This is assuming the prologue of The Medusa Plot did not happen. I don't own The 39 Clues.
"Wait a second, honey. Let me finish steaming the carrots, then I'll be there.
"But, Mama! I want to watch the pots of carrots and beans!"
"There aren't any beans here, Olivia."
The little girl pointed at the television in the corner, her emerald eyes flashing indignantly. "No! Not those carrots. That." She toddled over to the cabinet and, thrusting her chubby fingers into the left drawer, pulled out a DVD. "This. Uncle Dan-Dan said it was good!"
Amy walked over to her daughter and knelt down beside her. "You want to watch The Pirates of the Caribbean?"
"The pots of carrots and beans," Olivia repeated, satisfaction in her voice. "Let's go! Movie time for Livi! Movie time for me!" she sang as she went to the television.
"Honey, I don't know. You're four years old! Maybe when you're bigger." Amy reached out for her little girl, her eyebrows creased in worry. "You could watch Care Bears instead. How's that?"
"Pot Care Bears," Olivia insisted. She pulled on her mom's braid with every word. "I want pots!"
"Pirate Care Bears? I don't know if we have that, but I'll check." Amy gently pulled on one strand of the brown curly hair cascading down Olivia's tiny back. "Just wait one little second, and I'll find something for you before you can say pirate!" Amy's eyes sparkled mischievously as she picked up her cell phone and called speed dial number 2. (Number one was Dan.)
"Pot. I said it! Now where's the Care Bear Pot?"
"Livi, you didn't say 'pirate.' You said 'pot.'"
As the toddler tried to pronounce this new world correctly, the other end of the phone picked up.
"Hi, Ian. How's work going?...Good. I'm glad. Aren't you glad you're away from those old ladies?...You're right, I suppose. That isn't very nice….Yeah, usually, we're the other way around. Me telling you not to complain about the quality of the hotels and all. Listen, honey, when you come home today, would you stop by the library and pick up a Care Bear Pirates movie? I'm pretty sure there is one….I know you don't like that show, but it's for Livi….We do have enough pirates in the family, but for Olivia?...No, it's not completely stupid. It's cute. And yes, definitely pirates. She wants 'pots,' as she says…Just this once, for your favorite little girl?" Livi squealed with excitement. "Good. See you soon. Bye-bye…Do you still have to call me that? Never mind. Bye."
Amy picked up the little girl and set her on the brown leather couch with a red-and-white-striped pillow propped behind her back. "Daddy's going to bring home your pirates. Now, you can read." She plopped a thin pink book on Olivia's lap. "Cinderella was my favorite story when I was little. It doesn't have pirates, but it has magic and evil stepsisters!" She grinned eagerly, looking very excited. "Here you go."
Olivia opened the book eagerly, mumbling the words to herself. "Once upon a time, there was a young girl…"
A smile slowly crept across Amy's face as she remembered her mother giving her that little book. It disappeared as she remembered-"The carrots!" She ran over to the stove, her loose headband flying off to who knows where. Her braid flopped over her shoulder and back behind it as she tried to rescue the soggy orange mess in the grey sieve. This was her state when the home phone rang.
"Was that what the fairy godmother's wand sounded like?" Their home phone was so infrequently used that Olivia did not know the sound. Amy quickly ran to pick it up.
"Kabra house, Amy Cahill speaking," she spoke into the telephone.
"Good day, Amy. It's me, Natalie. Ian's sister."
Amy stared at the phone in shock. She held it from her ear a second, then brought it back to talk.
"Natalie? Is that you?"
"Didn't I say so? I distinctly remember telling you as much."
"You did. I-I just, umm, I didn't expect you to call. Is something the matter?" Amy asked. That was the only reason she could think of that Natalie Kabra will come.
"N-no, of course not. I just wanted to tell Ian-and you-that I have a new job and I'm moving back to London." There was a stutter in Natalie's voice, Amy could tell. And she didn't know why. At all. Maybe she had a cough or something.
"Really? I suppose that's good. But I thought you hated London. You know, what you had said before.
"I used to not, but there's no place like home, you know the old saying? I suppose it will be good to go back again." Maybe it was just the phone, but it sounded like Natalie had something in her throat. Like the "good" was fake. Like it wasn't really true.
"Natalie, are you okay? Is something wrong?" Amy asked.
"No, nothing. Of course not. I get to be the designer of England's most prominent fashion company! I'm feeling splendid. I can't believe that you would think I was sad or anything," Natalie added haughtily, but the haughtiness was not as strong as Amy remembered it.
"Natalie? Are you sure? You're fine?"
"Of course I'm fine. Actually, I'm not. Your worrying is making me quite put out. If you would quit, I'd be much obliged. Now, just tell Ian to call me when he gets home, please and I'll be-"
Something was definitely wrong. "Natalie. Natalie, you're not fine. Something's wrong."
A sigh was heard on the other end of the line. "You're almost as good as a Lucian, Amy."
"But what? Can you tell?"
There was silence for a few seconds, and then Natalie said vehemently, "I hate London. There are too many memories, too many people I used to know. Too many people that knew Isabel."
"Then don't go back there. If you need a place, I'm sure you could stay with us in Manhattan if you need to. I know Olivia would love to have her "Aunt Natee" here." Amy wiped the sweat from her forehead that she hadn't realized had arisen.
"But I need to. You see, that isn't the problem. You know that if I didn't need to go, I wouldn't go," Natalie said, sounding a bit more like her normal self. "It's-it's about Isabel. Wow, now I am stuttering too. I didn't realize I could stoop that low."
Amy didn't hear the last part. She only heard one word: Isabel. "Has she escaped?" And then she wished she could swallow those insensitive words down.
"No, she hasn't. I was talking to the prison doctors at Newgate. She-" Natalie coughed a very strange cough, one that almost sounded like a sob. "She has breast cancer. And it's terminal."
Amy dropped the phone. Only the cord saved it from crashing to the ground. Her hand somehow found its way to her mouth. The phone was hanging mid-air with a voice saying, "Amy? Amy?" Amy gave a start and picked up the phone.
"I'm here, Natalie. I'm here. So you're going back to be with her?"
"Lucian," Natalie muttered, then sighed. "Yes." She paused a second, then continued. "You see, Isabel, she isn't the greatest person. You know that." Amy nodded, glad that Natalie's usual tactfulness and careful wording had returned. "But she's still my mum. And, as the years have gone on, I've realized that more. And I couldn't bear if she died in prison alone, without any of us." A sniffle was heard on the other end. "It doesn't seem right."
"Oh, Natalie…" Amy found herself at a loss. "I don't know what to say. I'm really sorry. And you're right, you should go see her. But if you need to come-" Amy chose her words carefully. "If you need to come visit us at any time, I'm perfectly fine with that. And, would you mind if we put a few things in for your mother? You know, to make her feel better?"
Amy could hear Natalie exhale. "Of course. I don't suppose I would mind. I'll talk to you later, I think. Thanks for talking with me. And don't tell Ian. I should. Bye." And Natalie hung up.
Amy sat down heavily in a kitchen chair. She didn't understand. No, it wasn't the situation that baffled her. She understood that as perfectly as anybody could. What she didn't get was why she wanted to help. Not why she wanted to help Natalie, why she wanted to help Isabel. The woman that had completely changed her life by killing her parents, the woman who had terrified Amy out of her wits the whole Clue Hunt. Amy wanted to help her.
Time. It must be time. People always told that time worked wonders. Because now, Amy felt like she could love more. She knew that she could live her life without being afraid of death. She saw that hatred didn't always have to go on forever. And she thought that maybe Isabel Kabra could stand another chance.
The umpteenth one, to be sure. But one more chance.