Heroes Are My Weakness(29)

Fresh air was the last thing Annie needed. She was sick of fresh air. Sick of the wind cutting her face and of her muscles aching from crawling after cats and climbing up the cliff drive to Harp House twice in one day. But at least her strength was beginning to return.

She gave Jaycie a reassuring smile and went to the kitchen to bundle up. She gazed at her backpack for a few moments, then decided it was finally time to pull out Scamp.

Livia was crouched under the branches of her favorite tree. The snow had melted away from the trunk, and she sat cross-legged on the bare ground dancing a pair of pinecones around as if they were play figures.

Annie slipped Scamp over her hand and arranged the puppet’s pink skirt to fall down over her own forearm. Livia pretended not to see her approach. Sitting on an old ledge stone close to the tree, Annie propped her elbow on one leg and let Scamp loose. “Pssttt . . . Pssttt . . .”

The p sound was one that amateur ventriloquists tended to avoid, along with letters such as m, b, f, q, v, and w—all of which required lip movement. But Annie had years of practice with sound substitutions, and even adults weren’t aware that she used a softened version of the t sound for p.

Livia looked up, her eyes fixed on the puppet.

“How do you like my outfit?” Scamp bobbed about, showing off her multicolored tights and star-decked T-shirt. Movement was another distraction that kept audiences from noticing sound substitutions. For example, pronouncing “my” as “ny.”

Scamp tossed her chaotic yarn hair. “I should have worn my leopard jeans. Skirts get in my way when I want to turn a somersault or hop on one leg. Not that you’d know. You’re too little to hop on one leg.”

Livia shook her head ferociously.

“You’re not?”

More head shaking. Livia scrambled out from under the branches, tucked up one leg, and hopped awkwardly on the other.

“Magnifico!” Scamp clapped her small cloth hands. “Can you touch your toes?”

Livia bent her knees and touched her toes, the tips of her straight brown hair brushing the ground.

They continued this way for a while, Scamp putting Livia through her paces. Finally, after Livia had completed a series of laps around the spruce tree, with Scamp urging her to go faster, the puppet said, “You’re amazingly athletic for someone who’s only three.”

That stopped Livia in her tracks. She scowled at Scamp and, with a frown, held up four fingers.

“My mistake,” Scamp said. “I guess I thought you were younger because you can’t talk.”

Annie was relieved to see that Livia seemed more insulted than ashamed. Scamp tilted her head so a chunk of curly orange yarn fell over one eye. “It must be hard not talking. I talk all the time. Talk, talk, talk. I find myself quite fascinating. Do you?”

Livia nodded solemnly.

Scamp gazed up toward the sky, as if she were thinking something over. “Did you ever hear of . . . free secret?”

Livia shook her head, keeping her focus on Scamp, as if Annie didn’t exist.

“I love free secret,” the puppet said. “If I say ‘free secret,’ I can tell you anything, and you’re not allowed to get mad. Annie and I play it, and, boy, has she ever told me some bad secrets, like the time she broke my favorite purple crayon.” Scamp threw her head back, opened her mouth wide, and yelled, “Free secret!”

Livia’s eyes grew huge, expectant.

“My turn first!” Scamp said. “And remember . . . You’re not allowed to get mad when I tell you. Just like I won’t get mad if you tell me something.” Scamp hung her head and spoke in a soft, confessional term. “My free secret is . . . At first I didn’t like you because your hair is pretty and brown and mine is orange. It made me jealous.” She looked up. “Are you mad?”

Livia shook her head.

“That’s good.” It was time to see if Livia would accept the connection between vent and puppet. She pretended to whisper something in the puppet’s ear.

Scamp turned to her. “Do we have to, Annie?”

Annie spoke for the first time. “Yes, we really do.”

Scamp sighed and returned her attention to Livia. “Annie says we have to go inside.”

Livia picked up her pinecones and rose.

Annie hesitated, then made Scamp lean toward the child and speak in a loud whisper. “Annie also said that if you’re by yourself and you see Theo, you should run to your mom because he doesn’t understand little kids.”

Livia scurried toward the house, giving Annie no clue how she felt about that.


IT HAD JUST GOTTEN DARK when Annie left Harp House, but this time she wasn’t walking back to the cottage with only a flashlight as a weapon against her vivid imagination. Instead she’d grabbed the key to Theo’s Range Rover from the hook in the kitchen and driven herself home.

The cottage had no garage, only a graveled spot off to the side. She parked there, let herself in through the side door, and flicked on the light.

The kitchen had been trashed.





Chapter Seven


ANNIE TOOK IN THE DESTRUCTION. The cupboards and drawers hung open, with silverware, dish towels, boxes, and cans littering the floor. She dropped her backpack. The messy contents of her overturned trash was spread everywhere, along with paper napkins, plastic wrap, and a bag of noodles. Mariah’s kitschy salt and pepper shakers were still lined up on the windowsill, but colanders, measuring cups, and cookbooks lay on a bed of spilled rice.