The Memory Giver (#Wattys2014)

Chapter 6

        Push the door open, go inside and investigate.

        The voice in Turtle’s head said something that sounded very much like something A.D. might have said. 

        I got better things to do, Turtle responded to the voice, like homework.

        Right.

        He began backing away from his brother’s bedroom door, his eyes fastened to it until he was back inside his own room with the door shut.

                                                        *

        It was around midnight when the thought came to him.  He’d been lying in bed for hours, too restless to sleep.  At first he thought he couldn’t sleep because of all the strangeness surrounding A.D.

        At dinner he’d casually mentioned the Millennium Falcon. 

        “Why are you bringing that up now?” his mother asked, her tone edgy, her index finger tap-tap-tapping the table as if she was tapping out Morse code.

        “This afternoon I was thinking about Star Wars and…”

        “That’s not dinner table talk,” Mabry said, cutting him off.  She’d been about to scoop mashed potatoes from a bowl into his father’s plate, and stopped, the spoon suspended in mid-air.  “If you’re going to talk like that you need to eat in your room.”

        Turtle was surprised by her response.  “It’s a movie, Mom,” he said in his own defense.  He didn’t mind eating in his room.  He would have preferred it, but wasn’t that against the rules?

        “It’s not a movie we discuss around here.  Ever!” she said, and went back to scooping.

        Turtle looked to his father in disbelief.  Stan Dawson took a passive role in holding his family together through their grief storm. He was a big, powerful man, with a complexion like dark chocolate and a disposition just as sweet.  It was said Turtle inherited his beefy build from his dad.  He inherited his sweetness fromhim as well.

        Stan’s philosophy in this difficult time was to stay out of Mabry’s way and allow her to grieve.  In time she’d come out of it, and they could be a family again.  And if they incurred a casualty or two in the process, so be it.  They were two years into this philosophy with no end in sight.

        “This kind of talk is upsetting to your mother, Turtle. Star Wars and the Millennium Falcon are off limits.  Okay?” Stan Dawson said without raising his voice.

        “Okay,” Turtle replied.  He should have known he wouldn’t get any support from the old man.

        That was three hours ago.  Now Turtle was lying in bed believing Mabry couldn’t have been the one who’d put the Millennium Falcon in his room.  She didn’t even want to talk about it, Turtle thought.  I bet if she’d’ve seen it in my room yesterday she’d’ve freak. But if she didn’t put it there, who did?” 

        Ghost.

        This was the kind of question that could have kept Turtle’s mind occupied deep into the night, could have had him quaking beneath the sheets, wondering about the Millennium Falcon and the strange goings on in A.D.’s room, yet it wasn’t the thing that was keeping Turtle from falling asleep.

        I don’t have her phone number.  Girl’s give their boyfriends their phone numbers.

        Rita was the reason he couldn’t sleep.