The Magic Half (8 page)

Stop. I don’t want to think this anymore,
Miri pleaded with her mind. She rolled over and burrowed her face into her pillow.
Stop.
But her mind wouldn’t stop. She pictured all of the empty pages after July 22, 1935. What had happened on July 23?

CHAPTER
9

M
IRI HAD DECIDED
to wake at the break of dawn to begin her search for a pair of Molly’s glasses, but dawn came and went, and Miri slept on. When she finally opened her eyes, she found Nell and Nora peering at her silently, their hot little faces nearly touching hers. It was their favorite way to wake her up.

“Go away!” groaned Miri. “I must have told you a thousand times not to do that.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Nell said, climbing into the bed.

“We’re the quietmost sisters,” Nora nodded, grabbing hold of Miri’s nightgown and pulling her way under the covers.

“Oh, let go of it, Nora. You’ll rip it.”

“You let me in,” commanded Nora.

“Okay, okay.” Miri rolled into the center of the bed to make room for her sisters and they snuggled against her, one little blond head on each side.

“Mommy says we’re supposed to be nice to you,” offered Nell. She kissed Miri’s arm. It tickled.

“Mommy says we’re not good enough when you take care of us, but I am,” said Nora.

“I am, too,” said Nell confidently.

Miri giggled. They were pretty cute sometimes.

“Even though you hit Ray with a shovel, he has to be nice to you, too. Mommy said,” announced Nora. “And Robbie, too. But he says he’s not going to. Don’t tell Mommy.”

“And Mommy says when Daddy comes home, she’s going to take you to the beach, just you and Mommy,” Nora said, proud of all her information. “And we can’t go. And Daddy will have to take care of us.”

Miri looked at her sister. “She said that?”

Nell and Nora nodded together.

“When’s Daddy coming home?”

The two girls replied with identical shrugs. Miri sat up. She didn’t want to go to the beach with her mother—well, she did, but not yet. First she had to get back to Molly. “Get up, kids,” she said, throwing back her sheet. “I’ve got to get busy.” Her sun-shaped clock informed her that it was ten in the morning. “Jeez,” she muttered. “It’s late.”

Miri clattered downstairs, leaving Nell and Nora in her bed arguing over which one was a kitty. She planned to grab something to eat and begin her search for Molly’s glasses immediately, but when she got to the kitchen her mother was standing at the stove. “Hi, bunny!” she called. “I’m making you some French toast!”

Most of the time Miri loved French toast, but this morning it was just another obstacle to her plans. Still, she thought, looking at her mother’s cheerful face, there’s a lot to be said for staying on Mom’s good side. So she smiled gratefully, sat down at the kitchen table, and munched her way through two enormous slices of French toast and an orange. Chew and swallow, chew and swallow.

“Now, Miri, what would you like to do today?” asked Mom.

Miri gulped. “Um, Mom? This morning I think I’m going to do some work getting my room the way I want it.” She knew that her mother loved any plan that began with
I’m going to do some work,
and sure enough, her mother beamed. “And this afternoon maybe we could go get me some new glasses?” She blinked in what she hoped was a pathetic way.

“That sounds good, honey.” Her mom smiled extra enthusiastically. “While we’re in town, we can go to the paint store and pick out some paint for your room. And Miri, when Daddy gets home next Tuesday, I thought you and I could take a little trip down to Cape Romain. Just the two of us.”

Miri smiled and nodded with as much excitement as she could muster. Boy, Mom must be feeling guilty—but why? “That’ll be great,” she said, swallowing the last lump of French toast. Now the orange. Under the table, her bare feet bounced impatiently against the wooden floor, eager to get moving. “Mom?” she began. “Was there any—” She broke off, surprised.

“Any what?” her mother prompted.

But Miri had forgotten her question. Her big toe had stumbled from the smooth surface of the floor into a wide crack. What? Miri stuck her head under the table and saw a deep canyon in the wood, smooth-edged from years of wear. Somehow, a long time before, a big chunk of the floor had been gouged out.

By a frying pan, falling heavily from a table.

“Miri?” Mom said anxiously as Miri failed to emerge from under the table.

Miri came back up, wide-eyed. The chip was right under Miri’s usual seat at the table. She certainly would have felt it before—if it had been there. “Was this floor always chipped?” she asked, hoping her voice wasn’t squeaky.

“What?” Her mother stared at her, obviously surprised by her daughter’s sudden interest in kitchen floors.

“This deep crack,” said Miri, pushing back her chair to show her mother the gouge in the wood.

Her mother began explaining, “All the floors on the bottom story could use some work, and it would have been nice if we could have refinished them before we moved in, but—”

Miri interrupted, “Mom! Are you saying that you’ve seen this chip in the floor before?”

“Miri! That was so rude.”

Miri took a breath. “Mom,” she said as politely as she could manage, “please, was this chip in the floor when you bought the house?”

“Yes, the chip was there. That’s what I’m trying to tell you—we wanted to refinish the floors before we moved in, but it’s a terrible mess because the dust . . .”

Miri wasn’t listening. The chip hadn’t been there until yesterday. It hadn’t been there seventy years before yesterday either. But since yesterday, it had been there for seventy years. Miri stood up abruptly. “Great!” she said, giving her mother a big, toothy smile. “Okay! Thanks for the delicious French toast, Mom.” She whisked out of the kitchen.

“—and we decided we didn’t have enough time,” concluded Mom, to herself.

• • •

Miri stared into her own green eyes in the bathroom mirror. In 1935, she had banged into a kitchen table, knocking over a frying pan and denting the wooden floor. And now, in her own time, the floor was dented in that precise spot, but the crack was worn with age. Even though it hadn’t been there the day before.

This is too weird, thought Miri. I changed the house. I changed history.

But the weirdest thing of all was that her mom thought the crack had always been there.

I changed Mom’s history, too.

Her hair brushed against her cheek, and a long shiver twitched along Miri’s spine. What if I changed Molly’s history, too—for the worse? She thought of Aunt Flo’s furious voice saying, “I’ll teach you about clumsy, miss!” She thought of Horst, choking with excitement, “You’d better let me teach her a lesson, Mama—you’d better—” With an effort, Miri pulled her eyes away from the mirror. She had to find Molly’s glasses—and quick.

• • •

“Mom? Was there any old furniture in the house when we moved in?”

Her mother looked up from the computer. “What’s got into you? Floors, furniture—are you planning a career in interior decoration?”

“No. I just wanted to know if there was old furniture in the house when we moved in,” Miri repeated.

“You were here when we moved in,” Mom pointed out. “Did you see any old furniture?”

“Um, I guess I wasn’t paying very much attention,” admitted Miri. “Was there? Like a desk? With drawers?”

“Not that I know of. There was a tool chest in the basement, but that’s all.” She glanced at her computer screen. “Why?”

“I kind of like old furniture,” Miri said. It wasn’t a lie. She did. “I thought if there was some, I could put it in my room.”

“Oh,” said her mother. “You should probably wait until after we take down that nasty wallpaper and put on some paint before you think about . . . about . . .” Her voice trailed off as her eyes slipped back to the computer.

“Candy bars,” said Miri, rolling her eyes.

“Right,” Mom mumbled. “Candy bars.”

Miri left the room.

“What?” she heard her mother say.

• • •

Start with the tool case, Miri decided. She squeezed between the stacks of cardboard boxes that lined the pantry and pulled open the basement door. Dying screams split the air; her brothers were listening to their music. They were also arguing.

“Dude! It’s cement! How would he get it under cement, unless he’s, like, a superhero?” Robbie shouted over the howls.

“Maybe he buried it and then put the cement over it to keep it safe—did you ever think of that?” Ray bellowed.

The stairs creaked as Miri descended. “Hi.”

Her brothers stopped talking abruptly. She thought they would still be mad at her, but they didn’t look mad. And they didn’t look like they had never seen her before, which was how they usually looked. They looked . . . uneasy. “Hi,” they said in unison.

The three of them looked at one another. Ray turned off the CD player. “Uh, I’m sorry I chased you and knocked you down and broke your glasses and all that.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Robbie.

Miri stared at them. Boy, Mom must have gone completely off her nut, she thought. This had never happened before. “I’m sorry I hit you on the head,” she said. “Does it still hurt?”

“Yeah. A little.” Ray gave her a flashing smile. “Got a big lump.” He lifted his brown hair and pointed.

Miri couldn’t see anything, but she didn’t want to seem unsympathetic. “Wow. I’m sorry.”

“ ’Sokay,” Ray said.

They looked at one another in awkward silence.

“Did Mom freak?” Miri asked at last.

Robbie and Ray both broke into grins. “Totally ballistic,” said Robbie.

“Out of her freaking mind,” added Ray. “I’m sitting there with a concussion probably, because
you
hit
me,
and she’s mad at me. She’s saying we gang up on you and never include you, yada yada yada. And you’ve just tried to kill me! Whoa! Reality check!” he snorted. “Plus, she’s totally out to lunch, ’cause we do too include you, all the time.” Robbie nodded.

“Oh, right. Like helping you look for the stolen stuff,” said Miri sarcastically.

There was a surprised silence. Then Robbie said, “You wanna help us dig?”

Ray shot him a look. “Dude.”

“She can if she wants,” said Robbie. “We haven’t found anything yet.”

Miri looked at the piles of dirt scattered around the basement floor. It looked like they were trying to dig sideways underneath the cement floor. She considered telling them that they were looking in the wrong place, that the stuff was out in the backyard where the barn used to be. But Molly might need to find Horst’s stash so she could run away. Might have needed it? Miri didn’t know how to think about time anymore. Were things that hadn’t happened yet in the past actually in the future? It was too confusing.

“No, thanks,” she replied after a moment. “I’m working on another project—” She broke off, realizing that for the first time in her life, she didn’t care whether she was included. She wasn’t mad at them, and she didn’t feel disappointed or left out. Getting Molly was more important. She grinned at her brothers, and after a moment they grinned back at her.

“Have you guys seen an old tool chest down here?” she asked.

“Tool chest? Nah.” Robbie flicked on the CD player again, and yowls filled the room. “Wish we had an iPod.”

“That’s why we gotta keep digging,” said Ray, picking up a shovel. “We need money.”

“Sounds like they’re hitting each other with their guitars,” said Miri.

“They are,” said Ray, climbing over the short wall that separated the cement floor from the dirt part of the basement. “It’s Deathbag.” He glanced at her blank face. “You must’ve heard of them.” Miri shook her head. “They’re totally awesome. ’Kay, bro,” he called to his brother. “Hand me the shovel. You hold the flashlight.”

Miri turned away. Digging underneath a cement slab didn’t look like much fun. Why had she wanted so much to be part of it? And if they did succeed in digging under the floor, her dad was going to be pretty mad. But she wasn’t going to interfere. Live and let live. She peered into the dim corners of the basement. There were some old shelves on one wall. All empty. Was that a workbench? She took a few steps toward it. Yes, with an old pegboard above it, and below—she knelt and stuck her head underneath the high table, trying to catch a glimmer of light in the darkness. And there it was. A tool chest. Or at least a big dirty box. Miri reached through the cobwebs and dragged it into better light.

At the sound of the box scraping against the floor, Robbie and Ray looked up. “Hey!” Ray said. “What’d you find?”

“A tool chest,” she said, kneeling beside it.

“How come you found it and not us?” asked Ray, climbing back over the wall for a better look.

“ ’Cause you’re goons,” replied Miri, yanking on the latch that held the lid down. It was stuck. “Also, Mom told me it was here.”

“I got it,” said Robbie, squatting down next to her. He jabbed his shovel under the latch and slammed down with his fist.

The rusty metal abruptly gave way, and Miri pulled the lid up with eager hands. There was a hammer dark with age and a collection of bent nails. But maybe at the back—there could be a pair of glasses stuck in the back! Miri plunged her hand into the box, feeling against the darkness.

Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Miri sat back on her heels and tried not to be miserable. The voice in her brain began its gloomy recitation:
You are never going to find a pair of Molly’s
glasses.
Molly
couldn’t even find her glasses. This is never
going to work
. Shut up, she told it. I’ve got to try.
Seventy-five-year-old glasses. Sure. No problem.
Her brain was sassing her. Shut
up
, she thought, and stood. “You want this hammer?” she asked Robbie.

“Huh?” said Robbie. “Oh. Sure. Thanks.”

“We could sort of scrape against the bottom of the cement,” Ray said.

“Yeah,” said Robbie.

“Except we can’t find the bottom of the cement,” Ray went on.

They went back to the other side of the basement and Miri went back up the creaking stairs. The bright sunlight in the kitchen made her blink. She moved through the house, trying to look at each room like she was seeing it for the first time. She was rewarded by noticing a worn wooden garland carved into the mantel over the fireplace. And the dots on the faded dining room wallpaper were actually grapes. Also, there were fourteen colored panes in each of the stained glass windows. I should have done this the day we moved in, she thought when she discovered that the window seat in the front hallway concealed a perfect hiding place. But she found no glasses. She found nothing but the same pieces of furniture she had been living with for eleven years and stacks of cardboard boxes filled with stuff that nobody had needed enough to unpack yet.