“Breakfast, Shelby,” Mirage calls.
I scoot back up to the porch, passing under the blue bottle tree. Drips of dew plop onto my head.
“Can I eat out here?” I ask, pointing to the card table on the porch. Maybe it’s dumb, but I want to be here if Gwen suddenly shows up in her pirogue. I hold no real hope. Gwen is ethereal and dreamy and just a teensy bit strange. Like she belongs in the moonlight and hiding in graveyards.
Mirage clears off the tools and sets down some scrambled eggs, grits, biscuits, and fried tomatoes. “Gettin’ close to the last of the summer tomatoes. I’ll be canning all day while you’re at school.”
Miss Silla Wheezy sits on a chair next to me and stares at my eggs.
“I do believe you’ve made a friend,” Mirage says as the telephone starts to ring its loud, throaty ring like it’s fifty years old.
“How old is she anyway?” I ask Mirage.
“Oh, she’s old,” Mirage says, her hand on the screen door. “She was jest a tiny kitten when I was a bit older than you are now. So she’s ’bout eighteen now. I do believe she’s been using them nine lives of hers wisely.”
“The word peculiar describes you perfectly,” I tell Miss Silla Wheezy after Mirage runs inside and grabs up the phone.
“Mreow!”
“Is that all you can say for yourself?”
“Mreow!” She licks her mouth and keeps staring at my food.
“This is people food, not cat food.”
Suddenly, Miss Silla Wheezy jumps down from her chair and runs around the table like she’s chasing an invisible mouse. She darts in and out from under my feet, circles the table twice more, then finally slows down.
A second later, she hops back up in her chair, flicking her tail neatly around herself. Slowly, she blinks, almost like she’s thinking, “I know I just did a crazy thing, but I’ll pretend it didn’t really happen.”
Her feline eyes seem full of secrets. My arms prickle. “I’m thinkin’ you know the mystery story and just don’t want to tell me.”
My answer is a pair of solemn, unblinking green eyes.
“On second thought, maybe you are trying to tell me the story. If you been living here all these years, then you probably saw who put those notes in the blue bottles. You’ve seen Gwen in her boat down there by the water when you’re sneakin’ around in the dark catching mice.”
Miss Silla Wheezy yawns, stretches her legs out, then curls up in the chair next to me, laying her chin on her front paws and slitting her eyes. She ain’t gonna tell me a single thing.
The photo albums are still on the table from last night.
I stuff a forkful of eggs into my mouth and turn the pages, then almost choke on my breakfast.
Me and Mirage are at a park and I’m sitting on a swing, soaring so high my mouth is wide open with laughter as she pushes me. Then there’s me and Mirage curled up on the couch at Grandmother Phoebe’s house reading a stack of books. Me in the bathtub full of bubbles. Mirage letting me pour a cup a sugar into a big bowl of cookie dough.
Daddy must have taken these pictures. I can suddenly see him in my mind sneaking up on us and snapping shots.
The next instant, I hear Grandmother Phoebe tsking her tongue and telling Daddy that they are spoiling me rotten as well as messing up the house.
I remember all those nights Mirage or Grandmother Phoebe stomped off to their rooms after dinner, Daddy and me pulled between them like a tug-a-war rope.
“Shelby Jayne,” Mirage says in my ear.
My head’s so far into the photo albums that when she speaks I practically jump out of my skin. “What?”
She looks at me with a peculiar-like expression. “You gone a million miles away, shar. You’re actin’ so funny the past couple a days. Could hardly wake you up this morning neither.”
“I’m not funny,” I tell her, indignantly.
She glances down at the photographs and runs a finger along the empty plastic sheets at the back of the album. I’d already looked through to the very last page. “You like ’em?” she asks.
I bite my cheek and flick my eyes away. “Yeah,” I tell her, but my voice is so quiet I can hardly hear it myself. “I mean, yes, ma’am. Guess I forgot we did all this stuff together. And Daddy, too.”
She looks at me with her dark brown eyes and touches my arm. This time I don’t jump. “Once upon a time, we used to be a real family.”
My ears are buzzing like I got cicadas stuck inside my eardrums. My eyes burn a little bit, too, but that’s probably due to finding all them blue bottle notes last night at midnight.
“I know we can be a family again, Shelby Jayne. I mean, I’m hopin’ real bad we can. I’m prayin’ for that every single day.”
“What about Daddy? Didn’t you get a — a divorce?” The word tastes bad in my mouth, like bitter beets and burnt onions, but I’ve been wondering about that and Daddy’s never told me for sure.
Now Mirage bites at her lips, and my curiosity radar is on high alert. “We been separated this last year, but nothing else is official. We never done no paperwork or lawyers or nothing. Don’t got no money. And neither one of us got the heart. Least not yet.”
I look down at my lap and then I look at the photos again because I’m having a hard time looking at her. But I want those pictures to be true. I wish I could remember it all better. “You ever wish you could go back in time and start all over again?”
“All the time, shar, all the time.” Mirage gives a start. “Oh, lordy, your grandmother Phoebe’s been waitin’ on the phone for you! Told her you were eatin’ your grits. Hurry inside!” She motions to the kitchen table and I scrape my chair back and run.
My grandmother is calling from the hospital. “My goodness, did Mirage forget to relay my message? I’m a patient woman, but not that patient.” She’s huffy and perturbed.
“I’m sorry, Grandmother Phoebe. I was kinda busy,” I tell her, pretending I was in the powder room.
She harrumphs, but changes the subject. “So how are you, my darling girl?”
“I’m okay,” I say, stifling a yawn. Maybe Miss Silla Wheezy’s yawns are rubbing off on me. I heard once that yawns are contagious. Didn’t know I could catch it from a cat.
“Are you surviving that swamp house?”
“Yeah.” That’s a funny word. Surviving. “I’m still alive,” I add, trying for a joke.
“Very funny, Shelby Jayne Allemond. And please use the word yes, not yeah.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I called because I am finally coherent after that horrible anesthesia. I’ve been so groggy and nauseated. But the doctors say the surgery was successful and I should be my normal self in a few months.”
“You mean you can’t walk for months?”
“I can get around with a walker, but it’s going to be very slow and I am required to do detailed lists of exercise and therapy. Being away from my own home and bed is going to be the death of me.”
“Don’t sound very fun.”
“Not much is ‘fun’ anymore, Shelby. I just wish my darling girl were here with me. You could read to me and we could listen to music and you would be such a big help fetching things for me. You could be my hands and feet and eyes for me while I’m forced to recuperate.”
“Yeah. I mean, yes, ma’am.” Sitting around a hospital, fetching magazines and ice water sounds sort of awful, actually.
Grandmother Phoebe lowers her voice. “Does she still have that smelly owl?”
I glance up at Mirage, feeling guilty that we’re talking about her, but she’s busy scouring the frying pan and not looking at me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, I hope she’s feeding you something besides crawfish and wild mushrooms. And I hope you have a decent mattress. If you bring home bedbugs that will be the death of me! You’re attending school, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. I must go now. The nurse just walked in. They’re forcing me to get up and roam the halls ev
ery two hours. The people I must put up with are quite taxing, my darling Shelby.”
I give a little laugh thinking about the nurses and orderlies in the hospital trying to get my grandmother to do what they want instead of what she wants. “I’m sorry you have to go through all this hospital stuff, Grandmother Phoebe. I’ll bet it hurts, too.”
“Yes, it does, but my will is stronger and I will survive.” She gives a long, drawn-out sigh. “We will get through this, darling Shelby. And be reunited soon. The hardest part is being apart from each other and our own routine.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, but secretly I’m thinking about what it’d be like going back to our too-quiet house in New Iberia without Daddy. Grandmother Phoebe’s particular ways. The Schedule Is Everything. No cats. No sleeping in. Dressing up for meetings. Some things about home I’m not missin’ at all.
When I arrive at school, everything is almost back to normal. The kids bring packed lunches instead of money for the cafeteria, but other than that it’s almost like there wasn’t a fire at all. Except for that charred smoky smell permeating the halls. The teachers have fans on to keep the air circulating and push the burned smell out the open windows.
I see Tara and Alyson talking with Jett and T-Beau and Ambrose on the other side of the playground and my stomach twists. I want to go home and crawl under the sheets again. I wonder if I can change my schedule, but I don’t have the guts to go to the office and ask.
I get through my classes, pretending those kids don’t exist. They pretend I don’t exist, either, and we’re just fine. At least I tell myself that.
I catch a glimpse of Larissa with her skinny legs and arms full of books turning a corner of the hallway during lunch, but I don’t see her eating nowhere. I wonder where she goes. I wonder if she has any friends.
Don’t have much time to think about her because I get real busy avoiding the Truth or Dare group, dodging them in hallways and around corners, or ducking into the bathroom. They seem to multiply like a math problem gone wrong. When I see them eating lunch in a big circle on the lawn across from the gym, I notice that a couple other girls have joined the group.
Soon as the last bell rings, I race out of class and dart down the road, hiding behind the huge oak tree trunks and then bursting into sprints in between. After I pass the long pier walkway across the bayou, I’m at the cemetery again.
I wait a full thirty minutes, but there’s no sign of Gwen. The place is silent as a tomb. I try to laugh when I think about silent tombs since I’m sitting right smack-dab in a graveyard. But I’m terribly, horribly disappointed. I’ve been waiting to see Gwen all day, especially after spying her last night through the window. And those spooky, ghostly dreams.
I give up finally and slowly walk back through the graveyard, crossing the narrow dirt road and bounding down to the water’s edge. Her boat isn’t here, either. I stare out across the water at the little island. Can’t even catch a glimpse of Gwen’s house from here. Like it doesn’t even exist. I didn’t dream her up, did I? My stomach starts to hurt when I wonder if I’m going crazy. I saw her. I talked with her. We rowed across the water, spent the afternoon at her house. I’ve seen her twice through my bedroom window. I know it.
I scratch my arm as a mosquito tries to drink my blood, and glance down the bayou. The pier is deserted, too, and I breathe a big sigh of relief. Guess there aren’t any other new kids to torment with Truth or Dare today.
Then I remember that Mirage is waiting for me back at the town docks and I run as fast as I can back the way I came. Even if I’d seen Gwen, I would have only had the chance to say hello and good-bye. Can’t let Mirage see me come down this road neither.
Twisting the charm bracelet around my wrist, I touch the cute little gator, the pretty ruby birthstone, the mysterious carved spell box, the empty locket, and the blue bottle, which holds such meaning. I want to look at those notes again. I want to figure out the story.
I need a different plan.
The next day there’s a test in math I forgot to study for and a group project starting in social studies. I’m assigned with Tara and Alyson and some girl named Mabel.
I excuse myself to go to the restroom and try not to cry as I stare at my splotched face in the mirror. I blow my nose ten times, take a hundred deep breaths, get a drink of water, and finally go back. Tara and Alyson ignore me, talking only to Mabel about their plans and excluding me. I’m pretty sure they’ll help me flunk the project. And throw a party afterward.
Every day gets more miserable. I want to see Gwen, but I don’t know how to reach her. I don’t even know her telephone number.
Then I realize that she probably doesn’t have a phone no more out on that island.
I wonder what she’s doing. I wonder why she doesn’t come to school. Is she out looking for her parents every day? What would I do if my parents were missing? I sort of know what that feels like. Practically lost my mamma for a year.
A few days later after Mirage drops me off, I get as far as the school fences and stop. Gripping the chain-link fence, I stare through to where kids are kicking balls and playing tag or having races on the field.
My heart begins to thump.
I don’t want to go face those kids and the teachers and the schoolwork.
I don’t even want to see Larissa, that scarred girl in my class. I feel guilty that I haven’t made any effort to get to know her. She doesn’t seem to have any friends and the other kids ignore her like she’s invisible. Almost how I’m starting to feel, except I have Gwen now.
I just know in my heart that Larissa went to the pier and played Truth or Dare. Did she fall? Did she get pushed into the bayou? Did a gator take a bite out of her face?
I shiver as a cloud crosses the sun.
Larissa tried to warn me. She knew what was going to happen.
But if I hadn’t come, I would never have met Gwen.
I worry something fierce that if I don’t get to the graveyard every day, Gwen will disappear on me. She might find her parents and not have a chance to tell me. She might take a bus into a different town to look for them. What if I never see her again?
Pretending I’m an invisible person myself, I start walking down the street again, turning left when I get to the dirt road and the oak trees. I don’t look back even when I’m sorely tempted and my neck is just plain itchin’ to turn around and see if someone’s following me.
But no footsteps, no voices calling after me, nothing.
When I get to the cemetery, I can hear a girl’s voice singing again, humming and la, la, la-ing like she’s trying out for the New Orleans Opera.
I start running, my heart leaping inside my chest. When I get to the bottom of the slope, Gwen and her flyaway hair and dark eyes peeks out from behind the angel.
“You’re here,” I breathe.
“You’re here,” Gwen says, and then we both just stand there trying not to giggle with happiness.
Without saying a single word, we run to the banks and jump into her pirogue. Like we can read each other’s minds.
“I know a place where there are baby alligators,” Gwen says. “Other side of this here island.”
“Is it safe?” My brain keeps hearing Mirage’s warnings and threats about being out here on this side a town. Near the pier. Taking a boat out on the water without permission. She’d ground me but good if she knew I’d left school, but I had to come. Gwen is for sure the absolute best thing about Bayou Bridge.
We row around Deserted Island and come across a small inlet under a stand of cypress, dark and shadowy and secretive.
“This here is Alligator Cove,” Gwen tells me.
An egret swoops out of the branches of a stand of tupelos and Gwen points upward. “He’s got a nest up there. See it?”
I squint upward and sure enough, there’s a nest made of moss and twigs perched high on some interlocking branches.
“Now look over there on that patch of mud and twigs,” Gwen whispers. Her voice is muted
by dead leaves and duckweed and the murky water that surrounds us. Here in the swamp it feels like I’m in another world altogether.
“Baby gators!” I hiss.
“Ssh! Don’t want to startle ’em.”
We paddle closer, then ease up on our oars and set them in the bottom of the boat.
Sure enough, baby alligators are crawling all over a half-submerged log, stumbling over branches and mounds of leaves and elephant ears. Patches of sun filter through the leaves. The light falls on their backs, and the babies’ heads are up and alert lookin’ out on the big, wide world.
I count at least twelve gators, their skinny bodies and tails decorated with bands of dark black and blue and yellow. Eyes like spilled ink, and unblinking.
When they sense that we’re close, the baby gators freeze on the log, as though they think we won’t notice them if they stop moving.
“They got tiny teeth, don’t they?” I ask. “Will they bite?”
“Sure they’ll bite! Like the sharpest needles you ever felt in your life. My daddy used to get a net when they’re first born and scoop ’em up so’s I could pet ’em. These here are bigger than just hatched newborns, though.”
“Is the mamma gator close by?”
“Nah. These gators are old enough to be on their own now. Adults nest and then move on.” Gwen puts a hand flat on top of the water, skimming the surface. Before I can even blink, she scoops up one of the babies and cups her hands around it.
“You did it!” I cry real soft so I don’t startle the rest of the baby gators squirming around on the log.
Pulling the reptile close, Gwen clamps her fingers around his snout so he won’t snap at her while she strokes his head to keep him calm.
I’m holding my breath from pure astonishment. “Can I touch him?” I ask, and then wonder where those words came from. I’ve never been this close to a gator in all my life. Except in a zoo or a library book. Holding a gator seems crazy. And kinda wonderful.
If Grandmother Phoebe could see me now, she’d die of shock and never let me serve lemonade and cookies again.
Gwen moves the boat closer to shore with her paddle, and then transfers the gator to my lap. His skin is smooth and yet ridged, and he sits, head up, staring straight forward while I stroke my fingers along his back and tail. “I can’t believe I’m doin’ this! For real!”
Circle of Secrets Page 13