Free Treasure Box by Orson Scott Card

walk around the old neighborhood, Dad yawned and said, "About time we got rid of you for a few minutes, you two. Let these old bones go to bed." And that was that. Mad and Quentin would be alone together.
    They held hands walking from streetlight to streetlight. "They used to just be mounted to the telephone poles," said Quentin. "Then when they were building the expressway over the old creekbed behind the house, they buried all the phone lines and put up these aluminum poles. Shame, too. Because Lizzy and I had scratched graffiti into all the old poles. Like marking our territory. No good trying to mark anything on
these
things." He slapped the pole and it rang metallically.
    "It's
her
shadow in the house that made everything so tense, wasn't it?" said Madeleine.
    "Not her shadow. Her memory isn't a shadow," said Quentin.
    "Losing her was a shadow," said Mad. "That's what I meant."
    "I don't think it had to do with her," said Quentin. "My parents—I've just never seen them act like that. Like complete strangers."
    "I wouldn't know," said Madeleine. "I've never known a normal family."
    "What, your parents have eight legs each?"
    "Life in the Family Arachnid," she said, laughing. "No, my parents were fine. But... well, to be honest, they acted like your parents
were
acting, all the time. When I actually saw them, of course. Just always sort of—what—
on
, I guess."
    "On what? Cocaine?"
    "More like on stage." She jabbed him. "They weren't
that
hyper."
    "I didn't mean to make a scene like that," said Quentin. "But I couldn't seem to get you alone. Or them either."
    "I was so afraid that I wasn't doing it right," said Mad.
    "Well, it wasn't you, anyway.
They
were the ones acting strange.
You
were a hero about it all."
    They walked on to the corner. "That way was where I used to ride my bike to junior high. The elementary school was back that way, through an orchard. Now it's a park. The orchard. The school is gone. My Scout Troop once took on the job of distributing flyers for a supermarket through the whole neighborhood. I had two hundred of them to tuck into people's screen doors. I did about twenty and then dumped the rest in a culvert, right down there."
    "There's no culvert there."
    "That used to be a bridge over a creek. Everything's changed. I wish I could show you the place I actually lived in. You're lucky that way—didn't you tell me your family had lived in their house forever?"
    "Not forever. We're all descended from immigrants."
    "It must be nice, though, to go back and have nothing changed."
    She laughed but it was nasty. "Oh, yes, it's so
nice
."
    "Is there really some major problem between you and your family?" said Quentin.
    "It's not a feud or anything," said Mad. "There was a rift for a while, but I've had it under control for years now."
    "But you still won't take me to meet them."
    "Oh, in good time." She turned and faced him. "After we're married."
    "What, you think they'll come between us if we're merely affianced?"
    "I want to be part of
your
family before I take you into the bosom of mine."
    "Do I hear the sound of somebody moving up the date of our wedding?"
    "We haven't
set
a date yet."
    "I meant from 'let's talk about it sometime' to 'let's get married pretty soon.' "
    "Sooner than that."
    "How soon?"
    "I suppose tonight wouldn't be practical."
    Quentin kissed her. "There's the matter of a license."
    "As soon as possible. Here, in this town. At your family's church. Surrounded by your parents' friends."
    "Nothing would make them happier."
    "And you? Would that make
you
happy, Tin?"
    He nodded.
    "And yet you still look sad."
    He shook his head, smiling. "Not sad at all. Very happy. The sooner the better—you know that's how I feel. Short engagement, yes, but then I've been waiting twenty years for you."
    "Do you love me as much as her?" asked Mad.
    Quentin made a show of looking over his shoulder. "Who?"
    "As Lizzy. Your sister."
    "Let's put it this way—I never would have married my