Now You See Me ... (8 page)

The buzzer sounded as Lena entered the pawnshop and she shuddered as she stepped inside. It wasn't hard to remember why she didn't like the place. It smelled like cats and mildew and hard times, and before the door even closed behind her the shopkeeper was giving her an unfriendly once-over.

“What do you want?” the skinny lady croaked from a stool in the corner.

Lena shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and stepped sideways, craning her neck to see the tray of rings in the dusty window. Sure enough, the butterfly ring was there, resting between a pewter-and-pearl number and the biggest (and ugliest) fake diamond ring Lena had ever seen. The butterfly's body was a long opal, and even under a
layer of dust Lena could see the pearly stone's strange patterns and multicolored hues. She had always loved the way opals seemed to glow — like they had rainbows trapped inside. The wings of the insect were rimmed with gold and littered with colorful, inlaid gems.

Nine out of ten people would have called the ring tacky, but Lena could not take her eyes off it. It had a beauty all its own and it made her feel happy and sad at the same time. Happy because the ring was actually here. It existed, and she knew it was special. And sad because even though she wasn't sure how or why this ring was so important, Mrs. Henson had obviously been missing it for a long time.

“How much is that one?” Lena asked, pointing to the butterfly ring.

The woman grunted and reluctantly came out from her perch behind the counter. She looked Lena up and down a second time and seemed to come to the conclusion that the girl didn't have enough money to buy it. With a bored expression she reached into the window, pulled out the ring, and examined the tiny tag.

“One hundred and fifty,” she announced. She eyed the ring scornfully for a moment before putting
it back — without giving Lena a chance to take a closer look.

Lena felt a flash of irritation. She wanted to hold the ring, if only for a few seconds. But she didn't protest. What was the use? A hundred and fifty dollars was more than she had. A lot more. “Thanks,” she said a little sarcastically. Lena could hear her mother in her head telling her not to be rude, but she couldn't help it. She was disappointed, frustrated, and exhausted. Besides, the store clerk wasn't exactly friendly.

Lena turned to go.

“I told my husband we'd never sell that thing,” the woman said to Lena's retreating back. “I told him that when he bought it.”

Lena pulled her hand off the door handle. She hadn't even thought to ask where it came from, or how long it had been here!

“Do you remember who he bought it from?” she asked, suddenly feeling a little breathless. “Was it a boy, around my age … only a long time ago?” She couldn't imagine Robbie selling his grandmother's ring, but knew that desperate people did desperate things. Maybe he needed some cash really, really badly.

“It was a while ago, all right,” the woman confirmed. “Only it wasn't
a
boy. It was a
bunch
of boys. And they were older than you. They had a heap of funny things to sell, right around the time we bought the place. Late nineties, I guess. I thought the stuff might be stolen, but they claimed they found it in some demolition site over in Phelps. Sounded fishy, but it's not my job to investigate the history of every little item that comes through here. Everything but the ring sold that first year. That insect has been sitting in the window collecting dust for a decade. Probably be here until we retire, because nobody's ever gonna buy it.”

The woman had turned around and was talking to herself now as much as to Lena. “That's why I do the buying now,” she groused. “That's how it should have been from the beginning….” She settled onto her stool in the corner and an orange-and-white cat jumped onto her lap. The woman waited for the feline to settle and began to stroke her back.

Lena reached for the door handle, pulled, and stepped into fresh air. Whew, that was better. She checked her watch. There were twelve more minutes of lunch — she'd have to hurry to get back in time.

Half running, half walking up the sidewalk, Lena
let her mind work along with her legs, in fits and starts, lurching along, connecting the dots. Selling a ring to a pawnshop with “a group of boys” sure didn't seem like Robbie's style. Nevertheless, he could have been involved.

As she rounded the corner, Lena's train of thought jumped the tracks as she almost ran right into Abby. “Whoa,” she called out in spite of herself, her cheeks reddening. She had broken her promise not to think about anything related to Robbie, and now she'd been caught — for the second time that day. She had to turn the tables, fast.

“Hey. Where've you been?” Lena asked. She tried to act casual, like she always spent her lunch period downtown.

A guilty look flashed across Abby's face, then disappeared. “Nowhere,” she replied with a shrug. “Where were you?”

Lena wanted to tell her friend the truth, but didn't dare. “Nowhere,” she answered instead. It was true, in a way. Because that was exactly where she was getting with this whole Robbie thing.

Nowhere. And fast.

“Give it back. Give it back.” The words echoed in Lena's head while she slept. In her dream, Mrs. Henson was yelling at her from the castle window. At least, she thought it was Mrs. Henson. Was it Mrs. Henson? Yes — Mrs. Henson in Abby's Boy Scout cap. Weird.

“I didn't mean to take it,” Lena shouted in reply. But the wind carried her words in the opposite direction — she was too far away. Suddenly, a figure charged toward her from the base of the castle — Robbie riding a shrunken bottle-cap truck as if it were a horse. He carried the Impulse, aiming it at her like a weapon. His lips moved frantically.

Lena resisted the urge to run. She needed to hear what Robbie was saying. He charged closer and
closer, and Lena braced herself, willing her legs not to move. Then, finally, she could hear him. “Help me,” he said. His eyes were desperate, pleading. “Give it back.”

“We have to give everything back,” she announced, barging into Abby's room. She felt pretty awkward, because she and Abby had barely spoken all week. But her latest nightmare had set her on a new path, and she needed Abby's help.

Abby was still in bed. She barely moved under the covers. Lena glanced at the clock. It was 7:32, ridiculously early for the first Saturday of the school year, and even more ridiculously early to be waking up your currently estranged best friend.

“Um, I mean, sorry to wake you up so early. But I need all the Robbie stuff so I can send it away.”

Abby threw back the covers and sat up. “Finally!” she crowed, looking up at the ceiling. “The girl has come to her senses!”

Lena sheepishly dropped the cardboard box she was carrying and looked around the room. It was a disaster area — piles and piles of stuff. Magazines,
clothes, books, dishes, and more clothes — many of which Lena recognized from their thrifting adventures. Her dresser was covered with every kind of concealer, powder, blush, eye shadow, eyeliner, lip liner, and mascara ever created. The floor was practically invisible. Lena clucked her tongue. “Girl, how do you find anything in here?”

Abby yawned and got to her feet. “I don't, usually,” she admitted. “But you already know that.”

Lena used a foot to gingerly lift a heap of clothes, then threw up her hands. “Well, I need you to find that sketchbook. I'm sending it back … along with my Impulse.”

“Really?” Abby raised an eyebrow.

“It's the only way I'm going to actually sleep again in this lifetime.”

“Right. But what about Ghost Boy?”

“I think this is what Robbie wants.”

“Excellent!” Abby beamed. Then her face fell. “But what about all that free film?”

“I don't know. Maybe I'll give it away,” Lena replied. “I can decide that later. Right now I need to know where the stuff is….” She looked around the room worriedly. “Do you know where you put it?”

“Of course I do,” Abby replied, sounding a little offended. She got to her feet and picked her way across her room to the closet. Shoving a pile of books aside, she opened the door, turned on the light, and disappeared inside. A moment later she reappeared with a pile of stuff.

“Here you go,” she said, handing it over.

“You can toss the photos,” Lena said, taking the sketchbook and dropping it into the box as if it burned her fingers. Then, before she could change her mind, she set the Impulse on top, shoved in a bunch of crumpled-up newspaper, and closed it up. “Packing tape?” she asked.

Abby unearthed a pair of jeans from a pile next to her bed and slipped them on. “Downstairs,” she said, pulling her sleep tee over her head and donning a turquoise blouse instead. The bright fabric looked great against her dark skin. Checking her braids in the mirror, she nodded approvingly and added gloss before stepping over several mounds on her way to the door.

Abby found a roll of packing tape in the laundry room junk drawer and a mailing label in the family room desk. “Let's see if we can look up the
address,” she said, switching on the now-functioning computer. She typed in “Ruth's Thrift” and “Phelps, NJ” and hit
ENTER
. A moment later the address appeared on the screen.

“We could probably just send it to Ruth Henson in Phelps and it would get there,” Lena said as she copied the address onto the label. “But I don't want to take any chances. The last thing I want is to see this box back on my front porch. Or anywhere else, for that matter.” She smoothed the clear tape across the top of the brown cardboard. It was ready to go.

Lena felt a pang of sadness but shook it off, remembering the dream. As much as she loved that Impulse, she had to give it back. Wasn't that what Robbie — and Mrs. Henson — had told her to do? “I'm going to drop it off at the post office right now, then head to Saywell's for breakfast. Wanna come?” She felt oddly shy asking. “I'll buy — it's the least I can do.” It wasn't quite an apology, but she hoped Abby would understand her intent.

Abby grinned and licked her lips. “Mmmmmm, ricotta pancakes,” she said. “You're on.”

That afternoon Lena helped her dad process the final pounds of peaches for jam. With her hands in a bowl of blanched, overripe O'Henrys, she peeled the damp, fuzzy skins away from the luscious insides. Her hands dripped with juice and the sunny smell of ripe peaches wafted past her nose, and still the cold spot inside her could not be warmed.

Lena heaved an inward sigh. She'd thought that everything would be all right once she mailed the camera and the sketchbook, but without that camera around her neck she felt a little … naked. Not to mention sad. Of course it was great to have her friend back, but the rest was so unresolved. And her mind kept drifting back to Robbie. Would he ever get the help he needed?

“I'm short!” Lena's dad suddenly cried. He smacked his hand on the counter, making Lena jump.

Lena glanced up from her pile of peaches and eyed her father's six-foot-four frame. “Actually, Dad, you're pretty tall,” she retorted.

Lena's dad chuckled. “No, no. I mean I'm short on fruit — I need more peaches. How about another trip to Phelps? They might have a few stragglers. We could go tomorrow morning….”

Lena felt a cold shiver run through her. She shook her head. “No, thanks. I have, uh, plans tomorrow.” That wasn't exactly true. In fact, she had no plans at all for the following day. But she didn't want to go to Phelps. Not tomorrow. Maybe not ever.

Lena peeled the last O'Henry and plopped it into the bowl. The pile of shiny, juicy fruit was impressive.

“Anything else, Dad?” she asked.

Mr. Giff shook his head. “No thanks, honey. I'm just going to pulp these babies up and put them in the fridge for tomorrow.”

Rinsing her hands in the sink, Lena felt anything but peachy. Slowly, she climbed the stairs to her room. Plopping onto her bed, she gazed out the window at the cloudless sky. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and crisp, and yet she felt as gloomy and heavy as lead. She had done exactly what Robbie and Mrs. Henson had asked her to do in the dream. So why didn't she feel even a little bit better?

Rolling away from the window and onto her back, Lena spied the one picture Abby hadn't confiscated sitting on her bedside table — the window at Don's Pawn. Lena picked it up and looked at it for what felt like the hundredth time. The ring was still there, and
as she studied the picture she began to see something she'd missed before….

Robbie was in the picture, which she already knew. But now she noticed that his hand was carefully cupped as if he were holding something, but his palm was empty. His gaze, intense as ever but also full of longing, was resting squarely on the butterfly ring in the window.

Help me,
his voice said, clear as anything, in Lena's head.
Give it back.