Set In Stone

by Balmanno, Beth

  “I brought Goldfinger,” Geoff said. I handed him the remote and he flipped to the main menu screen. “It’s not the first Bond movie but it’s one of my favorites.”

  I tried to be interested. I really did. “Weren’t there a lot of people who played Bond?” I hovered by my desk as he talked, stowing pencils and straightening papers.

  He nodded. “Yeah. Sean Connery, Roger Moore, and George Lazenby for one film. Those were the older movies. The newer ones have had a lot of actors, too—Pierce Brosnan was OK and Daniel Craig is a pretty good Bond. But Connery is my favorite. He’s in this one.”

  He was quiet for a minute. “Um, are you gonna sit down and watch?”

  I parked myself on the empty beanbag chair, sliding it just a little to the left as I sat down, away from Geoff. The movie began, a fast paced, ten-minute opening sequence filled with stunts and nonstop action. I tried to keep my eyes on the screen, to absorb the plot and the characters but my thoughts—and my eyes—strayed. I could not stop thinking about the intrigue and mystery that had been introduced into my own life.

  Geoff paused the movie.

  I glanced from the screen to where he sat. “What’s wrong?” I asked. Had I missed something?

  “That was the question I was going to ask you,” he said. “You’re a million miles away.”

  “No, I’m not,” I protested. “Really. Start the movie.”

  “Valerie. I’m not stupid. Something’s on your mind. If you don’t want to talk, that’s cool. But if you want to…well, I have two ears. Big ones.” He grinned, a self-deprecating smile. “I could listen.”

  I dismissed his offer. “I’m fine.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever.” He restarted the movie and I went back to the thoughts ricocheting through my mind.

  Away from school, away from Leo and Noel, I could think. I relived my tirade in the hallway at school, and how I’d mentioned the stone. That was the point he’d silenced me, first with his hand and then with his mouth. I shivered, remembering the feel of his lips on my cheek. That was when he’d promised to keep me safe…from what, I didn’t know. But what I did know, without a doubt, was that this—all of this—was about the stone in my pocket. I fingered it, longing to pull it out and study it, to roll it between my fingers, to see if it glowed as brightly on a dark and dreary day as it did in the sun.

  I wrapped my fingers around it, gripping it in my fisted hand. I wanted to tell someone about this mysterious rock and, more importantly, about the two boys who haunted me, both physically and mentally. Mom was a definite no. And Dad, well, he was never home. When he was, his overflowing files and stacks of papers occupied most of his free time. Interaction with him was always on his terms; I often felt as though I needed to schedule an appointment to guarantee time with him. No, he wasn’t an option, either. If Jess had been around, she would have been the obvious choice. Even long-distance, I could have told her, through clandestine phone calls and cryptic emails. She would have understood, she would have sympathized, offered advice. Who did that leave?

  I knew I had to tell someone. I thought back to Leo and the hypnotic hold he had over me, of Noel and the magic he could work with his eyes and his voice and his cool touch. I’d only had one encounter with Leo—and only a few with Noel—but I could feel them, along with my stone, overtaking my thoughts. My life. I was in way over my head. I needed someone.

  I glanced sideways at Geoff.

  “Actually, I do have something on my mind,” I said quietly.

  He hit the pause button again. “Shoot,” he said.

  I took a deep breath, unsure of where to begin. I’d start with the stone.

  “OK. Let’s say you found something special. Something that didn’t belong to you. But you wanted it. What would you do with it? Would you keep it? Hypothetically, of course.”

  He thought for a minute. “Well, I guess it depends on what it is. I mean, if you’re talking about a wallet or something along those lines, then no, I definitely wouldn’t keep it. I’d turn it in. But if it was a wad of cash, with no indication of who it belonged to, would I keep it then?” He closed his eyes briefly. “No, I’d still turn it in. Someone would miss it, you know? But let’s say it was a twenty blowing across the street or stuck in the gutter. How would you know who that belonged to? How much value does a twenty actually have? For people like us, not much. We’d barely even miss it.”

  I started to speak but he interrupted. “But, let’s say that twenty belonged to some single mom; maybe it was the twenty dollars she was taking to the grocery store, the last twenty dollars before her next paycheck. She stoops down to grab her kid’s hand to cross the street and the money falls out of her pocket or her purse. And now, suddenly, she doesn’t have money for groceries this week. For someone like her, the value of that twenty is much, much higher than it is for us.”

  “Right, but--”

  He wasn’t finished. “But who do you turn it in to? Is it even possible to find the rightful owner in a situation like that? Do you just carry it in your pocket and hand it to the next homeless person you see, hoping the good karma will eventually make it back to the person who lost it in the first place?”

  My head was spinning from his philosophical musings. This was not the conversation I’d had in mind. But of course the boy genius would wax poetic on the question I’d just asked.

  “Look, it’s not money,” I said. “What if it doesn’t appear to have any real inherent value? Meaning, it’s not money or a piece of jewelry or anything like that.”

  He shook his head as he readjusted on the beanbag. “You’ve lost me,” he said. “You said it was something special. I was equating special with valuable. Define ’special.’”

  I thought about giving it up and just letting it go but he waited expectantly. I struggled to explain. “Something that has worth,” I said finally. “Maybe not in monetary terms. But, to you, it is valuable…and to others, too. And those other people want it. Maybe even more than you do.”

  He frowned. “Well, then, I guess it depends how badly you want to keep it. Would it hurt those other people if you didn’t give it to them? Are we talking about an heirloom or something? Is there a rightful owner?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t think so.” I didn’t know anything about it except for what I’d told him. It was definitely special and there were two mysterious boys who knew about it, but I had no idea if it belonged to either of them. Even if it did, I wasn’t so sure I would be willing to give it back.

  “Hmmm…” Geoff ran his hand through his hair, thinking. “Is there any way to find out?”

  “I don’t know,” I echoed my previous response.

  “Do you have it now?” he asked quietly.

  I frowned. “This was a hypothetical situation,” I reminded him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Please. A hypothetical would not be eating away at you. Come on, Valerie. Tell me. I won’t say anything to anyone. I promise. I want to help.”

  He looked so sincere and I was so tired, so alone and so—I was ready to admit—scared. I wouldn’t tell him everything, I decided. I would just show him the stone. Measure his response to it. Maybe it only seemed magical to me. Perhaps this was all in my head…and my next trip out of the house would be to a psych ward, not back to school.

  I relented. “OK.” I reached into my pocket and grabbed the stone. Quickly, before I could change my mind, I unclenched my fingers, palm outstretched.

  Chapter 14

  “It’s a rock?” Geoff couldn’t hide the disbelief—or disappointment—in his voice.

  “Yes.”

  He stared at it, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was the object of our conversation. The stone remained cool, still that milky, opaque color.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “This weekend. Camping.”

  “And it’s special.” He said it as a statement but I could hear his unasked question.

  “I think so.” I looked at it. Now, re
sting in my hand, it looked like an ordinary stone, a polished river rock someone might have found along the shore or, as in my case, buried in the forest. But just as I thought this, it began to glow dimly.

  “Whoa. What’s going on?” Geoff’s eyes were huge, his mouth slightly agape.

  “I don’t know. It does this sometimes…glows, I mean. And the temperature—I don’t know how to describe it but the temperature of the rock changes.”

  He furrowed his brow. “You mean it warms up in your hand? Like while you’re holding it?”

  I shook my head. “No. It fluctuates between hot and cold.”

  “Really?” He reached out his hand. “Can I touch it? Hold it?”

  I resisted the urge to close my fingers around it and stuff it back into my pocket and instead transferred it to Geoff’s open palm.

  “Wow,” he breathed. “This is amazing.” He closed his own hand over it. “You said you found it this weekend. Where? By the bathrooms?”

  “No, out in the woods. When I fell. There was this clearing. It was sort of buried.”

  “How did you know where to look for it?”

  “Not really buried,” I amended. “I guess hidden is a better word. It was underneath some leaves, in a hole. It was glowing—much brighter than it is now—and I dug around and found it.”

  As soon as I said this, it glowed stronger. Geoff held it between his thumb and forefinger, examining it.

  “Look at this.” He held it a few inches from his eye. “It looks like there’s something inside.”

  I craned my neck to see. “Where? What are you talking about?” I’d never seen anything. My fingers itched. I wanted it back. Now.

  “Here,” he said, pointing with his index finger. “Do you see it, right in the center?”

  There was something, a tiny, almost imperceptible, nondescript shape.

  “Do you have a flashlight or a magnifying glass or something?”

  I hesitated for just a moment, deciding. I went to my desk and yanked open the top drawer. I knew there was a flashlight in there somewhere, one Dad made me keep in my room for emergencies. I found it and pushed the button, relieved the batteries still worked.

  “Shine it here,” Geoff instructed, pointing to the center of the stone.

  “What is it?” I asked. There was definitely something inside. For one horrified moment, I wondered if it wasn’t a stone but perhaps an egg of some sort. Had I been walking around incubating some strange, otherworldly embryo?

  “It’s a symbol, I think.” He squinted. “I’m not one-hundred percent sure, but I think it’s a cross.”

  “A cross?” That was not what I’d expected.

  “Yeah. Here, hold the rock.” Geoff handed it back to me and I took it eagerly.

  The stone lay flat in my palm, toasty warm. I closed my eyes and let its warm glow wash over me. It was nothing like Leo’s assault—this was soothing, comforting, as if something I’d lost long ago had been returned to me.

  “Look here.” He shone the light. “I don’t think it’s a Christian cross. It looks older—see the circle around it? I’m thinking it may be a Celtic cross but I’m not sure.”

  “A what?” I had no idea there were different kinds of crosses. We were not church goers. Even at St. John’s, chapel was optional, something that was offered after school on Wednesdays. I’d gone twice, and only because my mom had appointments that prevented her from picking me up on time.

  “Celtic cross—you know, like from Ireland or Scotland.”

  “Well, what does it mean?”

  “I have no idea. But I bet we can find out.”

  “How?”

  He grabbed a piece of paper from my desk and helped himself to one of the pencils stashed in my drawers. He sat down and did a quick sketch, his eyes flying from my hand to the paper and then back again. He was a much better artist than me, I noted, marveling at the accuracy of his sketch.

  “Geoff!” Mrs. D’s voice called from downstairs. “We need to get going.”

  “Damn.” He hurriedly finished the drawing, folded the paper and put it in his jeans pocket. “Can I take this with me?” he asked as an afterthought, motioning to the piece of paper he’d just stowed. “Maybe I can do some research, see if I can find out anything.”

  I nodded. “That would be awesome.”

  He turned to go, but stopped. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You said there was someone else who wanted this. Others…plural. How do you know? Who are they?”

  “Not now,” I said. I wasn’t prepared to tell him about Noel or Leo. Not quite yet.

  “Was it someone at the campground?”

  “Why do you ask?” I said cautiously. “Did you see someone?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “There was a guy in the bathroom when we walked up. He was kind of hanging out by the sinks, not really doing anything. I talked to him for a bit, said he was waiting for someone. But he kept looking out toward the women’s door and, I don’t know, I just got this feeling that he might be waiting for you. It was weird. And you hadn’t mentioned meeting anyone or anything like that. So I decided to stay, make sure you were OK.”

  That explained it, I thought, the reason he’d waited for me.

  “So, is he the one? The other person who wants this?”

  I nodded. “Yes,” I said.

  “Geoff!” Mrs. D’s voice sounded again, this time impatient.

  He sighed. “I need to run. I’m going to look into this, see what I can dig up. I’ll be back tomorrow. And I want you to tell me more about that guy.”

  Geoff left and I was once again alone with my thoughts and the stone. It was special; there was something different about it…even Geoff had noticed. I breathed a sigh of relief over this. I thought about his revelation regarding Noel, how he had been lurking in the bathroom, and my skin tingled. I was suddenly grateful that Geoff had decided to wait for me that morning, to escort me back to the campground. It was further proof that Noel knew about my new possession. I thought about Geoff’s reaction to the rock, his calm manner and matter-of-fact attitude as he’d studied it and formulated a plan. He wasn’t freaked out or worried about it and this helped steady my nerves. I’d finally shared my secret with someone and I was glad.

  Chapter 15

  The alarm sounded the next morning. I hit the snooze button but didn’t fall back asleep. Faced with seeing Leo and Noel again, I didn’t feel as brave or confident as I had the night before. My stomach felt queasy just thinking about lunch hour. I wondered if I could ward off another one of Leo’s warm, hypnotic assaults. And later, with Noel in art, could I spend an entire hour with him, my self-appointed protector? I didn’t know what he was protecting me from and I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

  I knew it wouldn’t be hard to convince Mom to let me stay home. Cramps, a headache—she’d buy almost anything. But, I told myself, I wasn’t a coward. If I had been, I would have left the unfriendly atmosphere of St. John’s the same week I’d started. Scared, yes. Worried, definitely. But I wouldn’t turn tail and run. Resolved, I got out of bed and took a quick shower. I didn’t bother drying my hair.

  Dad was in the kitchen, filling a travel mug with coffee. He reached for me, a smile on his face. His hair was brown like mine, still thick and full, cut short and parted down the right side. His suit was a dark blue one today, paired with a light blue shirt and a yellow tie which was draped around his neck, waiting to be properly knotted. He looked like a college fraternity boy, albeit an aging one.

  “How’s my girl?” He squeezed me next to the soft paunch of his stomach. This coupled with the crows feet feathered around his eyes were the only exterior signs that attested to his age.

  It had been days—maybe weeks—since he’d last hugged me. I clung to him for a minute and breathed in the scent of his spicy cologne.

  “Everything OK?” he asked, pushing me just far enough away to look at me.

  “Everything’s fine,” I said. I knew I couldn’t tell him what was on my min
d. I could imagine his response to the situation—total lock-down, police and FBI surrounding our house, experts called in to examine the stone. No, he’d have to remain in the dark.

  “I’m going to be home for dinner tonight. What do you say to Chinese food? Maybe House of Dynasty?” He lifted the plastic wrap off of the platter on the counter and ate one of Mrs. D’s cakes from yesterday, a chocolate frosted one.

  I sat on a stool. “Take-out or eat-in?”

  “Which do you want?” He went to work on his tie, wrapping it and knotting it with his practiced hands.

  I thought for a minute. “Eat-in,” I decided. There would be more distractions in a crowded restaurant and less opportunity for my thoughts to stray.

  “Eat in what?” Mom walked in to the kitchen, purse in hand.

  “Chinese food. Tonight.” Dad planted a kiss on her cheek. “You look beautiful. Where are you headed?”

  Mom glanced disinterestedly at her outfit, a pink cashmere sweater set and soft gray slacks. A diamond tennis bracelet encircled her wrist, a Christmas gift from Dad. It matched the large diamond studs in her ears. “I have a nail appointment at nine, then lunch with Tiffany.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  She poured a cup of coffee. “I’ll probably head to Nordstroms later. I need some new shoes.”

  I sighed and swore for the thousandth time that I would not grow up to be like my mother. No direction and no purpose other than to socialize with her friends and spend Dad’s money. I would do something with my life—work, volunteer, something—just as surely as I would focus on loving the children I did have instead of wallowing in sorrow and regret over the could-have-been babies.

  “You ready, Val?” Mom asked. She looked me up and down, taking in my jeans and plain, long-sleeved, white tee, my unkempt hair and lack of makeup, and frowned. I was her worst fashion nightmare.

  Dad grabbed his briefcase. “What? You’re leaving now? Heading to school?” He was usually long gone by the time I was dressed and ready to leave.