The Miles Between (8 page)

“Weak, Aidan. And nothing that exciting. Just my dad's job. He gets companies all over the world out of trouble. Once he's bailed them out, we're off to the next crisis.”

“Maybe after today he can bail us out,” I suggest.

Aidan grunts. “I think that will take a presidential pardon.”

“That is so interesting, Seth! How come you've never told anyone?” Mira asks.

“It gets old after a while. I've moved so many times and retold my story to so many people, I start feeling like a parrot.”

“Which languages do you speak?” Aidan asks.

“English, French, German, Portuguese, and a little Tagalog.”

“Tagalog?”

“That's five!” Mira says.

“Only enough Tagalog that I can find a bathroom. Directional Tagalog, I call it.
Nasaan ang palikuran?
”

They laugh at his nasal tone. “More!”

“Ang Tagalog ko ay mali!
” he answers with a twang and pained expression.

“Translation?”

“My Tagalog is
bad
.”

“But better than ours,” Aidan says.

I study Seth, thinking of the last two months since he came to Hedgebrook and all the times I observed him from a distance, being careful that Mira didn't catch me, and then all the times at breakfast where I stared down at my oatmeal but listened to every word he exchanged with Mrs. Wicket and how inevitably her voice perked up when she spoke to him because he had a way of drawing her away from her tea and her paper and all the worries of a table of mismatched personalities, and my world of observances had seemed enough to understand him. And now, oddly, with more insights into Seth, I feel less secure in how much I do know.

“I speak it better than nearly everyone in these parts,” Seth answers. “Not too many people around here make it to the island of Luzon. So if you're ever looking for a bathroom there, I'm your man.”

“Noted,” Aidan says.

“Of all the places you've lived, where was your favorite?” I ask.

A smile creases the corners of his eyes. “A little town on the German and Austrian border,” he says without hesitation. “Usually we lived in furnished apartments but there we had our first real house. It was great. A real neighborhood. Even a yard.”

“How old were you?”

“Nine. And we hadn't been there a week when I brought home a stray dog. I had never had a dog before. My dad said we couldn't keep him because we moved too much, but the stray wouldn't leave. He had adopted me as much as I had him. My dad finally said okay, as long as I understood we would have to find him a new home when we had to leave. I agreed, but when you're nine years old you somehow think that you'll never have to say good-bye.”

“And you did.”

He nods. “We were there for a full year, the longest we'd
ever been anywhere. I think that made it harder. That dog stuck to me like glue. He even slept with me. Giving him up was . . .” he pauses, letting us fill in the unpleasant blank. “But like my dad explained, the poor dog would be in quarantine more than he would be with me, as often as we moved. So that was my first and last pet. I never wanted another one after that.”

“What did you name him?” I ask.

Seth looks at me. He forces a smile and looks back at the road. “Doesn't matter,” he answers.

I look at Lucky on the seat between us. No, it wasn't a coincidence that we found him in the road. Or that Seth named him Lucky. It was fair that Seth should find what was lost. But it's October 19, a day no good can ultimately come from, and now I fear we will stumble upon the flock where Lucky belongs and Seth will have to part with him. It will all be my fault that Seth had to go through this again, and even if we don't come upon the flock and we somehow end up back at Hedgebrook, there would never be a place for Lucky, and Seth would have to say good-bye anyway.

I watch Seth staring at the unchanging road. Is he thinking the same thing?

But maybe today could be different. I felt it with the
tearing of the calendar page. I felt it with the passing of a cloud that no one else saw. One fair day. A day that is different. It has been so far. Maybe even a day where I am different. A day where Seth and Mira and Aidan know more about me than they ever observed in my carefully orchestrated distance at Hedgebrook. A day where I am something more real than the last descendant of Shakespeare with the baboon heart.

 

 

 

A
S WE APPROACH THE OUTSKIRTS
of Langdon, the scattering of houses and clusters of shops hugging the road get closer together. My pulse thumps in my temples. Do I recognize anything? A shop? A house I may have visited so long ago?
Colors
. A tangled patchwork of tinted memories that have percolated for so many years within me surfaces. But I'm not sure if the memories have blended together to become something entirely new. Are they colors that were never really there? Brick red, smoky blue, and silvery gray. So much gray. My hazy memories of Langdon.

A short distance ahead we see a Victorian house as purple as a ripe plum. The lacy trim is hot pink in some places, lime green in others, and sky blue in still others,
like the painter couldn't decide on a palette. A large sign out front proudly proclaims,
BABS
'
ANTIQUES, GENTLY USED CLOTHING, AND PEACOCK FARM
.

Seth laughs. “Looks like Babs sells everything.”

“Why would anyone want a peacock?” Aidan asks.

“You don't suppose they eat them, do you?” Mira says.

“Clothing!” I say. “Let's lose these uniforms before we get to Langdon!”

Seth looks at me, surprised, I suppose, by the loudness of my voice. He slows down and pulls over into the dirt parking lot.

Aidan groans. “Wait a minute.
Used
clothing?”

 

We are the lone car in the parking lot, and Seth has no sooner put the car in park than a large bird lands on the hood and walks right up the middle to the windshield. He turns his head one way, then the other, staring at us, a bobble of feathers on his head ruffling in the breeze. I hear Mira draw in her breath.

“What do we do?” Seth whispers.

“Is he going to attack?” Aidan asks.

“Look at those claws!” Mira gasps.

The bird's neck is bright iridescent blue, and his stubby backside is tinged with green.

“Where's its tail feathers?” Seth asks.

“I think they've been plucked.” I motion to the porch of the house, where baskets are overflowing with the long, single-eyed plumes.

The bird jumps up on the rim of the windshield.
Ya-oooooooof!

The four of us nearly jump out of our skin and then scramble to get out of the car.

Baaaa!

Lucky is startled from his lamby dreams. Seth reaches back and grabs Lucky, and we run up the steps of the porch. The front door opens.

“Pete! Get off that car! And stop scaring the customers!” a tall rail of a woman screams. She waves her arm and the bird jumps to the ground. She smiles at us. “Don't mind Pete. He gets a chuckle out of watching us featherless folk run. He's harmless. Most of the time.”

“Glad we could provide some amusement,” Seth says.

“You just wait till the next customer arrives. You'll be amused,” she says, nodding her head.

“Are you Babs?” I ask.

“The one and only, thank goodness.” She ushers us through the door. “Browse to your heart's content. We have most everything.”

“I'll say,” Aidan replies, mostly in a hushed tone to himself, as he runs his finger along the dusty keys of an ancient piano just inside the entrance.

Babs flutters off to attend to something behind the counter, and we are left to explore the hulk of a store. She doesn't seem to mind, or even notice, that we have brought a lamb in with us. Perhaps when you have brash peacocks strutting boldly about, a small fluffy lamb is of little consequence. Or maybe Babs simply chooses to see what she wants to see. I can understand the usefulness of that.

The store is a paintbox paradise. The dauber of the outside apparently has had free rein with the interior as well. The floor is an enameled royal blue, and the rest of the woodwork, from window casings to staircases, is a medley of shiny yellows, greens, fuchsias, and purples. It brightens the dingy merchandise that has been cast off by previous owners. Peacock feathers decorate walls, fill baskets, and, in the case of a nearby lampshade, are sometimes turned into other merchandise. Now I know with certainty why Pete is featherless and cranky.

“The clothing's in the back.” Mira maneuvers down an aisle, pulling a reluctant Aidan with her. I note that she becomes bolder with him by the minute. Before today I
had never seen her touch him, much less take his hand. For Mira, the day is turning out to be very fair indeed. And Aidan, who is normally so prickly about his person, seems to have made an exception for Mira's grabby hands. I am not sure who is the puppy dog and who is the liver treat anymore.

Seth grins, still holding Lucky securely under his arm. “You first,” he says, allowing me to walk down the narrow aisle. I feel him close behind me, anticipating my moves, pausing when I pause to look at a stringless ukulele, brushing against my back, no sense of space. I feel the heat of his body, and suddenly it jumps to me and the whole store seems terribly warm. I pause again to look at a weathered ox yoke, and he speaks over my shoulder. “Think it would fit?”

I step back like I am examining it, coming down hard on his foot, a lesson in space and manners. I hear him wince. “I think not,” I say. “But it might be your size.” I move on, and yet he stays close behind, and when his shoulder brushes against mine, I decide it isn't the end of the world. Space is not everything, and I linger near an antique coatrack and his chest brushes my back and neither of us says a word and neither of us moves until finally Mira squeals.

“Look at this!” she calls.

We move forward again and walk to the racks of clothing. Mira is holding up a gray skirt. “I can't believe it! I've always wanted one of these. And it's
my
size!” She flips it around and I can see a large fluffy white poodle embellished on the front. “And it's only three dollars,” she whispers. “It's too good to be true.”

I smile and wave the hundred-dollar bill I brought from the glove box. “It's yours.” She hoots and turns back to the rack, searching for a blouse.

“That,” Seth whispers in my ear. “That's what I noticed.”

I look at him, confused. “What—”

He steps close so the others can't hear. “Your smile. That's what I noticed about you. The one you're stingy with. You rarely share it. And after two weeks at Hedgebrook, when I finally saw it, I wondered why. You have a . . . very nice one.”

I don't know what to say. “Oh” is the only thing I manage to croak.

“Come on,” he says. “Let's look for something before Aidan and Mira get all the good stuff.”

I nod. I even allow a smile. A small thing to offer for one who doesn't complain about a crushed foot.

 

 

 

“T
HAT
'
LL BE TWENTY-FOUR DOLLARS
,” Babs says.

She bags up the uniforms we have shed as we admire each other's new attire. Mira found a red sweater to go with her poodle skirt, and Aidan wears a blue plaid shirt with pearlescent snaps. Mira keeps calling him partner, and he nods like he's wearing a cowboy hat, which he isn't, and it feels like I have entered an alternate universe just watching the two of them. Maybe I have.

Seth's new clothes, and mine, are less flashy, but still far more flamboyant than our boxy school uniforms. Seth wears blue jeans and a faded long-sleeved green shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I wear black from head to toe, a snug short-sleeved tee paired with a midcalf skirt that has a flowing uneven hem. Mira had complained that I needed
something more colorful, but the fussy hem of the skirt was the most flash I could tolerate. Our shoes are still the standard-issue oxfords from Hedgebrook. Shoes, it seems, are one of the few things Babs has in short supply.

I hand her the hundred-dollar bill, and when she takes it from my hand, she pauses, staring at my face.

“It's a real bill,” I say.

She tilts her head like she is trying to get a better look at me. “Do I know you?” she asks.

I avert my eyes. “I don't think so,” I answer. I don't recognize Babs or her name, but I have my mother's face, right down to my golden irises.

She hands me my change. “Ever take music lessons?” She is still eyeing me carefully. Behind me, Aidan pecks out an off-key tune on the piano. The sound vibrates through me.
Miss Barbara
. That's what she called herself. She was all chatter and cheer and stacks of music sheets. And she always brought me a lemon drop wrapped in flowery paper.

“No,” I answer. “No lessons.”

Babs shrugs it off. “So many people come through here. I guess a few are bound to look alike.” She reaches over to a hook on the wall behind her and fishes off a long blue leash and studded collar. “Here's a little something
extra for Fido. No charge.” She hands Seth the collar and leash, and he gingerly takes it from her, raising his eyebrows at me.

“Oh!
Fido
,” he says, finally connecting that the leash is for Lucky.

Ya-oooooooof!

“Another customer! Pete's better than a bell.”

We crowd the window and look out. A large wide-eyed man bounds out of his car and up the steps. Babs is right. We are amused.

And she was also right about the music lessons.

Not for me, but for my mother. I remember sitting on the piano bench as she took lessons. And then I would lay my head in her lap listening to what I thought was the most beautiful music in the world until finally Mother's belly grew too large with the new baby for me to fit. Mother said I would take lessons one day, but that never happened. After that, it was all about my brother. The one they kept. The one still here in Langdon.