"But what if it isn't?" I asked her. "What if it's not going to be alright?"

She took a deep breath and said, "Then we deal with it. Whatever that means."

---

 

3. The Princess And The Pea Sauce
 

There were no mice, or rats, or snakes, or people living in the secret passage, but it was dank and creepy. There were dim lights spaced along the way, which Dad had replaced when we first moved in. Mom told me that Dad had also cleaned it a little: just enough so that he and the building inspector could get in there.

At that time, Mom couldn't bear to even look inside, and Dad had taken an hour-long shower afterward.
 

Here is how the secret part of the house is set up: It's hidden behind the north wall of the basement. This wall, which is at the back of the house, is full of built-in cabinets and bookcases, made of thick, heavy wood. It's very solid stuff. You can knock on it all day, and never hear a hollow sound. Knock, and it sounds like there's concrete behind.

This is how you get inside: You open one of the lower cabinets and — crouching down — you reach inside, all the way to the back, inside the top, on the right. When your fingers find a metal ring (you can't see it by looking), you pull on that ring until you hear a springy plonk!, which is the sound of the catch releasing. Then you stand up, put both hands on the bookcase, and push.

The bookcase is on a track with rollers. It slides backward, into the wall.

Once you step through, you find yourself in an entryway. Straight ahead is the tunnel that leads outside. To the left is the huge heavy door to the bomb shelter.

"Let's leave the bomb shelter for another time," Mom said. "It's a huge room, and it's a mess. Someday we'll have to clean in there." She shuddered. "You can have a look tomorrow, if you like, but right now we have to clean this passage. We don't want to go to Ida's all covered in cobwebs!"

We'd put on our oldest clothes and tied big kerchiefs over our heads. Well, they weren't really kerchiefs. Mom cut up an old sheet, so the pieces would be long enough to hang down our backs. We didn't want any spiders (or worse) dropping down our necks!

Then, donning filter masks, rubber gloves, and safety glasses (you never know!) we attacked the tunnel. Before I went in, I tried to hang a can of bug killer on my belt, or stick it into my waist, but it didn't work. In the end I had to settle for leaving it on the floor behind me, and moving it with me as I went along.

The way we worked was this: I took an old broom, and walked step by step down the tunnel, swinging at all the webs and dirt. When I'd come upon a spider or other creepy thing, I'd bathe it with bug killer, until it ran off. Mom followed behind with the wet/dry vac.

Every so often my broom would get so hopelessly and disgustingly covered with spider silk and greasy dust, that I'd go back to Mom and have her vacuum it off.

We had to empty the vacuum cleaner three times. Yuck, yuck, yuck! Each time it was full of grossly compressed disgustingness mixed with greasy dust. I wanted to close my eyes when I touched it, but at the same time I wanted my eyes open to be sure that none of the dead spiders jumped out and ran inside my clothes.

Even though all we did was swing a broom and vacuum, getting to the end of the passage took a lot longer than I expected. When we finally reached the stop of the stairs that led outside, we had just enough time to quickly shower and change.

Once we were clean and dressed, we draped new pieces of sheet cloth over our heads, took a deep breath, and went inside.

The passageway was only wide enough for one person, so Mom led the way. At the end of the long, arched passage, was a set of stone steps with an iron gate at the top. The gate opened inward, and was secured by a chain and padlock.

Mom opened the gate, and let me go through. Then she took a small flashlight from her purse, switched it on, and handed it to me. She went back down the stairs, turned off the lights, and came running back up to join me. Now we were both standing inside the stone outbuilding.

"Your father grilled me on how to do this," she explained, as she replaced the chain and padlock. Then she turned to the door leading outside. It had a deadbolt lock, which she opened, and the two of us stepped into the cold evening air. There were no footprints on the ground where we were: it was a space between two hedges. Mom pushed the door closed, and relocked the deadbolt.

"Turn off the flashlight," she whispered. I did, and handed it to her. Then crunching through the snow, we made our escape through the driveway of the neighbors in back of us.
 

Once we reached the sidewalk, Mom slipped her arm through mine and smiled. I could feel the tension draining out of her.

"Oh!" she breathed. "We're free! At least for a little while, anyway. It's so nice to get away from those reporters and the cameras and the lights! I don't know how celebrities do it... I don't know how they can even live, if it's anything like this!"

"Yeah," I said. I was happy for her.

At the same time, my worries about the future were sitting in my stomach, gnawing at me. I knew how badly Mom had been freaking out, so I wanted her to enjoy this evening. I tried to banish the worry from my face. I decided to hide it from her, at least for tonight.

But she saw it. Even here, under the pale glow of the street light, she saw it, and the Mom in her rose to meet it. "Don't worry, Marcie," she said in a gentle voice. "It's going to be alright."

"But what if it isn't?" I asked her. "What if it's not going to be alright?"

She took a deep breath and said, "Then we deal with it. Whatever that means."

We started walking, very slowly, and after a few paces I said, "What about school? What happens when they find out?"

"Ah, school," Mom said in a funny tone. "Honey, I have a confession to make. When we came here from California, your father and I were pretty, um, well... frightened by all the things that happened to you... and so... we thought..."

"Oh, you didn't!" I said, as a sense of outrage rose in me.

Mom drew in a breath and gave me a concerned look.

"You did, didn't you? You already told the school!"

"Before you even came to New Jersey — yes, we did. I'm sorry."

"But why?"

"Well, we couldn't deceive them. The legal risk was just too great... also, we thought that if you thought that you might be discovered, it would make you more cautious..."

I twisted my mouth in chagrin. "You figured I'd keep a low profile."

She didn't laugh. She said, "Yes, that's what we thought. At least, that's what *I* thought. Are you angry with me?"

I walked a few steps, thinking. I wanted to be angry with her, but somehow I couldn't work myself into it. She walked beside me, quietly waiting for my verdict. "No," I said. "I'm not angry. I'm kind of glad I didn't know. Do all the teachers know?"

"Yes. The teachers, the staff, the administration. You're not the first... girl like you to go there, as it turns out."

"Really?"

"Yes, but they wouldn't tell me more. Obviously, they couldn't violate the confidentiality of the other girl..."

The *other* girl? Does that mean there's another girl like me at BYHS, right now? I filed that thought away for the future.

"I'm sorry we deceived you, honey. I'd understand if you were angry."

I took a few more steps, breathing the cold night air. So... the school knew. So what? "No," I said. "I'm glad. At least that's *one* telling out of the way. So... what about Dad's job?"

Mom gave a short laugh. "Well, there, I think, it won't be such a surprise. They already went through the Mark-to-Marcie switch once already. Some of them might have guessed... or at least suspect..."

That made sense. "I have to tell Susan," I said. "Maybe I could walk over tomorrow morning–" I stopped. I'd have a flock of reporters behind me if I did.

"You can't use the secret entrance," Mom said. "This is a special occasion — we needed to get away."

"I can call her," I said.

Mom knew that Maisie already knows... so, who's next?

"Oh, Mom," I said quietly. "I decided that I want to tell Ida tonight. Is that okay? What do you think?"

Mom bit her lower lip and looked at me.

"Oh, Mom!" I said, crossly. "Who else did you tell?" I was beginning to feel a little cheated. All this time, I'd been burdened with a secret, and now I couldn't even tell it, because everyone already knew! "Does every-frickin-body in Flickerbridge know about me?"

"Watch your language, young lady," she cautioned.

"Frickin's not bad," I said.

"It's too close to what you really mean," she said.

I sighed.

"Anyway...," Mom continued, "to answer your question, everybody in Flickerbridge doesn't know. Only Ida. When you went to sleep over at her house, I *had* to tell her."

"What did she say?"

"She took it in stride. I mean, she saw the moving men unload all those Mark boxes, and she knew I hid them in the basement. So..."

"Do all our relatives know?"

"Pretty much. All the relatives we could think of."

I didn't ask how they took the news. I could wait to find out.

All in all, it seemed like nearly everyone had already been told. Like I said, I felt cheated. I didn't get to tell it. Oh, well.

The only ones left to hear were the girls in my school, the people in my town, and the people who watch TV or read newspapers. I'd have to settle for that.

---

When Ida opened the door, her mouth fell open in astonishment. She let us come inside, then ducked out to look up and down the street.

"How did you get here?" she asked in a tone of surprise. "I expected a whole herd of people on your heels!"

Mom said, grinning, "We asked them politely to give us some space. We told them when we'd be back, and asked them to watch the house while we were gone."

Ida laughed. "Oh, you did not!"

"Okay," Mom agreed, as if she'd been joking. "Marcie is friends with a police detective named Theresa. She picked us up and dropped us a couple of blocks from here, so we could walk a little bit. It's the first time we've been able to stretch our legs since it all began."

"Oh, you poor things!" Ida said. "Here, let me get your coats."

"Mmm," Mom said. "Something smells good."

"Yes," Ida said proudly. "I've cooked dinner!"

"You did?" I asked, incredulous.

"Yes, I did!" Ida laughed. "I'm so proud of myself! I hope that you're both hungry."

As a matter of fact, we were. I almost told her that we'd worked up an appetite cleaning the secret passage, but Mom jumped in ahead of me and said that we did some heavy housecleaning, just to keep busy.

"Well, great! We can sit right down. I didn't make any hors d'oeuvres... I didn't get *that* ambitious. But I was SO embarrassed by... you know, when Marcie came over here and whipped up those delicious meals, just like that, like it was nothing... and I thought... well, I just HAVE to try. So, I apologize for making you two my guinea pigs. You have to tell me if it's bad! If it is, if it's terrible, we'll just toss it out and order in. Okay? So have a seat, and I'll serve up the dinner!"

Mom and I took our seats in the dining room. The table was nicely set, with a white tablecloth and napkins, crystal glasses, fine cutlery. There were two red candles on the table, and a bouquet of pink roses.

"This is beautiful, Ida!" Mom called. "It's so elegant!"

"Thank you very much," Ida gushed, as she returned with two plates. One for me, one for my mother. Then she went back to the kitchen for her own plate and a bottle of white wine. She poured a glass for herself and one for Mom, then poured water into mine.

"To good friends," she said, raising her glass. We all clinked and took a sip. While Mom oohed and aahed about the wine, I tried to figure out exactly what was on my plate. The green stuff had to be peas in some sort of greenish... pea sauce. But the other two things? One was a light gray. The other was a brownish gray, and had a distant resemblance to meat of some kind.

"Oh, salt and pepper!" Ida said, suddenly missing them. She ran into the kitchen.

"Mom," I whispered. "What is the gray thing?"

She glanced at me, a smile at the corner of her lips. "Which one?"

Ida returned before I could answer. I poked at the light-gray lump experimentally with my fork. Maybe it's mashed potatoes? Hard mashed potatoes?

"Oh, and there's homemade cheesecake for dessert!" Ida announced, her face a little flushed. "It wasn't *that* hard to make."

"Cheesecake is one of my favorite desserts," Mom said. "I'm sure it will be delicious."

I was still busy trying to figure out what was on my plate. Ida caught my look, and said, "Oh, no! Don't tell me you don't like liver! I should have asked! Maisie hates it, but I love it. I eat it every chance I get..."

"Oh, no," Mom assured her. "Marcie and I love liver. Don't you, hon?"

"Is that what that is?" I exclaimed. Then, realizing how it sounded, I added lamely, "I thought it was beef or something."

Ida recited the menu: "Chicken liver, mashed potatoes, peas."

Mashed potatoes, ha! I was right! That took care of the the two gray lumps. Great! Now that I knew what everything was, all I had to do was eat it. I looked it over and swallowed hard. There was no bread on the table, so I took another sip of water.

I wanted to make an excuse about having eaten a big lunch — Mom told me later that she'd had the same thought — but we'd both already declared that we had huge appetites.

And unfortunately for me, it was true: I was VERY hungry. Very, very hungry, *and* I didn't want to offend Ida.

So I started with the potatoes. Potatoes are the simplest thing. How can you go wrong with potatoes?

Ida had found the way. They weren't completely cooked. They were still crunchy and raw in parts, and they weren't entirely mashed. I took my knife and cut the lumps into the smallest pieces possible. Mom gave me a kick under the table and a warning look. I mixed in some butter and salt.

My plan was to line my stomach with the potatoes, then force down the liver, and drop the peas on top. How bad could it be?

After a few forkfuls of potato, I had to give it up. It was mighty tough eating. So I took a big bite of the liver. Ida was watching, so I smiled and made a MMM-mmm sound.

I love liver, but there is thing I call the Liver Limit. When you're eating liver — even if you like liver — at some point it begins to taste very mealy, like liver-flavored sand, or an edible concrete. Once you hit that point, you really need to stop, because you've hit the liver limit. It probably depends on the quality of the liver and how it's cooked. The way Mom cooks it, it's never mealy.

Ida's liver, on the other hand, started out mealy and just kept going. Sometimes nuts and apples get mealy. Maybe they dry up and get old, and when you put them in your mouth they break down to a sandy loam that sits on your tongue and doesn't want to be swallowed. Bah! That's what this was like. And if it was bad in my mouth, my throat and esophagus were not pleased with it, either. I managed to choke down three gobbets before I drained my glass of water. I noticed that Mom was cutting hers into itsy-bitsy pieces, and that she took a tiny sip of wine after each one. It seemed to be helping her.

"Um... do you think I could try some wine?" I asked, in a timid voice.

Ida smiled. "Oh, no, hon. Your body can't metabolize it yet. It would be like poison to you."

"Oh, okay," I said. But this dinner, on the other hand?

Alright. No help there. My stomach fluttered for a moment. It was trying to tell me something, and I wish now that I'd listened. I had a heavy feeling in my entire body, and involuntarily I sat up very straight in my chair. Was something going to happen? I waited, tense and anxious.

Then, suddenly... it passed. Maybe the food slid down my intestine or into my legs or something. I don't know. But once it happened, I was able to pick up my fork and begin again.

This time, I started with the liver, and made it disappear. I wondered what I'd been fussing about. The peas? Okay, so they were mushy. And the green sauce tasted like... hmm. I dipped some of the potatoes into it and ate it that way. It had a strange tang, like... hmm... like... oh! Like that strange orange drink, Tang!

I finished everything on my plate, which pleased Ida no end, and astonished my mother. She blinked at me but said nothing. I shrugged and told her, "I was hungry," while Ida was in the kitchen getting the cheesecake.

We could hear Ida singing to herself as she cut the cake. My stomach gave an ominous rumble. Mom closed her eyes, and I knew she was trying not to laugh. After a deep breath, she opened her eyes and put her finger to her lips.

"I wasn't going to say anything," I told her.

Ida returned with a large piece of cheesecake for me, and smaller slices for herself and for Mom.

Well, it looked like cheesecake. I took a bite. It didn't seem to taste like anything at all, but I still was pretty hungry, so I packed it away.

"Marcie, you certainly have a big appetite tonight," Ida observed.

"Oh, Ida," Mom put in, "I don't know what I'm going to do with this girl."

"What?" I asked. "What did I do?"

"To start with," Mom replied, "You forgot your shovel."

Ida started giggling.

"Oh, Mom!" I groaned. "Not this again!"

"Are you going to tell Ida that you liked her food? How would you even know? It sailed past your tongue so fast, you couldn't possibly have tasted it."

I sighed. I also noticed that Ida didn't try to bail me out, so it must have been true. At the same time I realized that Mom was trying to cover for the fact that she'd eaten so little.

In any case, we retired to the living room, where the women sipped coffee and chatted. I flipped through some of Ida's clothes catalogs. Every so often I'd show something to Ida and Mom.

Everything was quiet and relaxed. It was nice here... just the three of us. Dad was lucky he'd hadn't come; he would have been uncomfortable as the only man. I turned my head and looked out the window, knowing that at home I wouldn't be able to. I wondered whether Mom and I could stay the night...

Then, suddenly, Mom stood up and said, "Ida, excuse me, I need the little girls' room. That coffee went right through me." She hurried out. It was odd. For some reason, I looked at the clock. It was five minutes to eight.

Ida came and sat next to me. We talked about clothes, turned the pages together... we finished the catalog... and Mom was still gone. Ida glanced at the clock and said nothing.

"Maybe she fell in," I suggested, and we giggled.

Finally, after thirty minutes, Mom returned. Ida moved back to her armchair, and the two women left me to the catalogs.

That's when my torment began. Silently but forcibly, I felt the contents of my stomach turn over. It was like someone went in with the heavy machinery, the earthmovers. I had to keep myself from gasping, because I had an abdominal pain like I've never felt before — it was worse than appendicitis.

A sweat broke across my forehead. I put both hands on my belly. It was hard, like a beach ball full of lead. The pain was so bad that I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, Ida was gone. I heard her in the kitchen, doing something with the coffee cups.

"Mom," I whispered, "We have to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Don't be impatient, honey, ..." Mom began, but I cut her off.

"This cheesecake is going to tear a hole through my stomach," I told her, "and I don't know what will happen when it does. We've got to LEAVE. I am NOT kidding."

Another spasm hit me. I clutched my gut with both hands and softly cried, "Ah-hoo-eee!"

Mom said, "Don't be so dramatic. We'll leave soon, but I don't want to be rude to Ida."

"Okay," I whispered, "but if I explode into tiny pieces, don't say I didn't warn you."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

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