Free Grand & Humble by Brent Hartinger Page B

why I did . Where had that anger come from? It had popped up out of nowhere like—well, like a jack-in-the-box.
    He walked back to the cardboard box to look at the toy nestled in with the kitchen utensils. It was a wooden jack-in-the-box with a dulled brass crank. Each side of the box had been carved and painted with a different letter—a blue “M,” for example, and a red “H.”
    It was his. He used to play with it as a boy. He hadn’t seen it for years, had forgotten all about it. But it was coming back to him now. There was something unusual that popped up from inside—not a clown, something else.
    It wasn’t surprising that his dad had saved his old jack-in-the-box. From the look of it, it was pretty valuable. Besides, his dad saved everything—every snapshot, every kitchen utensil, even every wire coat hanger, apparently. Except that wasn’t quite true, was it? He hadn’t saved any of Manny’s other toys. No baby pictures, and no toys.
    He looked around the basement and saw he was right. And it wasn’t just toys. His dad hadn’t saved any evidence of Manny’s early years at all—no trike, no crib, no bassinet. Nothing from before their move thirteen years ago. It was as if Manny had never been a baby, as if he’d crawled almost fully formed from some kind of pod. What was that about? Manny knew the answer his dad would give: he’d thrown everything away when they’d moved thirteen years ago.
    Except for the jack-in-the-box. It was beautiful—a work of art. Hand-carved, no doubt.
    Elsa watched him watching it. What is it? she asked.
    I’m not sure , he signed. He reached for the toy.
    It was heavier than he expected. He needed to turn the crank. If he could get the thing to open, see the inside, then he’d know—not just what was inside the jack-in-the-box, but maybe also whatever it was that had happened to him as a child that was causing his nightmares.
    And yet he hesitated before turning the crank. Did he want to know the truth or not?
    There was a creak at the top of the stairs. “Manny? Are you down there?”
    His dad! He’d come home! How had Manny not heard him come in? He’d been distracted, first by Elsa, then by the jack-in-the-box.
    “Yeah,” he said, not loudly, not softly. “I’m here.” The door was open and the light was on, so it wasn’t like he could lie.
    Manny heard footsteps—loud ones, more urgent than they should have been. The stairs didn’t squeak now; they trembled. Manny stood up, still holding the jack-in-the-box. Without thinking, he slipped the toy behind his back.
    Halfway down the steps, his dad said, “What are you doing down here?” It was more than a question, but not quite an accusation. He stopped when he saw Elsa, but he didn’t greet her yet. No, he wanted an answer from Manny.
    Manny needed a lie, and he needed one quick.
    “Going through our stuff,” he said, mustering up all the innocence he could manage. “Why wouldn’t I? Didn’t you say that we’re taking it all to Goodwill?” Realizing how stiff he looked trying to hide the jack-in-the-box behind his back, Manny forced himself to relax.
    At the bottom of the stairs now, his dad looked at him, then glanced quickly around the basement. When he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, he finally looked at Elsa and smiled, saying, “Hi, Elsa.”
    Hello , Elsa signed.
    His dad looked back at Manny, thinking. Then hesmiled again, as if he’d made up his mind about something.
    “What?” Manny said.
    His dad shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll make dinner.” And he turned for the steps.
    As his dad started climbing back up the steps, Manny looked down at the jack-in-the-box, which he’d pulled part of the way out from behind his back. He could hardly wait for his dad to leave so he could open it up.
    But at that exact second, a third of the way up the stairs, his dad suddenly turned back around. “Manny, did you happen to—?” He stopped, eyes locked on Manny—and on whatever it