Unhappy Medium (7 page)

“Oh, I wish I’d been there,” Jac said. “I would have taught him a lesson.”

“Well,” I said a little sheepishly, “I think he got the message. I laid into him pretty thick.”

“Good!” Jac declared. “What a jerk. He sounds like the male version of Brooklyn Bigelow.”

I laughed.

“I’m starving,” Jac announced suddenly.

“You’re always starving.”

“I’m especially starving at this moment,” she insisted.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, reluctantly leaving the sunlight.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Don’t have an episode. Let me get dressed and brush my teeth and we’ll go down to get something to
eat.”

“Hurry,” Jac commanded, and I rolled my eyes.

But as I walked past her toward the bathroom, she reached out and grabbed my arm.

“Hey, Voodoo Mama,” she said softly. “I really am sorry about blowing you off.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“It isn’t okay,” Jac insisted. “You’re my best friend. This is our week to hang out together. Because of me, we’ve started
off badly.”

“We’ve started off
fine,
” I said. “Now let go of me so I can go pee.”

Jac obeyed, and installed herself in the sunny spot on the bed while I went into the bathroom.

I brushed my teeth and hair, threw on some jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, shoved my feet into my sandals, and I was ready
to roll.

“Finally,” Jac said theatrically. “I thought I was going to waste away.”

I swatted her on the arm.

“I’m sure you have a Twinkie reserve in your suitcase that you haven’t told me about,” I said, grabbing the key to the room.

“Why, do you want one?” Jac asked, grinning.

“No thanks,” I said, as we walked into the hallway. “You know I’m more of an oatmeal and toast girl.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Jac said, shifting from one foot to the other as I fiddled with the key. After two tries, the
lock clicked and I slid the key out and put it in my pocket.

Jac started down the hallway in the direction of the elevator. I stood where I was, my eyes on the door to room 504.

“Hang on a sec,” I called to Jac.

“Why?” she practically wailed.

My gaze had shifted to the window at the end of the hallway. I began to walk toward it, and I could see that it was closed.

“What are you doing?” Jac called.

I didn’t answer her. I reached the window, and tried to open it, but it was locked. I unlatched it, and tried again. The window
opened smoothly.

“Kat?”

I ran my hands over the window ledge, then up each side of the window frame.

Just about shoulder height, gouged into the varnish on both sides of the wooden frame, were four scratches. They looked fresh.

Almost as if someone had recently dug their fingers into the window frame.

After brunch, Jac suggested we take a boat out onto the lake — just the two of us. It was one of those little pedal boats
that was shaped like a swan. We pedaled happily in tandem, and the swan obligingly transported us toward the far end of the
lake. Halfway there, we both agreed that our legs were getting sore, and we pointed the boat back in the direction of the
dock.

It was an incredibly beautiful place. To our left, the massive structure of the Mountain House dwarfed the landscape. To our
right, cliffs rose right out of the water, and the towering pine trees on top of them seemed to brush the roof of the world.
But the sun that had given me so much comfort when I woke up that morning had disappeared, swallowed up by dark clouds that
advanced quickly with the breeze.

“I’m thinking about going to this strings and woodwinds symposium at one o’clock,” Jac announced. “But I haven’t really decided
yet.”

I glanced at my watch.

“It’s twelve-thirty now,” I said. “When exactly are you planning on making this decision?”

Jac’s peddling sped up slightly.

“I don’t know. Whenever. I guess I’ll probably go,” she said, staring straight ahead.

I watched her face for a moment, curious.

“Jac,” I said, then hesitated to think about how I should phrase what I wanted to say. “Do you want … I mean, if you feel
like you … uh …”

Jac gave me a sharp look.

“What?” she asked. “Spit it out, Voodoo Mama.”

“Okay. Here’s the thing — you quit the cello big time, during the last convention your mother dragged you to.”

“So what are you saying, that I’m not allowed to —,” Jac interrupted testily, but I shushed her.

“Let me finish! Okay, so you did that, you took a stand against your mother and that was great. I think you really needed
to do that, Jac. Your mom has called the shots about your cello playing all your life, and you had to assert yourself, and
you did.”

Jac’s pedaling slowed slightly. She fiddled with the ring on her left pinky finger.

“Okay, now fast-forward to summer. You went to your mother, and said you might consider coming to this conference, but only
if I could come.”

Jac nodded.

“And you’re spending some time with other young musicians now, kind of getting back into that world a little, and I’m getting
the distinct feeling that what all this is about is that you may want to take up the cello again after all.”

Jac glared at me.

“So what if I do?” she practically yelled. “Is there some statute of limitations that —”

“Let me
finish
!” I shouted.

Jac looked startled. I didn’t shout very often, so I guess she knew I meant business.

“No, there is no statute of limitations on changing your mind about the cello,” I said. “You have every right to make that
decision now; in fact, I’m sure it’s what everyone was hoping would happen.”

“Everyone? You mean you and my mother, who you’re suddenly so fond of?” Jac said.

“I mean
everyone,
Jac. Your mom, your teacher Miss Wittencourt, my mom. Me.”

Jac twisted the ring on her finger, her brow furrowed.

“This is a good thing, Jac. A fabulous thing. It had to happen this way. You made the break, and now you are coming to realize
all by yourself that you
do
want to play the cello.

“I think you finally know what you want, but you feel a little conflicted. You
did
make this huge stand against your mom, and you Quit with a capital Q, and now you’ve changed your mind. I just think you
need to be okay with the fact that you can do something you really want in
spite
of the fact that it pleases your mother.”

Jac gave me a funny look.

“Who made you my personal junior psychiatrist?” she asked.

I tried to laugh, even though I knew she meant it as a put-down.

“No one, Maestra. I’m not a junior psychiatrist. I’m your friend. ”

Jac pursed her lips.

“So that makes you an expert on what I think,” she said. “Because apparently you know what I’m feeling better than I do.”

“I’m just giving an opinion. And I’m trying to give you some advice. Forget about your mom, and just go for it. You don’t
have to pretend not to care about the cello anymore, Jac. It’s
your
choice now.”

Jac looked at me, scowling.

“Sounds to me more like it’s
your
choice this time,” Jac stated.

I took a deep breath, trying to control my temper.

“Jac, god. All I’m trying to do is help you. That’s all that I want.”

Jac started pedaling double-time. The dock was getting closer, but we still had a ways to go.

“See, I’m having trouble believing that,” Jac said, between deep breaths. “Because what it’s really starting to look like
to me is that my mother has won you over to her side. You think I’ve forgotten how you were hanging out, sipping your designer
water and having girl talk yesterday? She’s gotten to you somehow, Kat. She’s convinced you to be the cello advocate for her.
What did she promise you? Invitations to other fancy vacations that your mother could never aff —”

I gasped as Jac cut herself off. It was too late — it had been all too clear where that sentence was going. Jac had never,
ever been deliberately cruel to me before, and she’d certainly never brought up the difference in our family’s financial situations.
Even she looked surprised by what had just come out of her mouth.

“I take that last part back,” she said very quietly, hanging her head.

But she was still scowling.

“I don’t even know who you are right now,” I said, rubbing at my eyes, which had started to fill with tears. “The fact that
you could in any seriousness think I’m acting as some kind of secret agent for your mother is beyond insane. Though to tell
you the truth, if this is how you act when the subject of your cello comes up, I’m starting to have a little sympathy for
her.”

“Well you can take her side all that you want!” Jac cried.

“That’s just stupid,” I retorted.

“Just pedal. I have a symposium to get to, and I don’t want to be late.”

“And you don’t want your hair messed up when Dream Boy and his violin show up.”

Jac glared at me.

“I knew it. You’re jealous! For once, a beautiful boy is interested in me, and you can’t handle it. Did you know that Colin
asked me to have a hot chocolate with him after the hike? He
likes
me, Kat, and it’s eating you up, because the only person paying any attention to you looks like a caveman and makes fun of
mediums.”

We had reached the dock. Jac jumped out of the boat first.

I sat with my feet still on the pedals. I was shaking so hard I didn’t think I could stand up.

There was a minute when Jac just stood there, when we were kind of looking at each other, though not in the eye. I thought
maybe one of us was going to relent. That someone would say something to diffuse the situation, and the fight would be over.
But she turned on her heel and headed at top speed for the Mountain House.

I knew that deep down, there was a reason Jac had lashed out at me the way she had, but I didn’t care what it was. She had
been so unfair, she had been mean, and she had hurt me. Now we were on the outs, and that meant I was on my own. I would have
to head inside, and figure out what to do with myself.

Fortunately, I’d packed some very long books.

I walked slowly up the path to the Mountain House. I wanted to give Jac plenty of time to disappear. The last thing I needed
was to run into her in the lobby, especially if she was with her music friends. For all I knew, she was trashing me to them
this very minute. On second thought, I knew she wouldn’t do that. But I still didn’t want to see her. I lingered on one of
the covered porches, waiting for enough time to pass until I could go inside safely.

I pretended to be engrossed in various announcements that had been posted on the Whispering Pines bulletin board. In the process
of trying to look as if I was reading something, the map of the grounds caught my eye.

YOU ARE HERE
, proclaimed large letters, with a large red arrow pointing to a spot just outside the Mountain House. I glanced
up, half expecting to see the giant red arrow suspended there in midair, pointing helpfully to the porch at my feet.

The map showed the boat launch where Jac and I had gotten the swan boat that had witnessed our argument. It showed the swimming
hole, the hiking paths, and the fire tower that I’d visited. The map also showed the other side of the Mountain House grounds,
where the gardens were. My eyes were drawn to a marking on the map. labyrinth, it said.

I had never been in a real garden labyrinth. I loved the idea of a maze made of plants and hedges. If this labyrinth was on
the grand scale of everything else at the Mountain House, it was sure to be spectacular. Maybe Jac and I could —

I stopped the thought. Jac had taken herself out of the picture. Why should I save this experience to share with her?

Taking one final look at the map, I set off on the path that led around the Mountain House so that I could walk the labyrinth
alone.

The labyrinth was beyond the lush gardens of the Mountain House. I was so eager to get there I didn’t stop to linger and enjoy
the flowers. They would have to wait for another time. I followed the little wooden signs that led to the garden’s entrance
— a wall of massive hedge with a door-width gap.

When I walked through the entrance, I had the choice of going left or right. I tried left first, walking about fifteen feet
until I came to a dead end. I turned around and went in the other direction. From my perspective that way ended in a dead
end too — just a wall of green. But when I actually reached the end, I was able to see that the path continued at a right
angle.

It was like being in another world. I could see nothing but the deep green of the hedge, and gray sky overhead. I could be
anywhere. It could be anytime. There was a strange but not frightening energy in the labyrinth. Maybe it was the energy of
plant life, underfoot and all around me. I reached another junction and turned. Dead end. But when I backtracked, I wasn’t
sure which direction I’d come from.

Just go any old way,
I thought.
I’ll find something soon.
It was a public labyrinth after all, for the guests. It couldn’t be that hard. The Mountain House didn’t want to lose paying
guests in a hedgy maze. That would be bad for business.

I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable, though. Seriously, which direction had I come from? Maybe I really could get
lost in this thing. How long before anyone would even know I was missing? And would anyone think to come here?

I heard a giggle, and I whirled around.

There was a little girl standing about ten feet away from me. She had on a neat white dress with petticoats, and looked unusually
clear with an electric air about her. She held an orange kitten in her arms.

A ghost.

She giggled again, and dashed off to her left, disappearing into what looked like solid green. After a moment, I went to the
place she’d been standing. It was not a solid wall of green after all — there was a low doorway cut in the hedge. I went through,
and saw the girl again. She was walking away from me, but she paused and looked over her shoulder. She had the brightest red
hair I’d ever seen, and wide laughing blue eyes. She made a turn, and I quickly followed her.