“All right. All right,” she said, when she couldn’t stand it anymore. “I said I believed you. I promised I’d help. I’m in, okay? I’m in—Lord help me.”
20
The new people’s visits had become increasingly unpredictable. They could show up anytime during the evening. Sometimes, they’d stay for just a few minutes; at other times, they’d settle in for an hour or two. The one thing for certain was that once they left, they didn’t return again that day.
Simon decided that the best time for him and Abbey to carry out their plan would be shortly after they’d left one night. Since that might be as late as midnight, Abbey insisted it be on a weekend.
While they waited for their opportunity, Simon put together the supplies they’d need. He found a couple of old gardening trowels hanging on the wall in the garage among his Granddad’s tools, and an old canvas rucksack to carry them in.
He thought about bringing a flashlight, but some neighbor might notice the light and call the police. Since the glow from the streetlamps was too weak to illuminate the yard, they would have to wait for a clear night and rely on the moon for light. Meanwhile, there was nothing to do but wait.
The first weekend was gray and rainy. Apart from the want of a moon, it wouldn’t do for them to be out digging in the mud. There was always a chance that either of them might be caught creeping back into their house afterwards. And muddy clothes would certainly give the game away.
He grew increasingly anxious with each passing day. It was just a question of time before the new people moved in. He spent his evenings awaiting their arrival, then stationed himself at the window and watched to see if anything they were doing might offer a clue to how close they were.
The woman walked in front in her regal way, while the man tagged along behind. They brought brooms and dustpans with them, mops and pails and cleaning supplies. It was clear they were readying the house for the move.
The following weekend the weather was clear and the moon was full. Abbey agreed it was now or never. They settled on Saturday night. That afternoon, with time heavy on their hands, they met at the park with Babs and Max. The kids came in their bathing suits and splashed in the pool. He and Abbey shed their shoes and waded barefoot round the rim, watching them. They bought soft serve cones from an ice-cream truck for everyone. The afternoon flew by without a hint of a cloud in the clear blue sky. There wasn’t a word between them about what lay ahead that night, until they were saying their goodbyes.
“Say bye-bye to Max, Babs,” said Simon. Babs pulled her hand free of his and ran over to Max. She planted a big sticky kiss on his cheek.
Max looked up at Abbey.
“Wasn’t that nice?” she said. “Do you want to give Babs a good-bye kiss?”
He ran over and gave Babs a kiss back, then turned and started running off through the park.
“Bye, Babs,” said Abbey, chucking her chin. Turning to Simon, she brought the first cloud of the day. “You’re sure about tonight?” she said.
“Surer than I’ve ever been.”
She made a brave stab at a smile. “I’ll be waiting for your call,” she said and started after Max.
Simon took Babs’ sticky hand in his and clung tight to it all the way home.
* * *
It was after eleven when he made the call. The new people had been at the house a little more than an hour, and had just left. Abbey answered on the first ring.
“Is that you, Simon?” she whispered into the phone. “Look, my folks were out and just got home. I’ll come as soon as they’re settled.”
“Wrong number,” he heard her say as she hung up.
He pulled the knapsack out from under his bed and stationed himself at the window to wait. He could hear Babs turning in her sleep in the next room. He prayed she wouldn’t wake up with a bad dream tonight of all nights and disturb Mom and Dad, who were already safely tucked in for the night.
Twenty minutes crawled by. Drifts of cloud sailed the night sky, periodically obscuring the moon, turning the night pitch dark. He was hanging his head out the open window, nervously scanning the sky, when a dark car drew quietly up to the curb in front of the Hawkins house. He ducked back inside and dropped down below the window. They had come back!
For a long minute there was absolute silence. Then he heard the light click of the car door opening. Peeking out the window, he saw the man sprint up the porch steps and head back into the house.
He crept to the far corner of the window and looked down the street as far as he could see. There was still no sign of Abbey, but any moment now she might come strolling out of the gloom into the glow of the streetlights.
As he looked back at the old house a light came on upstairs in the study. It spilled down into the yard, etching a pattern of windowpanes on the grass, as though a light had gone on underground. He saw a lean shadow flit there as the man moved about the room.
Tearing his eyes away, he looked down the block again—just as Abbey appeared in one of the pools of light strung like pearls along the street. She was still too far off for him to warn her. Along she came, casting her shadow before her and reeling it in as she passed from one pool to the next.
She would expect him to be out waiting by the bushes in front of his house as they’d arranged. As she neared the house, she noticed he wasn’t there. He could sense her confusion as she suddenly slackened her pace and hung back in the shadows, wondering what was wrong.
Look up, he willed with all his might.
Across the street, the windows in the grass went dark as the lights in the study went out. Abbey started walking slowly toward Simon’s house again. When she reached the lane, she turned and looked down it, checking to see if he might be there. He quickly poked his head out the window.
“Abbey,” he whispered, as loud as he dared.
She looked up.
“Get down,” he said with a desperate downward motion of his hand, and had time to see her duck behind a bush by the entrance to the lane just as the front door of the Hawkins house swung open, and the man came out carrying a box.
Simon yanked his head back inside and stepped to the side of the window, watching as the man hurried down the walk to the car, opened the passenger door, and put the box in. As he circled round to the driver’s side he scanned the street up and down, then paused and took a long look down the lane. He started slowly across the road toward it. He got about halfway, when suddenly the tomcat with the torn ear burst from the shadows and raced down the street. The man followed it intently with his eyes, then turned and hurried toward the car. He slid in, started up the engine, and drove off down the street.
Abbey was still hiding behind the bushes when Simon stole out the window and down the trembling trellis a couple of minutes later.
“It’s okay, Abbey,” he whispered. “You can come out now.”
“Was that the guy?” she asked, her eyes wide with alarm. Simon nodded.
“He’s a little scary, Simon. No—a lot scary. Geez, I thought I’d die when he started walking my way. You said they were gone.”
“They were. For some reason, he came back.”
“You said they never came back.”
“Yeah, well, this time he did. I’m sure he won’t be back again.”
“Yeah,” she said, and took a long look down the street.
“You ready?” he said.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Keeping to the shadows, they slipped down the street a ways and scooted across. Hunkering down beside parked cars, they approached the Hawkins house. On Simon’s cue, they scurried up over the lawn. He reached up through the hole in the gate and felt for the catch. A moment later, they were in.
They squatted out of sight against the fence boards as they caught their breath and waited for their eyes to adjust to the dark. Pale shafts of light from the streetlamps se
eped between the boards and died on the grass. A ghostly fleet of clouds sailed across the face of the moon. As they drifted off, the yard was bathed in sudden silver light.
“Over there,” he said, pointing. “That bit of the garden below the window is where I saw the glint.” Reaching into the rucksack, he took out the trowels. “I thought we’d be working together, but after what happened, maybe it’s better to do it in shifts. One of us will stay here by the fence to keep an eye on the street, while the other digs. I’ve got a pretty good idea of where it is, so I’ll go first.”
“And what’ll we do if I see the guy come back?”
“I don’t know. Run, I guess.”
“And just how far are you going to run, Simon?”
“He won’t come back,” he said after a pause.
“Yeah—but if he does?”
The old lilac bush where Simon had rooted around for the lost ball that day stood in the corner of the yard just inside the fence. It was in full flower now, the lush blooms luminous in the moonlight, the yard steeped in their scent.
“We can hide in there,” he said, nodding toward it, “till he goes inside the house. Then we’ll slip out.”
Abbey looked doubtful. She turned and crept along the fence into the corner, disappearing into the deep shadows massed behind the bush. There was a long silence, then the fence quaked a little and he heard a faint creak. Abbey crept back.
“There’s room there for both of us,” she said. “I checked the fence boards. One of them was loose. I was able to push the bottom out with my foot. The gap’s wide enough for us to squeeze through if we need to.”
Another flotilla of clouds had drifted in, plunging them once again into darkness. Simon waited for it to clear, and then stole across the damp grass to the edge of the garden below the window. Squatting by the fence, Abbey pressed her eye to a gap between the boards. She gave the sign that all was clear, and he sank the trowel into the crusted soil.
It had all seemed so simple in his mind. The moon would be shining; they would slip in quickly, unearth the mirror he was sure lay buried there, and then steal easily away. It didn’t seem so simple anymore. He dug around blindly in the dark as the clouds rolled in again. He’d been sure he knew the exact spot. But as the minutes passed, and he plunged the trowel repeatedly into the stubborn soil and struck nothing but dirt, he began to doubt.
Each time the clouds cleared and the moon showed its face, he looked hopefully for the telling glint he’d seen from across the street. But there was nothing. He glanced up at the window to get his bearings and gasped as a ghostly face peered back. But it was only the moon reflected in the glass.
His breath came short and sharp; his meager store of strength began to wane, and fatigue swept over him like a dark cloud. The trowel seemed pitifully small, the garden impossibly large. He had worked an area no more than four feet square, and had turned up only a few bits of broken glass, remnants from the window that crashed to the ground when Mr. Hawkins had his fall.
The whole mad plan seemed suddenly overwhelming. He sank back exhausted on his heels, sweat streaming down his face, and looked over at Abbey hunched up by the fence. He saw the concern on her face as she looked back and motioned him over.
“What is it, Simon?” she said as he sat down heavily beside her and leaned against the fence.
“I can’t find it,” he said, feeling breathless and faint. “It’s not where I thought it would be. Perhaps we should just pack it in and leave. Maybe you were right, and the glint I saw was just from one of these.” He opened his hand and showed her the shards of glass he had dug up, knowing even as he did that these dingy things could never have reflected the light he’d seen.
She read him like a book. “Not so fast, Simon,” she said. “We’re not leaving yet. Not after all this. You said this was our only chance, remember? Stay here and rest awhile, and I’ll have a try. Where should I dig?”
“Try a little farther along,” he said. “Closer to the house.”
“Got it.” She scooted across the grass, found a spot, and set to work.
Simon leaned against the fence and squinted through the gap at the dark, silent street. He heard a dull insistent thud in his ears and looked anxiously up and down the street for any sign of the car. But as the seconds passed and the street was still, he realized the thud he heard was the hammering of his heart.
The clouds sailed off, and the moon shone clear. In the soft, dreamlike light that washed the yard, he watched as Abbey probed the ground with the trowel, carefully turning the soil, working slowly toward the wall of the house. Finding nothing, she moved a little further along and began again. She worked steadily, without pausing to catch her breath or glance back at him.
He felt the light breeze on his face as it whispered through the gap in the fence, the damp grass against his legs. He looked across at his house, pictured Mom and Dad and Babs wrapped safely in sleep, while he and Abbey were abroad in the night, actors in this waking dream that had spun itself around the Hawkins house.
And then he heard it—an unmistakable metallic ring as Abbey’s trowel struck something buried in the soil. He glanced over and saw her straighten up in surprise as she yanked out the trowel and looked back at him with wide, startled eyes.
In she went again, carefully now, feeling for the edge of whatever it was she’d struck. He watched her patiently clear away the soil, his excitement mounting till he could hardly contain himself. She laid the trowel aside and used her hands to brush the dirt away. Whatever it was lay shallow in the soil, close by the house, just past the window.
She sat back on her heels a moment, then reached in with both hands, and with one smooth motion, pulled the mirror free. It glimmered in the moonlight—a second moon held aloft in her hands. He heard a high faint cry, then realized with a shock it had come from him. Tears began to trickle down his cheek as some long-pent emotion was suddenly set free.
He scooted across the grass to her side. His hands shook as she handed him the mirror. He studied it back and front. It seemed unharmed by the long months spent under the ground. As he held it before him the bright face of the moon was mirrored in its depths.
Abbey carefully smoothed the soil where they’d been digging, patting it down with the flat of the trowel until it showed no signs of having been disturbed. She feathered the grass where they had knelt, erasing all traces of their presence there.
Simon tucked the trowels into the knapsack and slid the mirror in carefully alongside. They crouched by the fence and peered through the boards at the silent street.
“Are we going to put it in the garage?” she asked.
“No, I’m not letting it out of my sight.”
“You’re sure? Your folks are bound to see it and ask questions.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep it safely hidden.” He took one last look at the empty street. “Ready?”
She nodded her head.
Silent as shadows, they slipped from the yard and retraced their path up the street. They stood tucked in the shadows between streetlights.
“Try and get some rest, Simon. I’ll come by as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Abbey. I’d never have found it without you.”
“We’re in this together, remember?” She looked one last time up and down the street. “Okay, I’m off,” she said and scampered off into the night.
He watched till she was out of sight. Then he slipped across the road and along the street to his house. He clambered back up the trellis and through the open window without disturbing the sleepers, and silently readied himself for bed in the moon-washed room.
Loosening the neck of the knapsack, he slid the mirror out. It shone with an internal light. The sight of it woke a memory. He was looking at it lying on the table between him and Mr. Hawkins. He could almost see the old man sitting opposite him now, hear his voice sounding in the room
.
He took the mirror and slid it under his mattress at the head of the bed. Crawling beneath the sheets, he closed his eyes and dropped almost instantly into a deep sleep. All night long, he crouched by the fence in the dream-lit yard, peering nervously through the gap for signs of the sleek black car.
21
On Monday, Abbey came by, math text in hand, to quiz Simon for the final exam next week.
“So where’d you hide it?” she asked as she closed his door quietly behind her.
He slid the mirror out from under the mattress.It was the first time Abbey had seen it in the light of day. She turned it back and front, buffed it on the sleeve of her shirt till it gleamed. She held it up in front of her and ran her eyes over it.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, “but I can’t see anything magical about it.”
“Sometimes it’s there, and sometimes not,” he said. There was dirt caked in the folds of the figure that formed the handle and the design of the eye incised on the face. She picked at it with her fingernail. As she went to hand the mirror back to him Simon caught sight of his reflection in its polished surface.
A figure peered one-eyed over his shoulder.
He whirled around—just as Abbey let go of the mirror, thinking he had it. It fell with a clang to the floor.
“Everything all right up there?” Mom called up the stairs.
“Just dropped a book,” he said, scooping up the mirror and sliding it back under the mattress. There was a dint in the hardwood where the mirror had struck it edgewise. He slid the fringe of the rug over it as Mom’s footsteps sounded on the stairs.
When she opened the door, they were sitting by the window, poring over the math text. “Would either of you like something to eat?” she asked. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for signs of damage.
“No, we’re fine,” they said, feigning innocence as they looked up from the book.
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