A Whisper in Time (2 page)

We entered the house through the laundry room. I waited as Susanna ran up the back stairs and paused on the landing outside the apartment over the garage. Once she’d disappeared inside, I continued into the kitchen.

My parents stood next to each other, an army of two. Mom bumped her head against Dad’s arm, as if prompting him.

“Mark?” His voice had that pained,
“What the hell were you thinking?”
sound to it.

The school had contacted them, of course. It was part of what my parents liked about sending me to Neuse Academy. Private schools had good communication with the people paying the bills. So even though it wasn’t a surprise that my parents knew, I still hadn’t planned how to play this. “Yes, sir?”

“Have you noticed that it’s Wednesday?”

“Yes.”

“Which is a day you would typically spend at school?”

It was rare for my dad to be this sarcastic. “Yes.”

“Would you mind telling us where you were on
this
Wednesday?”

“At the Wake County Register of Deeds.”

That should’ve sounded impressive, but it didn’t have the desired impact on my folks.

Mom frowned. “Did you go with Susanna?”

I nodded. They could say anything they wanted to me, but they’d better not get started on her. “Appointments are only available during the day. We asked about loopholes for getting her a birth certificate.”

The edge left my father’s face.

It didn’t leave my mom’s. “Mark, there
are
no loopholes.”

“That’s basically what the lady told us.”

“Susanna needs an attorney who specializes in immigration law.”

“She’s not an immigrant.” I heard a faint creak on the back stairs. Susanna was there, listening. Was she visible to my parents?

“You’re splitting hairs,” Mom said.

“She can’t afford an attorney.”

“We’ll cover the fees.”

“She doesn’t want that.” We’d already been over this.

“They could deport her.”

Did my mom have to bring that up with Susanna nearby, drinking in every word? “Where would they deport her to? No other country would take her in.”

“I don’t know, but it’s something we have to consider.”

Susanna’s tread came steadily down the stairs. She drew abreast of me. “I was born in Wake County, Mrs. Lewis. America must recognize my claims.”

Mom’s face softened. “They’re the government, dear. They don’t have to recognize anything.”

After spending fifteen minutes with Ms. Cox, a woman who had been both sympathetic and gloomy, I found myself reluctantly agreeing with Mom. “The government doesn’t care, Susanna. You have to show proof. Maybe we should hire a lawyer.”

“No, thank you. I would like to proceed on the path we are following until it fails me.”

What Susanna didn’t realize was that it already had. This was the only official path available to us, and it was a dead end. Time for us to find an unofficial route.

Dad’s gaze narrowed on me. “So the trip downtown was a bust,
and
you missed school.”

“Sure did.” Damn. That came out snarkier than I intended, but too late now.

Susanna stiffened. Why? Was she concerned about their reaction or mine?

“Mark,” Dad said, his voice tight. “You knew the school would text us.”

No need to respond. They were leading up to the big scene. All I had to do was wait for it.

“You’ll have an unexcused absence, and it’s only the third week of the school year.”

“Not if you write me a note.”

He exchanged a glance with my mom and then shook his head. “We’re not doing that.”

They were just making me sweat. “Why not?”

“You made the decision. You live with the consequences.”

“Susanna needed me.”

“One of us could’ve taken her.”

“She’s my responsibility.”

“You could’ve asked our permission to skip school.”

“You would’ve told me
no
.”

“Good guess. It’s what we’re telling you now.”

My teachers in physics and English would understand, but not in American government. This was a disaster. “Do you understand what you’re doing? I can’t make up whatever I miss today.”

“Sorry about that, son.”

I was too pissed to be careful with my mouth. “Great. Just great. Perfect way to reward me for helping out a friend. Talk about having screwed-up priorities.” I checked the clock. Two and a half hours left in the school day. Spinning around, I grabbed my backpack and stormed out through the laundry room.

“Mark,” Mom called after me. “Are you going to school?”

“Where else would I be going?” It would be a bad idea for me to speak another word right now. I stalked out to my truck.

“Mark.”

I looked over my shoulder. Susanna hovered in the entrance to the garage. “What?”

“Thank you.”

Those two soft words flowed through my veins like a cool rain, diffusing my anger. Susanna could put more nuance into a simple phrase than most people could put into whole paragraphs.

“You’re welcome.” I smiled, hopped in the truck, and floored it.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

P
RIVACY
AND
N
ATURE

After Mark left, I retreated to the apartment and reflected on the scene in the kitchen.

Mark had called me his responsibility. At first, I had liked the word, believing that it matched the sense of commitment I felt toward him.

Yet the way he’d uttered it squeezed my heart. Did he find me a burden?

Did his parents?

My master and mistress had complained without ceasing about the burden of my presence. I’d disregarded their complaints as falsehoods of the most blatant sort. I’d worked longer hours than either of them—cooking their meals, tending their garden, and minding their children. For the Pratts, I had been a blessing.

The same could not be said for the Lewis family. They had been caring for me since my arrival, expecting nothing in return.

I much preferred to shoulder a burden than to be one.

Now that I’d healed, I wanted something to do, yet Mrs. Lewis refused to assign me any chores. She said that I should begin preparing for some important examinations. After I had my identification, my next obstacle in Mark’s world would be to acquire a “high school equivalency document.” Mrs. Lewis warned me that the process would be long and require dedicated study.

Much as I wanted a true education, I couldn’t spend all of my hours on studies. My only other duty was to maintain this studio apartment. It had a great room, a “kitchenette,” a bathroom, and my bed in an alcove behind a screen. I could keep my living space immaculate with a few minutes’ effort.

My gaze fell on the cranberry-red couch. Next to it waited a small table with a stack of books. The Bible given to me by Charlie and Norah during my recovery. The legacy books from my father, one on mathematics and the other on Latin. Three history books that Mark’s mother had found for me. I had pored through them for the past month, eager to learn.

Today I could read about the nineteenth century. How had our nation fared after Mr. Washington left the presidency? Would I ever learn why America had next elected Mr. John Adams, that vain toad of a man?

A furtive scratch at the door drew my attention. The family cat waited impatiently on the other side. He slouched past me to take up his rightful place in the center of the couch.

The family’s relationship with their cat was unexpected. Toby didn’t go outside or catch vermin. He had a name. The Lewises had no purpose for the cat other than amusement.

I’d grown accustomed to Toby’s undemanding presence. He asked no hard questions. After today, I would add companionship to his uses. I curled beside him, stroked his sleek fur, and pondered what uses there were for me. This family had no children to tend or crops to harvest. I’d been forbidden to clean. What else could I do?

My hand stilled, much to Toby’s dismay, for he butted my leg.

I could cook.

* * *

My lifetime habit of waking before the sun had stayed with me. On Thursday morning, I rose, dressed, and skipped downstairs. The remnants of a loaf of bread I had baked the previous weekend sat in the breadbox. I cut and buttered thick slices and arranged them on a shallow pan for toasting in the oven.

Mark’s father arrived next in the kitchen, dropped his luggage near the door, and then approached the counter to check the coffee pot. “You’re up early, Susanna.”

“Yes, sir.” I smiled hesitantly, always shy in his presence. “Mr. Lewis, would you care for toast and scrambled eggs?”

“I would like that, as long as you join me.” He smiled back, his teeth even and white. “And please call me Bruce.”

I bobbed my head, glad for the opportunity to serve him. I’d learned to use their pretty pans and the appliances that cooked without fire. In only a few moments, I had filled two plates and handed one to him. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thank you.” He poured me a cup of coffee and placed it before my chair, a small but lovely gesture.

Mrs. Lewis strolled in, wearing yellow scrubs with pink flowers, and stopped before the coffee pot. “What’s going on?”

“Susanna fixed me breakfast,” her husband answered, as he slathered jam on his toast.

“Oh?” She carried a mug to the table and sat.

I nodded. “Toast is warming in the oven. Would you like an egg?”

“Okaaaaaay,” she said, drawing the word out slowly as she gave Bruce a puzzled stare. “My health-freak husband hasn’t eaten a breakfast like that in years.”

I watched her carefully, unsure how to take her comment. The words were pleasant enough, but the tone was not.

He said, “It’s nice for a change.”

I smiled at his praise. Now that I felt well again, I could rise early each morning and cook. Moving to the stove, I reached for a bowl and a whisk.

“Fried, Susanna. Runny yolk.”

I had seen Mark’s grandmother prepare this dish before. It didn’t look appetizing.

After I slid the half-cooked egg onto a plate, I set it in front of her and then returned to my seat. She ate silently, her gaze going from me to her husband. He had his attention trained on his phone.

She stood and collected the plates. When I rose to help her, she waved me back into my chair. “Thanks, dear,” she said from the sink. “This was a nice surprise, but don’t feel as if you need to do it again.”

“It’s no trouble, Mrs. Lewis.” For five weeks, Mark’s family had done nothing but give to me. Shelter, food, medical care, kindness. I wanted a chance to give to them. “I enjoy cooking.”

“There’s no need. We like cereal.”

Those horrid bits of dried wheat that tasted like straw? I must have misunderstood. “Do you prefer oatmeal? I can—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted. “Sleep in. We don’t need you to fix our breakfast.”

I closed my mouth. Finally, I
got it
—as Mark often said. She didn’t like my cooking but was too polite to say so. I looked out the window, ashamed of the sudden hot moisture in my eyes, and willed my features to remain calm.

“Sherri, we’re good.” Bruce’s voice was tight.

Her coffee mug smacked against the counter top. Arms crossed, she leaned back and scowled at him.

Tension hummed in the air, and it was because of me. I sprang to my feet and edged around the table. “Excuse me.”

“Susanna?”

I paused. “Yes, sir?”

Feet thundered down the hall, drowning out Bruce’s response.

Mark exploded into the room, full of energy. “Hey.”

“Good morning.” I tried to slip past him.

“Wait.”

When he tugged gently on my braid, concern etched on his brow, I gave him a light smile.

“What’s up, babe?”

Bruce spoke. “Your mother is being overly solicitous of my diet.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed on my face. “What did she say to you?”

Mrs. Lewis made an impatient sound. “Susanna’s version of breakfast is full of fat and cholesterol. I’m merely pointing out that your father likes for us to eat healthy food.”

“I made a mistake. It is nothing.” I hurried up the stairs, but not before I heard Mark speak to his mother in a most disrespectful tone.

“Why can’t you be nice to her?”

“Nice? There’s no need to go overboard. You two treat her like she’s about to shatter at any moment.”

“We’re trying to cut her some slack, Mom. Why can’t you?”

“Your dad isn’t doing her any favors by eating food he doesn’t want…”

I closed the door softly, crossed to the bay window overlooking the back yard, and curled onto the window seat. Perhaps it was too soon to expect that I would be at ease in this world, but I’d expected to be useful at something.

Why had Mark’s father neglected to share his preferences? Did he pity me? And why had Mark shown anger when his mother spoke the truth? It was bewildering.

The phone rang beside me. “Hello?”

“Susanna?” It was Mark’s grandfather. “Norah is planning to do some shopping in Raleigh after lunch. Would you like us to drop by and pick you up?”

“Yes, please. Will you shop for groceries?” It was my favorite kind of shopping.

“We are, and we’re stopping by the library. How about that?”

Mrs. Lewis had brought me numerous volumes from some library, but I’d not been inside one myself. It would be quite exciting to see so many books. “I should love to go with you there. Thank you, Charlie.”

“Good. Can you hold a moment?” Without waiting for my response, he dropped the phone on a table. I winced.

A moment later, Mark’s grandmother picked up the phone. “Hi,” Norah said, in her cheerful way, “it’s been a while since we visited. Why don’t you pack a bag and spend the night with us?”

Pleasure filled me, swift and sweet. Mark’s grandparents and their house beside the lake were like a much-needed haven. Nestled in a heavy forest, it would surround me with privacy and nature. “I should like that very much.”

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

M
ESSAGE
R
ECEIVED

The teachers in my morning classes hadn’t been as understanding as I’d hoped. All missed assignments for English and physics would be due tomorrow, with a whole letter-grade penalty. Good thing I hadn’t skipped American government yesterday. Mr. Fullerton—the most feared man at the high school—would’ve been brutal.