One half hour.
In one half hour, we would reach the town of Salem, and the lunacy would reignite. My mother would be hailed as queen, and I would slip back into character.
I drove through morning waiting for my cue.
Elias slept, and I took my gaze off the road to stare at his face. It was perfect.
“Which one will wake?” I wondered, and pushed my hand through his hair. He shifted and slowly opened his eyes. I smiled, and he smiled back.
“Where are we?”
“Miles from Salem.”
He straightened, and pressed his nose against the window, at an encroaching tree line that advanced right up to the road. And what trees they were! Like arthritic hands thrust out of the ground, they twisted toward the sky. But unable to reach it, they gnarled in on themselves. Most disconcerting.
Behind them, stalks of corn stretched to the horizon. We were on a road seldom traveled, and Elias glanced over at me.
“Tell me a story, Clara.”
“You called me Clara?” I asked.
“Is there another name I should know?”
I breathed deep. “No. Clara is the proper name. A story. Well, let’s see. Have I told you about my family? My sibs or my ’rents?”
“No. I thought maybe you hatched.”
I slapped his shoulder. “I have them. I have a father — at least I did. Let’s see, a story . . . He came home and announced that he and I were going on a date. This wasn’t unusual. Dad often took me to Pasqualy for ice cream. But this time he added, ‘We won’t return home until next week, so pack extra clothes.’ I remember squealing with joy. I don’t remember why.”
“Attention maybe? You were probably getting everything you wanted from him. Your dad and you, alone,” Elias said quietly.
“I was young. Eight. Maybe nine. We ferried our auto across the Channel to France, and began to drive. I don’t think he had a route in mind. We just drove and sang his stupid songs at the top of our lungs. We sang until I laughed, and then I laughed so hard I cried, and then we sang some more. We sang our way through Europe, south, south, always south toward the sea.”
I paused. “It’s been a long time since I’ve sung.”
And in each town, it was the same routine. Dad would pull up to the pub or the church, it didn’t matter which. “Stay in the car, my Clara.” He’d disappear for a moment and return, and then we did have a route. We drove to the shabbiest home in town — old ones, leaning ones — and pulled up the drive. “Knock and hand them this. Tell them it’s from a friend, a friend from afar.” He would hand me fifty pounds, and I would run to the door and hand them money, and together my dad and I crossed the continent, giving away all our savings.
We reached Italy and sat staring out at the sea. His arm was around me and we had no money, but I never wanted to leave. And he sang, gently. I just listened to his voice and the waves and watched the sun set over the Mediterranean.
We slept in the car on the way back; he had only enough money for food and ferry. I couldn’t wait to tell Mum about our trip.
So I did.
Dad slept in the car again that night. Mum was so irate, she would not let him in the house. I climbed out of bed and snuck out to where he was and crawled beside him. And he sang me a lullaby.”
I shook my head. “I have no idea what the fool was thinking. All the money he gave away could have saved us when he chose the slammer over his family.”
“Sounds like you gave it away too.”
“Weren’t you listening? I was nine.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“You know nothing —”
“Stop!”
Elias reached for the wheel and gave it a tug. We swerved into the ditch, narrowly missing two gnarled trees before I regained control and weaved back onto the road.
I slammed on the brakes and yanked the key from the ignition.
“Rule number one. Never! Never touch this wheel. Rule number two . . .”
He didn’t hear rule number two.
Elias pushed out of the Fiat and rounded the auto, knocking feverishly on my window.
I tried to join him outside, but the door bounced against his knee and slammed shut. I fought to lower the window. “As I was saying, rule number two —”
“Give me fifty pounds.” He thrust his hand into the car. I slapped it and pushed it back outside. “You are not giving —” I peeked over his shoulder. “The Antique Barn does not need my fifty pound . . . dollars. I have dollars. You are not giving them fifty dollars.”
“How many dollars is fifty pounds?”
“Seventy-five, maybe eighty, but it doesn’t matter! You’re not giving it to them. Yes, it looks dilapidated, and I’m certain they could use it.”
Elias placed his hand on my shoulder. “It’s not a gift; I’m buying something from them.” He stretched his hand toward the front lawn. “Look at that beauty.”
It took a bit of time to narrow down his interest. The Antique Barn’s property was littered with junk. Signs and tools and rusted motors, all meters from the road. But when I followed his gaze, there was no missing it.
“You want to buy an aeroplane.”
Elias’s face lit.
“But the fuselage is riddled with holes. There’s no propeller. There’s one wing.”
“These hands can rebuild it.” He lifted both paws to show me.
I slumped down in my seat and slapped my own over my face. “And it’s bloomin’ big. It’s a plane! There’s no room in the trunk of a Fiat.”
Seconds went by, no answer, and I peeked up. No Elias.
And then he reappeared, giddy.
“This car has a hitch.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Clara, let me do this. This would be . . . real.”
I straightened. “Is anything about you real?”
He quickly glanced over his shoulder, an eager puppy.
“And you can what, make this auto pull that? And you can fix it? For what? You aren’t flying it. The last time I let you into one of your contraptions . . .”
Elias slowly, with a shaking hand, swept the hair off my face. I could think of no more objections.
“You’re going to need more than eighty dollars. I’ll meet you there.” I restarted the car, performed a neat u-turn, and pulled into the driveway of the shop.
Together, we surveyed the junk, and I slapped my hand over his mouth. “Let me do the talking. All of it.”
He nodded, and I lowered my palm. We entered the two-story building. “Horrors.” I sighed.
There were no words for the interior. Every meter was home to mounds of rubbish, none of which seemed worthy to sell. But Elias poked about with interest. I wandered to the counter, and read aloud the large sign hand painted in crimson:
Welcome to The Antique Barn, where a handshake seals the deal.
“Elias? I have another rule. Do not shake anyone’s hand. Do we understand each other?”
“Who do we have here, poking around my treasures?”
An older man, greying and paunchy, stood on the bottom step, leaning heavily against the railing.
“I need to have that plane,” Elias blurted.
“Elias!” I turned back toward the gentleman. “We’re just browsing about your shop.”
“Hmm.” The owner grinned. “So you don’t really need the plane.”
“Yes, we do!” Elias pounded the counter. I eased him back.
“No, we don’t.”
“Seems to be dissention in the ranks.” He winked at me. “Name’s Kirby. Any interest in taking a closer look?”
Elias pumped his fist. “Absolutely!”
“Come around the counter, son. We’ll take the side door, leave Miss Negativity to continue her browsing.”
They both exited. “Absolutely no negotiating prowess whatsoever.” I puffed the hair off my face, and followed.
Elias was already circling the plane. “So what do you want for her?”
“Getting right to it, huh?” Kirby removed a tin of Copenhagen and offered some to Elias. “It’ll give you hair on your chest.”
“Don’t need hair. Just the plane.”
He slipped the tobacco back into his flannel coat pocket and stroked the piece of junk. “I’m conflicted, son. Really, I am. I’d love to let you experience the roar of flight, the wind in your hair. But it ain’t just a matter of what I got into her, not with Bessy here. She done become a symbol of my store, which is my life. Lettin’ her go would be like lettin’ go the heart of the place, lettin’ go my name.”
Elias has no problem asking for that.
Elias doubled over and felt under the plane, and soon stood holding a chunk of rusted metal from its underside. “How much, Mr. Kirby?”
“Then there’s the sentimental piece. I flew her myself, when I was not much older than yourself. I flew her north in the Canadian lands. Rugged, lonely places. Me and Bessy, well, we come through a lot of weather together. And don’t think you’re the first to try and separate the two of us.”
“Price?” Elias pressed.
“Got all her parts in back. Every one. Just need a few days a’ peace to set her to rights and we’ll be sailing the blue skies again.” Kirby spit a grotesque wad onto the ground.
Elias stood, waiting.
“Son, I can’t see letting a functioning piece of aeronautical machinery go for less than fifty.”
“Fifty thousand?” Elias asked.
“It’s just a thing, ain’t it?”
“Deal.”
“Deal?” Kirby stepped back.
“Deal?” I ran toward Elias.
“Deal.” Elias slapped the side and reached out his hand. Kirby quickly grasped it, and I groaned.
“Clara, I just sealed the deal. I just purchased a functioning aircraft!”
“With whose money?” I asked, offering him my most horrid gaze.
“Well now, functioning is in the eye of the beholder,” Kirby fisted the nose of the plane.
“Not true,” said Elias. “You told me you could fix her up in a few days. We’ll be back through to pick up my functioning piece of aeronautical machinery, isn’t that right, Clara?”
I lifted up my palms. “For fifty thousand?”
“Now, hold on.” Kirby pointed at the plane. “I never agreed to fix nothin’.”
“But you did say you could. We agreed on a price for a working aircraft. So let’s see those parts you are going to put on her.”
Kirby removed his baseball cap and scratched his head. “Thinkin’ more on it now, time gone by and all, I can’t quite recall their exact location.”
“So the plane doesn’t work . . .”
Kirby furrowed his brows. “Well, maybe we can come down a bit on that price.”
I sighed. “Jolly well time —”
“No, sir.” Elias interrupted. “I took you as a man of your word. I want my functioning aircraft.”
“Persistent kid, aren’t ya? You remind me of my own. Listen, son. Maybe I let my enthusiasm tilt the truth a little. Here’s the honest of it. The vert stabilizer and the rudder are smashed to bits. There, I done said it.”
Elias folded his arms. “I needed those. I trusted you. It’ll cost me tens of thousands for those parts alone. We shook on it . . .”
And in that moment, Elias’s insanity turned to brilliance.
“And a handshake seals the deal,” I added.
Elias nodded. “It should, so I don’t feel right going back on you. I tell you what, I will let you sell it to me, with all the parts but those two, for forty thousand.”
I dashed inside the shop, grabbed Kirby’s handshake sign, and returned to Elias’s side. Kirby read his own undoing, glared at me, and faced Elias with a sigh.
“And as long I’m bein’ completely above board, I haven’t seen the other wing or its flaps for some time. Not the propeller either.”
“Hmm. Well, I wish I knew that earlier.” Elias winced and shook his head. “That wing plus flaps? Even used, an easy twenty grand. Five grand for the propeller. Five more to patch the fuselage. I really shouldn’t be so generous, but if I subtract those items?”
“Elias, you did shake on it,” I said.
“You’re right. It wouldn’t be right to go back on a deal.” He turned to Kirby. “Okay, I’ll do it. You may sell it to me for ten thousand.”
My, but Kirby was red-faced. “Nose wheel! Top of the engine cowl! Both elevators! But that’s all that’s gone. The engine is solid, all there.”
“Great.” Elias turned to me. “Clara, allowing for those pieces, it looks like we owe Mr. Kirby one thousand dollars for this functioning piece of aeronautical machinery. But I was also looking at that steel-framed trailer out back. What do you want for it?”
Kirby’s foot began a furious tap, and his jaw muscles bulged and loosed.
“Oh, shoot. A hundred bucks for the trailer and get yourself gone. And don’t think me or mine’ll help you move either piece of trash.”
Kirby spun, paused, and looked back over his shoulder. He offered me a quick nod, his eyes twinkling.
I walked up to Elias. “Impressive.”
“Yeah, only if we can get this secured on the trailer. I need you to go into the next town and find some help. Big guys. I’ll need a bunch of them.”
“You’re asking me to leave you. What if . . .”
He gently took my face in his hands, held it softly. “I’m solid.”
“Solid. Right. I’ll be back soon.”
SALEM
Unincorporated town
I sped into town, swung a sharp right on Antioch Road, and came to a complete stop. A Citgo, two vacant buildings, a row of homes, and that was it.
“Hardly the metropolis.”
I eased forward, looking for where blokes might congregate. Finding boys had not been a problem this last year. Extracting myself had. But now the fluttering feeling I had for Elias made my concerns irrelevant. I needed lads. Lots of them.
Elias could already have slipped back beyond my reach, and if he did, he would not hesitate to set out alone.
I pulled into the Thrift Trip car park and hurried to the door. I shoved, but it wouldn’t give. Three shoves later, the neon open sign still mocked me, and I pounded on the window.
“Push a little!” a voice muffled out from inside.
I’m trying, you daft idiot!
The door flew open and a man stood in my path. Thin, gaunt — not the type I was seeking.
“I need to find some men.”
His eyes roamed me uncomfortably up and down. “Don’t think that’ll be too hard.”
“Can you tell me where I should look?”
“Pretty much.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
He pointed toward the door, and gestured beyond and to the left. “Siebert’s Pub. I’m thinking you’ll find what you’re lookin’ for.”
“Pretty much.”
I forced my way out the door and drove across the street. He was right.
Blasted boys spilled out of the pub, a beautiful cream-coloured two-story with white fencing and a large porch fronting Antioch. They joked and jostled, beer in one hand, trouble in the other, and I felt a pang of worry.
These were the scenes to avoid, the places to turn and flee. I knew this. I’d experienced it. But there was no choice. Elias gave me no choice.
I zipped into the park and exited the car. A group of twenty blokes gathered on the porch.
“Hey!” I yelled. “I need a favour.”
It took five seconds for the porch to empty and the circle to reform around my Fiat.
“Favours.” A voice cawed, dark and ugly. “I’m good at favours.”
“Why you?” Another laughed.
“I’m just sayin’, the girl needs something, and I’m the one to give it to her.”
And just like that, I was in the middle of a small riot. Normally, I’d have watched it play out, but I hadn’t the time.
“Don’t you want to hear what I need?” I asked.
Silence.
“I need the strongest of you. I bought an aeroplane, and I need it hoisted onto a trailer of sorts.”
“A plane?” The loudest of the lot stepped forward, held out his beer, and when I shook my head, took another swig. “You bought that old pile a junk plane near Emerald Grove? Where you gonna fly to, girl? Why leave so soon?”
“Is there anybody else other than this inebriated cabbage who might feel inclined to do a kind thing?”
The majority fell into a confused silence, but not the blowhard. “What was those words you said? Was that some type of insult?”
I pushed by him and out of the ring, and marched straight into the pub. The age of those collapsed over the bar put me at ease.
“Excuse me!” I raised a chair and let it thud to the floor. “I need a hand moving an aeroplane, and those boys outside don’t seem too interested in helping.”
“Yeah, well, they don’t mean much harm. This town doesn’t give ’em much to do. Exceptin’ the obvious.” The voice came from above, and I walked to the stairs and climbed.
I stopped on the second floor, face to face with normal. A normal man, wearing a sensible shirt, sensible jeans, and sporting a sensible attitude.
He glanced at me with a safe glance. “Now that I look at you, I see the problem. I’m Haller, by the way, proud owner of the quieter establishment next store.”
I peeked out the window. “Chubby’s Pizza?”
“No, no.” He smiled. “Look past that. The Ranch Sweet Shop and U-Haul.”
I wandered by him. “And this place up here?”
“The old boarder house. Back in the day, the train depot was below and folks’d stay the night up here. Still can.” He smiled. “If you can get by the wanderers below. There’s nothing else in Salem left of what was. An abandoned jail. An old silo. But the rest is gone.”
“Haller, I really do need moving help.”
“Probably won’t find it in this town. Not now.”
“Then I need to get back.” I hurried down the stairs, and out into the thick of competition. The lot of them had set up picnic tables, with the loud mouth locked in an arm wrestling battle with a larger lad.
“Hey! England girl!” The cabbage winced and grunted. “You want to know who’s the strongest?”
I didn’t slow. I hopped into my car and gunned the engine. The crowd parted, and I squealed back down the road, saw the Sweet Shop, and screeched into the turnaround. I had to reach Elias quickly, but my nerves placed me in no condition to help, I was starving for moments with a rational mate.
I grabbed my computer and my uplink. I needed FFA.
Help Support Children of Incarcerated Parents
500 Days of Wandering, 500 Days of Hope
Day 246
Still in Wisconsin. Somewhat desperate. I need to find help rather quickly. Keep me in your thoughts. I’m losing time, and I never know how much time he has. He fades in and out, and when I last saw him, he was solid, but that could change in an instant. Last time I slept through him. We passed in my dreams, and when I woke, he was gone. Now, I’m in another town, and I don’t know what to do. It’s just a stupid aeroplane. This makes no sense. I know. But nothing does anymore.
Send.
| FFA: | Marna is ill. |
| Me: | She often is. Fevers and the sort. Wait, how do you know the state of my sibs? |
| Me: | Hello? I demand an answer! |
| FFA: | Very ill. |
I took a deep breath.
I’d never raged at FFA before — he alone had been my constant friend across five continents. Try as I might, I couldn’t hate him now, even after his intrusion. Somehow, he had become . . . necessary.
I stared at my blinking cursor. He wasn’t writing. I couldn’t bear it.
| Me: | Listen, she just needs rest. She’ll scam out of a school for a few weeks, and then she’ll look almost human. She’ll return to classes and her teachers will rip into her. Everything will be set to rights. She doesn’t need you. Dad can handle it. |
| FFA: | Marna won’t stop crying, at least yesterday. Is it always like that? |
| Me: | I said she doesn’t need you! Stay away from my family. And if you tell my dad where I am, I will fly home and strangle you. |
| FFA: | I just thought you might want to know . . . If I’m honest, it’s not the first time I’ve stopped in. Your dad, your sibs — Clara, it’s a mess. You might want to come . . . |
I slammed shut my computer and stepped out of the car. Upper Marbury? So he was wealthy. Sure, he lived in London, just not my London. Upper Marbury was home to spacious gardens and fancy boutiques, and at least one do-gooder. FFA probably was assigned charity work in school, and Lower Marbury was a great place to find the desperate.
Marna’s ill. I need to be there. I could be in twelve hours. I could be wiping her brow with a damp face towel the way I had for Mum. All I’d have to do is leave Elias.
“England girl!” A cabbagy voice, ugly and familiar from down the street.
“Everyone, just sod off and leave me alone!”
There had to be somewhere in this town to think.
I strode fast and strong and angry through the streets of Salem, my new country. Thoughts entered, slipped free, and new thoughts took their place: thoughts of a lurking lad who looked after my family and a sister lying in a bed and never getting up.
Ahead was the silo and the prison, and my legs carried me to the latter. A one-room cinder-block building with curved roof and wooden doors. Bars still filled the two small windows, and I peeked into the blackness and ducked inside.
It, too, was filled with junk, and so seemed a suitable spot for me. I stepped over a wheelbarrow and crawled to the back of the dank and dark and spidery room, where I plunked in the corner, drawing my knees up to my face.
What was Dad doing? He certainly wouldn’t know how to care for Marna. I alone had seen her through her illnesses. Now that Dad and FFA were besties, they probably played cards while Marna coughed up a lung.
And I rocked, and swore, and rocked until no more words came.
Afternoon turned to evening and then to night.
Through the small window, stars came out, maybe the same ones Mum watched from the other side and Dad saw from London.
Marna or Elias. What do I do?
I hummed the lullaby Dad used to hum, and felt my mobile vibrate.
Clara, I need u. Been using Drew’s car a lot for lots of things, u know? He always put on the brakes, until last night. Nobody here to talk to. I need you. Come back. K.
I stared at Kira’s text. Flippin’ everybody needed me, and no matter who I helped, I would be letting others down. Marna. FFA. Now Kira.
Real people with real problems.
I was still stuck in Wonderland.