The stick she used was a coffee-colored wood, smooth from use, and engraved with a tangle of leaves and birds, butterflies and flowers. When she pulled it from the fire, there was no charring to the tip; and the fire settled and crackled like there were no bigger sounds in the world.
“So,” Sam said, “are you the...” He didn’t know what to say. The woman was obviously too old to be a groundskeeper, but she must have had some job in order to live on Napper’s land. “Are you a gardener here or something?”
The old woman chuckled. “Well, child, in a way I once used to be, but my extremely long life has finally gotten in the way of all that.”
Sam smiled and asked, “But Mr. Napper lets you stay here? On his property?”
She smiled. “Napper might think he owns everything in the world, but he doesn’t quite.” She hobbled back to the table and helped herself to a second cookie. “This house has been here for a long time. It’s a historical structure. Old Napper can’t knock down an old house with an old woman in it—it’d be bad for his image.”
Sam decided that if this woman was a crazy killer, then at least she was an entertaining one. It was better than his trailer taking him to Oz at any rate.
She got up and hobbled to what looked like a very old stove to retrieve the next batch of cookies. “You may call me Zinnie,” she said, even though Sam hadn’t tried to call her anything. “Now, what is your name?”
“Sam,” he said, clearing a spot for the cookies she was carrying.
The cookies were thin little things, like puddles on the pan. If Sam had pulled them out of the oven, he would have thrown them all in the garbage. But the old woman didn’t. She handed Sam a dish towel, which he put on the table so Zinnie could set down the hot, flat cookies.
“Help me out, dear,” she said. Expertly, Zinnie took a cookie and, using the handle of a wooden spoon, she rolled the flat cookie around the handle so that it formed into a small cone while it was warm. She looked at Sam, waiting. “Give it a try,” she said, handing him the spoon. “It’s not that hard once you get used to it. And after we’re done, we’ll fill them with cream.”
Sam spent the next thirty minutes rolling delicate cookies into even more delicate tubes and then piping them full of whipped cream. By the time they were done, he was surprised to look out the window and see blue sky surfacing.
Zinnie smiled. “Go on, now, the rain has cleared. Every Friday I make cookies. Come whenever you want.”
Sam stood slowly, unsure of what to say.
“Go on,” she said. “I bet if you leave now you’ll catch the rainbow.”
Sam left, and as soon as he walked through the gates, there was a rainbow—doubled up—one stream of colors sitting fat above another. Tornado country—it had its perks.
Carefully, the silversmith packaged one silver bullet—bubble wrapped, then triple boxed just as the buyer had requested. Usually he got bulk orders for his bullets. They were one of his most popular novelty items for party favors, Halloween decorations, and occasionally a redneck wedding. But for the last couple months, he’d gotten an order for just one—the tedious instructions typed below it with an offer to pay five extra dollars for his trouble.
And, sure, why not? Since he’d started his side business of selling silver trinkets, he’d learned not to be too surprised at anything. This order would be shipped to a local P.O. Box even though he was getting payment from a European bank.
It was strange, but not any stranger than ladies who ordered the bullets for their divorce-is-final parties or the men who wanted them as gifts for their best men. The silversmith just rolled with it. Growing corn and raising chickens didn’t bring in a ton of money. It was the dogs and the little side businesses that kept him afloat, not to mention sane.
Watching Vivi carefully carry in her umbrella and hang her coat was like watching a movie with Mr. Rogers as the lead. Ella sighed. It sounded terrible, but Ella just couldn’t picture her aunt as her mother’s sister.
Her mother hadn’t been wild or anything. Her mother hadn’t even had a boyfriend. But there’d been something alive in her mother’s eyes—verdant, feisty, mysterious.
Vivi was a stone—a gorgeous stone, polished and faceted, but a stone. Vivi had bought Ella school clothes and new boots. Vivi had stocked up on marshmallow cereal as soon as Ella mentioned them. Vivi had taken Ella to her fancy country club and signed her up as a member. She had made dinner every night, and each day she gave Ella four times as much money as she needed for lunch, and told her to keep any change for spending money. In fact, Vivi had done everything it seemed she could possibly do for a niece she had never met. And yet, there was no warmth, no light. Vivi was a closed door, a locked safe.
Ella stood in the kitchen staring at her impeccably groomed aunt and all the sudden she couldn’t stand to look at her anymore. She turned to go to her room without even saying hello.
From the kitchen, Vivi called, “I think I’ll order a pizza tonight. You up for it?”
Ella stopped in the perfect white hall. She was a jerk. It’s not like her aunt wasn’t trying.
“Yeah, sure,” Ella said. “That’d be great.”
Maybe she just needed to give her aunt more time. Maybe Vivi was just shy. Ella had noticed at her other schools that if a girl was gorgeous and quiet, everyone assumed she was snobby. But often, she guessed, they were just shy. I mean, being stunning didn’t make you automatically outgoing.
Maybe it was the same sort of thing with Vivi. Certainly this whole adjustment was throwing her off too, especially since it seemed she’d been used to living alone. Her aunt had given up life as she’d known it. The least Ella could do was try to be pleasant at dinner.
When the pizza arrived, Ella was almost convinced that Vivi would just break out a chicken breast and some carrot sticks for herself until her aunt actually picked up a slice of supreme pizza and said, “Dig in.”
Ella took her own slice and looked at her aunt. “So, Vivi,” Ella began. “Tell me more about yourself.”
Vivi turned to her as though Ella had just asked her to explain the principles of quantum physics.
Ella waited.
Vivi paused and then asked politely, almost chirpily, “What would you like to know?”
Ella realized she had no idea what she’d like to know—something, anything. She didn’t even really know what her aunt’s job was. “Well, um, what exactly do you do at your job?”
“I work for the Napper Nature Conservatory.”
“I know,” Ella said. “But what do you do?”
“I write grants actually. It’s kind of dull.”
Ella nodded. It sounded dull. “What kind of grants?”
“Oh, stuff for the city. Parks. Preserves. Animals. Whoever needs money.”
Ella nodded again. It was absolutely too dull for words. She finished her pizza and was about to go back to her room when she stopped. “Aunt Vivi,” she asked.
“Hmmm.”
“Do you have a favorite color?”
Judging from the décor, it was black or white, but for some reason Ella wanted to hear her aunt say it.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Vivi said. “I guess if I could, I’d paint the sun red and the sky purple.”
It was an odd answer, but definitely the most interesting thing Vivi had ever said.
Ella went into her room and wrote it down. She didn’t know why. It’s just that somehow it made her aunt seem like more than an empty space.
Ella took the little slip of paper and opened her mother’s jewelry box. She set the paper on top of the others—her aunt’s words blinking at her like a strange lizard in a nest of birds. She got out her mother’s old wedding ring. Since the accident Ella had worn it every night. She couldn’t explain why; it just felt right. Her mother hadn’t wanted to let her father go. Now Ella didn’t want to let her mother go. The ring was too big for her, and she usually put it on her middle finger or thumb, but tonight she slid it over her ring finger—the same fing
er her mother had worn it on.
“Ella!” Vivi called from the living room.
Ella jumped and the ring flew off her finger into the box, making a strange little plink where it should have made a plunk. That’s weird, Ella thought. The ring had made a sound like there was another section under the jewelry box, though Ella was almost positive the box had just one compartment.
“Ella!” Vivi called. “Mr. Sanderson is here.”
Ella would have to investigate later. The freak counselor had arrived. She took a deep breath, shut the jewelry box, and went downstairs.
Chapter 15
Jack the freak counselor showed up in jeans and a grass-green button down shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up. He was hot. And probably only twenty-six. Which made being the freak all the more embarrassing.
As soon as Ella came in, he stood and held out his hand. Ella wished she could ignore it and just stand there staring, but that would probably only earn her more points in crazy. She held out her hand and when he took it, she noticed that his palm was just a little callused while the skin on the back of his hand was soft and tan. He pressed her hand lightly and then gestured to the couch like a gentleman.
Ella sat down and Vivi brought out two glasses of water, lemon wedges, and grapes before retreating into the kitchen.
“So, Ella,” Jack began, dropping a lemon wedge into his glass. “How long have you been in Napper now?”
“About a month,” Ella said trying to squeeze lemon in the delicate way Vivi always did.
“And how are you liking it so far?” Jack asked.
Ella wasn’t sure what to say. Telling Jack she hated everything about it seemed both impolite and like something a freaky, depressed teenager would say. “It’s nice,” she lied.
“Whatever,” Jack said. “It’s completely lame. I’m just glad there’s the wolf controversy so there’s something in the paper now besides the 4-H winners.”
Ella smiled. Not the polite, careful smile she’d been mastering at home and school, but a genuine, toothy smile. She’d forgotten how it felt. “Yeah, it can be a little slow.”
“On its worst days it’s absolutely comatose. How are things with Vivi?”
“Oh, they’re good,” Ella said quickly. “She’s been so nice.”
“That’s great. Vivi’s a little shellacked, but inside she’s punchier than she seems.”
“You know her?” Ella asked, dropping her lemon wedge on the floor.
“Sort of. Our moms go way back. Actually—” Jack smiled almost shyly. “Vivi used to babysit for me.”
Ella realized Jack didn’t look at Vivi like other men did. He looked at her like they were relatives. Ella was totally cool with that.
“You’ve been through some crazy tough stuff,” Jack said, leaning in to look at Ella’s face.
She looked down.
“It’s tough to transition to a different town even without having to transition to a completely new life,” he said.
“Yeah,” Ella mumbled.
Jack leaned back and let her think. After a few minutes he asked, “So what do you think has been the hardest part for you? Besides losing your mom of course.”
Ella hadn’t really thought about it. Losing her mom had been such a shadow over everything else that Ella if you took that out, she didn’t really know exactly what the hardest part of the transition had been. “I don’t know. Vivi’s done her best to make it easy. It’s just so…”
Jack leaned in. Ella could smell the musky aftershave on his face.
“You know there was this stray dog,” Ella began. “And…” And what? He left and she was sad? Maybe she really did need counseling. “I guess I just really miss having someone to talk to,” she said.
“Hmmm,” Jack said, “so maybe a phone would help.”
The suggestion caught Ella off-guard. She’d never had a phone, much less any friends to call. But she wasn’t about to say that. “I couldn’t ask Vivi for a phone,” she said. “They’re too expensive.”
Jack smiled, crinkles by his eyes and a deep dimple in his right cheek.
The next Monday when Ella got home from school, a new phone was sitting in a box on the table.
Ella was too shocked to do anything, but stare.
“If the phone doesn’t work for you,” Vivi began, “we can look for something else; I just thought it’d be easiest to add you to my plan.”
“Oh no, it’s good. It’s…it’s awesome,” Ella said. It must have cost more than her mother had spent on her entire wardrobe in all the years Ella had been alive. Holding the expensive phone felt like a small piece of treason. But there wasn’t really a graceful way to reject such a nice gift either. Especially when Ella was pretty sure Jack-the-gorgeous-freak-counselor had suggested it.
Ella spent the evening reading the owner’s manual and adding a few apps. She tucked it away well after 11:00 and brushed her teeth quickly before falling into bed.
It was the first night in a long time that she didn’t pull down her mother’s jewelry box to sift through stones and slips of paper. Ella felt a little treasonous in that, but tonight she was too tired to care. She fell asleep in moments, the phone just a few feet away.
Chapter 16
Sam had a headache like he’d never had before. His father often got migraines when the moon was full—he said it was common with the extra gravitational pull.
“Everyone’s bodies get off when the moon is full. Most people just don’t notice it,” he’d told Sam once after a particularly bad migraine. “Did you know that statistically women have more babies during the full moon? It’s a fact.”
Sam wasn’t sure about that, but tonight his father was in his room moaning with the whole jar of Aleve. Which was too bad because Sam could have used a couple.
Sam went to the bedroom door and almost knocked, but then he heard the bathroom door open and slam shut. Sometimes his dad got headaches so bad he puked all night long. Sam wasn’t going to go pounding on the door, whining for a couple of pills.
Instead he sat very still and pressed his fingers against his temples. Through the window he could see the bright moon propped up on the horizon like a fat, shiny coin. And then an animal jumped in front of it—a dark silhouette with the outline of a cat.
Sam blinked. The cat sat on his window sill like a paper cutout, staring at him with amber irises and fat black pupils. Sam recognized her from the old woman’s cottage, but something looked a little different.
“Well, hello,” Sam said, charmed by the animal in spite of his splitting head.
She mewed a reply, which seemed hilariously polite. Sam let go of his throbbing temples and went to the fridge. Pickings were pretty slim, but they had a half-eaten can of tuna, the mushy pink flesh still sitting in the can. Sam got that out, scooped out a spoonful for himself, and then opened the front door and set it on the concrete step.
The cat looked at him, but did not move.
Quietly, he shut the door, turned out the lights, and went to bed.
In the morning, the tuna can was licked shiny clean. Sam smiled. His headache was gone and he felt pretty good. His father was puttering around in an old robe—pale-lipped, but otherwise okay.
“Next time leave me a couple Aleve, will you?” Sam said, smiling.
His father buttered a slice of toast and said, “Be grateful you don’t need them.”
“Hmph,” Sam said. “Well last night I kinda did.”
A look passed over his father’s face—green-gray clouds of worry.
It made Sam feel bad for complaining and he quickly added, “Not like you or anything. Just a little headache.”
“But you’ve never had one before,” his father sputtered, setting down his toast.
“Well, sure I’ve had a headache before,” Sam said. “And it was no big deal.” Sam was starting to feel annoyed that he couldn’t complain about a little headache without his dad freaking out when his dad didn’t freak out about anything, including the fact that the
y had maybe twenty bucks to get them through the rest of the month.
“But not at the full moon. You’ve never had a headache during the full moon,” his father muttered.
“What does that matter?” Sam said, annoyed.
“How old are you now?” his father asked. “Fifteen? Sixteen?”
“Dad, that’s something you should know,” Sam said, still irritated and grabbing his backpack.
“Sixteen,” his father said, staring off into a corner for several blank seconds before getting up, wandering away, and dropping his uneaten toast in the trash can.
Sam stared at the place his father had been, then looked at the edge of the toast peeking up from last night’s onion skins. His father was a weird guy—Sam knew that. But he also knew that in all of his sixteen years his dad had never thrown out a perfectly good piece of bread.
It worried him all the way to school.
Two dogs were dead at the edge of his field—right by the sign that read, “Free range eggs $4/dozen.” The chickens, it seemed, were untouched in their coops. Strange. The farmer held two large plastic bags near the bodies of the dogs—they were torn up pretty badly—chests and stomachs ripped open and several organs eaten out. He didn’t want to look at them, but his curiosity pushed through his revulsion. And his sadness. He’d been working with them for months. And they’d been good animals—well-trained, sweet-hearted. They never would have touched the chickens. That’s why he left them out here at night when coons and foxes liked to prowl around and carry off sleepy hens.
Jones knelt beside them, wrapping the bodies in bags, trying to figure it out. Nothing chose a dog over a fat, dumb chicken. Nothing normal anyway. There were no bears in these parts. And, as far as he knew, those cusses of wolves hadn’t gotten here yet.
Grey Lore Page 6