Write Before Your Eyes (5 page)

Gracie stood up. Her head was beginning to ache. “I have to go home for dinner. Can you come with me afterward to the soup kitchen and the animal shelter, just to see if things are messed up there?”

“Sure. Who would drive us?”

“I’ll ask Mom. I’ll say it’s for a school project on nonprofit organizations.”

“As always, Gracie, a stroke of creative genius.” Dylan, obviously feeling much better now, broke off a willow branch and, using it as a foil, practiced a few fencing moves with it. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“Thanks.”
But not the same way Lindsay Jacobs amazes you, do I?

She was halfway home when she realized she’d completely forgotten to tell him about the Cheshire cat.

CHAPTER
SIX

“So, what class is this for?” Mom balanced her BlackBerry on the rim of the steering wheel to check her messages as she dodged a van backing out of a neighbor’s driveway.

“Civics,” Gracie said, holding up her notebook. She was careful not to look Mom in the eye. Mom had an excellent BS meter. “We’re studying nonprofit organizations. I just have to interview the managers for about five minutes.”

“Well, I hope you got good directions.” Mom stopped at the entrance of their development. “I have no idea where this soup kitchen is.”

“I got directions online. It’s right behind the Methodist church on Central.”

“That’s an iffy neighborhood,” Mom said, turning left onto the four-lane avenue. “I wish your father were here. Hey, tell me about Dad’s phone call.”

“It was a friend from college. Some guy he called Midnight Man?”

“Oh—Garrett Lockwood.” Mom laughed. “You know, Gracie, that man started with nothing—he put something like three hundred dollars into some business he ran out of his garage when he was in high school. And now look at him. The man owns three million-dollar businesses. He has the Midas touch. I can’t believe he asked your dad to interview for a job!”

“He wants Dad to be a sports announcer for his new radio station, I think,” Gracie said. Mom seemed to admire Garrett Lockwood a lot more than she did Dad.

“Well.” Mom took a deep breath. “We won’t get our hopes up too much. We’ll just have to see. And listen, while we’re alone, I wanted to ask you about that whole mess with Alex. Do you know anything about him ever cheating before?”

“No. Nothing.”

“First of all, I’m very upset, of course. But second, I’ve just never known him to care enough about his grades to cheat. It seems out of character.”

“I don’t know.” The BS meter was very sensitive right now, and the best approach was to say as little as possible.

“Hmm. And tell me again, why did Dylan suddenly change his mind about coming with us?”

“Too much homework.” Gracie didn’t look at Mom on that one, either, because the meter would have been off the scale. The truth? Dylan was grounded. And suspended.

About a half hour ago Dylan had made a fifteen-second whispered phone call to Gracie from his basement extension. Clueless Chet had called his dad about him and Lindsay Jacobs. Now he was grounded from everything for two weeks—friends, cell phone, computer, everything. Dylan’s take on this development was that they’d imagined everything about the journal; he now thought it had no powers at all. Gracie disagreed. She felt that all this proved was that the journal did not work retroactively. If an event had already taken place, the journal had no power to change it.

How could Dylan think they’d imagined everything? And how could Gracie last two whole weeks without talking to him at all?

She was beginning to get very nervous about the journal. She was terrified to leave it anywhere for fear that someone else would get it. What if someone really awful, like Clueless Chet or some murderer or terrorist, got hold of it? On the other hand, having it herself was starting to become so stressful. She had a throbbing headache over her left eye and had found herself on the verge of tears when Dylan said he was grounded. She told herself it was just hormones, she was about to start her period, but it was more than that. The journal was making her a nutcase. She’d considered throwing it off a bridge somewhere, but what if some fish swallowed it and the entire world ended in a biblical flood? And then, on top of all the horror, it would be Gracie’s fault.

“You’re mighty quiet,” Mom was saying. “I mean, you’re always quiet, compared with your sister and brother, but you seem quieter than usual tonight.”

“Just a lot of homework to think about, I guess.”

Mom stopped at a light and studied Gracie. “You know, Gracie, if anything is ever bothering you and you need advice, I’m going to be really upset if you don’t talk to me. You know, if you or your sister ever gets—”

“I’m not pregnant. Pretty sure Jen’s not either.”

“Or Alex, if he—”

“Alex is definitely not pregnant.”

“Gracie.”

“Sorry. That was smart.”

“Yes, it was. How did you know what I was going to say?”

“You can fill in the blank with a variety of phrases. Pregnant. STD. Addicted to Ecstasy. Kicked out of school. Thanks for your faith in me, Mom.”

“Gracie, for goodness sake, I was only trying to tell you that I’m your mother, and I’m here if you ever want to talk!”

This was too much. Gracie ground her teeth, but big, hot tears began to seep out of the corners of her eyes, and then her lips started shaking, and then her whole body seemed to collapse into itself.

“Gracie, Gracie, sweetheart—” Mom swerved into a bank parking lot, leaned over, and cradled Gracie’s head against her chest.

“I’m okay,” Gracie said. “I didn’t mean to do this, I didn’t—just never mind.” She let her mom hug her, thinking about nights when her mom used to tuck her in, first kissing Gracie’s forehead and then kissing the ratty stuffed unicorn she used to sleep with. That seemed like such a long time ago.

Mom brushed Gracie’s hair back, framed her face in her hands, and looked into her eyes. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Gracie met Mom’s gaze for a moment and was nearly drawn in. But she knew she couldn’t tell Mom anything. She absolutely could not tell Mom anything without her getting upset and turning the whole family upside down and ending up yelling at Dad. And still, it was as if Gracie had been given truth serum. A tiny sound almost slipped out of Gracie’s mouth. She was desperately trying to swallow it, and then Mom’s BlackBerry began to play Pachelbel’s Canon. Mom’s eyes slid away from Gracie’s face to the BlackBerry in her lap, then back. She sighed and picked it up.

“Pamela Rawley.” She listened. “I’m out right now, but e-mail it to me and I’ll look it over and get back to you later tonight. Okay. Bye.” She dropped the BlackBerry back into her lap and looked at Gracie again, hoping to reconnect, but Gracie had regained her senses and the moment was lost.

“It’s fine, Mom. We better go. The place closes at seven, I think.”

They pulled into the parking lot outside the Chesterville Soup Kitchen. A line of people snaked out the door and around the corner of the building. Other cars were there, and a stream of people carried paper and plastic bags full of canned goods to a side door. Gracie had filled a bag with goods too, so that she wouldn’t be arriving empty-handed. She reached into the backseat and took out the bag.

Mom cut the engine. “Gosh, this is the place to be on a Thursday night. Do you want me to go in with you?”

“No, I’ll be okay by myself.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t give anyone all of your allowance, Gracie. You’re such a bleeding heart.”

“I won’t.” Gracie shut the door and headed across the parking lot, studying the people standing in line waiting for their dinner. An elderly man and woman leaned against the doorjamb, their arms linked. A woman in a long skirt cradled a baby and rested her palm on her little boy’s head. Several men were dressed in sweatshirts and caps.

“What they got today?” a man in overalls asked a woman standing by the door.

“Baked turkey, green beans, and scalloped potatoes,” she answered.

“They got apple pie for dessert?”

“I believe they do,” she said.

“Mmm.” He crossed his arms over his chest, closed his eyes, and leaned against the wall.

Gracie followed the people making donations. You were supposed to leave your bags on a long counter in a room that looked like a grocery store, with shelves on the walls and aisles between rows of shelves. Gracie saw canned tomatoes and corn in containers nearly as big as the trash can in her parents’ kitchen. Flour in bags the size of those that held the grass seed Dad used on the lawn.

Gracie waited her turn and set her bag on the counter. “Wow, a lot of people are bringing food.”

“You’re telling me,” said a short, heavyset woman in jeans and a plaid shirt. She wiped a sheen of sweat from one temple with the back of her hand. “Like they say over to the hospital when everybody’s popping out them babies, is it a full moon or something? We need eight hundred cans of fruit, vegetables, and beans, eight hundred boxes of cereal, and so on to serve our meals each month. We struggle—especially this time of year. Today—just today—we’ve gotten enough to last until the end of the year. I thought maybe there was some report about us on TV, but that’s not it. Beats all I’ve ever seen.” She gestured at the stacks of bags lined up in the pantry aisles. “Praise the Lord.” She grinned at Gracie and slid her bag down the counter toward another volunteer.

“And everything is okay?” Gracie asked. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with the food? Nobody is getting sick or anything?”

“What? No. It’s just a doggone miracle, that’s all.” The woman smoothed her shirt over her ample breasts and stomach. “And we thank you for your donation. You need a receipt, honey?”

“That’s okay.” Gracie left the place in wonder. Something had worked! Grinning, she hopped into the car with Mom. “Okay. All done. They have enough food to last the rest of the year, isn’t that great?”

Mom patted her leg. “You’re a good soul, Gracie.” She glanced at her watch. “Now, what’s next? I’m getting short on time. I have to review a proposal tonight.”

“The blood bank.”

Gracie left Mom in the car again when she went into the blood bank. The room was filled with people waiting to give blood. The trim, brown-skinned nurse on duty told Gracie, “I’m afraid you’ll have to come back another day. People who never thought to give blood in their lives are here today. Strange, isn’t it?”

“And there’s nothing wrong with the blood or anything?”

“Oh, goodness no. Ever since AIDS, we screen every donor very carefully.” The nurse squinted at Gracie. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“You have to be seventeen to donate.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, ma’am.”

Gracie almost skipped out to the car. That was
two
things she’d written in the journal that had come true in exactly the way she meant them to.

“Okay. Only one more stop. The animal shelter.”

Mom backed out of the blood bank parking lot. “All right now, let me get one thing straight before we drive over there. We already have one cat that leaves clumps of fur and piles of barf all over our house. We do not, I repeat,
do not
need another. Or a dog either. We are simply working on your school project. No more pets.”

“Yes, Mom.” Gracie had been to the shelter once before. There were some puppies and kittens, but there were also decrepit dogs with mange and murderous-looking male cats with scarred heads the size of basketballs and sad, scrawny mother cats whose kittens had all been given away. Animals that nobody wanted.

The man at the animal shelter was thin and balding. A crop of multicolored fur pricked from his shirt. He shook his head when Gracie walked in. “I hate to disappoint you, young lady, but I hope you didn’t have your heart set on taking a pet home tonight. We’ve had people coming out of the woodwork all day since first thing this morning.
Every
animal we had in here has been spoken for.”

Gracie couldn’t keep from smiling. All the unwanted animals—adopted!

He held up one finger. “Well, except one. Would you like to see him?”

Gracie already had all the information she needed. She could leave right now, and she opened her mouth to say no, but it didn’t seem as though her mouth was obeying her brain. Because she said, “Okay.”

“He’s a little strange-looking; I can see why people don’t take to him right away.” The man led her back to a kennel area for cats and stopped in front of the only occupied cage.

“This is him. We’ve been calling him Alfred E. Neuman because he reminds us of that weird kid with the funny smile on the cover of
Mad
magazine.”

Gracie looked inside the cage, trembling with a sudden premonition of what she was going to see. Smiling at her, in flesh and blood and sporting a genuine coat of fluffy orange-and-white-striped fur, was the Cheshire cat from Miss Alice’s mailbox.

Thank goodness you’ve arrived. The accommodations here are dreadful.

Gracie’s heart thudded. She took a step back and cut her eyes over at the man with the furry shirt. Had he heard the cat say anything? Apparently not.

“You can hold him.” The man opened the cage and reached in. The cat gave a guttural hiss and promptly swiped a claw across the man’s hand, drawing blood. The instant the man yanked back his hand, the cat leaped to the floor and raced behind a bank of cages. “Well, dadblastit, he’s not too friendly, is he?”

“That’s okay,” Gracie whispered. There was a roaring in her head and she took a step back. “I’m sorry, sir, I forgot my mom said I already have a cat and I can’t have another one.”

“I have to admit, this cat didn’t take that workshop on how to win friends and influence people.” The man was using a paper towel to wipe the blood from the back of his hand.

“Thanks anyway,” Gracie said, backing toward the door.

“How does an ornery cat like that expect to find a home? Go ahead, bite the hand that feeds you.” The man concentrated as he peeled the backings from a large bandage and then affixed it to his wound. “Well, I better see if I can catch ’im again.” He shuffled after the cat.

“Good luck!” Gracie turned and raced out of the kennel.

Mom was talking to someone on her BlackBerry, and she had her work face on.

Her heart pounding, Gracie jumped in and slammed the door. “We can go now, Mom, let’s go.”

“Okay, okay, we’re going.” Mom dropped the BlackBerry in her lap, started the car, and backed out of the animal-shelter parking lot.

Gracie looked back at the faded green siding on the walls of the shelter in the gathering dusk. Someone leaving pushed the door open, and Gracie wasn’t sure, but did she see a shadowy form slink out and run around the corner?