The Probable Future

Will and Stella hightailed it over to Beacon Street before Jenny was the wiser, laughing as they raced several blocks to their favorite restaurant, the Hornets’ Nest, famed for its strong drinks and its heavenly Boston cream pie. It was a happy occasion, just cause for celebration, and for once Will had remembered to get a present— reminded, of course, by a message from Jenny on his phone machine. He’d chosen a bracelet with a gold bell that Stella seemed to love. But before long, Will felt a wash of unease. Stella was chattering, which was very unlike her, and her cheerful manner seemed forced. She had always resembled him physically, with the same fine features and golden coloring. Now Will fervently hoped she hadn’t inherited anything of his character. Why, he’d been a liar since the day he learned to talk. Dishonesty had come to him as easily as music had; he had a natural talent, it seemed. A good thing, for he’d never worked at anything. He’d never even considered such a possibility. He’d simply opened his hands and fortune had found him, or at least that had been the case until now.

In all this time, there had been only one person who had managed to see through him. Not Jenny. It had taken her thirty years to realize he couldn’t be trusted. No, it was Jenny’s mother who immediately knew him for what he was. Elinor Sparrow could tell that he was a liar when she first spied him in the parlor of her house. Will had been reckless in those days, he hadn’t been spooked by the dusty rooms in Cake House, but of course he hadn’t expected Elinor Sparrow to swoop down on them as they evaluated the belongings of Rebecca Sparrow, kept under lock and key.

Don’t move, Jenny had whispered that day when she heard her mother in the hallway. But of course he didn’t comply. Will being Will, he found it impossible to obey. As soon as Jenny ran out to the hall to try and divert her mother, Will reached for the key hanging from a hook on the wall. Without thinking twice, he opened the glass case for a closer look. Unfortunately, Elinor Sparrow could not be diverted. Not when she heard the creak of the memento case as it was unlocked and opened. Standing in the hall, she had picked up a sweet, cloying odor, the unmistakable scent of a liar and a thief. And there he was: a foolish boy in her parlor, studying the family archives as though he were a rightful guest, searching through that old and bloody case of pain.

Elinor Sparrow was a strong woman and quite large, more than six feet tall; when she grabbed Will by the shoulder he could feel her fingernails pinching his flesh.

What have you taken? She shook him as though she could shake the truth right out of him. She treated him as though he were a mole in the garden, a rat in the cellar, nothing more than a household pest caught in a trap. What did you steal?

Nothing. It was the hot response of a liar, syrupy and much too easily spoken. You’ve got it all wrong. I’m just visiting.

Elinor had jeered at that notion. She had taken note of the way he licked his lips, how his eyes darted to the left; she was unmoved by the satiny tone of his voice. He was marked by the distinctive scent of his lies, a leathery, acrid smell. Elinor would have been able to find him even if he’d been hiding in a bale of straw. That’s how this boy stank, like old shoes, like dashed hopes, like someone who might steal a person’s daughter if she wasn’t careful.

Elinor shook Will harder; she could have easily snapped one of the bones in his shoulder if Matt Avery hadn’t heard the ruckus and come running. Matt threw open the French doors, shattering several panes of glass, wielding a shovel he’d found beside the porch. Matt was exceedingly shy and rarely opened his mouth until he’d been spoken to, but now he faced off with Elinor Sparrow, shovel in hand, expression set.

Let him go. Do it now!

Elinor laughed at the sheer nerve of this trespasser. He was all of eleven. Twelve at the most.

What are you planning to do about it? she said scornfully. When Matt paused to think over his answer, Elinor laughed again. I’ll tell you what you’ll do. Nothing.

Matt would never have used the shovel as anything more than a shield, but when Elinor laughed at him, when she began to shake Will once more, Matt leaped forward, accepting the challenge. Not knowing any other way to free his brother, he stomped on Elinor Sparrow’s foot. She howled and let go of Will.

I want what he stole, Elinor cried.

But Matt had grabbed Will by the shirtsleeve and waved the shovel in the air to keep Elinor at bay. My brother wouldn’t take anything. He wouldn’t want anything that belonged to you.

Although a bruise was surfacing on the mount of Elinor’s foot Matt’s certainty had caused her to lose her edge. For a moment at least, she seemed to forget she was the wronged party. The brothers hadn’t waited for Elinor to regain her wits. They ran off through the French doors so fast they thought their lungs would explode. They fled past the forsythia and the laurel, not stopping until they reached the end of the driveway. By then they could barely breathe. Matt for one was shaking. But Will threw himself down on the grass, laughing so hard, he nearly choked.