Picture This (23 page)

Chapter 42

Tess

T
ess had invited Natalie to come for lunch after her first few days as Russell's apprentice. The girl had just run her eyes across a bookcase. She stepped carefully in the older woman's house, touching the dried branches that hung suspended from the ceiling beams, with bits of beach glass wrapped in copper wire, spiraling around, aroused by the breeze that blew through her windows. Natalie opened a slender volume of poetry from a stack on the coffee table.

“I read one poem per day, and each one is like your story, or mine. Tell me a story that did not begin with love or the want of love,” said Tess. “There isn't one. Even the moment we are conceived, love is the main topic. Even if love wasn't there, someone was reaching for it.”

Natalie stretched her arm out and touched a dead moth that rested in a desiccated exoskeleton on a windowsill.

“I won't ever know,” said Natalie. “I don't remember my mother. I've seen pictures of her. My caseworker gave me a photo of her when I was about ten. There were three girls in the picture: my mother and two other girls with big 1980s hairdos. This was before she ever had me. She looked like one of the shy kids begging to be liked. Her two friends were bigger than her and all puffed out with attitude. I think my mother wanted to be like them but she wasn't. Maybe you can't tell that much from a photo, but she looked like the one on the outside. I lost the picture in one of the foster homes.”

Tess put her hand on the fridge door and paused there, like a gull held steady by an offshore wind, suspended above the earth and sea.

“It's hard to grow up without your mother. Mine died when I was very young, which is not the same as your situation, not at all. But it does create a longing, a dreaming for something that keeps dancing away, out of reach.”

“Did you have a father?” asked the girl.

“Yes, dear, I had a father. And therein lies the difference. I had one parent, and you had none, and having one is a world away from having none.”

Something flashed through Natalie, a smoldering fire that ignited along her neck and her fists tightened. “You don't know. Believe me, you don't know.”

The girl had a wound as big as a canyon, and the effort it took to keep it in stasis hit Tess hard. “Of course. That is one of the most ridiculous things that I could have said. You are right. I don't know what it was like for you.”

Natalie's fists began to unfurl, but Tess knew it would be hours before the jets of fighting-ready hormones retreated from her system. She pulled open the fridge. “I have ginger tea with chamomile. I understand that your preference may be Coke or Pepsi, neither of which I have. But you can dump a bunch of sugar in the iced tea. I know most teenagers have a strong desire for sugar. Do you?”

Natalie let a paper-thin edge slip into her voice. “Do I what?”

“Do you want sugar in your iced tea?”

The girl had edges. She was not amorphous. That's good, thought Tess.

Natalie rearranged her face, softening it. “Oh, sorry. I'll take iced tea and sugar.”

Tess poured them both a glass of tea and set a sugar bowl in the center of the kitchen table. No wonder Rocky wanted to help this girl. The child was in a constant state of unraveling and knitting back together. She must be exhausted. What could Tess do that would help Natalie sink into who she was and let her rest, if even for a moment?

“Did Rocky tell you that I'm a physical therapist? Semi-retired, special patients only. You look like your shoulders are carrying too much tension for someone your age. I've just signed up for a training course in craniosacral therapy, and I'll need some victims to practice on. It's a light touch, the patient stays fully clothed. Um, something like this.”

Tess reached out to place several fingers along the back of Natalie's neck.

“Get your hands off me!” said Natalie, spitting the words. Her hand swung around and connected with Tess, knocking her hand away as if Tess were a wasp, with stinger in launch position.

Tess instantly understood her mistake, and it was one that she rarely ever made. Don't ever surprise someone by touching them; always ask permission. What was she thinking? She was rusty, or worse. Her skill as a physical therapist might have been more deeply embedded within her synesthesia than she at first imagined.

“I'm sorry,” said Tess. “I don't know what I was thinking. I just broke the cardinal rule of my profession. We never touch someone without asking.”

Tess stepped away from the girl, turning her palms up, keeping them in sight and close to her body. Natalie's face crumpled; the skin was tight around her eyes, and her lips were pulled back. The girl was unrecognizable for a moment, her tender helplessness tossed aside. She quickly realigned, darting her eyes toward Tess, looking exactly like someone who was embarrassed that she'd been seen without her clothes.

“Sorry about that. I don't like to be touched,” said Natalie, stepping back into her body again.

“Can we start again, dear? Let's have our drinks. If you stay long enough, you'll get to be adored by Danielle,” said Tess. “She's coming for a few days. I'm suddenly her favorite person, and I'm making the most of it before she notices that I'm an old lady with funny hair.”

Natalie scooped sugar into her glass, taking exaggerated care, as if someone was going to charge her for any dropped crystals.

“Why don't you come with us tomorrow? We're going to take flashlights and explore Battery Steele on the north shore. Danielle would love it, and so would I. We can all scare the daylights out of each other.”

“What's Battery Steele?”

“It's what's left from World War II when the Navy was sure the Germans were going to invade America. It's a huge cement building, a bunker really, covered with ten feet of dirt on top, where the biggest guns of the day were kept at the ready.”

“Sounds scary.”

World War II had been terrible, but it had also been only three years long. Considering for a moment how long current wars lasted, Tess cringed bit before replying, “Oh yes, deliciously so. If I want to get distracting thoughts out of my head, I either meditate or go to Battery Steele and scare myself silly.”

If ever Tess needed her synesthesia, it was now. Would it grow back and mend the way skin does, knitting itself with blood? She wanted to mend the way Cooper had mended; his limp was barely detectable now.

She seemed to be missing something elemental about people, as though she'd forgotten something she knew about them before she lost her synesthesia. Without her full force of tangled neurology, people appeared to her more like shells. She no longer lived in a world of vivid color associated with tactile sensations. She didn't like it. She wanted her brain back the way it had been, buzzing and cross-firing.

Tess had to figure out how to get it back. There had been the physiological shock of surgery, like being in a train wreck, or any kind of car accident. Amnesia often surrounds an accident, or at least the time prior to the event. Clearly something had altered her brain, perhaps something chemical, since it wasn't something physical like a brain tumor. All of her training told her to start with the simplest and most obvious explanation. A flood of adrenaline had washed over her brain during the surgery, her pain centers had been dulled, and all her resources had been redirected to her large muscle groups. Even if she could figure out how her brain got disabled, would it matter? Could she get it jump-started again?

“What time tomorrow?” asked Natalie.

“I'll give you a call at Rocky's to let you know what time. I have an extra bike for you. That way we can all ride over together,” said Tess. “I'd like to take an official tour of the place with one of the local historians,” she added. “I could never remember all the information they have in their heads.”

T
he next day Tess and the two girls bicycled along the back shore to Battery Steele and waited outside while the pitch-dark entrance belched dank air at them. Several other people, tourists, showed up at ten before the hour.

“When do they turn on the lights?” said Natalie. Tess heard the tremble in her voice, masked by irritation.

“I packed flashlights for all of us,” said Tess. “Here, take yours.” She pulled three small flashlights out of her bike basket. “And the history tour guide brings big flashlights. Don't worry. I've been in here lots of times.”

Edging closer to her grandmother, Danielle slid her hand into Tess's.

“I told you it was a little creepy, and that's the fun of it, but it's scary in the way that roller coasters are scary. You know everything's really going to be okay, but one part of your brain doesn't believe that and it gets scared. The other part of your brain knows that roller coasters stay on the track.”

Danielle looked up at her grandmother. “Is that what happens when we get scared? Our brain splits in half?”

Before Tess could answer, a car crunched along the gravel road and came to a stop. The island was home to a team of amateur historians, and today's guide would be one of them, Wilbur Kerns. He got out of his car, carrying a clipboard. Wilbur's khaki pants were neatly pressed, and his Peaks Island Historical Society T-shirt was tucked tightly into his waistband.

“Good morning, everyone. Looks like the whole gang is here. Are we ready to go into Battery Steele and see what it was like to live in the bunker?”

Natalie's knuckles turned white as her grip turned viselike on her flashlight. Tess feared that she'd crush it.

“Wilbur, before we go in, would you please mention that people are free to leave at any point? I see you have extra flashlights with you. Can you spare one for a guest of mine? Natalie, please carry one of the large flashlights. There, now you're a double-fisted light-bearer.”

Natalie accepted the large, heavy-duty flashlight, and the group followed Wilbur into the concrete bunker. A tangle of vines hung over the exposed side of the concrete. Natalie stayed outside the clutch of tourists and glanced back at the light streaming through the entrance.

“Okay, I'm ready,” said Natalie quietly.

Wilbur said, “Could you please close the door, young lady? None of you are old enough to remember the rules of blackouts, but in order to prevent planes from seeing targets at night, everyone had to use black shades on their windows and military facilities had to be extra careful. As we walk further along the corridor of the bunker, we will experience the full impact of total darkness.”

Hanging on to Danielle's little fist, Tess turned to see where Natalie stood on the outer edge of the group. With only illumination from flashlights, it was difficult to get a read on Natalie's face. Tess didn't want to make another mistake with the girl.

She leaned down to Danielle and whispered. “Let's stand by Natalie. That way we can all huddle together when Wilbur turns out the light.” They slid to the back edge of the group and sidled up to Natalie.

“On the count of three, we'll all switch off our flashlights for a moment. Ready? One, two, three.”

Tess did not remember this as a part of previous tours. As soon as all the lights were out, the group gasped. Tess felt an immediate dizziness with no anchor for her vision. She was afraid to take a step for fear of falling. Danielle squealed with delighted terror.

Suddenly, a light came on. Natalie had turned on both her flashlights. Tess knew it was partly the distortion of the downward cast of the lights, but the girl's face looked contorted in anguish, her lips pulled back.

“I can switch on the lights whenever I want to,” she whispered.

“Yes, of course you can. Wilbur, this doesn't make sense. The soldiers didn't stumble around here in the dark. That's why they had the concrete bunker. What's the point in making us stand around in the pitch dark?” said Tess.

“No historical point. It just adds an amusement park fright to the tour. It wakes people up. Lights on, everyone, we'll keep walking the length of Battery Steele,” said Wilbur. “There are storage rooms on either side of the walkway, mostly empty except for some wayward beer cans.”

The group followed Wilbur, but Natalie remained frozen in place.

This was not what Tess had planned. She could see that the girl had been blindsided by something, an old haunt from the past, a primal fear of the dark. She wanted to salvage the outing.

“Natalie, it's too lovely today to skulk around in Battery Steele. Let's go outside and take a walk along the ocean road,” said Tess.

“No,” said the girl sharply. “You go ahead. Do not change plans for me. Do not! Here, take your flashlight and take the big one too. Just light up the doorway until I'm out of here.”

Her voice was high and tight. Tess wanted to let her save whatever face was left to save. “This is a good day for a ride. Take your time and enjoy the day. We'll give you all the highlights the next time we see you,” said Tess.

Natalie bolted for the door and heaved against it until daylight streamed in. The girl did not pause.

“Where is Natalie going?” asked Danielle.

“To gather herself together. Something frightened her, and she's embarrassed that we saw her so undone. Come on, let's catch up with Wilbur before he does something ridiculous again.”

Chapter 43

Natalie

N
atalie grabbed the bike and began pedaling as fast as she could away from the stupid bunker. How could she still be afraid of the dark? She wasn't a kid anymore. She wanted to take back everything that had been stolen from her, and that included getting so scared of the dark that she could throw up. That old guy had just surprised her when he turned off the lights; she hadn't been ready, that was the problem.

She rode across the center of the island, not entirely sure where she was, but doubting very much that she could get lost. Surely cutting through the center was a quicker way to get back to Rocky's house. The path grew suddenly narrow and presented her with the option of going left or right. She got off her bike and walked it. There were no houses in sight.

A crow shot down from the tree branch. Natalie felt the sliver of air brush her cheek. The crow landed ten feet in front of her, directly in the middle of the footpath. The black bird turned his head sideways, looking at her with one eye.

She wanted to stamp her foot, flap her arms, or shout to make the bird go away. The muscles along the back of her neck tightened, then both muscles on either side of her spine contracted, arching her back, the way it did at the dentist's office when he aimed the drill into her mouth.

The bird was too large. Birds shouldn't be this big, but it was just a bird, and birds couldn't hurt you. It was a crow; everyone knew crows. What was wrong with her? If she just kept going, she'd find her way. She must have missed a turnoff on one of the trails. The crow took an awkward step toward her.

She had hurt a bird once—a robin that had flown into a sliding glass door and dropped to the ground in stunned silence. She had picked it up, placed her small finger on the chest, and felt the strum of the heart. There had been other foster kids in the home, just two, but they had been younger than her eleven years and bothersome. She had taken the bird indoors and pushed it into the little boy's face, just to scare him a little, to make him go away from her. She didn't remember what happened after that, but later the foster parents were mad, really mad, and they didn't want her after the bird incident.

The crow toddled a few more steps toward her. She moved one foot slowly backwards, so that the crow might not notice. Were crows like horses or dogs? Could they smell fear? The thought that the crow could sense her fear made her more afraid. She was too far from the road or any houses to be heard, even if she was willing to scream, which she was not. If she allowed someone to rescue her, then they would call Rocky, and maybe Rocky would look worried and tell her to take a rest on the couch and bring her a cold drink. Maybe, but not now.

The crow hopped toward her. Sweat scalded the sides of her torso. Her hands were limp, as useless as if they had been detached from her arms. What would the crow do if she turned her back and ran? The large muscles of her thighs were thick and sluggish. The black feathers caught the slanted sun through the trees. The crow was electric, glistening with light. Now that he had found her, now that he had seen her like this, groveling and terrified, he would always look for her.

The crow made a strange quaking sound, and another crow floated to its side. And another. Why weren't they moving? It was like they knew her, and knew she didn't belong here. She bent down slowly and picked up a stick, a good solid one.

“Get out of here,” she said, her voice thin and cracked. She threw the stick, and the trio of crows rose into the air, easily avoiding her wild throw. She pushed the bike, looking constantly over her shoulder, waiting for the flock to descend on her. The crows called and followed her, soaring from tree to tree until she emerged on a dirt road again. She swung a leg over the bike and jumped on, pedaling hard, cursing the crows, the stupid history tour guy in Battery Steele, and mostly Tess and Danielle because they saw her when she was afraid and she didn't want anyone ever again to see her afraid. She had to get to Franklin. They needed to work faster.