At another spot on the sheet I had written Dean, Auster, and Devore. They were the ones who had seemed the most there, the most dangerous. Because they had descendants? But surely all seven of those jacks must, mustn’t they? In those days most families were whoppers. And where had I been? I had asked, but Devore hadn’t wanted to say.
It didn’t feel any more like a dream at nine-thirty on a sullenly hot Sunday morning. Which left exactly what? Visions? Time-travel? And if there was a purpose to such travel, what was it? What was the message, and who was trying to send it? I remembered clearly what I’d said just before passing from the dream in which I had sleepwalked out to Jo’s studio and brought back my typewriter: I don’t believe these lies. Nor would I now. Until I could see at least some of the truth, it might be safer to believe nothing at all.
At the top of the sheet upon which I was doodling, in heavily stroked letters, I printed the word DANGER! , then circled it. From the circle I drew an arrow to Kyra’s name. From her name I drew an arrow to Ought to fly away ‘Bon Voyage’ and added MATTIE.
Below the bread wearing the beret I drew a little telephone. Above it I put a cartoon balloon with R-R-RINGG! in it. As I finished this, the cordless phone rang. It was sitting on the deck rail. I circled MATTIE and picked up the phone.
‘Mike?’ She sounded excited. Happy. Relieved.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘How are you?’
‘Great!’ she said, and I circled L.B. on my pad.
‘Lindy Briggs called ten minutes ago — I just got off the phone with her.
Mike, she’s giving me my job back! Isn’t that wonderful?’
Sure. And wonderful how it would keep her in town. I crossed out Ought to fly away ‘Bon Voyage,’ knowing that Mattie wouldn’t go. Not now. And how could I ask her to? I thought again If only I knew a little more . . .
‘Mike? Are you — ‘
‘It’s very wonderful,’ I said. In my mind’s eye I could see her standing in the kitchen, drawing the kinked telephone cord through her fingers, her legs long and coltish below her denim shorts. I could see the shirt she was wearing, a white tee with a yellow duck paddling across the front. ‘I hope Lindy had the good grace to sound ashamed of herself.’ I circled the tee-shirt I’d drawn.
‘She did. And she was frank enough to kind of . . . well, disarm me. She said the Whitmore woman talked to her early last week. Was very frank and to the point, Lindy said. I was to be let go immediately. If that happened, the money, computer equipment, and software Devore funnelled into the library would keep coming. If it didn’t, the flow of goods and money would stop immediately. She said she had to balance the good of the community against what she knew was wrong . . . she said it was one of the toughest decisions she ever had to make . . . ‘
‘Uh-huh.’ On the pad my hand moved of its own volition like a planchette gliding over a Ouija board, printing the words PLEASE CAN’T I PLEASE. ‘There’s probably some truth in it, but Mattie . . .
how much do you suppose Lindy makes?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I bet it’s more than any three other small-town librarians in the state of Maine combined.’
In the background I heard Ki: ‘Can I talk, Mattie? Can I talk to Mike? Please can’t I please?’
‘In a minute, hon.’ Then, to me: ‘Maybe. All I know is that I have my job back, and I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.’
On the page, I drew a book. Then I drew a series of interlocked circles between it and the duck tee-shirt.
‘Ki wants to talk to you,’ Mattie said, laughing. ‘She says the two of you went to the Fryeburg Fair last night.’
‘Whoa, you mean I had a date with a pretty girl and slept through it?’
‘Seems that way. Are you ready for her?’
‘Ready.’
‘Okay, here comes the chatterbox.’
There was a rustling as the phone changed hands, then Ki was there. ‘I taggled you at the Fair, Mike! I taggled my own quartermack!’
‘Did you?’ I asked ‘That was quite a dream, wasn’t it, Ki?’
There was a long silence at the other end. I could imagine Mattie wondering what had happened to her telephone chatterbox. At last Ki said in a hesitating voice: ‘You there too.’ Tiu. ‘We saw the snake-dance ladies . . . the pole with the bell on top . . . we went in the spookyhouse . . . you fell down in the barrel! It wasn’t a dream . . . was it?’
I could have convinced her that it was, but all at once that seemed like a bad idea, one that was dangerous in its own way. I said: ‘You had on a pretty hat and a pretty dress.’
‘Yeah!’ Ki sounded enormously relieved. ‘And you had on — ‘
‘Kyra, stop. Listen to me.’ She stopped at once. ‘It’s better if you don’t talk about that dream too much, I think. To your mom or to anyone except me.’
‘Except you.’
‘Yes. And the same with the refrigerator people. Okay?’
‘Okay. Mike, there was a lady in Mattie’s clothes.’
‘I know,’ I said. It was all right for her to talk, I was sure of it, but I asked anyway: ‘Where’s Mattie now?’
‘Waterin the flowers. We got lots of flowers, a billion at least. I have to clean up the table. It’s a chore. I don’t mind, though. I like chores. We had French toast. We always do on Sundays. It’s yummy, ‘specially with strawberry syrup.’
‘I know,’ I said, drawing an arrow to the piece of bread wearing the beret. ‘French toast is great.
Ki, did you tell your mom about the lady in her dress?’
‘No. I thought it might scare her.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Here she comes!’
‘That’s all right . . . but we’ve got a secret, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now can I talk to Mattie again?’
‘Okay.’ Her voice moved off a little.
‘Mommy-bommy, Mike wants to talk to you.’ Then she came back. ‘Will you bizzit us today? We could go on another picnic.’
‘I can’t today, Ki. I have to work.’
‘Mattie never works on Sunday.’
‘Well, when I’m writing a book, I write every day. I have to, or else I’ll forget the story. Maybe we’ll have a picnic on Tuesday, though. A barbecue picnic at your house.’
‘Is it long ’til Tuesday?’
‘Not too long. Day after tomorrow.’
‘Is it long to write a book?’
‘Medium-long.’
I could hear Mattie telling Ki to give her the phone.
‘I will, just one more second. Mike?’
‘I’m here, Ki.’
‘I love you.’
I was both touched and terrified. For a moment I was sure my throat was going to lock up the way my chest used to when I tried to write. Then it cleared and I said, ‘Love you, too, Ki.’
‘Here’s Mattie.’
Again there was the rustly sound of the telephone changing hands, then Mattie said: ‘Did that refresh your recollection of your date with my daughter, sir?’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘it certainly refreshed hers.’ There was a link between Mattie and me, but it didn’t extend to this — I was sure of it.
She was laughing. I loved the way she sounded this morning and I didn’t want to bring her down
. . . but I didn’t want her mistaking the white line in the middle of the road for the crossmock, either.
‘Mattie, you still need to be careful, okay? Just because Lindy Briggs offered you your old job back doesn’t mean everyone in town is suddenly your friend.’
‘I understand that,’ she said. I thought again about asking if she’d consider taking Ki up to Derry for awhile — they could live in my house, stay for the duration of the summer if that was what it took for things to return to normal down here. Except she wouldn’t do it. When it came to accepting my offer of high-priced New York legal talent, she’d had no choice. About this she did. Or thought she did, and how could I change her mind? I had no logic, no connected facts; all I had was a vague dark shape, like something lying beneath nine inches of snowblind ice.
‘I want you to be careful of two men in particular,’ I said. ‘One is Bill Dean. The other is Kenny Auster. He’s the one — ‘
‘ — with the big dog who wears the neckerchief. He — ‘
‘That’s Booberry!’ Ki called from the middle distance. ‘Booberry licked my facie!’
‘Go out and play, hon,’ Mattie said.