“I still say slang words shouldn’t be allowed in Scrabble,” Jack pipes up, earning a sharp elbow from Wendy.
Part of me is twelve again, watching them with awe and desperation in my gut. Wishing I could be a part of the magic that they had so easily. The same magic that’s in the McCabe farmhouse. “I’m sorry,” I tell them before I lose my nerve. “About what my mom did. I always wondered why you never called the cops.”
Mrs. Yang makes a small sound in the back of her throat. “Your mother was a troubled woman,” she says. “We didn’t want to make things worse for you. But we didn’t know you had other family. She always said you two were alone. Perhaps we would have done things differently.”
“There’s no reason for you to apologize,” Mr. Yang adds. “You didn’t take the money. We knew that.”
“We’re so happy that you’re okay,” Mrs. Yang says. “And we want you to know that the door here is always open for you. We expect you to visit. Let us know how things are going. You and Wendy will be starting university next year. We could always use another waitress, and there’s an apartment upstairs, you know.”
I nod, my throat tight. There are so many things to tell them. I am no longer the little girl who put the peppermints back in the bowl after she won them in poker. It will be two more years before I can even consider college. But I have time. These things can wait.
“Oh, wait!” Mrs. Yang says, looking at Mia. “I have what you asked for.” She goes back to the register at the counter and digs around underneath it.
While she’s occupied, Wendy grins and hands me her phone. “Put your number in it!” she says. “We have to catch up. I have a million things to tell you. And I want to hear everything. Do you come to the city a lot? Maybe we could meet up.”
“Not a lot,” I say.
“But we could come more often,” Mia adds. “If Trix wanted to visit.”
Wendy nods enthusiastically.
Mrs. Yang returns with a small manila envelope and hands it to Mia.
“Thank you,” Mia says. “I really appreciate you finding these for me.”
“Of course.” Something passes between them, a smile that is almost sad.
Mrs. Yang hugs me again. “Come back anytime,” she tells me.
Wendy waves as we leave, and Mia’s arm is over my shoulders as we step outside onto the curb.
In the Suburban, Mia hands me the envelope before she starts the engine. “I thought you might like something to put on the mantel,” she says.
I take the envelope from her and open it, sliding the contents out into my hands.
Photographs. There are only a few of them. One of Wendy and Jack playing Texas Hold’em with me, our peppermint betting chips in the middle of the table. Wendy is grinning goofily and Jack is frowning at his cards. I’m smiling primly and my cheeks are pink, like I’m blushing with excitement and pride that I’m included in the shot.
There are two more of me studying with Wendy and Jack. They’re wearing their school uniforms, and I’m in jeans and a pale-blue polo that Mrs. Yang gave me for my birthday. I was so happy to have that shirt that I wore it even though it was short-sleeved and showed my scars. Wendy had one in the same color, and we used to wear them on the same day so we could be twins.
The final two are from when we celebrated the lunar New Year with a big dinner. The moment I got my lucky penny. One is of me making dumplings with Wendy and Jack. The last is of me sitting at the table with Mom. Her arm rests casually on the back of my chair, almost a hug as she leans toward me. Her face is still full, her eyes bright. Her dark hair is styled in curls that cascade over her shoulders. She was beautiful, my mom in the Good Year.
I don’t want to think of her dead in some motel room. I want to pretend she’s still here, in the Good Year.
“This one?” I ask, holding it out. “Could we put this one up?”
Mia touches the corner of the photograph lightly. “This is your mom?”
I nod.
“We’ll get a frame and put it up when we get home. And maybe one of you and your friends, too? It sounds like you were very close with Wendy.”
“If you think there’s enough room,” I say, looking over the pictures again. I can’t quite say what it means to have these. I’ve looked at Ember’s pictures on the mantel, wishing myself into the frames.
“We’ll make room, Trix,” Mia says.
Twenty-Four
WHEN MIA AND I WALK through the front door of the farmhouse, the normal smells of freshly baked pies are gone. Instead it’s a cacophony of cheese and ham and tomato sauce and garlic drowning out faint strains of lemon. The dining room table is laden with foil-covered dishes. I don’t know why it looks like we’re about to host a buffet for thirty people, but I’m starving and thrilled to see it all. But I need to go to my room first.
Upstairs, I change back into the clothes I left behind. My phone is on my bed along with my backpack. I pick it up and see about a million missed messages from Jasper, Ember, Ramani, and the rest of the crew from school. I scroll through a few before deciding that it’s best to leave them for another time. The first few are frantic texts about where I’ve gone, and the glimpses I catch of the rest all have the word mom. I’m not ready to read them yet, so I return downstairs.
I find Mia in the kitchen.
“Perfect timing,” she says when she sees me. Evening light wanes through the kitchen windows. “I warmed up the blueberry pie for you in the oven. Getting ready to make up a few new ones while I’m at it.”
“Blueberry for breakups,” I say quietly, my voice a little creaky.
“Heartbreak is heartbreak.” She cuts a slice of the blueberry pie on the cooling rack and puts it on a chipped yellow plate. Without looking, she reaches into a drawer and pulls out a fork. She hands them both to me. “Eat up.”
“What’s with all the food in the dining room?” I ask through a mouthful of warm, sweet blueberries. I chew and swallow before Mia answers, relishing that feeling of comfort.
“The neighbors brought it when they heard about your mom.”
“We don’t have neighbors. We have cows.”
“Well, the town, then. That’s what people do when someone passes away. They bring food. Everyone’s been asking to see you. Auntie said the phone’s been ringing off the hook.”
“How does everyone know already?”
“Auntie called the Rocksaw Gazette before it went out yesterday. Judging by when the casseroles started showing up, I think most people found out about the service before the paper even came out. Everyone knows Orla, the copy editor, can’t keep her mouth shut.”
“What service?”
“The funeral service for your mom.”
I hadn’t even thought about a funeral. Funerals are for people with big families, lots of friends. Mom had me, and whatever dealer she was hooked up with at the time of her demise. “No one’s going to come to a funeral service. And anyway, who would put one on?”
“We’re putting one on. She’ll be buried in the McCabe family plot.”
I nearly drop what’s left of my pie, remembering the sprawling, hilly cemetery where Connor McCabe and Jesse Ruiz are buried. “You can’t mean that. She wasn’t a McCabe. She doesn’t belong there.”
“She’ll be buried there. The same as Connor. And someday me and Auntie and you and Ember.”
“Wow, that’s something to look forward to.” I try to crack a joke, anything to make this feel normal.
Mia smiles, nudging the pie plate I’m holding.
I take another bite. The pain in my chest eases a little more with the sweet, heavy taste of blueberry.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her because I don’t think I actually said it before. “For running away. And for yelling at you. It’s hard for me to talk about things that happened before I came here.”
Mia shakes her head. “We both said things we shouldn’t have. It’s water under the bridge.”
“But I was wondering,” I say after I
take another bite of pie, “when you and your husband divorced, Ember said you were real torn up about it, but you wouldn’t make any pies. Why didn’t you eat any Bracing Blueberry?”
Mia shrugs one shoulder. “Heartache’s not all bad. It reminds you that what you felt was real.”
I stop chewing. “So maybe I should let myself hurt for a while?”
“I think you’ve had enough hurt. Eat the pie. Tomorrow it will hurt again.”
“Will it ever go away?”
“A little bit each day.”
I put the pie down. “It would be easier if we had ever been able to forgive each other. But everything between us was always so complicated.”
Mia nods. “You’re not ever going to have all the answers, Trix. Neither am I. But try to remember the good parts. Your mother is really beautiful in that photo from the Yangs. I think we should use that one in the service program. So everyone could see her when she was doing well.”
“That was the Good Year,” I say, surprising myself by sharing so much. I imagine that detail filling out, taking shape with the things Mrs. Yang and I have told her. Maybe this will be a new chapter. “That’s what I always called it. I really thought we were going to make it.”
Mia begins rolling out more pie dough. “You did make it, Trix.”
“But she didn’t.”
“I didn’t know her.” She pauses rolling out the dough. “But I think any parent would be happy to know that her child is safe and loved. Even if they aren’t the ones loving and keeping them safe.”
I nod.
Mia starts rolling out the dough again.
“Where’s Ember?” I ask.
“She and Auntie got back while you were upstairs. I think Ember’s out on the front porch. There’s going to be a hard freeze tonight. She’s saying goodbye to the roses.” She picks up her circle of dough and puts it in a pie tin. “She was pretty upset when you ran away. Just so you know.”
I nod, because it’s no surprise to me. Scrounging around the kitchen counters, I locate a Never-Lonely Lemon. “Is it okay if I take this outside?” I ask.
Mia reaches down to the silverware drawer and pulls out two forks in reply. “Grab your jacket. It’s cold outside.”
I shift the pie and two forks to one hand and snag the blue afghan off the couch in the living room on my way out. The yellow afghan is missing, and I know where it is.
It’s twilight outside, and Ember’s sitting rigidly on the middle step, wrapped in the sunny-hued afghan. She’s watching the stars come out and doesn’t bother to look back at me when I begin to climb down the steps. I guess she knows it’s me. And she’s definitely still angry with me for breaking my promise to her about running away.
I settle myself next to her, setting the pie down on the step between us and stabbing the two forks down through the crown of meringue and into the crust so that they stand up on their own.
“Hey,” I say carefully.
“Hey yourself.” She doesn’t even look at me. Her hands are knotted in her afghan-shawl, and anger shimmers in the air between us.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
“For what?” Her voice is still sharp.
“For running away when I promised you I wouldn’t.”
And then Ember lets go, tossing off her blanket because she’s got more than enough rage keeping her warm. “I don’t get it, Trix. You can’t run away when you get mad. Or hurt. You’ve got to stay and fight for what you want.” She turns to face me. “Remember when we were in the concession stand and Mrs. Stuart accused you of stealing? You stayed and fought. And I stayed with you. Because we’re friends. No, we’re family.
“I worked in the dining room of the tea shop by myself last night, did you know that? While Mama was bawling her eyes out and driving all over the city looking for your sorry ass, I stayed and I fought. Even though it was scary and hard. I can’t stop my gift. I can’t give it up like you can. I can only try to be brave and fight.”
“You are brave, Ember.”
“You’re damn right I am.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could take it back—”
“We made a deal. I’d stop eating in the library by myself. I’d make an effort to get out there and make friends and live my life. You’d stop running away.”
“I came back,” I offer lamely.
“So that’s supposed to erase it all? Mama and Auntie came and pulled me out of school to see if I knew where you’d gone. Mama was bawling, and Auntie yelled at her for yelling at you, and then I yelled at Auntie for yelling at Mama.” She sniffs. “Ramani called me at lunch to say that when she was on her way to the dentist’s office, she saw you get into a strange car. That’s the only way we knew you weren’t even in Rocksaw anymore. Can you imagine what that felt like, to hear Ramani tell us that you could be anywhere? Did you even think about us?”
My shoulders tense beneath the afghan.
“Who was it? Who picked you up?”
“Shane.”
“The boy you used to date? I thought you said it was over.” She grabs a fork and digs out a mouthful of pie. “I’m pretty sure we sat right here and ate blueberry pie and you cried about how he broke your heart a long time ago.”
“It is over. We’re just friends.”
“Jasper was really worried. He ditched school to look for you when I texted him that you’d run off.”
I get defensive when Jasper’s name is brought up. “Well, I did that for him the other day, so I guess we’re even.”
“We’re not even, though.”
I pick up my fork and stab absently at the pie. A few quiet moments pass. Just the scrape of our forks against the pie tin. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make things right again. “What can I do?” I ask finally.
“Do you care?”
“Of course I care. I’m here, sitting on the front steps in the dark eating pie with you. I don’t know how else to say I care.” I gesture with a hand at the tin.
Ember sighs. “I know. I’m sorry that I was so angry. I know you’re hurting, too.” She waits a beat, picking up her blanket and pulling it around herself. “I’m real sorry about your mom.” She sits back down next to me.
That ache in my chest returns, and I pull my own afghan closer. “What about me and you?”
“We’re okay, I guess, since you brought me pie.” She gives me a small smile before picking up her fork and taking another bite. “I’m not really lonely anymore. I guess all the lemon worked.”
I nod. “Me, neither.”
“So do you want to talk about your mom?”
I shake my head. “Not right now.”
“I called Grayson to tell him you were okay. I told him to tell Jasper and everybody. I hope that’s all right. Jasper was really worried. We all were.”
I know she’s changed because she includes herself in Jasper’s crew, it’s not a them and us thing anymore. “Your mom says the roses will die tonight.”
“Yeah,” Ember says. “It always makes me sad. Even though I know they’ll come back.”
“This may sound stupid,” I begin awkwardly. “But I want to put some on my mom’s grave. When I visited the cemetery, I saw that a bunch of people had put flowers on Jesse Ruiz’s grave. And if I was going to put flowers on my mom’s grave, I’d like them to be our roses.” I wait to see if Ember is going to say it’s impossible, or ask why I’d want to put flowers on the grave of a mother who abandoned me.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she stands up, letting her yellow afghan fall again to the worn wooden steps behind her. “Come on,” she says. “We’ll go get Auntie’s garden shears and clip the buds. With any luck we can put them in water and they’ll bloom in time for the service.”
Her hands are loose at her sides, and I realize that I want to do something I’ve been afraid of since I met her.
“I’d like to share with you,” I tell her. “If you want.”
I reach out slowly to show her I’m seriou
s.
Ember begins to pull away, as if she’s sure I’m not remembering what she can do with a touch of her hand against mine.
I wait for her decision.
Ember gives me a small smile. “All right,” she says. “I’d like that.”
Her palm is cold against mine from sitting outside for so long. Ember’s eyes widen as my deepest secrets and fears roll through her.
Somehow, sharing with her makes me feel a little lighter.
“Don’t worry,” she says when she lets go. The scent of roses hangs around us, sweet in the tang of the coming frost. “This will always be home if you want it to be.”
Twenty-Five
ON THE MORNING OF MY mother’s funeral service, the day dawns bright and clear and cold. A hard frost hit two days ago, killing off the roses, as we thought it would. At the cemetery, I hold the bouquet Ember helped me pick, thankful the blooms opened in time for me to put them on Mom’s freshly mounded grave. There’s going to be a reception at the McCabe Bakery & Tea Shoppe, but Mia promised me that if it was too much, I didn’t have to go. She’d navigate the crowds and casseroles and condolences for me. I appreciate the offer, but I know that no matter how hard it is, I wouldn’t miss it.
I’m not an idiot. I know that funerals cost thousands of dollars, and that Auntie and Mia paid for this one not because they had any regard for my mother, but for me. This is a gift to me. After everything I’ve put them through, they’re still trying to show me that they love me.
I think I’m still trying to figure out what love is, although I have a patchwork collection of answers.
Love is wishing with your eyes closed. Love is American slang dictionaries for Scrabble. Love is Coke-and-cherry slushes at midnight. Love is watching the lights come on in town from lawn chairs on Cedar Mountain. Love is lemon-meringue pie on the porch steps. Love is stopping at the end of the driveway and turning back around when all you want to do is run away.
A Constellation of Roses Page 24