AFTER SCHOOL, Tommy placed the scroll on his bed and zipped up his backpack. He put on a 100–percent cotton pair of jeans and 100–percent cotton long-sleeved T-shirt. He hadn’t bothered to ask Mrs. Galdarro why the cotton. Maybe Elves are allergic to polyester? Tommy didn’t know. And he had far more important things on his mind.
He felt heavy, like God had turned up the gravity. Year after year of memories poured out from every corner of his room. The mural he and his mother had spent the summer painting when he was ten, trophies from soccer and karate standing like a little golden army on his dresser, and of course Smores, his pet guinea pig—they weighed on Tommy’s heart. A fur ball of tan, black, and white, Smores stood up on his hind legs and leaned on the rim of the aquarium. He gave Tommy his “red alert, I’m hungry” squeal.
Tommy lifted off the cover and poured a cup of multicolored pellets into Smores’s feeding dish. The guinea pig emitted a happy trill as Tommy combed the hair on its lower back with his fingers.
Two sharp beeps outside.
Mrs. Galdarro.
“Bye, Smores,” Tommy whispered. He hoisted his backpack and left his room.
His mother stood in the kitchen with her hands on her hips. “I don’t think this microwave is working right,” she said as Tommy entered the kitchen. “Tommy, you didn’t put any metal in there, did you?”
Tommy didn’t answer. He grabbed his mom around the waist and hugged her. He hugged her the way he did when he was seven. He smelled the cotton in her shirt, smelled her lilac perfume, and felt the warmth of her shoulder on his chin.
“Oh . . . oh,” Mrs. Bowman replied, and at first she didn’t seem to know quite what to do with her arms. But then she wrapped them around him and forgot all about the microwave.
When they separated, she asked, “What was that for?”
“I just love you,” Tommy said. “That’s all.” He turned around so she wouldn’t see him tearing up. “Where’s Dad?”
“In the basement, playing bridge on the computer, I imagine.” As Tommy went to the basement door, she said, “That backpack looks a little full for just a meeting.”
Tommy froze in mid step. He wouldn’t lie to her. If she opened the backpack, found all the food, the photo album, the clothes. . . .
Honk! Honk! Mrs. Galdarro saved the day.
“I’ve gotta go, Mom, but I want to say goodbye to Dad,” Tommy said.
He ran down the stairs and found his father in front of the wide monitor, the blue light reflecting strangely off his father’s glasses. “Hey, Dad . . . uh, I’ve got to go, so I just wanted to—”
“Just a second, Son,” he replied, clicking the mouse. “I have a six-no-trump bid going here. Can you wait till I’m the dummy?”
“Mrs. Galdarro’s waiting outside,” Tommy replied. Not knowing what else to do, Tommy threw his arms around his father’s neck and hugged him, too.
“Careful, Son, you knocked my glasses off.”
“Sorry,” Tommy said as he released his dad. “I’m in kind of a hurry.”
“Oh, okay,” his father replied as he slid his glasses back onto his nose. “Haven’t had such a hug in a while. Thank you, Son.”
“Uh, yeah, sure, Dad,” Tommy replied. He turned back to the stairs. Say it. Go on, Tommy. Say it. Why is this so hard? At last, Tommy pushed out the words, “Love you, Dad.”
Tommy was halfway up the basement stairs when he heard his father’s words, tentative but warm, “I love you, Son. Be safe.”
“That was hard,” Tommy said after they’d been driving for a while.
“I am sorry, Tommy. But it’s for the best. With you in that house, none of you would be safe.”
“But what if the . . . the Drefids and those trees attack anyway? They don’t know you’ve taken me.”
“Yes, they do. You may not have noticed several new trees in the woods across the street from your home. They were watching, Tommy. I made sure they saw me clearly before you came out. Even now, I suspect the trees are getting word to the Drefids that we are gone. That is well for your parents, though likely more unpleasant for us.”
Scenery went by the windows in a blur. Tommy caught glimpses of familiar places: streets where friends lived, community pools where he liked to swim, favorite restaurants and the like. It was strange not to know if he’d ever see any of these places again. Even stranger to know that Seabrook, Maryland, was not his real home. But in spite of such uncertainty, Tommy felt something deep inside, a kind of peace with all that was happening. He trusted Mrs. Galdarro. And bubbling away in some distant corner of his mind was a thrilling sense of anticipation, similar to thinking of an upcoming vacation . . . only better.
Mrs. Galdarro brought her silver SUV to a stop in front of the school. The back hatch opened, and Mr. Charlie threw a large black satchel inside. It reminded Tommy of the bag Mr. Phitzsinger used for all the lacrosse sticks.
Tommy went to get out of the front seat so that Mr. Charlie could sit down. “No, sir,” said Mr. Charlie, holding the door from opening farther. “You are the guest of honor. Now, just sit yourself on down.” Mr. Charlie jumped into the backseat and shut the door. Reluctantly, Tommy closed his door.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Charlie continued. “I’ze been waitin’ fer this day, a long, long time.”
“You know, Merrick,” said Mrs. Galdarro as she drove away, “you don’t need to use that dialect any longer. We’re all Elves here.”
“Awww, shucks, Elle,” Mr. Charlie replied, and then his voice changed. “Certainly I do not need to maintain colloquial speech for camouflage, but really, it’s such a beautiful dialect . . . full of hospitality, comfort, and grace. I’ze might jest keep usin’ it fer a while. Fact is, I’ve grown right attached to the name Charlie, too, if you don’t mind.”
“If it pleases you,” said Mrs. Galdarro with a curious smile.
Tommy looked into the backseat at the man he’d always thought was the school’s custodian. Since Mr. Charlie wasn’t wearing his glasses, Tommy could see the depth of his eye color. “You know,” said Tommy, “you don’t see too many people with purple eyes.”
“True ’nuff,” he replied. He laughed deeply and winked at Tommy. “Not ’round here, that is.” Then he began to whistle.
Tommy looked over Mr. Charlie’s shoulder at the big duffel in the back. Then he turned to Mrs. Galdarro. “What’s in the bag Mr. Charlie brought?”
“Tools,” she replied.
“What kind of tools?”
“The just-in-case kind.”