He continued, “I do not know how long I will be before I return, but I will come back with something for you. If they know you are here… If the people downstairs hear you or see you, and they find out that you are up here, I will not be able to take you home. Do you understand me?”
Owen nodded; the look on his face, now fearful.
“You will be okay. I will get you home. Do not be afraid, but do as I say.”
Owen nodded again.
“Let me get you a blanket. Wait here.” Julien opened the door and slipped back down the stairs. He looked around the room for anything to occupy a six-year-old, but he found nothing. He grabbed a blanket from the bed and hurried back up to Owen.
“Here you go. I know you will be bored and this will be very hard for you, but I will be as fast as I can be. Think about your Transformers and how you will be playing with them very soon. You can do that?”
Owen nodded.
“Okay, remain very quiet. Do not get up. I will be back,” Julien reiterated once more.
He ducked back down the opening and closed the door. He left the bedroom and headed downstairs.
The smell of chicken, roasting in the oven, filled his senses and he felt his stomach knot. Arlette sat at the dining room table; her glasses perched at the end of her nose. She looked over several pages of paper, studying them. Lind, his arms straddling her, stood reading over her shoulder. They both turned to Julien at once.
Seeing her outside of his dimly lit bedroom, Julien could see the difference in Arlette immediately. She was looking as chic and healthy as she had when he first met her at her office. Even Lind had a fresher look about him that Julien hadn’t even noticed was missing. They both returned their attention to the paperwork before them, ignoring him. Julien looked over at Jessica playing with Play-Doh on the coffee table, where Jérome sat silently behind her; staring into space as he always seemed to until Sarah needed him.
Julien entered the kitchen.
Rachael stood at the sink rotating salad in a spinner. She glanced at him then back down into the sink.
“Where is Sarah?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Rachael muttered then began transferring the salad to a large bowl. “Why? Do you need something?”
“No. I am just wondering.”
Rachael turned around to face him. She eyed him suspiciously.
Julien went to the refrigerator and removed a pitcher of tea. Rachael watched as he moved to the cabinet for a glass.
“Are you actually planning to join us tonight?” she asked.
Julien took his time choosing a glass. He looked around the cabinet. The gift box was still there, tucked back behind the glasses. He took out a tumbler and poured some tea.
“No, I will eat upstairs,” he said and took a sip.
“It’s not that bad, Julien. The sooner you accept that there is nothing you can do, the sooner you will start to live again.”
“Oh, is that what you are doing? Living?” He took another sip of tea. “To me it is looking like you are only going through the motions.”
Rachael smirked and shook her head. She let out a frustrated sigh and turned back to the salad bowl, “Go ahead, rot in that bedroom then.” She took the bowl and carried it off to the dining room.
Julien heard her mumble something to Arlette then Lind chimed in. He turned back to the cabinet and opened it, quietly sliding the gift box forward. He brought it down to the counter, turning his back to the dining room door and quickly removing the top. The box was full; fuller than it had been when Sarah first produced it. He removed two bones and slid them carefully into his pocket, hoping they would not break. He hurriedly closed the box and slid it back into the cabinet. He turned around, fully expecting Sarah to be there watching him, but he was alone. He took a deep breath and felt for the bones in his pocket to be sure they were still whole. His jeans were fitting loose now and he thought he could make it back upstairs without wasting them.
Rachael returned to the kitchen and he picked up his glass. She took the pitcher from the table and returned it to the refrigerator then turned her attention to the roast in the oven.
“When dinner’s ready, I’ll bring you a plate,” she said without looking back. “Just the side dishes, I know.”
“I can come down and make it for myself. Don’t worry about it,” he said, placing his glass in the sink then walking past her to the stairs.
About to ascend, he felt a tug on his pants. Jessica looked up at him. She pointed to the coffee table.
“Yes, I see it. Go play. Make me something,” he said.
Jessica tugged at him again.
Arlette spoke up, “For heaven’s sake, Julien. Would it kill you to entertain her for a while?”
“Stay out of it, Arlette,” Julien snapped.
The door slammed and Sarah entered the living room carrying an armload of firewood for the evening.
Julien sighed.
Sarah carried the wood to the hearth.
Arlette spoke up again, “Sarah, don’t you think Julien should be spending more time down here? I was just saying…”
Lind, still standing over her, placed a hand on Arlette’s arm, “Leave it be.” he whispered.
“Leave what be? Oh, Carl…” she shrugged him off. “Sarah?”
Sarah continued to stack the logs then stood up and brushed her hands off. She was still angry with Julien for pushing her away in the barn and neither had attempted any interaction since; Julien doing his best to stay out of sight, over the last two weeks.
Jessica pulled at Julien’s rear pocket, urging him to the coffee table. He reluctantly gave in.
Sarah marched past them and back outside for another load of wood. Julien, stood beside the table knowing, if he sat down, the bones would most-likely fracture in his pocket. He looked at Jessica, who began dividing the brightly colored clay. He slowly lowered himself to his knees beside the table, keeping his upper body as straight as possible. He placed his hand over his right hip pocket, feeling for the bones. He didn’t know how long it would be before Owen would make himself known upstairs and he had little faith in the boy’s self-discipline. He began rolling out the blue clay Jessica placed in front of him. He watched his daughter diligently do the same.
Sarah returned with a second armload of wood. She stepped past them and added to her first artful stack, until she was done. Julien kept his head down, rolling out the clay then balling it up again, only to roll it out once more. He could think of nothing but Owen upstairs, alone and bored in the widow’s walk. He glanced at the clock. It was just after 2:30 pm. The bitter cold would be returning to the mountain soon enough.
Jessica formed a heart from a red ball of clay and placed it before him. Julien, his mind distant, did his best to lavish her with praise.
Sarah watched the interaction closely. It wasn’t difficult to read the resentment in her eyes. He held up a ball of clay, offering it to her. She glowered at Jessica who hadn’t a clue what was going on around her. Sarah stood up and walked around the coffee table. She grabbed the back of Jessica’s collar and tugged at her. Jessica looked up then got to her feet dutifully. Sarah led her to the kitchen.
Julien didn’t protest. He was happy for the relief from his fatherly duties; though he felt guilty and wondered what they had done to make his daughter so quick to jump when they beckoned. He got up and went to the stairs, returning to his bedroom.
He listened carefully at the door for any sound indicating that someone might have followed him. All was quiet and he closed the door.
He looked up at the top of the iron staircase then reached into his pocket for the bones. Cautiously, he removed them. Both were intact. He hurried to the side of his bed and carefully slid one of the bones between the mattress and box spring. About to get up, he had a sudden change of heart and removed the bone again. He felt along the bedframe for a lip or screw where he could safely hide the bone, but nothing felt right. He looked at the nightstand, then slid his hand ben
eath it. Feeling around he touched a small wooden lip under the bottom drawer. He grabbed his lighter and laid down on his side, trying to get a better look. He took the bone and wedged the end of one fork between the drawer and framing. It stayed, wedged in place. He gave the stand a shake, but the bone remained put. He closed the Zippo and got up, taking the other bone to Owen.
Julien closed the trapdoor.
“What took you so long?” Owen asked.
“I wasn’t very long.” Julien sat down on the floor, facing him.
“Did you bring me something to eat?” Owen asked.
“I did not. I’m sorry. However, I have brought for us a game.”
“But I’m hungry,” he whined.
“I know you are. I will go back downstairs and get you food as soon as we are done playing the game.”
“I have a PS4 at home.”
“I wrote the ad-copy for your PS4.”
Owen looked confused.
Julien held the bone up between them, “This is a different game.”
Owen pursed his lips, disappointed, “Like the turkey.”
“Yes! Yes, like Thanksgiving. Have you played this game before?”
Owen nodded, “That’s a dumb game.”
“You have no idea how much I am in agreement with you, Owen…no idea.” Julien nodded, “But, for now, it is the only game we have. If you play this game correctly, perhaps you will be playing your PS4, at home, tonight.”
Owen reached for the bone.
“Uh uh…wait. I want you to think of the things you are wanting most right now. If you can pick just one very special wish…”
“I want…”
“No! Do not tell me. If you are telling me, it cannot come true.”
Owen’s demeanor changed and he became more attentive, nearly mesmerized.
“Owen, are you with me?”
“Do you smell that?” Owen whispered.
Julien had grown nose blind to the wafting aroma of the roasting chicken. “Yes. You can have some after the game. Now, think hard. Do not tell me your wish. Do not say these things out loud. I want you to make a wish for the thing you want most. Maybe where you would like to be right now?”
Owen, his mouth agape, sat very still before him.
“Take the end of the bone and close your eyes…do not pull until I say to do so. Do you understand?”
Owen nodded.
“Okay, take hold of the bone. Hold it right here.” Julien adjusted the boy’s fingers, “Are you ready to think of your wish?”
Owen nodded again, his lips parted and moist.
“Think hard. Think only of one thing. Where do you want to be Owen?” Julien said the words in his mind. For a brief moment he thought about wishing them all back to the city; Jessica, Owen, Rachael and himself, but there was no use. Sarah would only bring them back. Both he and Owen needed to wish for Owen’s safe return home or, if the wrong person won, anything could happen.
Julien asked, “Are you ready? Do you know what you will wish for? Keep your eyes closed.”
Owen nodded and Julien began to pull at the bone. Owen did the same.
Tink!
Julien allowed his half to slide into his palm. He didn’t open his eyes, but felt for its shape within his fingers.
The door handle jiggled at the far end of the quiet hallway. It was a rainy and dismal day in Manhattan and the fluorescent lighting cast a neon sheen on the green and white tiled floor. The bell rang and noise erupted behind each door lining the hallway. Some open and some closed, he passed them by, one-by-one, stopping at the classroom of Tracee Fields.
Beside her desk, Tracee talked with the school’s assistant principal, Beverly Springer, about tomorrow’s special assembly, while the children collected their jackets and belongings. One-by-one, the children began to line up, ready to be walked outside to their awaiting parents or assigned buses.
Tracee noticed him first; standing in the doorway looking back at her. Beverly saw Tracee’s face go slack then slowly turned her head, following the teacher’s gaze. Beverly looked at Owen Albright and gasped. She looked back at Tracee, whose eyes began to flutter. Before Beverly could grab her, Tracee collapsed, dropping to the ground in a dead faint. Beverly bent down, briefly placed her hands on Tracee then rushed Owen. She knelt down before him and grabbed hold of his shoulders, tongue tied. Another teacher rushed over from across the hall and Beverly pointed to Tracee, lying flat out behind her desk amid a circle of worried children. The teacher rushed to Tracee and Beverly pulled Owen close, hugging him tightly.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Julien could feel the unmistakably larger half of the wishbone in his palm. He smiled then peeked, opening only one eye to the emptiness around him. He sat alone in the widow’s walk.
See…
You can still beat her at this game.
But she never knew he was here.
But you got the bone and you kept her from knowing.
This is true.
He stood up and took another panning glance at the view. The sun was still shining, though the winter darkness would come early and bring the cold along with it. He liked the night here; he felt safer in it. Arlette nearly always retired early, and Lind was rarely a problem, typically reading by the fire until shortly past ten, then joining Arlette. Rachael spent most of the evening in the mud room, sculpting or painting; Sarah rewarding her with art supplies to occupy her time. Jessica would come find him each evening after dinner. He would do his best to entertain her until she would fall asleep in his arms by seven-thirty or eight. She would remain there beside him, until Sarah came for her a short while later, whisking her away, carrying her to their shared bedroom, next to his off the hall. Sarah always seemed to be awake and he wondered if she waited for him to sleep before she gave in and did the same.
Now, feeling satisfied and empowered, for having finally returned Owen to his people, Julien gave their situation another mulling.
She is angry with you…
You have to repair this damage…
You have to make them her enemy again…
Convince her that you are not the enemy…
She must want Arlette and Lind gone.
Yes…
Let her do the dirty work…
Make her get rid of them…
Make her want to get rid of them.
But they have to truly…
be…
gone.
She has feelings for you…
Romantic feelings…
Use that.
I cannot…
Yes, you can.
I do not have this in me…
I cannot.
Then live here…
Live in this way forever…
Wait for her ire to erupt again and be hurt or killed…
Or for her to turn on Jessica again.
Stop complaining and do as Rachael said…
Accept.
Julien opened the trapdoor and tossed the blanket down to the bedroom floor. He descended the spiral staircase and came face-to-face with Sarah, standing silently on the opposite side of the bed, holding Jessica’s hand. His daughter’s face was void of expression and Sarah was equally unreadable.
She knows about the boy.
Do not assume.
“What is this?” he asked, bracing himself for a battle and listening for Jérome’s footsteps in the hall.
Sarah turned and led Jessica to the doorway.
“Sarah?” Julien stopped her, “I did not mean to hurt you. In the barn... You surprised me. I did not expect…” he stopped himself.
It is better to say nothing…
Than to say something wrong.
Sarah stood motionless in the doorway with her back to him. Jessica looking over her shoulder; her eyes pleading for him to rescue her.
“She can stay with me,” he said.
He watched Sarah release her fingers and shake Jessica’s hand free. Jessica ran to him. Julien scooped her up as Sarah w
alked away.
What was that about?
Julien put Jessica on the bed. He sat down hard, playfully bouncing her on the springy mattress then asking her to sit.
“Talk to me? Tell me what you are thinking?” He brushed the hair from her eyes, “Hmm?”
Even after all her years of her silence, he continued to encourage her to speak, if only with physical expression, she had a voice and he regularly reminded her of that.
Jessica stared up at him, her bright, hazel eyes dimmed suddenly.
“I want to go home too, Jessica.” He hugged her and sat back against the headboard drawing her close to his side. He pulled the blankets up and tucked them beneath her chin.
“Did you know that you were born here? Right in this house.”
Jessica looked up at him then tucked her head back beneath his chin.
“You were a surprise to me. I did not know that you were coming.” A twang of guilt struck him.
“When I was your age, I, too, lived in the country. On a farm, with many cows and all the animals. The country is a beautiful place to grow up.”
He looked down at her, wondering if she was buying any of it. He couldn’t find anything to say that would make their situation seem better. Living here held no comparison to his country upbringing and there was no use in trying to fool her.
“I am very sorry, Jessica. I know you are not happy here and neither am I.”
Jessica pulled away from him and sat up on her knees. She patted her tiny hands on his cheeks and then pointed behind her at the door. She grunted and rambled with urgency then now patting on his stomach, pointing back at the door again.
He took her hands and focused her attention on him.
In a low melodic tone, he tried to reassure her, “I know. I will do all that I can. I am figuring this things out.” Seeing her panic only increased his own, “I am trying, Sweetheart. You must be patient. Papa is trying.”
WISHBONE II: ...Some Wishes Should Never Be Made Page 21