Keeping my eyes focused on Tucker, I raised my hands high, holding the bag of candy out the window.
“It’s going to be okay, Tucker,” I called out. Then, remembering Grandpa Bomba’s words of wisdom in my birthday card, I added, “Come what may!”
I heard the whoosh of wind and the honk-honk-honk of geese in the distance. A jumble of surprised cries rose from Momma and Poppa and Samson as they found themselves suddenly and inexplicably dressed up like snowmen. My knees went as jiggly as Jell-O as relief and exhaustion washed through me.
Inside, paper butterflies fluttered to my bed. Outside, my snowballs regained momentum and smacked into Tucker. Making him stop just long enough for me to get his attention.
“Look, Tucker!” I shouted. “I’ve got gummies! If you settle down—if you shrink back down—you can have them all.”
“Gummies?” Within seconds, Tucker was back to being the littlest Beaumont, with nothing to show for it except a rip in the seat of his corduroys.
Sighing in satisfaction, I dropped his candy down to him. Then I pulled my head inside the window—just in time to dodge Momma’s garden gnome as it fell like a missile from the sky.
“HOLY GUACAMOLE!” SAID POPPA. “That was like having a bunch of savvy birthdays all at once!” By the time our nerve-mashing day came to an end, Poppa looked shaken, even though he was the only one of us left unchanged. But Poppa’s DNA wasn’t laced with Muddy River magic; he was immune to whatever mix-up had occurred.
Momma and Poppa were alarmed when they learned about my time-stop. They didn’t like knowing I’d been on my own, with no one to turn to for help. Samson could tell right away that I’d explored his room. His eyes blazed at my invasion, but he forgave me. Tucker whined, “You ate all the chocolate chips?” Then, exhausted from his own ordeal, my little brother went to bed and slept for eighteen hours.
Two days later, our ancient station wagon rumbled west, propelling us toward Colorado. The sky hung low over the interstate, as heavy and gray as the mood inside the car. Samson sat behind the wheel, flexing his new driver’s license—and his new savvy—the way a fledgling phoenix might flex its fiery new wings. Momma had always been an excellent driver, without a single accident or ticket. But after the nightmarish savvy switch occurred, no one wanted her clumsy feet anywhere near a gas or brake pedal.
It had been kind of fun to see Momma’s perfect manners snap in two at church, when she talked back to Myrna Lee. But most of the time, watching Momma blunder was like watching a rare and marvelous butterfly flit-flop on one crumpled wing. It made my heart hurt and my insides feel squishy. It made Samson extra-moody. It made Tucker’s bladder overactive.
Tucker had already shouted “I have to pee!” seven times since we’d left home, forcing Samson to stop at every gas station along the highway.
No one complained about Tucker’s restless bathroom breaks. None of us wanted to reach Grandma’s house quickly. And after Tucker’s towering tantrum on Sunday, none of us wanted to watch him grow big inside the station wagon. I imagined Tucker’s head popping through the front windshield, his arms and legs each jutting from a different window, making him a giant turtle with a car for a shell.
Thanks to Samson’s jumbled savvy, it felt like July, not January. The air-conditioning rattled noisily. Our coats lay in a heap in the back. Samson may have been old enough to drive, but he acted more like a first grader who’d just learned to strike a match. If Samson missed his old savvy, it didn’t show; he was utterly enthralled by his bright and fiery switcheroo.
“Will you please stop doing that, Samson?” Momma implored as my brother snapped his fingers for the hundredth time, igniting a yellow-orange flicker at the end of his thumb. Once upon a time, Samson was the shadowy moth. Now he was the flame.
“Yeah, Samson, cut it out,” I said. “If you lose control, the whole car could catch fire.” Samson rolled his eyes at me in the rearview mirror, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile, and he temporarily stopped popping flames.
“If you lose control, Gypsy”—Tucker raised his voice, looking up from the horde of toys he’d spread across the backseat—“you’ll be stuck right here for ages. With nothing to do and no one to keep you company.”
“Don’t remind me, Tuck,” I said. Then I tickled him, making him laugh until Momma told me to stop. Momma knew strong emotions could stir up a person’s savvy.
So far, Tucker hadn’t been able to make himself grow big on purpose, but he was still super-proud of his new talent.
“Did it scare you to get so big?” I asked Tuck as the miles slipped by. Tucker and I had been playing with his army men and his favorite stuffed cat. We were pretending the cat was a misunderstood monster under attack, only to be rescued by the army men in the end.
“No way!” Tuck said, not looking up from the intricate battle we’d staged between us on the seat. “It was awesome being a giant. I was big enough to do anything! Buuuut—” Tuck hesitated, fiddling with an army figurine that had somehow lost its head. “I didn’t mean to wreck so much stuff. That part felt scary after. I was just so mad, Gypsy! I couldn’t stop.” Tucker shrugged.
“Maybe the next time I grow big, instead of wrecking stuff, I’ll fight Godzilla, or a dinosaur, and save the whole wide world.”
“You’re very brave, Tuck,” I said. I leaned over and kissed the top of his head. Tucker gacked and sputtered, acting like kisses were toxic poison.
I wished I could say I felt brave. I lived in fear of accidentally stopping time. I knew I’d feel better if I could recall what I’d said or done to make time move again. Momma and Poppa had tried to help me remember, but it had all become a blur too quickly.
“I miss Poppa,” Tucker sighed as we passed a sign welcoming us to “Colorful Colorado.”
I miss him too, I thought. Poppa had stayed in Kansaska-Nebransas. He needed to board up the hole in the front of our house temporarily, and arrange for contractors to repair the damage in the weeks ahead. But Poppa promised to join us on Saturday, with the moving truck.
We all felt Poppa’s absence keenly, perhaps Momma most of all. The idea of being on her own with Grandma Pat scared the bejeebers out of her, I could tell. Momma tried to hide it, but I could hear her whispering under her breath every now and then, as though she were practicing perfect things to say when we got to Grandma’s house.
“How wonderful to see you again, Patrice!”
“It’ll be such a blessing to have you in our home.”
“No, I’m not a witch who tricked your son into marrying me, and the children aren’t a fiendish horde of rabble-rousers.”
The night before we left him, Poppa had kissed Momma tenderly on the forehead and said: “Try not to worry, darling. My mother has become so confused, she may have forgotten her narrow-minded opinions. According to Dr. Kim, she may not even remember who we are.”
When Tucker heard this, he slapped his palms against his forehead. “That’s just crazy! Does Grandma Pat have Old-timer’s disease or something?”
Poppa didn’t smile at Tucker’s unintentional eggcorn crack. He merely nodded and said, “Yes, Tuck. Grandma has something very much like that. Things could have gone badly if Dr. Kim and her daughter hadn’t found your grandmother the other day.”
Poppa had told us how Dr. Kim and her teenage daughter, Nola, spotted Grandma Pat shivering at a local park-and-ride bus stop, wearing her nightgown, her snow boots, and a pair of scorched oven mitts. Befuddled and bad-tempered, Grandma had refused to get into Dr. Kim’s car. Fifteen-year-old Nola had walked Grandma all the way home, where she found the smoke alarms shrilling and a burning smell coming from the kitchen. Apparently, Grandma had mistaken the oven for the washing machine; she’d baked a lace tablecloth, three bath towels, and most of her unmentionables at four hundred degrees, until done.
If done meant charred and smoldering.
Gran
dma Pat’s mind was becoming just as jumbled as our savvies.
My stomach clenched as the Rocky Mountains appeared on the horizon and we drew closer and closer to Grandma. I considered what I knew about Old-timer’s disease, as Tucker called it. Loads of old people start to forget things, like where they put their house keys, or what day of the week it is. But Grandma hadn’t merely become forgetful. Her illness was much worse than that.
Momma kept encouraging us to share our feelings. She peppered our nine-hour drive with a myriad of medical facts, and a fumbling what-to-expect lecture. I knew I should feel bad for Grandma Pat. But traveling seventy-five miles an hour toward Evergreen, Colorado, I couldn’t find much kindness. All I could think about was how stern and disapproving Grandma had always been—and how embarrassing it would be to have a grandmother who wandered off in her nightgown.
What would Shelby Foster have to say about that? Now she really wouldn’t want to be my friend.
The town of Evergreen lay at the ankles of the Rocky Mountains, thirty miles west of the sparkling, mile-high city of Denver. We reached Grandma Pat’s house after the sun had set. Tucker snored next to me, not even stirring when Samson turned off the car. Pensive and brooding, Samson stared at the small brick house in front of us, growing hotter by the second.
I shoved my feet into my tight boots, praying Momma would say there’d been a mistake. That we could return home straightaway, leaving Grandma Pat in Colorado. Instead, Momma took a deep breath and said: “Everybody ready?”
My legs were rubbery after sitting so long. The night sky was studded with stars. The air smelled like pine needles, pine bark, and pine sap. Evergreens stood tall around us. The houses along Grandma’s street were built on large lots, with slices of forest between them.
Samson handed me my coat—my fancy one made from red velveteen, with its deep, warm hood and two rows of gold buttons—then he lifted Tucker gently from the car. Tuck nestled his nose into Samson’s warm neck, refusing to wake.
“I’m glad he’s asleep,” Momma murmured.
I was glad too. I knew Momma and I were picturing the same things: Tucker waking up and growing big; Tucker uprooting all of Grandma’s trees; Tucker flattening Grandma’s brick home like it was made of sticks or straw.
Momma patted Tucker’s back, then raised her palm affectionately to Samson’s cheek. Making a face, she quickly moved her hand to my brother’s forehead.
“Are you sure you feel all right, sweetheart? Your temperature must be a hundred and ten degrees.”
“I’m fine, Momma. Really.”
Grandma Pat’s yard and porch were dark, even though Poppa had told her we were coming. But there were lights on inside. And as we stepped up onto Grandma’s front stoop, I could hear a television. Momma was just about to knock, when two bright car beams made our shadows grow and dash across the yard. We all turned to watch a black SUV pull into the well-lit driveway of the bigger, newer house across the road.
A distinguished-looking middle-aged man emerged from the car. When the passenger door opened, a spritely teenage girl hopped out. She wore a puffy white coat, skinny jeans, orange combat boots, and twenty-two layers of black eyeliner and mascara. Wisps of dark hair escaped the girl’s slouchy sequined hat. Her lipstick was the color of black plums.
“Dr. Kim and his daughter, I’m guessing,” Momma said, waving at the neighbors. “That girl certainly isn’t afraid to be herself, is she? I like her already.”
“Inside, Nola!” Dr. Kim’s voice echoed through the quiet mountain subdivision. “No music until your homework is done.” Nola did as she was told. But she hesitated at her front door. Even from a distance, the girl’s curiosity was crystal-clear as she stared in our direction. Samson quickly turned away, gazing up at the sky as if he’d just discovered a brand-new love—of astronomy.
“Wait here, kids,” Momma said as Dr. Kim crossed the road toward us, looking more like a physician preparing to talk with a patient’s family than a friendly neighbor coming to say hello. Adjusting her purse strap higher on her shoulder, Momma stepped down from the porch, only tripping once as she crossed Grandma’s scrubby yard to meet him.
“Do you think the Kims know?”
“Know what?” Samson lowered his chin to look at me. He glanced furtively toward the Kims’ front door, but Nola was already gone.
“About us,” I whispered. “About savvies. Do you think Grandma told the Kims our secret?”
Samson snorted. “They wouldn’t have believed her if she did.”
“What did he say?” I asked Momma as soon as she returned from her brief conversation with Dr. Kim.
“He’s glad we’ve come,” she answered. “Your grandmother is getting worse.”
“Worse? Worse how?”
Momma didn’t have to answer. I found out what worse meant a second later when Grandma Pat opened the door wearing large, round old-lady glasses, a tarnished rhinestone tiara with gaps like missing teeth . . . and absolutely nothing else.
Samson immediately swiveled to face the road, his face crimson. Still asleep in Samson’s arms, Tucker burbled wordlessly and shifted his head. Momma whipped off her coat and wrapped it around Grandma, pushing her inside.
“I don’t need any magazines, if that’s what you’re selling,” Grandma squawked in a voice like a crow’s. All I could do was stand in the doorway and gape—not at Grandma’s birthday suit, but at the tiara on her head. I’d seen that tarnished crown before, two days ago, in my terrifying vision in the church bathroom mirror.
I’d watched myself fall from the ledge of a ruined clock tower as two arms reached out to grab me. Two arms in red sleeves.
Still standing motionless on Grandma’s front stoop, I slowly looked down at the sleeves of my coat. My fancy red coat.
How had I not recognized my own hands and coat sleeves in my vision?
Why hadn’t I understood that I was seeing the scene from my point of view? It wasn’t me who was going to fall sometime in the future. It was Grandma Pat.
Relief warred with guilt inside me. Then I was hit with a brand-new set of fears: Grandma Pat was in terrible danger and I was the one fated to try to rescue her. I had seen no one else in my vision. What if I failed to reach her in time? I wasn’t very tall. And my arms were puny! What if I wasn’t big enough . . . or strong enough . . . or brave enough to catch Grandma and hold on to her?
How would I pull Grandma back to me, when she was already falling?
OUR FIRST FULL DAY in Evergreen was unseasonably warm, the sky an azure blue so deep, it made me want to swim in it. But not even sunshine and sky-high daydreams could keep me from feeling low, or help me forget the sight of Grandma Pat falling from a snowy tower, dressed like a doddering fairy-tale princess.
I’d slept fitfully the night before, sharing Grandma’s lumpy sofa with Tucker—his head on one end, mine on the other. Momma had taken the spare room, while Samson simply stretched out on the living room floor, warming the house like a human furnace.
My clock tower vision puzzled me. Back home, silos, telephone poles, and water towers were the tallest things around; there were no run-down, six-story clock towers anywhere near Kansaska-Nebransas. I hadn’t seen one when we’d reached Evergreen, either. And the weather here was beautiful; in my vision, there was ice and snow.
I’d decided to keep my premonition to myself, for now. There was hard work ahead. Momma was already flustered; I didn’t want to trouble her more. I didn’t want to frighten Tucker, and if I told Samson, his worry might start a wildfire.
As soon as breakfast was over, Momma and Samson began the burdensome business of sorting and packing Grandma’s things. I had to babysit. The words why me? danced a bossa nova on my tongue, but I kept my mouth shut.
Samson couldn’t be in charge of Grandma Pat. Not only was it his job to clear the junk out of the attic, which was elbow-deep in cobwebs, dust,
and shadows, Samson wasn’t allowed too close to Grandma Pat’s white curls, which held enough hair spray to make her dangerously flammable. He’d already scorched holes in the front drapes that morning.
“What’re you looking at?” I’d said, startling my brother into a fit of blazes when I caught him spying on Nola Kim as she left for school.
“There’ll be none of that unnatural funny business in my house!” Grandma bellowed as we beat back the flames. “Your ruckus is drowning out my shows.”
Mostly, Grandma Pat sat in her recliner and glowered, with her television blaring and Tucker sitting at her feet, playing with his army figures. Aside from the occasional shout or reprimand, Grandma had barely spoken to us since we’d arrived. She refused to acknowledge that we’d come to help her move, even as I worked around her, sifting through drawers, bookshelves, and boxes.
It hadn’t occurred to me that Grandma Pat might not want to live with us any more than we wanted to live with her. All morning, Grandma thrummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, waiting for me to turn my back. Whenever I did, she’d pick up a vase, or a basket, or a throw pillow, and shuffle away to hide it. Grandma stuffed an ancient collection of assorted paper napkins down her shirt before I could throw them away. And when I pried open a rusty tin and shrieked, dropping both the tin and the spooky collection of unbroken wishbones inside it, Grandma Pat shouted at me.
“Hey! I was saving those, girly. What do you think you’re doing, robbing an old woman of her wishes?”
Grandma never called me Gypsy. Only girly. Or she mistook me for an old school friend named Nettie Arbuckle. It was hard to get used to Grandma’s memory slips. They confused me and made me feel unstrung and awkward. Sometimes I felt like yelling back at her when she yelled at me. Other times, I had to try hard not to cry.
A moment later, Grandma Pat’s tone of voice changed abruptly. “Has anyone invited you to the winter formal yet, Nettie?” she asked as I gathered up the fragile bones of all her unwished wishes.