The Secret Box (5 page)

9
Jax

W
hen Mom works a long shift at the Chatham Diner, I cook for myself. Last summer I figured out how to make a cheese omelet. And I know how to dump fish sticks on a cookie sheet and shove them into the oven. I'm not much of a cook but I don't starve. That night I made spaghetti with olive oil and Parm cheese. Since I hate doing dishes, I ate right out of the pan. I didn't make anything green even though I know it's healthier to add a vegetable or two. Green is my least favorite flavor, except for pickles, which don't taste green.

There were two pieces of birthday cake left so I took one upstairs and ate it while sitting in my closet. I don't usually eat in my closet but the box was in there and, well, I liked looking at it. The metal was polished to a glossy sheen and perfectly smooth. And it was kinda warm to the touch. Maybe the heat came from a battery that kept the LCD screen working. That made sense. As I munched on cake I imagined what might fit inside. A piece of heirloom jewelry, a wad of cash, a treasure map?

When Mom got home, she barely had the energy to ask how my day was. She headed straight for the bathroom and filled the tub. I like hanging out with her while she takes a bath. I sit on the floor, a pile of beauty and fashion magazines in my lap. You can buy them for ten cents apiece from a big bin at the library. We laugh about the stupid things those people write about, like how to make your lips look plumper, or what kind of underwear makes your butt look smaller. This was our talking time.

“Mary's having gallbladder surgery,” she told me as I settled on the floor. I set a fork and plate with the last piece of birthday cake on the edge of the tub. “I agreed to take her shift, which means I'll be doubling my hours this week. I'm sorry. I know this isn't the best way to start the summer.” She pulled her long hair into a knot, then sank into the water.

Even though Mom worked all the time, we never seemed to have enough money. We'd always been renters, we'd always had an old car, we'd always clipped coupons. Aunt Cathy and Uncle Phil offered to help, but Mom refused. So Aunt Cathy used every holiday, even Bastille Day, as an excuse to give me gift cards. Hello? Bastille Day is celebrated in France.

“I was hoping we could go camping,” Mom said as steam coated the mirror. We usually went camping the first week of summer vacation. “I'll see if your Aunt Cathy is planning any trips. Maybe you could go with her.” She took a few bites of cake. Bathwater dripped off her hands, onto the plate.

“Actually, Ethan and Tyler are going to Washington, DC, to do this geocaching contest. I was hoping I could go with them.” Did my voice sound innocent? Could she tell I'd planned the whole thing?

“What kind of contest?”

“Geocaching. It's a treasure hunt. The winning team gets a trophy.”

She took another bite. “Is your aunt okay with this?”

“Yes,” I said. “We already talked to her. She's going to pay for the hotel and gas. Tyler and Ethan are leaving in the morning. Can I go with them? It sounds like a lot of fun. And I'm not doing anything else. Besides, Ethan needs me. It will be crowded in DC and you know how he gets.”

“It's so nice that you feel protective of your cousin.” She licked frosting off her lips. “You were a baby the last time I visited DC. The cherry blossoms were beautiful. We went to the Lincoln Memorial. We . . .” She stopped speaking. Her brows pinched for a moment, as if fighting a headache. Was it a bad memory?

She finished the cake and set the plate on the corner of the tub. Then she closed her eyes and thought for a long while, the steady drip from the faucet the only sound. Her toes rested against a broken tile. I wanted to ask her about Great-Aunt Juniper. Why so many secrets? But she was tired and I didn't want to push things. And if I asked about my father, I'd just get the same response as always—
I've told you a million times, Jax, I don't know anything about him and I've forgotten his name
. So my nervous gaze flitted over a magazine advertisement for lipstick that never wore off, even if you ate a hamburger, even if you kissed. What was it made of—glue?

“You'll stay with your cousins?” Mom asked, turning to look at me.

“Yes,” I said as I sat up straight.

“You won't get into trouble? Please, Jax, I really can't handle any more trouble right now. That candy-bar incident was very upsetting.”

Candy Bar Incident. That sounded like the title of a novel. Yeesh.

“I won't get into trouble.” I would do my absolute best to keep that promise. The last thing I wanted was to make my mom worry, or to disappoint her. She'd never have to know about the box or its contents. Life would return to normal as soon as I got back.

“Well then, it sounds like fun. I know you want to travel. There's a lot to see in DC.” She closed her eyes again and sank deeper. “I love you, Jax.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

Neither of us mentioned the birthday box. We acted as if it never existed.

10
Jax

Monday

 

I
didn't have to look out the window to know that the obnoxious person honking a car horn at eight in the morning was my cousin Tyler.

“Coming!” I hollered. Mom had already left for the diner. She'd tucked a twenty-dollar bill in my pocket. I ran across the lawn. The morning dew had already evaporated and a piercing blue sky promised a hot day. Good thing I'd chosen shorts. As I shoved my backpack into the trunk, Tyler honked again. Mr. Smith stood on his front porch in his pajama pants, glaring at Tyler's car. “Sorry,” I called to him, then shut the trunk. Oops. I'd forgotten to return the stupid axe.

“Get in,” Tyler barked. He hadn't combed his hair and his T-shirt was all wrinkled as usual.

“Jeez, you don't have to honk a million times. I heard you the first time.
Everyone in the universe
heard you the first time.” I scrambled into the backseat next to Ethan, who'd slid down so no one could see him.

“Your neighbor looks pissed,” Ethan said.

“He always looks that way.” Mr. Smith was the kind of person who complained about everything—the way we didn't mow our lawn, the way Mom left stuff hanging on the clothesline, the way our garbage cans stayed on the curb long after the garbage had been picked up. Putting his nose in our business was like his part-time job.

I set the metal box on the seat between me and Ethan. Tyler turned around. “Be sure to put on your seat belts. I promised Mom that I'd make sure you . . . Hey, is that the box you got at the garage sale?”

“Yep,” I answered.

“Have you solved the puzzle yet?”

“Nope.”

“You should take a reading in DC.”

“Hey, that's a real good idea. I hadn't thought of that. Thanks.” I smiled at Ethan.

Tyler's car was pretty nice. His parents drove it for a few years, then gave it to him when he turned sixteen. As we pulled away, Tyler honked again and waved at Mr. Smith. Ethan groaned and slid lower.

“Did you bring the measuring stuff?” I whispered.

“Uh . . . yeah. A protractor, a ruler, a pencil, the map . . .” Ethan paused for a moment. “I think that's all we'll need.” He held on to a paperback book. His baseball cap was the same one he always wore, but instead of jeans, he was wearing plaid shorts. I'd almost chosen plaid shorts that morning. Thank goodness they were in the washing machine. Ethan and I didn't need to be matchy matchy.

I could barely sit still; every muscle in my body wanted to sprint. Today I'd push the button again and that would make me even closer to opening the box. “This is going to be fun,” I blurted.

Tyler glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Fun? This isn't a game, Jax. It's a serious quest. There's a trophy at stake.”

I had to stifle a giggle.
Quest
is such a gamer word. Tyler took things so seriously. I turned to ask Ethan if he'd brought any snacks, when weird music poured out of the back speakers—heavy drumming accompanied by a woman who was singing in a strange language. Correction, not singing—screeching as if being tortured. I wanted to plug my ears. The sound started to creep under my skin. “What is this?”

“It's the soundtrack from War Machine,” Tyler said.

One of his games
, Ethan mouthed.

“Don't you have any music that's good?” I asked.

“Good?” Tyler glared at me in the rearview mirror. “Define
good
.”

“You know, like music the rest of the population listens to?” The screeching was joined by more female voices. A chorus of women in pain. I was in pain. “Anything. I'll even listen to country.”

“For your information, little cousin, the
rest
of the population consists of mindless zombies who consume mainstream pop culture because they're brainwashed by the constant flow of commercials that convince consumers to buy anything no matter—oh look, there's Starbucks.” He made a sudden turn off the road.

Thankfully, the music stopped when Tyler shut off the engine. He pulled a card from his wallet, one of the cards I'd given him as a bribe, then strode toward the coffee emporium's green doors. While we waited for him to get his mocha frappe triple shot whatever, I hatched the next part of our plan. “We should press the button as soon as we get to DC, but not in front of Tyler. I don't want to share it with him. Whatever's inside is for me and you. No one else.”

“How are we going to get away from him?” Ethan asked. “Mom made him promise to watch us every second. She's worried we're going to get into trouble.”

“We'll slip away when he goes to register for the competition.” It sounded so easy.

“What if we can't figure it out?” Ethan fiddled with his book. “What if we can't get the box open?”

“Don't say that. We can figure it out. It will be attempt eight of ten. We'll still have two more tries.” I set the box on my lap. “Besides, why would Juniper send a puzzle that's impossible to figure out? She wants me to open this. It's my birthday present.”

Ethan glanced over at Starbucks. Tyler was still inside. “When he finds out he's a week too late for the competition, he's going to freak out.”

I was used to Ethan's worrying but I was also used to calming him down. Stress wasn't good for him because it brought on nosebleeds. I cringed at the thought. “Tyler's always freaking out. We can deal with it. Besides, he can game in the hotel all night. Room service will bring him whatever he wants.” I clutched the box. “This is so exciting. I can't stop thinking about what might be inside. Maybe it's some really expensive jewelry, like an heirloom. Or maybe a rare coin or a plane ticket for a trip to Paris. Do you think Juniper is rich?”

“I don't know,” Ethan said. “But don't get your hopes up.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hate it when you get your hopes up and then it doesn't work out. You get all sulky.”

“I don't get sulky,” I said. “When do I ever get sulky?”

“When do you get sulky?” Ethan pushed his baseball cap up his forehead. “Uh, last week when you thought that movie had opened and we went down to the theater and it wasn't playing and the rest of the day you were in the worst mood ever. And before that, when you didn't make the chess team and you locked yourself in your room and wouldn't come out. And—”

“Yeah, well I should have made that team. I'm good at chess.” So maybe I sulked a little bit, but that's only because I don't like to be disappointed. Who does? It's so . . . disappointing.

Tyler opened the driver's door. He was wearing his favorite T-shirt, which read,
To Save Time Let's Assume I Know Everything
. He set his drink into the cup holder and started the engine. “Hey, Tyler,” I asked loudly, over the music. “Do you know if Juniper is rich?”

“Nope.” He backed the car out of the parking space.

“Do you know what kind of job she has?”

“Noooo.” He pulled out of the parking lot.

I brushed my hand across the box's smooth, slightly warm surface. “Do you remember what she looks like?”

“Negatory.”

“Do you remember anything about her?”

He headed toward the highway on-ramp. “Are you going to yap at me the whole way? 'Cause if you are, I would prefer the conversation to be about someone interesting. Like Marc Andreessen, inventor of the browser; or Elon Musk, SpaceX guy; or Bill Gates, all-around genius and master of the universe. Not some stupid old aunt who lives in Greece.”

“Greece?” I leaned closer. “She lives in Greece? Are you sure?”

“That's what I remember.”

I didn't have a Greek travel guide. I had one of Turkey, which was pretty close. I'd cut out a photo of a fishing village where you could rent a donkey to carry your stuff, then hike to a secluded white sand beach with water as blue as a Slurpee.

Did I finally have a relative living somewhere other than New Jersey?

Then I sighed, remembering that the return address on the package was for New Hope, Pennsylvania. “Do you know if—”

“Quiet,” Tyler interrupted. “This is the good part.” As he turned up the volume, a choir of screeching women, or perhaps they were birds, I really don't know, filled the car. The drumming was accompanied by the clang of clashing swords. Ethan and I were prepared. We pulled out our earbuds and stuffed them into our ears. Then I leaned my head against the window and watched the cars whizz by.

I imagined that if my dad had been around, he would have driven us to DC and Tyler would still be sitting in front of his computer. Dad and I would be buddies. He would have said to my mom, “Relax, Lindsay. Let Jax have some fun.”

I don't normally notice cars but after we'd been driving for a while, a black car pulled up in the passing lane. It stayed there, right next to us, matching our speed for a really long time. “Pass already,” Tyler grumbled. The car's windows were tinted so I couldn't see inside. I liked the silver jaguar that perched on the hood, as if ready to leap off. “Idjot,” Tyler grumbled as the black car slowed and slid behind us.

About a half hour into our trip, Tyler stopped at a gas station. It was one of those big travel centers with the mini-market, bathrooms, and showers for truck drivers. While Tyler filled the tank, Ethan wandered over to a fruit stand and bought a bag of apples. I grabbed the metal box and followed. We sat on a bench in the fruit stand's shade. Mom called Ethan's phone to check on me. I told her everything was fine. After handing the phone back to Ethan, I decided that if the box contained birthday money, I'd use it to buy myself a new phone.

Ethan wiped one of the bright red apples on his shirt, then handed it me. Juice ran down my hand as I took the first bite.

“That's a lovely box,” someone said.

Both Ethan and I nearly jumped out of our shorts. We'd been looking in the other direction and hadn't noticed the two old people who'd walked right up to us. They stood very close, ignoring the whole personal space rule. Ethan immediately slid down the bench. He hates it when people get too close.

I'm not that good at telling how old someone is but the man looked older than God, with a totally bald head and a bunch of big brown splotches on his face. His mustache was perfectly trimmed, as if someone had drawn a white line above his lip, and his nose was real long—it reminded me of a beak. The woman's skin was much darker than his and her silver hair was knotted in a bun at the base of her neck. They were dressed in an old-fashioned way, as if going to church. He had a bow tie, and her floral dress reached to her ankles.

“That's a lovely box,” the man repeated.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, tossing my apple into the bushes. I gripped the box because they were both staring at it as if they wanted to eat it. Over at the pump, Tyler screwed on the gas cap, then went into the convenience store.

“That's a very interesting feature.” The woman reached out to touch the screen but I hugged the box to my chest. She held her fingers aloft for a moment, her eyes widened, then she dropped her hand.

The man cleared his throat. “Where did you get it?”

“It was a present,” I said, and suddenly I thought that maybe I was volunteering too much information. I mean, who were these people? Why did they care about my box?

The man wobbled a bit. That's when I noticed his cane. “It's so unusual. No seams. No hinges. How does it open?”

I looked at Ethan. He'd been very quiet but that was no surprise. A flash of understanding passed between us. Neither one of us wanted to talk to these two. We both rose from the bench. “Well, gotta go,” I said.

“Wait.” The woman's voice was so desperate-sounding that it stopped Ethan and me in our tracks. She smoothed her hair. “Would you be interested in selling it?”

Other than the fact that these people were a bit snoopy, I didn't have any reason to be worried. But an uncomfortable feeling settled over me, as if I'd been cornered and needed to get away. Why did I feel like this? They were so old, surely they couldn't hurt me. I hugged the box to my chest. “Why would you want to buy my box?”

The man's gaze drifted up to my eyes. Though he smiled, it was cold and forced. He leaned on his cane. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Hatmaker and this is my wife, Mrs. Hatmaker. We own a store called . . . Peculiarities. We specialize in unique pieces of folk art.” The woman continued to stare at the box. “We travel around and buy odd items. And that box is odd indeed.”

“Oh,” I said. I guess it made sense that they'd be interested in my box. But the way he was smiling made me shudder. The smile was frozen in place, as if he wanted me to inspect his teeth.

Mrs. Hatmaker's finger trembled as she pointed. “What about the little screen? Does it do something special?”

“Not really,” I said. Their questions were boring. Besides, I wanted to get a candy bar before we hit the road again. “Well, nice talking to you.” I tugged on Ethan's sleeve and was about to walk away when Mr. Hatmaker's eyes widened.

“We'll pay you two hundred dollars,” he said.

My mouth fell open. “Huh?”

“Three hundred dollars.” He took out his wallet. I was about to say no when Mrs. Hatmaker offered five hundred dollars.

Ethan gasped.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You'd pay five hundred dollars for this box?”

“It's very . . . peculiar,” Mr. Hatmaker said. He pulled out five bills and offered them to me. Maybe they did this all the time. Maybe five hundred dollars was no big deal to the owners of a shop called Peculiarities. But it was a big deal to me. I'd never had that much money.

But something felt wrong—very wrong. I hugged the box tighter. “This is a family box,” I said. “I can't sell it. Thanks anyway.”