Shadows Gray (9 page)

“Rose was left behind when she was three years old,” I explain, finally speaking. “No one knows why and we all just assumed that she lived her life in that one time frame.  When I saw the photo, I knew, just knew, that it was her.  And I was even more certain when I saw her here.”  I rub the spot on the back of my neck that starts to tense up whenever I feel stressed or worried or tired.  “So you can see how desperate it is that we find her before one of us travels again? If we don’t travel together, we may never be in the same place at the same time again.”

“Yes, I can see that.”  His playful demeanor is serious now.  He looks worried on my behalf which strangely, makes that spot on the back of my neck feel better suddenly. “So, what’s your theory?  Why is she here? Now?”

“I wish I knew. I don’t know if she’s been one step behind us all these years, or if she’s only come into her abilities as she’s becoming an adult.  She’d be about seventeen now, give or take.”

“Ahh, seventeen.  I remember it like it was only three years ago…which it was.  And I thought my problems were huge at that age.”

“You have no idea.  Teenagers these days,” I make a humph-ing sound that to my chagrin sounds exactly like Prue.  I am the world’s youngest old woman!  I feel myself turn red.

Luke laughs.  “You’re alright, Gray.  How long do you think you have?”

“Five minutes,” I say, promptly, as I glance at the clock on the wall across the room.

“You’re going to time travel – excuse me, I mean travel through time – in five minutes?”  He looks slightly terrified.

“No, I thought you meant until my break was over.  As to the other, your guess is as good as mine.  The longest I’ve heard of any Lost staying put is about eight years, and that could have been a lie. We could be gone at any time.  Every weekend I give Micki notice.”

“Very considerate of you.”

“Yes, but now he ignores me.”

“So how does it work, this time travel stuff?  Do you have to step some through a portal, fold a bend in time, open a secret door or wardrobe or something?”

“Nooo.  We go to sleep and when we wake up we’re some place different.”

“That’s not nearly as interesting as a portal.  And I suppose it doesn’t have to be in the light of the full moon either?”

“No.  And no I can’t go back and kill Hitler as a child either.”

“That was not my next question, although it was on the list.”

“There’s a list?  Because I’m down to three minutes. And no, I’ve never met myself in the past, and no, I’ve never been further ahead in the future than I am right now. And no, I didn’t get to meet Elvis either.”

“I bet you say that to all your intrepid gumshoe reporters. What I really want to know is, can I come with you?”

********************

It turns out that I don’t get to answer Luke’s strange question because Penny spills a whole pitcher of boiling hot soy milk all over the place and I rush to help her clean it up and then make an ice pack for her burned hand.  I never should have left the frothing job to an amateur.  By the time I have convinced Penny I can handle the rest of the shift alone and she goes home, I have a whole new line of customers.  I can see Luke still sipping his coffee, but after a while he gets up and leaves, catching my eye long enough to wave.  I spend the next three hours making drinks that would offend manly men and when Micki comes in to relieve me, I’m tired and the spot on the back of my neck feels as though it’s been twisted into sailor knots.  I sink into the most comfortable chair available and wait for Israel to pick me up.  I hope Prue cooked a big dinner and I hope with equal fervor that it doesn’t involve squirrels.

I wait and wait, my eyes as tired as my feet, but Israel never comes.  Finally, at half past seven (before her burnt hand, Penny had volunteered to work a double shift – thus, it fell on me), I use the phone in Micki’s office.  Seeing as how we don’t have a phone in our little brown house, I have to call our neighbor lady, Gladys.

“Gladys?  It’s Sonnet from across the street!”  I have to yell into the receiver because Gladys is rather deaf.

“Who? “

“Sonnet Gray!  From across the street!”

“Oh, hello, dear.  How are you?”

“I’m fine, Gladys.  Would you peek outside and see if
Israel is home?”

“Who?”

“Israel Rhode!”

“You want to know if he’s home?”

“Yes, please!”

“You say you live in the house across the street?”

“Yes!”

“And is
Israel there?”

“I don’t know!  That’s what I need you to find out!”

“Well, why don’t you look around, dear?  He’s a large man, I’m sure you won’t have to look very hard.  Did you check under the beds?”

I sigh.  My feet hurt, and
Israel had promised me earlier that he would pick me up in his car. Israel is the only one with a car at our house and even though he is a terrible driver, it beats walking.  “That’s a good idea, Gladys.  I’ll check under the beds.  Goodnight!”

“Goodnight, dear!  It was lovely talking to you, please call again soon!”

“I will.  Goodbye.” I hang up the phone and leave the office.  I can’t help but look around the busy shop for a glimpse of someone with yellow blonde hair or a red dress, but my efforts are fruitless.  I exit through the doors in the back and start my trek home.  It’s nearing autumn and the leaves are turning and falling to the ground, the weather is still a bit humid and warm, but with enough of a breeze, a cold- blooded person would want a jacket.  It’s an overcast day, so even though the sun is up, it’s darker than it should be.  It feels like a late summer thunder storm is coming.  A small pile of leaves swirl in a tiny funnel cloud by my feet as I walk by.  I crunch them with my shoes like I used to do as a little girl when I would trail behind Prue when we walked to as she walked to the market each day.  One of the reasons Israel comes to get me when I work evening or night shifts is the fact that we don’t live in the best of neighborhoods.  You don’t bother picking out your dream home when you know you won’t be there long, and anyway, we can’t afford much rent between my coffee shop tips, Meli’s babysitting, and Prue’s food cart.  Will works as a handy man but he doesn’t find much, and what he does he uses to constantly improve Israel’s car, which he loves and covets.  Israel works as a medical intern, which is a fancy name for saying he doesn’t get paid period.  But maybe by the next time we travel, he’ll know enough to set up his own practice and then we can all live in a house that’s on the right side of the tracks, so to speak.  For the time being though I almost love our dilapidated brown house with the sagging porch and peeling paint.  Well, as much as I almost love anything; I am like most Lost, distancing myself from attachments to the point of coldness.  I put up walls that nothing can scale because I fear the loss that inevitably comes.  Even my love for Prue and Dad – while strong and fierce and loyal – has realistic and practical elements to it.  I wonder if I will ever love anything or anyone with complete abandon.  If I will ever feel safe enough to do so.

The breeze whips itself up into real wind and more leaves are ripped from their branches where they spent the summer growing, rippling down to earth in lovely arcs and patterns.  If the sun was shining more, they’d be glinting and I could see their bright colors; as it is, everything seems to be a distinctly different shade of gray.  Like a black and white film; like Dorothy when she’s still in
Kansas.

I make my legs move faster in spite of being tired.  My hunger and my dislike for the dark compel me to get home quickly.  I don’t like the way everything is becoming gray and sinister and the way I seem to be only living person in the world right now.   Usually this street has someone on it – where is everyone tonight, I wonder uneasily.  The wind is really blowing now; most of my hair has come loose from its ponytail and is whipping around my face. The dilapidated street is still empty and void; there are no children out playing softball or kick the can, no cars pass me, and no one waves a friendly hello as they check their mailboxes. All I hear is the wind whistling past and the sound of my own breathing and my footfalls on the pavement. 
Shhhhhh,
says the wind,
hush.

Chapter Eight

Prue has not fixed squirrel pie for supper – hallelujah – but instead has pulled out practically everything that is wrapped in foil or wax paper in the refrigerator and announced that is ‘help yerself to leftovers night.’  Then without so much as a goodnight to anyone, she stomps off to her room and slams the door.  I’m not sure Prue has ever simply closed a door; she always slams.  I think now of the father she mentioned earlier – her Da – and if he ever tired of shouting at her not to slam the doors.  I smile at the image I’ve conjured in my head of a teenage Prue, stomping around and giving bossy orders to all of humankind, and of her father, longsuffering and perhaps anxious to marry her off to an unsuspecting boy.  I load up my plate with rice, okra, jambalaya, sweet potato pie, and one fat tamale, and take my plate to the couch where Meli and Will are already eating.  Will nods at me and waves his fork in a strange bowing gesture, which is about as much conversation as I’ve ever had from Will, and Meli launches into a soliloquy about her day.  I try to listen, I really do, but with a start I realize that Israel isn’t home.  I swallow my bite of tamale in a hurry and interrupt Meli to ask Israel’s whereabouts.

“I don’t know, I expect he had to go into work.  I haven’t seen him.  Dear, have you seen
Israel?”  Meli turns to her husband.  He shakes his head and uses the remote control to turn up the volume on the episode of Cops that is showing.  “He hasn’t been around too much lately. Did you see his car out front?”

I shake my head, remembering, or rather not remembering seeing the Blue Beast, as everyone refers to it.  “Oh well,” I shrug, trying not feel hurt at
Israel’s neglect of me, “He’ll turn up.  He always does.  What were you saying?”

But we are interrupted this time by the front door opening and Matthias and Harry stepping through with someone else.  I am so surprised to see Luke in my house; I choke on my jambalaya and almost spill my plate.  Will reaches over, his eyes still glued to Cops, and pats me hard on the back.

“What in the world are you doing here?”  I demand, when I am finished coughing.  I stand with my plate of food in hand.

Luke eyes my plate with interest.  “Harry and Matthias invited me.  We ran into each other near the coffee shop.  I came back by to see if you had time to finish our conversation but you had already left.  Is that okra?”

“Help yourself. It’s all in the kitchen,” I reply, moving my plate away from his ravenous gaze and plopping back down on the couch.  I don’t know why his being here annoys me, maybe it’s because I look like I just worked a double shift and my house is embarrassing and Cops is blaring.  Maybe it’s because Meli is looking at me with amusement in her eyes and a million questions on her lips. She opens her mouth.

“Hush up!” I anticipate her.

I stare at the television, feigning interest in the ridiculous show, until Luke brings his plate of food in and squeezes his tall body unceremoniously onto the couch between Meli and myself.  He stretches his long legs out and balances his plate on his lap.  I can’t help staring at him.  We’ve never had a guest in our house before, unless Emme counts, and here he is making himself at home and eating far more than his fair share of leftovers. I fix my ponytail, trying to look casual.  I give up when I realize there is a sticky, crunchy section that is probably dried caramel syrup.  I tuck the crunchy part behind my ear and wear the green hair band on my wrist instead.

“Which conversation did you want to finish?  The one about wanting to come with us?”  I ask.  I have been curious all day about where that talk of ours had been heading anyway.

“I misspoke,” Luke replies, spearing more okra with his fork.  “Or rather, I phrased it wrong. I wasn’t looking for an invitation; I meant to ask if you thought it was possible.  If we go on the assumption that my father was Lost, of course.  Is half-Lost enough to time travel?”

“I think so.  But maybe not without your father.  Prue and I were talking about how maybe there needs to be a bond strong enough to help you travel.  If you were just half Lost and no one else around you was Lost, it wouldn’t be surprising that you have never traveled.”

“I was thinking the same thing.  Either that, or I’ve never traveled because my dad is actually a used car salesman in Topeka, with a dozen illegitimate kids running around the world.”

“Also a distinct possibility,” I can’t help smiling. “There has to be a way to find out.  Did you ask Google?  Google knows everything.”  I don’t care overly much for computers, but I find the fact that you can discover the answer to anything on Google pretty fascinating.  Penny showed me once at the shop during a slow shift.  Since then I’ve Googled everything from cucumbers to chameleons to Elvis Presley.  Penny wanted to Google me, but I stopped her.  I don’t exist, not in this computer age.  I once wasted a whole weekend doing online searches for Rose but came up with nothing.  She was probably given the surname of whomever adopted her and Dad never knew Old Babba’s real name.

“No, never thought of that.  I guess maybe I don’t really want to know.  Am I eating squirrel or alligator or anything I should know about?”  He looks suspiciously at a forkful of food before eating it.