I turned away from her back to Stubs, and as I did so I overheard Cathy sing, “Ding dong! The witch is dead.”
Cathy likes to tell everybody I’m a witch. I’ve overheard her say that my mom and I are part of a coven, and that we cast spells on the people who come to see me. Stubby once confessed that he heard Cathy tell all the people at her lunch table that she’d seen a guy come out of my house bleeding from the ears. It was ridiculous.
“Ding dong! The witch is dead,” Cathy sang again, and she and Mike both laughed.
I bristled, but Stubby gave me a subtle shake of his head. “They’re leaving,” he whispered.
I shifted my gaze to the large window behind Stubs, which gave a good reflection of the room behind me, and we both waited in silence until Mike and Cathy left the diner.
A minute later Rita appeared at our table with our pies and drinks. After she left, Stubs said, “So, you had a rough time with a client?”
I’d already texted him the basics, but I was eager to fill him in on the rest.
Stubs sat mouth agape through most of my story. “Her kid’s really gonna die next week, Mads?”
I nodded, picking at the pie with my fork. “I tried to get her to listen to me, but she thinks I’m a fake.”
Stubby shook his head. “If people don’t think you can do what you do, then why do they go to see you?”
“I have no clue,” I said moodily.
“So, what’re you gonna do?” Stubs asked next.
His question stumped me. “Do? What do you mean?”
“Well, if this kid isn’t sick or anything, then shouldn’t we do something to try to save him?”
I sighed. I hated knowing how close people were to losing a loved one, especially a young loved one. But I’d told Mrs. Tibbolt about her son’s deathdate, and it hadn’t changed anything. Those numbers had remained stubbornly fixed. “Stubs, there’s nothing I can do. I tried everything to get her to listen to me, and I checked the photo a couple of times. Her kid’s date didn’t change.”
Stubby was quiet for a moment and then he said, “Can the numbers change, Maddie?”
“I don’t know. I only know that I’ve never seen them change. Not even once.”
“So you think they’re fixed,” Stubs said.
I pressed my lips together and stared hard at the table. “Maybe. I honestly can’t be sure. Sometimes I’ll Google a client whose date has passed, and I’ll find an obit with the exact date I predicted. Warning people has never bought them more time.”
Stubby sighed, and rolled his skateboard back and forth under the table like he always did when he was deep in thought. I knew he was trying to think up a solution. He was one of the best problem solvers I’d ever met. Stubby truly believed there wasn’t anything in life or in the classroom that couldn’t be solved with a little thought, effort, and time.
At last he said, “If there’s even a small chance that the date can change, Mads, don’t you think we should try to save that kid?”
“How?” I asked.
Stubby pulled out his smartphone and began to tap at it. After a minute his face lit up, and he showed me the screen. It was a directory listing for a Patricia Tibbolt. I noticed she did live in Parkwick. “Call her,” Stubs said, and when I hesitated he added, “You gotta try, Mads. It’s her kid.”
Before I could even agree, Stubby had gone back to tapping at the screen, and then he was shoving the phone at me, urging me to take it. I saw that he’d dialed the Tibbolt’s, and then I heard her voice echoing out from the phone. “Hello?” she said. “Hello?”
Reluctantly, I took the phone. “Mrs. Tibbolt?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Who’s this?”
I took a deep breath. “It’s Maddie Fynn.” When she didn’t respond I added, “You came to see me today.”
“I know who you are,” she said, her voice like ice.
I looked at Stubby as if to beg him to let me hang up, but he nodded and waved his hand to encourage me. “Listen,” I said. “I…it’s…I want you to know I’m not a fake. Your son—”
“Stop!” she hissed, cutting me off. “Just stop it. If you call here again, I will notify the police. Leave me and my son alone! Do you hear me? Do you?”
Her rising anger tumbled out of the phone, and by the way that Stubby was now looking at me, I knew he’d heard what she’d said. Beginning to panic, I tapped the END button and cut off the call.
By mentioning the police, Mrs. Tibbolt had awakened my greatest fear. Three years before, Ma was arrested for her second DUI. I’d been thirteen at the time, and I freaked out when Ma didn’t come home and I couldn’t get ahold of Uncle Donny. I’d called 911, and before I knew it, Child Protective Services was on our front porch. If it hadn’t been for Uncle Donny, Ma would’ve ended up in jail and I would’ve ended up in foster care.
Since then, Ma’s become super anxious about anybody getting too curious about what goes on at our house. She doesn’t go outside if she can avoid it, and she never waves to the neighbors. Ma won’t even answer the door for sweet Mrs. Duncan, who used to bring over cookies and baked goods all the time.
Stubs eyed me with such sympathy that it was hard not to look away. He knew exactly what I was thinking. At last he reached out and nudged my arm. “Hey,” he said. “You did what you could, Mads. And who knows, maybe Mrs. Tibbolt will think about what you said and, just to be on the safe side, next week she’ll keep her kid home from school, or take him to the doctor and get him checked out, and his date will change.”
“You think?” I asked hopefully.
Stubby nodded. “It’s what my mom would do.”
I felt the tension in my shoulders ease a bit, even though I doubted Mrs. Tibbolt could prevent Tevon’s death. Still, I clung to the small ray of hope that Stubs had given me. “Thanks,” I told him.