13 Gifts Read online

  “Was that today’s prize?”

  “Nope. Today was a free haircut. My English teacher won it. Too bad he’s totally bald!”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “Maybe. Anyway, I couldn’t believe it when I got Bucky’s e-mail. He says he can meet at the community center in the morning. What should I tell him? Should we ask him to wait till the afternoon, when school’s over?”

  “No, don’t do that. I’ll go by myself.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay.”

  And with that, we seem to have run out of things to say. I’m starting to feel weird about talking to him alone, anyway. Like, what if he and Rory are a couple? Not that this conversation is in the least bit romantic, but from what I’ve overheard at school, you don’t talk on the phone with another girl’s boyfriend.

  “Well, I’ve got some homework,” he says, much to my relief, “so just text me after and let me know how it went, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  And that’s it. My first phone call with a boy and it wasn’t even too painful.

  I still hear shuffling in Emily’s room. I knock, not wanting to surprise her. She doesn’t answer. I knock again, but still no response. So I slowly turn the knob and push the door open.

  At first I think she’s practicing her fencing moves, but then I notice the wireless headphones on her ears, the laptop on her desk playing High School Musical, and the fact that she’s leaping and twisting in a way that I’m pretty sure you can’t do with a sword in your hand. Or whatever it’s called that fencers use. Emily’s dancing! And she’s really great!

  I stand there for another full minute before she notices me. Her eyes widen and she yanks the headphones off, pulling out a few strands of long hair in the process. “Hey. I didn’t see you there.”

  “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I knocked, but you must not have heard.”

  “It’s all right,” she says. “I’m just glad my mother wasn’t with you.”

  “Because it’s so late?”

  She shakes her head. “Mom doesn’t like it when I dance.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “It’s because of Grandma Emilia,” Emily says, shutting down the laptop. “I don’t know the whole story, but from what I’ve pieced together, she was a really great dancer and wanted to be a real actress, like on Broadway, and this famous producer was coming out to see her perform in a play here in town. But then my mom was born and Grandma dropped out of the play and stopped dancing and acting. Mom said that she always felt like her mother thought she’d made the wrong decision and was bitter about it. Our moms had to fend for themselves a lot. Once when I was little I said I wanted to be an actress and Mom freaked out. So now I just play around in my room at night sometimes. I know all the words to every one of Jake Harrison’s movies!”

  “Wow. That’s impressive. And you’re a really good dancer.”

  She blushes. “No one’s seen me dance except for Rory.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t know any of that stuff about Grandma. All I knew is that she used to be an actress and that she loved hats. Mom never told me anything about what she was like as a mother.” I guess I never asked, either. Thinking of Mom having to fend for herself as a little kid makes me really sad. And to think that now Emily can’t even dance in her own house without upsetting Aunt Bethany is really sad, too. I climb off the bed and reach underneath. “C’mon, let’s hang Jake’s poster. I bet he’d like to see you dance.”

  After Emily performs a special dance routine for me and Jake, and after she works on her math problem again under the covers, she finally goes to sleep. Once again, I wait until her breathing is even before I tiptoe out of bed and into the hall. This is getting to be a nightly routine. I’m so exhausted, but I can’t pass up the chance to see if Uncle Roger had found a way to unlock the Collectibles Room.

  The handle to the room turns easily, and I push the door open an inch. Hurrah!! Now all I need to do is get the comic from his lab and slip it back in the correct folder. I tiptoe down the hall, happy to hear the gentle snoring coming from the master bedroom. I open the door to the lab to find the desk light on again. Even though it’s a waste of electricity, it does save me from trying to navigate all around the piles of junk in the dark. I’ve just crouched beside the magazine pile when I hear, “Hi, Tara! Couldn’t resist the lure of all those wonderful products yet to be invented, eh?”

  My heart leaps to my throat. Uncle Roger! I turn to find him standing across the room behind the airplane engine. Or the thing that looks like an airplane engine but could just as easily be a giant toaster. “I’m really sorry to barge in like this. I didn’t, um, see you back there.”

  “Not a problem,” he says, making his way over to me. “Stopped by for some late-night reading?”

  “Yes, exactly.” I grab the magazine on top. For a second, I debate trying to find the comic so I can slip it inside the magazine. But I don’t have the nerve to try with him in the room. I hold up the first one I picked. “This one looks good.”

  “Can’t go wrong with Inventors Digest. You’ll come away very inspired.” He smiles warmly at me. “I’ve gotta tell you, it makes me happy that someone in the family might follow in my footsteps. Making things for people that they don’t even know they need, things that make their lives easier, or better, well, there’s just nothing like it.”

  “Cool,” I say. I’m way too tired to think of anything more intelligent. “Thanks. I better get to bed.”

  Uncle Roger follows me back out to the hall. He continues to expound on the joys of creating something out of nothing, while all I can do is stare in horror at the fact that I left the door to his Collectibles Room open an inch. If he so much as glanced in that direction, he’d see it. I begin slinking away down the hall, trying to block his line of sight. Finally he waves good night and goes back into his lab.

  I breathe a sigh of relief and practically leap toward the door in my hurry to close it. I’ll have to remember not to be fooled by Aunt Bethany’s snoring again.

  Bucky Whitehead is in the same spot on the same couch as yesterday. Even if he hadn’t been, it would have been easy to find him. There’s something regal about him that makes him stand out. Even sitting down, it’s clear that he’s tall and straight. And his hair is somehow whiter than the other old people’s hair. Almost silver.

  “Mr. Whitehead?” I say, approaching slowly. It’s probably not a good idea to sneak up on someone that old. Instead of a newspaper, he had a blanket folded in his lap today. It’s very warm out, so I hope the blanket doesn’t mean he’s sick or coming down with a cold.

  “Call me Bucky,” he says. “Mr. Whitehead always makes me look over my shoulder for dear old Dad.” He gestures to the chair beside him. “Sit. I’m curious what would interest someone in this ol’ gal.” He pulls the violin out from under the blanket, which I now realize was protecting it. “She hasn’t been played in thirty-five years.”

  After posting the list last night, we’d practiced what we were going to say if people contacted us. But I’m not sure it applies to an old violin that clearly has sentimental value, along with monetary value. Still, I can’t give up now.

  Swallowing hard, I say, “Well, I have a friend who collects things, like violins, and if you’re not using it, I mean, if it hasn’t been played in so long, maybe you’d consider selling it, or bartering for it?”

  “A barter you say, eh? Interesting. What would we barter?”

  “Well, um, we could mow your lawn, walk your dog, pick up dry cleaning, bring food from the market, any errands really.”

  “Don’t got a lawn or a dog or dry cleaning,” he says. “But I could use someone to fetch some things from the drug store, say, once a week for two months?”

  “Yes, sure! We could do that.”

  “Then she’s all yours,” he says, and places it in my lap.

  “That’s it?” I ask, stunned. “That’s all you
want?”

  He smiles. “Honey, at my age there ain’t no use holding on to things. If I haven’t played it in thirty-five years, what are the chances of me playing it now?”

  I smile in return. “Thank you. This means a lot to me.”

  He pats my knee. “I can see that it does.”

  I sit with the violin on my lap, feeling the grain with my fingertips. It must have been a really special instrument in its day. I can’t imagine that Angelina will make any money off it now, but who knows. I turn it over to make sure the silver plaque is there. It is.

  “Oh, you might as well take this, too,” he says, handing me the blanket. “I lost the case ages ago.”

  “Thanks!” I begin to wrap it up when I suddenly stop, my hand in midair. The blanket is old, very old, and has long since faded into a nondescript blend of brown, tan, gray, and black. But it clearly has a thick stripe around the border. “Does this look red to you?” I ask, pushing a corner of the blanket as close to Bucky’s face as I can reach. “Here, around the border?”

  He laughs. “Kid, I’m surprised I can still see the nose on my face in the mirror.”

  “Sorry,” I say, and squint at it again. “I really think it’s red. I think this is the blanket on our list!”

  “You’re kidding,” Bucky says with delight. “How wonderful! Two for the price of none!”

  I grin. “Let’s make it four months of trips to the drug store!”

  “Deal!” he says. He reaches into the pocket of his shirt and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and a folded piece of paper. “Just a few items today. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  I finish wrapping up the violin and set it down next to me. “Will you hold on to this while I go to the store?”

  “What if someone else comes in and wants to buy it?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

  “Well, then I guess I get to keep whatever I’m picking up for you.”

  He laughs. It’s an old man’s laugh, punctuated with coughs, but it’s a happy laugh. “Let’s hope for your sake it doesn’t come to that.”

  When I get outside the first thing I do is text David. It’s hard to type with your thumbs! It takes a lot of backspacing and correcting before I get the hang of it.

  Hi david! Tell everyone I got the violin! And guess what. I got the blanket, too! Full story later. We have to go to the drugstore for him for 4 months!

  I hop on my bike and ride the few blocks to the store. It occurs to me about halfway there that since I’ll only be here for the summer, the others are going to have to uphold the rest of my bargain with Bucky. If things end badly, well, they’re really not going to be happy about that.

  There’s no bike rack near the drugstore so I have to leave it outside and take my chances that no one wants a kid’s bike with a banana seat and a brand-new (used) basket. As I step into the store I notice my phone is flashing. David’s reply must have come while I was riding.

  Mazel Tov! (that means congratulations! You know, another Jewish thing, like the tomato?) Hiding in bathroom stall right now so phone doesn’t get taken away. And we got another email! I went to the computer lab and checked. One of the Larrys at the music store says he knows where the wooden key is! Says he gives a lady piano lessons in her house and he’s seen it there. Amanda says she’s her neighbor! We’ll call you at lunch with the deets.

  I reply: I know what mazel tov means! I wasn’t born under a rock, you know! You are a strange boy who spells out congratulations and not details. Hurrah on the key!

  I have to admit, texting is fun. No wonder Rory’s bummed about her phone. I pull Bucky’s list out of my pocket and read it over for the first time. I quickly fold it back up again, aghast. I’m not one to embarrass easily, but come on! Bunion cream? Nose-hair clippers? Easy-In, Easy-Out Fiber Suppositories? I shudder. Getting old is not pretty. The only thing NOT embarrassing on the list is a Valentine’s Day card. And even that’s kind of embarrassing because I have to ask for one in the middle of June.

  I refuse to ask for the first three, so it takes me forever to find them. I’m the only person under sixty browsing these sections. I make a mental note of their locations on the shelf, in case these are recurring purchases. It turns out they do have Valentine’s Day cards in June, in the sliding drawers below the regular cards.

  “No school today?” the clerk asks me as she pulls out a few cards for me to choose from.

  “I’m just visiting Willow Falls,” I explain as I drop one of the heart-shaped cards into my basket, along with a red envelope. “My school’s already over for the year.”

  “What do you think of the town?”

  “It’s … different.”

  When she smiles, her olive-colored skin practically glows. “Yes, it is. My family just moved here about a year and a half ago. We’re still getting used to it.”

  Mom’s warning about risking a green tongue by talking to strangers is tucked far away in my mind as the woman tells me her favorite place to get donuts and that the shoe store has really good sales in the summer. Not that I’m in the market for donuts or shoes, but she’s very easy to talk to. Since she seems to know a lot about the stores in town, I gather my nerve and say, “I was wondering … have you ever been inside that store at the end of the alley? Angelina’s Sweet Repeats and Collectibles?” I hold my breath as I wait for her reply. I’ve got to know if it’s only David who can’t see inside, or everyone else, too.

  Her face lights up again. “That’s my aunt’s store!”

  My jaw drops. “Angelina is your aunt?”

  She nods. “Technically she’s a distant aunt. I’ve never been entirely clear on how we’re related.”

  “Your aunt?” I repeat.

  “Wait a second,” the woman says, pursing her lips. “Did she say anything to you?”

  “Say anything … like what?” I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea. I try to put on an innocent face, but she’s not buying it.

  “Argh! She promised me she wouldn’t meddle in other people’s lives. She drove poor Rory crazy last year!”

  “You know Rory?” I ask, incredulous. Talk about your small towns!

  “You know Rory?” she asks, equally surprised. “Wait, are we talking girl Rory or boy Rory?”

  “There’s a boy Rory?”

  She nods. “Cute kid. Not the sharpest crayon in the box. Anyway, Rory and Auntie Angelina had a run-in and … well, I guess it’s not really my story to tell.”

  I already knew about the drainpipe, but now I wonder what more important things Rory left out of the story. No wonder she thinks Leo and Amanda deserve their secrets. She has her own.

  “I better get back with this,” I say, swinging the basket, then wishing I hadn’t when the boxes on the bottom jostle for attention. I really don’t want Angelina’s niece to think I have a nose hair problem. Or worse!

  “Well, it was very nice to meet you,” she says.

  “You, too.”

  “Tell Rory that I said hi. My name’s Lynn, by the way. Rory helped me get my first job in town, at the bookstore.”

  Why doesn’t it surprise me that Rory did something nice for someone?

  I pay for the four items (not even remotely looking the cashier in the eye) and leave the store. My tongue does not turn green.

  On the way back, I stop at the diner to give Annie the money for the cookies. “You sold them all?” she asks, beaming.

  I nod, placing the wrinkled dollars and assorted coins into her hands. I don’t think it’s necessary to tell her I bought the last three boxes myself.

  “Well, color me impressed!” she says. “Thank you!”

  “I had help,” I assure her.

  “It’s strange,” she says, looking over at the umbrella stand by the door, “not seeing that old cane in there. When I was little, my dad used to make up stories for me. You know, about the person who left it here. One week it would be a fugitive on the run from the law. The next it would be a traveling salesman who had just sold his last vacuum
cleaner; the next week it was the tooth fairy.” She gives me a sad smile, then grabs two menus and leads an elderly couple to a booth.

  Now I feel bad about taking it. If I have any money left by the time Angelina puts the cane up for sale, I’m determined to buy it back for Annie.

  After I give Bucky his goodies and collect the blanket and violin, I stop and check the bulletin board. Well, you can’t miss our flyer. It was Amanda’s idea to print it out on hot-pink paper, and I can see why. No one’s going to look at the announcement for the next bingo tournament or the offer of a free house cleaning, while ours screams, LOOK AT ME, OVER HERE!

  About halfway down the list, next to the line about the black leather-bound Bible with the book of Genesis repeated twice, someone scribbled the initials WC. Someone named WC has the Bible! I do a quick tally in my head. Cane, basket, violin, blanket, key, and now Bible! We’re almost halfway done! In only two days! Maybe there really is nothing to worry about.

  My phone rings, and Amanda’s name pops up. A few women playing cards nearby give me the stink eye. I hurry back outside and tell her the good news about the blanket and the Bible.

  “That’s great!” she says. “I don’t know anyone named WC, but my parents and Leo’s are looking into the apple wine. They don’t have any but they’re asking some other relatives.”

  “What’s the story with the key?”

  “Mrs. Grayson, my neighbor, has it! At least according to one of the Larrys.”

  “He must hae been looking at it pretty close to read the tiny print on the side.”

  “It’s strange, I know. This could be a total dead end, but we have to try.”

  We make arrangements to meet later and before we hang up, she asks, “What did Bucky ask you to get from the drug store?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mrs. Grayson is not home when we ring her bell after school. She’s not home at dinnertime. Nor is she home when I ride all the way over there the next morning. For three days we wait for her to come home, and for more people to write to us. But none do. We’ve scanned the phone book and the school directory for someone with the initials WC. We had high hopes for William Cantor and Wanda Chesterton. But neither of them had any knowledge of a Bible with two books of Genesis. We even tried Rory’s idea of knocking on random doors to use their bathroom, but all we discovered is that a lot of people — young or old — have People magazine in their bathrooms. But no knife, shawl, fish-shaped candlestick, purple bottle, trunk, or apple wine.