by Shari Green
to give me hope.
Maybe
just maybe
our friendship isn’t 100 percent
doomed.
Chapter 11
A tiny plastic hula dancer
wiggles her hips
on the next bookshelf.
She wiggles right into a KEEP box
and Iris writes three pages
in her notebook
about her hairdresser, Elaine.
She tells me how Elaine fell in love
in Hawaii
and didn’t come back home.
She sent the hula dancer to Iris
some years ago.
Elaine had a hard life here.
I’m so pleased she found love—
there’s no greater happiness
than to love and be loved.
I turn to a new page
ask if Elaine
is her best friend.
“No,” she says
and I wonder why, then, this souvenir
from Hawaii
belongs in the KEEP box.
As if she can read my mind
Iris scribbles another pageful.
Ever since Steven—the man in the bookshop—
I make a point of connecting with people
who come into my life
because even if only for a moment
their story connects with mine.
That should mean something…
even if there’s no chapter in a café next door.
When I look up from reading
she winks at me.
We sort for a while
until I come across a stack
of takeout menus
tucked between two books.
Recycle?
I ask
but she extends a hand
takes the pamphlets from me
shuffles through.
She keeps one aside
tosses the rest in the RECYCLE box.
Your favorite restaurant?
I ask
hoping she’ll recognize the sign
for favorite and understand.
She grimaces.
“No,” she says. “Terrible food.”
But Kimmy the delivery driver
is a lovely girl.
She hands me Kimmy’s menu
indicates where it should go
and the memories of terrible food
and a nice person
are stored within the pages
of a red hard-bound journal.
Chapter 12
The foyer lights flash
indicating someone’s rung
the doorbell.
Even though I’ve a clear view
of the front yard
from my window seat
I was so absorbed in my book
I didn’t notice anyone
approach.
I clamber down
answer the door.
Iris stands on our front step
breathing hard
wearing an orange and white polka-dot
housedress.
Mom appears
ushers Iris
into the living room.
Once Iris is settled
on our couch
she reaches into the large pocket
of her dress
withdraws a book.
The Tale of Despereaux.
Mom interprets
as Iris and I talk.
I finished this last night
Iris says.
I wanted to return it
in case you needed
to read it.
I know how it is
with favorite books.
I take Despereaux from her
ask
What did you think?
I adored it, Macy.
Thank you
for sharing it with me.
I should like to be
as brave as that mouse
as kind as that princess.
Iris stays for tea
with my mother.
I leave them visiting
settle on the window seat
open my book and slip
into the world
of a girl who calls herself
El Deafo.
Later, after Mom sees Iris home
she says
I don’t know
that she’ll be up to coming
to the wedding.
Since I avoid wedding thoughts
as much as possible
it hadn’t occurred to me
Iris might be there.
You invited her?
Of course
Mom says.
She’s very dear.
You know, she brought cookies
for us
the day we moved
into this house.
I think of last week’s burned cookies
the smoke
Iris with her hands
over her ears.
Will she ever bake
again?
Mom says
We’re fortunate to have her
as a neighbor.
She’s right—we are.
I wonder where I got the idea
Iris was crabby
wonder why I never learned
her story.
I guess she never learned mine
either.
Even now
we barely know each other
and yet the thought
of a rainbow goddess
being present at my mother’s wedding
somehow makes the whole
depressing
occasion
much more pleasant
to anticipate.
Chapter 13
Glass jar
candle inside
flowers twisted
into a wreath that…
doesn’t fit
around the base of the jar.
I know Mom gave me this job
to make me part
of the planning
as if it would make the wedding
the changing family
the moving-from-my-home
all seem like a great idea.
It’s not working.
I untwist the fake flowers
reshape them
weave in lavender ribbon
and tie a bow.
Maybe this one’s pretty good
—as good as it’s going to get
anyway.
That’s lovely
Mom says
even though
it’s a bit lopsided.
How many
have you finished?
Um…
Just this one
Macy! The wedding
is in two weeks! I need you to—
Mom’s hands freeze
mid-sign
drop to her side.
She walks past me
no explanation
strides across the living room
to peer out the front window.
What’s happening?
I ask
and Mom says
Siren
points outside
where an ambulance
with lights flashing
slows
stops
right in front of Iris’s house.
Mom and I rush
to Iris’s yard.
>
The paramedics go inside
with their stretcher.
I want to follow
but Mom says no
so we wait on the lawn
my insides knotting up
as if weeds are twisting around my heart
my lungs
choking me.
When the paramedics finally reappear
Iris is strapped on the stretcher
some sort of mask
covering her mouth and nose.
Back door of the ambulance opens
stretcher bumps
rolling legs fold up
and Iris disappears
swallowed up inside.
The doors close
driver hops in the front
lights flashing again
and it drives away.
Chapter 14
I’ve discovered
a universal truth.
School is ever so much harder
without a best friend.
I stumble through my red front door
drop my backpack
in the foyer
slump
on the sofa.
A moment later
chaos enters the room.
The twins are here.
Mom appears
arms laden
with board games.
She plunks them
on the coffee table
doesn’t even ask
how my day went.
Alan’s sitter bailed
she says.
Will you play with the girls?
I need some time
in my office.
This morning I was at the hospital
visiting Iris
and now…
She gestures toward Bethany and Kaitlin
who are spinning on the spot
then staggering about
dizzy.
You visited Iris?
I say.
Without me?
Her eyes bulge
like she’s exasperated
can’t believe
I’m missing the point.
I need to work
she says.
You’re on duty.
She turns on her heel
vanishes
into her office.
I wave the twins over.
We’re on our third game
of KerPlunk—marbles tumbling
down the clear plastic container
over and over—
when Mom marches into the room
scoops up marbles
container
plastic sticks
and plops them
in the box.
Maybe another game
she says
before striding back down
the hall.
I look at the twins
shrug.
“Too loud,” Bethany explains
and the two of them
burst into giggles.
We play Candy Land instead
then find paper and crayons
draw pictures
until Alan appears with a bag
of takeout hamburgers.
I’m officially off duty.
Babysitting was actually okay
but I can’t imagine
a lifetime of it
can’t imagine such chaos
being permanent.
We gather at the table
eat our burgers and limp fries.
Alan jokes with Mom
the two of them
laughing together
not signing
as if I’ve suddenly become
invisible.
What’s so funny?
I say.
Mom turns to me
remnants of laughter
lingering
on her face.
Alan’s telling me
about the record number of teeth
he yanked out
at work today.
Ick.
That’s not even funny.
Dentist talk
is disgusting
should be banned
from the dinner table
but for some reason
Mom’s laughing again.
As we’re finishing dinner
Mom excuses herself
to take a phone call.
When she reappears at the table
her face is lit
eyes sparkling
lips pressed together
as if a huge grin
wants to spring
into place.
She signs for my benefit
but she’s looking at Alan
when she spills the news.
I got an offer
on the house!
A sinking feeling
falls through me
like a stone
tumbling
landing
in my stomach.
Someone
wants to buy
our house.
I push my plate from me
slip away
close myself
in my bedroom.
If only I could convince Mom
to say no
to the offer
no to the wedding.
If only I could make her realize
this is all
a terrible
plan.
When Alan asked Mom
to marry him
it was like ivy
creeping into the garden
taking over
ruining everything.
I don’t know how
to stop it.
My mind spins
insides quiver.
I need to quit thinking
about the house selling
my family
changing.
I pace the floor
pause to peer out the window
at my garden
pace again
crouch at the bookcase
can’t decide
on a book.
I could do homework.
If I don’t soon start
my genealogy project
Mr. Tanaka
will have a fit.
I pull out a sheet of paper
stare at it awhile
put it away.
Maybe tomorrow
I’ll stumble
upon an idea.
Chapter 15
Clear plastic tubing snakes
from Iris’s nose
to a cylindrical tank
in a small, wheeled cart.
“Oxygen,” she says
with a grimace
and a shrug
as if to say, I hate it
but what can I do?
She settles into her floral recliner
feet up
oxygen cart parked
beside her.
We sort two full shelves
of books.
Start on the next.
“I love that one,” Iris says
when I hold up a small paperback.
She says more about the book
and I think she’s telling me
she’s read it
almost as many times
as Les Misérables.
Keep, then
I say
move toward the box.
She sha
kes her head.
“No,” she says. “Donate.”
I could never give away a book
I loved that much.
Iris jots in her notebook.
I know it inside out.
I don’t imagine
I need to read it again.
I crouch down
set Anne of Green Gables in the box
pause a moment
my fingertips lingering on the cover
—a redheaded girl
who looks about my age.
When I glance back at Iris
she says something
about passing it on
something
about a girl.
She speaks slowly
and even though I watch her lips
I have to piece together
what she’s saying.
She wants to give the book
to a girl she knows?
I’m quite sure
she means me
but I point to myself
raise eyebrows
hope
because there’s nothing better
than a well-loved book.
Iris nods, and I retrieve Anne
wonder what it is
about this story
that made an old woman love it
so much.
We need another DONATE box
so I pop out to her garage
lug cardboard into the living room
find the tape
and put together a box
including
the stinky ink
to label it.
When I finish
Iris hands me her spiral notebook.
I learned much from Anne—
that the hard things in life
sometimes turn out to be the very things
that equip us for what comes next…