Chapter Eight Portland, OR 2002 #2
“Creepy?” Scarlett suggested. “Sad? A place you’re never allowed to go even if the whole house is on fire and it’s the only way out?”
Chrissie nodded. “Yeah.”
“Then we’ll go there together. I want to see what all the fuss is about.” Scarlett slid her hand in Chrissie’s and stood there holding it. She knew it was only a matter of time before Chrissie gave in and led the way.
That was the thing about Chrissie—the thing that Scarlett liked most about her. She was terrified of everything and hesitant to step even an inch out of line, but that never seemed to stop her from living her life anyway.
“Okay,” Chrissie said. “This way.”
They tiptoed up the carpeted stairs to a dark, quiet hall that Scarlett could totally tell was haunted. Malcolm’s room was the last one on the right, the only door in the whole house that was open a crack.
“They never close it,” Chrissie whispered as she put a palm flat on the wood and pushed. “I don’t know why. I think they’re afraid that if they do, they’ll have to admit that I’m all they have left.”
Scarlett didn’t scream all the things that were stuck in her throat.
Your mom is even worse than mine, and mine abandoned me to my grandmother the day I got sick.
Why do they care so much about one stupid dead son when they have the best daughter in the world right here?
Let’s burn the whole house down and dance naked on the ashes!
Instead, she just nodded and allowed Chrissie to lead her inside.
The room was disappointing, to say the least. Scarlett had always thought that ghostly shrines were supposed to feel like stepping into church when all the lights were off or sitting in front of a television screen showing nothing but static.
Instead, she found herself standing in a bedroom with dark blue old-fashioned wallpaper and a huge window overlooking the backyard.
The bed was neatly made, the dresser free of everything except a single bronze trophy.
True, there was a stack of Hardy Boys novels arranged on the bedside table and a framed poster of a bunch of piano keys on it, but even those felt bland in comparison with every other bedroom in the world.
“Huh,” Scarlett said. She frowned as she whirled around, looking for a dirty sock or a stack of Mad magazines—anything to indicate that a living, breathing boy had once slept here. “It’s not very interesting, is it?”
Chrissie shrugged. “My room is basically the same, only in pink and with Nancy Drew instead of the Hardy Boys.”
For some reason, that made Scarlett feel even worse about what she was seeing. “Do you at least get a trophy, too?” she asked as she touched a fingertip to the bronze.
That was when she realized it wasn’t a trophy at all. It was an urn.
Scarlett knew all about those. Once, one of the kids at the hospital had brought in a brochure from a funeral home.
It had been full of silk-lined caskets and huge, fat-bellied urns, all of them promising a “fitting goodbye for your dearest loved ones.” A bunch of the kids had sat on Scarlett’s bed picking out their favorites.
It hadn’t been a sad day—she remembered them dog-earing the pages and laughing over things like special pockets for hiding their favorite treasures to carry with them into eternity—but one of the moms had come in and yelled so much that they’d all ended up in trouble with the nurses.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She peeked over her shoulder to make sure Chrissie wasn’t breaking down or anything, but she only stood in the doorway with her arms crossed over her stomach, looking more guilty than upset.
“Is it weird to know his ashes are sitting up here? Even when you, like, eat dinner?”
“A little.” Chrissie paused. “Can we get Mr. Bunny now? I’m ready to go home.”
Her use of that word—home—made something in Scarlett’s chest give a lurch.
Chrissie wasn’t talking about this big, grand house where she wasn’t allowed to touch anything or hang posters on the wall.
She was talking about the cramped apartment where Scarlett and Grandma had to carry their laundry down the street to the laundromat and then sit for hours waiting for it to dry because if you left it there for even a minute, someone would take the pile out and leave it sopping wet on the floor.
“Not yet. First, I think you should steal something from this room.”
“What?” Chrissie’s arms fell from her stomach, her guilty look replaced by one of wide-eyed fear. “Scarlett, I can’t do that! What if my parents found out?”
Scarlett cut her off with a sniff. “Who cares? It’s not like they’ll be able to prove it was you. Besides, they can’t know everything that’s in here. Let’s look in the closet, maybe, or under the bed. That’s where all the juicy stuff is.”
“You don’t understand,” Chrissie said—pleaded, even. “They’ll never forgive me if I mess this room up.”
“So? Is their forgiveness even worth having?”
Scarlett knew the exact moment she got through—the exact moment the devil on Chrissie’s shoulder pushed the angel off. It was in the way her wide eyes got even wider, with a sparkle in them that looked just like a shooting star.
“Actually, there is one thing I’ve always wanted.” Chrissie slapped her hands over her mouth as if shocked by her own daring. Then, peeling first one hand and then the other away, she added, “It’s in the closet. Top shelf. Near the back.”
The fact that Chrissie knew exactly where to find her secret treasure—and that it was hidden away—was enough to assure Scarlett that she’d made the right decision.
She recognized the object the moment they lifted the plastic container from the top shelf.
Everything in there was Tupperwared up and organized with a label—extra underwear, size medium; winter sweaters, WOOL ONLY; memory/keepsakes—but it was the one with the label of games and activities that Chrissie went to first.
“Ohh, Chrissie. It’s beautiful.” Scarlett’s voice turned reverent as she pulled out a paint-by-numbers kit that showed a pile of puppies spilling out of a basket. Each one had a big red bow around its neck, which matched an even bigger bow around the edge of the basket. “Malcolm never opened it?”
Chrissie shook her head as she accepted the painting kit, her hands gentle on the edges. “A neighbor gave it to him as a birthday present when he turned ten. He was too weak to do it by then, so he said I could have it and paint it for him. So he could hang it by his bed and think of me.”
A red-hot emotion the same color as the bow took hold of Scarlett by the throat.
“But your parents wouldn’t let you,” she said, no hint of a question in her voice. “They’d rather it sit here in the closet forever than you have even a little bit of fun.”
“No.” Chrissie shook her head. “That’s not it. Seeing it would just make my mom too sad, that’s all.”
“She’s always sad,” Scarlett said scathingly. “Sometimes, I think she likes it.”
Chrissie nodded her agreement, which was all Scarlett needed to tuck the kit under one arm.
Grandma had told her about a hundred times that everyone grieved differently, and that Chrissie’s parents were doing the best they could with a bad situation, but when you loved someone—really loved them—you didn’t drag them down with you.
You used every bit of strength you had left to lift them up.
“Okay. You go get Mr. Bunny, and I’ll find a way to tie this to the back of my bike. You can spend the next two weeks painting, and I promise not to interrupt you a single time. Not even if I’m so bored I want to scream.”
Chrissie hesitated, but Scarlett refused to back down.
“It’s what I’d want you to do if I was the one who’d died,” she said. “I’d want you to paint and paint until the walls were covered with puppies. If it made you happy, I’d never stop you from doing anything. You know that, right?”
Scarlett knew the exact moment Chrissie gave in.
Even more than the slow, careful smile or the way she reached over and gave Scarlett’s arm a quick squeeze, it was in the way she got just a little bit taller.
Scarlett would always love Chrissie no matter what, but she loved her best when she took up as much space as possible.
“Okay,” Chrissie finally said. “You’re right. Thank you. I never would’ve had the guts to take it for myself.”
“I know,” Scarlett said, and she did—she really, truly did. “That’s why I’m here to help you. And why I’ll keep helping you until the day you don’t need me anymore.”