The Unforgettable Guinevere St. Clair Page 13

  Travis watched me, daring me to interfere, his beady snake eyes narrowed in small slits. “I said roll the ball, Quintel!”

  “Get up, Micah,” Jimmy muttered. But Micah did nothing.

  “Roll the ball!” Travis yelled a third time.

  Jimmy walked over, reached down, and pulled Micah to his feet. “Come on, kick a home run.”

  But Micah, in a rare show of defiance, turned and marched away.

  Travis said something about Micah being a sissy, and before I knew what was happening, Travis and Jimmy were throwing fists at each other, Mr. Zabriski was blowing a whistle, and none of us got to play kickball at all.

  “Gwynnie, what happened?” Bitty asked when I met her outside in the hallway.

  I shook my head. “Jimmy was protecting Micah.” But I somehow knew at that moment, that there would come a time when Jimmy wouldn’t always be able to protect him. And perhaps the reason Jimmy wanted Micah to stand his ground so often was because he knew that too.

  I squeezed Bitty’s hand. As we headed back to class, I wondered, Was there anything Jimmy wouldn’t do for Micah? Did that also extend to Gaysie? Would he do anything to protect her, too?

  CHAPTER 18

  MICAH AND JIMMY WERE GROUNDED for a few days after the gym incident, which wasn’t fair to Micah, but Gaysie said since they did everything else together, they could share the punishment. It proved serendipitous. I’d been so preoccupied with my case that I hadn’t been paying enough attention to my other eavesdropping.

  Bitty and I were attempting to put together a puzzle with Vienna, while my father spoke to Annabelle.

  “Don’t be discouraged,” Annabelle was saying. “It’s only been a few months. Surely you didn’t think she would suddenly remember everything again?” Her voice was gentle, but admonishing. I stole a glance at my father, who looked a bit beat up after a long day looking at teeth and then attempting to teach Vienna how to meditate. Meditation supposedly helped boost neural pathways, but Vienna wasn’t exactly taking to quiet and focused breath. Instead, she continually burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

  “Jed,” Vienna said. I turned to see her putting the last piece of my father’s face together. Nana had ordered the puzzle from a photo company that made puzzles out of family pictures—it was my father’s latest experiment on memory.

  This puzzle was made from a picture taken right after Bitty was born. I watched Vienna’s eyes closely. She was curious about her and Jed, but her eyes did not register recognition of the baby Bitty or little Gwyn.

  I noted that Vienna had put almost everyone together but me; I was the most incomplete.

  “Cute,” she said, pointing to the baby.

  “That’s me,” Bitty said, pleased and smiling as she helped Vienna find Jed’s shoulders.

  “No, silly! That’s a baby.”

  “And who’s that?” Bitty asked, pointing to me as a child.

  Vienna avoided the question by flicking a puzzle piece off the table, just to be obnoxious. I refused to pick it up. I ignored her, making my eyes glaze over as I focused on the adult conversation.

  “Anatomically, there’s nothing wrong with Vienna’s heart,” my father said. “It’s a rhythm disorder. You’d think that would be trickier, but it was the damage to her brain . . . We’re doing the memory exercises, the video simulations, getting her more exercise, learning new things. We moved all the way here, I’ve introduced her to so many old friends, taken her to familiar landmarks, and still . . . I can’t help her. I can’t seem to . . .” He cleared his throat and began packing up to go home. “There’s been progress, of course. One must have perspective.”

  Yes, I thought grudgingly, watching Vienna. Was she putting puzzles together faster? Was she holding the pieces a little less awkwardly? Were new neural pathways being made? My father thought so, but I wondered if he was only seeing what he wanted to.

  Annabelle had moved closer, tossing her long black hair down her back.

  “I’m always here for your family, if you ever want to talk.” She touched my father’s arm and smiled up at him under her dark black lashes. I watched my father’s face soften as he studied the pictures on Vienna’s windowsill.

  “I’m sorry, Gaysie. I’m sorry, Gaysie. I’m sorry, Gaysie,” interrupted my intent listening. I turned to see Vienna fingering some dried-out flowers Gaysie must have left days ago.

  “I’m sorry, Gaysie,” Vienna said again.

  I walked over to her and smelled the flowers. “Why are you saying sorry?” I asked. “It’s Gaysie who has things to apologize for. Don’t be sorry!”

  “I’m sorry, Gaysie.”

  “Why?” I demanded more forcefully. My father and Annabelle glanced over at us, so I lowered my voice. “Vienna?”

  Bitty skipped over. “Don’t be sorry, Vienna. It’s okay.”

  Vienna’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m sorry, Gaysie.” Then her face went blank, and I knew she’d already moved on. But what had made her so upset? What was she apologizing for?

  “You should have seen her,” my father said, still staring at Vienna’s pictures, not noticing the outburst. “She was really something.”

  Six years ago, extraordinary efforts were taken to save my mother’s life. My father, the scientist, had pleaded for a miracle.

  I was wicked and hateful for thinking it, but as I looked at the uncompleted puzzle, her yellow room, the Care Bear, at Annabelle smiling so kindly at my father, I wondered if we wouldn’t have all been better off if we hadn’t gotten our miracle after all.

  CHAPTER 19

  LOLLY’S IMPENDING ARRIVAL, TWO DAYS before Halloween, sent Nana into a tizzy of nervous energy and forty-eight straight hours without sleep. She also banned me from discussing or mentioning anything to do with Wilbur until after Lolly left.

  “We’ve just never had dogs in the house,” Nana said, surveying the living room, mentally picturing hair on sofas, dirty paw prints on clean kitchen floors, and chewed-up living room couch cushions. Nana was brilliant at imagining the absolute worst-case scenario.

  “You’ll love them so much, you’ll want to keep them.”

  She pointed a finger at me. “Don’t you even think about it—you have your cow!”

  “Lolly’s gonna love Willowdale,” I told Nana when we brushed our teeth that night. Bitty nodded in agreement as Nana wiped the small dots of water off the mirror while we brushed. “She might not have ever seen a cow in her life!”

  “I’m sure she’s seen a cow,” Nana said. “Everyone has seen a cow.”

  “No, Nana, in New York City there are no cows. I bet Moose and Tomato have never seen a cow.”

  “Where will the dogs sleep?” Nana worried.

  “With me and Bitty in our beds!”

  “Don’t you even think about that, either!”

  • • •

  Skipping home the next afternoon, Bitty and I checked in with Ms. Priscilla about the fingerprint book.

  “Trick or treat?” she said with a smile, two hands behind her back.

  “Treat?” I asked excitedly.

  She proudly handed me Fingerprinting for Amateurs. Bitty and I ran all the way home to start reading.

  • • •

  Lolly stepped out of the car an hour later. She was wearing her favorite blue-and-white-striped seersucker dress. She held out her arms and hugged us tight. It was so familiar, so comforting, that Bitty and I couldn’t help but burst into tears.

  “Let me get a look at you,” Lolly said, holding us out. “Hair all combed, dressed so nice. What’s happened to my little girls?”

  “Nana,” Bitty and I said at the same time. Lolly laughed, showing her white teeth, the deep wrinkles in her face accentuated.

  “I missed you,” Bitty said, clinging to her.

  “Oh, honey, not as much as I’ve missed you all and your mama. Is she here?” Lolly looked past us toward the house.

  “Lolly,” I said, not wanting to share her yet. “You’ve got to meet Jimmy
and Micah and guess what else? We walk to school. It’s whole mile of nothing but corn!”

  “You’ve certainly not lost your gift of gab, have you?”

  I grabbed Lolly’s hand and skipped toward the house, admiring Nana’s magnificent effort; even the fall mums looked better than yesterday. Nana came outside with a newly ironed shirt and freshly pressed pants, smiling warmly, like she hadn’t been cooking and cleaning for days.

  Behind her came my father and Vienna, who was walking slowly with her disjointed step. Vienna stopped. Lolly reached for Vienna and gave her a long, enveloping hug.

  “Vienna, do you remember me? Well, of course you do, honey. I can tell you do.” Lolly stroked Vienna’s hand for a few seconds before Vienna grabbed her shoulders and held on tight.

  “Lolly?” Vienna said. “Lolly. Lolly . . .” Lolly pulled out a tissue from her pocket and wiped Vienna’s eyes and nose.

  Vienna lurched her head free. “I can do it.”

  Lolly smiled. “Yes, you can.”

  I could tell by the look on my father’s face that he was pleased. After all those years together, Lolly had imprinted on Vienna’s brain like Micah had on that goose’s.

  “Do you know who Lolly is?” my father asked.

  “My nurse.”

  “Do you remember where Lolly lives?”

  “New York.”

  “Very good.” My father beamed. But I knew they’d been practicing.

  “You are looking good yourself,” Lolly said, grabbing my father for a hug. “This small-town life agrees with you!”

  “I’m hungry,” Vienna said.

  Lolly turned and clasped Nana’s hands. “So sweet of you to have me and most especially for letting the dogs come too.”

  “Oh, it really is my pleasure,” Nana said, peering around Lolly to get a look at Tomato and Moose, who were peeing on the mums.

  I had to hand it to Nana. She kept that perfect hostess smile right on her face.

  • • •

  I still had to go to stupid piano on Thursday, even though Lolly was visiting. Surprisingly, even though I detested being in Ms. Myrtle’s house, I looked forward to what she had to tell me about Vienna. Some weeks she was more forthcoming than others. For instance, last week I learned that Vienna was often the ringleader of mischief. Ms. Myrtle said that Vienna had once convinced all the neighborhood children to climb into Ms. Myrtle’s tree with her. She had taught them such convincing birdcalls that Ms. Myrtle thought that an unusual species of fowl had taken up residence outside her window. She had called the fire department, only to discover half a dozen children up in the branches. Even though Ms. Myrtle didn’t like me, and I wasn’t a piano natural, I comforted myself with the fact that I might have potential to give a decent birdcall.

  When I got there though, she just mumbled at me to sit and play. After one disastrous piano rendition of “Dinah, Won’t You Blow,” she fell asleep and, disappointed from the lack of new information, I left.

  As soon as I got home, I knew something was wrong. Nana was wearing her good pants, but she was kneeling on the grass and waving kitchen scraps.

  “Thank goodness you’re home,” she fluttered. “The dogs are gone. You’ve got to find them!”

  “How am I gonna do that?”

  “Use that great detective brain of yours!”

  “The Creepers,” I said, recalling how they had tauntingly barked at me after school. Now I knew why. “Dognapping is just the thing Travis Maynard would like to add to his résumé.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nana asked.

  “Bitty!” I yelled. “Come quick! We’ve got a mission!”

  We rode around our school to spy on the Creepers, who were playing basketball behind the building, but not holding any dogs. When they saw us, they started to laugh, bark, and howl.

  “Mutants!” I said, riding away fast with Bitty. We looped back around to Main Street, and when we reached Vienna’s care center, I was surprised to see Vienna slumped on a bench with her hands wrapped tightly around Lolly’s.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  She looked up at me, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “I just found out my dad died.”

  “Honey, he died many years ago,” Lolly said, patting her hands. “You just can’t remember because you have a brain injury.”

  “I do?”

  “Have you seen Moose and Tomato?” I whispered to Lolly.

  “What? Aren’t they here?” she asked, alarmed.

  “We’ll find them,” I said quickly. “Where’s Daddy?”

  Vienna began to cry again. “I just found out my dad died.”

  I sat next to her and wiped her cheeks, the tears warm and wet and familiar on my fingers.

  “Jed?” Vienna said suddenly, pushing past me. Her tears stopped. “Jed!” she screamed. I fell abruptly back onto the bench, seeing my father and Annabelle walking down the road.

  “Who is that?” Lolly asked, smoothing Vienna’s blond hair.

  “The new nurse,” I answered.

  “She’s pretty,” Vienna said. “She has big bosoms.”

  “Totally inappropriate!” I snapped at her.

  She frowned, her lower lip out like a child’s.

  Bitty ran to greet our father, but she tripped, hitting her hands and chin hard on the sidewalk. There was a second of silence before Bitty let out a high-pitched scream that made the hairs on my arm stand straight up.

  Vienna began laughing like she was witnessing an entertaining circus performance.

  “Stop it!” I said. But Vienna didn’t stop. She kept laughing as Bitty cried.

  “Stop. NOW.”

  “Vienna, shhh,” Lolly said. “Bitty is hurt.”

  Vienna laughed harder. My brain knew she couldn’t help it, but at that moment I wanted to slap the laughing right off her face. Instead, I pinched her hard on the arm.

  “Ow!” Vienna grabbed her arm but at least she stopped laughing.

  Annabelle reached down and lifted Bitty up, kissing her cheeks.

  “Gwyn,” my father said, frowning. I noticed he was wearing new work boots, like some sort of Iowan farmer.

  “Gwyn!” Vienna said, pinching me back even harder.

  “Ow! We have to go find the dogs,” I said, taking Bitty from Annabelle, while rubbing my pinched arm. “They escaped.”

  “That Gwyn girl is a meanie!” I heard Vienna say as Bitty and I walked away. If I hadn’t been so angry I would have taken this as good news; Vienna had remembered something I had done for longer than thirty seconds.

  “Honey,” Lolly said, “Gwyn and Bitty are your daughters.”

  Vienna started to cry again. “Guinevere, Elizabeth, and Gus.”

  “Come on, Bitty,” I said, kissing her chin and patting her hair. As we rode our bikes, I tried putting a hand over my ears until we were out of earshot, but even then Vienna’s voice found its way through the Iowa wind—a laugh, a cry, a sharp burst of recognition.

  • • •

  Nana was standing on the porch when Bitty and I arrived home in the dark, peering down Lanark Lane to where Jimmy and Micah were coming, each one holding a dog. The dogs wagged their tails and barked excitedly when they saw us.

  “Praise be,” Nana said. I looked at her, surprised. My father said Nana had once been a devout woman, but now she never spoke about God. I suspected she was holding a big, fat grudge.

  “You found them!” I yelled at Jimmy and Micah. “Whoa, you guys are dirty.”

  “Guinevere,” Nana said, opening the door to go into the house with Bitty. “All thoughts need not be shared.”

  “They were . . . down the road,” Jimmy said as soon as Nana and Bitty were inside. He sounded hollow.

  Micah nodded, ghostly white.

  They looked at each other, shifting in their shoes.

  “What?”

  They hesitated.

  “What!”

  “We saw Wilbur’s ghost!” Micah burst out softly.
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  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . ,” Micah began.

  “No,” Jimmy said. “We just saw someone on the tractor and thought it was . . .”

  “Wilbur’s ghost,” Micah said, his eyes huge.

  I looked down at Jimmy’s feet. “Probably because you are wearing his boots!”

  “Jimmy, it’s true!” Micah said.

  Jimmy said. “Come off it! It wasn’t Wilbur.”

  “Who, then?”

  “We don’t know,” Jimmy said. “He was gone by the time we got out there. But Wilbur couldn’t jump, and he definitely couldn’t run away so fast.”

  “I’m going to faint,” Micah whispered, breathing like an asthmatic.

  “It wasn’t a ghost and don’t you dare faint!” Jimmy said.

  “Maybe it was a Creeper?” I asked.

  “No. He was old. Like—as old as your dad.”

  “Did you say old?”

  We turned at the voice, Micah shrieking.

  It was my father, still wearing the boots from earlier.

  “Sorry to scare you, Micah.”

  “I didn’t mean real old!” Micah said. “Just kind of . . . old.”

  My father laughed again. “You boys hungry?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Well, it’s good to see you. Say hello to Gaysie for me. Gwyn, dinner?”

  I nodded and waited until my father was inside to resume our ghost discussion.

  Micah and Jimmy exchanged a glance.

  “What else?”

  “The ghost looked an awful lot like your dad,” Jimmy whispered.

  I laughed. “Does my dad look like he drives a tractor? Anyhow, I just saw him at the care center. Maybe it was Wilbur’s ghost, and he’s trying tell us something.” I felt a deliciously spooky feeling coming over me.

  A blackbird cawed overhead. Micah shrieked and fell to the ground, covering his head. I looked up and saw Bitty in the window, gazing at the sky.

  “Fly away, birdies,” Bitty said from behind the upstairs glass window, flapping her arms. “Fly, fly away.”

  “Gotta fly,” Jimmy said. “Later.”