With the baby coming in a couple more months, Aunt Astrid was more than happy to close the café a little early a couple of times a week in order for Bea to rest and for all of us to help at her house. Today was my day to help in the nursery. Peanut Butter, Bea’s cat, bounced all around the room, playing with a Styrofoam peanut that had escaped from a package somewhere.
“Are you looking forward to the new baby?” I asked the kitty as he tossed it up in the air, his tail whipping furiously back and forth.
“Yes, and as soon as I catch this thing, I’m going to curl up against Mom’s side and keep him warm in her belly,” Peanut Butter replied while knocking the curlicue underneath the changing table only to dart after it.
“Him? Did you say him?” I asked, feeling giddy inside as I ran my hand from Peanut Butter’s head all the way down his back to the end of his tail. He purred but didn’t take his eyes off the Styrofoam peanut, which was temporarily out of reach.
“So, what do you think of this color?” Bea asked while munching on a stalk of celery. There was an entire buffet of crudité on the box that held her new changing table.
“That’s really pretty,” I said as she popped open a can of a lovely soft-yellow paint. “It looks like tapioca pudding.”
“That sounds delicious,” Bea muttered. “And look at this. Jake is going to paint this all around the trim.” She popped open another can of a deep, rich brown.
“This baby is going to be so calm and tranquil in this room. And so is his mama,” I said, smiling as I unwrapped a package of tiny bedsheets perfectly sized for the mattress in the crib.
“We don’t know if it’s a he,” Bea said.
“Come on. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like a little boy running around and screaming mama, mama all over the house, tracking in mud and bringing you grasshoppers.” I chuckled at the thought.
“As long as the baby is healthy, we’re happy,” Bea assured me as she rubbed her belly.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” I covered the little mattress as Bea helped herself to a handful of carrot sticks. “Where would you like this?” I asked, pointing to the little bed.
“There might be a draft by the window. Don’t you think it would look nice between the bookshelves?” Bea asked. Jake had purchased two tall bookshelves, because this baby was going to be smart and have tons of books. Coloring books. Comic books. Story books. And I wouldn’t have been surprised if Bea had a special spell book for babies to add to the collection.
“I think that will look nice. You just stay where you are, Wide Load,” I teased. “I’ll move it.” As I pulled the crib gently across the room, I looked out the window. Before I could take another step, I froze and then, a split second later, crouched.
“What’s the matter?” Bea asked.
“It’s that creepy girl from the arts and crafts festival,” I hissed, gesturing for Bea to lower herself. Asking a woman who was almost as wide as she was tall to crouch was not a kind or even realistic request.
Instead of crouching, Bea stood on tiptoes from the back of the room to get a look at who I was talking about.
“What are you so scared of? She’s probably handing out copies of The Watchtower.” Bea clicked her tongue and shrugged. “Besides, it looks like she and her travelling companion are moving on. My house looks empty from the sidewalk.”
I crawled over to the window and carefully peeked over the sill. Not wanting to take any chances that they’d see me and know we were home, I inched my way up until I saw the tops of their heads. I couldn’t miss Cedar’s unnaturally natural blond hair. But her friend’s had more of a normal hue: a plain brown not much different from mine. It was too risky to get a glimpse of her face.
“Cath, you don’t have to hide,” Bea said.
“How do you know? If they see us up here, they might come to the door,” I hissed.
“So what? It doesn’t mean we have to answer.” Bea shrugged and took a step toward the window.
“No! Trust me when I tell you there is something strange about that girl and anyone who associates with her.” I peeked again. “What the heck? What are they doing?”
“What?” Bea asked and froze before she would have appeared in the window.
Just then, Peanut Butter hopped up onto the windowsill and paced back and forth. “What are we looking at?” he asked.
“They are scribbling on the sidewalk,” I replied, peeking between Peanut Butter’s legs.
Both women outside were hunched over, each with a piece of white chalk in her hand. I couldn’t see what they were writing, but they were definitely putting something down. I was about to call out to them to knock it off, but before I could, they stood, looked approvingly at each other, and then headed off down the sidewalk.
“They’re leaving?” Bea asked.
“Yeah. They’re going that way.” I pointed to the left.
“Well, I want to see what they wrote on my sidewalk. What if it’s a threat or some kind of racial slur?”
“What kind of racial slur could they attribute to us when we’re all whiter than white?” I scratched my head.
“I don’t know. You know how crazy people are today. Maybe we aren’t white enough or we’re too white. I don’t know. All I do know is that anyone who takes the time to write on the sidewalk in front of a person’s house has something serious to say.” Bea popped a floret of broccoli into her mouth.
I was on the tips of my toes as we went down the stairs to the front door. Bea, managing her weight as best she could, clomped like an elephant. I motioned for her to stay back as I inched up to the door. There were no suspicious shadows across the beveled glass or hovering back and forth behind the curtains. Still, I wasn’t going to take any chances with my pregnant cousin. I held my finger up in front of my lips, went to the door, and in one swift movement turned the knob and yanked the heavy front door open. A bird chirped from the neighbor’s maple tree.
Still, not trusting my own eyes, I leaned out onto the porch and looked to my left and right. “Okay, the coast is clear,” I said, waving Bea to my side. I took her hand, and we walked carefully out onto the porch.
“Should we go and look at what they wrote?” she asked.
“Yeah. I guess we better. I’d hate to think there were vulgarities on the sidewalk that the neighbors would be reading,” I said, making Bea’s eyes widen.
“Who would do that? You don’t think they wrote vulgarities, do you?” She put her hand to her lips.
“I don’t know.”
“That would really be out of line. Jake and I don’t do anything vulgar. You and Blake haven’t been vulgar, have you?” she asked seriously.
“Well, even if we were, they should be writing in front of my house and not yours,” I replied coolly.
Bea looked at me with her mouth hanging open. I squeezed her hand, and we walked out of the house together like we used to when we were kids. It was as natural to hold Bea’s hand now as it had been when we were eight years old and heading off to the park with Aunt Astrid just a couple of paces behind us, allowing us our freedom even if it was just pretend freedom. This time, instead of Aunt Astrid, it was Peanut Butter following, his tail high as his eyes spied everything that moved.
“I don’t know if I want to see what it is,” Bea said, hanging back for a second but never letting go of my hand.
“It’ll be okay, Bea,” I said.
Finally, we reached the place where Cedar and her friend had been standing and looked at the sidewalk. We saw a pretty design of what looked like a sun with pointy flames around it at the twelve, three, six, and nine positions. There were a leafy-looking thing, a snaky-looking squiggle, three triangles, and an eyeball inside the sun.
“What is it?” Bea asked.
“It looks like something you’d find at the arts and crafts festival that some local talent was selling for way too much money.”
“I don’t know,” Bea said, tilting her head one way and then the other. “I’ve never seen that before. Do you think it’s one of those goofy modern art things that are part of a series? Like a visual scavenger hunt. People have to scour the city to find the markers, and whoever gets them all wins.”
“Wins what?” I asked.
“How do I know?” Bea replied.
“Maybe your mom will know what this is,” I suggested.
“Even if she doesn’t, I think we should tell her about it,” Bea said.
I could see she was a little afraid. This didn’t sit well with me, either. It was time to tell my aunt about Cedar, the blonde who kept coincidentally popping up everywhere I was.