by Amy Ephron
Tess looked down to confirm there was no sign of the little terrier, at all. And oddly, or not so oddly, Adele had a pink satin headband in her hair with a pink bow angled at the side.
“All right, then,” said Adele, “I thought you might need some looking after,” she said.
Tess had to admit that might be true.
Adele led Tess to the couch and asked Tess to sit down with her.
Tess sat quietly, not saying a word, while Adele took a good long look at “the person who used to be Max.”
The boy was standing, very still. He’d put his boots back on. His posture was almost perfect. The look he was giving Adele back was very strange.
The rain had stopped. As if in an instant, the sky had cleared again and there was a view of the moon, almost full, from the top pane of glass in the French doors that led out to the garden and a star shining brightly just above the moon.
Tess wanted to ask Max if the star above the moon was the planet Venus? Max would know the answer to that.
But “the person who used to be Max” announced, as if he was bored with both of them, “I’ll be out in the garden.” He opened the door and walked out, carefully shutting the door behind him.
Tess didn’t tell him to put his coat on. If it was cold, he could figure that out for himself. The rain did seem to have stopped.
The moment the door to the garden shut, Adele said to Tess, “I had a feeling he was going to do this one day.”
~ CHAPTER NINETEEN ~
trying to get to the truth of the matter
I’m not imagining it then, am I?” asked Tess.
“No, my dear,” said Adele.
“I would think that he would be afraid of you, though,” said Tess, “since you know the truth . . .”
Adele cut in, “Afraid of me? No. Afraid of you, maybe,” she added.
“Me?” said Tess as if the idea of that was laughable. I mean, Tess reasoned, she was on to him and she was good at playing “the game,” as she’d started to call it—catching him on things that were particularly, absolutely, definitively not Max-like. But she also felt she might be playing out of her league. That Colin or “the person who used to be Max” was the one who was actually frightening.
“Yes, afraid of you,” said Adele,
“Why?” asked Tess. “Why would he be afraid of me?”
“Because you’re the only one who can help him, my dear, and I think he’s afraid that you won’t.”
She looked out the window and saw “the person who used to be Max” swinging on an old-fashioned swing hanging from the white birch tree, framed perfectly in the night light. Tess had never noticed the swing before, but she hadn’t spent a lot of time in the garden.
“If he wants me to help him, he’s certainly going about it in a strange way,” said Tess. And then she asked Adele, “Help him, how?”
Adele hesitated before she answered, “You’re the only one who can put him back on solid ground.”
“I have no idea how I could help him do that? Can you tell me, at least, how I might do that?” she asked Adele, letting her frustration show for a minute.
But when she looked over at Adele to hear her answer, no one was there. Instead, nuzzling at her feet was the white terrier Princess, the pink satin bow tied into a tuft of hair right above her forehead, like a ponytail, sticking straight up.
Tess resisted the impulse to say something irritable to the white terrier. In truth, she was a little scared of Adele. Especially since she apparently could morph from being a perfectly adorable terrier named Princess to the seer named Adele. Tess did wonder what else she could do. And why she wouldn’t help her with Colin.
As Tess watched “the person who used to be Max” swinging on the old-fashioned swing hanging from the birch tree, she could hear him sing a song that sounded old-fashioned, as if it could be accompanied by a chorus, if there were one around, something about “angels dancing in the sky.”
It certainly wasn’t a song Tess had ever heard before.
Well, at least he was singing about angels. It could be worse, she reasoned. It could be a lot worse. . . .
Tess put her hand down and scratched the top of Princess’s head.
And there was another knock at the door. Tess answered it, without even thinking. It was the piano player, the gentleman she’d run into in the lobby. He was wearing a topcoat and a hat. “You haven’t seen—” but before he could finish Princess ran up to him, waving her tail. “I had a feeling you were going to check on the children.
“Thank you for looking after her, my dear,” he said to Tess, echoing the term of endearment that Adele had just used.
“Umm, you’re welcome,” said Tess who wasn’t quite sure how she should answer. “Any time.” She looked deeply into the terrier’s dark almond-colored eyes and Princess stared intensely back at her. It was strange. It was a look of understanding and, Tess didn’t want to add, sympathy, more like the way you look at someone when you want to encourage them or believe in them, as if you’re proud of them. It reminded her of the way her dad looked at her sometimes.
“You little muffin,” he said to Princess and picked the terrier up in his arms. “You know you’re not supposed to go running off by yourself.” And he walked away leaving Tess to wonder what exactly had just happened.
She locked the door from inside. And before she could even make it to her bedroom to try to decide what dress she should put on (she thought she should dress for dinner since they were eating in the dining room at the hotel and her parents were arriving which in some ways was an extremely comforting thought), there was another knock at the door. But this one was insistent, quite forceful in fact. Three knocks.
Tess walked back to the door and called out, “Who’s there?”
“Yoo hoo,” was the answer in Aunt Evie’s pleasantest voice.
And Tess opened the door again. And Aunt Evie walked into the room.
As she did, “the person who used to be Max” walked in from the garden and said, as if on cue, “Oh, Aunt Evie, is it that late already? Have our parents come? Is it time to dress for dinner? Is it all right if I wear a white button-down shirt with cufflinks?”
Max had never had cufflinks before. At least not any that Tess had ever seen or knew about.
Before Tess could interject, Aunt Evie said, “I’m afraid—” she hesitated as she was upset about this, too. “I have a bit of bad news. So many planes were delayed, that your parents weren’t able to get on one today. . . .”
Tess felt another tear drop from her right eye. She wiped it away. She was kind of counting on her mom and dad this time. She wasn’t sure she was up to this.
Aunt Evie’s voice got softer. “The network got them on a plane tomorrow though. Guaranteed! Your dad wanted to drive. Can you imagine?”
“It’s an eleven-hour drive,” said Tess. “Max looked it up. Actually, eleven and a half.”
“The person who used to be Max” didn’t say anything except, “I’ll save the cufflinks for tomorrow, then. How do you feel about the blue shirt I have, with the white collar, Tess?”
Tess thought to herself, What blue shirt with what white collar? But out loud she said, “That would be lovely.” She realized she’d started it this time, with the comment about the length of the drive, but she also realized it might not be the best strategy to play the game right now.
Tess walked into the bedroom, shut the door, took her blue denim dress out of the closet and her black patent leather sandals. She reminded herself to breathe. She couldn’t help it: the breath came out sort of as a sigh.
She looked over at the dresser and for reasons that she couldn’t explain, went into the dresser drawer and took the cat’s eye marble out from behind her socks where she’d hidden it. She set it down on the bedside table, still wrapped in the lace handkerchief. She put on the blue denim dres
s. And she carefully dropped the cat’s eye marble, still wrapped in the lace, into the front right pocket of her dress.
She put her hand on her hip, so that her fingers were over the pocket and she felt a spark, a strange warmth coming, she suspected, from the marble. Somehow, it gave her a feeling of strength, empowerment, although she had no idea what that could mean or how it could be used.
She couldn’t help but remember the first thing Adele had told her. You already know this, but there’s something on the other side of the wall.
Did she? Did she already know it? Taking a page from her dad’s handbook, “Take a moment to assess the situation,” Tess tried to think of what she really did know.
~ CHAPTER TWENTY ~
in which tess attempts to assess the situation
All during dinner, that’s what she did.
First, Tess insisted—very politely, of course, saying please, after she saw that the table was empty—that the maître d’ seat them at the table they’d sat at when she’d first seen the boy sitting alone having tea; the boy who they’d later met in the library; the boy who told them his name was Colin; who invited them up to the 8th floor to his mother’s apartment where she was having that amazing party; the boy who. . . . Tess didn’t want to finish that sentence.
“We’ve come to think of it as our family table,” Tess told the maître d’.
This wasn’t the only reason. She was trying to follow another one of her father’s rules. If you get lost go back to where you started, if you can. He always added that part, if you can. And Tess reasoned that was where it started, when she saw the boy sitting at the table behind her.
Tess noticed that table was empty, too.
“Aunt Evie,” she said. “Would you mind if I sat on this side tonight?” Tess wanted a clear view of the table.
The maître d’ tried to hide his smile as he pulled the chair out ceremoniously for Aunt Evie to sit down where Tess had directed her.
“We’ve also become very fond of Fredrik,” Tess added. “He’s always so nice to us.” Fredrik was the hovering waiter, who Tess hadn’t liked until he rescued the cat named Ginger and Tess realized the only reason he hovered was because he wanted them to be happy.
“I hereby declare this your family table,” said the maître d’. “But Sunday is Fredrik’s day off. And you will be served tonight by Sonya who I’m quite certain you’ll like just as much.”
Tess wasn’t sure of that. Fredrik was funny, and they’d developed a sort of cozy relationship. And Sonya was a frighteningly fierce-looking woman, tiny, her long dark hair pulled back in a bun, with dark piercing eyes (that weirdly reminded Tess of Adele’s).
Sonya had an extremely deep voice. And when she rolled the prime rib over to slice it for them she displayed skills that were magician-worthy. In fact, she put on quite a show with the carving knife, tossing it up in the air and twirling it four times in between each slice, which in itself was terrifying. Tess decided Sonya could probably hit anything if she aimed for it.
Tess resolved to be extra polite to Sonya and to keep her distance, too. But when she asked whether she might have honey with her Yorkshire pudding, Sonya laughed so heartily, and suggested butter as well, that Tess decided maybe she liked Sonya, too.
Tess kept glancing at the table behind Aunt Evie. Nothing. Just a white tablecloth and nobody there.
“The person who used to be Max” ate very little. Tess decided not to assess whether “Max” used more horseradish than usual on his prime rib, except he did. They split a prime rib dinner, as they always had. And split a baked potato. Tess couldn’t help but notice that “the person who used to be Max” did not put chives on his baked potato or load it up with sour cream the way Max always had. Aunt Evie noticed it, too, and asked him if he was on a diet. But “Max” answered, “No, just feeling a little woozy, I’m not sure why.” That sounded like Max.
Tess glanced over at the other table again which was suddenly set for four. It was so odd. Tess hadn’t seen anyone come to set it. Maybe she’d been paying attention to Sonya’s spinning knife show.
There was a lit candelabra in the center of the table, with six elegant candlesticks, ivory-colored, the flames burning faintly, casting an old-fashioned glow. There were two crystal champagne glasses at two of the settings and two matching crystal tumblers, the shape of a glass for water or juice, at the other two. Silver forks, a knife, and a spoon at each place setting.
Inadvertently, Tess put her hand in her pocket and found the glass marble and held on to it. For a moment, Tess was sure she saw four people sitting there, a well-dressed woman who looked a lot like Colin’s mother, a well-dressed gentleman who might in fact be his father, a young girl who looked like Elizabeth, Colin’s eight-year-old sister, and a boy who definitely looked like Colin, all delicately eating triangles of toast which seemed to be topped by thinly sliced smoked salmon. The woman tousled Colin’s head, the way their mom used to sometimes with Max right before she sent him off to school.
Tess heard a piano playing. She turned and saw a black baby grand piano in the corner of the lobby. The top was up, and it was so shiny you could practically see your reflection in it, even from a distance. The melody was catching, almost hip hop but bluesy. The piano player had his bowler hat on and just at his feet underneath the piano was the terrier Princess sitting on a pink satin pillow as if it was her special place. The piano player was accompanied by a young female violinist, whose ability to hit a single note and hold it was almost like a percussion note to the bouncy blues-like song, if a blues-like song can be bouncy. The singer was there, too, and all Tess could catch of the lyrics was something like:
Dancin’ into the night now,
Dancing into the night.
I see. I see.
But I’m not sure you want me to tell you what I see . . .
It started out all light and airy, but the last lyric sounded almost like a warning.
Before she could direct Aunt Evie’s attention to the lobby, Tess turned back to the table. For a moment, there were only three people there. Colin’s mother and what Tess thought was his father and his sister Elizabeth. The boy who might be Colin wasn’t at the table any more. And the table was only set for three.
Tess shut her eyes and grabbed the marble tightly as she heard the song lyric repeat again . . .
I see. I see.
But I’m not sure you want me to tell you what I see . . .
She opened her eyes. She realized she was holding the marble really tightly. She let go of the marble and took her hand out of her pocket and as she did the image faded. The table was empty, the candelabra and the four people who had been seated there (or was it three people) were nowhere in sight. The table looked as if no one had been there yet, at all.
Tess turned to the lobby and the grand piano was gone, as well, and so were the piano player, the singer, and the lovely young woman playing high notes on the violin. The terrier Princess was nowhere to be seen.
Tess wondered if she had been imagining it. . . .
“Are you feeling all right, Tess?” asked “the person who used to be Max.”
“Yes,” said Tess instantly, almost snapping back at him. “Are you? You have been acting a little strangely, frankly. I’ve never seen you eat a baked potato without chives.”
The boy smiled. “I guess I was just in a spirit of invention,” he answered.
Tess didn’t remark on the use of the word “spirit” although she noticed it. Was that what it was? The whole phrase was troublesome. A spirit of invention. Or was she just imagining things?
Sonya brought them dessert. On the house. She said the maître d’ had insisted. An elegant bowl of berries for Aunt Evie and two ice cream sundaes for them, two scoops of vanilla ice cream, lightly sprinkled with toasted almonds, and abundantly drizzled with hot Nutella sauce.
Tess watched as �
��Max” ignored the almonds and the scoops of ice cream and went about carefully scraping all the Nutella sauce, bit by bit, off the ice cream as if it was award winning chocolate fudge sauce and ate it very, very slowly, licking the spoon.
“This is really delicious,” said “the person who used to be Max.”
Max hated Nutella, or at least he used to . . .
Aunt Evie noticed it, too.
Aunt Evie wondered if Tess knew that while she was changing into her denim dress for dinner, Max had whispered to Aunt Evie, “I have a concern about Tess, Aunt Evie.”
That was how he’d put it which was odd itself but also, it was an unspoken rule—they never complained about each other behind the other one’s back.
“She’s acting very peculiarly,” he’d said. “She’s having nightmares. Very very vivid ones,” he said. “And, she thinks she has a migraine and she’s seeing spots.”
If one of them was having a problem, they’d both come and talk to her. Or just have a fight in front of her. They didn’t speak behind each other’s backs. It seemed to violate the sacred oath of the Pinkie swear. Aunt Evie exhaled. Maybe they were just becoming teenage.
“How’s your head, Tess?” asked Aunt Evie, when she saw Tess squinting her eyes as she looked across the room.
Tess gave “the person who used to be Max” an evil look, because she hadn’t told Aunt Evie that she’d had a headache. “Fine, Aunt Evie,” she said cheerfully. “I think I was just hungry and thirsty.”
“That’s good!” said Aunt Evie. “My friend Bobbie rang up,” she said, “asked if I’d run down the road to a pub for a holiday drink.” She snortled, which is something short of a laugh but cheerful.
“Is Bobbie a boy or a girl?” asked Tess.
“Girl,” said Aunt Evie. “Bestie. But we haven’t seen each other for a while. I might be late,” she said.
Aunt Evie was definitely looking forward to a couple of hours of grown-up time. And Tess, for one, thought that was great, that Aunt Evie was going out with a friend.