The window was so well oiled, it almost slammed when she closed it. Oops. Easing her bedroom door open, she peaked down the hall. No lights. Nothing moving. Then she smelled it. Cologne. It was a bit sickly, far too much for any self-respecting man to wear. Unless he was older and his olfactory senses were going. Possibly perhaps maybe...like Mr. Rogers?
Oh no. Didn’t they say ghosts left strange smells behind as well? “I don’t believe in spooks.” She decided it was best to make that her mantra.
Glancing in Isadora’s room, there appeared to be a human lump in the bed, and well, there was that delicate, ladylike snore. Okay, so it wasn’t Isadora in the attic.
She backed out of the room. If there was an attic door, she didn’t see it in the ceiling. Thank God. That would have been way too much like The Exorcist. Besides, she wasn’t going up there, no way, no how, not in the middle of the night.
Padding downstairs, she cocked her head once more to listen. Nothing. Except that smell again, some sickly not-so-manly cologne. Or maybe she just had the scent stuck in her nose now. She checked all the downstairs doors to make sure they were locked, then raced back upstairs, jumped into the bed and pulled the covers over her head.
Like a little kid. The thought made her giggle.
Tomorrow, she’d ask Isadora about the attic.
* * * * *
The next morning, Friday, Jami had confirmed the house had an attic, and it was filled with a bunch of junk, though Isadora couldn’t remember what specifically. Neither of them wanted to check it out in case a scary creepy devil thing was lurking up there.
Okay, she didn’t believe there was a ghost or a devil in the attic, but... there was Black Christmas, where the creepy eyeball guy was hiding up in the attic. She had an overactive imagination, and she’d watched way too many old horror films when she was young.
Isadora therefore decided Jami should ask Cole to check it out. Except that all of Friday, Jami couldn’t make the suggestion because Cole ignored her. She wasn’t stupid, however. What he really wanted to ignore was that kiss. His cold shoulder hurt, as silly as that sounded, since she’d only known him a week, and he’d only kissed her twice.
The only good thing offered up on Friday was that Andrea agreed to go to the church bazaar on Saturday morning. Why she’d agreed, Jami still wasn’t sure, but Andrea simply said, “Yeah, sure, fine,” in typical teenage fashion. So here Jami was knocking on Andrea’s front door bright and early Saturday morning. Isadora said arriving any later than eight o’clock, the bazaar wasn’t worth attending.
Hmm, it was too bad, though, that Frank’s conversation with Pete—which consisted of “Yo, what’s doing with Andrea and her brother?”—had yielded no new information. It was, therefore, up to Jami to learn what she could today, in addition to counting on Betty to be the fountain of gossip Isadora claimed she was.
The front door opened almost immediately, and Andrea slipped out, closing it quickly. She barely said hello as she raced down the porch steps tugging her backpack over her shoulders.
Behind Jami, the door swung wide again.
“I want to meet the lady!”
Andrea froze on the front walkway.
“I’m Darryl.”
Jami turned, expecting a child, but Darryl could actually be a few years older than Andrea. He stuck out his hand, brown eyes bright, and a smile as wide as Thomas the Train.
“Hi, Darryl, I’m Jami. Nice to meet you.”
His brown hair was thin, his hand warm and sweaty, his cheeks chubby, and his face was that of an innocent child. When Mr. Bagotti talked about Darryl, she’d imagined sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll, but Darryl had Down’s Syndrome.
“Darryl, you get back inside,” Andrea said from the bottom of the steps.
“Can’t I come with you?” He had such a pleading look, Jami’s heart broke.
“No, Darryl. I have to go to work right after so I can’t bring you back.”
“Oh.” His hands dropping to his sides, his mouth drooping, he was crestfallen.
Andrea bit her lip. “I’ll bring you a present from the bazaar.”
“You will?” Just like that, his smile stretched across his face once more, and he bounced on his sneakered toes. “What?”
“I don’t know, but Jami will help me pick it out.” Andrea shot her a beseeching look.
“Of course I will,” Jami agreed. “It’ll be something really special.”
From the depths of the house, a woman’s voice called to Darryl.
“I gotta go,” he said in an overly loud whisper, then he leaned over to kiss Jami’s cheek. “I like you.”
The door slammed behind him, then yanked open again. “Oops,” Darryl said, and closed it softly.
“Mom hates it when he slams the door.”
Jami joined her on the front walk. “He’s a sweet kid.”
She shuffled out to the SUV. “He’s fine.”
“I did intend to introduce myself to your mom so she didn’t think some weird stranger was picking you up.”
“Oh, she didn’t care.” Andrea stared at the ground as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “After my dad talked to you the other day, they’re fine.” Andrea climbed in the truck, ending the conversation right there as Jami walked around.
Jami wasn’t sure she was fine with it all. She’d wanted to meet Andrea’s mom, to gauge how the woman felt about the artwork. It could be her dad who had the issue. Parents wanted their kids to get somewhere in life; Jami understood that. Most people, when they thought about artists, put the word starving in front. It wasn’t exactly a secure career. Still, that didn’t mean Andrea had to give it up completely. There were other jobs, such as graphic design, that could be lucrative as well as provide a creative outlet for her.
“Thanks for coming with me today,” Jami said as she started the engine and pulled away from the front of the house. Darryl stood in the front window waving. “I think this will be fun.”
“My dad wanted me to be sure to talk to you about being an accountant.”
Hadn’t they done the accounting talk the other day? Right now, Jami wanted to know more about Darryl. Andrea had seemed a little put out when he’d followed her to the door, then she’d warmed. Still, it was better to let the girl direct the conversation. “Is accounting what you really want to do?”
“I’m not sure unless you tell me more about it.”
Jami laughed. “You’re right.” Andrea was a logical kid. “I guess it depends on where you want to end up. I mean, if you want to be the CEO of a company, then starting out as an accountant really helps you understand the business.”
Andrea grimaced. “That sounds totally interesting.” Not. “Do you want to be a CEO?”
“No,” Jami answered honestly. “Way too much pressure. I’m much better working with spreadsheets.” In hindsight, working for Dick Head, she had learned what she didn’t want: a job that kept her awake at night worrying. Easy Cheesy was so much easier, pun intended. “Do they teach you how to work spreadsheets in high school?”
Andrea nodded, her hair falling across her face.
“Did you like it?”
She grimaced again. “It’s okay.” Right. The girl was obviously thrilled to the very soles of her white tennis shoes.
The discussion ended there. Isadora had given Jami directions, and the church wasn’t far, but when she turned onto the street, it was jammed with early shoppers. It took her five minutes just to find a parking spot.
“Boy, Isadora was right,” Jami said once they were out on the sidewalk. “You have to get here early.”
“Or else the really good junk is gone?”
“That’s it exactly.” Jami noticed that Andrea gave the church facade the same grimace she’d given the questions about accounting. Really, why had the girl agreed to come? It was a mystery Jami hoped to solve before the day was through.
The old wooden church was painted brick red, its steeple rising high above the double front doors. Se
t back from the road and fronted by a well manicured lawn was a matching red brick building, though a newer vintage than the church, judging by its military style. Atop metal poles sunk into the grass, helium balloons beat against each other in the breeze. Elderly ladies in brightly colored clothing lined up at the door, a few men, too, accompanying their wives.
Jami looked down at her jeans. “I think we’re underdressed.”
“Old people always dress up for everything,” Andrea whispered, as if she were a little afraid of anyone over the age of fifty. Or maybe she was in awe that the crotch of a man’s pants was actually not supposed to hang down to his knees.
Once inside, they found Isadora eyeing a hummingbird feeder. It was amazing that they’d seen her at all in the warren of rooms. Lines had been laid down with colored masking tape directing the traffic flow through room after room; men’s clothing, women’s, children’s, a whole room just for shoes, one for fine china and jewelry, then rooms for small furniture, kitchenware and linens, books, videos, and toys.
The sheer quantity of junk boggled the mind. At the door they’d been handed canvas bags to carry their purchases. With such a crush, Jami hated to think what the checkout line would be at the end. Even Used But Not Abused had never seen customers in numbers like this. Talk about organization.
“Isadora, this is my friend Andrea.”
Isadora smiled and said hello, but she did not for one second take her eyes off the coveted feeder. “Betty’s around here somewhere.”
The statuesque woman was indeed visible over the shorter populace. She waved with a set of barbecue tongs, barely missing the bouffant of the lady in front of her.
“I think you’ll find something interesting in the odds-n-ends room,” Isadora said with a wink.
Jami almost clapped her hands. Yesterday Isadora had made the suggestion to the bazaar organizers regarding grab bags. Jami hadn’t thought they’d even consider it with such short notice, but whoopee, they saw the benefits.
Before she could drag Andrea off to the odds-n-ends room, Isadora pulled Jami down to whisper, “Betty didn’t have a single juicy tidbit about the girl’s family. Must mean they’re good people, or Betty would know.”
Darn, she hadn’t learned anything, but that might be a blessing in disguise. Where they wasn’t any smoke, maybe there wasn’t a fire either.
“Thanks,” she whispered back, then raised her voice to a normal level. “We’ll wander around and see what we find.”
Andrea looked a bit lost, as if she couldn’t imagine anyone pawing through someone else’s castoffs.
“It’s like hitting all the garage sales on a Saturday morning,” Jami offered as they followed the masking-tape lines from room to room.
“I’ve only been to garage sales in my neighborhood.” Andrea smiled ever so slightly. “Darryl likes it.”
“That’s nice of you to take him.”
“Yeah. I’m so sweet and thoughtful,” Andrea uttered the syrupy quip. Then, for a moment, she focused somewhere deep within herself.
Jami wanted to ask if she resented her brother, but felt the question wasn’t in good taste. That would be like asking if Jami thought she’d deserved to be fired.
She noted that Andrea didn’t pick up anything. She barely seemed to look at the costume jewelry or the games room or the books. What interested her? She did study an old Superman lunchbox, but it was on a collectibles table and too expensive for the number of scratches and dings on its sides.
The woman manning the table refused to negotiate. “This is for charity.”
Andrea traced Lois Lane with her finger. “Darryl would adore this,” she whispered.
Jami answered her own question. Andrea did not resent her brother. Indeed, she cared a great deal about him. Jami thought about giving Andrea the money to buy it but rejected the idea. Then it wouldn’t have been a gift from Andrea.
“I just thought of something for Darryl.” Jami pulled the girl away. Now was the time for the odds-n-ends room.
Chapter Seventeen
It should have been labeled the real junk room—as opposed to the better quality junk. Here was where the teddy bears with patched arms lived, the fondue set missing the forks, three matching wineglasses instead of four, the King Tut puzzle with a few lost pieces.
“Darryl would love figuring out which pieces were missing.” Andrea tipped her head to make sure Jami was listening. “He’s a lot smarter than most people think.” She looked Jami square in the eye, as if daring her to disagree.
Of course, Jami wouldn’t. “You love him a lot, don’t you?”
And she lost Andrea again. The girl gave the usual apathetic shrug. “He’s okay.”
Most of the time, Andrea looked at the floor when she talked. For that one moment, defending her brother, she’d forgotten her own hesitancy. Now it was back.
“You can get him the puzzle. But what about this, too?” Jami had been eyeing them all along, as soon as they entered the room. Grab bags.
“What’s in them?” Andrea didn’t sound impressed.
Jami was in awe. How had they managed it so quickly? There were grab bags for girls and bags for boys, for women, some for men. The powers that be had even narrowed it down to teenage boys and girls. Because really, they were somewhere between adulthood and childhood, with needs and desires all their own. The bags were only fifty cents. Olga would be incensed at the price, but it was for charity, after all.
“It could be anything,” she whispered with awe. The possibilities were limitless.
“Why would you pay for something when you don’t know what you’re going to get?”
Jami could only stare at the girl. How could she not get it? “Because it’s a surprise.”
“Oh.”
“I’m going to get one.”
“But we’ll have to stand in that long line for something you aren’t even sure of.” Andrea sounded aghast.
It wasn’t working. Jami had thought the girl would be ecstatic. But then Jami had grown up with grab bags. They had meaning above and beyond what might be inside. She had more than thirty years of memories to go along with the bag itself. Yet it was like the list of must-do things; Andrea couldn’t see all the possibilities.
“I think you should get one for Darryl.” Somehow, she was sure Darryl would understand. Perhaps his delight in it would have an influence on Andrea.
“I guess I could.”
What Jami wouldn’t give for a little enthusiasm on Andrea’s part. “Do you want a bag for a teenage boy or an adult?”
Andrea shrugged with an accompanying grimace. “Whatever.” She reached for a bag without any ceremony or thought.
Jami hung onto her arm. “You can’t just grab. You have to get into a Zen place.”
“You know”—Andrea blinked slowly as if she could see something written on the backs of her eyelids—“you’re nice and all, but you’re a little bit of a geek.”
Jami laughed. “I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to tell me that. So just think for a moment about the best thing Darryl could get.”
“Do I have to close my eyes and hum or anything?”
“You’re making fun of me.”
Andrea grinned.
Jami thought her heart would pop out of her chest. The girl had the most beautiful smile, almost as beautiful as Darryl’s. This was working. All Andrea needed was a friend.
They lined up, Andrea in front of teenage boys and Jami by women’s. “Are you Zenning?”
Andrea rolled her eyes, but a smile flirted on her lips. “I’m Zenning.”
Jami counted to ten under her breath. “Okay, grab.”
They grabbed together. Jami felt a weird burst of energy, as if the universe had just given her something absolutely positively perfect. She figured that could simply have been the fact that Andrea was playing the game with her.
“Can I open it?” the teenager asked.
“Nooo,” Jami exaggerated the word. “Darryl has to open it since it’
s for him.”
“Are you going to open yours?”
“Not until I’ve paid for it, and we’re having donuts.”
“Why do we have to have donuts?”
Now that was the oddest thing Jami had ever heard from the mouth of someone under the age of eighteen. Where donuts were concerned, why ask why? “It doesn’t have to be donuts, but you’ve got to be sitting down and fully in the moment.”
Andrea gave her look.
“Yeah, I know, I’m a geek.”
“I have to go to work so we don’t have a lot of time left for donuts.”
Jami realized she wasn’t going to see Darryl open his bag, and she felt a pang under her rib.
“All right, out of the way, you young whippersnappers.” Isadora pushed between them, her elbow poking Jami’s rib. “I gotta get me a bag.”
“Me, too. Out of my way, you old bag.” Betty tittered at her own pun, then leaned in to whisper loudly in Jami’s ear. “Do they have any X-rated bags?”
“It’s a church bazaar,” Isadora drawled, “so everything’s G-rated.”
“Bummer.” Then Betty glanced at Andrea’s bag. “Teenage boy?”
“For my brother.” Andrea’s smile had faded. She wasn’t sure of Betty and Isadora yet. They were unknown quantities, which meant that Jami, while a geek, was at least a known quantity.
“Where’s yours?” Isadora prodded Andrea.
“I don’t need one.”
“Well, of course you don’t need it. I don’t need this espresso machine I found”—Isadora held up her see-through mesh bag housing the machine and the birdfeeder—“but I want it, and that’s more important.”
“Take a chance,” Betty urged. “It’s only fifty cents.”
Somehow, the way she spoke, the words sounded like the sentiment behind making your own rules. Jami could have hugged them both as Andrea reached into the cache of bags and pulled out one for a woman. Hmm, it must be significant that she didn’t choose something for a teenager.
The huddle around the table grew exponentially, as if a little interest created a lot of interest, then everyone wanted to know what they were missing.
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