Haven [1] A Stranger Magic (8 page)

“Why are you whispering?” she asked.

“Mom, shhhhhhh!” Sam said, trying desperately to see any sign of the man outside.

“Sam, you need to clean this room. You can’t even walk in here!” she said, not bothering at all to whisper.

Sam wasn’t listening to a word she said; the stranger was out there, he was sure of it. He may have vanished from sight but that didn’t mean he was gone.

Mrs. Dalcome finally made it to the window; she grasped one corner of the window sill and placed her other hand on Sam, trying to keep her footing amidst the piles of clothes. She reluctantly leaned toward the window, scanning the front yard and the street below.

“Oh, Sam, I don’t see a thing.”

“I’m telling you. I saw something!”

“Well, if you did, it’s gone now.”

Sam was starting to get frustrated with her. “It wasn’t an
it,
it was a man!” he said in a bitter voice.

“Don’t talk to me that way, Samuel!” she snapped back.

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment. He continued to stare out the bedroom window. It wasn’t worth it, he thought to himself. The stranger was gone, again.

The whole day had gone horribly wrong, as far as he was concerned, and now he had no patience left to tell his mother the entire story, even if he wanted to. He was mad, frustrated, and too tired to argue.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, defeated. He hadn’t meant to take it out on her; she was the only one in the room.

Mrs. Dalcome looked down at Sam. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared solemnly at a star in the distance. There was clearly something bothering him. Something more than whatever he had, or hadn’t, seen outside. She reached over to his desk, pushing aside the magazines that covered the switch on the base of the lamp, and turned it on.

The light was dim, but it seemed bright after the two of them had stood in the dark for so long. Mrs. Dalcome grabbed Sam’s hand and sat on his bed, pulling him down with her. Sam sat next to her, holding her hand and staring at the floor.

“What is it Sam, what’s wrong with you?”

Sam didn’t say anything at first. How could he make her understand that there was nothing she could do? He couldn’t say anything more about the stranger without sounding like a nut case. As for Sarah, there was no way his mother was going to trade her in for a really cool brother, or even give her a good smack upside the head.
Which she deserves,
Sam thought. No, today started out bad, and had just gotten worse, and it wasn’t his mother’s fault. He was smart enough to know that.

“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me, Sam,” she said, patting him on the hand.

“I don’t know, Mom. It’s everything,” Sam said, looking down at the cluttered floor.

She wrapped her arm around him and gave him a gentle squeeze. “What’s everything?”

“I don’t know … like everything … like I hate Sarah …”

“Saaam,” she said in that tone she used when hate came up.

“Okay, I don’t hate her, but I really, really, really dislike her!” Mrs. Dalcome tried her best not to smile.

“Sam, she loves you.”

Sam couldn’t believe she was going to take Sarah’s side on this. Sarah was the meanest person he knew, except for Daniel Harris, and he did hate Daniel Harris. “No she doesn’t, Mom. She’s mean and it’s not just her. It’s school, it’s here, it’s my whole life!”

Mrs. Dalcome removed her hand from his shoulder and gently clutched his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes.

“Sam, look at me. I know it’s hard being thirteen. It’s not an easy age for anyone; it wasn’t for me, your Dad, not even for Sarah. But it will pass and things will get better. I know that’s hard to hear now, but it’s true.”

It was hard to hear now because it didn’t fix anything. Sam was still empty on the inside, ordinary, and well, let’s face it, heading nowhere.

“I just feel alone sometimes. It’s hard to explain.” He could feel himself getting irritated. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

“Well, you’re not alone. I’m here. I have always been here, and I don’t think that’s going to change, do you?” she said with a soft smile. She released his chin and placed her hand on his back again.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, not alone … alone. I mean like …” He paused for a moment; he could not find the words. Where were the words? Why were the words not there to explain the emptiness he was feeling? Now he just sounded like a bumbling idiot.

“Oh, never mind …” he said, discouraged. Why did he even bother to speak? The words never came out right anyway.

“Is it something at school? Did you and Sarah have a fight? Was it—”

“It’s all of those things, Mom, and more! I hate school, I hate Sarah, and I hate where we live! It’s just all wrong, it just feels all wrong! I just wish Dad was here!”

Sam heard the words come out, but it was too late to stop them. He didn’t mean it but there they were, out there where he could never take them back.

He looked in his mother’s eyes; he could tell he had hurt her feelings. She let her arm slide down across his back and slowly stood up. She stepped over the piles of clothes, books and video games until she reached the doorway. Sam’s eyes followed her every inch of the way. She opened the door, walked out into the hallway and turned back, reaching back to grab the door knob. Sam saw her eyes were full of tears as she cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry you feel that way Samuel, but I am trying, and for the record we all love you.” She turned away as tears started to roll down her cheek and gently closed the door behind her.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed staring at the back of the door in silence. The rain had stopped, and the storm had passed, but the frustration lingered.

In one day he had managed to hurt his mother’s feelings and make Travis mad for not going to the caves with him. Not to mention that Sarah hated him, he was cut from head to toe from the attack of the rosebushes, and there was a vanishing stranger stalking him.

No matter how you looked at it, this was a bad ending to a very bad day.

T
he sound of rumbling lawn mowers and weed eaters started early Saturday mornings on Giddyup Lane. Most of the neighbors tried to get their lawn work out of the way before the heat and humidity set in, which occurred about mid-day. This Saturday was no different. Sam listened as he lay motionless in his comfortable bed, staring up at his dragon posters. He was tired; he had stayed up until three o’clock in the morning, riddled with guilt for making his mom cry. He had spent the time cleaning his room. He felt that was the least he could do.

His clothes sat in eight neat piles on the floor. His shoes, video games, controllers, books, and magazines were all painstakingly organized in his closet. His computer sat neatly on its desk with the words UPDATES AVAILABLE flashing in the lower right corner. He had removed mugs and drinking glasses from the top of his dresser. Only the family Christmas picture that they had taken when he was five remained. Sarah and his mother had the same short haircut, and Sam was wearing that ridiculous blue and white snowman sweater.

Sam glanced up at his alarm clock. It was ten o’clock, and the smell of bacon was wafting through the air from the vents above. He could hear the sounds of pots and pans banging around down below.
If Mom
’
s fixing breakfast maybe she wasn
’
t that upset after all,
Sam thought.

He rustled out of bed and grabbed a pair of tan shorts and a blue t-shirt from the organized pile of clothes. He opened his door, turned back, and grabbed the largest pile of laundry he could carry. The robust smell of bacon quickly turned into the smell of something burning as he made his way downstairs. The bottom floor was one big cloud of smoke. Through the smoke Sam could see Sarah running around frantically, trying to open the kitchen windows.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked with a puzzled look as he held his large pile of clothes with both arms.

Sarah stopped in her tracks, awestruck by the sight of Sam attempting to do laundry.

“What are you doing?” she asked with a chuckle.

“I’m doing laundry, but I could help you burn the house down instead.”

“Funny. I was trying to cook you something,” she said through gritted teeth while trying to pry open the stuck kitchen window.

Sam placed the large pile of clothes on the floor in front of the washing machine. He walked over to the stove, turned it off, and moved the pan with the burnt bacon to another burner. Then, without missing a step, he went to the stuck window that Sarah had been working on and gave it a hard yank. The window flew open and Barron jumped inside.

“Out, Barron!” Sarah commanded.

Barron stood there staring at Sarah as if she were crazy, like most cats do when humans talk to them. Sam went back over to the stove and grabbed the pan with the charred bacon. He walked back to the window and threw it out. Barron followed, jumping back out the window to pounce on his crispy treat.

“Hey, that was ours!” Sarah said, looking out the window.

“Really? Were you going to eat that, ‘cause I wasn’t,” Sam replied in a matter-of-fact way.

“See if I ever make you breakfast again!”

“Yeah, what’s with that? Where’s Mom?” Sam asked, heading back over to the large pile of clothes.

“This was her Saturday to work. She took another double at the diner, I guess.”

Sam felt worse now; he had really wanted to tell her he was sorry first thing this morning.

“She looked like she was kind of worried or upset maybe. Did you guys fight?”

Of course Sarah would naturally blame Sam for Mom’s mood, even if it was true.

“Um, no. Why does it always have to be my fault?” he snapped back.

“I didn’t say it was your fault, big hair! I was simply asking! Wow, grouchy much? By the way, when did you start doing laundry? Do I need to call CNN?”

Sam didn’t say a word as he angrily shoved his clothes into the washer. He kept telling himself to calm down and not to say a word.

“By the way, that dork Travis called three times already—once while I was sleeping, and two other times to see if you were awake yet. He said you didn’t answer your cell phone. Really Sam, why have a cell phone if you never turn it on? Anyway, in the future, can you tell your boyfriend not to call before twelve o’clock? I would appreciate it! I mean can’t that guy take a hint? Oh, I can’t get a hold of Sam, so let’s blow up every single phone in his house!”

Sam felt his blood starting to boil, and his scratches from the rosebush were starting to itch. He was in a bad mood already. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, he had hurt his mother’s feelings, and he hadn’t gotten a chance to apologize before she left for work. And now, Sarah wanted to chastise him about Travis.
She never stops,
he thought to himself.
She just goes on and on and on.

“I mean some of us need our beauty sleep,” she continued. “Not that either of you would know anything about that. But I need it!”

That was the last straw. Sam couldn’t take it anymore. Mom was wrong; this she-devil was incapable of loving anyone other than herself, and he was going to let her know!

“Shut up, will you!” Sam said, turning around to face her. “Why do you always have to go on and on? You’re so mean to everyone! Travis has never done a thing to you but like you! But you’re horrible to him, you’re horrible to me, you’re horrible to everyone you come in contact with! So please, just for one day … just one … SHUT UP!”

Silence filled the room, snuffing out even the most infinitesimal pocket of sound. You could hear a pin drop from three blocks over. Barron poked his head up from the porch, eyes wide, and then quickly ducked back down to safety. The air became so thick with tension that it would take a chainsaw to cut through it.

But it was worth it,
Sam thought. He had carried that around for so long. It felt like a fifty-pound boulder had just rolled off his back.

Sarah stood there in shock. Her mouth was open, and for the first time in her life she was speechless. The first sound Sam heard again was the birds chirping in the background, followed by lawn mowers humming in the distance.

Sam stood there staring at her. He was breathing hard; his ears were red, his nostrils flared, and his crazy bed head hair was standing at attention.

Finally, Sarah gathered her composure. Tears welled in her eyes. She brushed a single strand of hair around her ear and said softly, “I made you breakfast …” She wiped the tear from her cheek and walked slowly from the kitchen.

Sam didn’t say a word as he watched her walk away. She had never walked away before. She had always fought back. Sarah never got her feelings hurt, never. But he couldn’t be blamed; he didn’t know she had any feelings. Sam could feel something growing in the pit of his stomach. Was that remorse? Did he feel bad for saying what his sister had coming to her? But that wasn’t fair; he shouldn’t be the one to feel bad. No, it should be Sarah; she had it coming. Didn’t she? All of a sudden the lines were blurred. Things were not as clear as they once were.

Sam walked to the table and sat down. He stared at the plate she had set out for him and the glass of water that had a long crack in it from top to bottom. Sam was bemused; he had never been in this position with Sarah before.