1
I do not require life to be neat and orderly. Anyone who doubts that should dig around in my backpack, where you will likely find a half-eaten candy bar that has been there since Iowa—a state we moved from nearly a year ago. I’ve changed schools five times since kindergarten. I spend half of each week with my mom and half with my dad, where I sleep on the sofa and share a ridiculously tiny bathroom. I’m not high-maintenance. I can deal with chaos.
Some things, however, should happen in the correct order. Shoes go on after socks. Peanut butter is applied after the bread comes out of the toaster, not before. And grandchildren are born after their grandparents.
Most people never give much thought to that last point. I certainly hadn’t—at least not until my grandmother showed up last April. Because that one little element was out of order, my entire life changed. And I’m not being melodramatic here. Having your existence completely erased has to qualify as a life-changing event, by anyone’s definition.
Before my grandmother’s sudden reappearance, I hadn’t seen her for more than a decade. There were a few yellowed photographs of the two of us in an old album, but to me she was simply someone who sent money for birthdays and Christmas—and someone my mom doesn’t like.
“This is so typical,” Mom said as we stepped off the subway. “Mother breezes into town and demands an audience. Never mind that we might have other plans.”
I didn’t have other plans and I was pretty sure Mom didn’t either. But I also knew that probably wasn’t the point.
A slightly chilly breeze greeted us as the escalator reached street level and we stepped onto Wisconsin Avenue. Mom raised her arm to hail a taxi, but it pulled over to take another passenger.
“The restaurant is only a few blocks away,” I said. “We could be there by the time—”
“These heels hurt my feet.” She glanced around, but seeing that there were no other cabs in sight, she gave in. “Fine, Kate, we’ll walk.”
“Why did you buy heels in the first place? I thought you didn’t care about her opinion.”
She scowled at me and began down the sidewalk. “Could we move it, please? I don’t want to be late.”
I really wasn’t trying to annoy her. We usually get along very well. But on any issue involving her own mother, Mom is unreasonable. The birthday and Christmas checks I mentioned earlier? They go straight into my college savings, even though Mom usually says I should make my own financial choices and deal with the consequences.
The previous night, she had actually talked to her mother for more than five minutes—a record, at least to my memory. I only heard Mom’s side, but I was able to put the pieces together. My grandmother was back from Europe, she was ill, and she wanted to see us. Mom argued but finally gave in. The negotiations then proceeded to logistics—location (neutral turf), cuisine (vegetarian), time of the meeting (seven thirty), and so forth.
We reached the restaurant a good ten minutes early. It was a trendy, mostly vegetarian spot, with large paintings of vegetables on the exterior walls that reminded me of the illustrations in one of Dad’s well-worn cookbooks. Mom breathed a sigh of relief when we entered and she was able to confirm that we had indeed arrived before my grandmother.
I took the chair facing the bar. The young guy behind the counter making mixed drinks and smoothies was cute, in an artistic, moody sort of way, with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. Even if he was a bit too old for me, at least I’d have a pleasant view while they argued.
When my grandmother arrived a few minutes later, she was not what I expected. For one thing, she was more petite than she’d appeared in photographs—my height or a little shorter. Her gray hair was almost a buzz cut, and she was dressed casually, in a bold print tunic and black knit pants that looked, I thought enviously, a lot more comfortable than what I’d been forced to wear. And she didn’t look ill. A bit tired, maybe. Sick? Not so much.
Mom apparently agreed. “Hello, Mother. You’re looking surprisingly well.”
“Don’t scold me, Deborah. I didn’t say I was going to expire before the end of the week.” Her words were aimed at Mom, but her eyes were on me as she spoke. “I needed to see you and I needed to see my granddaughter—all grown-up and so pretty. School pictures did not do you justice, dear.” She pulled out her chair to sit down. “I’m quite hungry, Kate. Is the food good?”
I had been so certain that she would call me Prudence that it took a few seconds to realize the question was for me. “It’s not bad,” I responded. “They have decent sandwiches, and it’s not all vegetarian. Some okay fish, too. The desserts are good.”
She smiled, placing her purse on the empty chair next to her but keeping her keys out and setting them on the table next to her napkin. Attached to the ring were two very ordinary-looking keys and a very unordinary blue medallion. It was wafer-thin, about three inches in diameter, and emitted a glow that seemed unusually bright in the dim room. It lit up the back of Mom’s menu and I could see tiny blue dots reflected in the silverware. The light reminded me of a glow-tube necklace I’d won at the Montgomery County Fair a few months back, but this was much brighter and more elaborate. In the very center of the circle was an hourglass. The sand still flowed from one side to the other, even though the medallion was lying flat on the table.
Mom either hadn’t noticed the strange item, which seemed impossible, or else she was ignoring it. If Mom was ignoring it, the last thing I wanted to do was stir up a hornet’s nest between the two of them by calling it to her attention. I decided to follow her lead, at least for the time being. As I turned back to my menu, however, I saw my grandmother watching my reaction to the light and smiling softly. The expression in her eyes was hard to place, but I thought she looked… relieved.
Everyone tried to keep the conversation light during the first part of the meal. The weather and food were both safe zones, but we had explored these from every possible angle within the first ten minutes.
“How do you like Briar Hill?” my grandmother asked.
I dove into the new topic eagerly, sensing another safe zone. “I love it. The courses are more challenging than anywhere else I’ve been. I’m glad Dad took the job.”
My new school has a very generous policy that grants free tuition to the children of faculty members. They even offer small cottages for faculty members willing to live on campus, which is why I crash on Dad’s pull-out sofa three or four nights a week. The mattress is lumpy and you can feel the iron bar if you roll too far toward the middle, but I consider it a fair trade for the extra hour of sleep on school mornings.
“It definitely sounds like a good opportunity for you—and Harry tells me that you’re doing very well.”
“I didn’t know you and Dad… spoke much.” I wanted to know, even though I suspected this might lead the conversation into treacherous territory. “That’s why you knew to call me Kate?”
“Yes,” she said. “But you’ve also signed the thank-you cards for your birthday and Christmas presents as Kate for the past several years.”
Duh. I had forgotten about that. “I’m sorry if it hurts your feelings. Really I am, but—”
“Why on earth would my feelings be hurt? Prudence was an awful name forty years ago, but I named your mom, so it only seemed fair to let Jim name the other twin. He named Prudence after his mother. She was a sweet lady, but I still think it was a dreadful handicap to put on a small, defenseless baby.”
Mom, who had of course done the same to me as a small, defenseless baby, took the indirect reproach silently, and my grandmother continued. “I’m pretty sure that Prudence isn’t considered a cool name for a sixteen-year-old. And I have to admit I’m flattered you chose my name instead.”
I was now thoroughly confused. “But I thought… aren’t you a Prudence, too?”
Both of them laughed, and I felt the tension level at the table ease the tiniest bit. “No, she’s a Katherine, too,” Mom said. “Prudence was named after my father’s mother, but her middle name was Katherine, after my mother. So you are Prudence Katherine, as well. I thought you knew that.”
Major sigh of relief. I had worried all day that if I insisted on being called Kate instead of Prudence, it would hurt my grandmother’s feelings. The name was an ongoing point of contention between Mom and me. I’d even asked to legally change it when I started school at Briar Hill the previous January so that there would be no chance that the damaging info would leak out to potential enemies. But Mom’s eyes had watered at the mere suggestion, so I dropped it. When you’re named for an aunt who died much too young, your options are limited.
I pushed a too-mushy piece of zucchini to the side of my plate and glanced pointedly at Mom before replying. “I’ve never heard anyone use her name, so how would I have known? You always say ‘your grandmother.’”
My grandmother wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“Do you prefer Nana?” I teased. “Or maybe Gran-Gran?”
She shuddered. “No, and most definitely no to the last one. How about Katherine? I’ve never been one for formal titles and I’m Katherine to everyone else.”
I nodded once in agreement and Mom gave me a reproachful look that suggested I was getting far too friendly with the enemy.
The waitress brought Mom another merlot and refilled our water glasses. I was surprised that she didn’t even glance at the odd medallion as she approached the table—it isn’t something you see every day. The glow turned the water a shimmering baby blue as it streamed from the pitcher. I thought she’d at least look back over her shoulder as she left, the way you do when you’re curious about something but don’t want to seem rude or, in this case, jeopardize your tip. But she headed to the kitchen, stopping only to chat for a moment with Cute Guy with Ponytail.
We had gotten most of the way through our entrees when I accidentally hit another conversational landmine. “Is your hotel nearby?” I asked, thinking perhaps I might be able to finagle a visit somewhere with a nice indoor pool and sauna.
“I’m not at a hotel,” Katherine said. “I bought a house. Not far from your school, actually.”
Mom paused, a forkful of risotto halfway to her mouth. “You… bought… a house.”
“Yes. Connor and I have been camping out there for the past few days, but the movers are finally finished and now we just need to get things organized. Harry pointed me toward a very nice realtor.”
“Harry.” Mom’s mouth tightened and I had a feeling that Dad was going to be on her list for a while. She continued, enunciating each word very precisely—the tone of voice that usually came just before I was grounded. “So you’ve been in town for several weeks, and you didn’t bother to call me, but you did call my ex-husband, who was kind enough to find you a realtor. And keep it a secret.”
“I wasn’t sure how you would react to my decision,” Katherine said. “Harry, on the other hand, likes me. And I asked him, as a special favor, to keep things quiet. I’m sure it’s been tough on him. Secrecy really isn’t in his nature.” I mentally agreed on that point—Dad is a wide-open book in most respects.
“Okay. So you bought a house.” Mom set the fork back down with the risotto still uneaten and pushed her chair from the table. I was worried that we were about to make a dramatic exit, but she just said, “I’m going to the ladies’ room. When I get back, maybe you can tell me exactly who Connor is.”
As soon as Mom was out of earshot, Katherine leaned forward, pushing the glowing blue circle toward me. “They can’t see it, dear. No—that’s not quite right. They see the pendant, but they don’t see it as we do. What color is the light for you? Blue, right?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Of course it’s blue.”
“Not for me. I see a lovely shade of orange. A bit like an orange Creamsicle.”
“It’s blue,” I repeated. I’d never seen anything more vividly blue in my life.
She shrugged. “I don’t understand the physics of it. But I have only known a few dozen people in my lifetime who really see this light, and each of us sees it a bit differently.”
Katherine paused and glanced over her shoulder to see if Mom was headed back, before slipping the medallion into her purse. “We can’t discuss this in any detail right now—there’s so much you need to know.”
The urgent tone of Katherine’s voice was setting off alarm bells in my head. But before I could ask exactly what she thought I needed to know, she reached over and grabbed my hand, holding it between both of hers. “But I do want you to know this, Kate. Those were not panic attacks.”
I blinked, surprised that she knew about the two episodes that had shaken me so badly. The “counselor” Mom had taken me to see back in February, just after the second occasion, called them panic attacks, probably triggered by my move to a new school in the middle of the school year. That didn’t make sense. If I were going to have a panic attack, it would have been during the five months at Roosevelt High, when I was adjusting to metal detectors and security guards after two years in sleepy, middle-of-nowhere Iowa. It also didn’t explain the episode while we were still in Iowa, although I suppose that could have been triggered by sheer boredom.
Both times, I had been gripped by the sudden and powerful sense that something was very, very, horribly wrong, but I couldn’t pinpoint what that something might be. My body kicked into full “fight or flight”—heart pounding, hands shaking—and nothing around me seemed real. During the last attack, I ran out of class and straight to my locker. I called Mom, interrupting a meeting. She was fine. Then I went to Dad’s office. He wasn’t there, and I wasn’t sure of his teaching schedule, so I ran up and down the halls, stopping to peer through the rectangular windows at the door of each classroom. Several raised eyebrows and annoyed stares later, I found him. He was fine, too. I sent a text to my best friend, Charlayne, although I knew she was in class as well, and there was no way she could respond.
And then I went to the girls’ bathroom and puked up my lunch. The feeling that something wasn’t right had persisted for days.
I was just opening my mouth to ask how Katherine knew about the panic attacks when Mom returned to the table, a small, tight smile on her face. I know that smile well—Dad and I refer to it as the “Let’s-See-You-Explain-Your-Way-Out-of-This-One-Look,” and it never precedes anything pleasant.
“Okay, you’ve bought a house. In Bethesda. With someone named Connor.”
“No, Deborah. I bought a house in Bethesda by myself. Connor is my employee and my friend. He is a wonderful archivist and a whiz with computers, and he has been a great help to me since Phillip died.”
“Well, that’s better, I suppose. I thought perhaps you’d moved on as quickly after Phillip’s death as you did after Dad’s.”
Ouch. My eyes darted toward the bar, in the hope that Cute Guy with Ponytail was there to offer a distraction, but he was nowhere in sight. I then looked at the chair next to me—anything to avoid catching either set of eyes at the table. Sharp pinpoints of light from the medallion were shining out from the tiny holes in the weave of Katherine’s bag. It looked like an ice-blue porcupine sitting in the chair, and between that silly image and my already-frayed nerves I struggled to keep a straight face.
It seemed for a moment that Katherine was going to let Mom’s snarky comment pass, but she finally gave a long sigh. “Deborah, I don’t want to hash through old history with you, but I’m not going to let you toss out snide remarks in front of Kate without giving her my side of the story.” She turned to me and said, “I married Phillip three years after your grandfather died. Clearly, your mother felt that was too soon. But Phil was my friend and colleague for many years, and I was lonely. We had fifteen good years together and I miss him very much.”
I decided the safest course was just to smile politely. From my perspective, three years was a pretty long time.
“Why don’t we focus on the issue of the house then, Mother? Why buy a house if you’re so ill? Wouldn’t it make more sense to check into an extended-care facility?”
I thought that was a pretty cold statement, but I kept quiet. Katherine just shook her head, and then reached for her handbag.
“I have my library to consider, Deborah. They don’t have much space for books in old-folks’ homes. And I’d like to enjoy the time I have left. Shuffleboard and penny-ante poker aren’t on my to-do-before-I-die list.”
She opened the purse and blue light flooded the table. I watched Mom closely. I could see light reflected in her eyes, but her expression didn’t change at all. I didn’t understand how it was possible, but it was clear that she really couldn’t see the light from the medallion.
“Here’s the situation in a nutshell. I have a brain tumor. It is inoperable.” Katherine didn’t pause for reaction but continued, her voice brisk and emotionless. “We’ve tried chemotherapy and radiation, which accounts for the lack of hair.” She ran her hand across the top of her head. “I’m told it would have been considered chic a few years ago. The bad news is that I probably only have a year—a bit more if I’m lucky and a bit less if I’m not. The good news is that with a few exceptions, the doctor says that I’ll be able do pretty much anything I want in the time that I have left.”
She pulled a long envelope from her bag and removed the contents—several sheets of paper, very official looking. “This is my will. I inherited a substantial sum when Phillip died. Everything I own goes to Kate, including the house. If I should die while she is still a minor, Deborah, I am asking you to be executor of the trust until she turns eighteen. There is only one stipulation. You must continue to employ Connor so that my work goes on. Kate will be free to change that once she is of age, but I hope he’ll be allowed to stay as long as he wishes. If you decide that you do not want to be executor, I will ask Harry.
“I also have one request,” she added. “I would not want to make this a requirement. The new house is huge and is less than a mile from Kate’s school. I am hoping that you’d both be willing to move in with me.” Katherine stared for a long moment at Mom, who had flinched visibly at the suggestion, before continuing. “If you’d prefer to stay closer to the university, Deborah, then I’ll make the same request of Harry. Either way, Kate would be with me for part of each week and that would give us time to get better acquainted.”
Katherine pushed the papers toward Mom. “This copy is for you.” She squeezed my hand, then stood and picked up her purse. “I know that you need to think about all of this. Please, finish your dinner and have dessert, if you’d like. I’ll take care of the check on my way out.”
And then she was gone, before Mom or I could say a word.
“Well, she hasn’t lost her flair for the dramatic.” Mom picked up the legal document by one corner, as though it might bite. “I do not want to move in with her, Kate. And don’t look at me like I’m evil incarnate. If you want to fulfill the ‘one year in a haunted house’ clause in your grandmother’s will, you’ll have to work it out with your dad.”
“Now who’s being dramatic? Me staying there isn’t part of the will. She said it was just a request. And I don’t think you’re being ‘evil’—but jeez, Mom, she’s dying. She’s not a monster and she seems very…” I paused, looking for the right word. “Interesting, I guess. And maybe if you spent some time with her, you two could work out your differences so you won’t feel guilty when she’s dead.”
That earned me a dirty look. “Kate, I’m not in the mood for amateur psychoanalysis right now. There’s a lot that you don’t understand, and probably won’t understand until you’re a parent. Truthfully, I’m not sure I want you even visiting her, much less staying there. She’s manipulative and selfish, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I don’t see how you can say she’s selfish when she’s leaving us a lot of money. At least, I assume it’s a lot of money.”
Mom glanced down at the envelope. “I think that’s a pretty safe assumption. But I hope that I’ve taught you that money isn’t everything, Kate. There’s such a thing as giving of yourself when someone needs you. Time, attention, sympathy…”
She finished the last of the wine in her glass before continuing. “I was always closer to my dad than I was to Mother, but I needed her really badly after the accident. I lost my father and I lost my twin. I barely got a chance to say good-bye to Dad—and Prudence was just gone. No good-bye, nothing. I felt so alone. We both suffered the same loss, but Mother closed herself up in her bedroom and I hardly saw her. She came out for the funeral and then went right back into the bedroom.”
Mom ran her finger thoughtfully around the edge of the empty glass. “Maybe that’s why I was drawn to your dad. Harry was the first person I ever knew who understood that kind of loss.”
Both of my dad’s parents were killed in an auto accident when he was only five; he was lucky to have survived the crash himself. No one I loved had ever died, and both Mom and Dad had always been there, physically, when I really needed them. But I could definitely sympathize with feeling alone. After each of the “panic attacks,” I felt as though no one understood what I was going through. I was furious that Mom and even Dad tried to dismiss them as normal and explainable events, when I knew without a doubt that they most definitely were not.
“I’ve always believed,” Mom continued, “that a mother should worry first about her child, not about her own needs. But I probably don’t always put that into practice as well as I should, either. And… I don’t want you to look back twenty years from now and be as angry at me as I am with her.
“I don’t want to live with my mother and I don’t want her money. But,” she added, “you’ll be an adult soon, and you’re old enough to decide for yourself. I won’t stop you from seeing her if that’s what you want. You and your dad can work out the rest of it. Does that sound fair?”
I nodded. I had been expecting her to mull things over for days or even weeks, and was surprised to actually have a decision. “You want to split a dessert?”
She smiled. “No way, kiddo. I want my own. I need something big and gooey, with lots and lots of chocolate.”