When she comes back, muscles glowing and stomach growling, she retrieves the canvas bag from under the tree, takes out the box, and uses her pinky to pull the lever on the left, near the red button (whatever you want, Mr. Farris said when she asked about that one). The slot opens and the shelf slides out. On it is a chocolate turtle, small but perfect, the shell a marvel of engraved plating. She tosses the turtle into her mouth. The sweetness blooms. Her hunger disappears, although when lunchtime comes, she will eat all of the bologna-and-cheese sandwich her mother has left her, plus some salad with French dressing, and a big glass of milk. She glances at the leftover cake in its plastic container. It looks good, but that’s just an intellectual appreciation. She would feel the same way about a cool two-page spread in a Dr. Strange comic book, but she wouldn’t want to eat it, and she doesn’t want to eat any cake, either.
That afternoon she goes bike-riding with her friend Olive, and then they spend the rest of the afternoon in Olive’s bedroom, listening to records and talking about the upcoming school year. The prospect of going to Castle Rock Middle fills them with dread and excitement.
Back home, before her parents arrive, Gwendy takes the button box out of its hiding place again and pulls what she’ll come to think of as the Money Lever. Nothing happens; the slot doesn’t even open. Well, that’s all right. Perhaps because she is an only child with no competition, Gwendy isn’t greedy. When the little chocolates run out, she’ll miss them more than any silver dollars. She hopes that won’t happen for a while, but when it does, okay. C’est la vie, as her dad likes to say. Or merde se, which means shit happens.
Before returning the box, she looks at the buttons and names the continents they stand for. She touches them one by one. They draw her; she likes the way each touch seems to fill her with a different color, but she steers clear of the black one. That one is scary. Well… they’re all a little scary, but the black one is like a large dark mole, disfiguring and perhaps cancerous.
On Saturday, the Petersons pile into the Subaru station wagon and go to visit Dad’s sister in Yarmouth. Gwendy usually enjoys these visits, because Aunt Dottie and Uncle Jim’s twin girls are almost exactly her age, and the three of them always have fun together. There’s usually a movie-show on Saturday night (this time a double feature at the Pride’s Corner Drive-In, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot, plus Gone in 60 Seconds), and the girls lie out on the ground in sleeping bags, chattering away when the movie gets boring.
Gwendy has fun this time, too, but her thoughts keep turning to the button box. What if someone should find it and steal it? She knows that’s unlikely—a burglar would just stick to the house, and not go searching under backyard trees—but the thought preys on her mind. Part of this is possessiveness; it’s hers. Part of it is wishing for the little chocolate treats. Most of it, however, has to do with the buttons. A thief would see them, wonder what they were for, and push them. What would happen then? Especially if he pushed the black one? She’s already starting to think of it as the Cancer Button.
When her mother says she wants to leave early on Sunday (there’s going to be a Ladies Aid meeting, and Mrs. Peterson is treasurer this year), Gwendy is relieved. When they get home, she changes into her old jeans and goes out back. She swings in the tire for a little while, then pretends to drop something and goes to one knee, as if to look for it. What she’s really looking for is the canvas bag. It’s right where it belongs… but that is not enough. Furtively, she reaches between two of the gnarled roots and feels the box inside. One of the buttons is right under her first two fingers—she can feel its convex shape—and she withdraws her hand fast, as if she had touched a hot stove burner. Still, she is relieved. At least until a shadow falls over her.
“Want me to give you a swing, sweetie?” her dad asks.
“No,” she says, getting up and brushing her knees. “I’m really too big for it now. Guess I’ll go inside and watch TV.”
He gives her a hug, pushes her glasses up on her nose, then strokes his fingers through her blonde hair, loosening a few tangles. “You’re getting so tall,” he says. “But you’ll always be my little girl. Right, Gwennie?”
“You got it, Daddy-O,” she says, and heads back inside. Before turning on the TV, she looks out into the yard from the window over the sink (no longer having to stand on tip-toe to do it). She watches her father give the tire swing a push. She waits to see if he will drop to his knees, perhaps curious about what she was looking for. Or at. When he turns and heads for the garage instead, Gwendy goes into the living room, turns on Soul Train, and dances along with Marvin Gaye.
3
When she comes back from her run up the Suicide Stairs on Monday, the lever by the red button dispenses a small chocolate kitty. She tries the other lever, not really expecting anything, but the slot opens, the shelf comes out, and on it is another 1891 silver dollar with nary a mark or a scratch on either side, the kind of coin she will come to know as uncirculated. Gwendy huffs on it, misting the features of Anna Willess Williams, then rubs the long-gone Philadelphia matron bright again on her shirt. Now she has two silver dollars, and if Mr. Farris was right about their worth, it’s almost enough money for a year’s tuition at the University of Maine. Good thing college is years away, because how could a twelve-year-old kid sell such valuable coins? Think of the questions they would raise!
Think of the questions the box would raise!
She touches the buttons again, one by one, avoiding the horrid black one but this time lingering on the red one, the tip of her finger circling around and around, feeling the oddest combination of distress and sensuous pleasure. At last she slides the button box back into its bag, stashes it, and bikes to Olive’s house. They make strawberry turnovers under the watchful eye of Olive’s mom, then go upstairs and put on Olive’s records again. The door opens and Olive’s mom comes in, but not to tell them they must lower the volume, as both girls expected. No, she wants to dance, too. It’s fun. The three of them dance around and laugh like crazy, and when Gwendy goes home, she eats a big meal.
No seconds, though.
4
Castle Rock Middle turns out to be okay. Gwendy reconnects with her old friends and makes some new ones. She notices some of the boys eyeing her, which is okay because none of them is Frankie Stone and none of them call her Goodyear. Thanks to the Suicide Stairs, that nickname has been laid to rest. For her birthday in October, she gets a poster of Robby Benson, a little TV for her room (oh God, the joy) and lessons on how to change her own bed (not joyful but not bad). She makes the soccer team and the girls’ track team, where she quickly becomes a standout.
The chocolate treats continue to come, no two ever the same, the detail always amazing. Every week or two there’s also a silver dollar, always dated 1891. Her fingers linger longer and longer on the red button, and sometimes she hears herself whispering, “Whatever you want, whatever you want.”
Miss Chiles, Gwendy’s seventh grade history teacher, is young and pretty and dedicated to making her classes as interesting as possible. Sometimes her efforts are lame, but every once in a while they succeed splendidly. Just before the Christmas vacation, she announces that their first class in the new year will be Curiosity Day. Each pupil is to think of one historical thing they wonder about, and Miss Chiles will try to satisfy their curiosity. If she cannot, she’ll throw the question to the class, for discussion and speculation.