Ivory Apples

by Lisa Goldstein

  A slow warmth rose up through me, a kind of happiness I’d never felt before. Piper’s happiness was wild, unstable, whirling from one thing to another. This was more like contentment, like a fire, and I was the fireplace. Was that really what she thought about me?

  Amaranth opened the oven door. “Why is this cabinet empty?” she said. “Do we need to get some more food? Dandelions—we’re out of dandelions, aren’t we?”

  “How is she?” Maeve asked, coming into the kitchen. “Oh. You are—I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

  “This is Judith,” I said. “And this is my aunt, Maeve. Adela Madden.”

  Judith actually blushed; it was astonishing to see. “Hello, Ms. Madden. I love Ivory Apples—it’s my favorite book in the world.”

  Maeve looked pleased too. Well, she hadn’t heard anyone praise her book for a long time, nearly fifty years. I’d shown her some of the more interesting letters, of course, and Philip had too, but it was a different thing to meet an excited fan in the flesh.

  Amaranth hurried into the dining room. “I’ll try to keep her out of trouble,” Maeve said. “It was good meeting you, Judith.”

  Judith watched her go. She looked as if she’d seen some fabulous creature, a unicorn maybe. This is what Maeve does, I thought. She brings wonder into even the most practical lives. I had a flash of empathy for Ms. Burden, just a tiny bit. I understood why she had devoted her life to getting that ability, that magic, for herself.

  Judith seemed to force herself back to the practicalities of her job. “Okay, well, let’s go sign the contract,” she said.

  We went back to the dining room and sat down. She didn’t leave after we finished our business, though; instead we talked about all kinds of things—other books we’d read as children or as adults, her family (mother and father, one older brother, no hidden groves or muses), the private investigator who’d trained her, the poems I’d published. She wanted to read some of them, but I felt shy suddenly and promised to email them to her instead.

  I got a glimpse of her watch and realized it was past time to go. “Oh, God—I have to pick up my sister from school,” I said, standing up.

  “Is it that late?” she said. “Damn, I have to go. Meanwhile, can you get your sister to draw a picture of Ms. Burden? And send me a scan of it?”

  “No scans, sorry—we’re pretty primitive out here. I can mail it to you, or drop it at your office the next time I’m in Eugene.”

  “I need it pretty soon. I’ll tell you what—if you find something, come to Eugene and we’ll go out for coffee.”

  “Sure,” I said, and we both left, heading back to the world and our obligations.

  It was funny, I thought as I drove to Woodbine, how much you had to pretend, even lie, at the beginning of a relationship. I couldn’t just say that I wanted to know her better, or that I’d like to get her to bed and unwrap her like a birthday present, which was how I really felt. We had to follow a ritual, act out a play about meeting for coffee, while we both kept up the pretense that it was the picture of Ms. Burden that was important.

  Maybe she wasn’t acting, though. Maybe she really just wanted coffee. But she’d been the one to come up with the invitation . . .

  I seesawed between these two choices all the way to the school. Was it me or the picture she was interested in?

  All this worry turned out to be unnecessary, though. Judith called that evening and told me she’d already found Ms. Burden’s address in Eugene.

  “Really?” I said. “How?”

  “Actually it was easy,” she said. “It was on her driver’s license.”

  “How’d you get her driver’s license?”

  “I have a source in the Driver & Motor Vehicles Services office. But if you want me to give up his name, forget it.”

  “No. No, that’s great.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I—you know, I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d find her so quickly.”

  “Hey, we do good work.”

  “Absolutely. Well, I guess I’m going to break into her house and get the apple back. Do you want to come with me?”

  There was a long silence on the other end. Finally she said, “I can’t do that, Ivy. I can’t do anything illegal, or I’ll lose my license. I can’t even plan anything illegal, so I’m going to pretend you never said that.”

  It was a rebuke. I hadn’t cared about criticism for so long that I’d forgotten how bad it could feel. And did this mean our business together was over?

  I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind. “So, do you still want to go out for coffee?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

  A huge heavy stone came crashing down on the seesaw, on the side that said that all of this was just business, and the person at the other end, the relationship end, went flying off into space, never to be seen again.

  CHAPTER 25

  BEATRIZ SLEPT OVER at our house several days later, one of the few times she stayed with us and not with her friends. I took her aside and told her what I wanted to do.

  She looked apprehensive, but the old excitement shone in her eyes as well, and maybe even a longing for our former closeness. “How come you didn’t tell me this before?” she asked.

  “You’re never here,” I said.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s true. You know, I gotta say that it feels good to be normal for a change. To have normal friends, and go over to normal houses for normal dinners . . .”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  She looked stricken. “God, I’m sorry. I know you do a lot of work around here, and I guess you gave up college for us—”

  “No, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. So, what do you think? I’ll watch her for a while, and then when school ends you can come with me.”

  “She still has those—those things, right?”

  “Yeah. But I told you—I know how to stop them. Or I could teach you how to do it.”

  She shuddered. “That wouldn’t help,” she said. “I don’t want to go anywhere near them. You can’t know how—what they’re like.”

  “I do, sort of. I was trapped with you for a while, remember.”

  “Not long enough.”

  “No, I know. Look—I can go myself.”

  “No, wait. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I want to help Rantha as much as you do. I just think I’d hold you back, that’s all.”

  “It would help me a lot if you came, actually.”

  We’d grown close in the past couple years, but I’d never said anything so supportive. She hurried on as if she hadn’t heard me. “I’ll think about it. I can’t do anything until school’s over, like you said.”

  The mention of school reminded me of something. “God, I forgot to ask—did you hear back from those colleges you applied to?”

  She nodded. “Some of them.”

  She was right, we were nothing like a normal family. Philip should have been helping her get ready for college, or Jane. I’d worked on the applications with her, but I should have been more involved, should have asked more questions. I’d been so worried about Amaranth, though, that I hadn’t given Beatriz much thought.

  I felt the dull pain of missing my parents, and guilt at how badly I was doing as a substitute. I made myself sit and talk about colleges for a while, hoping it would be enough.

  Maeve assured me she could keep an eye on Amaranth, so I drove to Ms. Burden’s house in Eugene. I parked down the street from her house and put my new binoculars on the seat next to me. Who needed a private investigator anyway?

  It was the warmest May anyone could remember; the car felt hot enough to grow orchids in. I cracked open a window and waited.

  Ms. Burden’s new house seemed in better repair than the old one. It had been freshly painted in pale purple, the color of grape gum with the flavor chewed out of it. The lawn, unlike most of the lawns on the street, had been watered regularly, and the bright green stood in co
ntrast to the neighbors’ patches of straw. It looked not so much trimmed as cultivated, so neat it might have been planted in rows, like crops. Even the brass doorknocker (a wreath of flowers, I saw through my binoculars) had been polished. Curtains covered the few windows, giving the house an inward, secretive look. A late-model Camry with a tinted windshield was parked in front of the house, probably the car that had followed us from the warehouse.

  At the beginning I’d braced myself for my first sight of her, but after a few hours I’d turned listless, all my emotions submerged in the heat. Then she stepped out the door and I felt a sudden chill at the back of my neck, as if someone had touched me there with an ice cube. She looked to the right and left and I ducked below the steering wheel, even though I was too far for her to possibly see me. When I straightened up, the Camry was driving away, fortunately in the opposite direction.

  She returned about an hour later. I waited until I had to pick up Beatriz from school, but she didn’t leave again.

  I watched her house for several weeks. I couldn’t bring a book because I’d get caught up in it, so I had only my thoughts for company, a dreary jumble of household chores and worries about Amaranth. A boring middle-class neighborhood stretched out in front of me, and the sun never relented, beating down on the houses, on the grass, on the car I sat in. Heat mirages wavered on the street.

  May slipped into June, and school ended. I could bring Beatriz with me now, but I still hadn’t found a pattern to Ms. Burden’s comings and goings, and it would be dangerous to break in without knowing when she might come home. Finally I decided to pick a time and hope for the best.

  It was just our luck that Ms. Burden never left the house while we were watching. The hot weather hadn’t broken, and we both usually wore shorts, our legs sticking uncomfortably to the plastic seats. Finally, about a week after Beatriz joined me, we saw her get into her car and drive away.

  I left the car quickly, feeling the cooler air with relief. Beatriz was still sitting on the passenger side, and I tugged her door open. “Come on!” I said.

  She seemed to make an effort and pulled herself out of the car. I hurried to the side of the house, trying not to look as if I was running.

  As I turned into the backyard I realized that Beatriz hadn’t followed me. I ran to the front of the house and saw her still on the sidewalk, staring up at the house with dismay.

  “Come on!” I said again. “Or go to the car and wait for me, one or the other.”

  She started around the corner. I grabbed her hand and pulled her along into the yard. The rear of the house stood before us, nearly blank, with no windows and one small door.

  “Now what?” Beatriz said.

  I didn’t know. I’d learned a lot about breaking into houses, but on the other hand Ms. Burden had probably learned a lot about security.

  I went to the door and turned the knob. It opened under my hand.

  “What did you do?” Beatriz asked, whispering.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  We stood still a while. Beatriz clearly didn’t want to go inside, and I was thinking that it was obviously a trap, like the gingerbread house in “Hansel and Gretel.”

  I had to do it, though. I stepped inside, quickly so I couldn’t change my mind, and Beatriz followed.

  I closed the door behind us, then fumbled for the light switch and turned it on. We were in the kitchen. It looked a lot like her last place, stark and uncluttered; the main difference was that the countertops had been upgraded from Formica to tile. A thin layer of dust covered everything, with smudges where she’d set something down or moved it. No doubt any cleaner she hired would run screaming when they heard the noises.

  At that thought I looked for a door leading into the basement, but I didn’t see one. Well, most houses in Eugene didn’t have them.

  A man’s voice sounded behind me. Beatriz screamed and I whirled around, my heart pounding so hard I couldn’t breathe. There was no one there. A light glowed on the counter. A boom box.

  I must have pressed the power button with my elbow. I turned it off and stood there awhile, feeling my pulse slow to normal.

  “God,” Beatriz said, trying to laugh.

  “God,” I said. It was stuffy in here as well; she must have never opened a window or turned on a fan.

  Beatriz left the kitchen. I wanted to take my time, to go through every drawer and cabinet, but I knew we had to hurry.

  I followed her down the hallway. She had already turned on the light in the next room. A bed stood against one wall, and there was a dresser holding a television and a computer on the opposite side. I went in and looked in the corners and under the bed, but I only saw more dust.

  Beatriz hadn’t followed me in. I headed back to the hallway and saw her looking into another room. There was only one window here, with a gray curtain that turned everything the color of ashes. The room seemed completely empty, but in the dim light it was hard to tell. A tumbleweed of dust rolled across the wooden floor, disturbed by our movements.

  “Come on, there’s nothing here,” she said.

  “One minute,” I said. I groped for a light switch, wanting to look into the shadowy corners, but I couldn’t find one. Beatriz grabbed my hand and towed me down the hall.

  We came to the living room. It looked like Ms. Burden’s last one, with only a few pieces of furniture and nothing on the walls.

  I started inside. A long howl came from somewhere, a high note falling lower and lower, as if dragged down by sorrow.

  “Fuck it,” Beatriz said. “I’m out of here.”

  Another howl joined the first, its notes wavering in counterpoint, and then a third. I shivered despite the heat; even my bones seemed to shudder. Sweat broke out at my hairline and under my arms.

  I recited the counter-spell as quickly as I could. One last howl frayed into whimpers and then stopped. Beatriz ran for the front door, and I heard the rattle of the doorknob.

  I forced myself to follow her through the living room. One of the walls opened up with the change of perspective, and I saw that it was really an alcove. It held a bookshelf stuffed with books, and something round and white on the bottom shelf.

  I grabbed it and hurried after Beatriz. The creatures were silent now, but I was still saying the counter-spell over and over like a prayer. I got to the door and pushed Beatriz out of the way, but I couldn’t open it either. I banged on it with my palm in frustration.

  “Here,” Beatriz said. She grabbed a key hanging on a hook near the door and fumbled it into the lock.

  For a heart-stopping moment the key didn’t move. I waited, my entire body tense, for the howls to return, and the mists, and the lies, and the monsters . . .

  The key turned, and Beatriz shoved the door open. We darted outside, slammed the door shut behind us, and ran down the street.

  We got into the car and I lunged out into traffic. I didn’t want to look away from the road, so I handed Beatriz the thing I’d stolen. “Just tell me that’s an apple,” I said.

  “Oh, thank God,” she said. “It is.”

  “One of Aunt Maeve’s?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. Though I don’t have them memorized or anything.”

  I waited until I stopped at a light before I looked at it. Beatriz hadn’t been certain, but I was; I’d spent enough time dusting them. It was the carved apple Amaranth had stolen.

  “We got it,” I said.

  I expected to feel triumph, satisfaction. Instead I was buzzing with fear and panic. I could still hear those howls behind me, growing louder.

  Beatriz was quiet as well, wrapped up in her own thoughts. I turned onto the highway and saw clouds massing in front of us; the weather was breaking, finally, though the inside of the car was still hot.

  We’d driven most of the way back before Beatriz spoke again. “Do you think the apple will help?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe. I mean, why else would Ms. Burden want it? Why did Rantha steal it?”
r />   I glanced at the apple again and realized that I hadn’t felt anything from it, no sign that it held any power that could help us. Well, but would I recognize its power, especially when Piper wasn’t here to help me?

  “I just don’t understand them,” Beatriz said. “Kate and Rantha, and you too. Who wants to have something inside you like that? Someone who never goes away? What if you want to be alone?”

  “It isn’t like that.”

  “That’s what it sounds like. It’s—I don’t know—it’s creepy. Like a stalker.”

  I tried to smile. “You’re the only one in the family who thinks so.”

  “Yeah, I know. The only normal one.”

  Our exit came up. I took it and drove through Woodbine, then onto the narrow road to Maeve’s house. Beatriz turned and looked behind us. “Oh, shit,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Is that her car?”

  I glanced in the rearview mirror. The sun was setting but I could still make out the car behind us, a gold Camry, this or last year’s model. She’d stayed well behind for most of the drive, probably, but here on this deserted road we were the only cars.

  “Shit,” I said. “Can you see her?”

  “No, the windshield’s too dark.”

  “It looks like hers. Like the car at her house.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  I didn’t know. She’d come back while we were inside her house, maybe, and followed us, but this time I wouldn’t be able to lose her. The road we were on led only to Maeve’s house, and the forest beyond that.

  I turned right and dove between the trees. The car shimmied and bucked, and I heard something break underneath us—branches, I hoped, and not some essential part of the car.

  “What are you doing?” Beatriz asked, startled.

  “Trying to lose her.”

  “She’s still there.”

  I looked back. She was following us through the trees, staying within the tracks we’d made but going slowly because her Camry didn’t have four-wheel drive. I grinned, thinking about how little she knew about driving up here; our car handled so much better than hers that it would be no problem to outrun her.