Mrs. Walker did her best to smile at us as her husband pushed her into the car. She began to say hello. But her greeting turned into a loud “Hel-OW!” instead, as a new contraction began.
Gunning the engine, Samson aimed us in the direction of the medical center. Mrs. Walker punched Mr. Walker in the chest.
“I told you to gas up the car before the storm, Jimmy! So help me, if I deliver our first child in some stranger’s SUV, I’m going to—”
“I know I asked you not to, Specs,” Del whispered. “But maybe this would be a good time to stop the clocks.”
“I can’t, Del,” I whispered back, wishing that I could. “Not this time.”
“Why not? Did you lose your mojo?”
“No. It’s just that it wouldn’t do any good now. You and I can’t get Mrs. Walker to the medical center by ourselves. It’s too far. And it’s not like we could stick a pregnant lady in a grocery cart, even if we had one. If I stop time now, Del, I’ll only be stalling the life that’s trying to happen.”
Mrs. Walker gave another groan. She gripped the corners of the seats in front of her. “I really, really appreciate the ride, young man,” Mrs. Walker told Samson through clenched teeth. “But do you think you could possibly drive faster?”
“The kid is going as fast as he can, Steph.” Mr. Walker rubbed his wife’s back, trying to soothe her. “The only way he could get us there quicker would be if he could melt all the blang-dang snow that’s in our way.”
Samson hit the brakes and smacked a red-hot fist against his forehead. His eyes were already glowing when he swiveled in his seat and said, “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Nola,” Samson said, low and quick. “Since you have all the medical genes, you sit in the backseat with Mrs. Walker and try to keep her calm. Mr. Walker . . .” Samson turned to the soon-to-be father. “Right now, I need you to do three things for me.” Samson raised a rosy-glowing finger with each of his demands:
“One, I need you to trust me. Two, I need you to drive. Three, I need you to not . . . freak . . out.”
Two minutes later, all I could see of Samson were his boots and his lower legs, where they dangled down into the SUV through the open sun roof. The view out the front windshield was something from an epic movie. Two spectacular jets of orange-and-yellow flame arched down from the top of the car, melting the deep snowdrifts in front of us. Leaving scorch marks and puddles on the road. I could picture Samson sitting above me, braced against the wind, his long hair whipping in tongues of fire as he stretched out his arms in front of him, like he was driving a pair of blazing steeds. From the waist up, Samson had to be as fiery as the sun itself. To any passersby, Mrs. Kim’s SUV probably looked like the chariot that carried Elijah up to heaven.
If Momma and Poppa ever found out what he was doing, they’d probably homeschool Samson all the way through college. Then he’d have to find a way to work from his bedroom, because our parents would never let him leave the house again.
“Am I the only one who’s worried about this plan?” Del asked as he and Tucker and I bumped and jostled into one another in the back of the SUV. “Cars run on gasoline. Gasoline is highly flammable.”
“I’m worried!” squeaked Tucker, holding tight to Cap’n Stormy.
James Walker was plainly worried too. He careened around corners, driving like a maniac. When he glanced over his shoulder at his wife, he was as bug-eyed and sweaty as if he were sitting on a stick of dynamite. I wondered if he regretted having waved us down.
Maybe I should stop time, I thought as Mrs. Walker cried out in pain—or in panic. I couldn’t blame the poor woman; witnessing Samson’s switched-up savvy in action was akin to having hot sauce poured directly on your brain. Fortunately, all of Samson’s heat was going up and out and forward, not down on us. Otherwise, we would’ve all been roasted. Or blown to smithereens.
“My parents made me watch a medical video about childbirth before I started high school.” Nola raised her voice over the sound of my brother’s barely controlled inferno. “I’m no doctor, but I do know that you shouldn’t push yet, Mrs. Walker.” Then, a little softer, she added, “I hope you’ve learned some lullabies. You’re going to be singing to this baby soon.”
Cap’n Stormy cowered inside Tucker’s coat. Tucker looked like he couldn’t decide if he should be cheering for Samson, or coming unglued from all the chaos.
“Here, Tuck,” I said, pulling the last piece of taffy from my pocket.
“Yo, I’ve got a better idea for helping the little dude get through this,” Del said. “Scoot over, Specs, and let me work.” Del searched inside Nola’s shopping bags, fishing out what he needed to help Tucker stay calm and small.
When I understood Del’s plan, I smiled and left him to it.
By the time Mercy Medical Center came into sight, on the other side of the city’s skyscrapers, Tucker’s face was artfully painted to look like a rainbow-whiskered cat; Nola looked panicked, like she was contemplating the untidiness there’d be if Mrs. Walker gave birth in the backseat of her mother’s car; and Samson was exhausted.
My brother was running out of blazes.
Workmen in coveralls pushed snow blowers along the sidewalks of the medical center. They all looked up in surprise as Samson’s final jets of flame fizzled and went out.
By the time Jimmy Walker barreled into the parking lot, Samson didn’t have enough fire left in him to light the first candle on Baby Walker’s birthday cake.
Mr. Walker drove as close to the emergency room doors as he could before he hit the brakes. The SUV jerked, skidded, then stopped with a crunch at the base of a concrete pylon.
“Samson!” I cried, watching my brother’s feet disappear through the sun roof as he was thrown over the side of the SUV.
“Get me out of here,” Stephanie Walker shouted. “I think I’ve been hallucinating from the pain, and this baby isn’t going to wait another second.”
Everyone emptied from the car. The Walkers ran into the hospital without even turning to say good-bye, or thank you. The rest of us understood. Even if Samson had just given his all to help the couple, he may also have traumatized them for life.
I found my brother a moment later. Samson lay on his back in the grainy ice melt sprinkled on the sidewalk, staring up into the falling snow. His knees were bent toward the sky and he hugged his right arm across his chest. Snowflakes caught in Samson’s hair and gathered on his jeans and T-shirt. When I reached him, he was awake. But he felt cold for the first time in days. From the way he cradled his right arm, I knew he was hurt.
“I think I may have done it again, Gypsy,” he said weakly, trying to blink snowflakes from his eyelashes.
“Done what, Samson?”
“I think I may have pushed an all-new savvy to its limits.” Samson shot me a satisfied half grin. “Also? I think I may have dislocated my shoulder.”
IT HAD NEVER BEEN the plan to go inside Mercy Medical Center. Not with Grandma Pat still unaccounted for, and Larimer High now several miles back the way we’d come. But Tucker had to go to the bathroom, for real this time, and Nola thought she could fix Samson’s shoulder if we could get him out of the snow and cold.
“I promise we’ll be fast, Gypsy,” Nola said as she helped Samson through the sliding doors of the med center.
The waiting room inside Mercy Medical was chaos. Part of it had been sectioned off, converted into an emergency storm shelter with cots and blankets, making room for those who had gotten stranded, and for the homeless who needed to get off the streets. There was also a small mob seeking medical help, clutching stomachs or wearing bandages. A line of people waited to be checked in at the front desk, where a frazzled clerk sat shuffling papers and entering information into a computer. The latest weather report burbled from a television on the wall.
“. . . Snow showers should begin to lighten earlier than expected in thi
s fast-moving storm. Plows are out in force, but please continue to use caution as . . .”
Somewhere close by, a toddler shrieked and an old man coughed. A boy tossed a paper airplane across the room, hitting the beleaguered desk clerk in the eye. It was easy to slip past the pandemonium. Nobody looked our way.
Nola half supported, half shoved Samson ahead of her, looking for an empty exam room or an unlocked storage closet where she could try to fix his shoulder without anyone asking questions, taking names, or calling for a real doctor to help. If the staff of the medical center got involved, we’d get waylaid. Then we’d never reach Grandma Pat in time.
“Ow. Stop pushing me,” Samson complained in a whisper as Nola jostled him down a yellow hallway. “I’m in pain here, remember? Just saved the day?” I barely heard Nola’s reply as they disappeared around a corner.
“Stop being such a baby.”
After what Samson had just done—with the fire jets, and the snow-melting, and the falling off the top of the SUV—I doubted he was worried about being called a baby.
While Samson and Nola followed the yellow hallway, Del and I steered Tucker down a blue one, searching for a bathroom away from the brouhaha inside the waiting area.
“I really, really gotta go, Gypsy!” Tucker tugged on my sleeve as he shuffle-hopped between me and Del. Cap’n Stormy peeked her head out of the top of his coat and mewed. Tuck held his kitten tight, twitching his own rainbow-colored whiskers. Del had done the best job of face painting I’d ever seen, with the kinds of details only a professional makeup artist would think to add. I’d forgotten how easy it was for little kids to feel transformed, just by getting their faces painted. I’d taken my own turn as a cat . . . and as a flower, a dragon, and a tiger. But I’d never had my face painted as beautifully as Del had painted Tucker’s.
“Gypseeeeeee,” Tucker whined, still yanking my sleeve. I knew Tuck was getting tired. It was 8:40, and it had already been a long, action-packed evening. If we’d been home, in Kansaska-Nebransas with Poppa and Momma, Tucker would’ve already finished brushing his teeth and changing into his jammies. He’d be getting ready for a story and a snuggle and a good-night kiss.
“Guess what, Tuck?” I said as I led my little brother to the door of a men’s room in the middle of a purple corridor. “You didn’t need a savvy to turn you into a cat. Del worked that magic for you.”
“Mrowww,” Tucker meowed as he handed Captain Stormalong Fuzzypants to me. I hoped Momma and Poppa would let Tucker keep the kitten.
While Tucker took care of business in the men’s room, Del and I slid down the wall across from the restrooms, sitting on the floor to play with the tiny kitten. Exhaustion threatened to overtake me. But the night wasn’t over yet. I couldn’t give in to my tiredness. If my vision came to pass, I’d need every ounce of strength I could muster. If only I were a superhero, like Del dreamed of being; then even my muscles would have muscles, and I’d rescue Grandma with ease.
Be-deep! A tone sounded from inside Del’s coat pocket, startling us both. Perplexed, Del fished out Tripp’s phone and stared at it, scowling.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Text message,” Del answered. “From Tripp.” He showed me the message, which appeared on the screen without requiring a password.
I know u got my phone
dunno how u did what u
did but we r coming 4 u
I looked worriedly at Del. “Tripp wouldn’t really try to come after you tonight, would he? Not in a blizzard.” I remembered how Del had wrapped Tripp up in toilet paper and aimed B-Bug’s fist at him, actions akin to stomping on a wasps’ nest. I had probably made matters worse by adding my own flowery touches to the scene.
Del stuck the phone back in his pocket. “He’s only trying to scare me,” he said. “It’s not like Tripp and B-Bug know where I am.” Del’s tone was cavalier, but his jaw muscles tightened. The message had rattled him.
“I miss the old B-Bug,” Del said after a pause as we listened to Tucker play with the automatic hand dryers in the bathroom, turning them off and on, and off and on. “His real name is Byron. Byron Berger. He used to be a decent guy.”
“Well, he seems pretty rotten now,” I said. “If I hadn’t stopped time when I did, your friend Byron would have punched you in the nose.”
“Yeah, probably.” Del shrugged. “But only because Tripp told him to. When my gran was still alive, Byron would come into my uncle’s shop. He’d hang out by the cosmetics counter, like she was his gran too. My grandmother always liked B-Bug, and if Gran liked him, he can’t be all bad. She was a good judge of character.” Del made his voice high and wobbly, imitating his beloved grandmother:
“That Byron Berger is as sweet as a spoonful of sugar. But that’s only half as sweet as you, Antwon—you’re my double spoonful.”
Del smiled, remembering.
“B-Bug always treated my gran with respect,” he went on. “Then Gran died and Travis Kaminski the Third transferred to Park Hill Academy. Tripp changed things big-time when he arrived. He had the entire school under his thumb by the end of his first week, switching everything up.” Del shook his head and laughed. “Switching it up—ha! That’s what you guys say too, right? It’s nutso-redonkulous how fast life can change. Isn’t it, Specs?”
“Nutso-redonkulous indeed,” I sighed, stroking Cap’n Stormy’s tiny ears.
“You’re lucky you still have a grandma,” Del said. “I miss mine something awful.”
I didn’t say anything. Having a grandmother like Patrice Beaumont wasn’t exactly like riding a gravy train with biscuit wheels.
When the hand dryers continued to go on and off inside the men’s room, I ran out of patience. “Tucker! Your hands are dry already. It’s time to go.”
Our brief rest was over. It was time to find Samson and Nola, and get back on the road.
As soon as Tuck emerged from the men’s room, Del picked up Cap’n Stormy and I took Tucker’s hand. Together, we wound through a labyrinth of color-coded corridors, searching for the others.
Turning down a green hallway, I got the shock of my life.
The very best sort of shock ever.
“Look, Gypsy!” Tucker shouted, pulling his hand out of mine and racing down the hall. “It’s Grandma Pat!”
MY SPIRITS SOARED. TUCKER was right. Grandma Pat sat at the end of the hallway, asleep in a wheelchair, seemingly forgotten next to a vacant nurses’ station. She had a blanket over her lap, and her chin nodded against the soft white fur of her moth-eaten coat. Her tiara was askew and her glasses had slipped down her nose. Some kind soul must have found my grandmother wandering disoriented through the snow, and brought her to the medical center.
I was surprised when I felt a sharp prickle behind my eyes. Even more surprised when I found my cheeks wet with tears. It may have only been relief, but I felt an unexpected surge of love for Grandma Pat.
“Come on, you guys!” Tucker shouted over his shoulder. “I want Grandma to meet Cap’n Stormy.”
“Shh, Tucker! Don’t wake her!”
“Why not?” Tucker whispered loudly as Del and I caught up to him at the foot of Grandma’s wheelchair. Del kept ahold of Cap’n Stormy, while I bent down next to Tuck. I smiled at the single wilted daisy Grandma gripped tightly in one hand; a makeshift boutonniere, perhaps, for her phantom beau, Cleavon Dorsey.
Grandma looked so bent and frail in her wheelchair, and so oddball with her big Sorrel snow boots sticking out from beneath her blanket and her fancy dress, I wanted to hug her.
A water bottle sat untouched in Grandma’s lap, and a hospital bracelet hung loosely from her wrist. There were numbers printed on the plastic band that were meaningless to me. There was also a barcode, and the words DOE, JANE. Grandma Pat hadn’t even told the hospital staff her name. I wondered where, when, and who she’d thought she was when she first got here. I wo
ndered if she’d been scared, or if she’d thought they would want her to buy a magazine subscription or sign a petition.
“It’s going to be easier to get Grandma out of here if she stays asleep,” I explained quietly to Tucker.
“But . . . why do we want to get her out? Won’t Grandma be safe here if we stay to protect her?” Gently, Tuck traced the veins on the back of Grandma’s hand with one finger. His touch was soft, softer than when he petted Cap’n Stormy, but three petals still fell from Grandma’s daisy.
“Your brother makes a good point, Specs,” Del said. “Mercy Medical is probably the safest place your gran could be tonight.”
I took off my glasses and wiped my eyes with the back of my wrist. As I looked into Grandma Pat’s blurry face, I recalled it all: The old high school. The clock tower. The parting clouds revealing a big, round moon. Grandma falling.
My hands shook as I put my glasses back on. I knew full well that my savvy hadn’t switched back—that it might never switch back. I was only remembering the things I’d seen before, and even though Grandma looked like she was out of danger, those remembered things still spooked me. I wouldn’t breathe easy until Grandma was out of the city and as far from the Larimer High School clock tower as I could get her. Fate might twist and turn in unexpected ways, but if I could just get Grandma Pat home to Evergreen, I knew I could keep her safe. I’d make it impossible for her to find her way back to Denver. I’d handcuff myself to her, if I had to.
“We’re leaving,” I said stubbornly, my single-minded determination turning my voice into steel. “I’m taking Grandma home. Let’s find Samson and Nola, and get out of here.”
I found a pair of scissors behind the counter of the nurses’ station and used them to cut off Grandma’s plastic bracelet. I let Tucker push Grandma’s wheelchair as we went to retrieve Nola and Samson. Grandma stayed asleep, which was for the best. If she woke up and raised a fuss, she might draw unwanted attention. No nurse or doctor would let five kids wheel an old woman out of the medical center during a snowstorm.