I lean over to touch the vine, I can swear I hear a hissing sound. I jump back, scuttling down the path, to what looks like the end of the garden wall. But it’s not just a wall. There’s a small door, ajar. Through the opening, I can see a dim green light.
I look back but see no sign of Sam. Slowly, I approach the opening.
“Hello?” I call.
Hearing nothing, I push the door open wider. Inside is a small, windowless room with a stone floor. There’s nothing in it but a table laid carefully with several objects: a black candle, a white candle, a glass of salt, nails, a mortar and pestle, and an old fountain pen and ink. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see something move in the corner. An animal, maybe. Perhaps a large bird.
“Hello?” I whisper.
No one answers. I creep closer to get a better look. Suddenly, the oldest man I’ve ever seen steps forward out of the shadows. His limbs are as gnarled as cypress roots, and his hair is snow-white. He’s wearing the same blue sunglasses Sam wears, despite the serious darkness in the room.
“Oh, hi! Where did you—”
“Doc Buzzard,” he says, extending his hand. “How are you?”
“Fine, thank you.” His palm is cool and dry. “I’m here with Sam.”
“I know,” he says.
“What is this place?”
“My garden shed. And meditation center. That’s where I pray.” He nods at the altar.
“Cool.” I squint at the candles. “Are you Catholic or something?”
He smiles. “Or something.”
“Alex.” Sam is calling from outside.
“Say hello to your grandmother for me.”
“Okay.” This guy knows my grandmother? “See you later.” I can feel him watching me from behind his sunglasses. I step out into the garden, relieved to be in the sunshine again.
“My dad in there?” Sam asks.
“Yeah. He was praying, I think.”
“He’s a very religious guy,” Sam comments vaguely, clearly unwilling to say more. “Here’s your tea. Remember to flash boil it for ten seconds, tops, and then serve it. Boil it longer than that and it won’t work.”
I put my nose inside. Yes, it’s exactly the same mixture my mother made: dried blueberries, chamomile, and that horsey secret ingredient she would never reveal.
“Will you give me the recipe?” I ask.
“Not likely,” he says, smiling. “All right, it’s getting late. You still want that swim?”
“That’s okay,” I say. Usually I wouldn’t pass up the chance; after all, that’s a beautiful river out there. Plus, I love a good swim, and I’m no wimp, even in the bone-chilling water of the Pacific Ocean. But something feels… not right about being at Sam’s house now.
“Next time.”
He nods. “Okay, then.” We head back to the truck. On the way down the path, I think I see something dart from one tree to another. But when I turn around, only the long early-evening shadows are visible. The lone sound is the wind in the leaves, whispering as if they have a secret.
15
It’s only when we come blazing down Drayton Street in Sam’s awesome blue truck, obvious as a Mardi Gras parade float, that I remember my grandmother’s warning to stay away from the Buzzards altogether. And because I am, and always have been, a somewhat inherently unlucky person, there she is—naturally!—standing on the porch, staring us down.
“Hello, Miss Lee,” Sam sings out from the window.
“Sam,” Miss Lee answers, smiling sternly as her eyes travel from him to me.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say hastily, hopping to the ground and lifting out my bike to head inside and face my grandmother’s wrath—and when I tell her where I’ve been all afternoon, wrath is exactly what I receive.
“To his home?” she sputters. “Are you joking?”
I shrug. I’m not a liar; even though I know that making up stories or avoiding the truth could make things a lot easier for me sometimes, I’ve never been into it. It’s too confusing. How are you supposed to remember what’s true and what’s not? But now that she’s going so nuts over this, I seriously wish I had just said he’d stopped to offer me a ride home from school.
“You deliberately disobeyed me,” she hisses.
“I didn’t, actually. I just forgot what you’d said. It was my first day of school, which was seriously overwhelming. I mean, those Magnolia girls? They are nuts. So I saw Sam Buzzard, and he was nice to me, and I just forgot you said not to hang out with him. Okay?”
“Okay?” Miss Lee spits. “Okay? No, this is most certainly not okay.