I study Seth, thinking of the last two months since he came to Hedgebrook and all the times I observed him from a distance, being careful that Mira didn’t catch me, and then all the times at breakfast where I stared down at my oatmeal but listened to every word he exchanged with Mrs. Wicket and how inevitably her voice perked up when she spoke to him because he had a way of drawing her away from her tea and her paper and all the worries of a table of mismatched personalities, and my world of observances had seemed enough to understand him. And now, oddly, with more insights into Seth, I feel less secure in how much I do know.
“I speak it better than nearly everyone in these parts,” Seth answers. “Not too many people around here make it to the island of Luzon. So if you’re ever looking for a bathroom there, I’m your man.”
“Noted,” Aidan says.
“Of all the places you’ve lived, where was your favorite?” I ask.
A smile creases the corners of his eyes. “A little town on the German and Austrian border,” he says without hesitation. “Usually we lived in furnished apartments but there we had our first real house. It was great. A real neighborhood. Even a yard.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine. And we hadn’t been there a week when I brought home a stray dog. I had never had a dog before. My dad said we couldn’t keep him because we moved too
much, but the stray wouldn’t leave. He had adopted me as much as I had him. My dad finally said okay, as long as I understood we would have to find him a new home when we had to leave. I agreed, but when you’re nine years old you somehow think that you’ll never have to say good-bye.”
“And you did.”
He nods. “We were there for a full year, the longest we’d ever been anywhere. I think that made it harder. That dog stuck to me like glue. He even slept with me. Giving him up was . . .” he pauses, letting us fill in the unpleasant blank. “But like my dad explained, the poor dog would be in quarantine more than he would be with me, as often as we moved. So that was my first and last pet. I never wanted another one after that.”
“What did you name him?” I ask.
Seth looks at me. He forces a smile and looks back at the road. “Doesn’t matter,” he answers.
I look at Lucky on the seat between us. No, it wasn’t a coincidence that we found him in the road. Or that Seth named him Lucky. It was fair that Seth should find what was lost. But it’s October 19, a day no good can ultimately come from, and now I fear we will stumble upon the flock where Lucky belongs and Seth will have to part with him. It will all be my fault that Seth had to go through this again, and even if we don’t come upon the flock and we somehow end up back at Hedgebrook, there would never be a place for Lucky, and Seth would have to say good-bye anyway.
I watch Seth staring at the unchanging road. Is he thinking the same thing?
But maybe today could be different. I felt it with the tearing of the calendar page. I felt it with the passing of a cloud that no one else saw. One fair day. A day that is different. It has been so far. Maybe even a day where I am different. A day where Seth and Mira and Aidan know more about me than they ever observed in my carefully orchestrated distance at Hedgebrook. A day where I am something more real than the last descendant of Shakespeare with the baboon heart.
16
AS WE APPROACH THE OUTSKIRTS of Langdon, the scattering of houses and clusters of shops hugging the road get closer together. My pulse thumps in my temples. Do I recognize anything? A shop? A house I may have visited so long ago? Colors. A tangled patchwork of tinted memories that have percolated for so many years within me surfaces. But I’m not sure if the memories have blended together to become something entirely new. Are they colors that were never really there? Brick red, smoky blue, and silvery gray. So much gray. My hazy memories of Langdon.
A short distance ahead we see a Victorian house as purple as a ripe plum. The lacy trim is hot pink in some places, lime green in others, and sky blue in still others, like the painter couldn’t decide on a palette. A large sign out front proudly proclaims, BABS’ ANTIQUES, GENTLY USED CLOTHING, AND PEACOCK FARM.
Seth laughs. “Looks like Babs sells everything.”
“Why would anyone want a peacock?” Aidan asks.
“You don’t suppose they eat them, do you?” Mira says.
“Clothing!” I say. “Let’s lose these uniforms before we get to Langdon!”
Seth looks at me, surprised, I suppose, by the loudness of my voice. He slows down and pulls over into the dirt parking lot.
Aidan groans. “Wait a minute. Used clothing?”
We are the lone car in the parking lot, and Seth has no sooner put the car in park than a large bird lands on the hood and walks right up the middle to the windshield. He turns his head one way, then the other, staring at us, a bobble of feathers on his head ruffling in the breeze. I hear Mira draw in her breath.
“What do we do?” Seth whispers.
“Is he going to attack?” Aidan asks.
“Look at those claws!” Mira gasps.
The bird’s neck is bright iridescent blue, and his stubby backside is tinged with green.
“Where’s its tail feathers?” Seth asks.