“Well?” I burst out. “What happened?”
He gave me back my phone. “She apologized for pulling us over.”
I grabbed his arm. “Really?”
“She’s headed back to the office to find out who changed the speed limit without telling the road officers about it. She’s pretty ticked, actually.”
We drove for a while in silence, both lost in our thoughts. I was still working it through in my mind. I had looked at the sign just before I snapped the picture, and I was almost positive it had said sixty-five. Rick said he had done the same thing. But now?
I picked up my phone again and turned it on. As the screen lit up, I gave a low cry and dropped it, as if it were hot.
Jerking around, Rick looked at me. “What’s wrong?”
My breath was coming in short, quick gulps. An eerie feeling was coursing through my body. I held up the phone, turning it so he could see for himself that the picture on my phone was of a speed limit sign filled with a big 65.
For almost a full minute, he said nothing. Then his eyes finally met mine. “What’s going on, Danni?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
I tried to be jaunty so he wouldn’t see my real feelings. “I’m not sure. But I sure hope Officer Blake doesn’t check that sign again as she goes by.”
Another five minutes passed. “You can’t tell Dad,” I said. “He’ll ground me for the entire summer if he knew I encouraged you to speed.”
Rick stared straight ahead, his brow furrowed and his mouth in a pinched line. Finally, he looked at me. “If I came back with a speeding ticket after getting one just two weeks ago, I think Dad might change his mind about everything we agreed to this morning.”
I drew in a breath sharply. “No, Rick. He’d be mad at you, but he wants you to go to school. He wouldn’t give all that up just to punish you.”
“You don’t understand, Danni. Of course he’s happy about what happened today, but he’s big on us accepting the consequences for our choices. And there’s something else. Ever since my grandparents came here from Guatemala, he’s felt like he’s had to battle for everything we have. He’s proud of that—that he’s never taken a handout, that everything we have now is because of what he’s done.”
“But—”
“He’s grateful for what your dad did this morning, but it was one of the hardest things he’s ever done, to acknowledge that he needed help from someone else. And if that means no more to me than this?” He shook his head and looked away.
I stared at him. I didn’t know what to say. I felt suddenly sick. “Rick?”
“What?”
“The next time I’m being a stupid twit, just stuff a sock in my mouth, okay?”
He gave me a low chuckle. “It would have to be one of mine. I don’t think yours would be big enough to make a difference.”
“Hey!” I cried, lifting my fist to slug him. Then I let it drop. He was right. I turned my head and stared out the window.
“Danni? Whatever you did, and however you did it, thank you for making it right.”
“I didn’t do anything, Rick. It just changed.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Did we just imagine it?”
“No. Officer Blake and I went back to that sign. We walked right up to it. It read seventy-five miles an hour. She even felt it to make sure something wasn’t pasted over it.”
“But how is that possible?”
“It’s not. Except that it happened.”
Chapter 15
It was nearly sundown before Dad, who was in the lead, raised a hand and let his four-wheeler roll to a stop. We were about eight thousand feet up on the northwest flank of Mount Pennell, the second-highest peak in the Henry Mountains. For the last mile we’d been in heavy timber, following a faint two-track road that was barely visible in the waning light.
With the sun behind the hills to the west, the air temperature had quickly dropped, and despite it being mid-June, we were wearing sweatshirts and gloves and seeing our breath.
As we stiffly climbed off the machines, I looked around. We had come out of the trees into a relatively level area at the base of a steep hillside. It was a small clearing, but obviously not a natural one. There were numerous old tree stumps all around us. Somebody had done some logging up here, but a long time ago.
I felt a nudge on my arm. When I turned, Rick was pointing up the hill. About a hundred feet above us was a lighter splash of color on the mountainside, clearly visible among the scattered trees and brush. It was narrow at the top and fanned out at the bottom.
“Dad? Is that a mine?”
Looking up, he smiled. “No, Danni, it’s not a mine. It’s our mine. We’re calling it the Danny Boy Mine.”
“Really?” I squealed.
His grin spread across his face. “That doesn’t mean it’s yours, but Grandpère and I both like the name.”
I squealed again and hurled myself at him, nearly knocking him over. “Oh, Dad! Can we go in it?”
“Not tonight,” he said. “We’ve got to set up camp before it’s totally dark. And I’d like some supper.”
“And we need to hear Danni tell us about the Four Remembers,” Rick added.
I scowled at him.
“Don’t give me that look,” he said. “That’s why we went back for the pouch.”
We sat around the campfire, huddled in close to take advantage of the warmth, sometimes talking quietly, sometimes just enjoying the silence.
“Look,” Rick said, pointing toward the eastern sky. As our eyes lifted, we saw a flash of brilliant white light streak across the sky. With the moon not up yet and no city lights whatsoever, we had been seeing shooting stars all evening. This one was the biggest, the brightest, and the longest so far.
As it disappeared, Grandpère said, “That one’s in a real hurry,”
I gave him a funny look. “What do you mean?”
“My father always used to say that a shooting star was an angel on his way down from heaven to help someone on earth.”
“Ah.” I liked that image. “It was kind of headed east,” I suggested. “Maybe it’s Grandmère on her way to make sure Cody and Mom are all right over in Denver.”
“Oh no,” Grandpère drawled. “That was much too slow for Grandmère.”
We all laughed and then fell silent, searching the skies above us. The view was breathtaking. Like a thousand million diamonds flung across space. The Milky Way painted its luminous path across the whole breadth of the sky, looking very much like someone had indeed spilled a bottle of milk across the celestial realms.
After a while, Grandpère cleared his throat. “Since she has not yet volunteered, I’d like to see by a show of hands how many are waiting to hear that report on the Four Remembers from the keeper of the pouch.”
Three hands shot up.
I sighed, then nodded. It was a good time, and the setting was perfect—crisp, fresh air, a crackling fire, a breathtaking panorama over our heads, and the best company in the world. And part of me really wanted to do it. Well, at least some of it. Reaching for the pouch, willing Nanny to give me some help, I got slowly to my feet. “Okay, but I’m only going to talk about one Remember tonight. Maybe two.”
They nodded and settled back to listen. I took a deep breath, held it while I quickly collected my thoughts, then began. “I’m going to start with something that will, at first, seem totally unrelated to any of the Four Remembers, but just bear with me for a little bit. Okay?”
More nods. I could feel my heart thumping in my throat, but this was a pretty friendly audience. Even if I stumbled a bit, I wasn’t going to get stoned. “Dad, do you remember the first time you read me the nursery rhyme of Humpty Dumpty?”
His face was blank. “How long ago was that?”
“I was probably four or five. But I remember making you read it again and again as I looked at the pictures. I can still see them in my mind. The first one was of this huge egg with a boy’s face and dressed in boy’s clothes, sitting on a wall. Then there was a pictur
e of him falling, and finally he was on the ground, all broken to pieces.”
“I do remember. When I read the part about all the king’s horses and all the king’s men not being able to put Humpty back together again, you were quite annoyed. ‘Why didn’t they just take him to the hospital?’ you wanted to know.”
“Yeah. And I also asked why he was an egg. Who ever saw an egg wearing clothes? I thought that was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard.”
He chuckled. “You were really quite put out. You said it was a stupid story and that you didn’t like it one bit.”
I laughed softly as I remembered how upset I had been. “Do you remember what you said next?”
“I told you it was only a stupid story if you thought it was a story about an egg.”
“That’s right. Which didn’t help, by the way. Not then, anyway. But now I realize it’s not a story about an egg, it’s a story about life.”
I turned to face Rick directly. “Just this afternoon, I learned for myself that what may seem like trivial, unimportant choices can have enormous consequences.” Like goading someone into going five miles per hour faster than they were supposed to. “My being stupid nearly unraveled all the good that Dad did this morning.”
Dad and Grandpère exchanged puzzled glasses. I didn’t explain further.
I faced Grandpère. “When you told us the story of Aron Ralston, you said something that has stuck with me ever since. You said that Aron didn’t tell anyone where he was going because he was only going to be gone for one day. Then you said, ‘How many times do you think Aron wished he could have made that decision over?’ That was all you said, but I couldn’t get that question out of my head. He must have kicked himself so many times for being so foolish. He had knocked the egg off the wall. But deeply regretting it didn’t do one thing to make things better.”
My voice was soft as I quoted from the nursery rhyme. “‘And all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty together again.’” I took a breath. “Remember number three says, ‘Remember, you are free to choose what you are and what you become.’ But I want to change it just a little: ‘I am free to choose who I am and what I will be, but I am not always free to choose the consequences of my choices.’”
“Very well put,” Grandpère murmured.
“I realized today that it’s not just what we want that matters. We have to want the consequences of what we want too. If we don’t, we’d better not do it. I learned today that our choices—even if they’re made with good intentions—can end up getting things broken. Toys. Cars. Our hearts. Our lives. Other people’s hearts and lives. If we forget that, then, like Aron Ralston, we can find ourselves between a rock and a hard place.” I let out a huge sigh of relief. “That’s it. That’s what I’ve learned.”
I snapped my fingers. “Oh, one other thing. I read something in a book a few months ago, and I liked it so much, it now is on my mirror where I can see it every day. It is three simple words: ‘Decisions determine destiny.’”
“A profound thought,” Grandpère said.
I looked directly at Rick. “I’m so sorry for what happened today, Rick. It was incredibly stupid of me.”
“I know,” he said with a wry smile. Then he sobered. “But in this case, you did put things back together again. Don’t ask me how you did it, but it turned out all right.”
Grandpère was giving us both searching looks. “Is there something you two would like to share with Mack and me?”
“No!” we both blurted out simultaneously. We smiled at each other, then I turned back to face the others.
“Well, it’s getting late,” I said. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”
“Oh no,” Grandpère said, “you said maybe you would talk about two Remembers. I’m going to hold you to it.” He peered at me. “How about Remember number one: you are unique.”
I jerked forward in surprise. That was the one I had been worrying about the most all day. That was the one I had determined to leave to last, hoping we’d never get around to it.
“Yes, Danni,” Dad said softly. “I’d like to hear about that too.”
I decided to play it funny, keep it light, keep ’em laughing. “Ah, yes,” I said, smiling ruefully, “You are unique. But of course we are unique. And that has got to keep God and His angels busy. No two people are exactly alike. In all the world, and throughout all of history, there is not a single other person who is exactly like Carruthers Monique McAllister.” I did a little bow. “Hold the applause, please. Also, sighs of relief are not allowed.”
Rick sniggered. Dad smiled. But Grandpère just bored into me with those deep gray eyes of his. After a moment, he said, “Go on, Danni.”
So much for the keeping-it-light approach. I decided the second-best option was speed. Talk as fast as possible and don’t take questions. Without realizing it, I was clinging to Nanny like he was a life preserver.
I sighed again, only with more pain. “Actually, I love knowing that in all the world there is no one exactly like me—not now, not ever before, and not ever again. That’s so weird in a way, and yet, strangely enough, I’m okay with that. I find it seriously creepy to think there might be a clone of me out there, getting into trouble, causing the people she cares about to do stupid things, making her mother wonder why doing girl things is not part of her nature.”
Rick stirred. “Getting mad if someone does anything better than she does.”
I shot him a dirty look. I realized my palms were sweating, and I rubbed them on my jeans. “You’re just chapped that I can shoot better than you now.”
“In your dreams,” he said right back.
Grandpère leaned in closer. “You’re stalling, Danni.”
To my surprise, I suddenly wanted to say it. Wanted to let it all spill out. I looked at Rick. “You can’t be here for this.”
He gaped at me, then, face flaming red in the firelight, he started to get up.
“Oh, sit down,” I snapped. “But you have to plug your ears.”
Totally bewildered, he sank back down. For a moment, I was afraid he might actually cover his ears, but, gratefully, he didn’t. I could see that he could see that I was just being me. I turned my back on him and spoke only to Grandpère and Dad.
“My name is Danni McAllister. And I am unique. But unique isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Unique is another way of saying you’re weird, which is another word for odd, strange, peculiar.”
“Danni . . .” Dad began. But he stopped and shook his head.
“I present the following evidence in support my argument. I have my mother’s long dark hair and large eyes, but very little of her natural beauty, grace, or charm. I—”
“Hold it,” Dad exclaimed. “Everyone says you look just like your mother. You have a natural beauty of your own, Danni.”
I held up a hand. “Please. No comments until I’m finished. I have my father’s green eyes and freckles, but, unlike his eyes, which are always so kind and patient, mine are more like weapons. I glare at people, or scowl at them. Dad says my freckles are leprechaun kisses. Maybe so, but before summer is over, mine will look more like I had my cheeks tattooed. My head is too big, and my ears stick out. In fifth grade, Jamie Fredricks, the most annoying boy I’ve ever known, said I reminded him of one those little Mexican Chihuahua dogs.”
“No way, Danni,” Rick said from behind me. I ignored him.
“And it’s not just him. Everyone tells me I’m different. They mean it as a compliment, I guess, but I know what’s really behind it. I am different. I’m stubborn, pigheaded, always rushing into things without thinking. Mom keeps trying to teach me how to be graceful and gracious. So far, it hasn’t taken. She thinks I resist her because I’m a natural tomboy, but down deep, it’s because I know I can never be like her. That’s why I fight her about wearing dresses and ribbons and . . .”
I was shocked at how painful it was to hear me actually put my feelings into words.
“They
just make me look all the more gawky and geeky. So I put on this big front about being independent and not caring about girl things.”
That was enough. It hurt too much. “So yes,” I concluded, “I am unique. I just wish I weren’t quite so unique.”
“All in agreement?” Dad said very quietly. I didn’t look up, but I could see that no one raised a hand.
Except Grandpère.
“Thanks, Grandpère.” And I really meant it, though it hurt like fury to see his hand in the air. But at least someone was being honest with me.
“Ma chérie, I have some bad news for you.” There was a twinkle in his eye, but his face was completely grave. “One of the reasons you feel inferior is because you are.”
My head snapped up.
“Well, you are. In some ways. And the reason you feel inadequate is because you are. And the reason you feel like you’re not perfect is because you’re not. Not in any way.”
“Thanks, Grandpère,” I said with a bitter laugh. “I needed that.”
“None of us are,” he went on gently. “And what you are feeling is what we all feel in some way or another at some time or another. We all do stupid things. We all make mistakes. We all get caught up in ourselves, and say things or do things that we regret.”
“Amen,” Rick murmured.
“Right on,” Dad agreed.
“And the further bad news is,” Grandpère continued, “I’m in my seventies, and I still have feelings of forever falling short. That’s just life, my dear child.”
To my surprise, he got up, came over, and put his arms around me.
Tears came to my eyes, but I didn’t fight them. I threw my arms around him. “Thank you, Grandpère,” I whispered. “Thank you for not saying how lovely and smart and wonderful I am and all that other kind of stuff.”
“Oh, Danni,” he whispered, bending down to kiss the top of my head, “I say that all the time.”
“You do?”
His voice was suddenly husky. “Yes. With my eyes and with my heart.”
He was right. I saw that in his eyes all the time, and it always warmed my soul. I hugged him back. “Thank you. I love you so much, Grandpère.”