Unhappy Appy

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  We walked in, and I was hit with the same eerie feeling I get stepping into Coolidge Castle, only in reverse. Instead of leaping back in time, we’d jumped into the future. A silver net and tiny lights covered the whole ceiling, turning it into a starry sky. All the furniture matched, and it was all white. Except for one closed door at the far end, the whole house was right there in front of us, with only a partial divider to the kitchen.

  “Thirsty?” Madeline asked. She took Dad’s wrist and raised it to her nose. “The dog watch!”

  I hadn’t noticed the watch, so I checked it out, too. There was no dog on the watch. Plus the time was way off.

  Dad’s cheeks flushed. “Yep. Works perfectly. Advances seven times the normal rate, seven dog years per each human year.”

  Barker would have loved it, but I acted uninterested.

  Dad followed Madeline to the kitchen “to help.”

  I couldn’t stand to watch, so I plopped into the nearest chair. It felt weird, lighter than I’d expected, since it looked leathery. Rubbing my finger on the arm of the chair made me think of eyelid skin.

  Dad came back and handed me a glass of un-asked-for lemonade.

  “No thank you,” I said politely. He made me take it. I started to set it on the coffee table. A tiny trapdoor flipped over, and a coaster appeared.

  I wanted to go home.

  Out the window I could see gray clouds. I wanted it to snow, but not until Hawk and I got our ride.

  “Winnie?” Madeline called from the kitchen. “Will you turn on the lights out there, please?”

  I searched for the switch in all the logical places, but came up empty. There were no lamps either.

  Dad came up behind me. “Here.” He walked to the door and used his chin to press what I’d thought was a door knocker. Light flooded the room. “Chin-lights! For when your hands are full.” He demonstrated a couple of times.

  Madeline walked in and set flowers next to my lemonade. A second trapdoor flipped open on the tabletop, offering her another coaster. “Mason’s in his room.” She nodded toward the closed door.

  “Why don’t you go introduce yourself, Winnie?” Dad suggested.

  I could have given him a hundred reasons. But I didn’t particularly feel like hanging out with the inventors either. I crossed to the door and knocked.

  “Just go on in!” Madeline called.

  I opened the door and stepped into a room with nothing on the floor except a little boy. He sat cross-legged, staring up at his window. He couldn’t have been older than six or seven, thin, with wispy, white-blond hair.

  He turned and smiled at me without moving his eyes. He had a round face and wire glasses like Catman’s, only with lenses so thick his blue eyes looked huge. I’m not sure what I’d expected, but it wasn’t this.

  “Hey.” I stepped toward him, and his head swung back to the window. “I’m Winnie. You’re Mason.” I sounded like Tarzan with better grammar. “So you want to ride horses, huh?”

  He didn’t move. His body leaned to one side, as if off balance. The more I watched him, the more I could tell he was staring at the window, not through it.

  Dad and Madeline walked in, and Madeline knelt by her son. “Honey, we have company.” She smiled at us, not like she was apologizing for him or anything. “I told you about Winnie. And you already know Mr. Willis.”

  I glanced at Dad, wondering how well Mason knew Mr. Willis.

  Madeline held Mason’s head and gently turned it toward us. Mason turned it back, reaching tiny fingers toward the window.

  “Mason.” Madeline’s voice stayed low and even. “Show Winnie your reading chair.”

  I scanned the room again. No chair. No bed. Nothing. Just a thick carpet on the floor and a bookcase built into one wall.

  Madeline took Mason’s hand and helped him reach what appeared to be twine dangling from the ceiling.

  For the first time, I looked up. I was staring at the bottom of a bed. The furniture was all on the ceiling!

  When Madeline pulled the twine, a big, white chair floated down. The chair matched the one in the living room. She slid something over one of the chair legs, and the chair stayed put. She did the same for a bed and another chair. I watched her, feeling like I’d walked into someone else’s dream, where everything was light as air.

  “Helium,” Madeline explained. “Mason likes having his room uncluttered in the daytime. Right, Mason?”

  The chair looked rock solid. But I knew the second the weight slid off, up . . . up . . . up it would sail. I thought about how wonderful it would be if everything worked that way, if the worries weighing me down could float away like that.

  “Madeline’s chair won first place at the Invention Convention,” Dad said.

  I knelt beside Mason, as the little light left outside fell across his face. His mouth turned up, as if he could burst into laughter any minute. “So, Mason, how old are you?”

  He kept smiling out the window as if the best movie in the world were playing there. Then, without turning from the window, he stuck his hand out.

  I wasn’t sure if he meant it for me, but I shook his hand. His fingers felt like toothpicks, and his hand was so sticky it took a second for us to unstick.

  “Sticky fingers!” Madeline laughed and kissed Mason’s forehead. “You can wash your hands in the hall bathroom if you need to, Winnie.”

  Dad pointed down the hall. “Through there.”

  I hated that he knew where things were in this house.

  The hall wall was covered with pictures of Mason, starting from when he was a baby. He was a cute little kid. There was obviously something wrong with him, and I felt lousy for not liking him before I met him. Dad should have warned me. Then I remembered he’d tried to talk about Mason in the truck, but I hadn’t wanted to hear it.

  Sorry, God, I prayed. I still don’t want us all to be friends, but none of it’s because of Mason.

  Madeline was in some of the pictures, but none of the photos showed a dad. I had to admit that Madeline Edison wasn’t ugly. She wasn’t even funny-looking really, just tall. In every picture, Mason seemed to be staring at something off-camera.

  I flipped on the bathroom light and shut the door. Birds started chirping, and the sound of rushing waterfalls filled the tiny, green bathroom. I flipped off the light, and the sound stopped. I turned on the light again, and the great outdoors returned. AstroTurf covered the floor and the walls and even the toilet. I washed my hands and got out of there.

  In the living room, Madeline was helping Mason into his jacket.

  “There you are! Shall we go meet us some horses?” Dad asked.

  I nodded.

  Any other time, I would have loved the idea of helping a kid like Mason over his fear of horses. Why did he have to be Madeline’s kid?

  Once out of the Edison house, I raced for the truck.

  “Let’s all go in my van!” Madeline shouted.

  “Good idea,” Dad agreed, although it couldn’t have been a good idea. Now he’d have to come back with them just to pick up the truck.

  I tried to get Dad’s attention, but he was already lifting Mason into the green minivan.

  Dad and Mason sat in back because the middle was too full of junk, and I rode shotgun with Madeline. She drove a lot faster than Dad. I figured if he hadn’t been reading a rhyming book to Mason, he would have asked her to slow down.

  “Mason likes you, Winnie,” Madeline said matter-of-factly, not like adults say to bigger kids when they want you to like their little kids.

  “What’s wrong with him?” I blurted out. Then, as soon as I’d said the words, I was sorry. “I didn’t mean—”

  “That’s all right.” She passed a car like it was standing still. “Some people call Mason handicapped. I call him handi-capable. He has a lot going on inside of him. We’re still working on getting it out. He’s not always like he is today. He can say a few words. And we’re both learning sign language.”

  She didn’t seem to mi
nd talking about it, so I asked, “Was he born . . . like this?”

  She shook her head. “Head trauma . . . when he was just a baby.”

  Head trauma. My mind flashed me a picture. I tried to block it out, but I never can. I could see my mom’s head against the steering wheel, blood trickling down her cheek. My mind had taken the photo seconds after the wreck that killed my mother.

  I wanted to know more about Mason’s head trauma, if he’d been in a wreck, too. But I wouldn’t have wanted Madeline to ask me about Mom’s accident. I changed the subject. “So where’s Mason’s dad?”

  “Winnie!” Dad shouted up to us. I hadn’t noticed he’d finished reading.

  We’d turned onto our street. Madeline pulled up to the curb and got out to help Mason.

  Dad rushed up to me. “Winnie, what did you say to Madeline?” he whispered.

  “Nothing.”

  Light glowed from inside our house, and I saw Hawk sitting in Dad’s chair, probably studying.

  I led the way to the barn. Just smelling the hay and horse in my barn helped me get a grip on things again. This was my turf, the only place I felt really at home

  Nickers came in from the pasture to greet me in her stall and nickered. She must have rolled in the mud. Dirt caked on her back and tangled her mane and tail.

  “Is that your horse?” Madeline asked. “It looks so different from the other day.”

  “She just needs a good brushing.” I led Nickers out to the stallway. “Come and meet Mason, Nickers.”

  Madeline stood behind Mason, her hands on his shoulders. Neither of them budged.

  Dad took Mason’s hand and led him over. “Come on, Mason. Winnie’s great with horses.”

  Madeline trailed after them, her hands still on her son’s shoulders, as if he were helium-filled and might float like his furniture.

  Next to Nickers’ stall, Towaco stood over his hay trough, not bothering to munch hay from it or from the hay net.

  Mason turned and stared at Towaco the way he’d stared at the window, like there was nothing in the barn, in the world, except that horse. He started toward the Appy’s stall.

  “Not that horse!” Madeline shouted, directing him to Nickers. “This pretty white one.” She held Mason’s arm up so he touched Nickers’ belly.

  Nickers’ skin twitched, the way it does when a fly lights.

  Madeline jumped back, pulling Mason’s hand away.

  Nickers didn’t like the sudden movement. She tossed her head and pawed the ground.

  “Easy, girl,” I cooed, wishing I could tell Madeline to take it easy.

  “She’s kind of touchy, isn’t she?” Madeline asked, backing away.

  “No.” I answered too quickly. I tried again. “Not exactly. Arabians have thinner skin than most horses. But every horse has a muscle, the Panniculus, right under the surface of the skin. That’s what makes their skin twitch for flies and dirt and stuff. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “You don’t think she’s too . . . spirited . . . too wild, maybe? Not for you, of course. But for Mason?”

  “She’s not wild,” I muttered, thinking how people used to call my horse Wild Thing. She’s spirited and sensitive. She reads moods, like Madeline’s fear. But she’s not wild.

  “You haven’t really given this a chance, Madeline,” Dad said.

  “You’re right,” Madeline admitted. “You’re both right.” She glanced around. “Mason?”

  He’d moved to Towaco’s stall and was staring at the Appaloosa. The Appy craned his neck around to stare back.

  “Let’s give this horse another try, Mason,” Madeline said, picking him up and carrying him back to Nickers.

  “It’s really better if Mason walks up on his own,” I suggested.

  “I’m sure you’re right, Winnie. It’s just that he’s not used to horses.” Still holding him, Madeline moved closer to Nickers.

  Nickers danced in place as if the floor were hot.

  Mason twisted in his mother’s arms.

  “What’s the matter with Nickers?” Dad cried.

  “Nothing’s wrong with Nickers,” I snapped. “She’s just picking up on human fear.”

  “I know,” Madeline said. “Mason’s always been afraid of horses.”

  But it wasn’t his fear I was worried about. I’m not even a horse, and I could feel Madeline’s fear.

  Mason squirmed and managed to slip through Madeline’s long arms. His feet dropped to the floor. Madeline snatched him up again.

  Nickers whinnied and jerked back on the cross-ties.

  Madeline screamed.

  Mason cried.

  “That’s it.” She carried the crying, struggling Mason over by Dad. As soon as she did, Nickers settled down. “This was a mistake, Jack. I’m very grateful to both of you for trying, but—”

  “Didn’t the doctor say it would be good for Mason to ride horses?” Dad reasoned. “You can’t give up after one try, Madeline.”

  “I know it’s my fault. I’ve never been good around horses,” Madeline admitted.

  Mason had been crying so loud I had trouble hearing anything else. Now he stopped crying so suddenly it was as if someone pressed an Off button. He was staring over his mother’s shoulder at Towaco.

  “Maybe we’ve had enough for one day,” Dad suggested. “Let’s go inside and talk about it calmly.”

  I stayed in the barn and finished grooming Nickers. She was as sweet as could be.

  Later, when I walked into the house, Dad and Madeline were still talking about Nickers. Peter Lory sat on Madeline’s shoulder. At least she wasn’t afraid of birds. Lizzy and Hawk were sitting on the couch with Mason between them.

  “His name is Larry,” Lizzy said, stroking her lizard with her index finger.

  “It’s just that the white horse is so high-spirited, Jack,” Madeline was saying. “Maybe I should find a pony, something more Mason’s size.”

  “Ponies can be very high-spirited, Ms. Edison,” Hawk explained. “Mason can ride Towaco. Lately, my Appaloosa will not do anything but walk. He can be barnsour with me and trot back to the barn whether I am ready or not. But you can trust him.”

  “You can trust Nickers too.” I knew my horse would be just fine with Mason if Madeline weren’t there.

  “Hawk’s horse is that other one in the barn,” Dad explained. “Mason did seem to like him.”

  “I don’t know, Jack.” Madeline Edison looked like she’d rather ride lions than horses. “Could Winnie work with that one?“

  “Sure!” Dad exclaimed.

  They still hadn’t looked my way, even though I was all of five feet away from them. Maybe I really was invisible.

  “What do you think, Mason?” Dad asked, squatting down by the couch to Mason-level. “Want to ride that pretty, spotted horse?”

  Mason smiled, but his gaze went past Dad to our worn-out carpet. He scooted off the couch to touch an old carpet stain, staring at it as if it were the most wonderful thing in the world.

  Dad stood up. “So we’ll try again tomorrow! This time with Towaco?”

  Madeline sighed and nodded.

  Dad drove Madeline and Mason home after Lizzy fed us toasted tuna sandwiches.

  “She seems nice,” Hawk said after they’d gone.

  “I like Madeline,” Lizzy threw in, picking up plates and disappearing into the kitchen.

  “You like everybody,” I muttered.

  Hawk yawned. “It is nice that your dad has a friend.”

  Something twisted inside me. “Dad doesn’t need her for a friend! He has lots of friends.” I imagined them together in the green van right then. I didn’t like it. This whole Madeline-Dad thing was out of control, like a runaway horse.

  “But, Winnie,” Hawk reasoned, “your dad must get lonely sometimes. She seems like a nice friend. That is all I was saying.”

  A nice friend? Her? “You don’t know her at all. Madeline Edison is . . . is . . .” I scrambled for something—anything. “She’s . . . divorce
d! And I feel sorry for Mason.”

  Hawk got up from the couch. “I need to call Summer.”

  She was still on the phone when I got out of the bathtub.

  We settled in for the night, Lizzy and Hawk in the beds and me on the floor between them. “I can sleep on the floor,” Hawk offered for the tenth time.

  “Honest, Hawk,” I assured her, “I love your sleeping bag. Besides, even Peter Lory agrees this is the best spot.” The bird had fluttered around the bedroom before selecting the foot of the sleeping bag as his bed.

  When we’d all gotten quiet, Lizzy whispered, “Hawk, it’s fun having you here. I love the flowers your parents sent. And doesn’t Mason rock!” She rolled over onto her back. I couldn’t see her, but I knew she’d still have her eyes open.

  “So God, thanks for letting Hawk stay with us, and for making flowers smell like that, and for that little dimple in Mason’s cheek when he looked at my lizard. Oh, and I love the webbed feet on Geri’s favorite frog. And thanks for having Robert say hi to Alan so they’re not mad at each other anymore. And it was super when—”

  I glanced at Hawk, hoping she knew Lizzy well enough to know the prayers weren’t for show. I’ve been eavesdropping on Lizzy’s prayers my whole life, and I don’t think anything of it when she switches over from talking to praying. But I didn’t want Hawk to think it was weird.

  Hawk stared at the ceiling, her hands behind her head. When Lizzy finished, Hawk turned on her CD. Soft night sounds filled the room, recorded crickets and dozens of birds. It reminded me of Madeline’s bathroom, but I didn’t say so.

  After a few minutes Lizzy was making her little snoring sound. Hawk rolled on her side and looked down at me. “Winnie?”

  I looked up. Pale moonlight flooded in through the window.

  “Does Lizzy always pray like that?” Hawk whispered. “For every little thing?”

  “I guess. Our mom prayed like that too.” Sometimes Mom and I would be riding, and she’d shout to the clouds, “Thank you, God, for horses’ manes!” Or “Thanks for the sound of hoofbeats!” Or “I love fetlocks!”