Six (7 page)

Parker walked over to the side table and picked up the piece of paper that Michael had given him.

Parker and Emma watched as their father called the number and asked if he was speaking to Michael's mother. There was a short conversation and, before Parker could ask if he could pass the phone to him to speak to Michael, his father had hung up.

His parents are working away, but that was the housekeeper.

Housekeeper? Parker turned to Emma, and they both shrugged at each other in surprise. Michael hadn't said anything about a housekeeper.

Anyway, she sounds very nice,
continued his father.
She said that they can send a car to pick you both up and drop you home later.

Really?
asked Parker.

Apparently so. If there's any problem at all, call me at the office. I'll step outside when I can and call you on Effie to make sure you got there fine.

Parker nodded. Effie needed a good signal to work. The building his father worked in received no signal at all.

Emma jumped out of her seat and wrapped her arms around their father's neck.

I love you, Daddy.

Parker's dad smiled.
I love you too. I'm very lucky to have you both.

He undid Emma's arms from around his neck and stood up.

If you need anything in the night—anything at all—you can call the office. I'll be back before you wake up.

When are you going to sleep?
asked Emma.

I'll be fine. Can I leave you two to tidy everything away and get ready for bed?

Parker nodded, and their father gave them each a kiss on the head. He picked up his bulging briefcase.

I'll come say good night in a bit,
he said, walking out. Before he had even left the room, Parker's dad had turned Effie off. Parker guessed it was because his mind was already back on his work.

*  *  *  *  *  *

That night Parker lay in his bed thinking about everything that had happened at school. No matter which way he thought about it, he couldn't see how the situation in the cafeteria could have turned out any different. Whether today or any other day, Parker would have had to speak in front of the class at some point. His classmates would always have picked up on his accent and teased him about it.

Parker wondered, as he often did, if it might have been different had his mother been here. It was an easy question to answer. Parker already knew that, if his mother were still here, they wouldn't have moved. She had loved their house far too much to ever consider leaving it.

Parker pressed down on his wrist.

I wish you were here, Mum,
he thought.

There was no answer, of course—there never was—but Parker liked to imagine she was listening anyway. He had never told his dad or his sister that he did this. In fact, he was the only one of the three who didn't talk about their mother all the time. Emma was always asking what their mother would have done or said in every situation, and Parker's dad would only talk about her in the present tense. It annoyed Parker sometimes—the fact that his dad did this—but he guessed it was just his way of coping. Emma's was to ask questions, and his was to talk to his mother via Effie. In a way, none of them had ever let her go.

He leaned over the side of his bed and turned off his bedside lamp.

“Good night, Mum,” he said. He pressed down on the middle of his wrist once more and fell asleep.

At precisely eleven o'clock the next morning, a long black car with tinted windows pulled up outside Parker's house. Both Parker and Emma stared out the window by the door as the driver, an older man in full uniform, including hat, stepped out and made his way to their front door.

“Wow,” said Parker as he put his coat on.

“His parents must be millionaires,”
signed Emma.

Parker nodded in agreement and picked up the bike that was resting on the wall. He wheeled it out behind Emma and turned to lock the door.

“Are you Parker and Emma?” asked the driver.

“Yes,” said Parker. “Hi.”

“Hi, I'm Brendan. I'm here to take you to Michael's house. Let me take that for you.”

Parker thanked him as he handed his bike over. He followed the driver to the car.

“I'll put this in the trunk,” said Brendan, opening the passenger door. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

Parker climbed in behind Emma and ran his hand along the sleek gray leather interior.

“Can you believe this?”
signed Parker as he slid in beside Emma and put on his seat belt.

Emma giggled and pointed to the television screen in front of them.

“You can turn it on if you'd like; the remote is in the pocket next to your seat.”

Parker looked up and saw that Brendan was watching them in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks,” said Parker, picking up the remote.

“Right. You both have everything you need?”

Parker nodded.

“Good. Sit back and enjoy. We'll be there in approximately twenty minutes.”

With that, a wall of black glass rolled up behind the driver's seat and the engine started up.

*  *  *  *  *  *

It was raining when they arrived, but neither the downpour nor the gray skies did anything to lessen the impressiveness of where Michael lived. Parker and Emma, both now ignoring the television screen, peered out the window and watched as the car rolled slowly along the driveway, past tennis courts, a golf course, a swimming pool with a waterfall and slides, and acres of landscaped gardens.

“Did he tell you it was going to be like this?”
signed Emma.

Parker shook his head.
“I had no idea. He didn't say a thing,”
he signed back.

“I wonder what his house . . .”

Emma's question was answered before she had a chance to finish asking it. Michael's house—though it wasn't a house like any Parker had ever seen—was a wide curved structure of glass and wood that rose from the ground like a snake emerging from its underground lair, and wound three quarters of the way around a lake. The movement of the rain running down the glass panels coupled with the reflection of the rippling waters of the lake made the entire structure appear as if it were moving, alive under the elements. Parker and Emma, transfixed in open-mouthed amazement, watched as Brendan drove slowly around the lake before coming to a stop under a glass canopy that curved out over the driveway. There, standing by a set of open glass doors, was Michael, waving enthusiastically.

“Hi!” said Michael, opening the passenger door before Brendan had even turned the engine off.

“Wow,” said Parker, climbing out of the car. “You didn't tell me you lived in a mansion.”

“Oh, it's not really a mansion. But thanks,” said Michael dismissively. He smiled at Emma as she climbed out behind Parker and pressed down on her wrist, a frown on her face.

It's a bit much,
she said via Effie.

Parker narrowed his eyes at his sister.

“Emma says she loves it,” he said to Michael.

Michael looked at them both in turn. “But she didn't sign anything.”

It was only then that Parker realized his error. He hesitated. “I can kind of tell what she's thinking.”

“How?”

Parker was beginning to realize that Michael was not somebody to let anything get past him. “I just can. It's a deaf thing—we're close.”

“Oh, like twins?”

Parker nodded and Michael shrugged.

“Neat. Come on, let's go inside.”

Parker waited for Michael to walk ahead of him. He turned to Emma and gave his brow a theatrical wipe with the back of his hand.

Close call,
he said on Effie.
Turn it off?

Emma nodded and pressed down on her wrist to hang up their call.

*  *  *  *  *  *

The inside of Michael's house was as spectacular as—if not more so than—the outside. Parker was sure that Michael must have known how impressive his house was to his visitors and yet, as they made their way along the building, he played it down to such an extent that Parker started to wonder whether he was too modest to make a fuss or so accustomed to this lifestyle that he saw nothing out of the ordinary about it. He didn't know Michael well enough yet to know which one it was.

Parker looked up at the hexagonal panes of glass that formed the dome of the living room, hypnotized by the movement of the raindrops racing down all around them. “Why can't I hear anything?”

“I think they're double-paned or something.”

“How do they clean them?”
signed Emma. Parker translated.

“Window cleaners,” said Michael. “Obviously.”

“Doesn't it get hot?”

“Not really,” said Michael. He pressed a switch on the wall, and every one of the glass panes turned from clear to opaque, enclosing the three of them in a dull gray dome.

“Unbelievable,” said Parker slowly.

“Not really. It's not that big a deal—it's actually pretty simple technology. Anyway, come on. Let's go up to my room,” said Michael. He switched the panes back to clear and walked off before Parker or Emma had a chance to ask another question.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Parker shouldn't really have been surprised by Michael's bedroom, and yet he was. For one thing, it was by far the biggest bedroom that Parker had ever seen. It was so large, in fact, that
bedroom
didn't seem an adequate description of it, although it did contain a set of bunk beds built into a deep recess in one of the walls. The room was teardrop-shaped with a long wall of glass that curved around the widest section of the space. At the far end—where the teardrop ended, a spiral glass staircase led up to a mezzanine floor that looked out over where they stood.

A friend of Parker's parents had once mentioned over dinner (back when his mother had been alive and they'd still invited people around for dinner) that if you want to know what a person is really like, take a look at their bedroom. It was an observation that had stuck with Parker (that same day he had quietly taken down all the posters of his once-favorite cartoon astronaut), and he thought of that observation now as he looked around Michael's room. It was immaculate. There was not so much as a pen out of place. This was in stark contrast to Parker's own bedroom; his idea of tidying up was to push everything into a corner or, for special occasions, under the bed and into the wardrobe. Parker wondered if the room looked like this only because Michael had a housekeeper to tidy up after him, but this question was answered when Michael picked up Parker's jacket from where Parker had thrown it on the bed and hung it in a hidden wardrobe behind the wall by the door.

The other thing that struck Parker about Michael's room was that it wouldn't have been at all obvious—had he not known it was Michael's—what the age of the person was to whom it belonged. Action figures sat neatly on a shelf alongside academic-looking textbooks. Colorful robots adorned the bedsheets, and a blue teddy lay on a pillow whilst, directly opposite, a bank of the most sophisticated and up-to-date computer equipment lined the long curved desk that had been built to fit against the glass wall.

“The rain is supposed to let up in an hour, according to the weather reports,” said Michael, interrupting Parker's thoughts. “We can play—I mean hang out—in here until lunch, if that's okay, then go out after we eat.”

Michael opened a drawer at the desk nearest to where he was standing and took out a remote control. He pressed a button, and the smooth white wall that curved under the overhanging gallery swooshed open to reveal shelf after shelf lined with toys.

For a moment Parker and Emma stood side by side, staring.

Michael turned to Emma. “You can play with anything you want,” he said.

“Wow, you have a lot of toys, Michael,”
signed Emma, and Parker translated.

“I . . . um . . .”

Parker looked over at Michael and saw that he was biting his lip.

“I . . . didn't ask for them—my parents just buy this stuff for me,” replied Michael.

Emma smirked.
“Lucky you,”
she signed.

“But,” added Michael quickly, grasping her meaning, “I'm thinking of giving most of them away.”

“Really?” asked Parker. “Why?”

“Um . . . I don't really play with them all. I was thinking of giving them to a hospital or something.”

“Ah, that's so nice, Michael!”
she signed, smiling, and Michael smiled back.

She didn't seem to realize, as Parker did, that Michael was obviously saying this to impress her. As his sister skipped over to the toys and pulled out a long drawer that turned out to be filled to the brim with thousands of plastic building bricks, Parker turned and followed Michael over to the long desk.

“Are you really going to give them all away?” asked Parker.

“Yeah,” replied Michael. “I was thinking I had too many anyway.”

“So you're not doing it because of her?” asked Parker, nodding in Emma's direction.

“No!” said Michael slightly too emphatically. He didn't look at Parker.

“Hmm,” said Parker.

Michael didn't say anything as he knelt down and turned on two of the computers.

“So what do your parents do?” asked Parker, changing the subject.

“My mom's an aviation safety engineer, and my dad has a software company.”

“What kind of software?”

“Games, mostly,” said Michael as he pulled out a pair of headphones and handed them to Parker. “Clown Apocalypse is one of them.”

Parker's head snapped around in disbelief.

“No. Way.”