“I am so sorry, Mother,” Jane’s mother said again.
“We forgot,” her father said. “Honestly.”
His phone rang. When he started to answer, Grandma Diana snatched it away and said, “Yes, who is this? He is busy feeding his family at the moment. You will have to try again tomorrow. Yes, I said tomorrow. Thank you, good night.” She ended the call and drew herself up. “Now, then, I am partial to chicken fried rice. What would everyone else like?”
Jane’s mother said, “Mother, we don’t have the ingredients—”
“It is too late to cook,” Grandma Diana announced. “Therefore, I am ordering Chinese food. Young Michael’s favorite, if I am not mistaken. What would you like?”
Jane’s father paled. “My phone…”
Michael wanted Mongolian beef, Jane asked for vegetable fried rice, her mother chose beef with broccoli, and her father continued to frown at his seized cell phone.
“My phone…” he said again.
“I doubt you could add enough soy sauce to make it edible,” Grandma Diana said, and Michael laughed. “In any event,” she continued, “I know for a fact that your fortune is not hidden inside. What would you like to eat?”
He said, “Shrimp teriyaki please.”
“Right.” Grandma Diana placed the order, returned his phone, and started for the kitchen. “Jane, please help me make tea, will you? Everyone else, have a seat. We will be back in a moment.”
In the kitchen, Grandma Diana started rummaging through the cabinets, and when she heard the television come on in the living room, she called, “No TV! Turn it off, please! Thank you!” The television went silent. “Jane, dear, will you get the stove on and fill up the kettle?” Jane clicked on the electric burner, rinsed out her mother’s green teapot, and waited for the pot to fill in the sink.
“How is school, dear?” Grandma Diana asked.
“It’s okay,” Jane said.
Grandma Diana found three mugs, a can of tea leaves, and an ornate metal strainer. “I didn’t have much use for it when I was your age either. Children see things much more clearly than adults. It’s why adults are so difficult.” “Why?” Jane asked.
“They are jealous.” Grandma Diana smiled. “That is enough water, dear. Put it on the stove please.” Jane did, and as they waited for the water to boil, Grandma Diana arranged the three mugs on a tray decorated with pictures of cheese and French writing. She said, “Adults forget that they were small once. They forget the things they knew.” She stared at the tray for a long moment, then forced another smile and put her arm around Jane. “You are good, Jane, and very strong. Stronger than you know. Stronger than any of us, I think.” “School isn’t that bad,” Jane said.
“I am not talking about school. I am talking about this.” Grandma Diana nodded to the empty kitchen and gave Jane a knowing look. “Something is wrong, isn’t it? Don’t pretend you don’t understand. You know what I mean. Something is coming, and I feel as though…” She frowned as if she’d forgotten what she was going to say. “I should know what it is. It is familiar…” The pot steamed and began to whistle. Grandma Diana lowered the heat, unscrewed the lid of the can, and sprinkled tea-leaf debris into the strainer, which she wedged over the first mug.
“When I was your age, the world seemed cruel and magnificent at the same time,” she said as she carefully poured the boiling water through the strainer, filling the first mug. “Does it feel that way again?” Jane watched her grandmother move the strainer to the second mug. “I don’t know.” “There is no right or wrong answer, Jane. How does the world feel? Wonderful at times?” “Yes.”
“But at any moment…” She started pouring the third mug. “Ah, I am sure it is nothing. I am being foolish. Don’t listen to me.” She finished pouring and smiled. “Will you get the honey and milk, dear?” Jane carried the tea tray into the living room, and Grandma Diana said, “Only the women will be drinking tea today.” Jane’s mother and father had been staring at their reflections in the television while Michael flipped through a comic book.
“But I want tea too,” he said.
“Are you a woman?” Grandma Diana said.
“No, but—”
“I am sure you would prefer a soft drink. Go ahead.” As her brother went into the kitchen, Jane arranged the tray on the center table, and Grandma Diana handed a mug to Jane’s mother.
“I’m sorry,” Jane’s mother said. “Did you say something?” “The tea is hot, dear,” Grandma Diana said. “Don’t burn yourself.” What is wrong with my parents? Jane wondered. It’s as if they can’t even think straight.
“Hold your tea out like this,” Grandma Diana told Jane, raising her cup with both hands like an offering. “You too,” she said to Jane’s mother. When all three mugs were up, Grandma Diana said, “Come what may, let the warmth of this cup protect our dear Jane. Come what may.” She paused. “That’s all. Who would like honey?” “Why is Jane so special?” Michael asked from the kitchen doorway.
“She is your sister,” Grandma Diana said. “Isn’t that enough of a reason?” “Were you praying?”
Grandma Diana patted the couch beside her, and Michael came to sit there. “We are a family, Michael. Do you understand what that means?” He slurped his soda. “Yes. But why were you praying for Jane?” “Do you ever ask for things inside your head? For a good grade on a test or for a girl to like you?” He looked skeptical, but she continued, “That is all I was doing. I want good things for all of you because I love you very much. Now, where is our food?”
Thunder crashed, and they all jumped. Outside, it was suddenly much darker. Now, as Jane watched out the living room window, a wall of fast-moving blackness approached from across the street until hard rain lashed the windows. The wind chimes on the back porch rattled and clanged, and lightning flickered through the storm clouds. Jane’s father had called thunder the sound of angels bowling, and as it smashed again, she wondered if one of them had hit a strike.
“Cool,” Michael said.
“Now where did all that come from?” Jane’s mother said.
“The TV,” Grandma Diana said. “Let’s turn it on.”
Michael looked pleased. “I thought you said we weren’t supposed to watch—” “Quiet, Michael,” Grandma Diana snapped. Jane’s mother turned on the television. A red crawl at the top of the screen told them that there was a severe thunderstorm warning and a tornado watch.
“Change it to cartoons,” Michael said.
Jane’s father murmured, “We should get to the basement.” Grandma Diana sighed, and Michael gave Jane a funny look. Their mother patted their father’s hand. “We don’t have a basement, dear,” she said. “Remember?” Hypnotized by the television, he nodded. “Oh. I knew that, didn’t I?” “Right,” Grandma Diana said. “Switch it off please.”
Jane’s mother held the remote control, but she didn’t budge. “Just one minute.” They were watching a fast-food commercial. Wind and rain thrashed the windows, and thunder grumbled again.
“Give me the remote,” Grandma Diana said.
Jane’s mother moved away, as if she were going to sit on it. “Not yet…” “Mom,” Jane said. “What’s the matter? It’s just a commercial.” “I’m sorry,” her mother said, frowning as if she were struggling to look away from the screen. “I can’t turn it off right now.” “That’s right,” Jane’s father said. “Leave it on.”
“Let’s watch cartoons,” Michael said again. “Mom, can you change the channel at least?” Grandma Diana stood and extended her hand, as if Jane’s mother were a dog that had stolen her shoe. “Give it to me.” “I can’t,” Jane’s mother said.
Jane said, “Mom…” But when she reached out, her mother jerked away to protect the remote.
“Now,” Grandma Diana said.
“Mom…”
“Do not touch her, Jane.”
“No,” Jane’s mother said, but she still hadn’t looked up from the TV screen.
Michael said, “I do
n’t understand—” Grandma Diana clapped her hands and shouted, “Aven saat!” At that, lightning struck a power line across the street in a burst of glittery sparks and a crack like an aluminum bat smacking a metal trash can. The lights went out, and the TV blipped to black.
Michael jumped up and said, “Grandma, how did you do that?” Grandma Diana ignored him, watching Jane’s mother, who blinked and finally looked up. “I’m sorry,” Jane’s mother said. “Did you say something?” “It’s fine, dear,” Grandma Diana said and took the remote. She crouched behind the entertainment center and unplugged the power cords.
“We lost power,” Jane’s father said. “I’d better check the circuit breakers and get flashlights.” He paused as if he’d forgotten something, then asked Grandma Diana, “Is everything all right?” “Yes, everything’s fine.” Grandma Diana sat with Jane’s mother. “Jane, take your brother and find batteries.” Jane and Michael went into the kitchen, and Michael said, “Did you see that?” “Lightning struck the power line.”
“She made it hit the power line,” he said.
“Maybe,” Jane said.
“What do you mean maybe? That was so cool. I want to know how she did it.” Jane found three boxes of unopened batteries in the drawer with the rubber bands and scissors.
“Something’s wrong with Mom and Dad,” she said.
“What?”
“I don’t know, but you saw how they were acting.”
Michael started to answer, but then his faced flushed. “I can’t play on my computer now that the power’s out, can I?” “Michael, I think this is important.”
“I was supposed to get this new game tonight.” He kicked the drawer shut. “This is so annoying.” She led him back into the living room. “Come on.”
“There we are,” Grandma Diana said. “Batteries, as requested.” “All right, hand them here,” Jane’s father said, organizing flashlights and lamps on the carpet. “Let’s find out how many of these work.” “Should we call the restaurant?” Jane’s mother asked. “They may not deliver in this weather.” Rain raked the windows, and her father grinned. “Tonight, they’ll earn their tip.” They’re back, Jane thought. My parents are back to normal. It was nothing; they were just distracted. Grandma Diana met her stare with a knowing expression.
The doorbell chimed.
“Finally!” Michael said.
The food had arrived.
After a terrific dinner, Michael asked what they were going to do with the power still out. Grandma Diana pulled a deck of cards from her purse.
“Pinochle,” she said.
“Don’t you think they’re a little young?” Jane’s mother asked.
“Nonsense,” Grandma Diana said. “I am certain Michael’s favorite game is far more complicated.” She nodded to him. “Isn’t that true—what is your favorite game?” “On the computer?” he asked.
“On anything.”
“Well, there’s this one game I was supposed to play tonight, but now I’m not going to be able to…” Their father frowned. “And where were you going to get it?” “On my computer,” Michael said.
“But who was going to buy it for you?”
“You don’t have to buy it,” Michael said. “He was going to give it to me for free.” Grandma Diana set down the cards. “Who?”
Michael hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable with everyone watching him. “No one.” “I told you about talking to people on the Internet,” their father said. “How many times have I said that?” “Not on the Internet,” Michael said.
“Michael,” Grandma Diana said calmly. “No one is angry with you. We are only curious about your new game.” “I can’t even describe it,” Michael said, his face lighting up again. Rain pounded and thrashed outside. “It looked so cool, like so much fun.” “A man was going to give this game to you?” their mother asked.
“Not a man,” Michael said. “A boy—one of our neighbors.”
Their parents relaxed, but Grandma Diana asked, “What is the boy’s name?” “Nolan.”
Her face hardened, and Jane noticed one of Grandma Diana’s fists squeezing the card box.
“So pinochle it is,” their father said. “I’m a little rusty. Let’s go over the rules.” Grandma Diana nodded, the cold tension gone again, and she said, “Everyone pay attention. Pinochle is a game with a long tradition of sore losers. We do not want any in this house, so we will be perfectly clear on the rules before we begin. Now then…” They played five games. Their mother won the first two, then Michael won, then Jane, and, finally, their father came out ahead in the last game.
“I thought I had lost my touch,” he said, as Grandma Diana put the cards away. “But I guess I just needed to warm up.” Grandma Diana stood. “Well played. And it is late. I had better be getting back to my hotel.” “In this?” Jane’s mother said. “It’s terrible outside. You’re not driving in this weather.” They all went to the window to watch the thunderstorm. Lightning streaked in the blackness overhead, followed by a low wave of thunder.
“I am sure it will be fine,” Grandma Diana said. “I have driven in worse.” “I won’t have you out in this storm, Mother.”
Before Grandma Diana could object again, the town’s air-raid sirens came on—meaning tornadoes had been spotted—and she smiled, surrendering to her daughter’s better judgment. They all got ready for bed. Jane fed Iz and was about to brush her teeth when Grandma Diana knocked and came into her bedroom.
“I like your friend here,” Grandma Diana said. “I’ve always had a soft spot for rabbits, but I like lizards too. His name’s Iz, isn’t it? A good name—it suits him.” “Thank you,” Jane said. Kids at school and Michael always mocked her iguana’s name. She’d gotten it from the name of a Hawaiian musician her father liked.
“Before I forget,” Grandma Diana said, “I have something for you.” She took a small jewelry box from her purse. “A present.” “Thank you,” Jane said again.
“It isn’t much. Open it.”
Jane popped off the lid. Wedged into a bed of white foam was a purple stone with blue sparkles at its center. Although it was smooth like a large marble, it wasn’t perfectly round.
“It is a good luck stone,” Grandma Diana said. “Keep it with you.” Jane took it out and rolled it in her palm. It was heavier than it looked. She didn’t know how to respond. It was just a rock, after all—but there was something about the glitter at its core…
“Thank you,” Jane said.
“You are disappointed?”
“No,” Jane said. “It’s pretty, I like it—thank you, Grandma.” “It was given to me when I was your age. Your mother never had any use for it, but you… Keep it with you, and only break it if you absolutely must.” She kissed Jane’s forehead. “Good night, dear. Get some sleep.” “Good night, Grandma.”
Grandma Diana turned to go, and there was Michael, watching from the hall.
“You are as quiet as a mouse, Michael,” Grandma Diana said as she walked out. “Sleep well.” “Good night,” he said. Then, he came into Jane’s room. “What’d she give you?” Jane showed him the stone, and he said, “What is it?” “Just a rock,” she said. “I think.”
“I hope the power comes on. Are you sleepy?”
“Yes, it’s late.”
“Well, I’m not,” he said and went back into the hall. “But this stupid storm…” Jane put on her pajamas and arranged the stone on her dresser. She brushed her teeth, said good night to her parents, and then got into bed. For some reason, she found herself staring at Grandma Diana’s stone. Just a rock, she told herself. But then, without thinking, she grabbed the stone and slipped it under her pillow. She was afraid and didn’t know why. She listened to the rain and closed her eyes. That was funny, wasn’t it? Sleeping with a rock under my pillow, Jane thought. Funny.
12:00.
Jane’s alarm clock was blinking red.
12:00.
She rolled over, pulled the covers up, shivering in a wet chill.
12:00. 12:00.
The window was open. Rain spattered the wall, and her schoolbooks, the magazines on her desk—they were all getting soaked. She got up, shut the window, and turned the lock. I closed the window, Jane thought. This afternoon, I locked it.
Maybe it was broken. She watched the dark bedroom and listened to the wind suck and shake outside. Her door was open. Jane always shut her bedroom door at night in case Iz snuck out of his tank. Iz…the iguana was standing on his hind legs facing the open bedroom door and dark hallway. Jane’s pulse quickened. She told herself to calm down. The window lock is broken, she thought. And the wind blew open the door. Except that the window would need to be pushed—it couldn’t fall up and open on its own. Had someone opened it? Michael, she thought, it must be Michael. This is some kind of joke—he’s trying to scare me.
Jane went to her bedroom door, started to close it, and stopped. Michael’s door was closed, but she could see a faint light under the bottom. Now that the power was back on, he had woken up to play computer games or something. So why did he open my window? she wondered. It doesn’t matter. Shut the door, and go back to sleep.
Iz scratched the lid of his tank, and Jane pressed her door closed. It creaked. She caught it and held it open. Had she just heard a woman’s voice?
Jane held her breath and listened to her heartbeat, loud in both ears. Iz was scratching harder now. No, I’m tired, she thought. I didn’t—But there it was again: the murmur of a woman’s voice. Jane stepped into the hall and crept toward the kitchen doorway that would give her a view into the living room. This is stupid, she told herself. Someone is probably watching TV, that’s all. Breathing faster, Jane reached the doorway. Past the kitchen, she could see Grandma Diana seated upright on the living room couch, hands folded in her lap. She was whispering, and as Jane watched, she noticed a white-blue glare around her grandmother. It was as if Grandma Diana were backlit by a soft lamp so she appeared to glow.
Stephen Chambers Page 2