Chapter 3
As always, thanks so much for the comments! This has been a fun story. This isn't the last chapter, but I think there's only one more chapter after this one. Anyway, hope this is a fun read, and please leave comments! I really appreciate them.
When he finished Book XII, Callen stood up and put The Odyssey back on the book shelf and went back to the table. He picked the map up off the floor and refolded it carefully, placing it under the chess book and knight, and then sat down and looking in the box saw the first spy gadget he ever owned—and he'd made it.
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He picked up the handmade cipher wheel and the memory of his mother helping him as he sat at the table came clearly to mind. The bottom wheel was cardboard and the top wheel, only slightly smaller in diameter and attached by a small brass brad, was made of yellow construction paper. Along the edge of each wheel were the twenty-six letters of the English alphabet, written in order beginning with A. The letters on the cardboard were capital letters written in thin black marker while the letters on the yellow construction paper were lower case letters written in thin red marker. There were black lines drawn between each letter on both circles.
The wheel was kept on the small table in the living room, and they used it to write short notes to each other on index cards, notes they'd leave on the kitchen table, on their beds, anywhere—even outside or in the car. And his mother sometimes used the wheel to help him and Amy learn new words—sacrifice, ancient, lightning, soldier, language, dictionary, vegetable. The codes were always different, A = e or A = m or A = z, but the key was always included with any note because without it, it would take too long to decipher the message.
Callen suddenly had a thought and looked into the box and there it was—a small index card up against one side. It might be one of the coded messages that had been written long ago, or maybe his mother had included a new message for him to decipher once they reached their new home. On the top line was written A = t and there was a long coded message beneath the key: TGRIETVX BL AHFX PAXG RHNK YTFBER BL MAXKX, ZKBLAT. Callen didn't need to turn the wheel to decipher the code now: Anyplace is home when your family is there, Grisha. And she had been right. Callen set the cipher wheel down on the table with his mother's message on top.
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Callen paused for a moment. He wasn't surprised his mother had created this box even though he never knew about it. What surprised Callen was that the items were bringing back so many memories that had been crushed and buried by the weight of his life and the pain he'd carried since he'd arrived in the U.S. Now, as these memories rose from the ashes of his past, Callen was remembering and reliving the happiest years of his life from a distance that allowed him to realize that while his childhood had been cut short far too soon by tragedy, the years spent with his mother and Amy and even his father—who had seldom been around—had been a good childhood, a happy childhood. Looking back with more clarity on those years, he realized what a remarkable woman his mother had been. Even though she was living in a foreign country, often alone with two young children while engaged in dangerous work, she managed to create an atmosphere of safety and normalcy for her family all by herself. She had been as strong and wise as she was beautiful. As Callen relived those years he realized that his mother's behavior had changed slightly the week before their last trip to the beach together. She'd become less prone to laughter and a little more careful. She didn't want either child wandering too far from the house, and the day before they went to the beach, Callen noticed a suitcase in the trunk of the car when his mother put in the beach towels and chair. But he wasn't going to think about that day; it had haunted him enough. Now, he was going to remember the joy. Callen wished he could thank Nikita for keeping his box safe and intact all these years. It was the greatest gift he could've given him, and there was still more to see.
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The red felt was flush up against the side of the box opposite where he'd found the card, and the corners of Callen's mouth curled up when he saw it. He reached in and lifted it out. The cloth wasn't tied or secured, and it fell open in his hand revealing the bright metal inside. The stainless steel body had a dent or two and a few scratches, but the damage was superficial. He'd taken good care of it, making a case for it out of an old eyeglass case he'd found—and then lost a few weeks later—but wrapping it in this red felt remnant he'd cut off the Christmas tablecloth had protected it. (His mother hadn't been happy to see the large, irregular chunk cut out of the cloth, but she was less upset when she saw how it was being used.)
The only ones he'd ever seen in the stores were plastic, but his was stainless steel, so he knew his mother had paid more for it. Callen could see his face reflected in the side of it when he held it just as he had that Christmas he'd unwrapped it. He licked his lips and then put the kazoo between his lips and blew. The familiar buzz filled his apartment and reverberated off the walls. After a few seconds, he stopped. There was a song he played because Amy hated it. He put the kazoo between his lips again and started to play "Yankee Doodle," remembering how Amy would chase him, laughing. It took him a few weeks back then before he realized that she was letting him get away. After a few bars, he stopped and set the kazoo down on the table. Callen wished he'd had more years with Amy and his mother, but they were in his life now more than they had been since he'd arrived in America, and he was getting to know them—and himself—a little more because of the gift Nikita had left him. Callen turned back to the box, wondering what Sam would think if he showed up at work the next day with a kazoo.
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The little boy in a deerstalker hat and holding the huge magnifying glass was intently studying the footprints on the ground while above him were the words, Can you guess what today is? You don't need a clue . . . Callen opened the card and the verse continued with footprints leading to a huge cake with candles on it, The party we're having Is all about you! You're 5 years old! Happy Birthday! The card was signed "Hugs and kisses, Mother and Sis" with five Xs and five Os below their names. Callen didn't remember ever having friends over to the house for a party or to play games, and he didn't remember going over to other kids' houses. He didn't remember having lots of friends or playing with a lot of other kids when he was in Romania. He didn't remember Amy having a lot of friends, either, although he did remember Sofia. Maybe that was by design—his mother's effort to keep them all safe. She knew that he and Amy could've easily, and unintentionally, said something that might create enough suspicion for one of their neighbors to notify the authorities. But you didn't need a party for cake and ice cream. His 5th birthday would've been his last birthday before his mother was killed and the last time he celebrated his birthday until he celebrated one with Anna before she was sentenced. And she'd given him cake and ice cream and a very special present that didn't need wrapping.
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Under the birthday card were sheets of colored tissue paper loosely wrapped around something. Callen picked it up carefully since the tissue paper indicated that the object was likely fragile, and if it hadn't broken in 40+ years, he didn't want to break it now. Whatever it was, it weighed almost nothing, but it was stiff, unbending. He set it down on the table and began unwrapping it, picking it up to remove the sheets of paper. It fit in his hand and was round and almost flat. It felt like a plate, but why would his mother put a plate in his box? Callen had no idea what it was until only one piece of white tissue paper covered it. Then he could feel the smooth bumps and see the colors. Amy had made it for him, and when she first showed it to him, he was angry with her. He'd collected sea glass every time they went to the beach. By the time he was five, he had almost sixty pieces. He kept the pieces in a cardboard shoebox under his bed. The pieces were different colors: pale red, deep red, cherry red, light green, dark green, olive green, amber, dark brown, bright yellow, pale pink, plum. He even had a few pieces of jet black glass. The pieces were different shapes and sizes, but they were all worn smooth by the constant motion of the waves, pushing and pulling them across the sand. Callen had never done anything with them. He hadn't thought of doing anything with them, but Amy had. She was always making artistic things out of twigs, scraps of cloth, leaves and flowers, whatever she could find. He was sure she would've been some kind of artist had she lived. Anyway, she made something with some of his sea glass, and he was angry because she hadn't asked him if she could. She took something of his without asking, but she'd explained that she'd wanted it to be a surprise. Besides, she hadn't taken very many, and she didn't see the point of keeping beautiful pieces in a box where no one could see them. And, thought Callen, as he unwrapped the final piece of tissue paper, she'd been right.
Callen held the suncatcher up to the light radiating from the ceiling fixture. The glue around the sea glass was still clear, and the colors of the sea glass pieces were as brilliant as he remembered them. Even the piece of fishing line she'd threaded through the tiny hole she'd punched through the glue so the suncatcher could be hung was intact. Callen stood up and walked over to the kitchen area and took his toolbox from under the sink. He grabbed a spool of 14 gauge steel wire, wire cutters, and two pairs of pliers, one of the pairs were needle-nose pliers. Back at the table, he cut two, 12-inch lengths of wire and then, holding the ends together with one pair of pliers, he twisted the wires together with the other pair of pliers. Once the wires were tightly twisted together, Callen used the needle-nose pliers to form two small hooks on each end. He then took the suncatcher, and tugging slightly on the fishing line to ensure that it wasn't frayed or liable to break, he looped it over one of the hooks. Holding the wire by the other hook, Callen slipped the needle-nose pliers into his back pocket and grabbed a small step stool that leaned up against the wall. He carried the stool and the suncatcher to the window and standing on the stool, looped the hook opposite the suncatcher around the middle ladder cord of the vertical blinds just under the valance. He took the pliers and closed both loops, ensuring the suncatcher wouldn't come off the hook and the hook wouldn't come off the cord. He stepped off the stool and stood back. The suncatcher lay flat against the blinds that were closed now, but tomorrow when he opened the blinds and drew them up, the suncatcher would hang beneath them and the sun's rays would shine through it as brightly as it had when Amy hung it in his bedroom window a half a world away and a lifetime ago in Romania.
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