When Women Were Dragons(96)
The dragons, it turned out, were simply part of the package.
And they were handy. They put in plumbing and fixed the electricity and even put in an automatic dishwasher, which felt like a modern miracle. They found cast-off furniture and flew it over, decorated tastefully, and built tables and comfortable chairs and tall bookshelves. Marla built a clothes washer and several woodstoves, which kept the individual rooms warm in the winter. They set up tools and a workbench in one area of the building, and planted a vegetable garden outside in the yard. They set up bedrooms for Beatrice and me that were separate for privacy, but with adjoining doors to allow for closeness. They built me a study with a telescope and a chalkboard for working through big problems, and built a climbing gym for Beatrice. They even built a greenhouse on the roof, with a large lounging patio next to it, lined with potted fruit trees and berry bushes and a climbing grape vine along the back wall.
I wasn’t entirely comfortable, but even I had to admit that we definitely could have done worse.
The morning after my conversation with Mrs. Gyzinska, I grabbed my school bag from one of the sturdy pegs next to what used to be the delivery entrance.
“Are you off to class, Alex dear?” my aunt called from the other side of the building.
I sighed and pressed my forehead to the bricks. Be kind, I reminded myself firmly. Be kind, be kind, be kind. Everything Marla did seemed to annoy me. She was just always there. And she cared so much, it made it hard to breathe. Plus, she was just so dragony. My circumstances had not allowed me to be a regular teenager, but now, from time to time, all my years of deferred teenage petulance seemed to well up inside me, unbidden, so I did my best to pull myself together to keep from saying something I might regret.
I shouldered my bag, the strap crossing my body, the weight of my studies resting on my hip. I didn’t really feel like having a conversation. I appreciated the fact that I had four enormous babysitters to fuss over Beatrice and cook her dinners and braid her hair and help her with her homework and make sure she brushed her teeth, yet I was still . . . icy with my aunt.
She was the one who left, after all. Left Beatrice in her crib. Left her sister. Left me. For years. And, as yet, she hadn’t apologized.
And, as yet, I hadn’t entirely forgiven her.
“Alex?” My aunt’s large head peered into the hallway. I jumped. “Did you hear me?”
“What? No, I didn’t. Sorry. I must be deep in my head. Homework, and you know. And . . . math stuff.” That wasn’t true. I still don’t know why I felt like I needed to lie, but I lied all the time. Force of habit, perhaps. My aunt’s eyes narrowed. One of the side effects of having been married to a drunk was that not much got past her. She said nothing, clearly deciding to let the matter slide. “I’ll be home late,” I said, giving her half a smile. I pushed the heavy door open with my boot. “Please don’t let Beatrice dragon while I’m gone.”
Lately, Beatrice had learned how to partially dragon and return to her little-girlness at will. It always happened in bits and pieces—glittering fangs erupting out of her mouth, or golden scales shimmering up and down her arms. Once she developed talons in the middle of practicing the recorder in music class. It was difficult keeping that child in shoes, what with the occasional talon bursting through at the toes. Sometimes, she made her eyes dragon, just to freak out the boys at school. And she got good at it too. Her dragon aunties, as she called them, were mystified by this—none of them had known it was possible. And whether this was a function of the plasticity of childhood—and by definition, temporary—or if it was something specific to Beatrice, was a mystery. There was scant research on the subject, and it was simply impossible to get good information. I knew this would change eventually—it had to—but it didn’t change the fact that we were largely flying blind in regard to the long-term effects on Beatrice’s health and well-being. Maybe she would be able to continue to dragon and undragon as often as she liked. Maybe she would get unintentionally trapped in a form she did not wish. Maybe there would be consequences. There just was no way of knowing.
I worried about it.
My dragon housemates worried too. We wanted Beatrice to have a regular childhood—well, as regular as it could be while living in an old warehouse full of fearsome guardians.
My aunt cleared her throat. “Just so you know, there will be some ladies—”
“Dragons, you mean,” I said, more scathingly than I meant.
My aunt gave me as mild a smile as is possible for a dragon. “Yes, of course. Dragons. Visiting. Later tonight, after Beatrice goes to bed. Anyway, they were friends of mine, once upon a time. They haven’t been back since 1955. Interplanetary exploration. One put herself right in the eye of Jupiter’s storm. Just amazing. I thought you might have questions, given your interests. If you wanted to stop by and meet them—”
“We’ll see. I’m signed up for the observatory tonight. Lots to do. Don’t know how long it will take. Got to go.”
And I walked out the door without looking back. I was being unfair. I knew I was being unfair. And unkind. My aunt wanted us to be a family. But Beatrice was my family. How much family did one person need, anyway?
The third-floor window wrenched open and Beatrice’s face peeked out.
“Bye, Alex!” she called, waving madly.
“Young lady,” I heard Edith admonishing her from inside. She often got saddled with Beatrice duty. “You are already thirty minutes late for school. Get your shoes on this instant!”