A Box of Bones

by Marina Cohen

  “Your mother was different. I loved her with all my heart, but it was like trying to love the sunshine or the wind or the steam devils that dance on the lake. She was never all here. Never all present. Her mind was always somewhere far, far away. One day, I came home from work and found you staggering at the top of the steps in a diaper that hadn’t been changed all day. She said she’d simply lost track of time. And it wasn’t just once. She did that a lot. Yes, I wanted her to get that job, but so that Grandpa could take care of you … so you could be safe and well-cared-for and…”

  “All my life,” said Kallie, blood beating in her ears, “you told me not to believe stories. You told me stories were terrible things. They were lies. And yet you told me the biggest lie of all.”

  He hung his head, and then she realized it wasn’t the rain. For the first time in her life, her father was crying.

  Nothing Kallie knew or believed was right anymore. All her memories clattered in her mind, knocking against one another. How could she have believed her father was a killer? How could he have lied to her all these years? Nothing made sense. It was as if her whole world had been made of glass and someone had thrown a giant rock, shattering it.

  She had to leave. Had to get away. She turned and prepared to run, but before she could take a step, her father’s cell phone rang.

  “It’s the hospital,” he said.

  34

  A SORT OF ENDING

  September was more than halfway over. The days were quickly evaporating, like steam devils after their last dance across the lake. October would have an entirely different feel to it, thought Kallie as she sat on the swinging bench staring out at the water. Her hair fell loosely at her shoulders. It made her features seem softer.

  The surface of the water was calm today. Not even a ripple. It was funny how the lake’s mood could change so quickly. Light came and went, swells rose and fell, wind moved in and out. One minute it was calm, the next blustery. And of course the mountains would cast their shadows like nets, trapping boats and islands and possibly other, more ancient things in their snare.

  Kallie found herself thinking about the lake. Its history. Its formation. It was home to the oldest fossil coral reef in the world. It was the excavation site of a ten-thousand-year-old beluga whale. Even the youngest mountains flanking its banks were made of rock that had formed over one billion years ago.

  Twelve thousand years ago, when the glaciers that had blanketed the area in a mile-thick sheet of ice began to melt, water pooled in the area. The monstrous mountains of ice had been so heavy, they had forced the land below sea level, carving out the lake. Then, as the glaciers receded north, ocean water flowed into the area, which would eventually be replaced by freshwater.

  Perhaps, thought Kallie, Anna is right. Perhaps like frozen frogs that thawed in spring, something else had come alive when the enormous glaciers had melted. Perhaps there really was a Champ. And perhaps Kallie would see the monster one day.

  “You knew,” said Kallie. She reached over and took the hand of the familiar figure sitting beside her. “You knew even before Dad did.”

  Grandpa Jess wrapped his leathery fingers around her small hand and squeezed. He nodded.

  Everyone—especially the doctors—was left in shock. Grandpa had taken ill so suddenly and so violently. And then, as though someone had thrown a switch, he was fit as a fiddle once again.

  “That’s what you were trying to tell me that day at the hospital,” she said. “The Escape … not sparky, but spare key. My mother took the spare key, didn’t she? Someone was in the boat, waiting to take her to the other side. You figured it out.”

  A watery skin was formed over Grandpa’s eyes. Again, he nodded.

  “But … why didn’t you tell me? I could have handled it.”

  A tear trickled down his cheek, and Kallie reached over and wiped it. “Because it wasn’t my truth to tell.”

  “You were wrong not to tell me. But it’s okay. I understand why you didn’t.”

  He squeezed her hand again, and this time he smiled. “There’s such a thing as too much truth.”

  Kallie thought about Anna. The cruel truth she’d forced her to face. Perhaps Grandpa was right. Perhaps some truths were not universally owned. They were not everyone’s to tell.

  “I think I understand something else now,” she told Grandpa Jess. “Sometimes people need lies. Little lies to help them deal with truths that are too huge and too difficult to face.”

  “We can’t steal those life-lies, Kallie,” he said. “Sometimes, like hopes and dreams, they’re all some people have.”

  Kallie paused a moment to think about what Grandpa had said. Truth. Lies. Hopes. Dreams. She reached into her leather satchel she’d brought with her. She took out the old papers filled with scribbled writing. She held them toward Grandpa.

  “Her stories,” she said. “I got them from the lady at the Dollar Basket on Saturday, while you were still in the…” Her voice choked a little on the word hospital. “I’m going to read them.”

  Just then a figure approached. He stood for a moment and then settled down on the swinging bench right between Kallie and Grandpa Jess. He must have left the office early. They stared at one another for a long moment, and then her father spoke.

  “How about we read them together?” he said, putting his arm around Kallie and holding her in a firm grip. He smiled, and it was awkward, as though his face muscles were rusty.

  A cool breeze blew, lifting her loose hair, dancing it around her face. She smiled back and nodded, and then hugged him, squeezing as many unsaid things into the embrace as she could possibly fit. When she finally let go, they sat together, staring at the lake, talking and laughing.

  “I almost forgot,” she said as they stood to leave. “I’m staying late after school tomorrow.”

  Grandpa Jess and Victor Jones each raised a curious eyebrow.

  “Mr. Washington asked me to join his elite art class.” She looked a bit pleased, a bit perplexed. “He said I’ve shown some real talent.”

  * * *

  Earlier that day, Pole had met Kallie at the front of the school. “How’s your grandfather?” he had asked.

  “Miraculously better,” said Kallie, grinning. “The doctors say he’s perfectly fine.”

  “And what about…” He paused and dropped his voice. “The box?”

  “Gone,” said Kallie, as though slightly surprised at her admission. “I’m officially un-entangled.”

  “You know, I’m going to research entanglement a bit more. I’ve talked to my brothers. They said they’d help.” He paused and then lit up as though an idea had suddenly popped into his head. “Hey! I heard all about how you saved Anna. Do you think I could write my story about you? You could be my hero!”

  Kallie laughed. “I don’t think so. I’m not exactly the hero type.”

  Kallie thought about that word, hero, and what it meant. At first, she had thought she was the hero of her story. And in one way, she had saved Anna. Yet, in another important way, she had tried to destroy her. When she had seen the look in Anna’s eyes after all the cruel things she had said, it was clear. Kallie had not been the hero at all. In fact, she had been the villain.

  Kallie looked around. “Where’s Anna?”

  They found her sitting at the side of the building, playing a soft tune on her bone flute. The bright light that had always danced in her eyes was now only a faint glimmer.

  Kallie wished she could take back her insensitive and callous words. She wanted to tell Anna how wrong she had been, how sorry she was, but as Anna had once told her, people, unlike objects, weren’t so easily repaired.

  She reached into her satchel and withdrew Anna’s clothes. She had washed them, ironed them, and folded them with great care. She handed them to her. “Thank you,” Kallie said softly.

  Anna nodded.

  “Good news—you got enough support with those flyers, and Pole said Mr. Bent got permission from Mr. McEwan, so we can go a
head with planning Periodic Table Day.”

  Again, Anna nodded.

  Kallie grappled for something to say. Something about how wrong she’d been, how cruel and insensitive, but all she could come up with was: “I was thinking, you and I could have a lot of fun dressing up as Kryptonite … together.”

  The glimmer in Anna’s eyes flickered, and she smiled. It was a small smile, but a warm one nonetheless. Kallie noticed Pole volleying curious glances between them and then shrugging.

  “Come on, Anastasiya,” said Kallie. “I’ve been dying to hear all about your life as a protozoan.”

  Anna tucked the ocarina along with the clothing into her purple backpack. She held out a hand, and Kallie hauled her to her feet. They headed into the school, the three friends, together.

  An atom needs protons, electrons, and neutrons to be complete, thought Kallie.

  “You know, class,” said Ms. Beausoleil, “it takes a great deal of courage to release the familiar—the seemingly secure—to embrace the new. But I must tell you, there is, in fact, more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power. I’m proud to say someone in this class has taken the first step toward change.”

  Ms. Beausoleil was right. Kallie was now ready to accept that there were things out of her control. Or better said, beyond her control. She could still make plans and schedules, choose her clothing and her foods, but some things were part of life’s great game of chance.

  “Played by quantum physics rules,” she whispered to Pole.

  “Now,” said Ms. Beausoleil, “someone has finished a wonderful story, and I’d like to read it to you. That is, if she’ll allow.”

  All eyes searched the room for the mysterious writer. Was it Queenie? Mathusha? Most faces settled on Anna, who simply shrugged and shook her head.

  “Kallie?” said Ms. Beausoleil. There was a collective gasp as all heads turned toward her.

  For a moment, Kallie’s mind was not in the class. She was on the ferry again with Anna, returning from the festival. She could see the sharp item the faceless man had given her—not a dagger—but a pencil. Anna sat listlessly in a corner, not smiling, not dancing, not even searching for Champ, and Kallie was suddenly sure she knew exactly how to end her story. She knew exactly which character must die.

  “Not Kallie,” she said to Ms. Beausoleil. “From now on, I’m Kaliope. There is no more Kallie. Kallie is gone.”

  A knowing smile snaked across Ms. Beausoleil’s lips. And for the first time, Kallie thought the woman did sort of sparkle a bit. Like a beautiful sun.

  Ms. Beausoleil held the paper in her firm, but kind, hands. Slowly, she began to read.

  Long ago, in a land far away, there once lived a bone carver’s apprentice who vanquished an evil Empress with the help of the bones of a Lie-peddler …

  35

  THE LAST BONE

  Liah left the palace, the dagger still lying beside the Empress. She could hear the enemy clamoring at the gates, and she knew the Empress’s fate was sealed. Someone somewhere beyond her world had made a decision.

  Calmly, Liah walked down the mountainside. The wooden boxes were all empty. She had taken all the bones and given them proper burials. Those souls might rest now. Sadly, the bones in the tiny box would never find peace.

  She passed the fields of sorghum and millet—no longer soured with evil—now bright gold and ready for harvest. She paused only briefly at the crossroads where she had met the Lie-peddler so long ago, and then entered the ancient forest.

  Halfway through it, she stopped. She reached into her satchel and took out the box. She placed it on the edge of the path, looked up, and smiled.

  A figure stood half-hidden in shadow, a white beast at its side. Liah waved.

  The figure waved back.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This novel took several years to get right. Without the support of the following people, it may (as Ms. Beausoleil would say) have crumbled like brittle cheese.

  A huge thank you goes to my husband, Michael, for reading chapter after chapter, and cheering me on to the finish line. Thank you to my wonderful children for helping out in so many ways and for putting up with my blank stares. Your love and support mean the world to me.

  Thank you to my dear friend, Birgit, who sent me a box of Story Cubes some ten years ago. It was the seed that grew into this novel.

  It is very difficult to get a setting right when you are not from the area. Though I’ve visited many times, I needed local eyes to make sure I had captured not only the physical landscape, but also its mystique. A special thanks goes to author and friend, Jan Gangsei, for lending me her Vermonter eyes and helping me sort out marinas and mountain shadows.

  Thank you to the Ontario Arts Council for their support of this work via the Writers’ Reserve.

  Thank you to illustrator, Yana Bogatch, for her wonderfully evocative and creepy artwork.

  Thank you to my superstar agent, John M. Cusick, who waited patiently, offering bushels of encouragement while I sorted this one out.

  Thanks to all the staff at Roaring Brook Press who tirelessly support and promote my work. Thank you to copyeditor Kylie Byrd for her eagle eyes.

  And last, but never ever least, the biggest thank you goes to my brilliant editor, Emily Feinberg, who thankfully enjoys a creepy story as much as I do and who helped shape and polish this one until it became the best it could be.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Marina Cohen grew up in Scarborough, Ontario, where she spent far too much time asking herself what if.… In elementary school, her favorite author was Edgar Allan Poe. She loved “The Tell-Tale Heart” and aspired to write similar stories. She has a love of the fantastical, the bizarre, and all things creepy. Her books include Chasing the White Witch, Mind Gap, and Ghost Ride. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  1. The Man in the Pink Fedora

  2. A Peculiar Puzzle

  3. Possibilities

  4. The Jackal

  5. Something Yellow This Way Comes

  6. Dark Waters

  7. A Beautiful Sun

  8. The Goblet

  9. Fragments and Shards

  10. A Haunting Melody

  11. The Bone Flute

  12. Assignment #1

  13. Gone Fishing

  14. Still Life

  15. The Castle

  16. The Power of Suggestion

  17. The Unsinkable Truth

  18. Partners in Crime

  19. The Flaming Cylinder

  20. Personal. Private. Secret.

  21. The Revenant

  22. Shades Of Gray

  23. The Coffin

  24. A Mysterious Illness

  25. Entangled

  26. Flesh and Bone

  27. The Skull

  28. In The Closet

  29. Beneath the Surface

  30. A Light Extinguished

  31. The Dagger

  32. Unmasked

  33. Truth and Lies

  34. A Sort of Ending

  35. The Last Bone

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Text copyright © 2019 by Marina Cohen

  Illustrations copyright © 2019 by Yana Bogatch

  Published by Roaring Brook Press

  Roaring Brook Press is a division of Holtzbrinck Publishing Holdings Limited Partnership

  175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010

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  All rights reserved

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018955830

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  eISBN 9781250172228

  First hardcover edition, 2019

  eBook edition, May 2019