49.

Timothy waited at the edge of the bridge, watching the traffic cross the river. Cars, packed with boxes, books, and small pieces of furniture, sped through the green light. Down the hill, on the campus, the ceremony wasn’t over yet, but the college students, underclassmen mostly, were already leaving New Starkham. It wasn’t fair. He wished his own classes ended at the beginning of May. If the past week had felt like a millennium, the month and a half left before summer break would be an eternity.

Mr. Crane hadn’t come back to school. Word had spread that he was “taking a sabbatical” for the remainder of the year. Timothy didn’t exactly understand what that meant. People said the man had had a nervous breakdown.

Timothy knew what had really happened, and though he knew it wasn’t his fault Mr. Crane had tried to break into his house a week ago, he felt strangely guilty about it. None of what happened had been Mr. Crane’s fault either. When he’d heard Randy and Brian making fun of their absent teacher during history class on Friday, Timothy had to keep his hands under his desk to refrain from whacking their skulls with his cast. If the boys knew what any of them had been through, they wouldn’t have snickered. However, they quickly changed the subject when the substitute entered the classroom and reminded the class that their museum projects were still due the next week.

Timothy had glanced at Abigail. They’d already decided on a different artifact than the painting. Instead, they picked one of the ancient cow-femur toothbrushes—less creepy. From her seat two rows away, Abigail had returned a slight smile.

Carla had raised her hand. “My partner’s been absent. Maybe I should work with someone else.”

The sub smiled. “Stuart Chen will return next Monday. You’ll still have time to finish.” Carla sighed—not the answer she’d been hoping for.

Stuart had come home from the hospital the previous Sunday, the same day Mr. Crane had been admitted. Timothy stopped by the Chens’ a couple of times after school that week. Stuart didn’t mention any more of what he’d said at the hospital, and Timothy didn’t ask. Mrs. Chen doted on the two of them, glad to have her boys together again. She cooked and chatted and asked silly questions about Timothy’s feelings and assured him that he could tell her anything if he needed to. Obviously, Mrs. Chen had learned about Ben’s injuries. Only a few weeks earlier, he’d believed that his parents might be able to keep quiet such a big secret. Now he knew that some secrets speak themselves aloud after a while.

“Hey!”

Timothy was startled out of his daydream. Across the highway, Abigail waved. He waved back.

Seeing Abigail gave Timothy goose bumps. He hadn’t been sure she would show up. On the phone, when she’d asked him what this was all about, he’d said he’d rather tell her in person. She’d gotten quiet but, after a moment, agreed to meet him where he’d asked.

The stoplight changed, and Abigail crossed. “Hey,” she said again. “You walk all the way here?”

Timothy nodded. “My dad left to pick up my mom at the airport. He said they needed some alone time on the ride home. I don’t blame them.”

“That’s generous of you,” said Abigail, crossing her arms and smirking. She added softly, “Then Ben’s really awake. He’s coming home?”

“Eventually, he will.” Timothy popped a huge smile. “At least that’s what they tell me.”

Abigail gave him a quick hug. “That’s amazing,” she said. “He’s so lucky.”

“Yeah,” he said. “He is.” The army was admitting Ben to a veterans’ hospital in Rhode Island for rehabilitation, not far from New Starkham. “It’ll be nice to see him. For real. Finally.” Actually, Timothy was terrified at the prospect.

“So, are we just going to stand here?” Abigail asked. “Or are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Now Timothy was even more terrified. He winced as he reached into the pocket of his jeans with his bandaged right hand, making sure the small warm piece of metal against his leg was still there. “Let’s walk,” he said.

Abigail seemed surprised when Timothy did not cross back toward Edgehill Road but turned toward the bridge instead. Still, she managed to follow close behind as he trundled along the broken sidewalk. Several minutes later, they were halfway across the bridge. “We’re not getting ourselves into another sticky situation, are we?” Abigail added, “’Cause I’d like to be prepared….”

Timothy stopped and leaned against the rusted green railing, staring north, up the river. The sun had passed the sky’s midpoint. The wind whipped his hair away from his forehead.

The lighthouse sat below, upon its outcropping on the western shore, oblivious to the secrets buried within. The water crashed against its rough rocks in swirling pools and white-capped waves. Timothy wondered if a place was capable of knowing its own history. Like the people in it, New Starkham still had plenty of secrets.

“Timothy?” said Abigail, touching his shoulder. “It’s over, you know.”

Timothy glanced at her. “That’s the thing I wanted to tell you…. It’s not.”

“What do you mean, it’s not?” asked Abigail, clutching the rusted green railing. Now the wind plastered her black bangs to her forehead. Her light red roots were just barely beginning to show. “Have you seen something again?”

“No,” said Timothy, glancing at the water. “Nothing like that.” She waited for him to speak. “Abigail … I did something last weekend … something really horrible. And now I think I’m paying for it.”

“What did you do?” she said quietly.

Reaching into his pocket, Timothy pulled out the black piece of metal. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up for Abigail to see. Struggling to speak, he said, “I lied to you.”

Timothy told Abigail his story—how he’d taken both bones but switched out Mr. Harwood’s for the real one. He told her what he’d meant to do with it. He told her about Mr. Crane knocking on his front door, and what happened later when he went back to his room to destroy the object, how he thought he’d seen her appear in his bedroom, followed by the Nightmarys, as the jawbone’s curse fought to protect itself from being broken.

Abigail simply watched him as he spoke, her face unreadable. When he finished his story, he thought she might punch him in the eye. Instead, she plucked the metal shard from his fingers and examined it more closely.

“It’s not glowing,” she said. Timothy nodded. “So, it’s over,” she added, with finality. “Whatever was inside this chip is gone.”

“You really believe that?” Timothy asked.

“Can’t you feel it?”

“I guess so.”

Abigail handed the piece back to Timothy and sighed. “I have a confession too,” she said, staring at him. “At the hospital, I knew you were lying.”

“You knew I gave you the wrong bone?” Timothy shook his head in disbelief. Abigail smiled. “But why’d you let me do it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe it was the curse. Maybe not. I guess, deep down, I thought you needed it for something.”

“I thought I did too,” said Timothy, palming the tooth. Quickly, he turned his hand over. The black chip fell, turning and glinting in the sunlight, until it disappeared into the dark water beneath them. “But I was wrong.”

They strolled back toward New Starkham. The cars continued to whiz past. Every now and again, someone honked, a student happy to be leaving. They were almost at the part of the bridge that stretched over the campus parking lot when Abigail froze. She glanced over her shoulder at the lighthouse. “I’ll be back,” she said. “Wait for me.” She turned and ran in the direction from which they’d come. Once she was over the water again, she reached into her back pocket. Something silver glinted in her hand as she waved it over her head. Then, closing her eyes, she threw the lighter as hard as she could. Like the tooth, it faded away, then disappeared into the Little Husketomic.

When she returned to where Timothy stood, he said, “Hey, I thought you needed that.”

“I thought I did too,” Abigail echoed. “But I was wrong.”

Once they reached the intersection at Edgehill Road, she said, “Come over, if you want. Mom said we could order a pizza, and Gramma wants to listen to my grandfather’s records with us.” She shrugged. “I know it sounds kind of boring, compared to everything else we’ve been through….”

“That doesn’t sound boring,” Timothy said, smiling. “Actually, that sounds like fun.”