13 Gifts (3 page)

Dad shrugs. “Then I’ll put you in my next horror novel.”

“This is the gate,” Mom says, stopping short.

I look up at the sign next to the door that leads up to our track. It lists all the stations. “I don’t see Willow Falls on the list, Mom. Guess we better head home.”

“Not so fast. You’ll be getting off in River Bend, the next town over. Willow Falls is too small for a train station.”

When we arrive on the platform, the train is already there. I tighten my grip on the backpack while Mom hands the conductor my ticket. He asks to see my bracelet, so I hold up my wrist. I’m fairly certain my hand is not normally the color of grape juice.

He motions us to climb on. “Train departs in eight minutes, so be sure you’re off in time.”

My parents assure him they will. Inside the train it’s actually pretty nice. The seats are blue and green striped, with two seats on each side of the aisle. It looks clean, too. A little cramped, but not too bad. I follow Mom down an aisle as she carefully checks out each seat. The train is mostly empty since this is the first stop on the line, so I’m not sure why she doesn’t just pick one.

“How ’bout this one, Mom?” I gesture to a perfectly good seat by a window with no one on the aisle.

She shakes her head. “Keep going.” So we trudge through another car until finally she stops and says, “Here.”

I look at the seat. It looks exactly the same as the others.

“What’s different about this one?” I ask.

She takes a deep breath. “It’s in the center of the train car, so there will be less sway when the train’s moving. And it’s facing forward; some of the others were backward. You tend to get nauseated when traveling backward. Also, the bathroom is in the next car, so it’s close enough to use without having to deal with any unpleasant odors that might emanate from it. Plus there’s an escape hatch above the window in case of emergency.”

“Perfect,” I say, dropping my backpack onto the seat. “When my hand falls off and my arm begins to gush blood, the paramedics will be able to climb right in to save me.”

“That is indeed handy,” Dad says. “No pun intended.” He easily tosses my suitcase on the rack across the aisle from me.

“Why’d you put it over there?” I ask.

“You can keep an eye on it better than if it were above you,” Mom explains before Dad has a chance. “If you get hungry, the food car is two ahead of this one. And make sure you have your backpack with you at all times. People come and go on trains, and you can’t be too careful. You have your phone, so call us if you need anything. Not sure about the reception in here, though …” Her eyes mist up. Dad sniffles, then coughs to hide it.

At least I know they care. “I’ll be fine, really.” I actually have no idea if I’ll be fine, but it seems like the thing to say in this situation.

“Call us when you arrive,” Mom says, “and remember, we’ll only be able to call out once a week, so keep your phone handy. If there’s a problem, just call that number I gave you and the Institute will send someone out to fetch us.”

The speaker crackles on. “Train 751 departs in two minutes. All aboard.”

“Excuse me,” a soft voice says from behind my dad. He steps out of the aisle to reveal a short dark-haired woman with a deep purple scarf draped over her hair and tied under her neck. She’s wearing the most makeup I’ve ever seen on someone outside of the movies. Green and purple eye shadow, bright pink lipstick, and what has to be four coats of mascara and ten coats of foundation. She looks very glamorous. And sort of like a whole makeup store exploded on her face.

“Got four root canals yesterday,” she explains, pointing to the scarf. “Cheeks swelled up like beach balls. Not pretty.”

My parents nod politely and move farther out of the way to let her pass. But she doesn’t even try to squeeze by.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” she says. “Your daughter is traveling alone?”

Dad nods. Mom’s eyes suddenly lock on a spot over my shoulder, like there’s something only she can see. There better not be ghosts on this train. Then she takes a deep breath and focuses again. “We’re in a hurry,” she tells the woman. “So —”

The woman holds up two tickets. “I have an extra ticket for the club car. First class. Full meal service and lovely accommodations. My daughter was supposed to travel with me but got called away on business. You know how it is with these modern women.” She tries to smile, but then winces and brings her
hand to her cheek. “Still waiting for those painkillers to sink in. Anyhoo, I’ve got an extra one if you think she’d like it.” She pauses.
“Ticket,
that is, not painkiller.”

“This seat will do fine,” Mom snaps, a bit rudely if you ask me. I know she doesn’t approve of women wearing a lot of makeup, but it’s no excuse to get snippy.

“You’re sure, now?” the woman asks, looking from Mom to me.

Since I’ve never traveled first-class anything, I say, “First class sounds pretty nice, Mom.”

“This will do fine,” she repeats firmly.

“All right,” the woman says, turning around.

“I don’t see the harm —” Dad starts to say but is cut off when the conductor steps into the car. It’s a different guy from the one who let us on.

“Last call!” he shouts from the doorway. “You folks traveling with us today?”

My parents shake their heads.

“Better get a move on, then.”

Mom leans over to hug me, and holds on so tight that when she stops I feel more alone than ever. She rushes down the aisle without looking back. Dad leans in and whispers, “You go take that woman up on her offer. You deserve it.” I pull back in surprise. Dad almost never goes against anything Mom says. He gives me one more squeeze before hurrying after her.

They wait outside my window until the train pulls away from the platform. We wave at each other as the station gets smaller and smaller. The last thing I see is Mom leaning into Dad and him putting his arm around her. My eyes burn and I
blink away tears. Being alone on the train is bad enough. Being alone on the train and crying about it is that much worse.

When I’m sure the train is out of my parents’ sight, I stand up, hold on to the back of the seat across the aisle, and pull down my suitcase. I figure someone will eventually sit next to me, so if I have to make small talk with someone, it might as well be with a lady who’s nice enough to offer me a first-class ticket.

It’s not easy maneuvering down the aisle, but I only bump one person in the knee and he had his leg really far out into the aisle to begin with. Now that the station is far behind, the train has picked up speed. I try not to look as the scenery whizzes by. Throwing up right now would not make me very popular with my fellow passengers.

After realizing I’m going in the wrong direction and turning around, I finally find myself in front of the door marked
CLUB CAR
. I press the button and the door glides opens. I blink and stare, wide-eyed. I might as well be on a whole different train! The seats look twice as wide and ten times as soft as the one I was just sitting in. The walls are dark wood rather than the white plastic that I’d seen as I walked the length of the train. Silk curtains billow down from the windows, swaying in time with the motion of the train.

My arrival has caused pretty much everyone in the car to look up from their papers, books, knitting, and wine sipping. I can’t help noticing the white tablecloths on the seat-back trays. A young woman in a fancier version of the conductor’s outfit approaches me. She places a bottle of red wine back on the little counter at the front of the car and wipes her hands with a cloth.

“Can I help you?” she asks. “Are you lost?”

I shake my head but I’m not sure what to say. Maybe this was a mistake. I don’t even know the nice lady’s name. “Um, I have a ticket. Kind of.”

“She’s with me,” a voice calls out from the back of the car. The glamorous woman in the scarf leans into the aisle and waves her extra ticket. The conductor (waitress? both?) leads me to the back, where I smile gratefully at the woman.

“Darling!” she says, throwing her arms around me. “I’m so glad to see you! I was wondering when you’d get here.” As she pulls away I think she’s winking at me but it’s hard to tell with all the makeup.

“Um, thanks! Yeah, you, too!”

The conductor/waitress smiles. “Make yourself comfortable. Would you like anything to drink? Some soda?” I never get soda at home. “Yes, please.”

She takes my suitcase and places it in the wooden cabinet above our heads, right next to a first aid kit and extra pillows. I think for a second about Dad putting it across from me before, but it’s different back here. Much safer. This is first class!

I smile politely at the man on the other side of the aisle reading his newspaper. He nods politely in return. And my parents think I’m antisocial! I plop down in the seat next to my new best friend and turn to thank her. Her only response is a gentle snore. Guess those painkillers must have kicked in. I admit I’m kind of relieved. Even though I no longer believe that talking to strangers will turn my tongue green, it’s best not to take unnecessary chances.

The time speeds by much quicker than I’d have thought possible. Between the iPod, my books, the three-course lunch, and the generous helping of free snacks and soda, I hardly even notice the time passing. And those painkillers must be pretty strong because my new BFF hasn’t woken up.

And the best part? Halfway through the ride, the conductor/waitress notices me tugging on my bracelet and offers to help. I hold out my arm eagerly. I guess I’m not really unaccompanied anymore anyway! She snips the bracelet right off with a pair of scissors from the first aid kit.
So
much better. I rub the thick red dent and watch my hand slowly return to its usual handlike color.

The gentle motion of the train is hard to resist, and I drift in and out of sleep. Every time the train stops at another station I jerk awake. My seatmate sleeps through it all.

I’ve been putting off using the bathroom but those four sodas have left me no choice. Heeding Dad’s words, I grab my backpack and bring it with me. It feels unnecessary — I can’t imagine a safer place — but I do it anyway.

Which is why it’s so surprising when, an hour later, the train pulls into River Bend station and I disembark (after a groggy but warm good-bye from my sleepy seatmate), to find that my backpack is empty except for a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich, my aunt’s phone numbers, and a strip of bright yellow rubber that makes me feel more like an Unaccompanied Minor than ever.

Chapter Four

 

To say that I’m panicking at this moment might be
an understatement.

I have no money, no iPod, no phone, and the River Bend train station is not much more than a patch of land in the middle of a cornfield. The other two people who got off with me are gone. Any minute I expect hail to start falling from the sky because that would just be my luck.

The clock on the brick wall of the station says 5:15. The train arrived only fifteen minutes late. Has Aunt Bethany come and gone? Unable to think of anything else to do, I open my suitcase. I know it’s impossible for the stuff from my backpack to have migrated here, but I rummage through it anyway. I have a pair of pajama bottoms in one hand and a sock in the other when I hear a wooshing sound above me, followed by
kreeee.
I crouch even lower before looking up, expecting the worst. Bats maybe, or another beady-eyed hawk.

Not a hawk.
T
WO
hawks. Two hawks playfully circling each other above my head. I instinctively cover my head with my hands (and the pajama bottoms and sock). Fortunately, the birds seem a lot more interested in each other than in me. A minute
later, the larger one extends one clawed foot (talon? paw?) to the smaller one, who grabs on and they fly away together.

If Mom were here, she’d whip out her camera and follow them. She’s fascinated when animals (or people) act differently than research dictates they should. Two birds holding hands (feet? paws?) isn’t something you see every day. I actually go so far as to reach into my pocket for my cell phone to tell her about it when I realize that I no longer own such a thing. The panic returns and I turn back to the rummaging.

The next noise I hear is the clomping of heavy shoes on the pavement behind me. I shove everything back inside and look up to find a man hurrying down the platform toward me, the laces of his hiking boots flying around his ankles.

It’s been a few years since I’ve seen Uncle Roger, but this tall, blond guy in green cargo shorts, sunglasses, and a T-shirt encouraging people to
SAVE THE KOALAS
definitely isn’t him. This guy can’t be more than twenty-two years old. As he gets closer, he holds up a cardboard sign with
TARA
printed on it in big purple letters. Purple letters outlined with glitter.

“Might you be Tara?” he asks, tilting his head and grinning.

I nod and zip up my suitcase.

“Ace!” he exclaims, folding the sign and tucking it in his back pocket.

Even though he’s smiling really wide and doesn’t appear to have any concealed weapons and is tall in a comforting reminds-me-of-Dad kind of way, it still feels weird being alone with a strange guy in the middle of nowhere. Not being judgmental, but any guy who uses glitter qualifies as strange.

If pushed, I’d have to admit that, strange or not, he’s downright good-looking. In a doesn’t-remind-me-of-Dad kind of way. His tan skin really makes his straight white teeth stand out. The only person I’ve ever seen with whiter teeth is Jake Harrison and, of course, I’ve never really
seen
him.

“I expected you to be a wee ankle biter, but you’re almost full grown! Here, let me get your port.” It’s hard to figure out where one word ends and another begins. I’ve never heard someone with his accent before. If everyone in town talks this way, I’m going to be in big trouble. He grabs my suitcase, grins at me again, and takes off toward the parking lot at the end of the platform. I have no choice but to follow since he has my last remaining belongings.

“Your aunt will get all up me for being late, but first my car was cactus so I had to borrow your uncle’s car and then there was a big bingle on Elm Street. I’m lucky I got here at all!”

My aunt would
get up him
? His car is a
cactus
? Four out of every five words he says don’t make sense.

He pulls a pack of gum from his pocket and holds it out to me. “Want a chewie?”

I shake my head.

“Not my bowl of rice either,” he says, putting it away. “But my oldies always said to make sure to have something to offer a new cobber like yourself.”

A cobber doesn’t sound like a good thing to be.

The only car in the parking lot is small and red and sporty. It seems impossible that a grown man could fit in it. But he strolls right over, opens the trunk, and tosses my suitcase inside. Then he goes over to the passenger door and holds it open for me.

When I don’t make a move to get in, he says, “Oh, do you need to use the dunny? Or did they have one on the train?”

I follow his eyes to the Porta-Potty on the side of the station and feel my cheeks redden. I shake my head and speak for the first time. “I’m sorry; who
are
you? My aunt and uncle were supposed to pick me up.”

He slaps his hand on his forehead. “Oops! Forgot to introduce myself. My blokes always tell me I yabber so much I forget all the important stuff. The name’s Ray Parsons. I’m an offsider for your rellies. Errands, upkeep around the house, assist your uncle in his lab, that sort of thing. They’re good folks. Pretty decent way to make a quid while I’m in the States, actually.”

“My
rellies
?”

“Bethany and Roger. Your rellies.”

“You mean my
relatives
?”

He shrugs. “If you want to use a longer word to say the same thing.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

He holds both hands palms-up. “She’ll be apples, I promise ya.”

“Seriously, you’re saying all these words but they don’t make any sense.”

He laughs. “How do you know
you’re
not the one who doesn’t make sense?”

Before I can reason out an answer, he says, “Why don’t you ring them up? You got a mobile?”

I’m pretty sure that means a cell phone. I shake my head. “It’s sort of missing at the moment.”

“No worries,” he says, tossing me his own.

I pull out the paper with the contact information and dial their home number first. Answering machine. I hang up without leaving a message and try the number listed under Aunt Bethany’s cell. As soon as the call goes through, Aunt Bethany yells, “Ray! Have you got her? Tell me you have her. Her parents have been trying her cell and can’t reach her. And something about the GPS being out of range? Ray! Ray?”

“It’s me, Aunt Bethany. Tara. Ray lent me his phone.” I turn my back to him and lower my voice. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t, you know, trying to kidnap me.”

I hear a chuckle behind me, but I ignore it.

“Didn’t he give you our note?”

“What note?” I turn back to face Ray.

“D’oh!” he exclaims, hitting himself on the forehead again. “Forgot about that, too.” He pulls a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and hands it to me. I scan it quickly. Apparently Emily had a big fencing tournament that they couldn’t miss so they sent him to fetch me. I hand the note back to him.

“You still there, Tara?” Aunt Bethany asks, the phone breaking up a little. “We’ll be home soon after you arrive. Sorry about this.”

I tell her it’s fine and give the phone back to Ray. It’s not like I could expect them to rearrange their schedules for me. I wouldn’t even want them to.

Ray “yabbers” the whole twenty minutes it takes to get to the house. I manage to pick up a few colorful phrases. He had to “chuck a U-ee” at one point when he started going down a
one-way street the wrong way, and then he told me some story about a “bloke” of his who wanted him to “chuck a sickie” last week so they could go to the movies. People apparently do a lot of
chucking
in Australia, which is where I finally figured out he’s from.

Aunt Bethany’s house is just as I imagined, on the outside at least. It’s very big, with a freshly mowed lawn, three-car garage, and a circular driveway made out of paving stones, not blacktop like a normal driveway. The crisp smell of apples hangs in the air, although I don’t see any apple trees.

“Out back’s a hole for a pool,” Ray says as he grabs my suitcase from the trunk.

I follow him up to the large red front door. “A hole?”

“Yup. The mister and missus can’t agree on the shape of the pool, so there’s been a hole for a year now.”

“Wow, Ray, you just said two whole sentences that I understood!”

He grins. “That bloody well won’t happen again!” As he unlocks the door he says, “The Aussie lingo comes out stronger when I first meet someone. You’ll get used to me.”

I’m not planning on getting used to anyone. I’m about to tell him this when I hear Mom’s voice in my head telling me to be polite. So I don’t say anything at all.

A large SUV squeals into the driveway and we both turn in the doorway. Emily jumps out of the backseat practically before the car stops moving. She’s grown a lot since I last saw her, but compared to her I still look freakishly oversized. She’s dressed in a thick silver outfit that covers every inch of her except her head and makes her look more like an astronaut than a fencer.
A large silver medallion dangles from her neck that says 5
TH
P
LACE
and her light brown hair whips around her face.

“Tara!” she yells, leaping up the two porch steps. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She reaches around to give me a big hug but it’s kind of awkward because she’s wearing all this padding and her arms aren’t very long. She squeals and says, “This is going to be so much fun!”

When Emily lets go, Aunt Bethany hands her the fencing helmet that rolled out of the car after she jumped out, and takes her place in the hug. “You’re so tall! Just like your dad!” She and my mom have the same light olive skin and dark brown hair, but other than that they don’t look anything alike. For one thing, Aunt Bethany is wearing a dress and heels, full makeup and nail polish, and has jewelry on every place one can wear it including her ankle. If my mom puts on a skirt it means someone died.

Uncle Roger strolls over and pumps my hand with a huge grin. I remember now how straight he stands, with his chest sort of puffed out, but not in an arrogant way. He has lost some hair and grown a mustache in the few years since I’ve seen him. Even though he’s probably ten years older than my parents, he doesn’t have any gray hair. I wonder if it’s because he’s rich and doesn’t have to worry about a lot of things. Every time we move to a new house I spot a few more gray streaks on Dad.

Everyone asks me questions at once. “How was the train?” “Are you hungry?” “Do you want to see the town?” “Do you want to call your parents?”

I really don’t want to talk to my parents, but I don’t want them to worry, either. “I lost my cell phone on the train,” I
explain, “so maybe you can call them?” I know they won’t be too mad about me losing the phone since Dad loses his every other week, but I’m not planning on telling them about losing everything else. Not until I absolutely have to.

“No problem,” Uncle Roger says. “We can get you a new phone tomorrow. You got replacement insurance?”

I nod. Unable to think of anything else to say, I opt to stare at the ground. All this attention is making me miss the peace and quiet of the train, where no one bothered me. Ray picks up my suitcase, clears his throat, and says, “Tara probably wants to get settled upstairs. You know, wash the train off her.”

“Of course she does!” Aunt Bethany says, whisking me inside. Ray bounds up the long, carpeted staircase with my suitcase while I stare around me in all directions. A chandelier with at least a hundred diamond-shaped crystals hangs over what looks like marble floors. I’ve only seen marble floors in museums before. A huge living room off to the right is filled with leather couches and fancy paintings and a coffee table with three books spread out in a fan shape. I can’t see what’s at the end of the long hallway that leads off from the foyer. It looks like a house from the pages of a magazine. And it smells like lemon.

“Emily will show you the way to your room and help you settle in. She’s so excited you’re here!”

Emily nods vigorously. “C’mon, let’s go upstairs.” She grabs my arm and pulls me toward the stairs. I let my hand glide over the dark wooden banister as we climb the winding staircase. If the guest bedroom is anywhere near as nice as what I’ve seen so far, I’m sure it will be double the size of my room at home.

I follow Emily down the hallway, the carpet so plush that I can’t even hear our footsteps. She passes room after room of closed doors, then stops at the last one on the left and flings open the door. “Here it is!”

We are facing a large room that is clearly Emily’s own. Her bed is unmade, and clothes, books, papers, trophies, and fencing equipment lie scattered around all surfaces, including the two twin beds. The top of her desk is piled high with thick textbooks and three-ring binders.

“Make yourself at home,” Emily says, stepping neatly over what is probably a crumpled school uniform but could just as easily be last year’s Halloween costume.

I don’t move. “But this is
your
room.”

She opens her arms wide.
“Our
room.”

My heart sinks as I catch sight of my suitcase at the base of the second bed. I’ve never shared a room with anyone. I want to ask how there isn’t a guest room in a house this big, but what comes out instead is, “Were you, um, searching for something and that’s why it looks this way? Or you left your window open and a tornado passed through?”

Emily shakes her head and begins peeling off her fencing uniform. “Nope. It’s always like this. All the true geniuses were slobs.” She points to two posters sharing the space above her headboard. No pop stars or movie stars for her. Instead, my cousin has posters of two old men on her wall.

“That one’s Einstein, right?” I ask, pointing to the one of the guy with crazy white hair sticking out in all directions.

She nods. “And trust me, he was too busy figuring out how the universe works to bother with picking up his socks.”

“Or combing his hair,” I mumble. “So who’s the other one?”

“That’s Euclid, one of the greatest mathematicians of all time.”