by Laura Ruby
“Aren’t you going to get the phone?”
She shook her head. “We get a lot of crank calls.”
“Kids? Like, ‘Is your refrigerator running? You better go catch it?’”
“Not that kind of crank call. The kind where you pick up the phone and no one’s there.”
“That’s weird. Want me to answer it? I can make my voice really deep. Sometimes it scares them off.”
“Sure, if you want.”
“Where’s the phone?”
Lily pointed, and Vaz walked over to the ornate phone in the parlor, picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he croaked, grinning at Lily. He listened for a moment, the smile dropping off his face. He hung up the phone, stood staring at it as if he thought it might get up and run away.
He cleared his throat. “I thought you said that the cranks never say anything.”
“They never did before.”
“Well, he just said something.”
Lily put her mug on the table. “What did he say?”
Vaz looked at her, brows furrowed. “‘Hit the road, Odysseus.’”
Chapter Six
Lily’s mouth was so dry it felt like she’d swallowed a cupful of sand. “Are you sure that’s what they said? ‘Hit the road, Odysseus?’”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“I knew somebody was spying on us. I knew it! It must be the same person I saw peeking at us through the window that day I met you. And the same person who moved my books.”
“Maybe. But why would someone want to spy on you?”
“I don’t know.”
Vaz pulled his coat from the back of the chair. “Come on,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to take a look around outside. Maybe we can catch whoever it is.”
The gravel driveway crunched under their shoes as she and Vaz made their way around the side of the house to the back yard. The yard was large but not huge, and there were only a few trees and hedges that a would-be spy could hide behind.
Lily shivered and clutched her collar tighter. “Maybe he’s not spying from outside. Maybe he’s spying from another house. Maybe he has binoculars or a telescope or something.”
“How could hear what we were saying, then?” Vaz said. “How would he know we were talking about Odysseus?”
“Maybe he reads lips.”
“Maybe he reads minds,” Vaz said.
“Well, you tell me how it happened.”
Vaz ran his hands through his hair. “Are you sure you can’t think of any reason why someone would spy on you?”
“There’s nothing.”
“What about your mom? What does she do?”
“She’s not a government agent.”
“I’m serious,” he said.
“She makes jewelry, okay? And it’s weird jewelry. There aren’t a lot of people all that interested in what she does.”
“What about your dad?”
Lily stared. “What about him?”
“Where is he?”
“He doesn’t live here,” Lily said. She wasn’t about to explain. People understood dead. People understood divorce. They didn’t understand gone.
“Okay,” Vaz said. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why would somebody want to spy on you?”
“Maybe they weren’t spying on me,” Lily said. “Maybe they were spying on you. Maybe you’re some kind of teenaged drug dealer. Maybe you fence stolen silverware and TV sets. Maybe you’re an alien and the government wants to dissect you.”
“Never mind,” Vaz said. “I’m sorry I asked.”
Neither of them moved until Lily decided that if she had to be scared and paranoid then it was better if she were scared and paranoid and warm. They went back inside and sat at the kitchen table.
Vaz kept his coat on, as if a coat could protect him from whoever was watching them. He drummed his fingers on the table. “So, your uncle’s letting you stay here, huh? What’s he like?”
“Don’t know. I never met him.” Lily tugged on a rope of her hair. “At least, I don’t remember ever meeting him.”
“You never met your own uncle?”
“It’s my mom’s uncle. And anyway, she hasn’t seen him in years. She hasn’t seen any of her family in years.”
“Why not?”
Lily had asked her mother that question hundreds of times. “Because they don’t approve of my choices,” her mother had told her. “Because they think that money is the most important thing in the world. But money’s not everything.” And then she would talk about love and hope and art and dreams. “People need to dream,” said Lily’s mother, “or else they die.”
But then, the year Lily was ten, her mother’s parents did die, one after the other, and Lily stopped asking questions.
To Vaz, Lily said, “We’re here now. I guess whatever reasons my mom had aren’t as big a deal as she thought they were.”
Vaz unzipped his coat. “So, besides chasing creeps who break into your house, what do you like to do?”
Lily almost said, “Look at weird things under a microscope,” but caught herself; she didn’t have a microscope anymore. “I don’t know. Regular stuff. Baby sit. Sometimes I help my mom when she sells her jewelry at a show or whatever.”
“That’s work. What do you like to do when you don’t have to work?”
Lily blinked. She mostly did things she had to do, not liked to do. “I don’t know.”
“Let me guess.” He leaned back and studied her. “You paint.”
She hadn’t painted anything in years, unless she was forced to in art class. “No.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “You’re a dancer. One of those dancers who makes like a tree or an egg. A modern dancer.” He stood and assumed a tree pose, arms extended like branches.
She smiled. He was too goofy. “Uh…no.”
“You write things. Poetry about your twisted mind. Your tortured adolescence “
She giggled. “No,” she said, but she wished she had a twisted mind. It sounded kind of fun.
“No, you don’t write poetry, or no, you don’t write about your tortured adolescence?”
“You know what I mean.”
He took off his coat and sat. “You’re a cheerleader.”
“No.”
“A bandleader.”
“No.”
“A ringleader.”
“A what?”
He grinned even wider. “I know what you are. You’re one of those girls who has a zillion boyfriends in eighteen different states, aren’t you?”
“No,” she said, blushing furiously.
“Sure you are,” he said. “No wonder you don’t have time to paint.”
She burst out laughing.
“Now it’s your turn,” he said. “Guess what I like to do.”
“I have no clue,” she said. He looked like the kind of person who could do anything.
“Come on, guess.”
“I don’t know, bake cakes?”
“Close. I eat cakes. Guess again.”
She leaned back in her chair and looked him over the way he’d looked her over, hoping that she looked as cool and relaxed as he had. His hands looked about four sizes too big for his tall skinny body. “You play basketball,” she said.
“Close,” he said. “I eat basketballs.”
She winced and laughed at the same time. “You’re really strange.”
“Right!” he said. “Exactly right! How did you guess?”
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored cabinet over Vaz’s head: the open-mouthed grin, the flushed face and mussed hair. Ugh. She looked like she just rolled out of bed after a long, muggy night, which embarrassed her so much she leaped to her feet.
He gazed up at her. “I guess I should be going anyway.”
“Oh, sorry, I was just—”
“No problem.” He checked his watch. “My mom will wonder what happened to me.” He put on
his coat. “As long as you’re all right.”
“What do you mean?”
“The crank call, remember?”
“Oh!” she said. She’d completely forgotten about it. “It was only a phone call.”
“Still, it’s pretty weird.”
“Yeah,” she said, trying to sound flip, unconcerned. “But my mom will be home soon. We’ll figure something out.” She walked him to the front door.
“Well,” he said. “It’s been…interesting.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Interesting.”
“I’ll see you around?”
She looked at her feet. “Maybe.”
He grinned and walked out, taking the stairs in one leap.
She shut the door behind him. All of a sudden the house was deadly quiet and she felt soft and out of breath, like a balloon with a slow leak.
As she hung up her coat, she thought about the phone call. Maybe Vaz hadn’t heard right. Maybe it was just a wrong number. Not “hit the road, Odysseus,” but “is this missus…?” or whatever.
But just in case there was a real spy, Lily went around the house pulling down all the shades and closing all of the curtains. With each window she got more annoyed with herself, more annoyed with Vaz. Now that he’d hung out with her once, talked to her, was nice to her, all she would think about was when he would come back.
Uh oh. You like him. You know what that means, don’t you? Moodiness. Loss of appetite. Sniveling. Makeup.
“I know,” said Lily, frowning hard enough to hurt. “I know.”
Chapter Seven
A few days after Vaz came by, her mother had a surprise. Guess who called today? Guess who’s coming to dinner? To see them? Tonight? In a half hour?
“Uh. Odysseus?”
“Uncle Wes!” Her mother looked as if she had swallowed a large, leggy bug. “Isn’t that nice?”
“If you say so,” said Lily, because her mother had always acted as if family members were something to be respected but avoided, like bears or gainful employment. “What are you cooking?”
“Who’s cooking?” said her mother, holding up two plastic bags. Thai take out.
Lily looked at the bags. “Does Uncle Wes like Thai food?”
The bags sank to the floor. “Doesn’t everybody?”
From her mother’s description of Wes, Lily had expected some shuffling twig of a thing. But Uncle Wes was tall and spry, with silver hair combed back from a high, unlined forehead. One eye was green, the other a peculiar icy blue; both stared down a strong, bony nose.
The three of them settled themselves as best they could in the stiff parlor furniture. Lily’s backside promptly fell asleep.
Uncle Wes cleared his throat. “You’re looking well, Arden. Young as ever.”
“Thank you, Wes,” Lily’s mother said. “You look well…as well.”
Uncle Wes appraised Lily from his perch in one of the Chippendales. Lily felt she should say something about somebody looking well, but she didn’t know which of Wes’s eyes to focus on, so found herself bouncing from the blue one to the green one like an anxious bee.
“She looks like her father,” Wes said finally.
Lily’s mother crossed one leg over the other. “Yes, she does.”
“But she’s tall,” he said. “Now, that’s from our line.” This time he addressed Lily instead of her mother. “Your grandmother was tall. And my brother.”
“Max?” said Lily.
“Maxmillian,” he corrected. He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Do you feel a draft in here?”
“I’ll turn up the heat if you like,” said Lily’s mother.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “I’m fine.” He clasped his hands on his lap. He wore jeans but wore them awkwardly, like a man used to a suit.
“How do you like Cape May?”
“It’s very nice,” Lily’s mother said. “Very, very nice,” she added.
“And Lily, how’s school so far?”
Lily wriggled in her seat, hoping to wake up her butt. “Um…I don’t go to school.”
“Excuse me?” Uncle Wes frowned at Lily’s mother.
“I wanted to let Lily get settled in,” her mother said. “I’ve been tutoring her at home.”
“My mom’s a great teacher,” said Lily.
“Well,” he said, clearly appalled. “I’m sure she is.”
“How about dinner?” Lily’s mother said brightly. “I thought we’d sit in the dining room.”
Uncle Wes stood. “Oh, I wouldn’t want you to make a fuss. The kitchen is fine.”
“It’s no trouble. I already set the table. See?” Lily’s mother pointed through the archway. “You two sit, and I’ll get the food.”
Lily plunked herself into a dining room chair, but Wes stood behind his. He seemed to be dazed by the glittering chandelier, almost mesmerized.
“What’s the matter?” Lily asked.
A small muscle beneath his blue eye twitched. “The chandelier is beautiful, isn’t it? It was my mother’s favorite piece in the whole house. I can’t help but think of her when I look at it.”
“Was she nice?” Lily asked. “Your mother?”
“Of course,” he said. “But not to everyone.”
It was just the kind of thing her own mother might have said, and Lily struggled not to cluck her tongue in disgust.
Uncle Wes took a seat just as Lily’s mother swept into the room laden with platters. Uncle Wes looked at plates piled with red and green curries, spicy rice noodles, and thin-skinned dumplings with such a dismayed expression that Lily felt a bit sorry for him.
“Oh, my,” he said. “The food is quite…exotic.”
Her mother’s mouth caved in, so that for a moment she looked like a woman without teeth. “I’m sure I can find something else.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t hear of it,” said Wes, pulling a linen napkin out of a gold ring and placing it across his lap. “I’m sure it’s delicious. Whatever it is.” He dug into the curries gamely.
Lily’s mother whispered, “Go get your uncle some water. A lot of water.”
Your uncle, your uncle, Lily thought, as she filled a glass of water at the kitchen sink. Lily wasn’t sure if she liked him, and it made her feel weird. Weren’t you supposed to like your family? She imagined meeting her father again. What if she didn’t like him? What if he didn’t like her?
She heard a splashing sound and gasped. The sink was filled to the brim, the water spilling all over the floor.
“Whoa!” she said, jumping back.
“Lily? Are you all right?”
“Yes!” she called. Frantic, she put the glass down before grabbing both faucets and turning them first clockwise then counterclockwise. The water shot from the spigot as if she’d done nothing at all.
“Lily? The water?”
A rivulet snaked toward the door. Towels. She needed towels, she thought, yanking yards of paper towels from the roll on the wall.
“Earth to Lily,” her mother sang.
She looked down. The floor was dry, the sink empty. The water glass sat on the counter, full.
“What?” she said out loud. “What?” Seeing things again! What was with her? Mental illness? Early Alzheimer’s?
“Lily!”
She crumpled the paper towels into a ball and threw them in the garbage can. “Coming!”
She set the water in front of Uncle Wes and he nearly drained the glass. “Thank you,” he said.
He choked down some more curry. “You may not look like your mother, but I’m sure you’re just as smart as she is. What kinds of things do you like to do?”
Vaz had just asked her that question, and she figured she better work on some better answers. I enjoy skydiving, spelunking, and seeing things that aren’t there.
“I like the ocean,” she said.
Uncle Wes leaned forward, intrigued. “Really? My brother loved the ocean. He had all kinds of books. Seafarers and adventurers and pirates, that sort of thing.”
“Fascinating,” said Uncle Wes. He glanced at his plate as if he were worried that some giant squid was mixed in with the noodles. “But you’ll need money to find your big squid, won’t you? How will you support yourself?”
“Oh, I’m going to be rich,” said Lily.
Uncle Wes coughed and had to sip more water. “Rich? Really? How will you manage that?”
Lily wasn’t sure how she’d manage it — all she knew was that she had to. She wasn’t going to live hand-to-mouth the rest of her life, all dreams and nothing to finance them.
She shrugged. “I don’t know how. I just will.”
Uncle Wes stared at her curiously, then set his napkin next to his plate. He shivered.
“Is something wrong?” Lily’s mother asked.
“No, no. I think I should replace these old windows soon.” He rubbed his own arms.
“If you’re finished eating, I can light a fire.”
“A fire would be wonderful. Thank you. I’ll admit I’m chilled to the bone.”
Uncle Wes insisted on fetching the firewood from the porch and starting the fire himself. “Man’s greatest invention, fire,” he said. Lily and her mother gave him the armchair closest to the fireplace.
Lily, feeling rather warm and cozy, pulled off her sweater and stretched out on the couch as her mother and Uncle Wes chatted about operas and symphonies and wines. The rich, earthy smell of smoke made her feel dazed and sleepy.
“Would you like a blanket?” she heard her mother say.
“I don’t know why I’m so cold,” said Uncle Wes. “I’m right next to the fire. And you two seem comfortable.”
Lily opened her eyes just a bit and thought she saw a hazy fog of condensation emanating from her uncle’s mouth, as if he were outside rather than in. The fire was miniaturized in his eyes.
Julep chose that moment for one of her ecstatic kitty fits and thundered into the room, batting something — a washer? a quarter? — under the couch. She jumped up on the armchair and gaped, showing Uncle Wes her pointy teeth. He leaped from the chair.
“What a charming creature,” he said, appalled yet again.