Bones in the Sand by Julie Steimle (literature books to read txt) 📖

friend of Zormna's."

From her vantage point in the living room, Zormna watched the cheery yet very maternal figure of Darren's mother walk to the edge of the kitchen. Rosy cheeked with a small bump for a double chin, the thirty-something woman with hair the same dark color as Darren's, was wearing a sunflower-print apron over a pair of jeans and a flowered shirt. Her sleeves were rolled up. Zormna had never actually seen her up close before. She had caught glimpses of Darren's mother over the fence and in the distance across the yard, but did not have enough curiosity to get to know her neighbor. Yet now, Zormna lingered on the linoleum at the entryway of the house, peering at her. Zormna had always thought the Hendersons were anomalous in how open and giving the family was. But the sight of another motherly figure, a compassionate one at that, her knees almost buckled. Since she had been thrown out of the McLenna's house she had been avoiding the Hendersons' place because she found such happy situations overwhelming. And now she had landed in another one.

"Oh, is he? That poor girl. I can't understand how she can bear being alone like that. A poor child like that needs proper parents, that's what," Darren's mother said. Zormna held back a breath.

"Mom," Darren whispered between his teeth, "She's here." Darren jerked his head over to where Zormna was standing.

Mrs. Asher turned her head and blinked.

"So she is! My dear, come on in. Don't feel unwelcome." Without any change of character, Darren's mother broke into a sweet and sincere smile that nearly melted Zormna's nerves. Making eye-contact, she said, "Will you stay for dinner? We have plenty."

"Well, I, uh...." Zormna's mouth felt dry. Her mind blanked and her face felt hot. She wondered what was wrong with her. Why couldn't she talk normally?

"Uh, Mom, actually, Zormna's here to help me with some homework," Darren said.

Following his lead, Zormna's thoughts moved quickly. "Uh, research. Darren and I were going to use his computer. It will only be a minute."

Darren's mother smiled more, her eyes welcoming. "But that doesn't mean you can't stay for dinner. Come on in. It's lasagna."

Zormna swallowed. Lasagna. She had eaten it before...and it was good.

Even Darren went weak in the knees. From the very mention of lasagna, his stomach growled and his hunger took over. He turned back and gazed at Zormna. "You can stay for dinner, right?"

Zormna chuckled. Her chance for escape was gone. She nodded.  

"Good," Darren's mother said. "Then I'll just set another place for you."

 

Mr. Asher would not return home until fifteen minutes later. Until then, Darren's little sisters - he had five, one in junior high and four in elementary school - had come down from the upstairs and gaped at Zormna. Emberly (Darren's sister in junior high) sat right next to Zormna and just stared at her. Zormna had seen her a number of times, watching her while she went about yard work around her house. Darren's sister had rarely ever said anything. And at the moment her eyes were wide on Zormna, peeking between her curtain of licorice brown hair, almost without blinking. Zormna tried to ignore it, but the girl persisted.

"You don't look fat," Emberly at last said, cocking her head.

Zormna turned and looked at her straight. "I should say not."

"Emberly!" exasperated, Darren gave his sister a 'zip-it' expression across his lips with his fingers.

She ignored him. "What I mean is, you don't look at all like the crazy lady that lived next door."

"Emberly!" Darren said again, staring at her with goggle eyes.

Zormna chuckled, realizing now the reason for the fuss. "No. I don't suppose I do."

The other four girls sat at once at her feet, following Emberly's lead. Each of them looked like matching dolls to a set. Same hair. Same eyes. Even the same stare. They even dressed alike.

"Do you also think you are from Mars?" the second oldest sister asked.

Zormna smiled with a peek at Darren. He was shaking his head while throwing up his hands. His mother merely smiled as she worked on the tossed salad, but she also seemed to be listening.

"I'm from Ireland," Zormna lied as usual, "and so was my great aunt."

The little girls sighed sadly and got up. Zormna really wasn't that interesting. Only Emberly didn't leave.

"Did the FBI really kill your aunt?" she asked.

"Emberly!" This time it was her mother that protested.

"It's ok, Mrs. Asher." Zormna turned and looked Darren's little sister in the face. "No. The FBI did not kill my great aunt. They're investigating the murder though."

"Which is why they follow you, right?" Emberly continued, engrossed in the idea.

Zormna nodded.

"I think that is enough of that conversation," came a final pronouncement from their mother.

Emberly blushed and turned to sit correctly in her spot at the table. However, when her mother wasn't looking, too busy getting the salad tongs and the croutons, she whispered, "Do you know who did kill her?"

"Emberly! Do you wish to eat dinner tonight?" Mrs. Asher said, resting her hands on her hips and glaring fiercely.

Darren's sister sat up. She didn't ask Zormna another question until dinner started, and that was to pass the salt.

 

When he arrived, Mr. Asher said very little at the dinner table. He had the appearance of a man who had been carrying sandbags on his shoulders all day and was still feeling their weight as he sat at the head of the table in his chair. He hardly noticed Zormna was there at all. In the middle of the meal, Darren had whispered to her that his father worked at a factory in the city. The man had long hours so she shouldn't to get offended if his father didn't talk to her or notice her. He was like that often. Mrs. Asher was especially patient and attentive to her husband as he slowly savored the dinner, serving him the largest piece of lasagna then packing away another for his lunch the next day. Zormna watched as they ate in silence - excluding a few words from the mother to the kids to pass things to their father. He looked up once during the entire meal, only to remark that he didn't see any bread, in which Mrs. Asher brought out a loaf immediately.  

Dinner was over when Mr. Asher wiped his mouth and stood up. None of the kids left the table until then. When he had risen up, he thanked his wife very kindly and kissed each of his children on their heads before leaving the room to go upstairs and shower. Of course, when he got to Zormna he had almost kissed her on her forehead. Pulling back - seeing her for the first time - he laughed, shaking his head. He then peeked to Darren who started at his father with hand over mouth, stifling a laugh also.

"So sorry. On auto pilot." Then he left without another word.

Zormna watched Darren's father go. When he was gone, she murmured, "So that's what it is like to have a working father."

Mrs. Asher heard her and looked at Zormna with pity. The woman turned away to wipe her eye.

"Ok, let's hurry and find this chat room. It's getting late - and I really do have to get home," Zormna said, peering over Darren's shoulder as he typed into his computer to get on the Internet.

"Be patient. My computer is a little slow. I have an outdated system, you know," he said.

Zormna waited, though not as patiently as Darren would have liked. She rustled the newspaper tabloid where they found the photo with article about the helmet. She searched around the article for something to help them locate where exactly the picture was taken. So far, nothing. It was labeled as an undisclosed location.

"I'm in," Darren announced at last.

Ready also, Zormna scooted the chair they had taken from the kitchen closer to the monitor. "Is your friend in the chat room?"

"I'm looking," Darren said with annoyance.

They waited, watching the screen.

The dialogue in the chat room was pathetic, or so Zormna thought. Most of it was about the latest alien movie stuff each of the writers saw. Some of it was about the last Star Trek convention or comic book convention they went to. Darren watched for a while until finally the one he was looking for signed on. It was the Green Meanie.

Darren put a comment in his feed.

@Green Meanie. I'm seeking some info on UFO archaeology. Know anyone into that?

Zormna looked at Darren's message and snorted. "UFO archaeology? Honestly Darren, you thought this was going to help us find the..."

But Darren stopped her. Green Meanie replied.

J Roswell or somewhere else J

Darren typed in: More like Arizona.

They waited.

Zormna was feeling skeptical again.

J You read tabloids, Martianspy J

"Martianspy? That's your code name?" Zormna exclaimed. She shook her head.

Darren ignored her as he typed in: What if I do? I'm interested in helmets with eyes.

Zormna blinked when she read what he wrote.

There was a long pause now.

J Do you email? J

Darren typed: I do.

J Do you hairline J

Zormna gaped. The man meant the radio system her people used. Not even the FBI knew this terminology.

Darren typed: I don't, but my friends do

There was a long pause.

J Then let's email. It's my second name at quikmail.com J

Zormna blinked at the screen. "What did he mean...?"

But Darren understood it and signed off.

"What did he mean by his second name? Who is this guy?" Zormna stood up, exasperated at what just happened.

Darren turned to her calmly and responded, "He means his email address is meanie@quikmail.com. That's all."

She shook her head, teeth clenching. "Darren. He is a total stranger. How can we trust him?"

His expression darkening, he said nothing. Instead, Darren changed his Internet address to his email website, and he started to compose an email to meanie@quikmail. Zormna closed her mouth when she saw her protests were useless. She watched Darren type a thorough email, asking the guy known as Green Meanie if he knew anything about the tabloid article and the whereabouts of the archaeological site, as well as who the helmet belonged to. Then he sent it.

"Well?" Zormna said, folding her arms and sitting back. "When is he going to answer?"

Darren frowned at her. He silently stood up.

"Perhaps tomorrow. Email takes time. This isn't like texting. Why don't you go home and let him send me stuff." He shoved her towards the door.

Zormna turned around, resisting the forced exit by dodging around him. "What if it is the FBI using the Internet to find Arrassians? Hmm?"

Darren sighed, unable to force her out any more than a greased pig. "Listen, Zormna, if it is the FBI, then they'll trace it to me and think I am just obsessing again. If it is one of your people on the bad side, they'll still find me and think I am just a space nerd. All that matters is that it helps you find the site of those bones, right?"

He was right, though she hated the fact. Nodding to herself, Zormna went to his door to start down the hall toward the stairs. "You'll tell me if anything come up, won't you?"

Darren nodded from his desk. "You and Jeff will be the first to know."

Zormna sighed and waved good-bye. She walked downstairs. She didn't like being at the mercy of a boy who really ought not to be involved in her world's affairs, but with resignation Zormna finally sighed and nodded as she had no other choice.

She reached the ground floor and quietly unearthed her coat and shoes from the rack near the door.

 "Good bye, Mrs. Asher," Zormna called from the front door once hatted and zipped up in her coat again.

Darren's mom was still cleaning up in the kitchen, but she stepped out with a smile at Zormna. "Oh, wait a moment. I have something for you."

Mrs. Asher then popped back into the kitchen and started to rummage around.

Not inclined to wait, Zormna shrugged, reaching for the doorknob anyway.