Things That Are (retail) Page 10

  I do.

  I do know what Bobby means.

  I hear him go down the steps and out the side door.

  And I reach around until I find the breakfast table, and then a chair.

  Because I need to sit down.

  I need to take some deep breaths.

  I need to stop feeling dizzy and scared.

  I’m scared because Bobby mentioned the FBI again. And even though I know he talked about thermal scanners so William will feel like he has to get in bed and stay there, it’s still true. A squad of agents really could be right outside, could come bursting in here any second.

  And I’m scared because Bobby and I had only about five minutes of whispering back at my house, five minutes to plan out this whole evening. And that wasn’t enough time, not really.

  I mean, I think we thought of everything. And I love feeling like we’re a team again.

  But the truth is, it’s impossible to think of everything.

  So that means I thought of everything I could think of, and Bobby did his best too.

  It’s the things we couldn’t think of.

  Those are the ones that scare me the most.

  chapter 17

  blood on snow

  I’m still sitting in the kitchen, and I’ve still got my coat on. Because William’s right. It’s freezing in Bobby’s house.

  I’d go upstairs and help, but I know Bobby doesn’t need me right now. He’s up there getting William’s bed ready, and I’d just get in the way.

  The bed.

  William’s got to stay in that bed, stay under that old electric blanket for most of the night—at least five hours, by Bobby’s estimate. Because tonight the upstairs guest room is the laboratory. And William is our invisible mouse.

  So I hope he’s really tired—how could he not be tired? I know how burned-out I get, day in and day out. And I’m guessing that the last few days must have been a lot more stressful for William than they’ve been for me.

  But that’s just a guess. One more among so many.

  One thing I know for sure—no way am I going to make it home by eleven. I need to stay here with Bobby, be ready to help. Just in case.

  I dig in my pocket and get out my phone.

  Because there are no guarantees here. If things go wrong, I need to be here…and there are so many things that could go wrong. I told Bobby I was in this all the way. So…really, I can’t go home until morning.

  Which means I need to stay right here. All night at Bobby’s.

  And his parents aren’t home. And my parents know that.

  And that’s why I’m dialing Daddy’s cell phone—instead of Mom’s.

  He picks up on the second ring, and I’m talking fast, before he can say a word.

  “Hi, Daddy. I wanted to let you know that we’re not going to a movie because Nancy called and asked me to come for a sleepover. So Bobby’s taking me over to her house, okay?”

  “Tonight? I don’t think this is the best—”

  “Really, it’ll be fine, Daddy. Because there’s no school tomorrow. It’s a three-day weekend.”

  “Well…I guess…all right. But don’t you to need to stop home first? Get your toothbrush and everything? And drop off Gertie?”

  “I’ll be fine, and Gertie’s got some food I left there at Nancy’s the last time.”

  “Okay then, but give us a call once you’re there. And I know your mom’ll want to talk to Mrs. Hamlin, all right?”

  “Sure, no problem. G’night, Daddy.”

  “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

  And the phone gives me its little “call ended” handshake.

  That was easy. Ridiculously easy. And Mom needing to talk with Mrs. Hamlin? I’ve got a way to deal with that.

  The fake sleepover is a really old trick, a classic. I’ve never used it before, but some of my friends have.

  But I’m not proud that it worked so easily. Because that just means my dad can’t imagine me lying to him. And it’s very sad that has to change.

  Because sooner or later, reality does occur, and when it does, all the lies show up.

  Like blood on snow.

  Such a cheerful image. I’m not cut out for this secret-agent stuff. It’s wearing me out, making me grim and morose. And also making me a liar.

  I hear Bobby walking toward the kitchen from the front of the house, and when he’s in the room, he says, “William asked if you’d come up there and talk to him a minute.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Don’t know.”

  I say, “Should I go talk to him? I mean…should I?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Bobby says. “Can’t hurt. But take Gertie with you, okay?”

  I nod. “Absolutely.” Then I say, “So…did you talk to him? Tell him what’s going on or anything?”

  “No—are you kidding? He shouldn’t know anything about the process. Or at least nothing specific. And we don’t want him to think that anything’s supposed to happen tonight. He’d just get all tensed up. And, anyway, we don’t know if this’ll even work. That blanket has been stuffed in a box in a hot attic for two years. Wires get old and brittle, plus the controller got banged around by the U.S. Postal Service from Chicago to Florida and back. And when I checked the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration website, the geomagnetic storm activity is only about three-fourths as strong now as it was the last time this worked. There are so many variables.”

  Bobby’s talking like his dad. Which he wouldn’t like to hear me say. Bobby’s about as fond of physics as I am.

  I say, “Do you think he’ll stay in the bed long enough? Like, what if he’s the kind of person who sleeps for only a few hours? And what if he turns off the blanket?”

  “That’s not happening” and I hear a smile in Bobby’s voice. “First of all, it’s really cold in his room, and that electric blanket is the only cover other than the sheet. And when he saw it on the bed, he said, ‘Fantastic! I love sleeping under an electric blanket.’ But we already knew that, right?”

  We did know that. Because sleeping under a particular kind of electric blanket that had a particular kind of malfunction when certain other conditions were just right—that’s what triggered William’s transformation, his disappearance. And the blanket on William’s bed tonight is the exact blanket that caused the same phenomenon to happen to Bobby. And then the same blanket also caused Bobby’s reversal. Because the identical stimulus seems to act like an on/off switch for the molecular modification.

  Listen to me—it’s Alicia Van Dorn, girl physicist. Daddy would be proud.

  Bobby goes on, “And about William wandering around the house? I guarantee he’s not leaving that room. I told him Gertie’s going to be out in the hall all night. And I told him about her bad temper, and how she bit me on the ankle, even showed him the scars—which happen to be from a bicycle accident when I was fourteen. But he doesn’t know that.”

  “You are mean, Bobby Phillips. Just plain mean. And devious too. Dangerously devious.” I’m laughing, but it strikes me that it’s true—the devious part. Because he just told another set of lies. We’re both turning into world-class liars.

  Bobby puts on a perfect British accent and says, “I’m only mean and devious when it’s absolutely necessary, my dear. So it would be best if you stayed on my good side.”

  Then he’s back to business, and the smile drains from his voice. “Listen, I told him you’d be right up. The shades are down and the drapes are closed, so I told him he could use the little lamp by the bed, and he’ll probably read awhile. But make it a short visit, okay? The sooner he calms down and dozes off, the better. I’ll be in the TV room. My mom and dad are probably gonna call me in a few minutes.”

  “Oh,” I say. “So they’re really calling you?”

  He says, “What—did you think I was making that up?”

  I shrug. “It sounded fishy, that’s all. Because they can call you anywhere on your cell phone, right?”

  “Wrong,” h
e says. “I’ve got the wrong kind of SIM card. So when they’re in Europe, we have to use land lines—Little Miss Paranoid.”

  I ignore the jab and say, “Well, you have to admit that there are a lot of lies floating around. It’s hard to keep track of what’s true anymore.” Then I give him a big smile. “And speaking of lies…remember Nancy’s mom? You’ve met her, right?”

  “Yeah…,” he says.

  “Good, because I need your skills. You have to give a little performance later as Mrs. Evelyn Hamlin, talk to my mom and tell her it’s all right that I’m having a sleepover at Nancy’s house tonight.”

  “Sheesh!” he says. “And you’re calling me devious? Like I said, I’ll be in the TV room. And if you hear weird sounds floating through the floor, that’ll be me, practicing my falsetto telephone voice. Now get up there and say nighty-night to William.”

  I salute. “Yes, sir.”

  Gertie’s still in full harness, and when I stand up, she turns, comes up under my left hand, and presents the handle perfectly. “Good girl. Gertie, forward…good girl.”

  And we’re through the kitchen doorway, then past the TV room, then walking straight through the living room toward the front stairs.

  When we get to the tile floor in the foyer, I’ll follow the wall around to the right, up the dark staircase, and then left to find the first doorway on the left—to pay a visit to the guest of honor.

  And I’ll talk to him a few minutes.

  And I’m going to see if I can do that without telling any lies.

  chapter 18

  confessions

  I knock on the door, and I’m sure he can hear the tentativeness in my little tapping. Because I don’t feel good about this. Not at all.

  “Come right in,” he calls, and when I’ve got the door open, he adds, “but…could you leave your dog out in the hall? I don’t think she likes me.”

  I smile at his concern, but there’s no way I’m being in the same room with this man without Gertie. Real trust has to be earned.

  “Don’t worry,” I say, “I’ll hang on to her. And it’s not personal—she’s just confused about you, about the way you look.”

  “That makes two of us,” he says.

  I’m glad he’s got a sense of humor. And I’m glad I’ve got one too. It’s one of the things that’s kept me sane these past three years. Or semi-sane.

  I say, “So, Bobby said you wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind,” he says, and the mattress creaks as he moves on the bed. “There’s a chair about two feet to your left.”

  As he speaks, I form a mental picture of him sitting there with his back against the headboard, wearing a pajama top that’s too big for him. And there are no hands coming out of the sleeves, and the neck hole is empty—or that’s the way it looks. The way it would look. If I could see him—I mean, not see him.

  I find the chair and sit. Bobby wasn’t kidding. It’s cold in here.

  “Gertie, down…good girl.” She drops to her stomach, but then inches forward at the bed until I tug on the harness. “Gertie, stay… good girl.”

  “Really,” he says, “I just wanted to thank you again for letting me into your home earlier. You didn’t have to do that. And I know it was a risk. So, thank you.”

  I nod. “You’re welcome.” Then I say, “Is there a light on? I mean, could you see me nod my head just then? Probably sounds like a stupid question.”

  “Not at all—and yes, there’s a small reading lamp here beside me. The room’s not bright, but I can see you. And the dog.”

  I don’t know what to talk about, so I ask the first question that pops into my thoughts. “So what did you do in New York when it got this cold outside?”

  “I stayed in hotels, mostly. Sometimes in a lobby, sometimes in an empty room. I’d follow a housekeeper into a room, stay out of the way until she was done cleaning, then lock myself in with the dead bolt. If a guest showed up later, their keys wouldn’t work. And by the time the maintenance person showed up the next day to repair the lock, I’d be gone. I watched a lot of movies. And I started reading the Bible again—there’s one in every room, you know. I also ate a lot of minibar snacks.”

  “Sounds sort of fun.”

  “Maybe for week or two. But I can tell you, it’s no way to live. I eventually started squatting in an empty apartment. Still not much of a life, but it was sort of a reliable home base—until Robert spotted me.”

  I feel a current of anger there, and I want to keep away from anything that will upset him, so I keep the conversation moving. “And you stayed in New York for two years?”

  “Two years, six months, and five days. Marooned on the island of Manhattan.”

  “But you could have gone anywhere, right? Why did you stay there?”

  “I actually love the place. I’d been teaching at a university in Montreal, and I’d only been to New York twice before this happened. So I went, and I stayed. Best museums in the world—I love museums. And the plays, the Broadway shows, basketball games at Madison Square Garden, baseball at Yankee Stadium—endlessly interesting city, and all of it for free. If one must float about as a ghost, I can think of far worse places to be.”

  “Did you ever just want to walk into a hospital and ask for help? With the…condition?”

  “Absolutely, but I always concluded that to be the focus of what would surely become a huge research project—that would be unendurable.”

  “And you didn’t try to figure it out yourself? Because Bobby and his dad…” and I catch myself. Not supposed to talk about that.

  But he sees where I was going, and says, “I was not so fortunate as to know a genius physicist in whom I could place complete trust. And I am not a math person or a science person. I am a words person, a literature professor. So the short answer is no, I had no idea about even where to begin to track down a cause.”

  “So you just kept going,” I say, “one day at a time.”

  He doesn’t answer right away. It’s because of the way I said that.

  Then, “Yes. I think you understand what that’s like.”

  I say, “But at least I can hang out and talk to people. I’m kind of freaky, but I’m not, like, science-fiction freaky or anything. Didn’t that kill you, not talking to people?”

  “Oh, I talked to plenty of people. Especially priests. I used to go to St. Patrick’s Cathedral almost every Saturday for confession. I’m not a Catholic, but I know how the system works. I’d wait around until there was no one in the queue, then I’d slip into a booth, pull the curtain, and whisper, ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.’ And then I could talk about anything. If I wanted to talk about a Knicks game, I’d say something like, ‘When I was at the basketball game the other night and the Knicks were losing, I started wishing the Lakers guard would fall down and break his leg—was that a sin?’ And then we’d have a good long talk about the game. New York priests love sports. I went to a lot of churches, all over the city, all kinds of churches. Slept in some too. I tried to go to a different church every Sunday. And I listened. But still, I listened by myself. I guess I’m just not cut out to spend this much time alone. I don’t think anyone is. It’s why people go crazy when they’re in solitary confinement too long.”

  In the quiet room, a memory floods my thought. And I feel like it’s okay to tell him about it. And I feel like it’s my turn to talk.

  “About three months after I lost my sight, my mom announced that we had to go and buy me some new clothes. I’ve always loved shopping for clothes, but the fact that I was never going to be able to pick out my own things again—it was like being stabbed in the heart. And I got angry, swearing and everything. But I went to Water Tower Place with her, and we went to this really nice store, a lot nicer than the places she buys her own clothes. But after about an hour I got fed up with my mom, fed up with the feeling of helplessness, and I refused to try on another thing. I snapped my white cane open and I tapped my way out of the store. Mom cau
ght up and guided me to a bench, and she made me promise I’d stay put while she finished up in the store. And I did. And while I was sitting there, I heard someone come and sit down a foot or two away, on the same bench. And then there was a voice, a woman, and she said, ‘I’m so glad to find you here today. I love talking to blind people. I go to the Chicago Lighthouse for the Blind once a month and I just talk and talk and talk. Nobody listens to me like blind people do—not even the priests.’ That’s exactly what she said. And in the years since then, I can’t tell you how many strangers have come up and just started talking to me. It’s like a free visit to a shrink. Or a priest. Because there’s no risk. I’m not a threat. And I know that’s why Bobby talked to me when we first met. A long time ago. And it’s maybe why you talked to me in the library today. And why you came to my house.”

  And suddenly I’m embarrassed. I’ve said too much.

  I’ve still got hold of Gertie’s handle, and I can feel her sniffing, then pulling forward toward William’s bed again. “Gertie, stay…good girl.” And to get the focus off me, I say, “So what kind of sermons did you hear? When you visited all those churches.”

  “Pretty much the same thing everywhere. Be kind. Love your neighbor. Don’t kill or lie or cheat or steal. And it’s all true, and I think everyone knows that. It’s the doing. The hard part is the doing.”

  A question forms in my mind, and I know I’m moving into dangerous territory here, but I ask it anyway. I have to. “Bobby told me that when he first met you, he thought you were a creep, sort of a psycho. How come? Because you don’t seem that way at all to me.”

  He pauses, takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. When he talks, I hear such deep sadness.

  “Thank you for that very great compliment. Most of what I said to Robert was made up, for effect. Fiction comes easily for me. I was trying to scare him into giving me information—a stupid ploy. But I did actually do some of the things I described to him, like spying on people. But only at the beginning. That’s partly why I began going to those churches. I wanted to clean up my life, clean up my mind. I needed to reclaim my good name.”