When she had maneuvered the crowbar halfway down the crack, she tried the handle again.
This time, the door breathed out a bit more. Addie dug in her heels, braced herself, and pulled with all her might.
It flew open, and the photo fluttered to the floor.
For a moment, she could have sworn she heard a trill of laughter feather through the air behind her. Startled, she jerked around to see if anyone was there.
Of course not. It was just her overactive imagination. But her heart was beating fast, and it was a relief to hear faint laughter from upstairs, and footsteps creaking across the ceiling.
“Food’s on the table!” Dad shouted down the back steps.
Quickly, she snatched the photo from the floor and held it to the light.
It was a scene from a play. Three women in long gowns, their hair piled on their heads, stood stage left, and three men in tails were stage right. They all wore hideous masks with enormous jutting noses, bristling eyebrows, and buckteeth. The men were bowing to a king on a throne, the women curtsying. The king’s mask covered only the bottom part of his face, with a great frowning O for his mouth. His hand was stretched out in a gesture of command. Another man, wearing a loose peasant blouse, knelt before him.
Wait a second. A slight shiver played down her back. Wasn’t this Peer Gynt?
But she’d looked in the section of the book about Ibsen's plays many times and never seen this photo. Where had it come from? Was it like the door behind the bookcase, something that had just this moment materialized for her eyes alone?
Oh, don’t be a dork.
She picked up the book and flipped to the section on Ibsen, but there was no indication that anything had fallen out. She turned the rest of the pages, searching, but it wasn’t until she reached the end that she figured it out. Someone had pasted one of those ex libris sheets inside the back cover without putting his or her name on it, and the sheet had come unglued at the bottom; maybe the photo had slipped out from behind it. Addie frowned. It certainly seemed odd.
She turned the picture over and found that there was writing on the back. It took a moment to make out the faded lettering: R. before the mob—1917.
Before the mob? What could that mean? The audience? Addie thought unhappily of the divas and their boyfriends at the audition and turned the photograph over, focusing on the actors once more. A yearning to be part of their world shot through her like an arrow.
“Addie!” Dad called again. “We’re starting without you!”
She slipped the picture carefully into her pocket, then closed the book and slid it back into its space on the shelf.
But she couldn’t leave without having a quick look behind the hidden door. She pulled it open wider and stuck her head in.
There was no light inside, but she could tell that it was a storage closet, six or seven feet deep, with a sort of bench built into the wall on one side. It smelled of camphor and cedar. And it was filled with dusty crates. Now that was intriguing. She stepped in and lifted the lid of the nearest one. It was hard to see much of anything, but the crate seemed to be filled with fabric.
Quickly, she dropped the lid and stepped out, then shut the door behind her. She’d move the bookcase back tomorrow.
Upstairs, everyone was already eating dinner. After the cold bookstore, the warmth and color of the living room made her head swim. The threadbare Persian carpet glowed with reds and blacks; the hanging lamp drenched the room in warm orange light. Addie shoved herself between Almaz and Zack at the table. No one seemed to remember what she’d gone down for; they were deep in a political conversation.
“We could have avoided it,” Mrs. Turner was saying. “You’d think we’d learn. How many people have died so far in our other war? Thousands of our soldiers, thousands of theirs, and who knows how many civilians? Tens of thousands. And despite the fact that it solved nothing, we’re going to war again.” Mrs. Turner punctuated this with a gulp of red wine.
“And it’s a good thing, too,” Whaley said, twirling his spaghetti.
“Try not to sound so pleased about it,” Dad grumbled. “That’s the last thing we need, boys like you getting heroic ideas.”
“That’s me. Always the hero.”
“Always fighting,” Almaz corrected. “I don’t know if that’s the same thing.”
“Hey, Dad!” Addie interrupted, not liking the direction the conversation was taking. “I found a closet behind one of the shelves downstairs. Did you know it was there? It’s full of old crates.”
“Behind what shelf?”
“Drama.”
“The drama section?” Dad looked perplexed. Then light dawned. “Oh, wait. I do know. It’s just been so long. You mean you got that door open? I remember it being jammed tight.” He pointed a fork at Mrs. Turner. “It must be your stuff in there, Margie. We’ve never used it for storage.”
“Not mine.” Mrs. Turner looked at Addie with interest. “Did you open any of the crates?”
Addie swallowed a mouthful of pasta. “Just one. I couldn’t really see in the dark but it felt like tablecloths or clothing or something.”
Mrs. Turner thought a minute. Then her eyes lit up. “I’ll tell you what. They probably belonged to old Meg—my great-aunt I was telling you about. How fun! I’ll bet they’re ancient.”
Dad stood up and started stacking the empty serving dishes. “Well, if they belonged to your family, you’re welcome to have them back, Margie.”
“Thanks, Mike.” Mrs. T. pushed back her chair. “If there’s something obviously useful—or sentimental—I’ll take it. Addie? Shall we look through them together?”
“Are you kidding? I’d love to.” Addie put down her glass too quickly, splattering her water on the tablecloth. “Now?”
“Forget it,” Mrs. T. said firmly. “I’m too old and gouty for an unheated bookstore at night. How about Sunday morning? I’m on assignment tomorrow.”
The phone by the window seat rang and Dad went to answer it.
“Sunday’s good,” Addie said, though it seemed a long time to wait.
Mrs. Turner took her last bite and pushed her empty plate aside. “Tell Mike thanks. He knows I have a meeting to get to.” She left, and the door swung shut behind her.
“What?” Dad’s voice boomed. Addie jumped.
She turned to see him clutching the receiver, a shocked look on his face.
Instantly, she knew who was calling and why.
“Are you sure it was him?”
Almaz glanced apprehensively at Addie. “Maybe I should go,” she whispered.
Addie nodded and mouthed I'll call you as Almaz slipped out of the room after Mrs. Turner. She and Whaley exchanged a look. He knew as well as she did. She could tell because he had a look on his face like a condemned man. With a sort of resignation, he stood up and started stacking plates.
“What’s going on?” Zack asked.
“Go to bed,” Addie told him. He ignored her.
“All right,” Dad was saying. “But I hope you’re wrong. Either way, I’ll make sure he calls you.” He put the phone down and glared first at Addie and then at Whaley. “That was Mr. Nguyen,” he said. “Anything you’d like to tell me? Either of you?”
Whaley looked down at the pile of plates in his hands. Behind the glittery makeup, Addie could see, there was a raw color in his face. He looked sick.
“I...” Addie started. “Um—like what?”
“For example, that Whaley is about to get expelled from school.”
3. Green Flashes
She was waltzing gracefully across the stage, her long white gown sweeping along the floor. Turn two three, turn two three. The lights were glaring, and it was so hot she could feel the perspiration running down her sides. Her partners eyes crinkled into a smile behind the fleshy nose and bristling mustache of his troll mask.
“You can't be out of breath already! Its only the first dance.” A warm voice, crackling with amusement.
Addie laughed, en
joying the easy way he glided her around the stage. “I'm hot, not out of breath. Don't worry, I could do this forever.”
“Stop!” someone commanded.
They stumbled to a halt. The music from the orchestra pit died.
The troll king had risen from his throne. Above the half-mask, his eyes blazed with indignation. He pointed at Addie. “What is she doing here?”
Before she could answer, another voice drifted in. The footlights were snuffed out; the troll king gone as suddenly as he had appeared.
Whaley was on the phone in the hallway outside her room.
Addie jammed the pillow over her head. Her feet had felt so right in those dancing shoes. The top of her head had glowed in the warmth of the spotlight. If only she’d had time to explain to the troll king that she belonged on that stage.
Then the previous night’s arguments and endless discussions with Dad and Whaley flooded back into her brain. If that was Principal Nguyen on the phone, Whaley had better be making a good case for himself.
She tossed the pillow aside, got out of bed, grabbed her clothes, and went out into the hall. Whaley was sitting at the top of the stairs with the phone jammed between his ear and his shoulder, smelling faintly of the rollies he never smoked in the house. Addie walked past him to the bathroom, made a hangdog face at herself in the mirror, undressed, and got into the shower. Under the hot spray, she turned everything over in her head.
When Whaley moved in with them, they’d agreed he could stay until he graduated and could get his own place. But after last night ... she had a terrible feeling Dad might not let him. He’d given Whaley second chances before. They were on to third and fourth chances now. And he’d been really, really mad.
Her throat tightened at the thought of Whaley leaving. She loved having him here. What would happen if Dad kicked him out? His stepmom would never take him back, that was for sure. Not with his dad gone, too. And no matter how tough Whaley tried to sound, he couldn’t go back to sleeping on that bench in the park, lining up for meals in the Congregational church basement in the U. District like those kids they saw when they helped out at Teen Feed. Geez, they were nice enough, always grateful, but some of them were drugged out; some had babies they couldn’t take care of.... And their lives were so hard. She couldn’t stand to think of Whaley ending up like that.
She twisted the knob to turn off the water, stepped out, and dried herself off. Why did he need to get himself into trouble all the time? Almost angrily, she yanked on the beatnik-era turtleneck and miniskirt she’d gotten at the Ballard Goodwill and then pulled on a pair of black leggings.
When she emerged, Whaley was gone. She glanced up and down the hallway, feeling the peculiar emptiness he left behind. He wasn’t a big guy, but he took up a lot of room—a lot of air and energy. It was funny, Addie thought. She imagined herself on the stage, but the person with real stage presence was Whaley.
The sunlight was beating through the thin curtains in the kitchen window as she entered, making her blink. Dad was leaning against the counter talking to Whaley’s back as Whaley pulled an orange juice carton out of the refrigerator. Dad looked tired and rumpled; he was rubbing his forehead right above his nose, the way he did when he had a headache. His hair was shaggier than ever, and his beard needed a trim. “What did Mr. Nguyen say? Does he want us to meet with him like we did last time?”
Whaley shook his head. He didn’t turn around. Just took a glass down from a cupboard and poured the juice into it. “He said I can still get my GED, but he can’t let me back because they already suspended me twice this year.”
“Jesus. Well, I’m not surprised. It’s not like you’re a child,” Dad burst out. “You’re eighteen. You’re old enough to take responsibility. Why can’t you stop picking fights?”
“I don’t pick them.” Whaley turned around, a dull crimson rising in his face. “They just happen.”
“They don’t just happen.” The words slipped out before Addie could stop them. She didn’t want to pile fuel on the fire, and she did sympathize with him, but it wasn’t as if Whaley couldn’t hold back sometimes. He just let himself explode.
He gave her a thin, hard look. “Thanks for the vote of confidence!”
“I’ve given you my vote of confidence! I mean, I understand why you were mad at Kirk, but it isn’t worth getting thrown out of school for.” She looked at Dad. “It was Kirks fault. He and his friends were horrible at Whaley's show. Like baboons. The bouncer had to throw them out.”
Dad poured himself some coffee that smelled like it had been boiling for hours. He tasted it, grimaced, and put it down. “Troll makeup, no less,” he said sourly. “I’m not happy with you, Adeline, after that little deception.”
She looked down at her feet. “I know.”
The kitchen door slammed against the wall and Zack burst in. “Can I have a waffle?”
“In a second,” Dad said.
Whaley slumped against the fridge. “All right. I know. I really know I screwed up. And I owe you an apology.” He stood up straight and held out his hand. “Thanks for everything, Mike. I’ll pack my bag.”
Dad didn’t shake his hand.
Addie looked at him in horror. “No, wait a minute!” She spun around. “Dad?”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” her father said impatiently. Addie wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or Whaley.
Zack ran to Whaley and threw his arms around him; he was ten but was acting like a much younger kid. Surprised, Whaley rubbed Zack’s head with the palm of his hand, and Zack hugged him harder.
“We can’t just throw him out!” It was inconceivable. Dad would never do such a thing. Would he?
“Forget it, Ads.” Whaley tried to pull away from Zack and leave. But Zack held on tight.
She had to think of something. Quick. Before Whaley walked out and never came back. “But what if he got a job, Dad? Then couldn’t he stay until he gets his own place? He needs to live somewhere!”
“You’ve done me enough favors,” Whaley protested. He looked almost angry.
Dad picked up his mug from the counter, sloshing his coffee around inside it. “A job might be a good idea. If Whaley can take it seriously.” He frowned. “You big enough for that, Whaley Price?”
Every nerve in Addie's body stretched taut. Whaley glanced over at her as if she had the answer. But how could she? It twisted her heart. She just shrugged and tried to look encouraging. Zack let go of Whaley and backed into the counter by the blender, watching closely.
Whaley took a gulping breath. “Do you really mean it?”
“I mean it.” Dad looked more tired than ever. “You can stay with us if you can pay your own way. Then no one’s doing you a favor.”
Whaley looked uncertain. Addie held her breath. Come on, she thought. Say yes. Don’t be too proud.
“All right, then,” he muttered, looking at the floor. “I’ll ... um. I’ll start looking for work. Today.” Finally he looked up and met Dads eye. ‘And I can keep the Saturday shift at the bookstore, right? Until I find something else?”
“Yes!” Addie crowed. She swooped over to Whaley and clapped her hands on his shoulders. He gave her a faint half smile and pushed her gently aside.
“Of course.” Dads stern expression relaxed. “In fact, for the next few months, you can have most of my shifts at the bookstore.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I would have had to hire more temporary help anyway while I’m writing my thesis. And I need coverage for Sunday, since Zoe can’t make it anymore.” Zoe was the rather stern Greek woman who ran the store on Sundays, when Dad was out on buys at estate or library sales. She’d told Addie she was opening some sort of artsy preschool. Addie thought she would terrify preschool children, but so much the better for Whaley. “It would save me training someone new,” Dad continued.
Whaley almost smiled. “For real? Are you sure?”
Dad nodded.
Whaley held out his hand again, and this time Dad clasped i
t and gave it a firm shake. Addie sprang across the kitchen and threw her arms around him. “You’re awesome, Dad.”
“Can I have that in writing?”
“Yay!” Zack cheered.
“Are you sure, Mike?” Whaley repeated. “I’ll only stay if you really need me.” The sunlight struck him full in the face, accentuating the purple bruise under his eye. He was too pale, Addie thought. And a little too thin, for all his strength. His face always made her think of a lonesome cowboy’s, kind of gawky and weather-beaten. Or, too often, just beaten. “I mean, I’m not a charity case,” he added.
“If you do a good job, I’ll really need you,” Dad replied. Addie squeezed him harder and let go. ‘And in case everyone’s forgotten, it’s Saturday. You open at ten, Whaley.”
“Okay, Mike. But I’ll ... I’ll look for my own place—when I can, I mean.” He seemed overwhelmed by the thought.
And suddenly, all the emotion in the room was too much for Addie. And that, she thought, is saying something For me, at least. She swung around and opened the door. “C’mon, Whaley, I’m going to grab a coffee at the Brown Bear.”
“What’s this?” Dad complained, pointing at the full coffeepot on the counter.
“Black molasses and gasoline,” Addie said. “Even you can’t drink it!” She poked Whaley’s arm. “Wanna come?”
“Sure. Now that I’m gainfully employed, I’ll start an expensive coffee habit.”
“You’ll start a budget!” Dad yelled after him as he and Addie banged out of the kitchen.
They thumped down the stairs, and Addie raised her voice to be heard over the sound of Whaley’s boots. “What’s going to happen to you, Whaley? Why can’t you stay out of trouble?”
“Dunno. Looks like I just dodge the bullets as they whiz past.”
“You’ve got to learn to dodge faster!” She slipped her arm through his. “Right now, Dad and Zack and me are all the glue you’ve got to hold you together.”
Whaley swung open the back door. The air goosepimpled their skin.
“You think I don’t know that?”
As always, the six-foot-tall bear, carved by a “chain-saw artist” (‘A lumberjack on the Olympic Peninsula,” Whaley had told her), loomed outside the coffee shop.
The Jewel and the Key Page 3