“Nothing.” I put the ring safely into the little pocket of my pjs. “I love you.”
“And I love you.”
I headed to my bedroom and sent Sasha the SOS.
~*~
“Wow, that’s a lot to digest.” Sasha pulled a thread on my comforter.
“What should I do?” I handed her the ring. “I mean, it’s crazy, right? Fortune tellers, rings, medical formulas, my uncle’s offer. Did I step into a different dimension or something?”
“It can’t be real.” Sasha gave me a nervous laugh. “I mean, it’s nuts. That ring’s probably a piece of junk, right? What did your mom say?”
“I didn’t want to go to them until I wrapped my brain around what it means myself. Oh, and got your opinion.”
Sasha stood up. “Well, it is the one that matters. Okay then.” She turned the ring over in her hand. "What we know. First, Lothaire isn’t real. Second, psychics are fakes.
“But—“
“Third, everyone makes shadows; they’re side effects of light. Now, Lothaire and Leo both begin with L. Can’t just be a coincidence, right? Your grandma most likely replaced your grandpa in her memory with the prince because Leo was so wonderful when he was alive; it was like he was her prince.”
“I’m not so sure,” I replied, certain that wasn’t the case. “She never described them both the same way. Lothaire was tall with jet-black hair and a rather impulsive romantic. Grandpa was short with dirty blond hair and one of the most down-to-earth people you’d ever meet.”
“No, I’m sure I’m right.” Sasha put the ring down on my nightstand and picked up my framed picture of my grandparents. “Besides, not romantic? You’ve got to be kidding me. Your grandparents have the most amazing love story. It’s like out of the movies. The Great Helena Tripps looks out into the audience one hot August night. As she sings the first words of ‘Big Rock Candy Mountain’, she sees a handsome stranger in the crowd. Their eyes lock. He stands and moves to the stage. Helena, lost in the moment, jumps straight from her performance into the music pit. Flooded with broken fiddles and harmonicas, Helena fights her way from her pit of despair and into her true love’s arms.”
“Not exactly,” I said, pulling at a random loose string on my pillowcase. “No way my grandmother jumped into a pit of musicians. It goes something like they caught each other’s eyes and Grandpa stayed in his seat until everyone had left.”
“The ring is a sign of his love,” she replied.
“Grandma never made it big as a singer. Grandpa was a farmer, Sasha. He had no money for a ring like that.”
“He saved for years and begged, stole, and borrowed to buy Helena the ring she deserved.”
Grandpa Leo loved his Helena more than anything, but this couldn’t be true. “I’m telling you, if they had that kind of money, they would have put a new roof on the barn.”
Sasha, ever the romantic, ignored my rational truths, put the frame back, and picked up the other photo from the nightstand, a picture of my parents. “And how can we forget the love story of Simone and Matthew? Mashed potatoes piled high on his plate, unsuspecting Matthew Wilson enjoyed his college cafeteria lunch. When hark, a fair maiden enters the arena and—”
“Arena? Sasha, please! They’re my parents.” I hit Sasha with a pillow.
Sasha pantomimed pain, recovered, and then jumped to my bed. She held her hand to her heart and continued, undeterred, “Their eyes meet. Love: hypnotic, pure, unending love.”
“A little over the top.” I threw down the pillow and jumped up on my bed, straining to wrestle my parents’ college photo out of her hands. “Good-looking girl, nice-looking guy see each other, inseparable ever since.”
Sasha, being nearly five inches taller than me, easily swatted my hands away. “I like my version better,” Sasha said matter-of-factly. “I wonder what your story will be. I bet it will be just as romantic.”
“Romantic? I’ve got enough to worry about, thank you.” I picked up the ring from where Sasha had set it on the nightstand. “You aren’t taking this seriously.”
“Not really, Waverly. It’s some old knock-off ring.”
“Sasha, I’m serious. This ring is something else.”
“You should see what your mom says. I mean, for all you know it’s your mom’s ring and your grandma picked it up and put it in her old coat pocket.”
“Ha! How much do you think teachers make? I googled this for hours last night. If it’s real, it would be worth at least ten grand. I found a huge ring like that valued at over six figures. If it’s fake, it’s the best-looking knockoff I’ve ever seen.”
“Come on, as best friends, we agreed to tell things straight, right?” Sasha said, and I nodded. We had an agreement to always tell each other how we felt no matter what, and if that meant telling each other unlikable truths, so be it. The next part would be unpleasant, and I braced myself for the blow.
“First, the internet is great and all, but I’m not so sure even a week of searching would make you a gem expert. Second, it’s like you want to believe it’s real because if it’s real, it’s further proof something else is going on with Helena, and that is why you didn’t ask your parents,” Sasha said.
“No,” I said, slipping the ring back in my pocket. “I already know something other than Alzheimer’s is going on with my grandma.”
“Okay, then ask your parents, and while you’re at it, do me a favor and put them out of their misery and tell them you aren’t going.”
I nodded. I needed to tell them, I did, but that little part of my brain that understood the existence of zebras and lottery winners told me to hold to the impossible for a little longer.
Chapter 3
Treason In the Kitchen
Downstairs, the
