Getting Back to Normal (3 page)

Archibald Heatherton the Third leaps to his feet and flips into a handstand.

“An optical illusion, no doubt.”

The sight of an upside-down man in a tuxedo, waving his skinny stork legs in the air, is too much. I burst out laughing.

“How very nice to meet you,” he says. “Do call me Archie.” He jumps right side up again. “And you are here, enjoying the fresh air, though Merrymount Gardens is closed, because—?”

“Because I’m living in that awful cottage with my father and my brother. We moved in today.”

Archie sits down again and stretches out his legs. “Too bad they can’t accommodate you at Greystone. Though the heating’s impossible in winter.”

“So Aunt Mayda says. But how do you know?” I ask, excited. “Did you ever stay over when the family still lived there?”

Archie nods. “Indeed. Many times.”

“Then you must know Aunt Mayda—I mean, Mayda Shipley. I call her Aunt Mayda because she and my mother were friends since college.”

A sweet-sad expression clouds his face. “Indeed I do. I’ve known your Aunt Mayda since the day of her birth.”

“Since she was born?” I ask, puzzled. “But Aunt Mayda’s older than you. She’s thirty-six. The same age my mom—was.”

I feel the sympathy of his soft brown eyes. It’s almost as though he knows how much I miss Mom, how our lives have gone helter-skelter since she got sick. Then the grin is back, and Archie’s clapping his hands.

“You want to prepare a meal and I intend to help you. Do you have pots and pans, Vanessa?”

I nod. “Yes, but not much else. And I’m not a very good cook.”

Archie stands again. He does three back flips away and three forward. “Can you boil water?”

“Of course. Anyone can.”

“Do you, by chance, have a package of spaghetti?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then you’re in business! I’ve an excellent recipe that’s delicious, nutritious, and easy to follow. You’ll need cheese, eggs, and bacon bits.”

“Oh.” My enthusiasm droops like melting ice cream. “I don’t have cheese, eggs, or bacon bits.”

Archie waves a hand. “No matter. There’s all that and more in the pantry at Greystone.”

I stare at him. “I can’t take supplies from Greystone, Archie. That would be stealing.”

“It would be putting leftovers to good use,” Archie says firmly, “leftovers from the brunch the Rotary Club held last week. They’ll only be thrown out tomorrow.”

“How do you know?”

“Your Aunt Mayda would love for you to have them.” He lowers his voice as if he’s letting me in on a secret. “And despite the brilliant lights, Greystone is unoccupied as we speak.”

Suddenly I’m chock full of questions, not counting those I’ve already asked and Archie hasn’t answered. But he’s speaking again.

“Let’s not forget the recipe, Vanessa. It’s easy as pie, even for a rank beginner.” His words come quickly, as though he’s in a rush to tell me and be on his way. “Boil the spaghetti, drain it well, and return it quickly to the pot. Stir in four eggs, cut-up pieces of cheese, the bacon bits, some salt and pepper. Mix well. The heat from the pasta will cook everything nicely.”

“How much cheese should I use?” I ask.

Archie laughs. “That’s for you to decide. Hurry off and fetch what you need. They leave the kitchen door open till eight each night.”

“Thanks, Archie! Thanks for all your help!”

He waves his hand. “Think nothing of it. Besides, I’ll be needing your assistance by and by.”

I’m too excited by the thought of preparing an actual meal to wonder what his weird words can possibly mean. I stare across at Greystone. It’s only a short walk away. I’ve nothing to be frightened of; still, I wouldn’t mind company.

“Will you come with me?” I ask as I turn back to Archie.

Only Archie—Mr. Archibald Heatherton the Third—is nowhere in sight.

CHAPTER THREE

“Archie!” I shout. “Where are you? Where did you go?”

My eyes scan the lawn in every direction, but find no sign of his tall, skinny figure. A tingle runs down my spine. Archie’s disappeared into the evening air.

“I just can’t see him because it’s dark out,” I mumble, trying to convince myself. But it doesn’t work. My vision has adjusted to the darkness. There are no trees or shrubs around to hide Archie from sight.

I suddenly remember Robby. He’ll be frightened if he wakes up and finds himself alone in the cottage. I’m about to run back when I think of how much he’d love the dish Archie told me how to make. And so I hurry off to Greystone for my supplies.

“That Archie is one strange dude.” I shake my head as I race-walk toward the mansion. “Comes out of nowhere, knows all this stuff about MG, but won’t answer my questions. And does flips and handstands like an acrobat, when he’s not sprawled out on the bench.”

The bench! I stop dead in my tracks when I remember having seen the bench through Archie’s body. That’s when he started flipping around.

To distract me? Make sure I didn’t touch his hand?

And, come to think of it, he sure was in a rush to end our conversation. As if he was afraid he’d disappear into thin air.

Which is exactly what happened the moment I turned my back.

Suddenly signs of his strangeness fill my mind. Like his old-fashioned name. And using “whom.”

And saying he visited at Greystone when no one but Aunt Mayda’s stayed there in almost twenty years.

My next thought so totally amazes me, I spin around, my arms slicing the air like the rotor blades of a helicopter. “Archie’s a ghost,” I announce to the tall trees along the path. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“A ghost!” I repeat, and shiver with excitement. “I just had a conversation with a real, live ghost, and he didn’t scare me one bit!”

*

The kitchen door to Greystone is unlocked, as Archie said it would be. I switch on the light, probably the only light not already on. “Hello?” I call out.

I’m relieved when no one comes. Quickly, I gather up cheese, eggs, bacon bits, and a jar of dried onion flakes. I put everything into a plastic bag I find in one of the drawers. I consider leaving a note for Aunt Mayda, telling her what I’ve done. No, I decide. I’ll tell her when I see her.

On my way back to the cottage, I run through the recipe again. It’s easy enough. I’m pretty sure I can make it come out right. I realize that, ghost or not, I can trust Archie, though he clearly doesn’t trust me.

“Why didn’t he tell me he’s a ghost?” I wonder aloud.

“He was probably afraid he’d scare me to death,” I answer myself, giggling. Still, that’s no way to start a friendship.

I leave the bag of food on the kitchen counter and tiptoe into Robby’s room. He’s snoring gently, with his thumb tucked in his mouth. “Now I’m going to make you a real supper,” I whisper.

I wash my hands at the kitchen sink and boil water for the pasta. While the spaghetti’s cooking, I beat eggs and cut up cheese. I line up all the ingredients the way Mom always did, ready to mix them into the pasta as soon as it’s drained.

I set the table for two. It’s a quarter to seven. When Daddy gets home, he’ll have already eaten. Eating’s one of the things they do at those meetings.

I’m spilling the spaghetti into the colander in the sink, when Robby calls out, “Daddy, Vannie, where are you?”

He startles me and my hands shake. Hot water splashes on my fingers. I nearly spill the pasta all over the sink.

“Daddy! Vannie!”

“I’m here!” I shout. “In the kitchen.”

“Come and get me, Vannie. I’m frightened.”

When I pour the spaghetti back into the pot, some slides into the sink. I leave it there. “Just a minute.”

“Hurry up, Vannie!” Now Robby’s sobbing. “I need you.”

I rush to his room and turn on the light. I want to comfort him, but then the spaghetti will cool off and the dinner won’t come out right. I force a smile on my face.

“Go wash your hands and come into the kitchen. I’ve a surprise for you.”

“What kind of surprise? A food surprise?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

I add the eggs to the spaghetti and mix well till the eggs start to gel. Then I put in the cheese, the onion flakes, and bacon bits. I stir, pleased to see our dinner taking shape right before my eyes.

The cover! Where’s the cover? I’m frantic as I search for the lid of the pot so the food will stay warm. There it is, on the kitchen table! I slam it on the pot as Robby comes into the kitchen, wiping his hands on his pants.

“You forgot to put out a towel,” he complains.

“Sit down here.” I point to the chair farthest from the stove.

Robby plops himself down. His nose wiggles from side to side. “What’s that? It smells good.”

I dish out a hefty portion of Archie’s recipe for each of us. Robby sniffs before he tastes. He tastes again, then jumps up from his chair and sticks his head inside the refrigerator.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“Ketchup.”

“Ketchup?” I ask, hurt. “It’s on the door. Why do you need it?”

“Because ketchup goes with spaghetti-cheese omelet.”

“Spaghetti-cheese omelet,” I repeat. “Sounds good to me.”

Robby giggles. “Tastes good to me.” He finds the ketchup and squeezes a dollop the size of his fist on his food. “Mmm, this is better!” he says, his mouth full of spaghetti-cheese omelet and ketchup. When he’s eaten everything on his plate, he asks, “Can I have some more?”

“Uh-huh.” I grin at him. “There’s lots and lots.”

The spaghetti-cheese omelet tastes good to me, too. Next time I’ll add more ingredients—parsley and other herbs. Maybe pieces of tomato.

We’re finishing off our second helping, when we hear a key in the lock, then adult voices in the middle of a conversation. Daddy comes into the kitchen followed by Aunt Mayda.

Mayda Shipley must be the smartest woman I know, but she knows beans about making the most of her looks. Her taste in clothing is the worst. Tonight she’s wearing baggy trousers and a pink blouse with a big, droopy bow. She swoops down from her height of nearly six feet to give Robby and me a hug.

“Did you see Theodore?” Robby asks Daddy.

“Who’s Theodore?” Daddy asks. Then he remembers. “No, no sign of him.” He looks from our plates to the fast food package in his hands. “Sorry, you must have gotten hungry. Guess you don’t need this after all.”

“Vannie made spaghetti-cheese omelet,” Robby says, full of pride.

Aunt Mayda wanders over to the stove. She lifts the lid off the pot. “Mmmm, smells divine. May I try some?”

“Sure, Aunt Mayda.”

I’m nervous as I dish some out and get Aunt Mayda a fork. I want to tell her about taking the supplies, but I don’t want to mention Archie. How can I do one without the other?

Daddy goes out to the car to bring in the things he got from our house. Aunt Mayda eats quickly, as though she didn’t eat anything at their meeting. Finally, she turns to me and nods. “Delicious. Is it one of your mother’s dishes? I don’t remember her ever making this.”

“Er—no,” I say, but Aunt Mayda’s deep in thought.

“Funny, it tastes like something my father used to make when my mother didn’t feel like cooking. He claimed it was a family recipe.” She takes another bite. “Only my father used cheddar cheese. And real bacon.”

I take a deep breath. “I borrowed some of the ingredients from Greystone,” I say quickly. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? I call that clever thinking.” Aunt Mayda’s narrow face lights up with a smile. She almost looks pretty. “Leftover supplies end up in the garbage around here. No one thinks to put them to good use.”

She looks from me to Robby and her voice softens. “Actually, I came by to see how you guys are settling in. And to find out if you need anything.”

Robby frowns and crosses his arms. “I need a bigger room. And everything’s dark.”

“The rooms are dark,” I agree. “We need stronger lights.”

Daddy comes in and drops a carton on the floor. “Vanessa! That’s not very polite.”

Aunt Mayda laughs. “I did ask, Roger. And I am your landlady of sorts.” She studies the fluorescent light flickering over us. “I’ll have Casey put in brighter bulbs tomorrow.”

Daddy, definitely annoyed, asks me, “Did you unpack Robby’s things?”

“Uh-huh. Nothing fits him anymore. He needs new clothes. So do I.”

Daddy sighs. “We’ll get to that in good time.”

Anger boils up inside me. I’m furious with him for not taking care of us, for sticking us in this dingy cottage when we’ve a perfectly good home of our own.

“We need new clothes now,” I tell him. “Or do you want the kids in school making fun of us on top of everything else?”

Daddy’s about to yell at me, when Aunt Mayda touches his arm. “I’d be happy to take them shopping, Roger.” She looks at me. “How about one evening next week?”

“Sure,” I say, though I’m cringing inside. I don’t want Aunt Mayda to have anything to do with my clothes.

She must be reading my mind because she laughs and says, “Of course I’ll leave all the choosing to you. I’ve no idea what kids are wearing these days.”