Uncertain (16 page)

              “One of?”

              “I’ve got other good friends!” he said in a fake offended tone and with a laugh. “I just don’t talk to them as much.”

              “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I told him, as I looked at my callused hands.

              “Nah.” He kissed me on my head. “I’m here to help you…carry stuff. I’m here for you. Just don’t forget about me.”

              “Never would.”

That night, right before bed, I thought about my dad. He
was
a good dad. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about the good things at all since the accident. I remembered how he always wore belts and had about thirty plaid shirts. He was so dorky. I remembered how he looked at my mother. I remembered him making us aluminum foil helmets and his super cheesy jokes. He taught me how to play catcher in softball and told me I was a natural. He had gone to all of my games.

I lay there for hours thinking. I finally whispered in the dark. “I forgive him, Ma. I forgive him.”

The next night I had my most unusual dream yet. I was standing in the middle of a field near a friendly looking farmhouse complete with a porch swing. The sky was deep blue with puffy clouds here and there, and the smell was sweet and familiar.

A man approached, and I felt a calm come over me. He looked like no man I’d ever seen before. He was tall and lanky, and from his skin I thought he might have been of African descent, but his color wasn’t any shade of brown, being more gray than brown. He wore Asian-looking clothes, a gray button-down jacket with black shiny buttons. The jacket was loose on him and he wore loose pants to match.

I watched him as he approached, walking slowly with his hands interlaced in front of him. The wind seemed to die down.

“Amelia,” he said to me without smiling. “I’m Ortis. Normally you wouldn’t be meeting with me. I’m typically more behind the scenes, but we’re running out of options.”

I nodded.

“You may speak,” he added.

I looked left and right, thinking that I’d be pulled from the dream, and that would be bad. He must have seen my uncertainty.

“This is a little different than an ordinary dream. You won’t wake up from speaking to me.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Really.”

“Why is it different?”

His face changed to show impatience. “I will allow this question because it’s relevant.”

“OK.” I felt defiance rise in my chest.

“This is different because I have additional means. I have these additional means—or powers—because I’ve never been human the way you know it. You, Amelia, have been quite a bit of effort, and so that’s why we’re meeting like this.”

I looked at him and didn’t say anything. I wasn’t even sure what to ask. I didn’t fully understand.

“I don’t think I understand,” I told him.

He began to walk, and I walked with him. Then I noticed we were both barefoot, and I could feel the overgrown grass that we walked through.

“Your handlers—you’ve had four of them—are the usual communication device. However, your mind has been less malleable than that of the others. Add to it your recent heartbreak from the loss of your friend, and they haven’t had much success. Given time is a great factor in what we’re trying to accomplish, I’ve had to step in.”

“So what does that mean? I won’t see my mother?”

He seemed impatient again.

“It means a quite a few things, Amelia. You’ll find that I’m not as willing to share details—because unlike your last two handlers, I have never loved you.” He looked at me the way an angry and arrogant teacher might. I didn’t reply. He continued. “This place,” he said with his arms extended, “does it make you happy?”

“Kinda does, actually,” I said, thinking the question was odd.

“I made it from your mind,” he said. “To create the best possible environment for you to accept things.”

“You can read my mind.” It was a question, but I my tone was more that of a fact-checking statement.

“Not precisely, but something rather close to it,” he said, raising his chin as he walked. He put his clasped hands behind his back now, looking proud about what he could do.

“So, I won’t be seeing my mother anymore?”

He stopped walking and turned toward me. “You can see her if it makes you happy, but to have her close to us will distract us from the goal and I can’t afford that.” He raised a lanky arm toward the farmhouse. “She’s on the porch.”

I looked over toward the farmhouse and saw my mother in the distance waving to me happily. She stopped waving and sat on the porch swing. The sandy dog was next to her, tail rapidly wagging.

“Did you just do that?”

“I did,” he said, starting to walk again.

“What about Dave?”

He stopped walking and looked at me. “I don’t wish to upset you. However, my goal isn’t to bring every friend and family member as audience to this meeting, either.”

“Well, is he ok?”

“Of course he is.” He answered as if he was offended by the question.

“Well, where is he?”

“Let’s concentrate on other things, shall we?” he suggested, leaning forward.

“OK.”

              “So,” he said, starting to walk. “Do you know what all of this is about? Why you have been involved?”

              “I don’t even know what I’m involved in.”

              “Mmmm…” he responded. We arrived at two small, blue fabric sofas in the middle of the field. I felt as though I’d seen them before. They faced each other. “Sit down,” he directed. The wind picked up, and the sweet smell was subtle and perfect. It smelled like my mother.

Ortis sat down and crossed his legs

              “You, Amelia, are a protector.”

              “Why?”

              “It isn’t time for you to know that.”

              I sighed. “Who do I protect?”

              “You protect Drina. The child.”

              “Why does she need protection?” I asked.

              “It isn’t time for you to know that.”

              “C’mon. Why even bother letting me talk if everything I ask you don’t want to answer?” I questioned, feeling frustrated.

              “That, Amelia, is how this is going to go. I
have
answered a few questions,” he said as he adjusted his shirttail to smooth it where it rested on his crossed legs.

              “So, what am I supposed to do?”

              “Nothing, until you’re asked to.”

              “So, I’m a protector—for some reason. And you don’t know when you’ll need me, and I should just wait to find out?”

              “Yes.”

              “OK, fine. But can you tell me what was wrong with my mother and Dave as my handlers? I just really want to know.”

              “Your mind was too strong for them. You could manipulate them. You also blocked them from reaching you.”

              “I didn’t mean to.”

              “I realize. We don’t think of it as a choice. It’s just what happened. We haven’t encountered that before.”

              “Before what?”

              He grimaced and then answered. “We’ll talk again.”

              I woke up. It was Saturday morning at about 10:30. I sat in my bed, trying to process the dream I’d just had. How did I know if it was real? What
was
real, anyway? I wasn’t sure if I’d made it up. I really wasn’t sure. I decided to go with the idea that I’d made it up. I wouldn’t let myself focus on the details. Every time I felt a detail from the dream entering my mind, I’d put it off.

I realized just then that I had my date today. The date with Wren. I’d thought at least a dozen times about canceling this stupid date, but I hadn’t.

              Wren pulled up just before noon.

              “He’s here,” I said to my grampa. “I’ll see you in a little while.” I started toward the door.

              “No, no, no,” my grampa said quietly, shaking his hand at me. “Let him come to the door.”

              “Grampa,” I said, objecting.

              “Now then, I don’t ask for much. I want ‘em to come to the door.” He pulled the curtain back. “See? He’s already comin’.”

              I moped over to the sofa. My grampa pulled the door open for Wren before he knocked.

              “Hi, Wren.” They shook hands. “C’mon in.”

              “Hi, sir.”

              “Oh, you can call me Rocky.”

              “OK.”

The screen door slammed. The whole scene was so awkward.

              “Hi,” Wren said, looking at me. He was wiping his hands on his pants—in a nervous way, I guessed.

              “Hello. I’m all set,” I said, getting up from where I sat on the arm of the sofa.

              “Great. By the way, do you have gloves and a hat and stuff?” Wren asked, massaging his hands together.

              “Sure. Will we be outside?” I asked.

              “Yes,” he said with a smile.

              I went to the front closet and got my ski gear out with a scarf, mittens, and shoved them in a hat, walking outside.

              “OK, honey, have a good time,” my grampa called as I walked out.

              “Thanks.”

              Ten minutes into the drive, and I realized that I was becoming the world’s worst date. What did I expect? I couldn’t tell this guy why I was short with him in all my answers. I couldn’t actually focus on what he was saying for long enough to care about it. I should have cancelled. I threw in a few fake laughs to try to get my head in the present moment, but I was also failing at acting.

              At the thirty-minute point, I thought about asking him to bring me back home, when he turned into a driveway.

              “All right, we’re here.”

              “The zoo?” I said, half-confused, half-amused.

              “Yeah, it’s great in the winter. No crowds, and the animals are out more. Is it a crap place to come?”

              “No, it’s great,” I said, leaning to look out the window at the familiar water tower.

              “OK, gear up. Let’s go check it out,” he said.

              Wren was a great mix of old-fashioned gentleman and regular, contemporary guy. When I could stay focused, I thought he was great. But I was having a hard time. My brain was stuck on the swirling questions in it: Ortis, protector, signs. Over and over. Mostly ‘why’ type questions, just trying to untangle things. I didn’t have the mental capacity for a date. I was frustrated at myself for thinking I should just get it over with.

              “D’ya want a hot chocolate or something?” Wren asked.

              “Sure.”

              “OK, d’ya wanna sit down and I’ll grab it.”

              “Sure.”

              I walked into the cafeteria and over to the corner. The tables were mostly empty, and usually I would prefer to sit away from people, but I chose a table by the window with a dozen or so people nearby.

              I felt a pang of guilt as I looked at Wren standing in line. He had beautiful features and was handsome and polite. His back was to me. Even the way he pulled money out of his wallet was nice.

              Someone walked up to me, and for a heartbeat I felt dread. I thought for certain that it was just like with the man in the movie theater—another sign. Where was I going now? What would I have to do? I felt a rush of forced bravery try to knock my initial reaction out of place as my internal pep talk kicked in. I cared for Drina so I’d be a good protector. It’s fine, I told myself. It’s fine. I clenched my eyes shut and waited.

“Mel? Hey.” My eyes popped open, surprised to hear my name. I took a split second to realize who it was.

“Max?” Max from Mexico—Max, the fake homeowner. I was happy to see him, and then worried that Wren would see.

“What? Wait, I’m here with someone. Is something going on?”

              “Nothing with Drina. She’s doin’ fine. No worries. I’m just here because I’m little disturbed about you.”

              I looked around for Wren, concerned about explaining this to him.

              “Don’t worry about Wren. I didn’t come alone. We’ll keep him occupied until we’re done talking.” Max sat down in the chair across from me.

              “Ok. Why are you worried about me?” I asked.

              “Whelp, we need you, Mel. We really do, and I’m afraid that we’re losing you.” He nodded a whole bunch after he finished talking.

              “Losing me how? I don’t really have a choice at all—in any of this.”

              “Well, I know that it feels that way, but I want you to understand, you’re protected, ya see.”

              “Yeah, I keep hearing that. But I really don’t know what it means.”

              “It means that we watch you. It doesn’t mean that it’s impossible for bad things to happen. It just means that you have the attention of a group of people who look out for you with pretty sweet skills and a fondness for ya.” He waited, looking in my eyes. I didn’t say anything. “Don’t get me wrong, if you jump in front of a bus, you’ll die. Splat. This isn’t a bubble or  force field or anything. You’re not bulletproof, neither. This isn’t without limit.”

              “OK.” I had no idea what to say. For a fleeting second, I wondered if I showered with an audience.

              “The hard part is going to be that we need you to try to go about your normal life and accept that we’ll let you know when we need ya.”

              “OK.” What else was I supposed to say?

              “We’ve been trying to get you to dial down your fireworks a little bit, using the same technique we used on your grandfather, but it’s not having a soothing effect on you like we hoped.”