Spoils by Tammar Stein

Author:Tammar Stein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2013-12-10T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

I return home around lunchtime to an empty house. My note’s gone from the counter, which means my mom read it and tossed it. There’s no corresponding note from her saying where they are. I roll my eyes at the double standard. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, it’s time to put my research experience to good use. Gavin’s prophetic-like pronouncement only reinforces my feeling that everything is coming together and will be finished, one way or another, when the money’s released.

I spend most of the afternoon online, following hunches, tracking down clues, until my eyes water and my wrists are sore, but after four straight hours I have nothing useful to show for it. I write down everything that Michael said, word for word when I can remember it, the general gist when I can’t. It’s disheartening to see such a short paragraph from such an earth-shattering visit. Have I already forgotten that much? Did he say so little? My brain cells rush in a frenzy, turning over every little memory stone, flipping through every memory folder, but there isn’t much there.

The one who was wronged will come to you.

I could argue there are several possibilities for who that might be, but that’s being disingenuous. Sticky strands of past hurts and bad choices cling to me and my family like kudzu vines, threatening to overtake us. The past is never dead, William Faulkner once wrote. It’s not even past. I wonder about the ghosts he wrestled with.

I grab my bike and leave the sound of hyper sports broadcasters yapping in the nearly empty house. It’s like a preheated oven outside and I slap at a slight sting on my arm and grimace at the smear of blood. Another dead mosquito. I hurriedly push off, knowing the breeze and speed of the bike will keep them away from me. It doesn’t take much thought to push my pedaling feet in the direction of Natasha’s tea shop.

It’s a beautiful Florida afternoon, with Florida “mountains”: those marshmallow cumulonimbus clouds that stretch thousands of feet in the air, floating impossibly huge and white against a cerulean sky. Other states have the Blue Ridge, the Smokies, the Rockies, but our cloud-mountain ranges re-form nearly every afternoon and give the landscape the same sense of depth.

The little silver bell above the door rings, announcing my arrival, though I half expect Natasha to have snuck out the back as I locked my bike. The ending scene from It’s a Wonderful Life flashes through my mind, the one when Zuzu Bailey says, “Look, Daddy. Teacher says, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.” Ha, I think, not my angel. He’d rip that bell off and crunch it between his diamond-hard teeth.

Tibetan flutes play on the sound system. Two customers drink bubble tea and play Scrabble. To my pleasant surprise, Natasha’s at the counter, frowning over her ledger. A typical Saturday afternoon scene. Except that Natasha’s pale skin has a greasy, gray sheen.

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