The Edge of Everywhen Read online

  They hadn’t passed another car for miles, and Piper wondered if it would be rude to ask the driver how much farther it was to Aunt Beryl’s house.

  As she thought about the Unknown Aunt Beryl, Piper’s body gave an involuntary shudder. Her imagination had conjured up plenty of witchy and warty images of a wiry-haired, frowning hag who may or may not eat small children and keep tarantulas as pets. Because their mother had died in the car crash a month ago, and their father had been missing for more than two years now, the papers at the bank had said that Aunt Beryl, their father’s last living relative, had to take care of the children. Phoenix and Piper had met Aunt Beryl once, when Piper was three and Phoenix was a baby, and no one had remembered to bring a camera that day. The only photos of Aunt Beryl in their family albums were from when Gordon was just a year old and Beryl was newly married. That was a thousand years ago, and Piper envisioned that Aunt Beryl must be held together with dust by now.

  Still staring at nothing and rocking back and forth, Phoenix reached toward Piper across the seat and grabbed his sister’s hand. The scent of peanut butter, fresh from his customary snack that morning, lingered between them.

  Piper was glad her brother was with her, and she couldn’t imagine ever being separated from his quiet presence. But she still wished Gabriella was there in person so they could talk. The girls had been best friends since third grade, and Piper wanted someone who would answer back with words.

  “Your brother cares a great deal about you,” said the driver, startling Piper from her thoughts. “He doesn’t say much though.” The man kept his eyes on the road as he asked, “It’s Phoenix, right?”

  Piper nodded. “He doesn’t talk,” she said. “The doctors say he has autism. Do you know what that is?”

  The driver’s eyes softened as he looked in the rear-view mirror at his two young charges. “Yes, I do,” he answered. “Means he learns and expresses himself differently than you and I.” Piper had never heard her brother’s autism referred to in such a simple, straightforward way.

  “He isn’t a freak, in case you wondered,” Piper said. “He hasn’t said anything out loud since he was six, but he’s the smartest person I know. He reads a book once, and he’s memorized it. He can write down the page number, the line number, and the position of every single word in the book. It’s called being a savant.”

  The driver nodded. “That’s quite an impressive gift,” he said, and Piper was surprised that he actually seemed to mean it.

  “So, what do we call you?” Piper blurted out. “I saw the name Greene on your metal name tag thingy when we got off the plane, but is that really your name? Just Greene?”

  The driver’s face creased into a giant smile as he responded. “Original Asher Greene, at your service,” he announced with a dutiful nod. “Pleasure to know you both.”

  “Your first name is Original!?” Piper asked with a snort.

  Naomi had always taught the children not to make fun of anything that seemed different, but lately Piper hadn’t been all that concerned about being nice. Original was the strangest name she had ever heard.

  “The one and only,” he announced.

  “I think I’ll call you Mr. Greene, if that’s okay,” said Piper, trying hard not to crack a smile.

  He nodded, still smiling. “Mr. Greene is just fine, young lady. It’s Piper, isn’t it? Or would you prefer that I call you Miss Guthrie?”

  “Piper is good,” she said. “‘Miss Guthrie’ sounds old lady-ish.” Piper’s bravery increased with Mr. Greene’s normal-sounding conversation. “So, are you like my aunt’s chauffer?” she asked.

  Mr. Greene nodded and said, “One of the many hats I’ve worn for your aunt over the last thirty years is that of a driver. Officially, I’m the butler, graduate of the American Butler School in New York with a certification in estate management.”

  “Wow,” she said. “That sounds so official and . . . involved.”

  Mr. Greene laughed. “Involved is the perfect word to describe what I do.”

  “Is there cell-phone service at my aunt’s house?” Piper asked, glancing again at her still-searching phone with dwindling hopes.

  “Sorry to say there is none,” Mr. Greene replied. “You might be able to get a few bars of service in the town nearby, and they also have an internet café with computers that customers can use if you don’t have a laptop. Your aunt has a landline with a dial-up modem, and a separate fax line. Does that help?”

  Piper hoped her disappointment wasn’t evident. “No problem,” she lied. “Will I have my own room?” she asked. “Or will I share with Phoenix? It’s okay if we share; we don’t mind.” Piper wouldn’t have cared if the two of them were moving into a one-room wooden shack, because at least she and Phoenix were together, and they had somewhere to live with grown-ups who might shop for peanut butter. By the looks of Mr. Greene and his car and his hat and his butler-y speech, Piper figured they weren’t going to end up in a one-room shack.

  Mr. Greene nodded. “That’s very accommodating of you, but the new housekeeper insisted that every teenage girl must have her own room.” He smiled at the children through the rear-view mirror again. “You don’t have to share unless you want to.”

  Piper nodded. “Okay. I guess we can let Phoenix decide. Taking him out of his routine has been really hard, so I’m not sure how he’ll do with a new bed in a new house with a bunch of strangers who don’t know what he needs.”

  What Piper wanted to say, Dear Reader, was that Phoenix needed his mother, and that all of this was wrong, and that she was ready to wake up from this weird nightmare.

  For the thousandth time that day Piper reached out to Naomi in her thoughts, remembering as the pang hit her chest that her mother wasn’t there. Piper pulled her diary and a pen from her backpack and began to scribble.

  Dear Dad,

  I used to write to Dear Diary but a diary’s just a book filled with lines, and you’re a real person, and since Mom isn’t here, maybe you’re still out there somewhere like she said. I don’t know. Mom used to say never to give up hope about you, and Phoenix and I need you to come back NOW.

  Getting a construction job was stupid.

  And what if Aunt Beryl doesn’t like me?

  Laws of the Kingdom

  “It’s been fifteen years since I read any sort of book,” he said with his nose in the air. “Reading is so bothersome.” Gracie rolled her eyes and said, “Well that explains everything.”

  —Johannah Whitney

  Now we are back to the beginning again, Dear Reader. Sometimes it’s a bit better when stories go round in a few turns instead of marching straight through in a boring line, don’t you think?

  Both children got out of the car into the bracing April air, and Piper shivered from a combination of nerves and a biting gust of wind as she stared at the largest, gloomiest house she had ever seen. She was glad for the heavy windbreaker Chelsi had suggested she bring, and she drew her arms in against a sudden chill.

  Georgia was never this cold. I’m gonna need some long underwear.

  Mr. Greene retrieved two small suitcases from the trunk. The children walked up the stone steps toward the arched timber door, and Piper half expected Lucy or Edmund Pevensie to come running around the corner of the house. (I just know you’ve heard of the Narnia tales, Dear Reader!) Naomi had always wanted to live in an English Tudor, so Piper knew what the style of house was called, but she had never seen one except in movies. It was sad and lovely, and she wondered why Aunt Beryl would live virtually alone in such a fortress.

  Will she be glad that we’ve invaded her house, much less her whole life? Or will Phoenix and I get in her way? How many people have to live here before it doesn’t feel empty?

  The front door swung open, and three large blobs of fur and wagging tales exploded out the door and onto the porch. Mr. Greene laughed and said, “Ah, the welcoming committee of Villa Legere!”

  “Dogs!” Piper exclaimed. “We’ve never had dogs before!”

  The dogs bounced around Piper, sniffing and slobbering on her shoes and pant legs and backpack and ankles. Mr. Greene’s expression became stern as he commanded, “Sit!” and all three dogs obeyed, sitting properly with barely contained excitement and lolling tongues.

  “What’s a villa leg thingy that you just said?” Piper asked.

  “Oh. Villa Legere is the name your late uncle gave to the estate years ago when he and your aunt first bought it,” Mr. Greene explained. “Depending on what language you translate it into, it means either ‘estate of light’ in French, or ‘estate to read’ in Latin.”

  “Huh,” Piper said with a nod.

  “The golden retriever is Lincoln,” Mr. Greene said, patting each dog on the top of the head by way of introduction. “He’s only a year old, so he’s still got a few manners to learn. The Irish setter is Teddy; he’s four. And the mastiff, the gray boss-man of the group here, is Quincy. He’s ten.” Mr. Greene leaned toward Piper with a smile and added, “Named after presidents.”

  “Is it okay to pet them?” Piper asked.

  “Oh, yes,” said Mr. Greene, closing the trunk of the car. “Your aunt sent the dogs to obedience school as puppies, so they obey commands and won’t eat your homework or your broccoli unless you ask them to.”

  Piper stroked Lincoln’s thick fur, amazed at how soft it was. The energetic retriever began licking Piper’s hand, and the dog’s sturdy tail thumped on the stone porch as Teddy edged in closer for a share in the petting. Then, as if on cue, all three dogs crowded around Phoenix and perched at his feet as if they had known him his entire life. The three canines looked up at the boy with doggie question marks on their faces, waiting for a command. Phoenix didn’t openly acknowledge the trio as he stared at his feet, but his entire body became still as he allowed each dog to nuzzle his hand one at a time.

  Mr. Greene raised his eyebrows with a surprised smile and said, “Interesting.”

  A plump middle-aged woman bustled outside and greeted the group with an enormous smile. “Original Greene, you get those freezing kids inside right this minute!” she said. She had tried to pin her unruly hair into some sort of bun, but twenty-seven stray and wiry gray curls had escaped the hairpins and were sticking out in different directions all over her head.

  Piper was reminded of photos she’d seen of Albert Einstein, and she wondered if the woman was recovering from a recent electrocution. “Aunt Beryl?” Piper asked.

  The woman doubled over laughing. “Oh, no, honey!” she said. As she tried in vain to re-pin a strand of hair behind one ear, she said, “I’m Ms. Bouchard’s housekeeper, Sofia. You two hungry?”

  Mr. Greene set the suitcases down inside the front door on spotless hardwood floors as the children came in and shrugged off their jackets. Piper looked at Phoenix, trying to remember the last time he had eaten something. “Yes, please,” she replied. She was too nervous to be hungry, but she hoped that a snack would ease some of the awkwardness as they shuffled from the entryway into the foyer and into my sights.

  I called Piper’s name, but a simmering anger filled her ears with other noise and she couldn’t hear me just yet. So I called her brother’s name.

  Phoenix.

  The boy looked over his right shoulder through the parlor and into the library, his eyes finding me on the shelf within seconds.

  Hello, Dearest Phoenix. I am honored to know you.

  Phoenix turned and began to walk toward me, but Piper grabbed his hand, oblivious to the object of his interest. She was busy digesting the view of the cavernous entryway as she wondered what awaited them.

  “Is Aunt Beryl here?” Piper asked, her voice going up to echo around the high ceilings.

  “She’s upstairs in the study,” said Mr. Greene as he removed his hat and overcoat. He placed them on the wooden rack inside the door. “Your aunt spends her days working on grants and paperwork for different charity foundations, and I believe she’s on the phone at the moment. She’ll be down shortly, so if you’ll follow Sofia to the kitchen, she’s prepared a snack for you. I’ll put your bags in your rooms and let your aunt know you’ve arrived.”

  Piper pictured her mother greeting long-lost relatives at the door with a plate of warm cookies and hugs all around.

  Mom would never let someone else answer the door when she expected guests!

  A graceful oak staircase curved up to the second floor from the foyer. Piper and Phoenix followed Sofia under the staircase through an arched doorway, where Sofia turned left to go down a hallway.

  Piper sensed an echo beyond the next archway, a perception of space that felt large and open. She was far too curious to follow Sofia to the kitchen, so she walked forward through the archway and found herself in an immense ballroom.

  Running left to right the full length of the house with ceilings in the center that soared thirty feet high, the ballroom was flooded with cold light from five enormous windows. Several tapestries depicting strolling lords and ladies hung on the walls, and each tapestry was so large it would have dwarfed her parents’ king-sized bed. Piper noticed an oversized stone hearth down to her right on the inner wall, a hearth that opened into a fireplace big enough for both children to stand in, side by side. Piper smiled as an image of Frodo and Sam being chased by goblins through the dwarf hall beneath the mountain came to mind.

  I will call this room the “Halls of Moria.”

  Should I mention that Mr. Tolkien was a friend of mine, Dear Reader? I’m quite the fan of Bilbo, Frodo, and Gandalf. I’m especially fond of Samwise Gamgee.

  Phoenix followed his sister, looking beyond the air at nothing as he wandered around the huge room, all three dogs trailing along inches from his feet on the white floors. Piper wondered if any of the dogs had ever peed on the marble.

  Sofia’s gentle voice interrupted Piper’s thoughts. “Ever seen a room this big?” she asked as she repositioned one of the useless hairpins on her head. “This is where Ms. Bouchard hosts her fund-raising shindig every spring and fall. Let’s get that snack now, okay?”

  Phoenix, Piper, and all three dogs obeyed, following Sofia down a hallway that ended in a bright and airy kitchen. Attached to the kitchen was a small breakfast room, and beyond that through an open doorway they could see the fancy curving woodwork of a formal dining room table.

  A small tray of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches was sitting out on the breakfast bar along with a bowl of apples, bananas, pears, and oranges. Piper was surprised to see that the sandwiches were made with white bread with the crusts cut off. Piper would have pegged their new guardian as a high fiber, whole grain, eat-your-crust type of relation.

  “Wait, how did you know that Phoenix likes peanut butter?” Piper asked, watching Phoenix take a seat on a barstool and begin munching on a sandwich. The dogs lay at his feet, their bodies surrounding the bottom of his chair like a doggie moat.

  Sofia poured out two mugs of piping hot cocoa. “Mr. Greene did a whole lotta digging to find out everything about you both,” she said. “Having snacks you like could make these first few days here a little easier, maybe?” She patted Piper’s hand and leaned in to whisper. “I’m a newbie, too, if you didn’t know. I started here three weeks ago, so we can all be new together. I stocked up on tons of peanut butter for Phoenix, and peppermint tea for you.”

  Piper bit into a banana and asked, “Mr. Greene asked somebody about what stuff we like? Who’d he ask?”

  Sofia looked up to the ceiling as she thought for a second. “A babysitter or something? Chelsi, I think.”

  Piper nodded as a sudden lump came to her throat. “I miss Chelsi,” she said quietly. “She was the best sitter ever.”

  Mr. Greene came into the kitchen followed by a white-haired version of a disgruntled Mary Poppins. Standing barely five feet tall and thin as a rail, Aunt Beryl did not resemble one bit of those smiling family photographs Piper remembered, except for her wire-rimmed glasses. The woman was dressed in a tailored dark gray pantsuit, and she wore her not-a-hair-out-of-place coiffure extremely short. Her face was made up flawlessly, and her lipsticked mouth was toying with a grimace. She wasn’t frowning, exactly, but she wasn’t smiling either. Wide, deep-set eyes analyzed the new humans in her kitchen as if trying to solve a difficult and smelly riddle.

  After a few moments of awkward silence, Aunt Beryl nodded abruptly at Piper and said, “You look like your mother.” Then she narrowed her eyes and spoke to Phoenix, frowning like she’d just tasted something rotten. “And you, young man, are the spitting image of your father.”

  Aunt Beryl noticed the dogs sitting in a quiet circle at Phoenix’s feet, and her momentarily confused expression changed into a commanding stare as she pushed through a speech that sounded rehearsed. “Let’s all agree to make the best of this unpleasant situation. I’m very sorry for the loss of your mother, but having two small strangers invade my home isn’t going to be a cakewalk for me either.” She clasped her hands together, her eyes lingering on Phoenix’s new canine buddies as she continued. “Due to the fact that there are only ten weeks remaining in the Hancock County school year, I have notified the principal that in light of your recent trauma, the two of you will not be enrolling in public school this term.”

  No!

  Piper’s stomach dropped to her knees, and she had to work hard to choke down the bite of banana she had been chewing. She loved learning and tests and teachers and everything that most of her classmates hated about school, and she was looking forward with all her heart to getting back into a classroom full of books. And the thought of how Phoenix would do without the careful routine of a specialized school brought an even bigger lump to her throat. His daily routine would be up to her.

  Piper stared at her cocoa, wishing she had a book in her hand to drown out Aunt Beryl’s noise, or to throw at her perfectly combed head.