The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series)

by Heather Blackwood

“Sorry, I can do it in a sec.”

  “I already got it. Looks like you got something.”

  Astrid went out to the kitchen. On top of the pizza box filled with leftovers sat a few pieces of junk mail and another envelope. This one was a regular white envelope, but it also had no return address. At least it had a regular stamp on it. Two mystery envelopes in one day. Well, she had graduated and her birthday was on Monday, so maybe she deserved two envelopes.

  Her mother slid the pizza box into the fridge. There was plenty of room inside and Astrid noted that her mother had not done the grocery shopping after taking her money. She didn’t want to open the envelope, not here. If it was related to the other envelope, she didn’t want her mother to see it. But then, it had come in the regular mail, which none of the others packages through the years ever had.

  “Well, open it up,” her mother said. She moved next to Astrid, who took an involuntary step backward. Her mother looked at her sharply. “Is it from one of your friends?”

  “I don’t know who it’s from.” Astrid knew that she would have to open it in front of her mother. There was no avoiding it. If only she had checked the mail when she had gotten home from school. Then she could have opened it in private.

  She tore open the envelope and pulled out a single piece of stationary that was folded around a stack of bills. She counted them out. Five one-hundred-dollar bills. She looked at the crisp, new bills, stunned. They looked almost fake, they were so new. She didn’t think she had ever seen a one-hundred-dollar bill before. Who would do this?

  “Well, don’t stand there like a lump on a log. What does it say?” Her mother snatched the piece of stationary from her hand. “I’m sure you can use this in New York,” she read, then looked at the money. “Who would send you five hundred bucks?”

  “What, it doesn’t say in the note?” said Astrid, reaching for the letter.

  “Would I ask you if it did? I can read a note. I’m not stupid.”

  “I know, I just thought …”

  “So who sent it? Who just gives you five hundred dollars out of nowhere?”

  Astrid shook her head. “I don’t know.” But she did know. At least, she thought she did.

  Her mother took the money from her hand and thumbed through it. And before her mother could say anything, Astrid knew what would happen.

  “How long until you leave?” her mother asked, glancing at the calendar on the wall.

  “Two more months.”

  “And you expect to be staying here rent-free, don’t you?”

  “Please, Mom, it’s for graduation and my birthday.”

  “From who? Who the hell sends you this much?”

  “I don’t know, I swear. But I still need it. I still don’t have a ticket to New York or a deposit for an apartment or anything.”

  “Is it drugs or prostitution?” asked her mother, folding the money in half and slipping it into her pocket.

  “What?”

  “Are you dealing?” Her mother’s eyes traveled up and down her body. “Or are you having sex for money?”

  “No, no,” Astrid sputtered. “Of course not.”

  “Then how did you get this money?”

  Astrid looked again at the letter, as if its handwriting might have a clue. She had seen the same handwriting before, in other notes through the years.

  “Here’s the deal,” said her mother. “You tell me where this money came from, and we’ll talk. Until then, you’re paying rent. This can be for the two months.”

  “That’s not fair. I need it.”

  “It’s completely fair. I’m protecting you from yourself, sweetie. You can’t be mooching now that you’re full grown. Everyone else has to work for a living, and you’re not special. Call this a lesson in tough love. Now take out the trash. It stinks in here.” Her mother turned and stalked off to her room, no doubt to put the money where Astrid would not be able to find it.

  Part of Astrid wanted to wait until her mother was at work and then search her room, find the money and run. But she had enough sense to know that she wouldn’t get far. She could neither rent an apartment for that amount, nor could she stay in a hotel for two months for that little. And getting her airplane ticket to New York wasn’t going to be cheap. Maybe she could take a Greyhound bus.

  Astrid paused outside after dropping the leaky trash bag into the outdoor can. She wondered about the stones under her window. It was dark, but it was still early in the night and she wasn’t afraid. Music pounded from a neighbor’s house and she heard people outside in another backyard. She pushed aside the geranium branches under her bedroom window. The stone stacks were still there, but some had fallen over. She shoved her foot under the plant and knocked over the rest of the stones. She thought about collecting them and taking them back to the planter from which they had come. But she didn’t want to touch them. They were repellant to her.

  She stepped back and then headed inside. Her mother was watching television and Astrid slipped into her room, closing the door as quietly as she could. Cinderella was asleep with her kittens and Astrid gave her a pat.

  Now for her other envelope. She pulled it from the gift bag and thought about her mother’s room and the possible places she could have hidden the money. If she looked hard enough, would she find it? And was her mother right? Perhaps she herself was being unreasonable. Eighteen was old enough to pay rent, and if her mother didn’t demand any more money, then two hundred fifty a month was a good deal. Sure, her mother had taken her gift money, but most kids, especially poor ones, were expected to help pay for the necessities of living once they were adults.

  No, that wasn’t right. She was still angry. The feeling came back up, no matter how she tried to excuse her mother’s behavior. Her mother had stolen the money, not asked for it. But Astrid also had a plan forming in her mind. Her birthday was coming, which meant she could legally open her own bank account. And once that happened, she could deposit her paychecks, take a little out, and then “hide” the money in her desk. Her mother would find it, take it, and hopefully leave it at that. It was like the mafia, you paid a little to keep the rest safe. And once she moved out, her mother could never take anything from her again.

  She tore open the padded envelope and looked inside. There was a book and a piece of paper. She took the book first and glanced at the old, faded cover with the line drawing of a water spirit woman, her hair a giant, round swirl around her pale oval face. It was an odd gift for an eighteen-year-old, but she wasn’t too surprised. The package was from her grandfather, her mother’s father. He had given her an identical fairy-tale book when she had turned nine. He must have forgotten about it. Either that, or he was getting a little batty.

  She almost didn’t open the book, but then she noticed that something was sticking out of it like a bookmark. She pulled it out. It was a paper sleeve with an airline logo on it. There was a ticket in her name. It was dated August 20th, from LAX airport in Los Angeles to JFK airport in New York. Her hand trembled as she stared at the thing. This was her ticket. How much had it cost? It must have been hundreds of dollars, and now she had it. Her ticket out.

  Where to hide it? She put it back into the book. She would figure that out later.

  She unfolded the note.

  My Dearest Astrid,

  Let your mother have the money. She needs it.

  As for you, the ticket is already paid for. Just show your ID at the airport. Best of luck in New York.

  It was unsigned, but she knew from whom it came. Her grandfather had left a similar envelope for her when she was seven, and every year on her birthday she received another. They always contained a book and an unsigned note. The first letter had told her nothing about why her mother and grandfather were not on speaking terms, but he had made it clear that Astrid had to keep the packages a secret, or h
e would not be able to send them. Mysterious packages from an unknown grandfather? She could not resist, and so had kept the secret. She had saved every note and had read every book more than once, learning about mythology and fairy tales, wars and conquests, cultures and customs. This package was the only one that had contained anything other than a just a book.

  Sending money in the mail was new, however. Her fury with her mother subsided a little as she understood what her grandfather was doing. He must have wanted to help his daughter, but how could he if they were estranged? Sending money to Astrid was one way to do it. But how could he have known that her mother would take it from her?

  She looked into the envelope again, but there was nothing else inside. But wait. There was something. Down at the bottom were small bits of white. She upended the envelope and nine salt packets tumbled onto her bed. They were the type of packets one found at a fast food restaurant.

  Her grandfather was not getting batty in his old age. No, this was more serious. She thought of the rocks under her window, and of someone else, years before, who had given her salt packets.

  She had been about six or seven, old enough to remember things, but too young to put them into chronological order or into any meaningful context. Her memories from her childhood were scattershot and uneven. But still, she remembered.

  Her mother had taken her to a Mexican grocer in Reseda, one where groceries were cheaper than the regular grocery stores. In the San Fernando Valley summer, her clothes had stuck to her skinny frame in the heat, and the single oscillating fan in the tiny grocer had done nothing to cool her off. Part of the store held a carniceria, a butcher, and the smell of the meat made Astrid feel sick. She always hated meat.

  “Can I wait outside?” she asked her mother.

  “Right outside the door,” her mother said.

  She walked out the back door and stood in the narrow strip of shade that ran along the base of the wall. The air over the pavement wavered from the heat and the stink from a nearby dumpster was heavy and choking. She moved off to the other side of the door, as far as she could get from the dumpster without disobeying her mother.

  A woman came out of the shop next door to the grocer. She was dressed in a long denim skirt and a cotton shirt with the sleeves cut off, so it looked like a sort of vest. Her brown arms were soft with age, but her build made her look like she had been physically strong when she was younger. Her gray hair was in two short braids that barely touched her shoulders. She smiled at Astrid. Her teeth were yellowish, like a smoker’s.

  Astrid looked down at the ground. She knew she wasn’t supposed to speak to strangers.

  “Is your mother inside?” asked the woman, tipping her head toward the grocer’s door.

  Astrid nodded.

  “Isn’t it cooler in there?”

  “I don’t like the meat smell. So she let me stand out here.”

  “Well, meat is what hamburgers and hot dogs are made from.”

  “I don’t like those either.”

  “Is that so?” the old woman had moved closer, but she had her back to the wall now, so she wasn’t facing Astrid. She was looking out past the parking lot, toward a weedy yard with a chain-link fence. “What do you like to eat?”

  “I like pizza.”

  “I like pizza too. There’s a place down the street that has good pizza. They have spicy Italian sausage that they put on it.”

  “I only like the cheese kind,” said Astrid. She glanced at the woman. She was still looking away, and Astrid felt safe in studying her a little. She wore a silver bracelet with a large oval of turquoise set into it.

  “You don’t like meat at all?” said the woman.

  “No. It makes my mom mad, but I can’t eat it.”

  The woman seemed to be thinking it over, which Astrid liked. She liked that this woman wasn’t scolding her about it like other adults had.

  “I’m sorry, but I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Red Fawn.”

  “Like a deer?”

  “Yep. I’m an Indian princess.”

  “A real princess? For real?” Astrid didn’t think there were any princesses any more. There were no kings or queens either.

  “That’s right.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Oh, here and there. Here, I have something you can have.” Princess Red Fawn reached into a pocket of her voluminous skirt and Astrid held out her hand. Who knew what a real princess would give to her? Three little white packets dropped into her hand.

  “What are they?” She was a little disappointed that it wasn’t a little carved animal or a jewel or something beautiful and mysterious.

  “Salt. Now listen closely. You listening?”

  Astrid nodded. Princess Red Fawn looked intently at her now. Her eyes were deep brown, so dark that Astrid couldn’t make out her pupils. The skin around her eyes was wrinkled and crepey, but the whites of her eyes were bright.

  “You keep those,” said Red Fawn. “You keep them close to you. If you get scared, you can sprinkle it around.”

  “But …” Astrid looked down at the packets. She did get scared at night sometimes, but how would salt help?

  “There you are!” said Astrid’s mother. Astrid turned and found that she was far from the doorway. She must have moved without realizing it, as she was now on the far side of the doorway of the shop next to the grocer. “I thought I told you to stay right by the door,” her mother said.

  She hurried to her mother’s side. “Mom, she’s a princess. A real live princess.” She looked back at Princess Red Fawn, who was leaning against the building. The old woman bent over and rifled through some boxes that had been left outside the door.

  “We need to go. Come on,” said her mother. She started walking to the car, and Astrid trotted behind.

  “Her name is Princess Red Fawn, and she’s a real live Indian princess.”

  Her mother put the bags of groceries into the trunk. “Is that right?”

  Astrid knew from her tone that she didn’t think Red Fawn was telling the truth. Astrid knew there were no more princesses, but why would a grown-up lie? Red Fawn looked like an Indian she had seen in a movie. They had braids and turquoise jewelry too.

  “Yeah, and she gave me these,” Astrid said.

  Her mother glanced down at the salt packets in Astrid’s outstretched hand. “Throw those away. They’re just trash.”

  “I want to keep them.”

  “I don’t want you eating them. God only knows where they’re from. You can throw them away when we get home.”

  “No. I’m keeping them!”

  Her mother turned toward her and Astrid took a step back. “Don’t you dare use that tone. They’re trash, and you’re going to throw them out.”

  Astrid felt tears coming to her eyes. All she could do was shake her head. The packets felt moist as she crushed them in her palm and held them behind her back.

  “Give them to me right now.” Her mother put out her hand.

  It was hard for Astrid to breathe, and her voice came out choked. “But she gave them to me.”

  “Sweetie, she’s a homeless woman. You can’t take things from anyone like that.” Astrid looked down, and before she knew it, her mother had grabbed her arm and tore the salt packets from her hand.

  “Give them back!” Astrid cried.

  “Now stop it.” Her mother shoved her toward the car. “Get in.”

  She obeyed and fastened her seat belt. Her mother tossed the packets on the asphalt, got in and started the car. As they drove away, Astrid tried to spot Princess Red Fawn, but the woman had gone. Her disappearance was unbearable.

  “I wanted them!” she wailed. “They were mine!”

  “You quit crying right now!” her mother shouted, glaring at her in the rea
rview mirror. “I swear to God, you are the biggest crybaby. Your father couldn’t stand it.”

  At the mention of her father, Astrid tried to listen. Her mother rarely spoke about her father.

  “You cried more than any baby I ever heard of. You cried all the time, every single goddamn day until you were three years old. You were such a difficult baby, and our marriage suffered for it. It’s not your fault, but it was hard. You need to get yourself under control. You’re too old for these theatrics now.”

  Astrid wiped her tears with the back of her wrist and tried to quiet herself. Her breath was still hitching in her chest, but she tried to keep from making any sound. She knew that she was a crybaby. Her mother had told her over and over. And she knew that her problems as a baby had made her parents’ lives hard. Her mother said that her father’s abandonment of them wasn’t her fault, but she was pretty sure she knew better. She was a crybaby, and she knew it.

  They were only salt packets. She could get more the next time her mother took her to McDonald’s. But they wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t be a gift from a real Indian princess.

  Astrid picked up the salt packets from where they had fallen on her bed. She hadn’t thought about Princess Red Fawn in years. And now, more than a decade later, her grandfather was giving her the same gift.

  Chapter 10

  Astrid fanned herself with a folded paper bag. Even in the shade and with a slight sea breeze, the day’s heat was harsh. The inside band of her visor was wet and her hands were soaked in sweat each time she took off the plastic sanitary gloves used to handle pretzels. It was only mid-morning, but already the heat had exhausted her.

  “Regular pretzel please,” said a young Asian woman. She dug in a green fish-shaped coin purse.

  Astrid slipped on the plastic gloves, got the pretzel and slid it into a paper holder. The woman placed a fifty-dollar bill on the counter.