Stork (20 page)

“A mermaid?” Hulda slowly bent her head from one side to the other, lost in thought. Finally she said, “A very powerful symbol. The mythological siren. Dating back as far as the goddess religions themselves. A creature of Vatnheim, the water kingdom. Describe her.”

Oh,
crap
. “Uh. Long hair covering her breasts. Two tails.”

Hulda gasped. “Split-tailed? Is certain?”

God help me
. “Yes.”

“What else?”

“She wears a crown.”
Drinks a lot of coffee. Sometimes answers to the name of Ariel
.

“A crown?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure of it?” she asked, trembling like a bobblehead.

“Yes.”

Hulda sat back in her chair as if exhausted, as if exhilarated. She leaned over and patted my arm. “You go home. Get some sleep. Tomorrow is big day.”

“How is it a big day?”

“Tomorrow, after school, you start scratching.”

“Oh! Are you sure?”

“Yes. Though you may not realize it, Katla, your timing coincides with a day of great portent. Tomorrow is the autumnal equinox. Know that the changes of seasons are days of great significance and powerful magic. The signs are all there. Aslendigas Storkur Society meets tomorrow night.”

Hulda rushed me up the stairs and gave me a big hug like something really special had just happened. I left her store feeling seriously guilty and hoped I hadn’t done anything really stupid, especially considering that —
dear God
— there was a soul at stake.

I let myself in through the garage door. The house sounded empty, though I knew my mom was home, since her umbrella was lying on the floor.

“We’re in here,” my mom called.

I followed her voice to the family room. She and Stanley were snuggling on the couch. She had her head dipped down in the crook of his shoulder, and it looked like it was a pretty good fit. I remembered the way my head had rested on Jack’s arm during the car ride back from the hiking trip. It had been a nice feeling, both soft and solid.

“I talked to your dad,” my mom said. “He said you two had a nice dinner.”

I took a seat in the chair facing the couch. “It was great to see him. Thanks for calling him.”

“Of course, honey. Your father and I are still friends. And when it comes to you . . .” She turned and faced Stanley. “We’re still partners. And we both want to help you deal with any recovered memories you may have.”

“How did you feel at school today?” Stanley asked.

“Good, I guess. Pretty normal.” If getting a boyfriend by first period and then getting dumped after school was normal. And the whole mermaid thing — I wasn’t about to go there.

“You’ve always been strong,” my mom said. “When you’re ready, there’s a scrapbook that Amma kept with all the newspaper clippings. I put it on your desk.”

“She made a scrapbook?”

“It was a really big story. Some believed it a sort of miracle. The scientific explanation has to do with the cold actually plunging the two of you into a sort of deep freeze, preventing your brain cells from dying. It’s really a fascinating survival mechanism.” No mistaking which version she believed.

“Still sounds impossible to me.”

“Not impossible.” My mom beamed at me like I’d just handed her a Valentine dripping glue and glitter all over the carpet. “Your dad and I have you to prove it.”

Stanley squeezed my mom’s knee after she said this. “I’m glad Greg’s going to stick around for a few days,” he said. “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

I felt kind of sorry for the guy. Their meeting would be rough on him. It would be hard to live up to my dad. I excused myself and headed up to my room.

It was not an easy night. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jack. I wanted him to call. Even if it was to break our date, I’d know where we stood. And the idea of a photo was stressing me out. Did Wade really have one? Would he broadcast it? And on top of all this, I had my first Stork meeting the next day, a responsibility that triggered a nervous burn in my gut. Now that it was upon me, the decision seemed huge. I sat at my desk with my arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders, reading and rereading, unsuccessfully, an English assignment. The only thing that kept me from falling apart, literally ending up with body parts strewn about like dirty laundry, was puzzling through some of what Hulda had said. I focused on our discussion. And though I could feel myself almost choking with stress, and though I felt more alone than I ever had, I concentrated on Hulda’s cryptic words.

For starters, the whole history of Jack’s family. It was probably a sign of the level of my fixation that I could remember, verbatim, Hulda’s comments about the Snjossons, and probably could have done a pretty good imitation of Hulda in the process. They were “Winter People . . . of arctic descent . . . from far above the timberline . . . a cold and unfriendly place . . . ice is at the core of their being.” Did she know how charged our friendship had been? Was this her warning? Was Jack as cold and unfriendly as the arctic lands his family descended from? Was she telling me not to get involved with an iceman? Boy, I sure knew how to pick ’em.

I glanced over at the red scrapbook placed neatly on top of a pile of fashion magazines. I ran a hand over its linen cover. It was dusty and slightly frayed. I picked it up and walked over to the bed. I sat for many minutes against my headboard with the heft of the book in my lap. Finally, I found the courage to open it. I gasped. There, front and center on the first article, were large school pictures of me and Jack. They were the kind of smiling mugs so often used in news stories when the outcome wasn’t good. Jack, this younger version, had a fuller face, too-large grin, and shooting cowlick. My own image, my fifth-grade school photo, had rod-straight hair parted down the middle and a shy smile. Another photo showed the scene of the accident: an ambulance pulled up close to the lake and surrounded by a crowd of people. I read the article entitled “Miracle at Elkhorn Lake: Two Children Fight for Life.” Though the writer clung to the miracle theory throughout the story, citing both witnesses and medical experts, the incident had been barely twenty-four hours old. I noticed, with a shrug, the reporter had my name wrong. KATHERINE LEBLANC was printed under my photo. At the end of the article it was reported that “Katherine” had not yet gained consciousness, and Jack was listed in critical condition. Just yesterday, I’d have believed it the story of a stranger. I sat pondering how easily the outcome could have been different. “Tragedy at Elkhorn Lake: Two Children Drown.” I shuddered and closed the book.

I barely slept, knowing the next day’s events would be fateful. And though there was still some deep cavernous ache in my heart, I had, if nothing else, a small measure of self-respect. I was a fighter. If I’d survived a plunge into an icy lake — without breathing for twenty minutes, maybe more — I could survive tomorrow.

My mom was cheerful at breakfast the next day. I supposed she had no inkling that she could, or could not, be pregnant. Nor, for that matter, did she know she was mother to a human Stork. She was, in general, a happy person — the kind who could always spot the sun behind the clouds. Her lightheartedness had eased the pain of so many of my childhood scrapes, cuts, and bruises, including those of an emotional nature. And her enthusiasm had always added worth to anything I brought home: a lopsided clay figure, a hairy caterpillar, or a good report card. I vowed, despite what the day brought, to channel this optimism. I realized then that, despite my parents’ divorce, I had been lucky. She smiled at me over her bowl of yogurt topped with blueberries and something inevitably Kashi. She didn’t even bother to comment on the Cap’n Crunch, whose contraband cargo I’d spilled into my own bowl.

She had a lunch date with my dad later today, but I knew, somehow, that the shade of her coloring had more to do with her date with Stanley last night than with the day at hand.

I pulled into the parking lot and instinctively took the first left, which circled me around the back side nearest the gym. My VW Bug seemed to have had a mind of its own. Daily, and without my input, it had chosen parking spots closer and closer to the second-row, third-from-the-left stall, which was habitually occupied by one beat-up old Ford truck with the faded
SNJOSSON FARMS
painted on its door. Today the truck wasn’t there. I sank into the driver’s seat of my little blue car, feeling a compression in my gut.

It was almost crazy to think that just twenty-four hours ago we’d walked hand-in-hand through the halls. There it was, only Tuesday, and so much had transpired. Not to mention my first Stork bestowal was later that day.

I trudged to first-period English. My blisters hurt. I was wearing my favorite pink Keen ballerinas, normally just as comfy as they were stylish. Even though I’d dressed carefully that morning, thinking I had achieved the new ruffian — punk goes princess — look, everything felt wrong. I forced myself to focus on the words as they exited Ms. Schaeffer’s mouth. She had a very wide mouth, funny that I’d never noticed that before, nor the nasal quality to the sound it produced. I couldn’t help it when, between periods, my neck craned of its own accord, always searching the halls. No sight of him, though. Not between first and second, nor second and third. Happily, I didn’t cross paths with Wade, either. Pedro stopped me on my way to French.

“Have you heard from Jack?” he asked.

I shook my head, trying to hide my shame. “No.”

“Do you have any idea where he went?”

“No.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

“No. Not really.”

Pedro punched a fist into his open hand. “I phoned his house last night. His dad wouldn’t tell me anything, except that he wasn’t home. And didn’t know when he’d get back. I really need to find him.”

“Why?”

“He’s in big trouble with Coach Carter. He skipped out on practice last night. That’s an automatic benching for the next game.”

“Oh. Homecoming.”

“Yeah. Homecoming. And guess who’s the backup quarterback?” Pedro said, pointing to his chest. “And trust me. This is not a good thing. Definitely not against Pinewood.” Pedro crossed his arms. “It’s probably none of my business, but did you guys have a fight or something?”

I hugged a book to my chest. “We did. About Wade.”

“Wade?”

“I made a mistake the night before school started.” I drummed my fingers across the surface of the book. “And when Jack asked me about him, I made it worse by lying.”

“Oh.” Pedro rolled his shoulders and looked at me thoughtfully. “Though I don’t think you could shake him that easily.”

“You didn’t see his face.”

“I can tell you this much — I’ve known him since we were kids, and it was huge that he put himself out there yesterday with you.”

“Obviously not that huge. He hasn’t called me.”

“Trust me on this one — it was huge.” His eyes darted to a wall-mounted clock. “Hey, I gotta run to class, but I’ll see you at lunch.”

I raised my eyebrows in response and then walked away. “Ice at his core?” was the new mantra I was chanting under my breath. Hulda’s warning was something I could fixate on in an attempt to distract myself from the hole in my chest.

In Design, Penny told me that Wade and Monique had a big blowup in the hallway that morning. It’d been very loud, very ugly, and very public. Wade had said some really mean things, the kind of things one doesn’t forgive. I kept waiting for Penny to mention photos of me circulating. She didn’t, thankfully. Just the threat of them had done damage enough; I hardly wanted to deal with the cleanup their actual spill would entail. Ms. Bryant gave us free time to work with our partners. Penny must have pitched an idea or two at me — I could tell she was looking at me expectantly — but I just couldn’t focus.

Jack didn’t show up at lunch. I knew he wouldn’t. Some internal sensor in me knew he wasn’t in the building. Penny flashed concerned looks at me, but I just kept my head down and worked on my story — pretended to, anyway. On the way to our lockers, she suggested we hang out after school, maybe go to the bookstore or get some coffee at the Kountry Kettle. I invented an excuse, though I don’t remember what. It couldn’t have been very good. Worry creased her forehead.