Chapter 10 - In Ten Did

I had no clue what to say to that. Fortunately, Lacy answered with enthusiasm, ideas for how to get costumes assembled, and ready to go as soon as possible. She speculated that maybe just running the old Kirby vac over some of the attic outfits would be enough.

Grandpa didn't dwell on how it got done, since he wasn't certain that any of this was a reality with those sorts of consequences. And while grandma still appeared rooted in the best alternative of a hallucination, her notions of what to dress her little boy self in hadn't crystallized yet as she still had so many wishes for Riona.

I felt buffeted by a whiteout wall. Only what was directly ahead or behind me was all that mattered and moving as carefully as possible. Lacy was prepared to plow into the unknown with our grandparents eager for the adventure ahead. I just wanted to find this pear guy online and see if he could help us. His sole comment left an ominous shiver all through Lacy's still-unfamiliar body.

Shadows. Like the weird thing I glimpsed in my apartment. But no one had been in my apartment when we went through it and the main door was the only way out or in. Asking Lacy if she did that or not was the only way for some piece of mind or whole of fear.

Meanwhile, Lacy completed the last of the cookies with a feisty but smooth flourish finished by taking a long sip of the last of the milk. Grandma, in a Mark-shaped package, expressed her usual tone with hope that "John" had enjoyed them. Playing me, like it was a role she was getting the hang of, Lacy calmly said they were amazing while encouraging her grandmother to consider how she'd like her son to be dressed for the holiday.

First turning over the practical options of putting the nostalgic sailor outfit to use, she then considered a valiant knight to accompany Riona's decorative princess finishes, before resolving that she had no idea what would be the easiest to pull off with what was up in the attic.

My thoughts also turned to clothes as I wondered why Lacy had gone to so much trouble as to venture over to my condo, just for clothes she didn't wind up using. Granted, I had no idea what was where with the new stuff and so many scattered bags. But the whirlwind of the plans before us didn't invite time for such reflection.

We paired off with the same grandparent as with the restroom adventures. Riona had too much energy, as her brilliant hair billowed behind her like a fancy curtain. The real one loathed the attic but adored looking out through the windows on the world below her. She was responsible for her couch up here and the efforts at making it more a living space than storage for history.

Grandpa dove into chests and drawers, fearlessly snaking her tiny arms into every nook and cranny. I had to be the adult, urging her to be careful, especially when her hair snagged on the joint of a chest and brought a whimper of pain. Working her back carefully, I knew it was time to actually do something about that hair.

Even though I had eventually discovered it, I picked a quiet moment to seek out Lacy about where she kept her hair stuff...again. She was sifting through my clothes we'd picked out. The Karate gi was laid flat to the side. The other clothes, she exposed like giving a snake the Heimlich after a large meal. The outfits just laid on a spot as she sorted it with the bag like a pair of gloves.

Since I had the moment, I opted to ask her why she hadn't just put them on while eating a banana.

She had a prompt and reasonable answer. "I couldn’t be completely sure which of your clothes you'd worn before and what you might've loaned out. Ownership. But we knew you were wearing these clothes last." She fanned the still damp stuff she was wearing.

I assured her guys don't share clothes (and I could at least recall clothes I wore). Well, at least I certainly didn't. She then noted a "lady friend" who wore one of my jackets when we were dating. I assured her I hadn't really...been in that position for a while. But I let her have the point.

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She added, "And besides, I wasn't going to stand outside, eat a weird banana, and wait as all sorts of bodily stuff happened to me in public." Another point.

Anyway, I mentioned grandpa's problem and making sure of where she kept her hair stuff. I found some stuff. But I wasn't sure if there was more. With a sigh, she warned me, "You might need to know, depending on how things go. Third drawer on the right. It has a blue star next to it. But you will find some stuff that'll work best with grandpa in a little plastic organizer tower in the closet. Top drawer there."

That implication weighed on me like so many aspects of her body as I returned to the attic. Once grandpa launched a dust bloom tracing against the light of the bulb I replaced, I gingerly nudged open the nearest window just a crack, so it sucked the musty odors out while retaining what warmth filtered up. Distant, childish squeaks burst through the approaching evening.

In her hands, as a bout of messy sneezes blasted that bloom in all directions, she had a deer hunter cap along with a tan trench coat which dangled to her knees. A dark pair of boots rested to the side along with a plaid, short cape and nylons. Grandpa fussed when grandma held a pink skirt against her to see the size.

"That clashes with the ensemble", she swiftly noted. But grandma contended it was pretty. Only because the pink skirt just barely showed, like a bright highlight around her body, did grandpa permit it.

Grandma took longer to decide on how Mark should be dressed up. Whatever her previous plans, she clearly had princess on the brain and the desire to do things Mark would never agree to in a thousand childhoods. Scrunching up her face, little Riona glared at the dresses and costume tiaras Mark tried on.

She moped about how embarrassing it would be for a boy to be seen out in such attire. Grandma reminded the little girl that this was the sort of Halloween they'd only envisioned, brought to life, and if Riona wasn't to be dressed up like this, then it seemed only fair that Mark offer himself up in ways even the real one never did.

Lacy's mom had been a princess a few times but with the air of someone you wanted to depose and guillotine. Riona the Kind hugged her detective outfit close and let Mark have his fun. The preserved costume and prop remnants of Wadley Theater didn't include a huge variety of child-sized items because Mark and Riona were both well into adolescence when grandpa's theater fell on hard times and stopped giving live performances. He preserved what he could.

Enough remained for Mark to project the image of a princess for a few phone photos before grandma conceded to being a rhinestone, regal cowboy in an even flashier getup with tassels, "salmon" tones, complicated embroidery, and other ostentatious flourishes like shining handkerchiefs.

Grandpa quipped, "On second thought, try the dress."

Mark stuck out his tongue just a sliver at his little sister and she returned the favor. Lacy grabbed all the costume stuff she could for the next load of washing and swift drying. She urged me that the lights and setting up for the doorbell would be the next priority. Meanwhile, I needed to get grandpa's sheets of crimson under control. Grandma accompanied me with pretty braids in mind. Whatever help she could provide for these unfamiliar waters was appreciated.

Again, I looked at Lacy’s dresser and took several tries before I found everything I needed. The supply in the closet was ever so slightly easier to track down. Between the simple ties and clips were mysterious plastic bits drawn together from a dozen different "As Seen On TV" clearance sales about making hair designs easier. In the mists of a conversation I nearly blotted from my boyish memory and only now excavated as an archeological ruin, Lacy complaining about this or that tool and glowing about another guided me to what I hoped wasn't a piece of crap.

Mark helped a lot, holding Riona's hair as I experimented. Shakes and nerves multiplied because I was not only learning as I went but I had to project a sense of experience with using these before. Bless Lacy for saving the instructions. Quietly, Mark reminisced about all the things she'd done with "my" hair when I was a little girl. A cold shiver crossed over me, despite the fact the room felt warm. My only hope was that she wouldn't ask me to recall those things further or duplicate them.

The first few rounds of hair management bordered on embarrassing as I about tipped Riona over backwards onto Lacy's bed just brushing out her hair. As for the tools, the one that looked like a broken bugle provided the best help. Long braid chains settled on the little girl's back as other parts were pinned in place above. The end result definitely felt more like princess hair than grandpa wanted but she kept her complaints to a quiet sigh.

"It looks very nice", grandma warmly concluded. "A princess detective." Walking grandpa over to the sliding mirror in the closet definitely brought a subtler reaction than when first seeing Lacy reflected back at me. He complained about how warm his head was as grandma had to pull his little fingers away from adjusting and scratching it.

I took a few long breaths before the mirror and waved off grandma when she noticed my anxiety. Grandpa ruffled Lacy's clothes I'd loaned him and declared, "Well, I'm in it. Till this oddness resolves..."