The Colors of Madeleine 01: Corner of White (38 page)

They left with a jangle, and Derrin with a wave from her wooden puppet, and Hector sat at his desk looking sorry for a few moments.

Then the newspaper caught his eye, and the grin lit his face up once again.

Elliot was sitting in the schoolyard, watching the sculpture.

After a moment, the glint of white caught his eye. He looked around fast, and then reached for it.

It was from Madeleine again.

Over the last few days, they’d written long letters to each other, the longest Elliot had ever written. He’d told her about his missing father, and his journeys to Nature Strip and to the Golden Coast. She’d told him about how she’d run away in a train called the “Eurostar,” and how her mother liked chocolate, and how she’d met new friends named Jack and Belle.

Now, today, something had happened.

He’d delivered a shorter letter to her, and then turned to go, but for some reason he’d turned back. And a single piece of paper had appeared.

Are you there right now?
it said.

Yes,
he replied, and waited. A few moments later another note.

Cause the weirdest thing just happened,
she wrote.
I was at the parking meter, about to put a letter in it for you, when your envelope just sort of APPEARED. It happened again right now. How are you doing this?

Elliot grinned.

It’s a crack,
he wrote.
Like I told you before. No clue about the science.

This is freaking me out,
she replied.
But I totally like it. Keep doing it and I might actually get another one of my surges of belief in the Kingdom of Cello.

It was a conversation.

He was having a conversation with a girl in the World.

They exchanged short notes for the next two hours.

They figured out that they were both in the same time zones. They told each other about the weather. She told him that this was like inter-Kingdom texting, and he said he had no clue what she was on about. She told him her favorite books and bands, and he repeated
that he had no clue. But that stood to reason, he said, her being in the World. She told him her mother had had an MRI, which had shown what looked like a tumor in her brain, and they’d done a fine-needle biopsy, and they were waiting for the results of the pathology, and she was thinking it would turn out all right because it’d be benign, or they could just cut the tumor out, but the doctors looked distracted when she said that, and there was a sort of darkness to the way they talked.

You know what I just thought?
Elliot wrote.
I read somewhere that Butterfly Children used to make healing beads. Not exactly sure what they
are
, but if mine can’t do crops, maybe she can do healing?

Madeleine replied:
If you can get your Butterfly Child to make healing beads — and you can get them to me by tomorrow morning, 10 a.m. — and they cure my mother — well, I’ll believe in the Kingdom of Cello for real.

It’s a deal,
Elliot wrote.

There was a longer pause, then another note from Madeleine appeared:

Who really knows what’s real anyway? I was reading a book the other day (about Isaac Newton again) and it mentioned the “shadow of the rainbow.” I was like: what? That’s
real
? Cause, whenever I see that extra rainbow — the one that’s just behind a rainbow in the sky — well, I kind of assume I’m imagining it. Like it’s a trick of the light. Like my mind is painting that extra one in.

But who says tricks of the light AREN’T real?

One time I had to get my hearing checked — the therapist thought maybe I kept running away from school because I couldn’t actually HEAR the teachers tell me not to (she was getting desperate). Anyway, I had to sit in this little chamber wearing earphones, and the doctor or whatever sat outside the chamber, and I had to press a button whenever I heard a sound. At first, it was a really clear kind of GONG, and I was happy to press the button. Then the gongs started getting
quieter and quieter, fading away, disappearing, until I couldn’t figure out if I was hearing them or not.

It’s like, are we supposed to see the extra rainbow? Was I supposed to hear that sound? Was it a sound inside my head or outside the chamber? It’s like the blurring point between imagination and reality — something very faint, a reflection.

Elliot thought for a moment, then replied:

That sort of reminds me of the dragons, werewolves, trolls, giants, vampires, and so forth they’ve got up at the Magical North. See, the thing is, they’re only there ’cause kids have gone to the Lake of Spells and caught SPELLS to make fairy-tale creatures. Nobody can figure out why any kid would do a dumb thing like make a werewolf, but they do.

Anyhow, now and then people talk about whether they really exist, those dragons, etc., seeing they’re not supposed to be there. Seeing they’re just imaginary.

Seems to me, if they are, they are. If a dragon sets you alight or a vampire sucks your blood, well, there’s your question answered. And I guess, if you can see a rainbow, or hear a gong, it’s answered too.

Before Madeleine had a chance to reply, he started another piece of paper.

If you were so happy in your life before,
he said,
how come you were always running away?

There was a long silence and when she did reply, she ignored his question:

If you and I are shadows of each other, like rainbows — or like those cats I wrote about the other day — which of us do you think is real and which is the shadow?

Could be we’re both shadows,
he replied.
But I kinda doubt it.

I thought of something,
she said,
how come YOU never doubted MY existence? If you’ve had no contact with the World for, like, hundreds of years, why’d you assume my letter really WAS from the World? Not, like, a hoax by someone at your school?

Elliot replied:

People around here are kinda busy for that sort of thing. Gotta go now myself, actually. See you here at ten tomorrow.

He delivered the letter. Touched the sculpture once and walked away.

In her doll’s house, the Butterfly Child was asleep.

“That’s a surprise,” Elliot said drily.

It was later that evening. He stood watching her a moment, then cleared his throat and spoke.

“Hey there,” he said, then paused. “I don’t want to disturb you,” he added.

The Butterfly Child sighed in her sleep and turned over.

“Well, I
do
want to disturb you,” Elliot said. “The thing is, you’ve been here in Bonfire a long time now, and nothing’s happened to the crops, and well, okay, if you’re sad … But I wish I knew
why
you were sad.”

He sighed. Then carried on: “Anyhow, setting that aside, I read somewhere that you could make healing beads, and I’ve promised a friend that you’ll make some for her.”

He waited. The Butterfly Child breathed steadily.

“So I guess — well, who knows if you’re hearing this anyway, but if you
are
, and if you
can
make healing beads, I’d be grateful. If you would make them. I mean.”

He sniffed.

“Ah, what’s the point?” He sat down on the couch, but almost at once there was a thumping on the front door.

His mother opened it. Corrie-Lynn’s little voice sounded, and next thing she herself was in the room.

“Hey,” he said.

Corrie-Lynn tilted her chin away from him, circled around the back of the couch, and stopped in front of the doll’s house.

“Corrie-Lynn,” said Elliot. “I heard about the Twicklehams leaving town, and I’m really sorry about your friend. I guess sometimes businesses just don’t work out. And maybe one day I could, I don’t know, take you to see Derrin in Olde Quainte? You could write to her in the meantime, right? Anyhow, I hope you’ll talk to me again someday, ’cause I miss you, kid.”

Corrie-Lynn held her face away from him. Her shoulders trembled and he thought maybe she was crying, but then she swung around and it wasn’t tears, it was fury.

“You’re ‘
really sorry
’?” She sure could wither when she tried. “You’re
really
sorry, and it’s because
businesses
fail?” Now she stamped her foot. “They’re
leaving
town because of you and your friends!
I’m
really sorry your dad’s away, and I hope he comes back, but if he does, he can get himself a
new
electronics shop, for crying out loud! And you know what, Elliot Baranski? If my dad was still around, he’d give you a serious talking-to, that’s what he’d do. He’d say, ‘What are you thinking, Elliot, scaring off a nice family like that? Making my Corrie-Lynn lose her only best friend? What are you
thinking
?’”

“Ah, baby …” Elliot was by her side, wanting to take her into his arms, but her eyes grew wide and her jaw gripped hard against the tears, and she punched him once, hard, in the stomach.

Then she sidestepped away from him, scowling.

He stood, watching her.

“You’re right,” he said eventually. “That’s exactly what Uncle Jon would’ve said, and he’d have been right too. I
am
really sorry, Corrie-Lynn, and I want to fix it. I’ll talk to them.”

“Too late to fix it,” she said coldly. “They’re leaving in the morning. Now
they
could fix things — electronic things and that, but you and your friends never gave them a chance.”

“Like I said, you’re right. I’ll fix it, Corrie-Lynn. I’ll ask them to stay and I’ll tell them my friends and I will do everything we can to make their business work. We’ll do them a marketing campaign. We’ll get Cody to paint billboards for them. We’ll get Shelby up in her plane flying a banner that says
GET YOUR TVS FIXED BY THE TWICKLEHAMS!
”

Corrie-Lynn studied his face. She considered.

“You will?”

“I’ll go over to the shop right now and tell them.”

“Well,” she said, still cold but relenting, “as long as it’s something better than that on the banner.
Get your TVs fixed by the Twicklehams!
That’s the dumbest slogan I ever heard. It’s not even a slogan.”

“Fair enough.”

Corrie-Lynn was still watching him.

“Don’t go over now,” she said. “They go to bed early. But they’re coming by the Watermelon first thing tomorrow, so Derrin and me can say one last good-bye.” Her lower lip trembled, but she straightened her shoulders. “Meet us there at nine, and if you can persuade them to stay, I might just see if I can forgive you.”

Then she swung around and walked toward the door.

“You going home already?”

Corrie-Lynn nodded, her back to him.

“Throw your bike in the back of the truck and I’ll give you a ride. It’s getting dark.”

“No,” she said. “I need some time alone.”

When little kids act like grown-ups
, Elliot thought,
it nearly breaks your heart
.

She was in the door frame when she turned back.

“It’s ’cause you never listen to her,” she said, swinging her thumb toward the doll’s house. “That’s why she’s sad.”

“The Butterfly Child? I never
listen
to her?”

“Exactly.”

“She doesn’t talk!”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” muttered Corrie-Lynn. She shouted, “Bye, Auntie Petra!” and headed out onto the porch. He could hear her talking to herself as she ran down the front stairs: “He’s supposed to be so
smart
, and
great
, and
brave
, and so good at
deftball
, and he’s as dumb as a chain saw….”

Her bicycle wheel squeaked in time with her mutters as she cycled down the drive and away.