Spence grinned down at me. I’d never seen him so happy. Three weeks earlier, his SAT results had come back, and we’d all been stunned but elated that he’d scored in the ninetieth percentile. Then this morning, he’d gotten a call from the coach at UCLA who said that an official acceptance letter was on its way, but he wanted Spence to know that he was making a spot for him on the football team and awarding him a partial scholarship.
The previous week Spence had also met with Mrs. Bennett, and he’d obviously found a way to charm and impress her, because she’d told him that if he made it into UCLA, she’d give him enough to cover the rest of his tuition as well as room and board. All he’d need was money for books and incidentals, and I knew that Spence had been working extra hard to save up enough to cover that.
“It’s really happening,” he told me. “We’re going to California, Ambi!”
I hugged him fiercely, so relieved and excited. And then I looked up into his beautiful face and without saying a word Spence knew what I wanted next. He took my hand and turned back to the door, opening it to lead me into his bedroom.
The room was dimly lit from the streetlamp outside, but almost immediately we knew something was wrong. “What the hell?!” he said, stopping in his tracks as he looked at the floor. He reached for the light switch and what was wrong became clear.
The room was in shambles: drawers to Spence’s dresser, nightstand, and desk had been pulled out and the contents scattered on the floor. His bedcovers had been yanked off, and his mattress lay askew of the box spring. Right next to his bed, a section of the wood floor had been pulled up to reveal a hole.
I took it all in, dully noting that the lone window in the room was wide open, allowing the night’s breeze to billow the curtains. But Spence was entirely focused on the hole in the floor. “No!” he yelled. “No, no, no, no, no!”
Letting go of my hand, he jumped forward and fell to his knees next to the hole. He reached in, felt around, and lifted out a small strongbox. Flipping open the lid, he stared at the inside in shock. It was empty. He raised both hands to cover his face and rocked back and forth on his knees.
I was still stunned by the scene, but his actions jarred me to my senses and I moved to his side. I realized as I looked down that the section of the floorboards that had been pulled up was actually a small trapdoor that I’d never noticed before. The thief must’ve stumbled upon it purely by chance when he’d been tossing apart the bed, and I knew by Spence’s reaction that the trapdoor must’ve hidden his most valuable possessions.
I put an arm across his shoulders; he seemed so distraught. “Spence?” I asked. “Honey, what was in there?”
He shook his head. I bit my lip, my own eyes welling. “Spence?” I asked again.
“Everything,” he said, his voice catching with emotion. “Everything was in there, Ambi.”
I pulled him close and tried to console him, but for a long time, all Spence could do was cry bitter, heartbroken tears.
I SAT ON THE FLOOR and wiped the tears streaming down my face. Mom had left for work at eleven P.M., and I’d fallen asleep the moment my head hit the pillow, only to be woken up three hours later by that same recurring nightmare. But this time, as I’d entered the field, I’d spotted Ben Spencer right away, and then I’d felt an arm snake around me, and the knife had plunged into my chest and the pain was so real, so terrible that it’d stolen my breath. I’d woken up gasping, and tumbled out of bed to collapse on the floor, my hands pressed hard against the birthmark over my sternum.
At last, the pain subsided and my breathing slowed, but the tears kept coming. I was so tired. So exhausted. I wanted the assault on my sleep to stop. “Please, Amber,” I whispered into the dark stillness. “Please, stop it.”
Of course there was no reply, and I ended up crawling back to bed and curling up into a ball. In spite of how nervous I was about falling asleep again, somehow I managed, and, thankfully, I wasn’t awakened by the nightmare again.
My alarm went off at seven thirty, and I sighed with relief when I realized I’d gotten at least a few hours’ sleep. After getting ready and eating a hurried breakfast, I headed out the front door to make my way over to my grandmother’s gardens. Glancing nervously at the house, I chose a section that was partially hidden by a row of hedges and ventured to a small cluster of flowering plants, where I began to carefully snip a few buds. Grandmother had quite an assortment of flowers, and I was drawn to making a mostly white and lavender bouquet.
“What the devil are you doing, child?!” an angry voice snapped.
I straightened immediately, but froze in place after that, totally lost for words.
“Lily!” Grandmother commanded. “Turn around and tell me what you think you’re doing.”
I obeyed and came face-to-face with my grandmother, still in her silk robe and slippers.
“I…these…I…” I stammered. “I just wanted a few flowers for Mom,” I said, thinking up the lie and running with it. “She’s been working so hard, and I thought these would help brighten up the kitchen.”