Amber House: Neverwas (36 page)

for part of it and you’re going to be responsible for part of it.”

“Wow,” I said, nodding, “sure.” I could do that. But still —

“Can you tell me the big picture? So I have some idea how we’re

going to do this? Because it would make me feel a lot more

settled.”

So he told me, briefly, how we were going to manage. I would

go to the Exhibit gala with my parents, but I would have to sneak

away early. We had to get the gun sometime between ten and

midnight. Not before, not later. We’d use a key to get inside, but

he wasn’t sure exactly what the key looked like or where we’d

get it — just that we’d find it in time. He’d worked out a specific 232 O

escape route that he expected
me
to memorize, because that was the part I’d be in charge of.

He made it sound real. He made it sound like we could do it.

Maybe.

The train station was on the far side of Severna. Its parking lot

was full of the cars of commuters who worked in Baltimore or

Arlington; a trainload of them were exiting the station when we

arrived. Making our way inside was like swimming upstream,

but by the time we entered, the long room full of benches was

nearly deserted again, awaiting the next train’s deposit.

Aside from the trip home from the Baptist church, I’d never

been out in the world with Jackson before. Our friendship had

always been bounded by the estate or the twists and curls of the

river. As I walked by his side into the station, I saw that we were

drawing stares. I didn’t know whether it was because they didn’t

like a young black man escorting a white girl, or if they were

gawking at Jackson’s scars. I honestly just didn’t notice the

scars anymore — they didn’t have anything to do with who

Jackson was. But when I looked through strangers’ eyes, I could

see they were still vivid enough to provoke morbid curiosity.

Jackson looked straight ahead, evidently used to the unpleasant

attention.

The man inside the ticket window tried hard
not
to stare, to the point he would not even look Jackson in the eyes. He kept

himself busy with paperwork and making change. I had brought

along money to pay for the ticket, but Jackson beat me to it, pull-

ing out a wad of cash held together by a taut rubber band. My

eyes boggled at its thickness.

We were leaving when a pale redheaded guy sitting on

a bench called out, “What happened to you, boy? Half a

lynching?”

Jackson did not even glance his way, which the creep seemed

to take as a personal insult. “Hey, I’m talking to you, boy. Hey!

o233

Can a man just ask you one little question?” He was grinning

now, warming to his topic. “Is it Halloween already, or you

always go around scaring the women and kids?”

I started to turn, but Jackson covertly pulled on my coat

sleeve and said, “Just keep walking.”

“Holy Jesus,” the redhead added, “I just about lost my lunch

looking at you.”

I stopped, tugging my sleeve loose from Jackson’s fingers, and

walked closer to the bigot. “Mister,” I drawled sweetly, “can a

girl ask
you
one little question?”

He knew I wanted to murder him, but he just purred, “Sure,

sugah, a pretty little thing like you. G’wan ahead.”

I saw it then, just under his jawline on his neck. A tattoo. A

swastika.
One of President Stevenson’s “constituency.”
I felt nauseated.

But I smiled and spoke up loud enough for the onlookers to

hear: “If yo’ mama and papa got a divorce,
sugah
, would they still be brother and sister?”

The ticket counter guy busted out laughing, and it spread

through the small crowd. The redhead narrowed his eyes. He

answered in a murmur, just loud enough for me to hear: “You

think I don’t know who you are? You think that fine house on the

river’s gonna keep your kind safe from what’s coming? You best

think again.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said, meaning it to my core. “No.

You’re
the one who’s going back in the box.” Then I made myself turn away.

I fell into step beside Jackson, who had never stopped walking

on. He said, mildly, “For someone trying to avoid drawing atten-

tion to herself, you sure don’t go about it very well.”

“
Some
one needed to tell that Nazi creep where to stick it.”

He said with a certain amount of irritation, “You think I
need

you to defend me? You think I haven’t been hearing garbage like

that on pretty much a daily basis for the last thirteen years? Does

234 O

calling that man out for being white trash make either of you a

better person?”

I dropped my chin. “I’m sorry,” I said miserably, feeling like a

five-year-old. The truth was, Jackson was just a better person

than I was, more mature, more certain. I thought,
Helen is prob-

ably like that too
. I bet she was, but I hoped it wasn’t true.

We got back in the car. “Look, Sare,” he said, “I appreciate

you trying to help me. I do. You’re a good person.” I started to

shake my head, but he insisted. “Yes, you are. I’m not saying

you’re perfect” — he smiled — “but you’re way ahead of the

rest of the crowd. Not once in all the years I’ve known you have

you
ever
made me feel that, when you looked at me, you saw the scars instead of the person. Not even when you were little.

That’s helped a lot.”

“Really?” I said. A lump had taken shape in my throat. It was

hard to speak.

I started the car, put it in motion.

I thought, if I did nothing else in the rest of my life worth

noticing, it was good to know I had at least helped Jackson.

N

I pulled over just before the driveway to Amber House to let him

out. “J, what is with that roll of bills in your pocket? Where’d

you get all that money?”

“I’ve been saving it.”

“Lord, what for? To buy an airplane?”

“It’s my college money,” he said quietly.

I was horrified. “You can’t spend that. I have a savings account

just for buying clothes. Let me use
that
money for this.”

He smiled and shook his head a little. “You just don’t believe

this is really happening, do you, Sare? You don’t really think

we’re going to fix time and save the world.”

o235

“I believe it,” I said.

“No, you don’t,” he said. “Because if you did, you’d realize I

am
never
going to need that money to go to college. If I have any future at all, it won’t be here, and it won’t depend on the roll of

cash I had stuffed in a coffee can.”

I understood that everything he said was true. If what we did

worked, he wouldn’t need that money.
And
— I didn’t really believe we were going to fix time and save the world.

How can I do it
, I thought,
if I don’t really believe it?

“You know what I’m going to do with that money when I get

New York?” he asked, with a smile of pure pleasure at what he

contemplated.

“Tell me.”

“I am going to buy myself some new clothes, head to toe. I am

going to rent a room in the nicest hotel I can find. I am going to

get myself an enormous steak for dinner, and maybe one of those

giant crawdad things too.”

“A lobster?” I said, smiling.

“One of those.” He nodded. “And I am going to buy just as big

a breakfast, and leave huge tips everywhere I go. I am going to

spend that money like —”

“Like?”

“Like there’s no tomorrow. Because there won’t be.”

He got out and waved good-bye. Back at the house, I staved

off Mom’s curiosity with “I needed a couple of things from town

for the trip.” She and Dad were leaving the next day with the

Hathaways, and they were taking the bulk of my luggage with

them — Mom wanted to get my dress pressed by the hotel staff

in plenty of time for the party, or so she said. It might have been

she just didn’t trust me to get to New York on the right train

arriving at the right time with all my luggage in tow. Which

might have been a fair assessment.

We had a kind of a farewell dinner for Sammy’s benefit, since

236 O

we would not be celebrating New Year’s with him. It was the last

of our Christmas goose, as always — shredded and shaped into

cakes with the remnants of the mashed potatoes, then sautéed to

golden. It was my favorite leftover meal, both because it was the

best and because it was the last. The goose’s swan song.

Sam was uncharacteristically gloomy. I asked him why, later,

on our way upstairs. He said, “That was our last dinner until

after new years.”

“That’s only a few days away, Sam. Mom and Dad’ll be back

sooner than you think.”

“I know,” he said. “But I love them so much. I don’t want them

to change.”

“They’re not going to change, bud.” He got such strange ideas

in his head. “They’ll be back. Exactly the same.”

“I hope so,” he said.

N

I packed my suitcase for New York after dinner: sightseeing

clothes, PJs, shoes, all the necessities. It weighed half a ton when I zipped it up — I was glad Dad was going to wrestle with it

instead of me. I dragged it downstairs and left it near the front

door. The long garment bags full of formal wear for Dad, Mom,

and me were already there, hanging over the edge of the front

closet door.

My mom spotted me. “You sure this is all right, hon? Going

up without us? You feel fine about it?”

“Mom,” I sighed, exasperated. “It’s a four-hour train ride.

Maggie will drop me off at the station. Richard will ride with

me. You’ll be in New York when I get there. What could go

wrong?”

She smiled, smoothed down my hair a bit, and kissed me on

the forehead — a silver kiss. “Sometimes I forget how grown up

o237

you’ve become, sweetie. Dad and I are off to sleep. See you in

the morning before we go.”

N

Snow was falling past my window again, white puffs caught in

the lamp’s light against the black beyond. It felt good to be inside, warm and cozy — a house hug.

I curled up on my bed and looked over a list Jackson had given

me to memorize — part of the steps I was to be responsible for:

“12:02 Turn left to North exit. Follow dirt path through trees —

DO NOT USE SIDEWALK. Just before fountain, turn right up

hill, come out on street. Cross at light. East three blocks to sub-

way entrance. 12:15 Transfer at Lexington to the line to Penn

Station. Take 1:00 Baltimore train.” It didn’t say what happened

after that, but I figured Jackson would have it handled.

He had foreseen this stuff down to the last detail. It was going

to work. Predicted and guaranteed in advance.

Right?

CH A P T ER TW E N T Y-FI V E

K

My parents left just before noon. Mom got all misty. Even for

just a day or two, she didn’t like leaving Sam. Which I could

understand.

When we went back inside, Sammy opened the drawer in the

front hall table and took out my black silk purse, the one Maggie

had given me for Christmas.

“Sam? I packed that for New York. I wanted it for the party.

Why’d you get that out of my suitcase?”

“You have to keep it
with
you, Sarah,” he said severely, handing it to me.

“Oh, Lord,” I said, opening it, “you put all that junk back

inside it.”

“It’s
not
junk. She said it was good stuff. And you
promised
you’d leave those things in there. You can’t break your promise,

Sarah!”

His little eyes were blazing. I had never seen him this furious.

“Jesus, all right, Sam. I’ll keep it with me. I’ll leave it stuffed.

I’m sorry.”

“You have to
promise
.”

I rolled my eyes, imagining myself clanking around the New

Year’s gala with a can opener and a lighter in my evening bag. “I

promise, Sam. Honest to God.”

N

o239

I was restless, ill at ease. I couldn’t find a place to be quiet. I felt that I still hadn’t remembered enough, learned enough. I couldn’t

imagine everything working out.

If we were
insanely
lucky enough to steal the coin, and get

away with it, what then? I had no idea what we were supposed to

do with it. Use it, maybe, to summon an echo that could tell us

how things could be put right? Because I still had no clue what

exactly Deirdre had done to change the course of time. And no

matter how I poked and prodded, the house wasn’t telling me

any more of its secrets.

I bundled up warmly and went outside. The cold air felt good

on my face. It made me recognize I wasn’t in a dream. This was

all real; this was all happening.

I saw the rungs of the ladder that went up to the tree fort in

the oak. I had not climbed them for at least a couple years.

I walked over to the oak. The ladder’s wood was slimy from

all the snow that had been falling on and off since we’d got to

Amber House. I started to climb, making sure of every step.

Halfway up, I remembered an echo in which Maggie had fallen

past me — the tumble that led to her coma, and being trapped

in the mirror world. But that had happened in another time. Or