Time Windows (9 page)

"What kind of atmosphere?" asked Philip, becoming interested.

"Well, a weird atmosphere. Like Aunt Belle said." Then she remembered her father had not heard Aunt Belle that morning. "She said it was the house that made her—"

At that moment Helen threw down the spatula and burst into tears. She ran from the kitchen. They heard her footsteps racing up the stairs. Philip shoved back his chair so forcefully that it knocked into the wall and tottered as if about to fall.

"You girls wait here," he commanded, hurrying from the room.

Nicole and Miranda stared at each other. "Want a sandwich?" offered Miranda finally, not knowing what else to say.

"Sure." Nicole reached for one.

Then the silence between them stretched into what seemed like minutes, until Nicole broke it with an uncomfortable laugh. "You seem really different, Mandy."

"Different from what?"

"From the way you were in New York."

"New York seems a long time ago."

"Come on! Less than a month."

Miranda reached for another sandwich. "How do you mean, then, 'different'?"

"Well, haven't you met any kids around here? Do you just sit around all the time?"

"Of course I've met kids. There are two boys just across the street—"

"Boys! How old?"

"Oh, one of them is little, around eight. The other is a year older than we are."

"Is he cute?"

Miranda tried to remember what Dan Hooton looked like. "I guess so. Uh—sure, he's okay. I don't really know him."

"Why not? Does he have a girlfriend already?"

Miranda shook her head. "I don't know. I mean—I haven't seen him much."

"See? That's what I mean. You are totally changed. I can't believe there is a boy across the street, and you don't have his life story yet! Back in the city—"

"It's different here."

"Like I said. And it's not just you. Your parents, too. What's all this about the house and atmosphere and weird stuff?"

Before Miranda could think of a response, Philip pushed through the swinging door, his arm around Helen's shoulders. Helen smiled sheepishly at the girls.

"I'm sorry," she said rather tremulously, sitting down at the table and reaching for a sandwich. "I don't know what got into me. Let's just try to forget it, please."

The girls spent the next week exploring the town and surrounding countryside, taking picnics to the fields and wading in streams. The morning after Nicole arrived, Philip had dragged Helen's old bike out of the stable and lowered the seat to fit Nicole. Miranda held her breath when her father walked toward the corner where the cushionless couch was, but he noticed nothing and rolled Miranda's bike out onto the grass. He had to raise the seat; she had grown several inches since she last rode it. Miranda oiled the chains on both bikes. "You're so lucky," Nicole said as they set off on their first ride. "There's no place to ride in the city."

Miranda popped up to the attic for a few minutes each day while Nicole was in the shower, but otherwise she fought against the lure of the dollhouse and tried to throw herself into the visit with Nicole.

It seemed Helen and Philip were arguing a lot that week. Miranda was embarrassed in front of her friend—her parents sounded like such
kids.
They'd hardly ever quarreled in New York, but here they bickered about what color to paint the dining room, whether the basement should be paneled to make a recreation room, who had eaten the last banana, and what time a certain film came on television. It seemed to Miranda that her mother often started the fights; Helen had been out-of-sorts and irritable ever since Uncle Willy's visit.

At the end of the week they argued about who should be the one to drive Nicole back to New York. They finally compromised by making it a day's visit for everyone.

Miranda entered the old apartment building without a single ounce of homesickness. Their life in New York seemed very remote. But Helen and Philip relaxed at the Rosenbaums' as they hadn't all week at home. They didn't quarrel even once—and seemed sorry when evening came and it was time to leave.

Helen drove skillfully through the city traffic and onto the highway back to Garnet. The farther they got from the city, the more intense the sniping became in the front seat. Finally Miranda set aside the book she'd been reading and leaned forward between the two front seats. "Hey, you guys. Let's play the alphabet game."

Philip smiled over his shoulder at her. "Good idea. Mandy saves the day!"

The game was quite simple; everyone tried to spot words beginning with each letter of the alphabet on billboards, signposts, or bumper stickers. But long-time devotees like the Brownes knew how difficult it was to get past
Q.
If, with luck, a sign urged "Quench Your Thirst with Gatorade," the game would probably stop again on
X,
this time without hope.

Miranda spotted a billboard depicting a smiling young mother and father holding a fat baby. The baby brandished a blue box of Q-Tips.

"Q-Tips for the Whole Family!" cried Miranda. "That's
Q
!"

"Ow, Mandy!" Helen winced. "Don't yell in my ear."

"Sorry." She nudged her father, who was keeping score. "Q-Tips, Dad. Point for me."

"Humph," muttered Philip. "I don't know about that. We agreed not to use 'Grade A Milk' for
A
and 'No U Turn' for
U
last time because they're only single letters and not the beginning letters of words."

"No, it's the
name
of a thing," Miranda argued. "Q-Tips is a brand name."

"Well..."

"Ranger Station," said Helen without taking her eyes off the road. "
R
and
S.
Two points for me."

Philip grumbled. "Oh, all right.
Q
for Mandy.
R
and
S
for Helen. I'm just a sore loser."

As usual, they became stuck on
X
and discontinued the game.

"Why don't people sell xylophones along the side of the road?" asked Miranda.

Philip laughed. Helen swiped a hand across her eyes. "Do you have a headache?" Philip asked.

"Just a little one."

"Why don't you let me drive, then? We can stop right up the road there and change places."

"No, I'm fine." She rubbed her forehead. "We're almost home, anyway."

They were nearing Garnet. Helen piloted the car off the highway and onto the winding road leading them around Concord and through rich farmland. Another ten miles and they would be back in the new house. Home. Miranda stared out the window, trying to read the bumper stickers on cars as they whizzed past. "I Love New York," she announced. "Virginia Is for Lovers. Maryland Is for Crabs. Honk If You Love Jesus."

Helen massaged the back of her neck with one hand. "Quiet please, Miranda."

"Let me drive," urged Philip.

"I said I'm
fine,
" she snapped.

"No need to get huffy, Helen. If you've got a headache, it's stupid to keep driving."

She whirled on him. "I told you I'm fine! Are you calling me stupid?"

"Keep your eyes on the road!" yelled Philip. "Yes! I call anyone stupid who insists on driving with a headache and who can't keep her eyes on the road! Stupid and dangerous!"

Miranda made herself small in the backseat and stared out the side window. It seemed the closer they got to Garnet, the more intense the atmosphere grew, closing in on all three of them. Her mother's mounting headache. This dumb quarrel.

A man driving a blue sports car blared his horn as he passed their swerving car on the narrow road. As he swung ahead of them, Miranda read the large yellow sticker on the back of his car: Honk If You Love Cheeses. She laughed aloud, and Helen glanced over her shoulder.

"What's wrong with you?" she inquired coldly.

Miranda stared at her. "Nothing!"

"What were you laughing at?"

Miranda sighed. "Oh, just something that seemed funny."

"I asked you
what,
young lady."

"God, Mither! A little while back I saw a bumper sticker that said, 'Honk If You Love Jesus.'" She tried to keep the rising temper out of her voice. "And just now I saw one saying 'Honk If You Love Cheeses.'" Having to explain made the whole thing less amusing. "I just thought it was funny," she said defensively. "I don't know why you have to make such a big deal of it"

"Probably an ad for a cheese store," said Philip. He lit a cigarette. "Clever."

Helen pursed her lips. "Phil! You quit!"

"Give me a break, Helen! I've been trying!"

"Tch." She reached over, plucked the cigarette from Philip's lips, and flung it out the open window. "Looks like you'd better try harder," she snapped.

"
That does it!
" roared Philip. "Stop this car right now. This
instant!
"

Helen jerked the car to the side of the road, stalling the engine.

"Get out." His voice was icy. "I'm driving the rest of the way. You're obviously not up to it."

"Just who do you think you are—," began Helen in a voice Miranda did not recognize. The voice was low, utterly cold.

"I said,
get out!
" Philip's voice rose sharply, and Helen clenched her fingers around the steering wheel, never taking her eyes from his stormy face. At that moment Miranda burst into wrenching sobs.

In one movement, Helen tore her hands from the wheel, turned in her seat, and slapped Miranda across the face. Philip caught Helen's hand as it flew back for yet another blow, and Miranda collapsed against the side window.

"
Helen!
"

"I won't have a whining child in this car!" she cried and jumped out the door, racing across the field next to where they were parked.

Philip leaped out in quick pursuit, weaving in and out among the rows of cornstalks growing tall in the summer sun. Miranda, tears streaming down her scarlet face, huddled in her corner and stared out after them. Through a shocked haze she read the white sign hanging from a roadside post just in front of their car:

WELCOME TO GARNET, MASSACHUSETTS.

A sort of family truce went into effect after that. Miranda spoke to her mother as little as possible, and she spent hours each day in the attic. Helen put up new violet-sprigged wallpaper in the dining room. Philip retreated to the backyard, hacking down the underbrush with a scythe.

Miranda helped him a few hours one morning, pulling weeds in the tangled garden out front until the overpowering scent of the sun-baked magnolia blossoms threatened to turn her stomach. Then she went inside and made a ham sandwich, which she ate standing at the kitchen counter. She stared at the wall where the 1904 calendar had hung in another time.

Helen entered through the swinging door from the dining room, carrying a bucket of wallpaper paste. She stopped when she saw Miranda.

"Don't forget your flute lesson."

"I haven't."

Helen washed her hands at the sink. "Change that T-shirt before you go. I distinctly remember throwing it into the trash back in New York."

"It's my favorite." Miranda poured herself a glass of milk. She didn't want to talk to her mother. She had nothing to say to her after the scene in the car. There had been no apology.

"It may well be, but I don't want you looking like a slob at Mrs. Wainwright's."

Miranda drained her glass and didn't answer. She rinsed the glass and plate and turned to leave the kitchen.

"Mandy—" Helen's voice sounded choked.

"What?" The word came out like a stone.

Helen sagged. "Do you want a slice of watermelon? I've got some fresh in the refrigerator."

"No, thanks."

"I'll drive you to Mrs. Wainwright's. I should go in to the office, anyway. I'm going to start work in a couple of weeks, and there's still so much to do to get the place ready."

"No, thanks," Miranda repeated. "I'm taking my bike." She relished the chance to soar over the rolling roads into town.

"Oh..." Helen picked up her bucket and moved toward the door. "Well, have a good lesson. Be careful riding."

Miranda grabbed her flute case and ran out to the stable. She leaped onto her bicycle, taking care to nestle the case securely on top of her music books in the wicker basket before whirling out of the driveway, spraying gravel behind her. She did not change her T-shirt.

 

Miranda braked in front of the small white house. She had arrived a few minutes early and sat down on the porch steps to wait. After only a minute or two the screen door opened and a boy bounded out, banging the door behind him.

"Buddy!"

Buddy Hooton grinned. "Hi! We thought you'd moved away or something. I never see you around. Don't you ever come outside?"

"Never," she told him. These days, it was almost true. "Why are you here? Do you play the flute?"

He shook his head. "Mom thinks somebody in the family should be"—he hesitated, trying to remember the phrase—"musically inclined." He scowled. "She gave up on Dan years ago, so I'm the hope of the family. But really, I just come for the cookies."

"What do you play?" Miranda asked.

He groaned. "Piano." He said the word as if it were a dread disease his mother had exposed him to.

Miranda laughed. "I wouldn't put it past Mrs. Wainwright to make another Beethoven out of you yet."

"No way."

"I'm early—can I just go in?"

"Oh, sure. Aunt Ellie's got a big plate of cookies on the kitchen table for anyone who gets here early. I always do!"

"Mrs. Wainwright is your aunt?"

"Well, my dad's aunt, really," he amended. "Look, there's my mom—I've got to go! See you!"

Miranda waved as he climbed into the van at the curb, and he and Mrs. Hooton waved back. Flute music filtered out the screen door to the front steps where she waited. The notes sounded high and clear in the summer air, then faltered and stopped. After a pause, they began again.

She went inside and sat down at the kitchen table. She was just helping herself to a third cookie when Mrs. Wainwright fluttered in.

"Oh, me! What a surprise!" She fanned a hand over her heart. "I never heard you come in!" Today Mrs. Wainwright wore a bright green dress, and a multicolored bandanna covered her wild gray curls. She looked more than ever like a bird, bright and spritely.