A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(19)

“What are you talking about?” my mom said, her voice quavering.

It seemed there was nothing left to do but introduce them to my friends.

“Do you want to meet them?” I said. “Again?”

“Jacob,” said my father, his tone a warning.

“They’re here,” I said. “I promise they aren’t dangerous. Just . . . be cool, okay?”

I opened the door and brought Emma into the room. She had gotten as far as “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Portman,” when my mom screamed.

Miss Peregrine and Bronwyn ran in.

“What’s the matter?” Miss Peregrine said.

My mom shoved her—actually shoved Miss Peregrine—“Get out. Get OUT!” I saw Bronwyn restrain herself from grabbing my mom and throwing her into a wall.

“Maryann, calm down!” my dad shouted.

“They’re not going to hurt you!” I said.

I tried to grab her by the shoulders, but she wrenched out of my grip and sprinted from the room.

“Maryann!” my dad shouted again, but when he tried to run after her, Bronwyn grabbed him by the arms. He was too groggy from the dust to fight her.

I chased my mom down the stairs. She ran into the kitchen and grabbed a carving knife. The other peculiars came out of hiding, and as she stood with her back against the refrigerator, waving the knife, they ringed around her, just out of stabbing range.

“Calm down, Mrs. Portman!” Emma said. “We don’t mean you any harm!”

“Get away from me!” my mom screamed. “Oh God. Oh God!”

Maybe it was Olive crawling toward her along the ceiling—she’d grabbed a fishing net from the garage and meant to drop it on my mom—or Millard’s voice shouting from what seemed a floating bathrobe, but finally my mom just fainted. The knife clattered to the tile floor, and she slumped down next to it—a sight so pathetic I had to look away.

I could hear my dad shouting from upstairs. He was calling my mom’s name. It must have sounded like we’d killed her.

“We’ve got her,” Emma said to me. “Go to your father.”

I stepped on the dropped knife and slid it under a cabinet, just in case my mom came to. Emma, Horace, Hugh, and Millard lifted her and carried her toward the couch. There was nothing more I could do, so I ran upstairs.

My dad was crouched in the corner of the bedroom, clutching a pillow. Bronwyn stood guard in the doorway with her arms spread, ready to catch him if he tried to run.

When my dad saw me, his expression turned to ice.

“Where is she?” he said. “What did they do to her?”

“Mom’s okay,” I said. “She’s sleeping now.”

He was shaking his head. “She’ll never get over this.”

“She will. Miss Peregrine has the power to take away certain memories. She won’t remember.”

“And your uncles?”

I nodded. “Same for them.”

Miss Peregrine came in. “Mr. Portman. How do you do?”

My dad ignored her. Kept his eyes locked on me. “How could you?” He spat the words. “How could you bring these people into our house?”

“They came to help me,” I said. “To convince you I wasn’t insane.”

“You can’t do this to people.” He was talking to Miss P now. “Blaze into their lives. Scare the hell out of everyone. Erase whatever you want. It isn’t right.”

“It seems the truth is more than your wife can handle—for the time being, anyway,” Miss Peregrine said. “But Jacob was very much hoping that wouldn’t be the case for you.”

He stood up slowly. Let his hands drop to his sides. He looked resigned, resentful.

“Well, then. I guess you’d better lay it on me.”

I turned to look at Miss Peregrine.

“You’ll be okay?”

I nodded.

“We’ll be right outside,” she said, and she and Bronwyn went out, closing the door behind them.



* * *



? ? ?

I talked for a long time. I sat on the edge of the bed, and my dad sat in the chair in the corner, his eyes low and shoulders slumped, like a child enduring a lecture. I didn’t let his manner bother me. I told my story from the beginning, and this time I was calm.

I told him what I’d found on the island. How I had met the children and who they turned out to be. How I discovered I was one of them. I even told him about the hollowgast, though I didn’t go into the complexities of what came after, the battles we fought or the Library of Souls or Miss Peregrine’s evil brothers. It was enough, for now, that he know who his father was, and who I was.

When I finished, he hadn’t spoken in several minutes. He didn’t look afraid anymore. He just looked sad.

“Well?” I said.

“I should have known,” he said. “The way you and your grandpa got along. Like you had a secret language.” He was nodding gently to himself. “I should have known. I think part of me did know.”

“What do you mean? You knew about Grandpa, but not about me?”

“Yes. No. Hell, I don’t know.” He was staring past me, hard, like he was trying to see through fog. “I guess deep down I knew, but I never wanted to believe it.”