The Secret Window Page 2

  They had reached the front door of Meg’s apartment building.

  “I’m coming up with you,” Gracie announced. “Your mother’s home on Wednesdays, isn’t she? You can ask her now.”

  Meg nodded reluctantly. “Wednesday afternoons. But she might be out shopping. I can call you tonight after I talk to her.”

  “I’d rather find out now,” Gracie said. “If you can’t go, I’m calling Jean as soon as I get home.”

  Meg gave up. Gracie was used to having her own way. But it could be awful asking about the party with someone else listening. If her mother was irritable or depressed, as she was most of the time lately, the answer was sure to be no. The chances for a yes were much better if Meg could choose the time carefully.

  When they reached the fourth floor, Meg tried once more to change Gracie’s mind about waiting for an answer. “I think my mother’s gone out. I’m almost sure of it.”

  Gracie gave her a little shove toward the apartment door. “No, she’s in there. I can hear her talking. Wow!”

  Meg listened. It was her mother, all right. Meg couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was too loud, too harsh for ordinary conversation.

  “She must be talking on the phone,” Meg said, and hoped it was right. But as she unlocked the door and pushed it open, her heart sank. This was no telephone conversation; the second voice had been too deep to be heard out in the hall. Her mother and father were having an argument.

  “—sick and tired of it,” her mother shouted. “I have to do everything while you sit in here and scribble all day. It isn’t right. I’ve had enough! It’s time you make up your mind what really matters to you.”

  Meg panicked, turning to Gracie. Her friend made a little face. “It’ll be over soon,” Gracie whispered. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go out in the kitchen and have a Coke.”

  Meg would have preferred to run from the apartment, but Gracie was already on her way to the kitchen. Meg followed on tiptoe with a quick glance down the hall toward her parents’ bedroom. Her father was speaking now, his voice low, but angry too.

  Then her mother started again. “I mean it! You can’t have everything your way.” Her tone was chilling. “Make up your mind what you really want.”

  Gracie went to the kitchen window and looked out while she waited for her Coke. “My mom and dad used to do that a lot,” she said. “I was glad when he moved out.”

  Meg poured Coke into glasses, managing to spill quite a bit of it. Then she closed the kitchen door. “Oh, well,” she said, trying to match Gracie’s casual tone. “They’ll be laughing in a few minutes.” But even as she said it, she was sure it wasn’t true.

  “I’d go, except that I have to know about the party,” Gracie said. “Do you think you could just run in for a minute and—”

  “No!” If Gracie knew so much about family arguments, she ought to know this was no time to ask for something.

  The bedroom door banged, and they both jumped. Meg winced as her mother’s steps snapped sharply down the hall. The kitchen door flew open and crashed against the stove.

  “What in the world!” Her mother’s face was white, and her eyes were red and sore-looking. She took a step backward when she saw that Meg wasn’t alone.

  “Hi, Mrs. Korshak.”

  “Oh, hello, Gracie.” She went over to the refrigerator and stood with her back to the girls, taking out covered dishes and salad makings. They watched until Meg couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

  “I’m invited to a slumber party at Linda Bell’s Saturday night. Mrs. Bell sent a note.” Meg reached for her shoulder bag and fished out the scrap of paper. Her mother crossed to the sink with a plastic bag of spinach, barely glancing at the note.

  “I suppose it’s all right,” she said. Her voice was distant.

  Gracie made an exultant circle with her thumb and forefinger, then scooped up her books. “I have to go,” she said. “My mother’ll be looking for me.”

  That was a lie—Gracie’s mother worked the second shift as a hostess in a restaurant and was never home after school. But Meg didn’t blame her for wanting to leave, now that the business of the party was settled. The kitchen fairly crackled with anger.

  “Thanks for asking me.” Meg followed Gracie to the door. But her anticipation of the party was spoiled. Of course she had wanted her mother to say she could go—but not that way. Not as if she didn’t give a darn.

  “See you tomorrow,” Gracie said cheerfully. “We’re going to have a terrific time, Meggie. Just wait!” She seemed to have already forgotten the argument they’d overheard. Meg watched her friend run past the elevator and down the stairs. She was in no hurry to go back into the apartment.

  When she did, the silence was terrible, not at all the comfortable quiet she enjoyed when she was home alone. Her mother was still in the kitchen, and at the other end of the apartment the bedroom door remained closed. Meg stood in the hallway, yearning for a miracle. She wished desperately that they could all go back an hour. If only the argument had never happened!

  She remembered what Bill had said about their mother’s angry outbursts: “—little explosions that prevent the big one.” Was this the big one he meant? Certainly something important, something frightening, had happened between their parents this afternoon.

  Thoughts of her brother raised Meg’s spirits. Maybe he’d know what was wrong and how to fix it. She went to the window and looked down the street. Hurry up, Bill, she thought. I’m scared.

  Almost as if he’d heard her, Bill came out the door of the Superette. He looked straight up at the window where she was standing. And then he turned a cartwheel right there in front of the store.

  It was such a surprise that for a moment Meg didn’t understand what he was telling her. When she did, her heart seemed to stop.

  “Mama! Dad!” She ran to the hall and shrieked in one direction and then the other. “Bill won! Bill won the contest!”

  The bedroom door swung open and her father came out, looking tousled and unhappy.

  “What do you mean, he won?” her mother demanded from the kitchen doorway. “How in the world could you know that?”

  Meg was so excited that the words piled up in her throat.

  “The window!” she gasped. “Look out the window!”

  They followed her into the living room and looked up the street.

  “Oh, dear God,” her mother whispered, and it sounded like a tiny prayer. Because there was shy, unathletic Bill doing one cartwheel after another down the middle of the sidewalk, while passersby hurried to get out of his way.

  If he hadn’t won the science contest, he’d certainly gone right out of his mind.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Celebration

  For a little while after Bill got home, Meg believed everything was going to be all right. Her brother hugged each of them, and they hugged him. He swung Meg around until she staggered. They all talked at once, filling the apartment with a happy sound.

  We’re a family, Meg thought. She looked at her smiling parents and could see no trace of the fury she’d heard in their voices just a few minutes before.

  “We have to celebrate!” her mother exclaimed, giggly as a young girl. “Where do you want to go for dinner, Bill? The sky’s the limit—within reason, of course.” They all laughed.

  Bill put a finger under his chin and rolled his eyes.

  “The Firehouse,” he said. “That’s the only place that’s wild enough and noisy enough to hold me tonight.”

  “Hurrah!” Meg hugged him again. Any other brother would have chosen steak or lobster for such a great occasion, but her brother wanted hamburgers at the funny old restaurant where they’d celebrated their birthdays for years.

  Meg’s parents shook their heads, but she was sure they were secretly pleased.

  “Let’s go right now,” her mother said. “You can tell us all about it when we get to the restaurant, Bill.”

  A few minutes later they were out in the gentl
e June evening together, walking down the block to Corvell Avenue and then over to Main. Bill and their mother led the way, while Meg followed with her father.

  “Well, this is quite a day!” he said. He sounded strained. Meg felt a tightness in her chest. Was he thinking only of Bill’s wonderful news, or was he marveling that he could experience such happiness and misery all in one day? Now that the first excitement was past, his face wore its familiar private look once more. Meg watched anxiously as his eyes went from her mother to Bill and then to her mother again. What was he thinking? He wasn’t really with them at all.

  When they reached the Firehouse, her father seemed to relax again. They clustered inside the door to wait for a table. “What an asylum!” he muttered and ran his hands through his dark hair.

  Meg and Bill grinned. He always said that while they waited for a table at the Firehouse.

  “Oh, come on, Daddy,” Meg said, because that was part of their tradition, too. “You know you love it here.”

  She loved the restaurant herself. The building was an old fire station, with a tower bell that pealed across the neighborhood whenever anyone pulled the rope. The waiters and busboys wore fire hats and plastic coveralls, and there were red lights that winked warnings from the walls. If it was a birthday, a waiter slid down the pole in the center of the dining room and delivered a free sundae to the birthday child.

  As soon as they were settled at a table and had ordered, Meg’s mother set her menu to one side and leaned toward Bill.

  “Now,” she said, “let’s hear all about it. How did you find out you’d won? Did Mr. What’s-his-name tell you?”

  “Mr. Corcoran, Ma.” Bill’s thin face glowed as he recalled his day. “Mr. Corcoran called me out of calculus class this afternoon. When I got to his office, he acted more excited than I was. He kept clearing his throat and smoothing his mustache, until I wondered if I should leave and come back later. But then he said, ‘Well, well, my boy, I’m not going to make a speech.’ And he handed me this.”

  The envelope was tan. It was creased from being in Bill’s pocket, but when he unfolded it, there was his name—William Korshak—in big blue letters. Bill held it up for each of them to see. Then he opened the envelope and read the letter aloud.

  Afterward Meg could remember only the main points. The letter said Bill had won first place for his solar energy research project and for his high score on the National Science Clubs test. He was to receive a plaque at the state Science Club Sponsors’ dinner and a full scholarship to the state university.

  While Bill read, his voice trembling a little when he came to the part about the scholarship, Meg’s mind raced. So Mr. Corcoran did have a mustache. And the envelope was tan with blue lettering just as it had been in her dream. She hoped Bill had forgotten her description of how the envelope would look, but there wasn’t much chance of that. When he showed it to them, he had held it longer than necessary in front of Meg. Sooner or later he was going to ask questions.

  “My son the scientist,” their mother said, when the letter had been examined and put away. “I can hardly wait to tell everyone at the office.” She turned abruptly to their father. “Aren’t you proud of your son?”

  “Of course I’m proud. Why wouldn’t I be?” Both question and answer sounded harsh. It was the first time they had spoken directly to each other all that evening.

  Bill looked at them with a puzzled expression. Usually he was the first to realize something was wrong, but happiness had made him giddy tonight.

  “Here come our hamburgers,” Meg said loudly. “Boy, am I hungry! I wish I’d ordered two of everything.”

  “And if you had, you wouldn’t gain a pound,” her mother said, going along with the change of subject. “It’s terrible to have to sit and watch your skinny children eat tons of food. If I had French fries tonight, I’d be two pounds heavier tomorrow.”

  She made a face at her hamburger, which did look rather lonely without the French fries and onion rings the others had ordered. The tense moment passed, and they settled down to enjoy their food. But Meg knew that the party was not quite the same for Bill now. He had turned watchful, and there was a worried little crease between his eyes.

  When they’d eaten their hamburgers and were ready for dessert, their father excused himself. Meg watched the tall figure cross the room, shoulders hunched, to talk to the hostess at the front desk. Minutes later, the fire siren shrieked, the tower bell rang, and their waiter hurtled down the pole in the center of the dining room. While the rest of the diners cheered, the waiter doffed his helmet in front of Bill and presented him with a towering sundae. A band of plastic-suited “firefighters” gathered around the table, and the entire room rocked as they sang “Congratulations to you …” off key.

  Bill turned a deep red and clutched his forehead. The other diners laughed and applauded. It was a wonderful moment, and Meg was grateful to her father for making it happen.

  One last time, she thought, and then she wondered, One last time what? The words had come from nowhere and refused to go away.

  That evening Meg had one of the “real” dreams. Every detail was clear. But unlike most of the dreams in her notebook, this one had no familiar faces, and the setting was a place she hadn’t seen before.

  She was drifting down, down into a cave full of blue light. An odd sound throbbed around her, and she felt as if she were swimming through the sound and the light. Though the cave was full of people, she felt terribly alone. Figures came close, then drifted away. Meg looked around the cave, hoping to see a face she knew. Then her toe touched something—a bare foot with toenails that looked black in the blue light. A silver bracelet was looped around the ankle. Meg couldn’t see the body to which the foot belonged or even—horrible!—whether there was one. She jumped backward and cried out. Danger—there was danger in the cave! She had to swim up out of the blue light. She had to get away.

  When she awoke, her sheets were twisted into knots and her shorty pajamas were wet with perspiration. Lightning lit the room, and the curtains belled out in the rising wind.

  Meg untangled herself and went to the window to look out. It hadn’t started raining yet, but it soon would. Down below, papers skittered along the alley and a cat cried like a baby. Meg leaned into the wind.

  Danger, she thought. Something dangerous is going to happen. She was sure of it. But why a blue cave, why a bare foot? Until now most of the “real” dreams had involved situations she understood. The strangeness of this one made it more disturbing than the others. This dream was a warning. She hugged herself as thunder rolled across the sky.

  “Meg, are you awake?”

  She whirled around and saw that her bedroom door was open a crack. Bill’s whisper was nearly lost in the roar of the storm.

  “Hi.” She reached over to turn on the bedside lamp.

  Bill’s hair was more tousled than usual, and his glasses were crooked. “I can’t sleep,” he said. “Come on out and make some cocoa.”

  “Okay.” Meg lowered the window and hurried into a robe and slippers. What good timing Bill had! If ever she was glad to see him it was now.

  But she almost changed her mind when she reached the kitchen and saw him slumped in a chair. The letter about his award lay on the table in front of him, and when she joined him he picked up the envelope and waved it at her.

  “How did you know?” he asked bluntly. “Tell me that, for starters.”

  Meg brushed her hair away from her face. “I was just sure you were going to win, that’s all,” she said carefully. “You’re so smart and everything.”

  Bill shook his head. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. How did you know what the envelope would look like?”

  Meg took cocoa and sugar from the cupboard. “Most envelopes are tan—big ones, I mean.”

  “True. But what about the blue lettering? You said my name would be on the envelope in blue. Tan envelopes don’t always have blue lettering, right?”

  Meg knew
that now was the time to tell Bill about the dreams. She could go to her bureau this minute and get her notebook full of dates and details. But the fear that he wouldn’t believe her—or would tell her she was crazy—was very strong. Her father hadn’t wanted to believe her, years ago. He’d become angry when she told him she’d dreamed about the Pancinos’ fire. If Bill became annoyed or laughed at her, she couldn’t bear it. Not now, when their parents were fighting with each other. Not when her dreams were turning into nightmares.

  “I made it up.” Her hands trembled as she stirred the cocoa.

  She expected more questions, but he only nodded. “Well, that’s what I thought,” he said. “It’s quite a coincidence, though.”

  “I know.” She opened a box of graham crackers and put it in the middle of the table. She hated to lie to Bill, especially when she needed to share the truth with him. Now that he’d accepted her explanation, she almost wished they could go back and start the conversation again.

  Bill pushed the envelope to one side. The chance to talk about the dreams was gone. “Then tell me this,” he said. “What was going on at the Firehouse tonight? Dad and Ma acted—funny. You know what I mean?”

  Meg nodded. Quickly she told him about the argument she’d overheard that afternoon. “It was awful! Not just an ordinary fight.” She wished she could remember the exact words she’d heard. “They were really mad, especially Mama. She sounded so—”

  “Fed up?” Bill’s face was grim.

  “Yes. Like everything bad was spilling out at once. I wish I hadn’t heard it.”

  The cocoa hissed and boiled over the rim of the pan. Bill jumped up and lifted the pan off the burner. “Some cook,” he said. “What would you do without me, kiddo?”

  Tears blurred Meg’s eyes. It was a good question. She dropped into a chair and stared at the formica table top, trying to imagine what life would be like when Bill went away to the university.

  Lonely. Scary. Sad.

  When she glanced up, Bill was watching her. “I was just trying to be funny,” he said. “It didn’t work.”