A Change in Altitude

by Cindy Myers

  “Maybe that’s why she wasn’t in the Women’s Society,” Lucas said. “She was a scandalous divorcée and all the proper ladies didn’t want to associate with her.”

  “There must be some other way we can find out this stuff,” Alina said.

  “We should look at old newspapers on microfiche to see if there’s any mention of Adelaide McCutcheon’s death or disappearance or a divorce,” Lucas said. “They have copies at the library.”

  She covered her face with her hands and moaned. “Not the library, please. I’ve had enough of that place.” She lowered her hands and pushed back from the table. “And enough of being indoors. Let’s ride out to your house and see how the remodeling is coming.”

  “That’s a great idea. We finished painting in my room over the weekend. It looks awesome.”

  The sour-faced clerk was just as glum when they told her they were leaving as she had been when they arrived. She insisted on inspecting the records room and seemed surprised to find everything in order. “Well, everything looks as it should,” she said. “Did you find the information you needed?”

  “We did,” Lucas said. “Thank you.”

  Alina mumbled thank you, then followed him sedately out the door. But as soon as they hit the parking lot, they raced to their bikes and flew down the hill, toward the other end of town, and the former Gilroy house, soon to be home to the Gruber-Theriots.

  They crossed Main, past a crew who was painting the old-fashioned light posts with a fresh coat of dark green enamel. Word at school was that the town was sprucing up for the arrival of some big-shot movie director who was thinking of making a movie in Eureka.

  “Do you think they’ll really make a movie here?” Alina asked, when they stopped to let a delivery truck rumble past.

  “Why not?” Lucas said. “It would make a cool setting, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know much about movies.”

  “What’s your favorite movie? Mine’s Lord of the Rings.” Not waiting for her answer, he set off pedaling again, but slower, so that she could keep up and they could talk.

  “I don’t really have one,” she said. “I haven’t seen many.” As in, hardly any. “My dad didn’t believe in TV or movies.”

  “So you didn’t have a television—even for educational stuff like the History channel or public television?”

  He didn’t look at her like she was a freak, the way some people did. He was just being Lucas—interested in everything. “Nope,” she said. “And we lived too far from a movie theater to ever go.”

  “Then I guess you’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” he said. “That could be fun. You can skip the dumb stuff that’s a waste of time and concentrate on the classics worth seeing.”

  “I guess so. Though right now, with school and everything, I don’t have a lot of time for watching stuff. And I’m reading The Hunger Games trilogy. I think I’d rather read than watch TV.”

  “Those are awesome books,” Lucas said.

  “My dad definitely would have approved of them. He would have loved it if I’d decided to hunt with a bow. He thought I was a freak for wanting to be a vegetarian.”

  “You’re not a freak,” Lucas said. “I think being a vegetarian is cool—I just like hamburgers too much.”

  He made a face and she laughed. They pulled up in front of his house. Though the yard was still overgrown and neglected, the house itself had received a fresh coat of olive green paint, with cream-colored trim. “D. J. put in new, energy-efficient windows and more insulation,” Lucas said. “Mom refinished the floors and painted stencils and stuff in some of the rooms. She said that was something the Victorians did—that was the time period when the house was first built. She said she’s going to paint a mural in the dining room when she has the time.” He led the way up the front walk.

  “I saw the mural she did in the Last Dollar,” Alina said. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “That was the first artwork she ever got paid for,” he said. “Now she does a lot of stuff like that. She did a ton of painting over at Mrs. Stanowski’s new B and B.”

  He opened the front door, which was unlocked, and led the way into the open front room. When he and Alina had been here the other night, it had been dark, and they hadn’t been able to see much. “It’s beautiful,” she said, admiring the golden oak floors and high ceilings. It was four times the size of her uncle’s cottage where she was staying with her mom, and way bigger than the house where they’d lived in Vermont.

  “My room is upstairs.”

  Lucas’s bedroom was at the back corner of the house, with big windows overlooking a side alley and an empty pasture, with mountains beyond. “There’s a bathroom next door, and three other bedrooms. My mom and D. J. will have the biggest room, at the other end of the house, with their own bathroom.”

  “What about the other two bedrooms?” she asked.

  He leaned against the windowsill, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. “They haven’t said, but I’m pretty sure they plan to fix up the one closest to their room as a nursery, then when the kid gets bigger, he or she can move down to the room next to mine.”

  “So your mom is going to have another kid?”

  “I know she’s always wanted more kids, and I think D. J. would like to have some. And she’s still young.”

  “How do you feel about that?” she asked.

  “I always wanted brothers or sisters,” he said. “Being the only kid can be good, but it sucks sometimes, too. The only thing is, I’ll be a lot older than these kids. I mean, even if my mom gets pregnant now, I’ll be fifteen by the time the baby’s born. Still, it’ll be cool being the big brother.”

  A pain lanced through Alina as she thought of her own big brother. When they’d first left Vermont, she’d tried hard to put him out of her mind. He was where he wanted to be, with their dad, and he was fine. She didn’t have to waste a lot of her time missing him.

  But now she didn’t know where he was, or if he was all right, and she couldn’t stop thinking about him. “I have an older brother,” she said. “His name is Adan. He stayed in Vermont, to live with my dad.”

  “You must miss him,” Lucas said.

  She nodded. “The thing is, we don’t know where he is right now. Or my dad either. My mom tried to call the other day and Adan wouldn’t answer his phone. She finally talked to a neighbor, who said my dad moved and didn’t tell anyone where he was going. The police are trying to find them, to make sure Adan is all right.”

  “Oh, Alina.”

  She nodded. “I know. It sucks.”

  “What’s your brother like?”

  “He’s different from me. Quieter, not as friendly. Kind of like my dad. Sometimes he’s really sweet to me, teaching me things or talking to me. But he can be really mean, too. He’ll say stupid stuff.” Stuff their dad would say—that girls were useless and it would have been better if she was a boy, for instance. “I think sometimes he’s just trying really hard to impress my dad. That’s important to him.”

  “I never knew my dad, so I didn’t have anyone to impress,” Lucas said. “But I guess, when you look up to someone, the way I look up to D. J., you want them to be proud of you.”

  “They should be proud just because you’re their kid,” she said. “You shouldn’t have to earn a parent’s love.”

  He moved away from the window and put his arm around her shoulders. “No, you shouldn’t have to earn love. It should just be there. The way my mom loves me. The way your mom loves you.”

  She nodded and swallowed back tears. It was nice standing here, with his arms around her. It made her feel less like she was going to fall apart. Safe.

  “If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to tell anyone?”

  “I promise.” She studied his face, looking for clues as to what this big secret might be.

  “After Mom and D. J. are married, he’s going to adopt me. They have to file some legal paperwork and stuff, but when it’s done, I w
on’t be Lucas Theriot anymore. I’ll be Lucas Gruber.”

  She thought Theriot was a prettier name than Gruber, but clearly Lucas didn’t see it that way. He loved D. J., and having him for a father was probably a dream come true. She squeezed his arm. “That’s so great,” she said. “I’m really happy for you. But why is it a secret?”

  He made a face. “I just don’t want to jinx it. I’d rather wait until it happens, then let everybody know.”

  She nodded. “You can go around correcting everyone—‘my name’s not Theriot, it’s Gruber.’ ” She slipped out of his arms and punched his shoulder lightly. “Though you know somebody is going to end up calling you ‘Goober’ instead.”

  He laughed. “Then I guess I’ll be a goober. I’ve been called worse.” He moved over to the window and looked out across the alley. “D. J. says we can move in in a couple more weeks. I can’t wait.”

  “Has your ghost been up to anything lately?” she asked.

  “D. J.’s missing a pocketknife and my mom’s favorite paintbrush is gone. I told them maybe the ghost is going to open a hardware store on the other side.”

  She smiled, because she knew he was trying hard to cheer her up.

  “I still wish we could spend the night here and take photos,” he said. “That would be so cool.”

  “It would. But I’d better not risk it now.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He glanced out the window. “It’s getting late. We’d better get home before you’re sentenced to another month at the library.”

  “No!” She waved her hands in mock horror. “Not that!”

  They’d just crossed Main when a sheriff’s SUV pulled alongside them. Sergeant Miller rolled down the window. “Hello, Alina, Lucas,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  “Have you heard anything about my brother?” Alina asked.

  “I wish I had good news for you, but I haven’t heard anything. I did contact the police in Vermont, and they’re looking. And we haven’t heard anything to make us think anything bad has happened. Your dad just moved and neglected to tell anyone. We’ll find him.”

  “Thanks.” She wanted to believe him—that Adan was safe and happy, hiding out with their paranoid dad, playing survivalists who didn’t need anyone or anything. It was all so stupid and pointless. Friends, and especially family, were important. Why couldn’t they see that?

  They skidded to a stop in front of the lilac house. “I’ll see you in school tomorrow,” Lucas said.

  “Can you wait here for half a second?” she asked. “I just have to run inside and get something.”

  “Okay.” He looked puzzled, but he didn’t pump her with questions. That was another thing she liked about Lucas—he accepted you wherever you were. And he was patient.

  She found the camera case in her room and ran out to him with it. “Here.” She thrust it at him. “You can borrow this and try to take pictures of your ghost.”

  “Alina, I don’t like to take your camera. I know it means a lot to you.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t mean anything. My dad didn’t really give it to me. I stole it.”

  His eyes widened. “You stole it?”

  “I took it from a guy named Wilson—my dad’s friend who lived with us. I was mad because he was the reason we had to leave—because my mom caught him trying to kiss me . . . and stuff.” She shuddered, remembering Wilson running his hand over the top of her breast and pinching her bottom whenever she walked by. “And I was mad at my dad because he stood up for Wilson instead of for me. He wouldn’t have given me a camera. He didn’t think girls were worth anything.”

  “I think you’re worth a lot. And I’ll take good care of this camera, I promise.” He stowed the case in his backpack and zipped it up, then reached out to pat her shoulder. “You’re really special, Alina. Don’t let anyone ever tell you different.”

  She nodded, afraid if she said anything, she’d burst into tears. Sometimes having people be nice to you was even harder than when they were mean. You could build up walls against the meanness.

  “I’ll let you know what I find.” He mounted his bike again. “And I’ll say a prayer that your brother is okay.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered. She hugged her arms to herself and watched him ride away, blond hair blowing in the wind, long legs pumping.

  Chapter 12

  When she was younger, Sharon had believed that the gift of getting older would be letting go of the angst and self-doubt that had plagued her teenaged self. She’d envisioned a day when she’d be so calm and put together that she could look in the mirror in the morning and not fret about her hair or the shape of her nose or an impending zit on her chin. She’d imagined nights not spent lying awake worrying about what people thought of her, or what she should have said to the man who cut her off in traffic, or replaying in an endless loop the stupid mistakes she’d made that day.

  She might as well have continued to believe in Santa Claus and the tooth fairy. Adult Sharon was just as angsty and self-doubting as teen Sharon. Only with adulthood came more things to stress over—parenting mistakes, relationship flaws, job crises, and general bad decisions. Now she believed she was doomed to spend her retirement reviewing a lifetime of missed opportunities and poor choices—worrying about her weight or her hair or things she should have said, long past the point they really mattered.

  Neuroticism might play well in television comedies, but in real life it was just, well, exhausting. Proof: the fact that she spent ten minutes the morning before Maggie’s baby shower trying unsuccessfully to cover the circles under her eyes with a tube labeled “concealer” that did nothing to hide the dark smudges but only seemed to highlight them.

  She’d tossed and turned all night, imagining half a dozen terrible scenarios at the shower. She had told Jameso about Adan, and he had, of course, shared the news with Maggie, who had probably told Barb and everyone else, so now all these women knew she was a mother who’d abandoned her son to a man who she could see now was probably unstable. She was a terrible mother, and they all knew it and they would hate her for it.

  In the light of day those fears seemed a little extreme, but she still couldn’t think about Adan without wanting to throw up. Her baby—her firstborn. Maybe he looked and talked and acted too much like a man now, but he was still her boy. He’d insisted on staying with his father, but she was his mother—she knew better how to take care of him. And now he was gone. Vanished. She gripped the edge of the sink and watched the tears fall into the basin, smearing her freshly applied makeup. Oh God, how was she going to get through this?

  She grabbed her phone and punched in the number for Sergeant Miller, which she’d already memorized. It rang three times before going to voice mail. “Um, hi. This is Sharon Franklin. I’m just wondering if you’ve found out anything about my son.” She hung up, feeling foolish. If he’d heard anything, he would have called her.

  Her gaze shifted to the mirror and she groaned. Now she looked like something out of a horror movie. She’d have to start over, and be quick about it or she’d be late to the shower.

  Thirty minutes later, she parked on the street down from Barb’s bed-and-breakfast. As far as she knew, the business as yet had no other name, and no doubt even after it was christened, locals would continue to refer to it this way. On her third day in town she’d asked someone how to find the office to register her car and they’d told her to turn “where the yellow barn used to be,” as if, of course, she knew where that was. Every town was filled with these ghosts of places and names that, though changed or vanished, remained fixed in the memories of long-time locals.

  The bed-and-breakfast definitely stood out from its neighbors, with its fresh white siding and new Victorian gingerbread highlighted with green and purple paint. A stone path led to the front door, which was inset with stained glass in a wisteria pattern. The effect was both opulent and homey.

  As she’d feared, Sharon was the last guest to arrive. “We were getting worried about you,
” Barb said as she ushered her inside. “If you didn’t show up soon, I was going to send Jameso to fetch you.”

  “Jameso’s here?” She looked around the circle of women gathered in the front room on sofas and folding chairs.

  Barb laughed. “He wouldn’t come near this much estrogen, but I have the man on speed dial.”

  “Hello, Sharon.” Maggie heaved herself out of a chair to embrace her future sister-in-law. She patted Sharon’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

  “Okay.” Sharon bit her lip. “Okay,” she repeated, forcing a smile. “How are you doing? You look ready to deliver any day now.”

  “Oh, no. I’m definitely not ready.” Maggie returned to her chair. “I doubt I’ll be ready even when the baby gets here.”

  “You’ll be ready,” Barb said. “You’ve been waiting most of your life for this little one.”

  “That’s true enough,” Maggie agreed. She addressed Sharon. “My first husband didn’t want children, so he made me think I didn’t want any either.”

  “Amazing how men can brainwash us sometimes,” another woman, her hair a cloud of baby-fine blond around her pale features, said. “When we first married, my husband convinced me that if we didn’t have sex every day, he’d get some horrible disease and die.”

  “How long did it take you to figure out he was wrong?” Barb asked.

  “We’d been married about three months when I came down with the flu. I told him he’d just have to die, since I obviously was—but there was no way I was letting him anywhere near me. He lived and so did I, and he never tried that line on me again.”

  “That’s one of the benefits of getting married at my age,” Maggie said. “I hope I’m not quite as naïve as I was in my twenties.”

  “Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?” Danielle took a cookie from the tray on the coffee table and broke off a bite.

  “It’s a girl.” Maggie smoothed the front of her maternity top. “We’ve picked a name, but we’re not telling anyone yet.”