The First Last Day

by Dorian Cirrone

  The man’s forehead wrinkled. “Magic?”

  “Yes, you must know about it if they belong to you.”

  “Oh. No. You misunderstood me. They’re not my paints. I was just impressed that you took the time to look for the owner.”

  My arms dropped to my sides as I let out a huge sigh of disappointment.

  “So sorry I couldn’t help you now,” the man said, taking his wallet from his pocket. He pulled out a card. “But one day when you’re a great artist, give me a call, and I’ll help you sell your paintings.”

  I took the card and read: Alexander McElwain, Art Dealer. When I looked up, he had a big smile on his face. “Good luck to you,” he said before walking away.

  I turned to Kevin. “He wasn’t that creepy after all, was he?”

  Kevin shook his head. “I guess not.”

  I shoved the paints back into my bag. “What now?”

  Kevin pointed to Marty’s Magic Shop and raised his eyebrows. “It’s showtime!”

  CHAPTER 35

  Marty pulled the scarf from my backpack, and I felt my face flush like it did the first day I was there. This time it was more nerves than embarrassment. I had to get Marty away from the crowd so he’d admit he put the yellow box in my backpack.

  We were running out of suspects, and I was starting to think Kevin had been right about Marty. After all the “oohs” and “aahs,” he gave his usual sales pitch. As soon as he finished, I tapped him on the shoulder. There was a strange gleam in his eyes when he turned to me and asked, “You interested in buying something?”

  “Uh, no,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “I was wondering if you sell magic paints?”

  The gleam disappeared as Marty shook his head and turned to talk to someone else.

  At that moment, Kevin chimed in, “I might be interested in buying that scarf trick. Can you show it to me?”

  I gave him a grateful look as we followed Marty to the counter. Kevin pretended to be interested in all the tricks for sale, while I unzipped my bag. As soon as there was a pause in the conversation, I pulled out the box. “I was wondering if you have a trick where I could hide something this big up my sleeve.”

  “That would be some trick,” Marty said. His eyes narrowed. “Hey, weren’t you the girl just asking me about magic paints?”

  “Yes . . .” Was he about to confess?

  He pointed to the yellow box. “Are those yours?”

  I nodded, bursting inside with the anticipation of finally figuring out the mystery. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “It was you!” I shouted. “It was you!”

  “Hey, listen, kid.” His voice sounded gruff. “I didn’t do anything.” He looked around as he twirled the end of his mustache. “Put that old box away before customers think I’m selling some kind of used tricks in here.”

  “You mean you didn’t put this in my backpack when you took the scarf out?”

  “Are you kidding? If I could do a trick like that, I wouldn’t be working in a hotel magic shop. I’d be doing shows in Vegas.”

  Disappointment flooded through me. “Thanks, anyway,” I mumbled.

  “We still have another shot,” Kevin said as we headed toward the boardwalk. “Maybe it was someone at mini golf. Or . . . I don’t know, but we can’t give up.”

  I forced myself to smile. “No, we can’t.”

  But I was beginning to lose hope.

  • • •

  “Wow,” Kevin said, “a hole in one. I guess you’ve gotten pretty good with all the practice.”

  “This and my artwork. That part’s been good.”

  As Kevin took his shot, I noticed that the three boys behind us, who looked about my age, were all carrying backpacks. The two girls had only small purses on their shoulders. Any one of those boys could have slipped the paints inside my bag when I ran to help Kevin. But how could I find out which one? I couldn’t just go up to them and ask, “Hey, did you give me magic paints?”

  With my mind deep in thought, it took me eight tries on the next hole. Kevin hit the ball in with his usual two shots. Watching him gave me an idea. I whispered my plan in his ear.

  On the next hole, I took thirteen tries to get the ball in.

  Kevin groaned loudly. “C’mon. We’ll never finish the course at this rate.” He pretended to storm off to the next hole.

  While everyone was looking at him, I took out the paints and placed them on the ground at the Peter Pan hole. I moved on, surveying the group of kids as they approached the wooden pirate ship. I figured once they found the yellow box, I’d be able to tell by their reactions if one of them was the culprit.

  As they neared the hole, they were having such a good time that no one noticed the box.

  I waited and waited. Nothing.

  After a few minutes, I walked back to where the kids were laughing and making fun of each other. They ignored me as I passed them and picked up the paints. “Whew, that was close!” I said it like I was an actor in a play, and the back row needed to hear me. All five kids turned. I waved the box in the air. “These must have fallen out of my backpack.” I knew they thought I was totally crazy, but that was my last chance to solve the mystery. “Have any of you seen these types of paints before?” I asked. “They didn’t come with directions.”

  One of the guys, who wore a Yankees cap, looked closer at the box. “They’re oil paints,” he said, grinning. “Why do you need directions? Don’t you just, duh, paint with them?”

  The rest of the kids laughed.

  It was kind of a dumb question. Before the time loop, I would have been embarrassed, but I had more important issues to deal with. “Are you sure you’ve never seen paints like these?”

  One of the girls, the one who hadn’t giggled as much, took a closer look. “These seem really old. They’re probably from before we were even born. Where did you get them?”

  “Someone gave them to me,” I answered.

  “You should give them back!” the boy with the cap bellowed.

  Then all five kids burst into laughter again.

  I laughed along with them, as if the guy actually said something funny.

  But, deep down, all I felt was despair. Maybe whoever had given me the paints didn’t even remember. Maybe that person’s memory was wiped clean every morning like everyone else’s.

  I was beginning to think I was stuck with those paints.

  Just like I was stuck in summer.

  CHAPTER 36

  Usually Kevin and I were watching the end of The Day the Earth Stood Still before dinner, but that evening I couldn’t bear to watch it one more time. Kevin and I had totally run out of suspects. And even though we’d agreed to keep looking, I’d almost given up hope.

  I sat on a kitchen chair next to the stove and stared down at the fossil in my hand, the one I’d found every morning since the time loop had started.

  “You look sad,” G-Mags said. “Is there something upsetting you?”

  Of course, I couldn’t tell her what was wrong. So, I held out the piece of rock and asked if she’d like to see it. “It has a fish skeleton on it.”

  G-Mags turned the rock over in her palm. “Isn’t it lovely the way nature provides us this way of remembering what came before us?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Fossils are nature’s way of revealing our history. An imprint of a tiny fish like this one on your rock is a way of telling us that there was life before us, and it will continue long after we’re gone. It’s as if the fish is crying out, Remember me.” She pressed the rock back into my palm. “Nature is quite the artist, isn’t she?”

  “I never thought of it that way,” I said, sliding the rock into my pocket. I pictured my own artwork and how everything I added to my sketchbook each day was always gone the next morning. When I flipped open my pad, there was no record of my having sketched anything at all. It was as if I’d been drawing with disappearing ink.

  And day after day, just like my sketches, history was being erased too.<
br />
  As Kevin joined us and repeated the words Klaatu barada nikto, sadness washed over me. In the movie, the phrase could bring someone back to life. But those words seemed hollow and empty to me.

  I blinked back tears.

  “What’s wrong, dear?” G-Mags said. “Are you sure there isn’t something you’d like to talk about?”

  I looked up at her concerned face. Maybe I could tell her one of my secrets.

  I leaned in close and whispered, “Can I tell you something?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  “It’s a secret.”

  G-Mags pretended to zip her lips with her fingers.

  “My mom is having a baby.”

  G-Mags clapped her hands and whispered, “What a lovely surprise.” But her eyes didn’t seem like she was surprised at all.

  After a few seconds she said, “Speaking of secrets, that reminds me about something I wanted to give you before everyone left. I’ll be right back.”

  I gazed around the kitchen and living room. Even after all those nights, I loved looking at the Damico family treasures. My eyes fell on the painting of Kevin, and it reminded me that I might never get to meet Michael—or my own brother or sister.

  My heart ached at the thought. I got up to examine the painting further. I was studying Michael’s signature at the bottom of the painting, noticing his distinctive loop on the M, when something hit me. The year under the signature: it couldn’t have been right.

  I whipped around to face G-Mags as she returned to the living room. “Did Michael make a mistake on the date when he painted this?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But it’s impossible. This painting of Kevin was done the year before he was born.”

  G-Mags broke out into a huge smile. “That was what made it so special. Michael was always asking for a little brother to play with. For years that was all he talked about. Then one day when he was visiting, he was bored and restless. I pulled out a set of paints I’d found in a closet when I moved into this house. I gave them to him, and he painted this picture of a little boy.”

  Was she saying what I thought she was saying? I resisted the urge to jump up and down and scream.

  “At the time, we just thought it was a nice painting. But several years later, when Kevin was about three years old, we all noticed the resemblance between him and the portrait. We couldn’t believe what a coincidence it was.”

  Was it a coincidence? Had Michael painted his heart’s desire to have a little brother? My own heart raced as I took a deep breath and asked, “And, where are these paints now?”

  “That’s the strange thing,” G-Mags said. “I was just looking for the box—I wanted to surprise you, but I can’t find it anywhere.” She walked over to the end table where she kept her teacup and Bible.

  I froze in my spot. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it was trying to break free of my chest.

  “I was sure the box was still in the closet,” G-Mags said. “I tried to get Michael to take the paints with him years ago. But he said he had other paints at home, and he left them here.”

  I was still too shocked to move. All those nights that G-Mags had been talking about giving me something in the morning, she’d been talking about the paints. It was all so clear now: she must have snuck the box in my backpack to surprise me on that first August twenty-sixth. But of course, the next day she wouldn’t have remembered she’d done it.

  Slowly, I made my way to the couch and collapsed into the soft cushions. I knew the next decision I made could alter the course of all of our lives. Did I dare ask G-Mags if she knew about the magic?

  I had to. But first I needed to know something else.

  I sat up straight. “What if I told you that you already gave me those paints—and they were magic?”

  G-Mags gave a little laugh. “I would say you must have stayed out in the sun too long today.”

  “Well, let’s say, just for fun, they had the power to stop time. Would you want that?”

  Without hesitation, G-Mags responded, “Heavens no!”

  “You wouldn’t want to live forever?”

  “Of course not, dear. It wouldn’t be right. It’s not the way the world works, now, is it?”

  “But what if it were the way the world works? Would you want to live forever?”

  “I can’t imagine a world where I would have the choice. But if I did, I’m afraid I’d choose not to.”

  “Why? Why wouldn’t you want to live forever?”

  She reached toward the side table and picked up her Bible. Flipping to a page with a folded corner, she said, “Here’s your answer—it’s my favorite passage from the Old Testament.”

  I took the Bible from her and silently read:

  To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

  A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted

  I stopped there because my eyes stung and the words had gotten blurry. “But what if there didn’t have to be a time to die?” I said. “What if you could just stay the same forever—what if we could all stay the same forever, here on the shore?”

  G-Mags sat down next to me. “As much as I love you all, I wouldn’t want everything to stay the same. It wouldn’t be fair, now, would it? You and Kevin should have a chance to grow up and maybe someday have children of your own. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

  “But what if you weren’t there to see Kevin grow up? Would that make you sad?”

  G-Mags sighed. “Of course I’d be sad, but that’s the way life goes. We die and make room for another generation. It’s painful, but that’s why we have memory. To keep people alive in our hearts.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “But why all these questions from a young girl like you? You shouldn’t be thinking about these things. You should be thinking about the beach and school and parties.”

  I put the Bible down on the couch. “I guess I just don’t want summer to end.”

  G-Mags gave me a long hug. “I don’t blame you, dear. It’s been a wonderful time, hasn’t it? But consider how awful it would be if you never again got to see a raindrop or a snowflake or the leaves of a sugar maple turn colors and fall to the ground?”

  “I never thought of that.”

  She grabbed a piece of paper from her housecoat pocket. “I’m sorry I couldn’t surprise you with Michael’s paints. But maybe these directions will help you with your artwork, anyway. They must have fallen out of the box, and I didn’t see them on the closet floor.”

  Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I steadied my hand as I reached out to take the paper from her. For something containing so much power, it felt weightless in my hand.

  Flap by flap, I unfolded the directions and read. When I reached the bottom of the page, I nearly fainted.

  I pulled my phone from my backpack on the floor and doubled over, groaning with exaggeration.

  Startled, G-Mags put her arm around me.

  Kevin came running from the kitchen. “What happened?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

  I leaned back on the cushion. “I’m okay. It was just a stomach cramp. Maybe some water would help.” As G-Mags scurried away, I whispered to Kevin, “I figured it out. I’ve got to get home fast to change the painting.”

  His eyes widened. “How? How do you know?”

  I showed him the directions. “Are you sure you want me to do it? With all your heart, are you sure you want me to make time move forward? No matter what happens?”

  He thought for almost a full minute. “Yes,” he said. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  I punched the buttons on the phone and asked my dad to come and get me.

  CHAPTER 37

  I’d touched the painting that morning—and a smudge of blue had come off on my finger. The directions said a wish could be reversed as long as the paint hadn’t dried. I hoped there was still time.

  The second I walked in the house, I raced towa
rd my desk. But the painting wasn’t there. I dashed to the closet. After shuffling things around, I still couldn’t find it. Had I put it somewhere else? I looked on my dresser, behind the bedroom door, even under my bed. But it was nowhere.

  I couldn’t think straight. “Mom, Mom!”

  At first there was no answer. I screamed louder and both my parents came running. “What’s wrong? You said you felt better once you came home.”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

  Mom put her cheek against my forehead.

  I pulled away. “Stop! I need to talk to you. Did either of you see a painting in my room?”

  “Haleigh!” Mom said. “You have to calm down. I think you have a fever. Let me see if I have anything for it.” She left the room.

  “No!” I called after her. “I just need the painting. Where is it?”

  Dad put his arm around me. “Why don’t you lie down? You’ll feel better.”

  “No, I won’t. Don’t you see? I’m running out of time.”

  Mom rushed into the room with a wet cloth in her hands. “Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Dad said. “The fever might be making her delirious. She keeps saying something about running out of time.”

  Mom pressed the cold compress against my forehead. “Now, close your eyes,” she said, softly. “Calm down.”

  I realized my parents weren’t going to leave my room until they were convinced I was okay. I took a few deep breaths and steadied myself.

  “That’s much better,” Dad said. “Now, what’s this about a painting?”

  “Oh,” Mom said. “I know what she’s talking about. I found a painting in here this morning. It was still wet, so I put it on the porch to dry.” She looked at me. “I was just about to bring it in here when you called us.”

  I bolted upright, grabbed Mom’s hand, and put it against my forehead. Her eyes opened wide as she looked at Dad. “She seems to be fine now.”

  “I told you I’m okay.” I jumped up from the bed. “I can start packing now.”

  I waited until their footsteps faded and then flew to the porch to retrieve the painting.

  I dabbed my finger against the bottom, where I’d made thick clumps to resemble sand.