به زیر زمین نزدیک نشو فصل شانزدهم

Stay Out of the Basement, Chapter 16

Margaret spent Saturday morning biking up in the golden hills with Diane. The sun burned through the morning smog, and the skies turned blue. A strong breeze kept them from getting too hot. The narrow road was lined with red and yellow wildflowers, and Margaret felt as if she were traveling somewhere far, far away.

They had lunch at Diane’s house—tomato soup and avocado salad—then wandered back to Margaret’s house, trying to figure out how to spend the rest of a beautiful afternoon.

Dr. Brewer was just backing the station wagon down the drive as Margaret and Diane rode up on their bikes. He rolled down the window, a broad smile on his face. “Good news!” he shouted. “Your mom is on her way home. I’m going to the airport to get her!”

“Oh, that’s great!” Margaret exclaimed, so happy she could almost cry. Margaret and Diane waved and pedaled up the driveway.

I’m so happy, Margaret thought. It’ll be so good to have her back. Someone I can talk to. Someone who can explain… about Dad.

They looked through some old copies of Sassy and People in Margaret’s room, listening to some tapes that Margaret had recently bought. At a little past three, Diane suddenly remembered that she had a make-up piano lesson that she was late for. She rushed out of the house in a panic, jumped on her bike, yelled, “Say hi to your mom for me!” and disappeared down the drive.

Margaret stood behind the house looking out at the rolling hills, wondering what to do next to make the time pass before her mother got home. The strong, swirling breeze felt cool against her face. She decided to get a book and go sit down with it under the shady sassafras tree in the middle of the yard.

She turned and pulled open the kitchen door, and Casey came running up. “Where are our kites?” he asked, out of breath.

“Kites? I don’t know. Why?” Margaret asked. “Hey—” She grabbed his shoulder to get his attention. “Mom’s coming home. She should be here in an hour or so.”

“Great!” he cried. “Just enough time to fly some kites. It’s so windy. Come on. Want to fly ’em with me?”

“Sure,” Margaret said. It would help pass the time. She thought hard, trying to remember where they put the kites. “Are they in the garage?”

“No,” Casey told her. “I know. They’re in the basement. On those shelves. The string, too.” He pushed past her into the house. “I’ll jimmy the lock and go down and get them.”

“Hey, Casey—be careful down there,” she called after him. He disappeared into the hallway. Margaret had second thoughts. She didn’t want Casey down there by himself in the plant room. “Wait up,” she called. “I’ll come with you.”

They made their way down the stairs quickly, into the hot, steamy air, into the bright lights.

The plants seemed to bend toward them, to reach out to them as they walked by. Margaret tried to ignore them. Walking right behind Casey, she kept her eyes on the tall metal shelves straight ahead.

The shelves were deep and filled with old, unwanted toys, games, and sports equipment, a plastic tent, some old sleeping bags. Casey got there first and started rummaging around on the lower shelves. “I know they’re here somewhere,” he said.

“Yeah. I remember storing them here,” Margaret said, running her eyes over the top shelves.

Casey, down on his knees, started pulling boxes off the bottom shelf. Suddenly, he stopped. “Whoa—Margaret.”

“Huh?” She took a step back. “What is it?”

“Look at this,” Casey said softly. He pulled something out from behind the shelves, then stood up with it bundled in his hands.

Margaret saw that he was holding a pair of black shoes. And a pair of blue trousers.

Blue suit trousers?

His face suddenly pale, his features drawn, Casey let the shoes drop to the floor. He unfurled the trousers and held them up in front of him.

“Hey—look in the back pocket,” Margaret said, pointing.

Casey reached into the back pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet.

“I don’t believe this,” Margaret said.

Casey’s hands trembled as he opened the wallet and searched inside. He pulled out a green American Express card and read the name on it.

“It belongs to Mr. Martinez,” he said, swallowing hard. He raised his eyes to Margaret’s. “This is Mr. Martinez’s stuff.”