Gwendy's Magic Feather

63

GWENDY JOGS UP THE last hilly stretch of Pleasant Road, sticking as close to the shoulder as she can. After two close calls this morning, she’s especially wary of the increased traffic, even at such an early hour. It’s been three long days since fourteen-year-old Deborah Parker disappeared from Fortier Pond, but the neighborhood is still bustling with a combination of police and sheriff vehicles, volunteer searchers, and curious lookie-loos, mostly out-of-towners with their noses pressed against the glass of their windshields.

Gwendy’s schedule on this chilly final day of the twentieth century is remarkably clear (a fact she grudgingly attributes to a lack of anything resembling a healthy social life). After she finishes her run and showers, she plans to catch up on some overdue email correspondence, then swing by her parents’ house for a quick check-in—Mr. and Mrs. Peterson are going next door to the Goff’s later this evening for dinner—and then it’s back home for an exciting afternoon of John Grisham before it’s finally time to leave for Brigette Desjardin’s PTA New Year’s Eve party. She’s already prepared a five-minute speech for the occasion and is hoping she doesn’t have to stick around for much longer than that.

As she turns the corner and her building comes into view, Gwendy’s thoughts turn to the button box and the miniature chocolate animals.

So far, she’s given her mom a total of seven pieces of chocolate—the first one a tiny turtle she smuggled into the hospital along with several cartons of fruit juice, and the most recent an adorable little pig when they got home from the restaurant last night.

Before pulling the lever on the left side of the box and slipping the bite-sized chocolate turtle into a sandwich bag and stuffing it into the zippered pocket of her backpack to take to the hospital, Gwendy agonized long and hard over the decision. She knew from firsthand experience that the button box dispensed not-so-tiny doses of magic along with its animal treats—but she also knew the gifts were rarely delivered without consequence. So what exactly was going to happen the first time she gave someone else one of the chocolates? How about a whole bunch of them? Gwendy didn’t know the answers, but in the end, she was willing to roll the dice.

It wasn’t until the other morning at the hospital when Doctor Celano gave them the miraculous news that she finally felt at peace with her decision. How could she not after that? But if Gwendy was holding onto any lingering doubts—and, okay, maybe there were just a few—it was the graceful dip at the end of that last slow dance and the dreamy look on her mother’s face when Mr. Peterson planted the tender kiss on her cheek that sent those doubts packing once and for all. Gwendy knew she would remember that moment and her parents’ laughter for the rest of her life (however long that might be).

Gwendy offers a cheerful good morning to her across-the-hall neighbor exiting the building and bounds up the stairs to the second floor, feeling light on her feet. She unzips her pocket and pulls out her key and cellphone. She’s reaching for the doorknob when she notices the MESSAGE light blinking on her telephone.

“No, no, no,” she says, realizing she forgot to turn on her ringer. She pushes the button to retrieve her messages and holds the phone up to her ear.

“Hey, honey, I can’t believe I got through! Been trying for days! I miss you so—”

The message cuts off in mid-sentence.

Gwendy stares at her phone in disbelief.

“Come on…” She fumbles with the buttons, trying to find out if there’s another message. There isn’t. She hits the REPEAT button and stands in front of her door, listening to those four seconds of Ryan’s voice. Over and over again.