Crandalls' Castle (2 page)

“Your great-grandmother is very sick,” she said, finally. “We'll try to help her, but you'll need someplace to stay until she gets better. I can make some arrangements, or you can go back to—where was it, Sacramento?”

I told her about the niece in Mount Pleasant, but she looked doubtful. “We'll talk to your great-grandmother,” she said, and I thought, Lots of luck!

We went back down the hall to the same elevator that had taken my great-grandmother away. When we stepped out onto the seventh floor, the smell of disinfectant made me want to throw up. I glanced into some rooms, but the faces that looked back at me were so sad that I turned away fast.

My great-grandmother was in a room by herself, lying on a high narrow bed. Her eyes were closed, and her bony little hands were folded on the tan blanket. Her eyes flicked open when we came in.

I stood near the door and waited while Rita asked questions about the niece in Mount Pleasant. I couldn't hear her answers, but I don't think she knew much to tell. Suddenly her eyes snapped shut again, and she began to snore.

Rita stood looking at her as if she wasn't sure what to do next. “Do you want to kiss her good-bye?” she asked.

I said I didn't think so. We had never kissed.

As we walked back to the elevator, Rita kept sighing and reading her notes. “I suppose this will be okay,” she said doubtfully. “Your great-grandmother's your guardian, after all. If this woman in Mount Pleasant is willing …” She sighed some more and then seemed to make up her mind. “Well, it's a good thing school's out, isn't it?” she said in a chirpy voice. “This can be like a vacation for you, Sophia. You can write to your great-grandmother and tell her your adventures.”

I groaned, not out loud. She had no idea how crazy that was. My great-grandmother hadn't even known I existed until the Social Services people in Sacramento called her. They had just discovered there was a member of the Weyer family still alive in Madison, Wisconsin. They told her about me, how I'd been in a whole string of foster homes, and wouldn't she just love to have me come to Madison?

I was pretty excited, finding I actually had a relative, but the whole thing was a mistake. My great-grandmother should have said no when she had the chance. I guess it didn't matter to her whether I came or not. She was like a sleepwalker, cleaning her apartment, cooking rice with canned vegetables, crocheting shawls that were never used. When I came home from school each afternoon, she always seemed a little surprised, as if she'd forgotten I lived with her.

Rita waited for me to say something chirpy-cheery back at her, but I couldn't think of a thing. “My great-grandma can't read English,” I told her finally. “Anyway, she's going to die. She won't expect a letter.”

There it was, the first mistake of the day. Rita's face turned pink, and she walked faster. Back in her office, she got Lilly Crandall's telephone number from information, and sure enough, Lilly Crandall was okay with my coming, just the way my great-grandmother had been a year and a half ago. I wondered if Lilly would turn out to be another sleepwalker.

We drove to my great-grandmother's apartment on Johnson Avenue, and Rita cleaned out the refrigerator while I packed my things. I put jeans and tops and underwear and socks in one suitcase, and my books and CDs in the other. I hadn't played the CDs since I left Sacramento, but I didn't want to leave them behind.

When I came out of the bedroom, Rita was at the kitchen window. She looked worried.

“We're moving pretty fast on this, Sophia,” she said. “Isn't there someone in Madison you want to call to tell them where you'll be?”

“There's nobody,” I said. “When I moved here, a caseworker came for a while, but she hasn't been around for a long time. My great-grandmother told her to mind her own business.”

“What about your friends at school?”

I just shrugged. When you worry all the time about saying the wrong thing, it's hard to make friends.

Rita rolled her eyes and sighed again. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Anyway, Mrs. Crandall sounds very pleasant, and I guess you can take care of yourself. Meeting new people is fun if you have the right attitude.”

I could tell she didn't think I had it.

I wondered about that while she drove us to the bus station. Jim and Judy Stengel were my first foster parents after my mom died. Maybe I did have the right attitude then, because I stayed with them for three years. Then, when I was ten, I knew—all of a sudden—that they were going to go away and leave me. The day Jim finally said he'd been transferred to London, I wasn't even surprised. Judy hugged me and cried when I told her I'd known, but she didn't believe me.

“You must have overheard us talking about it,” she said.

That was when I understood I was different from other kids. It wasn't only that I sometimes knew things before they happened, though that was a big part of it. I wasn't good enough or nice enough or
something
enough to be part of a family. If I had been, the Stengels would have found a way to take me to London with them.

For a while I moved from one foster home to another—some okay, one very bad. What I tried to do mostly was be invisible. I felt safer if I could make people forget I was around.

Then I went to live with the Wagners. They were really nice, like the Stengels, and they said their daughter Linda needed a sister. I liked that, even though Linda told me the first day that she didn't want a sister. I was sure I could find ways to make her glad I was there.

By that time I was getting used to knowing things before they happened. Some times it was just a feeling—like a hunch—and other times a picture of what was coming popped into my head as clear as anything. Either way, you can bet I didn't tell the Wagners when it happened. I hoped that if I ignored it, after a while the whole weird thing would go away.

That worked until the day Linda got suspended for cheating on a math test. She said I must have told Mrs. Holmgren. The reason she said so was because the day before the test I mentioned to her that kids who cheated were going to get in trouble. I thought it was all right to say that much—being her sister—but I was wrong.

A couple of weeks later I was standing in front of my school locker when a really scary thing happened. The hall went dark and the walls just seemed to fall away. The darkness only lasted a second or two, but it was enough. That afternoon I took home everything I cared about—the snapshot of my mom and dad, my old blue sweatshirt, the folder of stories I wrote for English class. Some other stuff.

I said I had a headache that evening and stayed in my bedroom, which was okay with the Wagners. I kept hoping I was wrong this time, but about ten-thirty sirens started screaming. Cars raced by and people yelled. The Wagners ran outside to see what had happened, but I stayed where I was. I knew.

When I went downstairs the next morning, Linda was practically jumping up and down with excitement.

“You knew!” she said, sounding so happy. “Sophia knew, Dad! Maybe she didn't set the fire herself but she knew someone was going to do it. She cleaned out her locker yesterday!”

Mrs. Wagner said, “Don't be silly, Linda. That's a terrible thing to say.” She smacked her coffee cup down on its saucer hard enough to spill.

Mr. Wagner was real quiet for a moment, and then he said, “
Did
you bring your things home, Sophia?”

I said yes, I had just felt like doing that. No special reason.

It sounded like a lie, even to me. He looked at me and at Linda, and then at me again, as if he was beginning to see lots of problems ahead. Having his daughter suspended for cheating had been bad enough; now he might have a firebug on his hands. A big-time troublemaker! I could tell exactly what he was thinking, and I was pretty sure right then that I wouldn't be living with the Wagners much longer.

“Here we are,” Rita said, turning into a parking lot next to the bus station. “Just in time, too. If my watch is right, the bus to Mount Pleasant is due to leave in seven minutes.”

I came back to the present with a jolt. Bus station? Mount Pleasant? I didn't even know what she was talking about. I must have looked dazed, because she patted my shoulder.

“I think your bus is that one over there,” she said, pointing. “You take the suitcases and stand in line, and I'll run inside and buy your ticket.”

I nodded and smiled at her, but my heart wasn't in it. Whenever I think about the Stengels and the Wagners and all the places where I've been in between, I feel as if I'm out there in space again, with nothing to hold on to. I'd sort of forgotten about that space thing while I lived with my great-grandmother, but now it was back.

I saw Rita come out of the station and push through the crowds that were gathering around the buses. She looked tired, and I knew she didn't want to be there—for other reasons, besides the fact that she still wasn't sure sending me to Mount Pleasant was the right thing to do.

“Look,” I said when she handed me the ticket, “you can go home now if you want to. I'll be okay. Thanks for helping.”

The line moved forward, but she still stood there, biting her lip. “Thanks again,” I said, and then, wouldn't you know, the rest just came tumbling out. “You'd better go, or you'll miss your phone call.”

The line moved again, and I stepped up into the bus. I heard Rita gasp behind me as I handed my ticket to the driver. I pushed past people to a seat in the very back of the bus. Crouched as far down as I could get, I called myself every name I could think of. Stupid! Big mouth! What if she followed me on the bus and demanded to know what I'd meant about that phone call?

I didn't mean anything, Rita, I'd say. It was a mistake. I make mistakes like that sometimes.

It seemed forever before the doors closed with a shuddering sigh. Then the bus growled and jerked forward, out of the terminal and into the late afternoon sunlight.

I sat up and looked out the window. We chugged through downtown Madison, gradually picking up speed until we were out on the highway. You can bet I was tired and scared, but most of all I was mad at myself. Maybe Rita was calling Lilly Crandall right then to tell her Sophia Weyer was a weirdo. I was pretty sure she wouldn't do that, but if she did I wouldn't blame her.

KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! I told myself. That's my Rule Number One, and if I can't remember it, I'm going to be floating out there in space the rest of my life.

Chapter Three

CHARLI

When the cake was eaten and the paper plates gathered up, the Crandalls went home, trailing noise and laughter behind them. Ray stayed. Well, sure, Charli reminded herself, he lives here now. Still, it felt strange. At five in the afternoon most days her mother would be at the restaurant putting in overtime, but today she and Ray were out in the kitchen, talking. Her mother sounded younger than usual, Charli thought, her voice sort of breathy, even girlish. The cheerleaders at school sounded like that—as if the world were so exciting they could hardly stand it.

She looked around the living room. Ray had started moving his things into the house a week ago, so she was already accustomed to the pile of
Sports Illustrated
magazines on the coffee table and the sturdy green recliner that he said he couldn't leave behind. It was a clunky old chair, with worn spots on the cushions and coffee stains on the armrests, but Charli's mother hadn't said a word.

Charli threw herself into the chair and tugged at the scarred wooden lever that made the back tilt. The lever squeaked, and the voices in the kitchen stopped.

“Is that you, hon?”

Charli sat very still, breathing the good smell of the chair and waiting. Her mother and Ray came in from the kitchen.

“I thought you went across the street with Dan,” her mother said. “Why are you sitting in here all by yourself?”

“No reason,” Charli said. “This chair squeaks.”

“I know,” Ray said apologetically. “I guess I've just gotten used to it.”

“And there's lots of spots on the arms.”

“Charli!” her mother said. “For goodness' sake!” She sounded annoyed, but Ray laughed. “I've gotten used to those, too,” he said. “Good thing your mom says she knows how to get rid of them. Not tonight, though. Right now we have other things to do—like getting ready for the homecoming dinner.”

Charli pulled her feet up under her and sank deeper into the chair. Nobody had told her about a homecoming dinner.

“We're going to drive into Racine for dinner,” her mother said cheerfully. “At a restaurant that overlooks Lake Michigan. Doesn't that sound great?”

“All of us?” Charli uncoiled her legs and sat up.

“Well, of course, you, too,” her mother said.

“Does Aunt Lilly know?” Charli asked. “She'll think the twins and Mickey are too little to go.”

“And she'd be right,” Ray said. “This is just for us, Charli. The three of us. Our first dinner as a family.”

Charli pulled the lever hard, and the old chair catapulted her onto her feet. Her mother and Ray burst out laughing. “Our first dinner as a family … she likes the way that sounds as much as I do,” her mother said. “Change into something besides shorts, Charli. This is special.”

Charli nodded and ran down the hall to her bedroom. Her face was hot and her stomach was too full of wedding cake, but she hardly noticed. She pulled her blue pants and the matching top from a dresser drawer. Then she hurried to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face until she gasped for breath. As she buried her face in a towel she could almost hear Dan laughing at her.

“What's the big deal?” he'd want to know. “Ray's had dinner with you and your mom lots of times.”

That was true, but as Charli put on the blue outfit and brushed her damp hair, she felt a surge of relief. Ray had said the words himself:
Our first dinner as a family
. He was reminding her that he hadn't just married her mom, he'd married her kid, too. She stared at herself in the mirror over her dresser and straightened her glasses.