The Great Interactive Dream Machine (15 page)

There by a portable altar waited Mr. L. T. Thaw. It was like being in class. Beside him was his best man, the headmaster. They both had white carnations in their buttonholes, and Mr. Thaw's new groom suit was a dead ringer for all his old suits. If he could stand up straight, he'd be over six feet tall. The headmaster was a lot taller than that. They both really loomed. As Aaron and I approached, the headmaster's eyes narrowed at us. Nothing wrong with his memory.

Then came Mom. She was matron of honor. She had a new dress too and carried a bouquet. She looked really pretty, but there was something dazed in her eyes.

The organ music swelled, and Miss Mather appeared in her doorway. Mom had come down early to help her dress. She carried a load of lilies and wore her own mother's wedding gown. It practically had a bustle, but she didn't wear a veil. “At my time of life,” she'd told Mom, “I think we can dispense with that.” Her old eyes swept the room and found Mr. Thaw. He was looking craggily back. She blushed. He smiled. A first.

She came down the aisle on her own. You could hear the squeak of her regular shoes under her lacy skirts. Her papa was long gone, but she'd propped his picture on the mantel. He glared down at all of us. What he'd have thought of this wedding you wouldn't want to know.

So that was basically it. Miss Mather and Mr. Thaw were married. The ceremony was fairly short, conducted by the clergyperson from St. James church around the corner on Madison Avenue. Aaron handed up the rings to them, and they finally threw caution to the winds. They even kissed at the end like a regular bride and groom, and it wasn't a quickie either.

Then Mr. Thaw spoke a few words. Looking down at Miss Mather, who was still clasped in his arms, he said in a big classroom voice, “Margaret, I gaze upon your webbed beauty with an eye too old to wander farther afield. Whatever is left of me is yours.”

The room stirred, and Mom made a strangled sound. But this is probably how teachers get married. Put them at the front of a room, and they have to have their say.

For the reception, Vince came up from the front door to pour the punch.

The best part of it was that Dad was there. He was looking good in his summer blazer. Then when it was time for pictures, we had a separate one taken of us Lewises as a family. It's still in a frame in our living room. Heather's on one side, clutching her daisy basket. I'm on the other, sweating buckets in my dress code. If you look close, Dad's hand is holding Mom's.

The whole event was almost too much for Mr. Thaw. He had to sit down to drink his punch. But Miss Mather—Mrs. Thaw—got him up to cut the cake. She bustled around, serving slices, introducing people, swooping in her old skirts.

Then she was leading this big, senior-size guy up to meet Heather. Heather looked up all six feet of him, and her daisies quivered.

“My dear,” Mrs. Thaw said, “I wonder if you have met my great-nephew, Otis?”

I looked again, and my eyes popped. It was Otis “Stink” Stuyvesant. I knew that. But I sure hadn't expected to see him here. I'd been hoping I'd never see him again anywhere. I grabbed Aaron by the arm. “Aaron, her great-nephew is Stink Stuyvesant,” I blurted.

“As you say,” Mrs. Thaw said. “We Mathers and the Stuyvesants have intermarried several times over several centuries.”

Heather stared up at Stink, and you could see the whole roof of her mouth. She'd been waiting all summer for him to call, and here he was. Did she realize that he didn't look anything like the Stink she thought she'd met? No. I can read Heather's mind. You don't have to be a rocket scientist.

When she could breathe, Heather sighed, “I loved your letter.”

Aaron and I were right there, under Stink's elbow—silent, listening.

Stink dug a big shoe toe modestly into the carpet. “Hey”—he shrugged—“I'm in it mostly for the exercise.”

Aaron and I stared at each other. Stink thought that Heather meant his
athletic
letter. He'd lettered in both lacrosse and soccer.

But I doubt if Heather heard him. She couldn't wait to speed dial Muffie McInteer.

And there behind Stink was his own picture in a silver frame on the table next to the sofa where Mr. and Mrs. Thaw were sitting now, close together. Nanky-Poo too, thinking it was teatime.

When the reception was over, I sort of wished it wasn't. Then we Lewises were all in the elevator, heading home.

“You been behaving okay?” Dad said with a hand on my shoulder. “Not acting out?”

“Not lately, Dad,” I said, “but I'm right on the edge. You better hang around. I could use some supervision.”

“Maybe I will,” he said, giving Mom a look. “And there's a little summer left. I've rented a house for Labor Day weekend. A little sun. A little swimming, maybe some tennis. Just the four of us. It's in the Hamptons.”

Heather clutched her forehead. She was wearing a lot more eyeliner than Mom usually allows. “Da-ad,” she said, “I couldn't possibly go to the Hamptons. All those same old faces? Like enough already. Besides, Stink's in town.”

 

Aaron gave me a jingle that night, late. Same old Aaron.

“I've been doing some heavy-duty collating and really taking a hard look at my formula. Actually, Fishface did us a favor—the little insect. I've been synthesizing, and we're going to be able to go electronically with our every need and move ourselves out—boom, boom. Past, future, lateral moves. Foolproof. We're virtually there, Josh, with a byte-driven interactive dream machine vaccinated for viruses. We've got a command system here to cybernetically realize our every wish.”

I was already beginning to pack for the Hamptons. “Aaron,” I told him, “I've already got mine.”

And at that very second the lights in my room went out. I could hear Aaron's strangled gasp.

“Aaron, don't tell me you're soldering. I don't want to hear that.”

“You kidding?” he said. “Of course I'm not soldering. I'm talking to you. It's not me. Check out your window.”

I did and the whole neighborhood was blacked out. This happens. It's a New York thing.

Now my phone was squawking in Aaron's voice. “My formula!” he squawked. “My formula! No, no, no, no, no.”

He'd dropped the phone. You could hear him racing around the room, practically bouncing off the walls.

Back to the drawing board.

Richard Peck was born in Decatur, Illinois. He attended Exeter University in England and holds degrees from DePauw University and Southern Illinois University.

In 1990 he received the American Library Association's Margaret A. Edwards Award, which honors “an author whose book or books, over a period of time, have been accepted by young adults as an authentic voice that continues to illuminate their experiences and emotions, giving insight into their lives.” His other books include
Are You in the House Alone?, Ghosts I Have Been, The Ghost Belonged to Me, Remembering the Good Times, Princess Ashley,
and
Lost in Cyberspace.