Gwendy's Magic Feather

71

FOR THE FIRST TIME in her life, Gwendy wants to tell someone about the button box.

She glances over at Ryan in the driver’s seat. She hates keeping such a big secret from him—any secret, for that matter—but she worries that it could be dangerous for her husband to know about the box. She also doesn’t like the idea of him not having a choice in the matter. If she decides to tell him, he’s stuck with the knowledge—and the responsibility—whether he wants it or not. How is that any better than what Richard Farris has done to her? Twice now!

“Penny for your thoughts,” he says, checking his rearview mirror and signaling to change lanes. “You’re awfully quiet. Worried about the emergency session?”

She nods her head. “Yes.” And it’s the truth.

“You’ll do great, honey.”

“I honestly don’t even know what I’m supposed to do, what my role in all this will be.”

“You’ll listen and learn, and then you’ll step up and lead. It’s what you always do.”

She sighs and stares out the window. Frozen ponds and farm buildings, snow-swirled into gray ghosts, blur past in the distant fields. “Hopefully we can talk some sense into the man. But I’m not holding my breath.”

“If I know you, you won’t rest until you do.”

The call came in the night before. On the other end of the line was the Speaker of the House himself, Dennis Hastert. His message was brief and to the point: both the House and Senate would reconvene on Monday, January 3 at 9:00 AM, five days ahead of schedule. Gwendy thanked him for the call and hung up and then told Ryan. They’d only left her parents’ house a couple of hours earlier, and he hadn’t even had time to unpack his bags yet.

She was afraid to leave the button box inside the safe at the condo—what if Ryan decided to go home without her at some point and he opened it?—and Castle Rock Savings and Loan was closed because it was Sunday, so she had no choice but to take the box along with her.

As soon as that problem was solved, another complication rose in its place: because of the short notice, she was unable to arrange for a private plane out of Castle County Airport and was forced to fly out of a larger commuter airpark just south of Portland. But the extra drive and the inevitable questions from Ryan (“Since when do we fly private?”) were worth the hassle if only to avoid the X-ray machines at the airport.

“How about I drop you out front with the luggage?” Ryan asks, steering the car off the exit ramp and onto the access road for Portland South Airpark. “I’ll go park in the garage and meet you inside.”

“Sounds good. We should have plenty of time.”

Ryan pulls up to the section of curb marked UNLOADING ZONE in front of the main building—unlike the Castle County Airport, this place actually has more than one, not to mention multiple runways and a three-story parking garage—and unloads the luggage from the trunk, including Gwendy’s carry-on containing the button box. He leaves Gwendy standing at the curb and drives across the street to the garage.

She looks around and sees two large families waiting in line with their suitcases at Baggage Check (in this case, a makeshift fiberglass booth with a pair of oversized grocery carts parked beside it). Several young children are doing their best to squirm out of their parents’ grip, and one little girl, her face beet-red and stained with tears, appears on the verge of a major tantrum. A lone, harried-looking airport employee is ticketing the mountain of expensive luggage with the efficiency and speed of a sloth. If he has any help on this second day of January, it’s currently nowhere in sight.

Gwendy sighs, feeling sorry for the guy, and sits down on a nearby bench. She arranges the three large suitcases in front of her on the sidewalk and places her carry-on next to her, resting an arm atop it for safekeeping.

“Excuse me, madam, is anyone sitting here?”

“Not at all,” she says, looking up. “Feel free to—”

Richard Farris is standing in front of her, looking almost like a mirror image of the man she’d first met twenty-five years earlier on a bench in Castle View Park. His face hasn’t aged a day, and he’s wearing dark jeans with a button-down dress shirt (light gray this time instead of white), a dark jacket as if from a suit, and of course that small neat black hat of his is perched atop his head.

“How… where did you come from?” she says in a low, awed voice.

He sits down at the other end of the bench, smiling warmly. The carry-on suitcase rests between them.

Gwendy thinks about pinching herself on the arm to make sure she’s not dreaming, but she’s suddenly afraid to move. “Was that you at the mall with my mom? Did you… why did you leave the box with me again?” She’s speaking fast now, weeks of frustration and anxiety surging into her voice. “I thought you said—”

Farris holds up a hand, silencing her. “I understand you have questions, but my time here is limited, so let us palaver for a spell before we’re interrupted.” He scoots a little closer to the center of the bench. “Regarding the return of our old friend, the button box… let’s just say I found myself in a bit of a jam and needed to tuck it away somewhere safe for a short time.” He looks at her with discernible affection in his light blue eyes. “You, Gwendy Peterson, were the safest place I could think of.”

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As it was intended, dear girl. I told you long ago, your proprietorship of the button box was exceptional the first time I left it in your possession. And I have full trust it was once again.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she says. “I was a mess the whole time. I didn’t know what to do. Push the button, not push the button.” She lets out a long breath. “In the end, I did the best I could.”

“And that’s all one can ask for in any such endeavor. Knowing you as I do, I believe you did quite well this time around, too.” He rests his hand on the carry-on suitcase, drumming his long, slender fingers along the zipper. “Ignoring the temptation of the buttons is a difficult chore during the best of times. Not many are able to resist. But, as you well know by now, when left alone, the box can be a strong force for good.”

“But I didn’t leave it alone,” she says with a whine in her voice she remembers well from adolescence. “Not completely. I pulled the lever… a lot.”

Farris nods his head ever so slightly.

“Will my mother be okay? The chocolates cured her, didn’t they?” And then almost as an afterthought: “I had to try.”

“Hospitals have been known to make mistakes, particularly when it comes to those pesky blood tests. Samples get contaminated; glass tubes get mislabeled. Happens all the time. I trust you left her with a sufficient supply?”

“I did,” she says, sounding like a guilty teenager.

A minivan pulls to the curb in front of them. The side door slides open and a woman and young girl climb out carrying suitcases. They both say cheerful goodbyes to the driver, the door slides shut, and the van drives away. The woman and girl walk to the back of the line at Baggage Check and never once glance in their direction on the bench.

“What happened with Lucas Browne and my friend’s husband… the awful things I saw in my head… the box did that, right? Was it because of the chocolates? Will it happen again?”

“That’s not up to me. When it comes to the button box, some things—many things—remain beyond my reach.”

She gapes at him. “But if you don’t know the answers, then who does?”

Farris doesn’t respond, just studies her through squinting eyes that appear almost gray now. The hat lays a thin line of shadow over his brow. Finally, he says: “I do, however, have one resolution for you that I believe you’ve been anxious about for quite some time now.”

“What?” Gwendy asks, and the whiny tone is back. The idea that Richard Farris is not, in fact, the omnipotent force behind the button box’s power, but rather some kind of glorified courier, not only pisses Gwendy off but also terrifies her.

He leans closer, and for one tense moment, Gwendy fears he’s going to reach out and take her hand. “Your life is indeed your own. The stories you’ve chosen to tell, the people you’ve chosen to fight for, the lives you’ve touched…” He waves his hand through the air in front of his face. “All your own doing. Not the button box’s. You have always been special, Gwendy Peterson, from the day you were born.”

Gwendy forgets to breathe for a moment. She feels an enormous weight crumble from atop her shoulders, from around her heart. “Thank you,” she manages, voice trembling.

Farris cocks his head, as if listening to a faraway voice. “Alas, my time is up. Your husband is on his way. Lovely man he is, too—a storyteller in his own right.”

“What about the box?” Gwendy blurts.

“Already taken care of.”

She looks at him, momentarily confused, and then she picks up her carry-on bag and gives it a shake.

It feels empty. It is empty.

“How did you—?”

Farris laughs. “You should know better by now than to ask such silly questions, young lady.”

It feels strange to be called “young lady” by a man who appears to be roughly the same age as she. Then again, every minute of this experience feels strange, almost dreamlike.

“I must go,” he says, standing, and Gwendy’s certain he’s going to take out his old-fashioned watch from the pocket inside his coat and check the time—but he doesn’t. “Although I slowed his progress quite a bit, your husband’s a dedicated man and he’ll be here shortly.” He looks down at Gwendy with that same glimmer of affection shining in his eyes. “And then the two of you shall check your bags and soar up and away into a long and prosperous and happy life together.”

“If we ever make it through that line,” Gwendy says jokingly.

“What line?” he asks.

She looks up and points. “That one.” But now there’s no one waiting in front of the Baggage Check booth. Not a single person.

“What the…?”

When she turns back to the bench, Richard Farris is gone.

She gets to her feet and looks around—but he’s nowhere in sight. The sidewalk and road are empty. He just vanished into thin air. But not before leaving a goodbye present for her.

Sitting on top of Gwendy’s carry-on bag is a very familiar small white feather.