The Dark Light (7 page)

Was he kidding me?

“I’d love to go.”

He faltered. “You looked kind of stunned.”

“I’d love to go,” I said, again.

He smiled and the scent of freshly grilled prime rib faded. “Then I’ll get us tickets.” He touched my arm, and for a second I thought he might do something really crazy, like kiss me right there in the middle of the library. He didn’t.

“I should let you get back to debate,” he said, and stood up.
If I wasn’t mistaken, he looked hugely relieved. “Don’t work too late. The fog’s coming down out there.”

Half shell-shocked, half boogying on my happy cloud, I grabbed my cell as soon as Andy left and shot Willie a text: “jst saw AM in libr. Gt bg nws! TTYL!”

There was no way I could tackle Rifkin’s debate now. Those clashing civilizations would just have to try to get along until my high wore off. Andy had just asked me to the senior prom!

I dumped my books on the cart, and then snatched up my notebook. Beneath it, the dream bird stared at me. I paused.

The dream bird, which descends to earth in a column of light.

But there was no light when I thought of Sol and his tattoo, only mystery and shadow, the kind of dark things I wanted to obliterate from my life. I saw light when I thought of Andy—Andy who’d been so sweet and nervous when he’d asked me to prom, choosing me over every other girl in school. So what if Sol and Jay had the same tattoo? It probably meant nothing. And even if it did, was that something I wanted to bring into my life?

I dropped Sol’s book into my bag and made a decision. It was time to turn my back on shadows for good.

* * *

Andy was right. By the time I hit the parking lot, the mist was pretty thick. Morning and evening were often foggy in Crownsville, because of the river. It probably wasn’t smart to head out
of town, the mists would thicken as I neared the water, but there was no turning back when I was in such a decisive mood.

It was a simple plan: I’d drive to Old Man Crowley’s, thank Sol for the book, hand it back, and then put him and the tattoo out of my mind for good.

As predicted, the mist became a dense fog as I neared the bridge and the landing for Gus Mason’s ferry. Visibility sucked. I turned on Rusty’s low beams and kept below thirty.

About ten minutes later, two red orbs glowed in front of me. The traffic signal at the river bridge.

I hadn’t realized how far I’d come without anything to guide me but the winding road. The river bridge was narrow—only one car could cross at a time. Though I was little more than twenty feet away, the wooden railings on either side, which prevented a plunge into the river below, were barely visible.

Doubts surfaced. Could I even find the turn onto Old Man Crowley’s land? What if Sol wasn’t there? I had to put the book into
his
hands if I was to gain closure on this festering obsession.

The red light turned to green, and I came up on the clutch. Rusty shuddered, then died. Thinking I’d stalled him, I set back to neutral, tapped the dash, and then turned the engine. Nothing.

“Oh no,” I groaned. “Come on, Rusty. Please, don’t.”

I ran through the entire ritual again, conscious of draining
Rusty’s less than reliable battery with every try. Still the engine refused to turn.

“This is bad.”

I grabbed my phone, called Pete, and begged for once that he’d answer. He didn’t. After garbling a voicemail, I turned on my hazards, climbed from the car, and took stock.

I was at least a couple of miles from home, farther if I had to backtrack to town and walk on from there. I also had to get Rusty off the road before someone tore up behind me. Whatever happened, I was going to have to explain why I was out here. There was nothing else to do: Willie would have to come to my rescue.

I was about the make the call when a voice came from the right, close to the bridge. “Hello, there.” A rustle in the undergrowth followed.

Suddenly conscious of being alone in the middle of nowhere, I spun around.

“Who’s there?” My heart pounded.

“That you, Mia?”

A short figure appeared on the towpath. I squinted through the fog. “Mr. Mason?”

Gus Mason emerged from the mist. Never had I been so happy to see him.

“What you doing out this way?” he asked.

Now wasn’t the time to explain. I skipped ahead. “My car died.”

“We should get it off the road, then,” he said. “Can you push?”

I knew I could. I was more worried about Gus, who had to be at least seventy years old.

“Just to the side here, Mia. I’ll take off the brake.”

I handed Gus the keys, cringing at the empty soda cans on the floor and the sports bra dumped on the backseat. Gus didn’t seem to notice.

Together we pushed Rusty onto the grassy shoulder. Problem one: solved.

“I can’t thank you enough,” I said, as I grabbed my bag from the backseat and stuffed the bra into one of my old sneakers.

Gus hoisted his baggy jeans onto his waist. He scanned the fog. “Pete coming for ya?”

“He’s not answering his phone,” I replied, hating that I had to give testimony to Pete’s unreliability. “I’ll probably walk back to town.”

Gus waved the idea away. “No need for that. I’ve got the ferry at the landing. I was about to take her back to the boathouse when I heard you cut out. Jump on. I’ll take you to Miller’s Crossing. It can’t be more than fifteen minutes for you from there.”

I couldn’t have been more grateful. I resisted the urge to throw my arms around Gus’s neck and plant a huge kiss on his shiny forehead.

“Have you been on the water in all this fog?” I asked, as we navigated the undergrowth to the river’s edge.

“Fishing for perch,” he replied. “Didn’t catch so much as a cattail. Lucky for you, hey?”

The path veered and the first boards on the dock appeared beneath us. Another twenty feet and the ferry emerged from the mist.

Gus’s ferry was a thing of magic to any kid younger than ten in Crownsville. More pontoon than boat, it was painted scarlet and decorated with scrolls and flowers reminiscent of gypsy wagons. A yellow awning, strung with fairy lights, sheltered six wooden benches. The captain’s station stood at the stern. Beside the wheel lived Admiral Sunday, a stuffed parrot complete with an eye patch and spotted kerchief. He perched over the rusted tin where, as a kid, you dropped your quarters when you boarded, and Gus, an awful ventriloquist would squawk, “Welcome aboard, shipmates.”

I pulled my jacket around me as I huddled on one of the benches and tried to avoid Admiral Sunday’s eye. In truth, the scrawny thing had always given me the creeps. Gus started the engine and the lights on the awning twinkled on. We drifted
from the dock and onto the river. The vague outline of rocks and trees loomed on either side.

“How’s school these days?” asked Gus, who looked ahead, at what, I didn’t know.

“It’s good.”

“And how’s that little brother of yours?”

“He’s fine.”

“Not straying from home on his own, I hope.”

“No, we keep close tabs on him with the way things are.”

Vibrations from the engine rumbled through the hull. My hair and clothes grew cold and damp. I watched Gus steer and thought of that night at Mickey’s with Rich Manning. And then I thought about Alex and the light I’d seen on Rowe.

“Mr. Mason?”

“Call me Gus. Mr. Mason makes me sound like an old fart, which of course I am, but no harm pretending otherwise.”

I smiled. “Do you remember what Rich Manning said about Alex Dash?”

“Rich? Who can remember anything that comes out of his crazy mouth?”

“He said there were lights in Crownsville—that nothing good happened when they came here.”

Gus continued to stare off the bow, and the glow from the fairy lights caught in his pale blue eyes. For a second I could
imagine I was at sea or some faraway place, visiting worlds only Gus knew how to find. His thick eyebrows dropped with his frown. I checked ahead into the fog, certain something must have caught his eye. A white blanket remained.

“It’s a strange place, Crownsville,” he remarked.

I turned back, surprised by the change in his voice. He looked like the same old Gus with the same old Admiral Sunday guarding his shoulder, only he
wasn’t
the same in that moment. It was as if he saw that faraway world—
something
just out of reach.

“Did
you
ever see lights?” I asked.

“No, Mia,” Gus said. “No lights.”

Silence descended as we turned sharply west. The fog started to lift in front of us and trees appeared on the banks. I recognized the landmarks and knew we were close to Old Man Crowley’s.

We rounded another bend and Crowley’s tiny shack appeared. Everyone knew it was a ramshackle place, a clapboard cottage built on top of a gentle rise. Tall trees surrounded it, like a woodland hut from a long forgotten tale. Lights shone at the windows. But it wasn’t Crowley’s home that made my heart kick, then race.

Sol stood on the overgrown lawn, watching the ferry as we drifted by. Instinct told me to look away. I couldn’t. He watched, like a sentry, a lone statue in a sea of mist. The fog remained thick
on the edges of Crowley’s land, but on the yard, it retreated, like a curtain opening at the beginning of a play.

Why Sol was outside in weather like this didn’t enter my mind. He
belonged
there, as much as Gus and Admiral Sunday belonged on the river. But the ferry puttered along, and soon we’d passed. I turned to take one last look before Sol and the house disappeared from view.

Gus also looked at Sol. I caught the two of them—the old man on the river and the young guy on the shore—staring intently at each other.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me, unnerved.

The magic had passed. Gus was Gus again, his eyes trained on the river. But I couldn’t shake the shiver that traveled my spine.

In that final moment, before Sol had disappeared from view, I was certain I’d seen Gus
bow
.

O
f everything in the world,” said Willie. “Shopping, chocolate, volleyball—it’s being right that I like best.”

“Then you should be really happy,” I said. “Because you were right.”

She was inspecting my closet’s pitiful selection of formal wear while I sprawled on my bed, glowing from Andy’s invitation.

“Willie, I’m buying something new. That cream one’s putrid, the blue’s too slutty, and I barely fit in the green anymore.”

With one eyebrow raised, she turned from my closet. “Then why are they hanging here?”

“I might need them,” I said.

“For?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Why do I believe you?” She took putrid and slutty from the closet. “Hanging on to garbage is a defense mechanism against all the misery in your life.”

“But I don’t
have
misery in my life,” I said.

“Yes, you do. Take Rusty, for example.”

You think she’d give me a break after Andy asked me to prom. I groaned. “Do we have to?”

Hours had passed since my adventure on the river and I didn’t want to revisit it now. The more I’d dwelled on what I’d seen, the more convinced I’d become that Gus had bowed to Sol. The more convinced I was, the more confused I became about what it meant. It was the kind of circular thinking that only Sol Crowley could inspire. I’d had enough of it to last a lifetime.

“What are you going to do about him?” asked Willie.

“Rusty?” I sighed. “Pete towed him to the shop. This time, I think it’s terminal.”

“Good. You’ve been a slave to that machine for long enough.” She pulled out my little black dress. “What about
this
?”

“For
prom
?”

“I’m just looking for ideas. Of course, we have to shop.” She tossed the dress back into the closet, then flopped into my chair. “I was serious about Jake, you know.”

“About a date?”

“We get along.”

“Then do it. Ask him out.” I imagined us together at prom. “He’s cute.”

“And tall,” said Willie. “You know I can’t date anyone shorter than me. That severely limits my options.” She reached for the box with Mom’s necklace, which I’d left out from the other night, and opened it before I could stop her. “
Nice.
You should wear this.” She held it up. The amber stones with their crimson veins twinkled in the light. “Where’d you get it?”

With Willie already trying to unearth the misery in my life, I wasn’t sure I wanted to confess. “It was my mom’s,” I replied, tentatively.

“No!” She draped it across her front before placing it back in the box. “You
have
to wear it for prom. No one will have anything like it.”

I really couldn’t see myself wearing the necklace; it was far too ostentatious. In fact, I couldn’t imagine anyone wearing it but a powdered old lady with diamond earrings and a mink stole.

Willie strolled to the window, a satisfied smile on her face. “I still can’t believe he was nervous. Andy Monaghan.
Nervous!
Jessica is going to freak when she hears about this. Seriously, Mia . . .” She paused, her forehead pressed against the window pane, “Is that Jay out there?”

I glanced at the clock. It was almost ten, far too late for Jay to be wandering around outside. I scrambled off the bed and joined Willie at the window.

Jay stood on the edge of the cornfield, his outline faint in the light from the kitchen window. He ducked, peering through the new growth as if searching for something in the foliage.

“Mia, what is he doing?”

“Maybe he lost something,” I said. “I’d better go see. You get rats the size of coyotes out there.”

I bounded downstairs, through the kitchen, then out into the yard. The worst of the fog had cleared, but the air was still cool and damp. Moisture glistened on the driveway.

“What you doing, Spud?”

He turned as I reached his side.

“I thought I saw something,” he said.

I scanned the edge of the field. All that moved were fine vapors of mist coiling around the stalks. “I don’t see anything. Was it a fox?”

Jay shook his head. He looked back into the corn, his eyes narrowing, searching.