Friday May 1, 2015
It was a little after noon when Alyssa and Peter drove out to visit Sparkle. Although where they lived was considered part of the town, it certainly didn’t feel a part of anything. There were no neighbors along the road there. It was a lonely feeling, especially to Alyssa, who had grown up in the suburbs of Harrisburg. But it always feels strange when you suddenly live somewhere else. So isolation was an old acquaintance to Peter, who came up on a farm in Kansas. The onslaught of trees on all sides was probably something he’d never quite get used to. However, he could foresee a time when he would take great comfort in the generous privacy of the forest.
“Velma said the town is renowned,” said Alyssa.
“A bit of sentimental embellishment?” Peter replied.
“Maybe it’s a regional thing. Maybe only Pennsylvanians know about it.”
It was less than two miles to town. After rounding a sharp curve, then following a ramp downhill, they connected with Appoline Way, the central street through Sparkle proper. That’s when they saw it all for the first time.
The road turned to cobblestone and was parted down the center by a long median strip with trim granite curbs, inlaid brick, and built-in planters boasting Weeping Cherry and Purple Smoke trees. A beautiful sight, in themselves. Delicate, and vibrant, they almost seemed to blur together, like a living watercolor painting. Wonderful old street lamps, converted from oil generations back, lined the wide sidewalks in syncopation with the dangling tiles of shops hanging perpendicular to their entrances. Everything seemed to welcome in pedestrians. When one took it all in at once, the rows of stores made an ideal impression, as if their separate, tasteful storefronts were all carved out of one piece, rather than constructed of individual parts.
The shops looked to be mostly generational, often boasting the employment of three of those generations, at once. Particularly the busy bakeries. They needn’t all be named here. There is a glass smith store called Belton’s Glass Plates and Containers; a seller of ceramic figurines and dolls just called Deacon’s; a shop for new and used books called The Looky Booky; a shop for old records and other used media called Willow’s Music; a place called Waverley’s Fun Stop that sold rare toys and homemade ice cream and cones. Two bakeries gave off the inviting pheromones of their freshly-baked wares from opposite sides of the street. There was also a homespun country-style restaurant called Old Nick’s next to what looked to be a very European-style cafe that was closed up for the time being. The sign said The Far Cafe. Of the many more going unnamed here, there is just a single, middle-sized grocer serving as the one and only place to buy modern necessities. The street didn’t feel like a tourist trap, there was a sincerity here that was hard to criticize, and Alyssa was instantly besotted with it all.
“Can you believe this, Peter?” she asked, absolutely in love. “Can you believe we live here?”
“I know,” he answered, agreeing, but cautious, always, of first impressions. “It’s something.”
As they drove through town, Alyssa spotted the Windward store. After they parked, she led Peter there by hand. He followed along like an obedient child. He was wearing a yellow t-shirt he’d had made back in college which had the phrase SMARTASS PHENOMENON printed on it in very large, very serious, red letters. Velma’s prophetic words about Peter being ‘smartass-tic’ had inspired him to wear it. Alyssa was currently wearing her sporty threads, her legs bare and her feet in shiny black Adidas without socks. She had changed her mind, last minute, about going running and assuaged her guilt by continuing to wear the outfit as if she would change her mind back, which she wouldn’t.
The sidewalks were crowded for a weekday, especially for such an out-of-the-way town. People all around them chattered and laughed, coming and going from their cars or spilling out of shops. Many were bearing packages bound in quaint twine and baker’s paper. Women shifted their purses from one overloaded arm to the next, hardly noticing their discomfort. This was a place filled with mirth, crowds of faces aglow with that kind of passive joy that one does not notice until it’s passed. At Windward Antique Furniture, a brass bell tinkled above the door. The sound did not carry well through a room stacked high with dense, wooden furniture. Three aisles sliced the store into quarters.. The store didn’t continue the festiveness of Appoline, with its pastel trees and snickering shoppers. It was wood and brassy, like an old railway car. It was crowded with chairs, tables, and desks, and there were also few esoteric items Peter didn’t have the cultivation to recognize.
The Windward’s shop was, curiously, empty of patrons. He supposed a store like this didn’t need a constant stream of visitors to stay afloat, or even prosper. A woman came smiling out from a back room. She was a light-haired blond in her late 30’s. She smelled of wood polish mixed with the tang of O-Cedar products. Her grin was sincere and aroused her regular features into something hard to miss from across a room. Her full-length dress and starched button-down shirt gave Peter flashbacks of old Westerns he’d watched.
“How do you do? I’m Rose Windward.” said the lady, offering a hand.
“Hi, I’m Alyssa Huffy. This is my husband Peter,” Alyssa said, over a sturdy handshake from the shopkeeper. Even though Rose shook with a kind of feminine tilt in the wrist, it was anything but delicate. “We’re looking for furniture. We just moved to town yesterday.”
“Oh, you’re the ones!” Rose cooed, delighted. “The old house on the hill! That’s a lovely place.”
“Oh, we love it. We love this whole town, top to bottom.”
Rose reached out to Peter. “How do you do, Peter? Rose Windward.”
“Hiya. Glad to be here,” he said.
Rose swung her attention back to Alyssa, the obvious pack leader of this team. “We don’t have as much bedroom furniture as we usually do, at the moment, but things are always coming in.”
“That’s just fine,” said Alyssa, with a dismissive hand motion. “We have a bedroom set. In fact, that’s almost all we have. That’ll do for the moment, anyway. I’d like to start decorating the first floor.”
“Well, you have got a lot to pick from then! Do you have anything in mind?”
“I’d like to start with a kitchen table. I’d like to get that room done first.”
“That’s a good idea. Always good to start with the kitchen, it’s the heart of the household. I have this wonderful tiger maple plank table.”
Peter had imagined that he could derive some simple pleasure from picking out furniture. He had seen other guys do it. He had even anticipated it this morning. Alyssa had made it sound so romantic the night before, like it was some kind of holy quest for furnishings. She had been so drawn into the excitement that it had affected him, too. Now that they were here, however, he suspected he could walk out and Alyssa could see this thing through to the end. Should I go? Would Alyssa care? That music place a few doors down looks like it sells everything. It could have DVDs and games. It would get this taste of wood finish out of my mouth.
With a sigh, he started to look around for a good place to park himself. He spotted an old wicker rocking chair and crossed the room. He placed his rear on it and leaned back. It creaked and strained under his weight, but his face became instantly placid, almost drowsy. The chair felt good. Very good. He’d never owned a rocking chair and suddenly the charm of it struck him. A realization came with a sudden start. I’m a rocking chair guy!
It was a shock to discover what kind of person you were at nearly thirty-years old. Especially when you’d been uncertain your entire life. He was learning so much, so fast.
The store’s bell sounded, but it didn’t distract Peter from his rocking. He was not the least bit interested until the customer stomped right by him. It was a girl, only about thirteen, but something about how loud she walked made him look up. She had bright red hair and was dressed in a pleated denim dress with some cutesy cartoon character stamped all over it. It was the kind of dress that no savvy suburban girl would possibly wear past the second grade. If she wanted to avoid being mocked, anyway. All this aside, she did not come off as young or naive. She stood up very straight and her movements seemed very adult. Not the kind of distracted, unobtrusive adult he was, but vibrant and stubborn, if her body language was any indication. As he looked away, to concentrate on his rocking again, he heard Alyssa call his name.
“Peter! Peter! Come over here!” she called. He forced himself up. Alyssa flapped a hand and drew him into their huddle. She presented the girl to him, proud to add anyone to her collection of neighbors. “Peter, this is Miranda, Rose’s niece.”
He recognized Alyssa’s classy voice, the one she used to introduce people. He faked a smile and took the girl’s hand. “Hi. What‘s up?” Though the girl returned the smile and shake, it was apparent that she was more interested in river algae than him. She had two long pigtails spilling over her shoulders. Peter thought she looked kind of ridiculous. Dressed like she was five years younger. The clothes projected innocence, but her face did not. There was anger there that seemed much older. She had a book bag on her back. It was that prickly last month before school let out for most of the world. Peter assumed Summer had already arrived for Sparkle’s children. It was Friday and this girl was not in class. Peter couldn’t imagine carrying around a schoolbag on a day off when he was a boy. It occurred to him that she probably had a cell phone, an Ipod, a tablet, etc. Devices that kids have nowadays, even in semi-rural areas.
“How do you do, Peter?” the girl said, sounding far more mature than he did. “I am Miranda-Julia Cappern. Miranda-Julia is my entire first name. I prefer it.”
Alyssa’s eyes stretched wide with delight. “Miranda-Julia! That has got to be the most charming name I’ve ever heard!”
“Thawnk you,” Miranda-Julia answered, all proper. She was mocking Alyssa’s classy voice, mimicking Eliza Doolittle. It was so obvious that Peter worried Alyssa would start beating the girl with a switch. His wife was no pushover. “I like it very much. I raaawly do.”
The ladies didn’t seem to notice. Alyssa was, perhaps, too overwhelmed by the idyllic wonders revealing themselves all around her. Miranda-Julia swung her attention over to Rose and suddenly got serious. “Rose, I can’t find Derek,” she said, sounding as indignant as one could without throwing a tantrum.
Rose shrugged. “He left this morning, pretty early,” she answered. “He just took his bag and left. Maybe he’s reading over by the bridge.”
Alyssa raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t Friday a school day? Is it summer vacation, already?”
Rose clapped her hands softly. “Miranda goes to a school outside of town, and it’s closed for Summer. But at my son’s school, it’s the craziest thing! They found a nest of bees living in the grade school’s attic. It’s madness up there!”
“Wow. Really? I’ve never even seen a bee’s nest.”
“Apparently, Randall Agutter, he’s a retired CPA, flushed out the same nest of bees from a tree in his backyard. He used these giant incense sticks he bought on a trip to Cambodia, or some place, I’m not sure, and it drove the whole nest to swarm. They think the queen must have found her way in through a vent or an open window. Those things just set up shop, practically overnight.”
“Aren’t bee hives noisy?” Alyssa asked.
“The custodian kept telling everyone it was the pipes. The whole thing is too ludicrous. I just don’t believe it.”
“Okay, thanks,” said Miranda-Julia. “I’m done here. See ya.” She was now very annoyed. She crossed her arms and made a face like she was going to spit on the counter. “I guess I’ll just have to walk all the way out there!”
“Why don’t you just wait until he comes back?” suggested Rose. “He’ll be home for lunch, I’m sure.”
Miranda-Julia shook her head, her mouth drooping. “No. He’s probably in one of his moods, again. He’ll skip lunch and he’ll just get skinnier and sicker and smaller.”
Rose smiled. “Well, I don’t remember him being in a mood, but I’m sure you’ll cheer him up when you see him.”
Miranda-Julia rolled her eyes and pulled her backpack over her left shoulder. “He doesn’t get cheered up, he just gets beat up.”
“Uh-huh,” said Rose, dismissing this topic. She brightened up as a thought bloomed behind her eyes. “Miranda-Julia, why don’t you show Peter around the square like you did with my cousin that one time, remember?”
Miranda-Julia’s whole body froze, she had been turning away and it looked like she’d been paused. She swiveled back around, far more irritated than before, but holding it back. She spoke through her teeth, faking a grin that looked more like a cat baring its fangs. “Are you sure, Rose? Are you sure Peter wants a tour of the square?”
Peter suddenly felt squeamish, like he was causing a problem. “Oh, hey, that’s okay. I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m just gonna sit right over there. I’m a rocking chair guy.” He jerked his thumb back toward where he’d been sitting. “Gotta get back to it.”
“Oh, come on, Miranda! He doesn’t want to look at furniture. Do you, Peter? I can see it in your eyes. Alyssa knows what they need.”
Everyone was now looking at Peter and he didn’t know who to cave in to: the matronly shopkeeper or the bossy little girl. “I... I...the battery in my phone is low, so…,” he said, hoping that would be enough reason to stay around.
Miranda-Julia’s fake smile sank. “Fine,” she said, stifling a legion of complaints. She spun away on her right heel. The door bell clanked, rather than tinkled, and Miranda-Julia made a point of pounding her feet all the way out of the store. Peter turned to his wife, but she was hunched over something Rose called a plank table. When Miranda-Julia turned back and saw Peter wasn’t following her, she became furious and stomped her foot. “Come on, guy!” she hollered.
Peter obediently slunk after Miranda-Julia, almost tripping over his own feet. He found himself puzzled by his own craven behavior. There was simply nothing he could do. He looked back at his wife as he exited the shop, but she was not interested, anymore. He’d been successfully gotten rid of.`
Peter found himself following the girl, who was walking away in angry, indignant strides. He felt pretty silly marching behind her like a little duckling, so he took a few leaps and caught up. “Hey, listen,” he said, almost apologetically. “You don’t have to stick around. If you wanna go, you can just go. No big deal, or anything.”
Miranda-Julia kept looking ahead, her face flushed with anger. “She always sticks me with this crap!” she complained. “This is the fifth time! But it makes her look cool, I guess, giving instructions like she’s the mother hen!”
“Mother hen?” Peter repeated. He started to wonder how he’d go about subduing the girl if she became violent. He was not certain that it was a one person job. Not if he was the one person.
“‘Like you did with my cousin that one time!’” she went on.
Peter waffled. “Hey, if you’ve got something to do, you know... anger management, boot camp, whatever, you can just go. No big deal.”
She spun around, dropping her bag on the pavement and glaring at him, her fists firmly planted on her hips. Peter almost dropped a step back. He reminded himself that she was under five feet tall. “You wanna see the first attraction, Peter?” she asked him with a tone of mockery. It was obvious she was nursing some sort of impish deceit, and it put Peter on edge. Out in the sunlight, he could see she was even more freckled than she’d first looked in that dim shop. Spots swirled about her face like a fog of fleas.
“Yeah,” Peter replied. “Sure, I enjoy things. Seeing things and whatnot.”
Without a word of warning, Miranda-Julia scooped up her bag and started walking away, again. Peter walked beside her, not certain he was even still invited.
“Do you know who Rose is?” Miranda-Julia asked.
“Uh, not really. Just met her. She seems nice.”
“She is nice. She’s very nice. She has major flaws, but she’s very nice. I mean do you know who she is?”
Peter shrugged. “Oh, I know what you’re getting at. She’s related to that guy who built the town, right? Velma spoke about him on a first name basis. I think she’s crushing, big time.”
Miranda-Julia pointed up the street to a square of shops. “There’s a statue of him right over there. Do you see it?”
“I haven’t seen it up close. We parked right near there, though. Behind the stores. Alyssa was in a big hurry, so we just, kinda, ignored it.”
“Right. Let’s take a look at it.”
“Is this part of the tour?”
“There’s no tour, really. I just say a couple of mean things, then ditch you. I guess no one ever tattled on me to Rose. But if she looks out the door, she’ll see me showing you the dumb statue.”
It took only a minute or so to reach the square at Miranda’s muscular pace. When they were close enough, Peter saw the plaque, which was facing up the street. DOUGLAS D. WINDWARD it said. Peter’s whole body sagged when he read it. “Oh, jeez. I didn’t realize just how big a deal this guy was. So there are Windwards still living around here.”
“Kinda,” Miranda-Julia said, mildly amused. Her faint smile was, finally, genuine.
“Is she gonna be, like, passive-aggressive or something? Acting all nice, but plotting our disgrace and downfall?”
“Nah. Probably not. Her husband was a Windward, though. He died.”
“Are there a lot of those things around here? Those Windward things? Angry male Windwards, specifically?”
“Not too many. Derek has an uncle named Warren. He lives in Sparkle. He’s probably gonna come after you.”
Peter’s whole body stiffened up. “What? Oh, my god. You gotta be kidding!”
“I’m not kidding. He owns guns. He’s been trying to get that house back his entire life. Then you come in and just snap it up. He’s pissed. He said he's gonna kill you.”
Peter loosed a large, startled breath. “Man, I can’t deal with this country crap. I’ve spent my whole life avoiding stuff like this. I’m gonna have to buy lots of guns! And dogs! Guns and dogs and horses that bite! Attack horses!”
“Hah!” laughed Miranda. It was more than a laugh, though. It was a chortle. A guffaw. An old-fashioned thesaurus word for ‘laugh’ that was far more degrading. “What a pair of panties! Jeez! I’m just kidding. You took me seriously!”
Peter scowled, feeling much more than a little stupid. This girl was strangely precocious. “I never heard a kid talk like you do. You talk like grown-up. It’s confusing.”
“It’s funny.”
“You grew up in a war zone, didn’t you?”
“Nah. The Windwards haven’t owned that house in a hundred years. They could care less. There’s Derek, my cousin. He’s sort of a male, but he’s kind of a wimp, too. You two would get along.”
Peter relaxed. “Great. He as nice as you?”
“Yeah. He’s got a few hidey-holes he goes to read and stuff. I checked’em all out, already. I’m pretty sure he’s out near the bridge on Bunyine Road. When he’s nowhere else, that’s where he is.”
“Bunyine Road,” Peter repeated, slowly. “What’s a bunyine?”
“I don’t know what it is. I don’t care, either.”
“Ah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you cared. Are you going there now?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, I guess. He’ll be sitting there all depressed, reading a history book, or something even duller. You’re coming along.”
“I am?”
“It’s far, and talking to you is better than doing nothing.”
Peter nodded. “That’s true. Also, knowing me is better than knowing nothing.”
It was quite a walk from the town out to distant Bunyine Road. Peter’s tendency to complain was mediated by robust conversation with the young Miranda-Julia. He also knew his complaints would fall on unsympathetic ears, and he was not ready for the kind of dressing down that would surely follow. She turned out to be an unexpectedly good listener. Very curious and astute. He forgot he was speaking to a child. He did that a lot with kids. He felt very comfortable with their level of mental maturity. There was something vaguely unsettling about the girl, however. She sometimes sounded older than she was, so he began to speak to her like she was not a child.
“The first two years we dated, I was dirt poor.” Peter told Miranda. “It never even looked like I was ever going to amount to much. I was just some crazy inventor, like Doc Brown.”
“Derek really likes that movie with Doc Brown in it,” Miranda-Julia added.
“So, this place was kind of my idea. Sort of. Indirectly. My wife wanted to move somewhere 'charming'. I guess that's this place.”
“Is she an athlete or something? She dresses like she’s exercising all the time.”
“She wears grown-up clothes, too. But, yes, she was kind of an athlete. She cheered, too.”
“She was a cheerleader in High School?”
“Yeah. We met at a C.I.T. party. She studied Info Science. She actually cheered there, too. Only for one year, though.”
“Oh, my god! I have a cousin who does that. She dates football players and stuff. That must feel awful!” Miranda-Julia laughed hard, so pleased.
Peter chuckled, sincerely amused. “You know, you're not the first person to say that. Do I come off that geeky? Geeky, yes. But that geeky? I mean, she's my wife. I win. 'Nuff said.”
“So how rich are you?” the girl asked. “ I’ve never seen a rich person before.”
Peter shrugged. “Low-end rich, I guess.”
“How’d you get rich?”
“I developed a few patents with another engineer. Components for blu-tooth game controllers. Some other stuff, too. Pretty dull, actually. If I tried to tell you what they did, you’d pass out and hit your head on a rock. Didn’t exactly revolutionize the industry, but it paid out pretty decently. Got lucky, too, in a lot of ways.”
“Wow. You’re my first rich person.”
“Now you’re impressed, huh? I wasn’t much a minute ago.”
“What are you worth?”
Peter was clearly embarrassed. Not that Miranda-Julia noticed that, or would have ever cared if she did. “I’m not super rich or anything. More well-off.”
“Yeah, but how much?”
Peter wagged a finger. “Uh-uh. That's family business, Miranda-Julia. Anyway, as long as we don’t start going on shopping sprees for Faberge eggs, we can just chill out and live off the interest.”
“But what are you gonna do all day out here?”
“I don’t know. Play games, read books, watch movies. Write.”
“Write what? Like a blog, or something?”
“Nah. There’s no way I’ll write. I doubt I’ll even read that much. I didn’t before.”
“Good. Being a writer wouldn’t exactly help. You’re like...you're already kinda wimpy.”
“Well, the gloves are off!” Peter shouted. Peter made a hurt face. “Hey now, I may not be very manly, but I can be hell-on-wheels with a turn of phrase. That’s what this shirt is all about.” Peter pinched the shirt’s hem and stretched it out, showing off the logo, proudly.
Miranda-Julia rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. You’re a ‘Smartass Phenomenon’. Pardon me.”
“SMARTASS PHENOMENON!” Peter called out, beating his chest with his fists. Don’t make me turn on the juice, okay? You have never seen karate like my karate.”
“Yeah. Probably not.”
“Unfortunately, there’s no bragging rights for smiting a little girl. So where are we going, again? Vine Road or something?”
“It's not vine, it's yine. Bunyine Road. Then there’s a stream and a bridge.”
“What’s after that?”
“Just woods, I guess. Not much else.”
“There must be something out there. You don’t just build a bridge for no reason. Or do you? Maybe you do. I don’t know that many people building bridges, to be honest.”
“Windward was a weird guy. He did a lot of strange stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like this whole town! He was supposed to be really rich, why would you live out here? Go build a mansion somewhere rich and act rich.”
“He tried to build a mansion. Anyway, I came out here.”
“I guess you just do what Alyssa tells you.”
“You guess right. The house was my idea, though. Believe it or not. The whole thing was weird, actually. It’s actually kind of a weird story. Some other time.”
“Cool. I can wait a long time.”
Peter went on. “What about up in those woods? There might be something. Could be something cool like a . . . pet cemetery.”
Miranda-Julia looked nauseous. “A pet cemetery? You think pet cemeteries are cool? Is that a nerd thing?”
“Well...no. I just couldn’t think of anything. I saw a movie, once. And I’m a geek, not a nerd. Calling a geek a nerd is like calling an Italian a Sicilian, or vice versa.”
“God! Who cares!”
“Well, I care. Does that count for anything?”
The girl pointed up the road. “There’s kind of a path up there, after the bridge. I don’t know if it goes anywhere. And the woods is called Bunyine Woods. That’s where we get the road name. I don’t know if there’s anything up there, actually.”
“You see, I’m the kind of guy who wonders about things like that. I wanna know all the dirty, little secrets. It’s basic curiosity.”
There was no reply from the girl. The sudden silence felt like an accusation. It felt so strange that he felt guilty. “Something wrong?” Peter asked, carefully.
Miranda-Julia faintly shook her head. “It’s just weird. I never thought about all that stuff up there. The bridge and all that. There’s just nothing on the other side.”
“That’s okay. No big deal. Wasn’t passing any kind of judgment. I think you’re lucky. It’s kinda cool, actually, having a real life mystery to solve. Maybe there’s a little haunted cabin hidden up there, or something. Feels a little like Scooby Doo.”
“You were right, though. I’ve been up here a bunch of times, and I never thought about it. I wonder if they wanted to build something up there, like a park, but never got around to it. I know there’s a guy who cuts the grass and stuff.”
“Who? Some guy who works for the town?”
“Yeah. It’s just something somebody always did, so someone does it. It’s traditional, or something.”
“I thought you didn’t care. How far away are we from town? What do you need this kid for, anyway? Why all this walking? What’s up?”
Miranda-Julia shrugged, and thought this over for a few seconds. “I just got a weird feeling from him yesterday. He was really strange. I thought I should keep an eye on him, he was that weird. I just want to see what he’s doing. I’ve got nothing else to do, anyway. It was the last day of school at my school. It was a half-day.”
“Is he normally strange?”
“Yeah, but...a different kind. More different than usual.”
The conversation came to an awkward end, with Miranda-Julia stranded in some ponderance. Peter didn’t mind the quiet, he found the country road quite engrossing. It was the kind of quiet he remembered from his childhood, walking alongside the highway in his corner of Kansas. There were more sounds, more nature, but something about it had him reminiscing. He imagined he would be walking out here a lot after this. The surrounding trees felt like a welcome shelter, like he was a small child walking amids a crowd adults. He saw the clearing up ahead and looked at Miranda-Julia, bobbing his head towards it.
“Is that where Bunyine Road is?” he asked.
“We’re on Bunyine Road,” she said, distantly. “I think we are, anyway.”
“Doesn’t look like a very popular place.”
Everything Miranda-Julia had described came into view. Peter didn’t have a romantic heart, but when the sound of the tumbling stream tickled his ears, he just knew he had found a special place. It was the only noise out here, it seemed. No twinkling of birdsong, the ambiance of nature, nothing but the soft trickling of water over the stream stones.
There was no sign of Derek, so he assumed Miranda-Julia would take a quick look around and then want to leave. He was thinking of telling her to go ahead without him, so he could remain here for a bit.
“I like this place,” he said. “It’s nice here.”
“Oh no! Another Derek!” Miranda-Julia replied with a snicker, back to normal. “Wimp alert!”
“How often does he get beat up, exactly?”
“He doesn’t get beat up! I don’t let him get beat up.” She kicked a stone out of her way. It occurred to Peter just how deceitful were the girlish clothes she wore. Peter saw real grit in her. She was so unusual. “I don’t know how many skulls I’ve had to crack for Derek. Someone’s got to do it, though. He’s weird, but he doesn’t deserve to be picked on. We don’t go to school together anymore, but those kids get the picture. They know who I am.”
“Jeez! I swear, I’ll be nice to him!”
“I know you will,” she said, quite matter-of-factly. For a second, he thought she was giving him some kind of warning. He was, apparently, in her good book now. Perhaps that’s why she invited him out here all along, to see if he could be one of the gang. I wonder if she and Derek are gonna invite me back to their tree house to make helmets out of folded newspaper. It was comforting to know Miranda-Julia was on his side, though.
“He’s lucky to have you. No one ever looked out for me when I was getting beaten up by kids. That’s the reason I quit teaching, actually.”
Just ahead of them was the large shale stone, and there was Derek’s book bag set upon it. Somehow they had missed it, though they’d been staring almost right at it as they walked up the road. Miranda-Julia pointed. “There’s his bag! Why would he leave it there?” She sped up ahead of him. Peter followed her, as he’d grown accustomed to doing. He was a bit startled, however, when the girl climbed up onto the stone and began shouting the boy’s name.
“Derek! Derek!” she hollered. Her voice was part concern, part threat, much like a sidewalk preacher extolling the flames of Hell to passersby.
Peter winced, slapping his hands over his ears. “Miranda! You don’t have to yell!”
The girl spun at him and cast a sour look. It lasted not half a second, but the message was potent. “Ooooh! You just don’t get anything, do you, doofus!” she snapped, hopping back down from the rock. Peter almost defended himself, but he suddenly understood. He felt it, too. A faint sort of tension building up in the air. For a moment, he wondered if the boy had walked up the path and gone into the woods beyond. He squashed the idea as soon as it raised its head. For some reason, that seemed unthinkable.
“I think I see something,” said Peter.
“What? Where?”
Peter stuck his arm out, reaching past her face, There was something in the stream. Miranda-Julia looked, her face preparing for a shock. But it was just a lump there caught up in the stones. Miranda-Julia dashed into the water, Peter followed her. It was a tennis shoe.
“There’s some blood. Oh, my god. There’s blood spots!” she murmured, the words almost didn’t make it out of her.
Peter’s eyes were drawn to the bridge. It was short, with a steep arch, formed of stacks of foggy, gray stones that were rounded by age and plump with moss. Charming, like something out of a fairy tale. That aside, there was something underneath it. He squinted, his mind adjusting the same as his eyes through his sweaty, slippery lenses. It was a socked foot just barely edging the darkness. He could easily have missed it. When he was certain, he reached over and tugged on Miranda’s sleeve. “Over there, Miranda,” he said. “Look.” Miranda-Julia swung around, saw what he was pointing at, then she shot away, tearing up the bubbling stream.
Derek looked a lot like Peter had pictured in his mind. Miranda-Julia’s unflattering description had made him sound like a sickly child, and his disheveled state somewhat resembled that. The boy had plopped down on some wet rocks under the slight arch of the bridge, he was drenched and shivering. His clothes were torn and he was cut all over his face and arms. Mostly his forearms. Peter thought the cuts looked like little claw marks, all confused and crisscrossing each other from every direction. To Peter, they looked like defensive wounds, perhaps from shielding his face(and not terribly well). It made Peter wince with sympathy.
Miranda-Julia was frantic, all over him, rubbing his shoulders and neck. The boy was unresponsive, but his eyes eventually met Peter’s. His gaze was pitiful, like a dog in a pound watching you walk past.
“Derek! Talk to me! What happened to you? What’s wrong?” pleaded Miranda.
“Wow, something really spooked him. Must have been a bear, or something,” said Peter.
Miranda-Julia angrily punched the air. “There aren’t any bears!” she screamed, almost leaping like Rumpelstiltskin. “Why does everybody think everything is bears! There aren’t any bears!”
Peter looked back at Derek’s missing shoe, which was a few feet away in the water. He walked away and picked it up. It had been kicked off, or torn off, then drifted and come to rest sole up on a slick rock. Another foot to its left and it might have been carried downstream. It suddenly occurred to Peter that Derek might need an ambulance, so he turned and joined Miranda-Julia. She was angry. Really angry.
“He’s not talking. He’s in shock too much to speak. That’s not good, Miranda.” said Peter, speaking as if the boy wasn’t right there. It felt like he wasn’t.
“‘Not good’ what? Whatta you mean, ‘not good’?” Miranda snapped.
“I mean he’s been attacked. An animal? I don’t know. Maybe not an animal. There aren’t too many explanations that make sense. When kids are assaulted, they often don’t want to tell anyone. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Miranda-Julia was so furious that it was beyond showing. She could barely speak. “You think someone...did this to him?” she growled through her teeth, pressing them so hard they might have shattered.
Peter realized that this wasn’t the time or place. “I don’t know what. We have to get him out of here, though.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Someone hurt Derek. Someone’s gonna die.”
Peter spun at her. “Could you just act like a little girl, for a minute! Let me act like the adult! I’m gonna call for help. Wait, I don’t know who to call. Is there 911 out here?”
Miranda-Julia stood up, she was clearly holding back something. She looked like she wanted to fight. What could a thirteen-year-old girl do, really? Peter wasn’t certain, but he still didn’t want to get caught between her and whatever caused all this. He pictured a little girl with a grown man in a headlock, and admitted to himself that it was possible if the man was him.
Miranda-Julia knelt down before Derek. He was shivering uncontrollably. “Derek.”
Surprisingly, he acknowledged her, met her eyes. He was coming around.
“You don’t have to tell anyone else, but you have to tell me. Did somebody do this? Who is gonna die?”
A few seconds later, Derek shook his head, which was an even bigger surprise. His voice weak and reed thin. “Nobody,” he said.
Miranda-Julia frowned. Disappointed and disbelieving. “This is me, Derek. Tell me who.”
“It was . . . I got scared and I ran away.”
“What? Scared of what?”
The shivering boy tried to speak through chattering teeth, but wasn’t in clear control of his body. “I went inside a...a...cave.”
“A cave?” Miranda-Julia repeated. There was something underneath her voice. Something faint, but growing. Subtext. “You went in a cave?”
The boy nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t have a flashlight. I heard something and...I got scared and I ran, I guess. I ran through the woods and the trees. I won’t do it again. I promise, Miranda.”
Peter cleared his throat. “Um...” Peter said, trying to draw the boy’s attention to him. “You mean you ran up in the woods and you got all cut up? Cut up by the trees and things? You just crashed through the branches?”
Derek nodded slowly, settling for agreement. “Yeah.”
A moment of silence passed. Miranda-Julia was quiet, simmering, her eyes fixed on him. Things stirred within her, a gathering of profound forces. Derek could do nothing but wait. The fate of continents held in the balance.
“You did this to yourself,” she stated, coolly.
Derek nodded. “Yeah.”
Miranda-Julia nodded back. “Okay. I believe you.” Then she bolted upright, and the desperation she’d been holding back converted to anger and exploded like a barn door struck by a bulldozer hurled by a tornado. “I can’t believe you! If that isn’t the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever heard! Do you know what I was thinking? I can’t even look at you, Derek!”
“I’m sorry.”
Miranda-Julia’s face was bright red and sweaty. How she looked when she was screaming with her entire soul. “Don’t speak to me! Don’t even look at me!” Derek averted his eyes, then Miranda-Julia turned and stomped off toward the road.
Peter dropped into her vacancy, kneeling down before the boy. He looked back at the girl shrinking into the distance. “Miranda! Miranda-Julia! Where are you going? We need you!”
Derek’s weak eyes found his own, pleading in the wake of his cousin’s departure. “I just wanna go home. Can I just go home?”
“Hold on, Derek. I’m gonna call an ambulance,” said Peter, fumbling with his phone.
“Please don’t.”
“You’re hurt, and we’re miles away from town.”
“But . . . ”
“No, Derek. I’m sorry.”
Peter put his phone to his head. After a second, he was staring down at the screen facing up from the palm of his hand.
LOW BATTERY - SHUTTING DOWN
“Damn it!” Peter yelled.