The Adoration of Jenna Fox, Page 2

  Once I am past the garage, I have a clear view of curious Mr Bender’s property, but I don’t see him. Our backyard slopes down gently toward a large pond. Its waters are still. The pond separates our yard from Mr Bender’s, and the small creek that feeds it separates our neighbors’ yards to the south, like a natural curving fence. To the north, where the pond overflows, the creek continues, disappearing into a forest of eucalyptus.

  A few more steps and I see Mr Bender, sitting on his haunches, like I have seen three-year-old Jenna sit in the video discs. It is an odd stance for a grown man. He clutches something in one hand and stretches out his other to something on the ground. He is so still, it stops me.

  Curious. Odd. Strange. Mother was right about him.

  I walk farther down the slope until I am stopped by the pond. I start toward the forest. The trees are spindly but numerous, and only a few yards in, the pond stops and spills into the creek. The flow is barely stronger than Lily’s kitchen faucet and only a few inches deep at most. I step on dry stones that rise above the trickle to get across to the other side, and I walk up the slope of Mr Bender’s yard. I should be afraid. Mother would want me to be afraid. But other than Mother, Father, and Lily, Mr Bender is the only human being I’ve seen since I woke up. I want to speak to someone who doesn’t know me. Someone who doesn’t know Lily or Mother. Someone outside our own curious circle. He sees me coming and rises off his haunches. He is tall, much larger than I thought. I stop.

  ‘Hello,’ he calls.

  I don’t move.

  ‘Lost?’ he says.

  I look back at my house. I look at my hands. I turn them over and examine both sides. My name is Jenna Fox. ‘No,’ I answer. I step forward.

  He holds out his hand. ‘I’m Clayton Bender. You the new neighbor?’ He nods toward our house.

  New? What is new to him? Is a year new? ‘I’m Jenna Fox. Yes, I live over there.’ I reach my hand out to him and we shake.

  ‘Your hands are like ice, young lady. You still acclimating?’

  I don’t know what that means, but I nod and say yes. ‘I saw you from my room. I saw you squatting. You’re curious.’

  He laughs and says, ‘You mean you’re curious.’

  ‘My grandmother thinks so.’

  He laughs again and shakes his head. I wonder if laughing is another curious thing about him. ‘Well, Jenna, you saw me squatting because I was working on this. Come take a look.’ He turns and walks a few feet away and points to the ground. I follow.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  ‘I haven’t named it yet, but I think it will be Pine Serpent. Maybe not. I’m an environmental artist.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘I create art from found objects in nature.’

  I look at the hundreds of long pine needles, each perfectly aligned with the next, each end carefully pushed into the loose soil, forming a curved snake that flows in and out of the ground. I want to reach down and stroke it, but I know that would destroy it. I don’t see the point. He has spent all morning creating something that will be blown away or trampled by tomorrow. ‘Why?’ I ask.

  He laughs again. Why does he do that? He is more curious than I am. ‘You’re a tough critic, Jenna Fox. I create art because I need to. It’s just something in me. Like breathing.’

  How can a pine serpent be in him? Especially one that will not last. ‘This will be gone by tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, it probably will. That’s the beauty of it and what makes it even more wondrous. At least to me. It’s delicate, temporal, but eternal, too. It will go back into the environment to be used again and again, in nature’s canvas. I just rearrange parts of nature for a short time so people will notice the beauty of what they usually ignore. So they’ll stop and—’

  ‘But no one will see it here.’

  ‘I take photos when I’m done, Jenna. I’m not that temporal. I have to eat, too. You’ve never heard the name Clayton Bender?’

  ‘No.’

  He smiles. ‘Well, I suppose some of my work’s not well known, but early in my career I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on White. That one made my career. It’s hard to go into an office building or doctor’s office without seeing it. Not my best, but the best known. White goes with everything, I guess. That’s what mostly paid for this place. I sure couldn’t afford it now.’

  ‘Your house cost a lot?’

  ‘All these do. You can’t get houses like the ones in this neighborhood without a small fortune these days. But I got mine for next to nothing right after the big quake. You’re too young to remember but—’

  ‘Fifteen years ago. Southern California. Nineteen thousand people died. Two whole communities vanished into the ocean, and all major transportation systems were crippled as well as water flow to the southern half of the state. It was the greatest natural disaster our country has ever seen and, along with the Aureus epidemic that followed three months later, was considered the triggering event for the Second Great Depression, which lasted six years.’

  I’m stunned. Is that the word? Yes, stunned. I don’t know where all the facts came from.

  Mr Bender draws in his breath. ‘Well! You know your facts, don’t you, Jenna? You a history buff?’

  Was I? Am I? I am still absorbing how easily the facts flowed out of me. ‘I must be.’

  ‘Well, you got your facts straight. I got this house dirt cheap, because of all those terrible things. But now everyone’s forgotten about the earthquake and the scientists say it’ll be a few hundred years before we have another nine-pointer, so the prices have gone back through the roof.’

  ‘Ours is in bad shape. I don’t think it could be worth much.’

  ‘It’s been empty for years, but it won’t take much to get it fixed up. I’m glad to see someone finally in it. When I saw you all moving in a couple of weeks ago, I was happy to see the place finally filled with a family.’

  ‘Two weeks ago? We’ve been here longer than that.’

  Mr Bender’s brows dip. ‘Of course. Yes, you must be right. I lose track of time,’ he says.

  But I sense he doesn’t believe me. Maybe he doesn’t want to argue. Neither do I.

  ‘Are you going to take a picture?’ I point to Pine Serpent.

  ‘Not yet. I need to wait for the sun to get a little lower. And if I get lucky, I’m going to coax a few birds to pose with it. A modern-day lion-and-lamb thing.’

  ‘You have birds?’

  ‘Here. I’ll show you. Over this way.’

  He walks the slope toward an overgrown garden. Broken slabs of flagstone create a winding pathway through sprays of lavender, untamed boxwood, and lacy umbrellas of anise. A short distance in, the garden opens into a circular grassy area with a hewn-log bench at its center. Mr Bender sits and reaches beneath his seat for a small covered bowl. He scoops something into his palm. ‘Sit,’ he says. I do.

  He holds his palm out, and instantly there are multiple chirps around us. ‘Hold still,’ he instructs. A small gray bird swoops over his palm without taking anything. Another one dives, hovers, and disappears like the other. Mr Bender doesn’t move. Still another one swoops, flutters, and then lands on his wrist. It pecks a seed and flies away. Within moments two more land on his hand and greedily peck at the seed, braver than the rest. I am mesmerized by their perfect tiny beaks, their creamy clawed feet, and their layered gray feathers that fold together like a beautiful silk fan. I reach out to touch one, and they both skitter away.

  ‘You have to be patient. Here, try it,’ he says. He hands me the tub of seed, and I scoop out a handful. I put my palm out and wait. They chirp from the nearby jacaranda but don’t budge from their perches. I thrust my palm out farther. We wait and are silent. I am careful not to move. I am patient.

  They don’t come.

  ‘Maybe they’re full,’ Mr Bender says. ‘You come back anytime, Jenna, and give it another try.’

  I wonder. Anytime? The expressions that have blended together since I came out
of my coma are beginning to emerge into patterns. Most of it centers in the eyes. Without words, the lids shape sounds. They speak different things just by the faintest of angles. It is coming to me now, the expression on Lily’s face yesterday. Pain. And now, today, on Mr Bender’s face, truth. He really does want me to come back. How can eyes speak so much? It is another thing that I find curious.

  ‘I will,’ I tell him. He stands and throws his few remaining seeds into the boxwood. A ruckus of chirps follows. They weren’t full.

  ‘I have to get back to work now, Jenna, but I do thank you for coming by.’ We walk back down the pathway, but he stops at the garden edge and rubs the back of his neck. ‘Be careful about where you wander, though. We’ve had a few incidents around here. Broken windows. Pets gone missing. And some other things. Most of the neighbors are friendly enough, but some, well, you never know.’

  ‘And you do?’

  ‘Let’s just say there’s not a thing you can’t find on the Net, and I’ve made it a point to know my neighbors.’ He looks off in the distance at a white house at the end of our lane.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Bender. Careful is a word I pay attention to.’

  Known

  I have a friend. It changes everything. He may not be the normal sort of friend for a seventeen-year-old, but I am not normal either. For now, normal doesn’t matter.

  I don’t know if I will ever remember Jenna. The Jenna I was, at least. Father seems to think I will. Mother desperately wants me to. But letting go of something old and building something new that is all my own feels good. I want more of this feeling.

  I smile and I don’t even have to think about lifting the corners of my mouth. It happens on its own. Mr Bender is curious. So am I. I’m not lost. I am no longer not known. Mr Bender knows me.

  I can see our house as I make my way back down Mr Bender’s slope. I walk into the eucalyptus grove to where the pond is dammed with earth and a weave of gnarled tree roots. I step on the first stone that rises above the trickling creek, but then something catches my eye. A white shimmer. The glare off the pond. It shoots up at me. Blinds me. Pulls me into it.

  My foot slips from the rock into the creek. I hear noise.

  Screams.

  I feel myself fall, but I can’t see where I am falling to. The world spins. My mouth opens. Screams. My hands thrash. Water pours in.

  My nose. My mouth. Blackness. Gulps. Pain in my chest.

  The pond is everywhere.

  ‘Na! Na!’ I feel rocks cutting into my knees. Glimmers. Flashes. Beams of muted light. Syrupy sound. Down, down. Wet blackness covers me while glistening air bubbles rise above me.

  ‘Jenna!’

  I feel hands around my wrists. Hands shaking my shoulders.

  ‘Jenna!’

  I see Lily looking into my face. Lily pulling me to my feet.

  ‘Jenna! What’s the matter! What happened? Jenna! Jenna!’

  The pond is still. My clothes are dry. One knee is cut. A small bead of watery blood forms. ‘I—’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Lily’s pupils are pinpoints. Her voice pierces me.

  ‘I think so.’ I’m not sure what happened. Everything seemed different. The pond was so huge, and I was so small. I thought it was covering me. I couldn’t see.

  I thought I was drowning.

  Remembering

  Mother signs off the Net with Father and crosses the kitchen to where I sit. She has been talking to him privately for fifteen minutes about the small cut on my knee. She tried to get Lily to treat it, but Lily balked, saying she hadn’t practiced medicine in fifteen years and that she had never practiced that kind of medicine. ‘He said it should be fine,’ Mother says. ‘It should heal just like any other cut.’

  ‘It is just like any other cut.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Lily mumbles as she sits in the chair opposite me.

  Mother explodes. ‘I told you, Jenna! I told you! I said don’t leave the house!’

  ‘But I did.’

  Mother crumples into another chair at the table. She rubs one temple. ‘What happened?’ she says more softly.

  ‘I was crossing the creek. I stepped on the first stone. And then …’ I try to remember exactly what happened next.

  ‘Then what?’ Mother says, her voice wrung tight.

  I remember. More. ‘Did I almost drown?’

  ‘The creek’s only a few inches—’

  Lily cuts her off. ‘Yes. A long time ago. She wasn’t even two.’

  ‘But she couldn’t possibly remember—’

  ‘I remember.’

  I remember. I look at Mother and Lily, their expressions identical, like the air has been squeezed from their lungs. ‘I remember birds. White birds. I remember falling. I fell so far. And I screamed and water filled my mouth …’

  Lily pushes back her chair and stands. ‘We were at the bay. I let go of Jenna’s hand for only a second, just long enough to get money out of my purse for a snow cone. I was paying for it, and when I turned around, she was already at the end of the dock. She ran so fast. It was the gulls. There were gulls at the end of the dock and she didn’t stop. She was so focused on those birds, she didn’t hear me scream. I saw her go over and I ran. She was already sinking, and I jumped in after her.’

  Lily talks about me like she is talking about someone else.

  Like I am not in the room.

  ‘You bought me another snow cone. A week later when we went back. It was—’

  ‘Cherry.’

  Mother begins to sob. She scoots her chair back and comes to me. Her arms wrap around my shoulders and she kisses my cheek, my hair. ‘You’re remembering, Jenna. Just like your father said. This is just the beginning.’

  Remembering.

  Jenna Fox is inside me after all. Just when I was ready to move on without her, she surfaces. Don’t forget me, she says.

  I don’t think she’ll let me.

  Visitors

  Kara.

  And Locke, too.

  They come to me. Mother and Father are right. Bits. Pieces. More. It comes back. These pieces wind through the night. Faces that wake me. I sit up, hot, afraid.

  I had friends. Kara and Locke. But I don’t remember when. Or where. School? The neighborhood? I can’t remember where we went or what we did. But I see their faces. Looming close in front of mine, breathless.

  I knew them. I knew them deeply. Where are they now?

  I sit in my bed, in the dark, listening to the midnight creaks of our house, trying to conjure more than their faces, trying to push them into rooms, desks, and voices that will trigger more. But only their faces, close, eye to eye, are revealed. They linger before me like they have found my scent.

  Tell me. Tell me who you are.

  Tell me who I am.

  Timing

  Lily slides the garage door up. It screeches and shudders from lack of use until it finally completes its noisy path. Inside the dark cavern is an old pink hybrid wedged between stacks of boxes.

  ‘I’ll back it out, and then you can get in.’ Her voice is sharp. ‘And don’t tell your mother. I’ll catch it if she finds out I took you out in public.’

  ‘I’d rather stay home.’

  ‘I’d rather you stayed home, too. But I have errands to run, and I’m not taking a chance on you gallivanting off again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’ Gallivanting?

  Lily grunts. She squeezes between stacks of boxes and backs the car out, and I get in beside her. ‘Are we going to take the T?’

  Lily brakes. ‘You remember the T?’

  I am annoyed with everyone asking what I do and don’t remember. It’s all a matter of degrees. Do I remember riding somewhere on the T? Having somewhere important to go? Riding with someone who mattered to me? No. Do I remember what it looks like and what it does? Yes. I give the best response I can. A shrug.

  ‘Well, this isn’t Boston, and there is no T. And the shuttle doesn’t go where we need going so I’m driving the whole way. Problem
with that?’

  I don’t answer.

  She puts the car in gear and lurches forward, passing the houses on our lane. There are only five. The others are not Cotswold cottages. Each one is different. An English Tudor right next door, then a large Old Mission style estate; next a sprawling Craftsman, and last, the white house that Mr Bender paired with the word careful. It is a massive Georgian with tall, white pillars at the entrance. I am amused that I know the styles. But I am sure in Mother’s office there are volumes and volumes on architecture. Maybe the old Jenna read them.

  Mr Bender said the homes in this neighborhood cost a fortune. Looking at these, I believe him. We also still have the brownstone in Boston, which I am sure costs a fortune as well. ‘Are Mother and Father rich?’ I ask.

  ‘That’s an odd question.’

  ‘I’m odd. Remember?’

  ‘Yes. Pretty much filthy.’

  ‘Rich, you mean?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘From restoring brownstones?’

  Lily laughs.

  ‘So it’s Father then. Doctors make that much?’

  ‘No.’

  I see her hesitate. The car idles at the stop sign. She sighs like she is giving up something precious and I had better appreciate it. ‘He started his own biotech company and sold it four years ago. That’s where he made his money. He developed Bio Gel. It changed everything as far as transplants were concerned. Instead of just a few hours, organs could be shelved indefinitely waiting for the right recipient. He was on the news and made a big splash. Anything else?’

  ‘If he sold his company, where does he work now?’

  ‘Same place.’

  I don’t understand, but Lily isn’t offering any further explanation and I am tired of prying information out of her. I change the subject and gesture back to the street we have just exited. ‘Do you know the neighbors?’ I ask.