The keeping place, p.2
The Keeping Place, page 2
“It’s been that way for a while.” Storybook Lady snapped the cover securely into place. “I like butterflies and haven’t been able to find another to replace it. Thanks for helping me out. I should have been more patient trying to text. It’s just the kind of day I’m having.”
Janie couldn’t be sure but thought the woman might have been crying. She dug the pack of candy from her pocket. “Would you like a cinnamon burst?”
“I wish my problem could be solved so easily.” Storybook Lady laughed half-heartedly and returned to the bench. “Sorry. That was inconsiderate. It’s not your fault I’m in a mess. It’s nice of you to share.” She took a piece of candy. “I’m Lila.”
“Janie.” She settled beside Lila, resting her backpack at her feet.
“That’s a nice name—for a nice girl. I like your backpack.”
Janie glanced at the purple bag with its single line of pink butterflies arcing corner to corner as if seeing them for the first time. “I guess I like butterflies, too.” She smiled. “And purple. It’s my favorite color. What’s yours?”
“Blue. Kind of the way I’m feeling today.” Something sad touched Lila’s eyes. “I came here looking for someone, but I can’t find him. He told me he worked at Kocher’s Market.”
Janie knew everyone employed by the family-owned store. “Who?”
“Tad. Any chance you know him?”
She shook her head. Hornwood was small, but many families, like hers, lived on the outskirts. Past the ballpark and cemetery, where rolling fields and ancient rail ties replaced the orderly buildings of downtown. “Did you ask Mr. Kocher? He owns the store.”
“I asked someone who said he was the owner, so I guess it was him. He said he’d never had anyone named Tad working for him.”
“So, Tad lied?”
Lila heaved a sigh. “It looks that way. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll figure things out.” She hiked a slim purse strap onto her shoulder as she stood. “I’m going to walk across the street and see if I can get an autograph from Glory Larkin. Might as well while I’m here. I loved her in Fifth Street Sundown. At least the day won’t be a full-blown waste.”
“Um…” Janie hated to tell her. “She’s not there today.”
Lila paused one step from the curb. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Glory Larkin’s my mom.”
“Your mom?” Mouth agape, Lila plopped onto the bench. “Then I guess you would know, huh? Just my luck. Of all the days I could come to Hornwood, I pick one when Glory isn’t at her restaurant.”
“Where are you from?”
“Bottleneck.” Lila glanced at her watch. “I only have fifteen minutes before I need to catch the bus home. I spent too much time wandering around looking for Tad after Mr. Kocher said he didn’t know him. I only came back here because I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Tad must be pretty important.”
“You could say that.” Lila’s lips curled, but the smile was tart.
Janie glanced from the tissue balled in Lila’s hand to the sadness in her eyes. Whoever Tad was, he must be a troll. “I could send you a picture.” Maybe she couldn’t find Tad, but she could make sure Lila’s day wasn’t a total loss. “If you give me your address, I’ll have my mom autograph a photo and I’ll mail it to you.”
“You’d do that?”
“Sure.” Janie dug a composition book and pen from her backpack. She opened the notebook to a fresh page and offered the pen to Lila. “I’ll mail it on Monday.”
“You’re so sweet.” Lila scribbled her name and address. As her hand glided over the page, a silver link bracelet trapped and reflected small diamonds of sunlight. “Please tell your mom how much I admire her.”
“I will.” Janie eyed the bracelet, noting the links connected to a rectangular plate with blocky letters that read A foot in the past. She pointed. “What does that mean?”
Lila shot a glance at her wrist, then handed her the notebook and pen. “It’s something my grandmother used to say. No matter what happens in your future, it’s shaped by what you did in the past.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I think so. I had the phrase engraved on a bracelet so I’d have a constant reminder to make every moment count. Someday those moments might matter.”
“Like what happens now?”
Lila smiled. “Like what happens now.”
Janie eyed the bracelet again, enamored by the idea. Meeting Lila had given her so much material for a new list! Eager to get started, she slid the notebook into her backpack. “I hope your day gets better.”
“Me, too. Thanks again, Janie.”
With a wave, Janie pedaled across the street to her mom’s restaurant. She thought of Lila’s gold-flecked eyes and imagined butter melting into cocoa. The pictures she conjured in her head often made it onto her lists.
No one understood her lists, not even her mom, though she pretended. She’d probably be mortified—maybe flattered—to know Janie kept several devoted just to her.
Things Mom Said Today.
What Mom Does When She Watches Fifth Street Sundown.
Reasons Mom Hates Bryce Keller.
Why Mom Likes Signing Autographs.
She had a book on Nicole, too, but her sister wasn’t as interesting. Especially since she and Vin McCain started spending so much time together. All Nic talked about anymore was the stupid senior party. She was a junior, but Vin—who’d be graduating in another week—invited her, and Mom said okay. Marshall would be there, too. Brainy and awkward, he was graduating four years early, the odd duck in the senior class. He didn’t fit with the other kids in his age group but was stuck there because he was so smart. Strange, since his older brother had barely managed to get his diploma—at least that’s what most town folks said.
In the restaurant, Janie settled into a booth then slid her notebook from her backpack. She normally had several composition books with her but had only taken one today when she left the house. A few flips of the pages brought her to Lila’s address:
Lila Walsh
4317 Penn Village Court
Bottleneck, PA 15100
She added a header immediately below—The Storybook Lady—then started writing.
So pretty, she looks like she stepped from a storybook.
Looking for Tad.
Tad told her he works for Mr. Kocher (not true).
Likes butterflies.
Knows someone named Rhonda (Friend? Family?).
Admires my mom.
I like her “A foot in the past” bracelet.
Janie thought a moment, pen to lips, then added a new line.
I want a bracelet with that inscription, too.
“Hi, Janie. Can I get you a soda or something?” Phyllis, one of the servers who worked for her mom, approached from the kitchen.
Janie tore her attention from the page. “No, thanks. I just popped in to grab one of Mom’s photos.”
“I’ll get it for you. Which one?”
“I like the one where she’s cuddling the cat in Fifth Street Sundown. What was his name?”
“Chester. You want it signed or unsigned?”
“Unsigned.”
Phyllis disappeared for a moment, ducking behind the bar where Janie’s mom kept an assortment of photos for autographs. Some had her name scrawled at the bottom with a trio of sloppy hearts. Others were blank for personalization. When Phyllis returned, she passed Janie an eight-by-ten clasp envelope. “I put it inside to protect it. Did your mom want it for something?”
“No, it’s for me. I’m going to have Mom autograph it for a friend.”
“That’s nice.” Phyllis’s smile was her best feature—wide and toothpaste white. “So, what are you doing today? It’s gorgeous outside.”
“Going for a bike ride.” Janie closed her notebook. The restaurant wasn’t busy, the lunch crowd over, dinner still hours away. Sometimes when it was like this, mostly empty, she’d sit and study the old photos on the wall, wondering what life would have been like if her mom had become an A-list Hollywood star. Would they live in a mansion and have a long black limo with tinted windows? Would she go to a private school, bodyguards trailing her every move?
Life would be different, with no time for lists or her secret keeping place where she squirrelled away castoff trinkets like coveted pirate booty. Other girls giggled over boys and wanted to experiment with makeup, but she was more interested in the way a rock glinted when the sun washed over it, or the dance of a bat when it swept the night sky for bugs.
Mom said it was because she’d been in the hospital for a long time when she was a baby, and that made her look at things differently. Sometimes kids in school called her strange or backward, but Janie knew her brain just fired on odd cylinders.
Phyllis slid into the seat across from her. “I remember the days when I could bike from the Hornwood Oak to Kocher’s Market without getting winded.” Heavy creases at the corners of her eyes, combined with excess weight she laughingly called jelly rolls, told Janie those days were far behind.
“I always heard you shouldn’t go to the Hornwood Oak.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Janie fiddled with her pen. “But you did.”
“That was a long time ago, when I was a kid.”
“Weren’t you afraid of Lettie Boone’s ghost?”
“That’s just an old legend. I was more afraid of snakes slithering from weeds in the rail beds.” Phyllis laughed. “My friends and I would tell ghost stories under that big oak tree. Every now and then, we’d invite someone new and hold a snipe hunt.”
“What’s that?”
“A bit of old foolishness. Nothing anyone your age would be interested in today.”
“Did Mom go?” Janie tucked her notebook along with the envelope into her backpack. “To the Hornwood Oak?”
“Sometimes. I think she’d meet your father there, but that was before Rod Barrett convinced her she could make it in Hollywood.” A trace of vinegar soured Phyllis’s voice.
“Mom said he wasn’t a bad agent.”
“He wasn’t the best, either, or your mom would still be making movies.” Phyllis shook her head. “Listen to me jabber. You just forget everything I said.” With a grunt of effort, she shoved to her feet. “I need to get back to work, and you should go enjoy your bike ride. It’s refreshing to see you’re not glued to your phone or some other device like most kids your age.”
Janie smiled. “Mom calls me an old soul.”
“She’s right about that.” Phyllis turned away then shifted back with a raised eyebrow. “One more thing—be sure to stay away from the Hornwood Oak. That old shack out there is held together with spit.”
Janie scrambled from the booth with a bob of her head. “I won’t do anything dumb.” An easy assurance without resorting to a lie. Sometimes when she was at the shack, she was sure Lettie Boone talked to her. Not in words so much as impressions. No matter what anyone said, Janie believed Lettie was still there.
Sad and alone.
With a wave for Phyllis, she ducked out the door, her gaze sweeping across the street.
The bench where Lila Walsh had been sitting was empty.
Sweat beaded the back of Janie’s neck. It soaked into her ponytail by the time she reached the Boone Rail shack. Two metal signs pitted with rust holes, partially obscured by clumps of foxtail, marked the place as private property. What remained of an orange NO TRESPASSING notice was nailed to the door, the lower half sheered away, the top bleeding into washed-out pink.
She walked her bike around the back, her path flushing half a dozen grasshoppers from hiding. The hot June sun ripened the smell of woody decay, adding to the pungent reek of toadstools and moss. Catbirds and crows kept up a noisy ruckus in the trees, backed by the chatter of insects. Closer to the rail bed, fat nettles and clumps of yellow rocket sprouted among wild blackberries and pigweed.
She propped her bike where no one could see it. Few people bothered with the derelict shack, but it was better not to advertise her presence. Older kids sometimes crept around for a thrill late at night when they wanted to split a six-pack or smoke, safe from prying eyes. During daylight hours, the shack was all hers.
As she threaded through the weeds, she shot a glance at the Hornwood Oak. The massive tree marked the town boundary, the ground on the opposite side of the rail-bed forking into Drem County and Eyelet. Sometimes in an emergency, when Drem County cops couldn’t reach Eyelet fast enough, Chief McCain would take the call. At least that’s what Vin told Nicole when he talked about wanting to be a cop. After graduation, he planned to attend a local college in Bottleneck for a two-year criminal justice degree. His dad told him he didn’t need to go to a four-year university, which made Nicole happy.
Marshall, on the other hand—Marshall, who liked looking at creek water and spongey funguses under a microscope—had received a full scholarship to some uppity college in Connecticut. Janie would miss him. He never treated her like an outcast. Maybe because he was one, too.
Avoiding the door at the front of the shack, she bent to paw aside a clump of blackberry fronds. An exterior board had worked loose, hidden by the heavy vegetation. Over the last few weeks, she’d pried another plank free. The opening wasn’t large, just wide enough for a skinny twelve-year-old to slip through. She thrust her backpack in first then squeezed behind it, immediately scrunching her nose at the putrid mix of mouse droppings and cat urine. Piles of dried leaves clustered in corners, white with spider webbing, edged with mold. Clumps of dirt, broken twigs, and worm-riddled acorns littered the floor. Elsewhere, cast off junk and rubbish covered boards hollowed by rot. Some of the locals used the shack for dumping despite posted notices warning off trespassers.
Janie picked her way across the room before scrambling up a narrow ladder to the loft. Last week, she’d wedged a blanket into the corner under the eaves. She’d brought other things, too. Jagged rocks and baubles she’d found by the rail-bed behind the shack. A piece of green glass she’d buffed clean on her sleeve. A stray marble, fat and clear like a lidless eye. A broken keychain with a four-leaf clover for the fob. Treasures kept on a pitted tin lid she’d stumbled over in a mire of weeds. Turned upside down, it served as a makeshift tray, the raised edges corralling her collection like a tiny herd of animals. Everything was secreted away behind a few loose boards that, when pried free, created a cubby-like hole under the eaves.
Her special keeping place.
The loft ceiling was low, not high enough to stand, but roomy enough to sit comfortably. A small window faced east to catch the sun as it climbed above the Hornwood Oak each morning. In Lettie Boone’s day, a glass pane must have protected the interior from weather, but that day was long gone. Bits of grass and leaves whisked inside whenever the wind kicked up, and soaking rains had spawned patches of mold. At least the fresh air lessened the stink of animal feces and rot. After a while, the smell wasn’t so noticeable. Either that or she grew nose blind as minute passed into minute. Thankfully, nothing had used her blanket for bedding—or worse. She shook the fluffy cover free of debris then settled and retrieved a few of her treasures. The marble and broken bit of glass were her favorites, reflecting sunlight when she held them up to the window.
“Are you here, Lettie?”
Nothing. Not that she expected a spoken answer, but occasionally a draft of cool air slithered past or a light touch brushed her cheek. There were even moments when she would have sworn someone knelt beside her. Moments when, if she turned her head just a little, she’d catch a glimpse of Lettie’s melancholy features. Once or twice, she was certain she spied a wisp of light brown hair. Always from the corner of her eye, as if Lettie existed only on the fringe of her peripheral vision.
After several moments of waiting without a response, she focused on her notebook.
It wasn’t just people who became subjects for her lists, but places and topics, too. She had several ongoing lists and scanned a few.
What I like about school.
What I don’t like about school.
My favorite animals.
Songs that make me sad.
Things to do when I visit Dad.
Things I want to do this summer.
The last one seemed the best to work on, especially with school so close to ending. Hunkered over the book, she began cataloging her ideas, some crossing over into the list of Things to do when I visit Dad. Fully engrossed, she almost missed the sound of tires crunching over gravel and dirt. Seconds later, a motor cut out, followed by two car doors slamming almost simultaneously. A murmur of voices sent her scrambling to her knees, mouth dry, heart pounding a drumbeat. She edged to the window, trying to peer outside without being seen.
“…can’t believe this!” A man’s angry voice spoiled the peaceful woodland. “You told me you were on the pill.”
“I am.” A woman this time. “It’s not one hundred percent, you know. Accidents can still happen.”
“Well, this is your accident. Your problem.”
“It’s our problem.” The woman’s voice sharpened as she stepped into view below the window. “It takes two to make a baby. I seem to remember you were more than happy to crawl into bed with me.”
Janie’s breath caught in her throat. Lila!
Somehow, she must have tracked down Tad and skipped taking the bus to Bottleneck. Janie craned her neck trying to see past the corner of the house, but Tad remained out of view. She heard grass swish as he moved around in agitation.
“How do I know it’s even mine?”
“Don’t go there, you bastard.”
“All right, all right. But we need to take care of this.” The anger was still there, simmering instead of boiling, as if he’d bulldogged past accusation to damage control. “We need a plan.”
“Why do you think I came to Hornwood?” Lila tossed her hands in the air. “And why did we have to come here” —she looked around, her face scrunching in distaste— “to this rat-infested place to discuss it?”
“It’s not something I want to hash out where anyone can hear.” Tad’s shadow forked below the window, then retreated. “You’re gonna have to get rid of it.”
