The Time Capsule

by Lurlene McDaniel

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  MAKE YOUR OWN TIME CAPSULE

  You’ll want to read these inspiring novels by

  Copyright Page

  This book is lovingly dedicated to my kid brother, Jim Gallagher.

  What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? . . . . faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

  JAMES 2:14, 17 (NIV)

  “Alexis slow down,” Sawyer was saying.

  She saw a note posted on the refrigerator. In bold black writing, her mother had scrawled: Ally—Come to Kendall Hospital ER. Alexis jerked the paper off the fridge and handed it to Sawyer.

  His eyes widened as he read it. He said, “Come on. I’ll drive you.”

  The small emergency room of their community hospital was not crowded. The first person Alexis recognized was Kelly, sitting in a chair, clutching a jacket, her face red from crying. Alexis rushed over. “What happened?”

  Dear Senior:

  Hi there! It’s me, Ms. Lola . . . from your first-grade classroom at Woodland Elementary School in North Miami. You remember me, don’t you? Because I remember you as adorable children who passed through my classroom eleven years ago. I know, I know—you’re wondering, “Gee, why is Ms. Lola writing to me after all this time?”

  I’m writing because I want you to join me in a celebration picnic here at Woodland Elementary. First, I’m celebrating twenty-five years of teaching first grade. But more than that, I’m celebrating YOU, my students—that is, all of you I can locate who are still attending school in the greater Miami area!

  Think back to your last day in my classroom. I asked each of you to write down what you wanted to be or do when you grew up. Remember how we put all the pieces of paper into a box I called the time capsule? Well, guess what? It’s time to open the capsule and reread all those messages.

  So please come to the picnic, get reacquainted with one another, eat pizza and cake and meet my brand-new class of first graders. We’ll meet outside under the giant banyan tree by the playground on the last Friday of August at 3:00 P.M.

  Please come! The time capsule awaits!

  With affection,

  Woodland Elementary School

  ONE

  “The school looks exactly the same,” Alexis Chappel told her brother, Adam. Together they walked from the parking lot across the grounds of their former elementary school, toward the huge banyan tree that sheltered the playground.

  “I haven’t thought about this place since we moved,” Adam said. “Everything looks so small.”

  “That’s because we’re bigger,” Alexis said. “And I used to think about it all the time. I really missed it when we moved.” Their family had relocated to the southwest side of Miami during the summer following fourth grade, and twins Adam and Alexis had transferred into a brand-new elementary school. Alexis remembered how she had cried because she had loved Woodland Elementary, which was just around the corner from their old house. The low-slung building of white stucco, yellow brick and awning-covered windows looked tired and dingy to her now, eight years later. “You think we’ll recognize anybody?”

  Adam grinned and pointed. “I recognize Ms. Lola.”

  Beneath the giant tree, Alexis saw a diminutive woman with a frizzy mass of red hair herding a group of children toward rows of benches. Behind the benches there were several rows of chairs where teens sat, some talking, some eating slices of pizza and sipping canned sodas.

  “Is that our class?” Adam asked, pausing to check out the group.

  “Did you expect everybody to be six?” Alexis teased. “The letter said our classmates would be invited.” Adam was the shyer of the two, and Alexis usually felt as if she was either pushing him or dragging him to do something. But then, Adam’s life had been a whole lot more difficult than hers.

  Ms. Lola looked up, saw them and dashed over, her face lit with a smile. “I’m so glad to see you. My beautiful twins. Do you know that in all my years of teaching, I’ve only had three sets of twins in my classes? But you two were my favorite. I never had to worry about telling you apart!” She hugged them, and a jumble of warm, fond feelings flooded through Alexis. To this day, she’d never loved a teacher the way she had loved Ms. Lola. “You both look wonderful! Come, join the others,” the teacher said. She led them to the rows of chairs and began to introduce them to eleven former classmates.

  Alexis smiled and waved at each person, recognizing names because she had pored over their first-grade class photo and roster before coming. There had been twenty-eight in the class. Some she knew from the old photo, but others looked totally different.

  “Grab yourself some goodies and have a seat,” Ms. Lola said, then rushed off to greet a group heading across the playground.

  “Want a soda?” Adam asked.

  “Sure. I’ll save you a spot.”

  Once Alexis had settled in, a girl two chairs over asked, “Remember me? Linda Cummings. I sat behind you in first and third grades.”

  “I remember.” Alexis flashed her brightest smile. “You had long, curly brown hair.”

  Linda’s hair was now short and was dyed pink and red. “And you wore a long braid that usually had ribbons going through it,” she said. “I used to sit there and wonder what it would be like to have such pretty, straight black hair.”

  “It was monotonous. Nothing I did then or do now makes it curl.”

  Linda’s gaze lingered on Alexis’s long hair. Finally she shifted self-consciously and asked, “Where are you going to high school?”

  “South Kendall. And you?”

  “North Miami High.”

  “It seems weird to be back,” Alexis confessed.

  “I’ve lived in the same house since first grade.” Linda sounded apologetic about it. “Ms. Lola had no trouble tracking me down. I couldn’t stay away. I wanted to see how we all turned out. Plus, I want to know what’s in that time capsule of hers. I don’t remember writing anything. How about you?”

  “I can’t imagine what I wanted when I was in first grade. That was ages ago.”

  Linda glanced toward Adam, who was putting pizza on paper plates. “I don’t remember what I wrote, but I remember what I wanted. I had the worst crush on your brother and wanted him to notice me. He’s still cute.”

  “He’s got a girlfriend.”

  “All the cute ones do,” Linda said with a sigh. She added, “I used to envy the two of you.”

  “You’re kidding. Why?”

  “Because you got along really well together. My older sister and I fought like cats. I remember how you and Adam used to finish each other’s sentences.”

  “We still do. It’s because Adam and I were womb mates,” Alexis said. Their peculiar link with each other was very real, and at times it seemed as if they could almost read each other’s minds.

  Linda grinned. “Womb mates—I get it. So who’s older?”

  “I am. By seven minutes.”

  “Are you and Adam in classes together?”

  “No. He’s into math and baseball. I like speech and debate.”

  “Debate. Isn’t that when you argue with someone?”

  “It’s really problem-solving competitions.
Teams get proposals or resolutions in advance and prepare arguments for and against them. It’s fun.” The competitions were tough, but Alexis loved the high that came when she scored enough points from the judges to advance to the next round. She was team captain and had racked up more points than anyone on her school team so far. Mrs. Wiley, the debate coach, was already prepping Alexis and the team for the state tournament to be held in Tallahassee, the state capital, in the spring.

  “Do you want to be a lawyer?” Linda asked.

  “Maybe.” In truth, Alexis wanted very much to attend law school. She supposed the tendency for high achievement ran in their family. Their father, Blake, was an attorney, and their mother, Eleanor, was a top-selling real estate agent and a community activist interested in running for public office. “Ambitious parents create ambitious kids,” Adam often said. “And one out of two isn’t bad. With you, Ally, they’re batting five hundred.”

  Adam returned, bringing Alexis a cold lemon-lime soda, her favorite, and a plateful of pizza slices. She introduced him to Linda, whose face took on a pink hue when Adam said hello.

  “We were in the same class,” Linda said, stating the obvious and blushing again.

  “You want a soda?” Adam asked.

  “Um, no thanks—I mean, sure, thanks.”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “What flavor?”

  “Yellow. I—I mean, lemon-lime, like your sister’s.”

  Adam left, and Linda groaned. “If he asks, tell him I don’t get out much.”

  Alexis laughed. “It’s okay. I’m sure he didn’t notice a thing.”

  Adam returned with Linda’s soda just as Ms. Lola went up to a podium under the tree, facing the rows of benches and chairs. The microphone, attached to a portable amp, screeched, and everyone covered their ears. “Oh dear,” Ms. Lola said. “Oh, that’s better,” she added as the mike stabilized. She was dressed in green, and Alexis thought she resembled a storybook elf.

  Adam leaned toward Alexis and whispered, “She looks like one of Santa’s elves.”

  Alexis whispered, “You read my mind.”

  “I want to thank all of you for coming to today’s time capsule ceremony,” Ms. Lola said. “I do this for a couple of reasons. First, I want all of you to remember what your lives were like in first grade, now that you’re seniors. I want you to remember the things that were important to you way back then.”

  Alexis heard kids shuffle all around her. On the benches where the current first graders were lined up like birds on telephone wires, she saw little heads turn to look them over. She ventured a wave and heard giggles.

  “Another reason I like having this ceremony is to encourage these first graders. While you are here today for this ceremony, I’m sorry to say that four from your original class have dropped out of school altogether. That makes me sad.” Ms. Lola looked downcast, then brightened. “But of the kids from your class still living in the Miami area, sixteen are here, all of you seniors, and all of whom, I hope, will be going on to college.”

  Ms. Lola continued. “Now, I know all of you are ready for more pizza and for that scrumptious cake that’s waiting to be cut, but first I want to open the time capsule and read your papers. Is everyone ready?” Ms. Lola pulled a metal box from beneath the podium and raised the lid. She pulled out a thick manila envelope and looked up. “You see, I believe that when we’re children, we’re a whole lot closer to knowing our true hearts. As we grow up, real life can get in our way and set us on other paths. Now is the time to reconnect, to make changes. Now, before your official school days are over. Now, while you still have time to dream and plan.” Ms. Lola paused, gazing out over the group. Alexis could swear the teacher had tears in her eyes.

  Ms. Lola cleared her throat and opened the envelope. “I’ll say your name and read your note; then please come up and get your paper. Take it home and post it where you can see it throughout this school year. Perhaps it will serve as a stepping-stone for your future.”

  Alexis and Adam exchanged knowing looks. After the pain and uncertainty of Adam’s past several years, he deserved a bright future. Alexis longed to squeeze his hand for reassurance but knew that doing so would embarrass him. So she shifted forward in her chair and silently beamed him positive thoughts. Of course it will, Adam. And then, because she wanted it to be true so very much, she added, Please, God. Let it be so.

  TWO

  “What did you write down?” Sawyer Kennedy, Alexis’s boyfriend, asked when she arrived home from the ceremony. He was waiting for her out back on the deck area by the pool.

  Alexis plopped onto a lounge chair shaded by a colorful umbrella. “Something dumb,” she groaned. “Can you believe I wrote I want to help people?”

  “What’s so dumb? I think it’s nice.”

  “Puh-leeze. How vague is that?”

  Sawyer looked bewildered. “What did your brother write?”

  “That he wanted to be a fireman.”

  “What’s so different?”

  She unfolded the piece of wide-lined primary school paper and studied her neatly formed block letters. “At least being a fireman is a specific goal. What’s help people mean?”

  Sawyer grinned and tugged the paper gently from her fingers. “Do you want to be a fireman now too?”

  “Adam picked something concrete and achievable, and I turned into a space cadet. What would you have written down?”

  “That’s easy. I wanted to be a professional soccer player. Or a sex god.”

  She rapped her knuckles lightly against his skull. “Speaking of concrete . . .” She’d been dating Sawyer since the middle of their junior year, and she liked him, but he wasn’t deep or complicated, which sometimes frustrated her. She held out her hand. “My paper, please.”

  He grinned. “I’m holding it for ransom. Give me a kiss.”

  Usually she would have joked with him, but for reasons she herself didn’t understand, she felt out of sorts and downright cranky. Even though she and Adam had hung around eating and visiting with their former classmates after the readings, the time capsule ceremony had left her depressed. “The paper, Sawyer.”

  He held it out of her reach. “Kiss first.”

  “Don’t rip it. It’s been saved since the first grade. Now, give it to me.” Alexis knew her voice sounded sharp, but she couldn’t help it.

  Sawyer’s expression turned apologetic, like a scolded child’s. He stood, took a step forward, paused, then darted toward her, kissing her on the mouth before she had time to react. He placed the paper gently in her lap. “I was just teasing. Didn’t mean to rile you.”

  Feeling ashamed, she refolded the paper. “And I didn’t mean to snarl. Sorry.”

  He pulled her to her feet, stared deeply into her eyes. “It’s okay. I got my kiss.” His grin popped out like the sun peeking from behind dark clouds. “But then, I’m the fastest goalie in the county, so you shouldn’t be too surprised.”

  Alexis returned his smile. It was difficult to stay miffed at him. Besides, he’d done nothing wrong. “But not the most humble,” she teased.

  “Don’t need to be,” he said. “My girlfriend keeps me humble. Why, a guy would have to have rocks in his head not to love her. Or maybe concrete.”

  She wound her arms around his neck. “Oh, hush up and kiss me again,” she said.

  After Sawyer left, Alexis cased the kitchen, only to find a note from their mother: Your father’s working late. I’m showing a client a house. Order pizza if you want.

  Alexis didn’t want pizza, and not because that was what Ms. Lola had served at the picnic. She didn’t want pizza because this made the fourth time in one week that her parents had been too busy to be home at dinnertime. The big house was eerily quiet. Like dark fingers, long shadows were creeping through the large bay window, across the polished terra-cotta tile floor and over the kitchen table. The glass surfaces gleamed, meaning that the housekeeper had been in that day. The table’s centerpiece showcased plump glass and ceramic fruit i
n a massive pottery bowl. Not even the fruit’s real, Alexis thought. She balled up the note and heaved it into a trash basket.

  She became aware of a muffled but steady thumping sound. She knew just where it was coming from and went up the back staircase and down the hallway. She knocked on Adam’s bedroom door.

  “Enter,” he said.

  She did and found him stretched across his bed, his head propped on his book bag. He was tossing a baseball against the wall behind the door and catching it in his glove, something he did when he was either bored or deep in thought. She saw faint marks on the stucco wall behind the door where the ball had hit over and over throughout the years. “Mom and Dad won’t be home until late,” she said.

  “I read the note.”

  “I don’t want pizza. How about you?”

  “I’ll have a bowl of cereal later.”

  “I can fix us some soup.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not hungry.”

  Alexis shoved a pile of Adam’s clothes onto the floor from his desk chair and straddled it. “I can’t remember the last time we all sat down and ate a meal together,” she said. “It’s kind of funny, don’t you think? Usually families don’t eat together because the kids are too busy. But for us, it’s our parents who are never home.”

  Adam rolled onto his side and raised himself up on his elbow. “Maybe they’re avoiding us.”

  “Be serious. Doesn’t it bother you? Even a little?”

  “I ate a lot of hospital food by myself over the years, so no, I don’t need company to chow down. Besides, I’d rather eat alone than sit through one of their frosty silences at mealtime.”

  Alexis rested her chin on the top of the chair. “They don’t seem to have much to say to each other these days.” The admission squeezed her heart.

  “Unless they’re fighting,” Adam said. “Then they say plenty. At least they’re not fighting about me anymore. That’s a relief.”

  “You can’t help what happened to you, Adam. You didn’t ask to get sick.”

  “But I did get sick. And all those weeks and months of being in and out of hospitals over the years—well, it took its toll on them, and you know it. Took a toll on you too.”