13 Gifts (11 page)

He chuckles and nudges one of the piles with his foot. “I should probably clean this room more often. Emily gets her messy habits from me, I’m afraid.”

I force myself to laugh along when really I just want to sink into the floor. I need to get him away from the magazines. “Hey, would you happen to have some extra batteries I could try in the tape recorder?”

“You mean you don’t want to take it apart?” He looks disappointed.

“Actually, I’d rather just get it to play.”

He sighs and points to a set of plastic bins in the back corner. “Batteries of all sizes and shapes. Help yourself to whatever you need.”

“Thanks.” I grab handfuls of all different types and shove them in my pockets.

“Hey, have you seen the Collectibles Room?” he asks, practically giddy at the chance to show it off. “Your aunt organized it, so it’s nice and orderly.”

Once again, I’m stumped for an answer — do I say I’ve been there, or that I haven’t? Fortunately, once again, he doesn’t wait for one. “C’mon,” he says, “you’ll love it.”

I hesitate before following him. Does he know about my trip last night? Is this a setup? I trudge along behind him promising myself that if I survive this, I will be a much better person in the future. We reach the door, and to my surprise, he turns the knob rather than reaching for a key.

He tries the knob again, pulling and pushing at it. “That’s strange,” he says. “I never lock this door. I don’t even have a key.” He tries it again. “Hmm. The only way to lock it is from the inside. Someone must have turned the latch and then shut the door behind them.”

I wonder if they have tornadoes in Willow Falls. I wouldn’t mind if one swept me up right about now. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m the “someone.” I must have done it in my hurry to beat Emily back to the bedroom.

“That’s okay,” I say, slowly backing away. “I can see it another time.” I leave him muttering about which tool would be the best to open it.

I close the bedroom door and make a decision. I’m going to do this impossible job for Angelina as quickly as possible, so I can pay off my debt to society, as she so dramatically put it. Then the money will legitimately be mine, and I
can have a (semi) normal summer in this (semi) normal little town.

It takes five minutes to wrestle off the cover of the battery compartment since I refuse to go ask Uncle Roger for a screwdriver. I pull out four corroded C batteries, and replace them with new ones. This time when I press the button with the triangle, the tape moves around the little plastic circles with an accompanying whirring and crackling sound. I lean closer, but that’s all I hear. No list, no anything.

I pace back and forth in front of the desk. To calm myself down, I start folding the clothes from Aunt Bethany. Some kids throw stuff when they’re frustrated; I fold things. I’m about to start on the shorts when I hear a baby crying. I step over to the window, but the house is too far from the neighbors for the sound to travel all the way here. I cross to the door. No, it’s not coming from outside in the hall.

Now, along with the crying, a woman has started to sing a lullaby. Her voice is very pure and sweet. It finally dawns on me that the sounds are coming out of the tape recorder! The woman gets through the first few lines of “Hush, Little Baby, Don’t You Cry” when the tape clicks and a man’s voice comes through. “All right, let’s try that again,” he says. A woman — a different one from the singer — replies, “Do you really think this will work?” The man says, “As long as we don’t tell her he’s coming. She’ll be too nervous.” Then another click and the singing returns, without the baby crying. Then the tape cuts to a group of people laughing. Then Angelina’s voice comes on and she starts reciting a list of random objects. Finally! My guess is that whoever sold the tape recorder to Angelina’s store a zillion
years ago left the tape in it. Angelina — and a lot of other people before her — taped right over it.

After a few tries, I figure out how to rewind the tape so I can write down the list from the beginning.

One wicker basket with handles in the shape of hearts

One gray wool blanket with two-inch red stripes around the border

One brass candlestick in the shape of a fish

One large white shawl with the initials
ER
on the left corner

One knife with a black handle inside a red sheath

A 2-ounce purple glass bottle with a silver stopper

One long strand of pearls with a gold clasp

One leather-bound copy of the Bible, black, Book of Genesis repeated twice

One wooden key with the words
Made in Willow Falls 1974
carved in the shank

One black steamer trunk with gold latch

One violin, silver plating on back reads
Sam, 1902

One bottle of apple wine, 1925, brewed by Ellerby-Fitzpatrick Brewers

One wooden cane, handle shaped like a duck’s beak

The list finally ends, and soon after, so does the tape. I play it twice more to make sure I’ve gotten everything down correctly. Then I climb into my bed, throw the covers over my head, and pray for a miracle.

Chapter Eleven

 

I’m about twenty minutes early to the diner to meet
Rory and Leo. Rory already texted me that Amanda has band practice and David’s mom dragged him to the tailor to get his bar mitzvah suit fitted. I’m kind of glad it’s a smaller group.

While I wait, I ogle the desserts in the glass case by the counter. Having (much) more freedom than at home is all well and good, but I need to actually remember to do things like eat and drink now and then. The chocolate cakes and pies in the case look so good that I’m afraid my mouth is going to water.

“Can I help you?” a waitress asks, appearing at my side. Her name tag reads H
I
,
MY NAME IS ANNIE.
A
SK ME ABOUT THE CHOCOLATE-CHIP PANCAKES
. “Everything here is homemade, you know.”

“No, thanks, I’m —”

She waits for me to finish, but I’ve suddenly lost the ability to speak. All I can do is point frantically behind her at the umbrella stand, where, since it’s not raining, there are no umbrellas. There is, however, a wooden cane with the head of a duck on top.

She looks where I’m pointing and turns back to me. “Are you all right, hon? You’re getting kinda pale.”

“That … that cane. Did you see who came in with it?”

She laughs. “Honey, I wasn’t even born yet when that cane showed up. My dad owns the diner, and he’s convinced one day the owner will come back to claim it.”

I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Do you think there’s any chance he’d let me have it? I, um, know someone who’s looking for it.”

Her eyes widen. “You do?”

I nod, hoping she won’t ask for details.

“Let me go ask. He’s in the kitchen.” She slips behind the counter, and when she pushes through the swinging doors, a blast of warm air fills the little waiting area. I can see the corner of the griddle where pancakes and fried eggs sizzle in straight lines.

I take this opportunity to inspect the cane up close. It’s gotta be the one from the list. How many wooden, duck-headed canes could there be? This one is definitely old, with most of the paint chipping off the wood. I can tell the duck’s bill used to be white, and there’s still a smudge of green on each eye.

The doors swing back open behind me and the waitress comes out, followed by a white-haired man with a sweaty forehead and twinkling eyes. He wipes his hands on his apron and sticks one hand out toward me. I shake it, not sure what else to do.

“I’m Joe Milazo. You’re the young lady asking about the cane?”

I nod.

“That thing showed up one day thirty-five years ago. Been waiting for the right person to come for it, I expect. Whatcha want it for?”

My brain freezes. I only got the list a few hours ago. I’ve been too busy feeling sorry for myself from the comfort of my bed to come up with a plan of action. I scan through the options. I can’t use Angelina’s name since she told me that would likely backfire on me. I can’t steal it when the person’s not looking because my days of stealing things are seriously over. Which leaves making up some kind of story.

Making Up Stories = Lying = Not a Good Thing to Do When Trying to Pay Off Debt to Society.

But what choice do I have? I figure I’ll start as close to the truth as possible. “I … I know this lady who collects old canes and, um, things with ducks. I know she’d love this one.”

“Canes and ducks, eh?” he asks.

I nod. “Yup.”

“This guy’s been like a part of the family.” He pats the top of the duck’s head. “Sure would be hard to let it go.”

“I can pay you,” I offer. Maybe I should have led with that one. I have the money from Angelina stuffed deep into my sock. I no longer trust wallets. They disappear too easily.

“Well now, that wouldn’t be right seeing as it wasn’t mine in the first place.” He turns to his daughter. “Annie, what do you think would be a fair trade?”

“Hmm …” She taps her long nails on the dessert counter. “I know! We’re short a dishwasher today.”

Mr. Milazo grins at me. “Whatya say? Ready to roll up your sleeves and dive in?”

Great, just great. Rory and Leo are going to walk in here any minute and find me up to my elbows in suds and grease? But if I let the very first thing from the list slip through my fingers,
I’m never going to finish. I glance over at the cane and sigh. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Annie laughs. “We wouldn’t really make you wash dishes.”

“Just testing your commitment,” her dad says with a wink.

“Oh,” I reply weakly. “Good one.”

Annie’s cell phone rings. She reaches into her pocket and answers it, holding up a finger for us to wait. Her dad shakes his head and nudges me. “Kids these days with their cell phones, right?”

I chuckle politely in response, glancing anxiously at the door.

Annie slips her phone back into her pocket and says to her father, “That was Shelly. She apparently told the leader of her Sunshine Kid troupe that she sold fifty boxes of cookies instead of five. We now have forty-five extra boxes of cookies in our garage. Either we sell them by six
P.M
. tomorrow or pay for them ourselves.”

Mr. Milazo claps me on the back. “I think we found you a job!”

Annie beams. “How’d you like to be a Sunshine Kid?”

“A what?” I ask, hoping I misheard.

“They’re like Girl Scouts,” she explains. “Except their uniforms are yellow and orange instead of green and brown. And they let boys in. Oh, and their cookies aren’t as good. And they sing.”

“So you want me to dress up in a uniform and sell bad cookies? And
sing
?”

“I didn’t say they were bad. Especially if you put ketchup on them.”

Ketchup?

Annie’s dad walks over to the umbrella stand and pulls out the cane. Without a word, he presents it to me very solemnly, like he’s handing me a really important gift. It’s heavier than it looked in the stand. Very solid, and obviously well made since it’s held up all these years. Strange to think that someone wouldn’t have come back for it once they realized it was missing.

“Fine, I’ll sell the cookies,” I mutter. “But I’m not singing.”

“Wonderful!” Mr. Milazo booms.

“What’s wonderful?” Leo asks, walking through the door with Rory. “Is today buy-one-get-one-free pancake day?”

“No such luck, my boy,” Mr. Milazo says, thumping Leo on the back like they’re old friends. “This young lady here is going to be an honorary Sunshine Kid! She’s going to sell forty-five boxes of cookies by tomorrow afternoon!”

“Is that right?” Leo asks, raising an eyebrow.

I give a little wave with the hand not currently leaning on the cane for support.

Rory puts her hands on her hips. “Tara’s new in town. What have you two done to her?”

Mr. Milazo touches his hand to his chest. “Who, me?”

“Is that smoke?” Rory asked, sniffing the air.

“Hey,” Leo says, “if you’re out here, who’s making the pancakes?”

Mr. Milazo’s eyes widen. He turns and runs back through the swinging doors without a word. Smoke billows out behind him.

“Seat yourselves,” Annie instructs us, running after her dad.

Rory leads us past the counter, where a group of women are eating ice cream and laughing. I glance hungrily at their bowls
as we pass, and notice one lady picking out her gumballs and arranging them on her napkin. For the first time since I’ve been in town, it sinks in that my mother grew up here. And Dad, too! They probably came to this very diner, maybe even sat at that very counter. It makes me feel both closer to them, and farther away.

We settle into the last booth. “Sooo …” Leo begins, glancing at the cane next to me on the seat. “Anything you’d like to share with us about your day?”

I look from one to the other. “Um, not really. It’s been a pretty ordinary day. You know how it is in sleepy little Willow Falls.”

“We do,” Rory says, not taking her eyes from my face. “That’s why we know it wasn’t an ordinary day.”

I squirm, the cushion squeaking underneath me. It’s impossible to turn away from Rory’s intense gaze. “Well, I guess I do have to sell forty-five boxes of cookies by tomorrow.”

“And why is that, exactly?” Rory asks.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“We’ve got time,” Leo says. “You’re gonna have to spill it sooner or later, unless you want to sell forty-five boxes of really tasteless cookies all by yourself.”

“They’re not that bad with ketchup,” I mutter. He’s right of course. I can’t sell the cookies by myself. Unless
I
buy them all! I do a quick calculation. Rats. I’d use up most of the money from Angelina right there.

I sink deeper into the bench cushion. I might as well be back at school right now, trying to talk my way out of having to work with others on some project. The last time I agreed to be a part
of a group, I wound up getting suspended. “I don’t have a good track record of playing nice with others,” I explain. “Ask any of my teachers.”

“At least tell us what’s up with the cane,” Rory says. “My little brother, Sawyer, quacks at it every time we come in here. I’ve never seen Mr. Milazo take it out of the umbrella stand before. Why would he just give it to you?”

I shrug. “I guess my charm and winning personality won him over.”

Leo laughs. “No offense, but I’m pretty sure there’s more to it than that.”

The waitress approaches the table and places one large chocolate-chip pancake in front of each of us. I hadn’t even seen anyone order. I think I could eat all three by myself. Leo digs into his pancake, but Rory doesn’t touch hers. She’s still waiting for an answer from me.

I sigh, glancing longingly at my plate. “If I let you help me sell the cookies, will you stop asking me about the cane?”

“For now,” Rory agrees, cutting into her pancake. “But there’s not much time if we’re going to sell forty-five boxes by tomorrow. I’ll pick up the cookies from Annie. I’ve babysat for her kids before; she lives right around the corner from here.”

“Then what?” Leo asks. “Her kids will have covered their neighborhood already.”

“True,” Rory says. “Why don’t we start at the community center? That’s our best chance of having a bunch of people in one place at a time. We’ll need to get uniforms, though. No one’s going to buy cookies from Sunshine Kids dressed in school clothes.”

“Amanda was a Sunshine Kid in third grade,” Leo says, “but I’m sure her uniform wouldn’t fit anyone.”

“I know where to get them,” I say quietly.

Rory grins. “Great!” she says, as though it’s perfectly normal that I would know such a thing after being in town only a few days. “Then let’s get going.” She pushes Leo across the bench until he has one leg in the aisle.

“Wait, what about our pancakes?” he asks, grabbing on to his plate like it’s a life preserver.

Rory looks down at our mostly untouched pancakes and Leo’s half-eaten one, then grabs the pile of napkins from the center of the table.

“Good thing you hadn’t put syrup on it yet,” I tell Leo as he stares dejectedly at the wrapped-up pancake in his hand. “That’d be really messy.”

“Go get the uniforms,” Rory instructs us. “I’ll take the cane, pay the bill, and get the cookies, and we’ll meet at the community center in half an hour.”

Thirty seconds later, Leo and I find ourselves out on the street, clutching our pancakes. The butter grease is seeping through the napkins. I turn to him. “Is she always this … this …”

“Bossy? Determined? Good at helping out others whether or not they ask? Yes.”

I hope letting Rory take the cane with her wasn’t a huge mistake. I’ve only known her a day, and she does have a history of losing things. I can’t wait a second longer to eat, though, so I unwrap my pancake and eat it like a taco. Leo quickly digs into his, too.

“These are really good,” I say, not even caring that I have chocolate all over my hands and pancake crumbs on my chin.

“You never forget your first Willow Falls chocolate-chip pancake.” He shoves the rest of his into his mouth and licks each finger in turn. I guess I should feel good that he feels comfortable enough around me to do that, but it’s kinda gross. After wiping his mouth with the greasy napkin, he says, “So where are we going to get the uniforms?”

I swallow the bite I’d been chewing. “You know that store we found at the end of the alley yesterday?”

He nods cautiously. “What about it?”

“I saw some in there when …” I trail off. I don’t want to let him know I was in there today. “I saw them when I looked in the window. There’s a whole rack of scouting uniforms.”

He turns both ways, like he wants to make sure we’re alone. “Okay, but let’s hurry.”

I can tell he’s eyeing my pancake as we cross the street, so I tear the remaining piece in half and give it to him. We’re about to turn down the alley, when the door of the dress shop opens and a woman comes out, followed by a boy with a black suit slung over his shoulder. It’s David!

“Hi!” he says when he sees us. He glances at the food in our hands. “Did they run out of tables at the diner?”

I hurriedly wipe my face with the back of my hand as Leo replies, “Something like that.”

“You must be Bethany’s niece,” David’s mother says, checking her phone with one hand and fishing around in her pocketbook with the other. “Tara, right?”

I nod. She’s much older than my mom, but very pretty, with the curliest hair I’ve ever seen. She finds her keys and pulls them out. “David says you’re going to be his good luck charm.”

“Mom!” David says, shifting the suit so I can’t see his face.

“Oops, sorry,” she says, patting him good-naturedly on the head. “Was I not supposed to say that?”

He groans.

“Here,” she says, lifting the clothes away from him. “Why don’t I take this home, and you can play with — I mean
hang
out with — your friends?”

“Thanks, Mrs. Goldberg,” Leo says.

She presses a button on her keys and the trunk of a car parked in front of the store lifts up. She hefts the suit inside and slams it shut. “I hope you enjoy your time in Willow Falls, Tara. There’s more to it than meets the eye.”