail’s dress?”
“Yeah. Just—I won’t do anything to it, I just—” She doesn’t want to tell Julie that she’s thinking about wearing it to the Stargazer’s Masquerade. Julie’ll laugh at her, because there’s no way that dress is going to fit.
“Uh, sure.” Julie shrugs, then reaches over and lifts the dress off the mirror. “Just bring it back when you’re done, okay?”
Claire nods. Her head’s clearing a little.
“Look, I think we ought to do something to distract you from this whole thing with your grandma.” Julie drapes the dress, hanger and all, across the top of the couch. Claire watches her, not wanting to take her eyes off the dress. “We can watch a movie; I checked some out the other day. We had so much fun watching Hiruki and Alien, remember? And that reminds me, they’re bringing Aliens back for a one-night showing in a week, which we are definitely going to.”
Claire’s cheeks warm at that. It’s the first emotion she’s felt all afternoon that really seems to belong to her.
“I don’t feel like watching a movie,” she hears herself say. “Maybe some other time. Really, I just—” She puts her hand in her pocket. Abigail’s photograph is still there, crumpled a little from the ride over. Warmth floods up her fingers, and her thoughts firm. “No. Wait. Do you want to go to the library? Like we talked about last night?”
Julie’s staring at her with her head tilted, her eyes squinting a little. For a moment Claire think she’s going to ask again if she’s feeling okay. She isn’t sure how she’ll answer.
“Yeah,” Julie says. “Yeah, we can do that.”
CHAPTER
Ten
JULIE
Julie hasn’t been to the library in ages, not since she was a little girl and her mother brought her here for story time. The building looks the same as she remembers, a brown-brick cube surrounded by pecan trees, although there’s a new sign hanging next to the drive: Indianola Public Library, painted over a scene of the beach.
“Wow, it’s pretty small,” Claire says as Julie parks.
“Yeah, it probably isn’t much compared to the one in Houston.”
They get out of the car. Claire leads the way up to the doors as if she’s been here before. When they go in Julie is swamped with a rush of decade-old memories: her mother holding her hand and leading her to the little room in the back, a scratchy record player warbling out children’s songs, the librarian with her straight skirt and her teased-up hair holding a picture book face out, reciting it instead of reading.
Julie shakes her head. Memory is a weird thing. Ten years and the library’s been lurking in the back of her mind, waiting. She didn’t even know it was there.
“So now what?” she asks Claire.
“We need to see if they have old newspapers.” Claire definitely seems to know what she’s doing. She walks over to a desk in the center of the lobby. A sign reading Reference is propped up in one corner.
“Excuse me,” Claire says. “We’re interested in looking at old issues of the Indianola newspaper.”
The librarian at the desk is different from the one who did story time. She’s older, her long black hair streaked with gray, an ugly enamel parrot pin on her big-shouldered jacket. “Well, you’re in luck,” she says, smiling. “We have all issues of the Indianola Advocate dating back to its founding in the 1860s. Do you know what date you need?”
Claire glances over at Julie, her eyes aglow with excitement. It’s all a little nerdy by Julie’s standards, but she’s just glad Claire’s distracted from that weird discovery about Mrs. Sudek’s pills.
“July 18, 1893,” Claire says. The date of Abigail’s last letter: My darling, the final preparations are ready. “And then maybe, say, a month after that.”
“Wonderful. Now, it’s all on microfilm. I can show you how to use the machines.”
“Oh, I already know!” Claire says brightly. “I’ve had to use them for school projects before.”
The librarian beams. Claire’s manner with her is easy, like she’s used to dealing with adults. It’s a side of her that Julie hasn’t seen before.
“It’s all in the reading room.” The librarian stands up, pushing her chair away. “I’ll need to pull the microfilm for you. If you go on in, I can meet you there.”
The librarian bustles away from her desk. Claire looks over at Julie. “I hope there’s something in the paper about Abigail and Javier. Don’t you? I don’t know what we’ll do if there isn’t.” She smiles, wistfully. “What happened to them would just be an unsolved mystery, I guess.”
“I do love that show,” Julie says.
Claire laughs and an old man reading magazines at a nearby table glares at them. Claire’s cheeks turn pink and Julie glares back, wanting to defend Claire’s honor.
“Come on,” Julie says. Claire nods, and they take off, weaving through the stacks until they reach the reading room in the back. When they go in, Julie realizes it’s the same place she went for story time, but it looks different now. There are no bright puppets on the shelves or posters on the walls. The colorful carpets are gone. Everything’s been replaced with boxy beige machines that sort of look like TV sets.
She feels weirdly empty, seeing this.
Claire sits down at one of the machines just as the librarian joins them. She has a cardboard box pressed up against her chest.
“Here you go,” she says. “A month of the Indianola Advocate starting July 18, 1893.” Claire takes the box and thanks the librarian, who smiles and leaves them alone. Four rolls of film are lined up side by side in the box.
“Let’s see what we can find,” Julie says. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
Claire smiles and feeds the film into the machine. Julie holds her breath, wondering what they’re going to see.
Down on the Farm, says the first headline. The story is about the recent good fortune of someone named Howard Dunaway and his flock of one hundred hens.
“I guess that was important enough news back then,” Julie says wryly.
“It was their livelihood, wasn’t it?”
“Well, okay. Good point. And it’s not like the newspaper nowadays is much better.” Julie laughs, and Claire smiles along with her.
“Anyway,
we didn’t expect anything for July eighteenth,” Claire says. “It would be something after—something to keep them from meeting.”
Julie nods, and Claire starts zipping through her microfilm. Her profile lights up with the caramel light of the microfilm’s projection and her hair turns golden, like a halo.
Warmth flushes through Julie’s bloodstream.
She watches as tiny, hundred-year-old headlines flash on the screen and then vanish. None of them explain why Abigail and Javier weren’t able to run away together. Julie wonders if they’ll even find anything.
But then Claire makes a confused noise in her throat, moves the film backward.
“Look at this,” she says. “The dates skip.”
“What? What do you mean?”
Claire gestures at the screen. The date on the newspaper reads July 20. But when she rolls over to the next screen, it’s a date marker, July 24, 1893 scrawled in black ink.
“Maybe it’s a mistake,” Julie says.
Claire clicks past the date marker to the newspaper itself. Unlike the past issues, there is one huge word stretching across the front page: HURRICANE. Then, below it, in small letters: Deaths est. at 10.
“Whoa,” Julie says. “A hurricane? We get them, but…this sounds huge.”
“You didn’t know about it?” Claire’s eyes flick across the screen.
Julie reads over her shoulder, squinting at the bright screen. The fuzzy letters of the newspaper swim and blur.
Recovery in Indianola has been swift after the sudden appearance of a cyclone three days ago. Despite being felled by trees, the telegram towers have been repaired by an unknown benefactor, and the road appears to be clear.
The Indianola Advocate mourns the dead who were lost amid the storm’s wind and waves.
Beyond these basics, though, the article isn’t clear on what happened. It’s mostly about damages.
“Weird,” Julie says. “It’s like the reporter didn’t know what was going on. He’s so vague. Wasn’t he there?”
Forget This Ever Happened Page 13
