The Secrets of Blueberries, Brothers, Moose & Me

by Sara Nickerson

  “More boo-berries,” he demanded. “More big boo-berries.”

  I looked up at Patrick. “Why do you even care? Why do you care so much?”

  “I told you everything, Missy. I tried to include you. And you—you knew something all along. You’ve been keeping it from me.”

  “You never included me! You said I was too hard to be around!”

  “Well, when you wear those stupid glasses—”

  “It was before that, Patrick.”

  “Missy, I like someone. And she likes me.”

  I stood up, grabbed two apples from the bowl on the counter, held them to my chest and marched around. “I’m Shauna,” I said in a high-pitched voice. Claude laughed and reached for an apple, too. The doll slipped from underneath his shirt.

  “More BOO-BERRIES,” he shouted.

  “Listen, Missy.” Patrick’s voice was serious. “Tell me now. If you don’t, I’ll tell Mom what I know.”

  “What do you know?”

  “That you’re not where you’re supposed to be.”

  I was so mad I could barely get the words out. “I’m not the one who disappeared in the field. I’m not the one who left you all alone, out in the rain. You tell Mom on me and guess what? I tell on you!” I slammed the apples back onto the counter.

  Claude picked up the doll and swung it at my legs. That’s when Mom walked into the kitchen, her hair uncombed and her eyes puffy from sleep. She went straight to the cupboard for her favorite mug. “What are you two arguing about this time?”

  We glanced at each other but stayed silent. Mom poured cream in her coffee and took her first sip of the day. “Ahh,” she said. “My clock stopped working in the night. What time is it anyway?”

  It came out before I could stop it.

  It came out without me telling it to.

  It came out completely on its own.

  “It’s a quarter to the monkey’s poo—” and then I slapped my hand to my mouth because I realized.

  Patrick’s butter knife froze in midair. His eyes quickly shifted to my face. “Wait. What did you say?”

  “Nothing.” I picked up Claude and danced him around the kitchen. “Nothing.”

  “You said monkey poo—”

  “That’s what I thought,” Mom said. “Why did you say that?”

  “Monkey POO!” Claude yelled gleefully. “Monkey POO!”

  “It was something someone said in the field yesterday, Mom,” Patrick explained slowly. “It was a new joke. Smith Three called it out. But, Missy, I’m surprised you heard it all the way from the sorting garage. You can’t really hear anything from up there, can you?”

  My cheeks were burning so I kept my face down and continued to waltz with Claude.

  “Smith Three.” Mom shook her head. “What do they call you, Patrick?”

  “Just ‘Patrick,’ Mom,” he said. “But, Missy, I’m serious. How did you hear it?”

  My left eye began to twitch, and I wondered what would seem more truthful: to meet Patrick’s gaze or keep my eyes hidden?

  “Missy is a monkey POO!” Claude shrieked. He was hysterical, with drool rolling down his cheek. “Monkey POO!”

  “That’s not nice, Claude,” Mom said. She grabbed her keys from the counter. “Let’s go to the car.”

  I held Claude like a shield. “I’ll carry him out, Mom. We’re having fun.” Claude howled and tried to squirm out of my arms, but I held on tight. He bit my arm. “Claude! I told you. No biting!”

  Mom wrestled Claude away from me and set him firmly on the ground.

  “Monkey POO!” he yelled at her. “You are a monkey POO!”

  Mom shot her laser eyes across the kitchen. First they burned straight into me and then into Patrick. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two,” she said quietly, “but stop it. Finish up the lunches and meet me in the car.” As she started out the kitchen with the howling Claude, I tried to follow.

  “Hold on one second, Missy.” Patrick stepped out, blocking my way. When we heard the front door close he said, “You heard the joke.”

  “So?”

  “So, you heard it from the Little Field.”

  “I heard it from the sorting garage. Let’s go.”

  “That means it’s close by. And somewhere near the garage, too.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Mom’s waiting.”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “I thought we were together. I thought we were a team.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. Until—until—”

  “What?”

  “Until you started acting so stupid! Like such a joke! Like such a stupid, skinny, ridiculous joke!” The minute the words were out I wished I could take them back. They were terrible words, words I didn’t mean at all. Words that were meant to hurt because I was hurt. They were the kind of words that could maybe start a blood feud.

  Patrick stared at me, like he was looking at a stranger, not a sister. But as he turned and headed for the door, I noticed a funny smile at the corner of his mouth. I remember thinking, “Well, he’s smiling. Everything must be okay, after all.”

  But later I would think back to that moment and know. I’d know exactly what a smile like that really meant.

  CHAPTER 34

  THAT MORNING I PICKED FASTER THAN EVER. WHEN Moose didn’t show up by the time I’d filled both big buckets and my little one, too, I decided to walk them back to the sorting garage myself.

  The hidden trail seemed longer than usual. The buckets felt extra heavy, and the sun was already too hot on my head. At the back porch, I set down my buckets and grabbed the knob to the garage door. It was locked.

  “Bev? Moose?” I knocked and called again. “Bev? Are you in there?” A moment later I heard footsteps, then the door opened and Bev peeked out.

  “You’re fast today,” she said, opening it wide. “Sorry about the door. I never showed you the button to push to make sure it’s unlocked.”

  “That’s okay.” I picked up my buckets and stepped inside.

  “It’s a hot one already. Moose is still out with the truck.”

  I glanced past the open garage doors at the gravel drive. I wondered if I should say something to Bev about the slip-up with my brother. I took a deep breath and started, but the words just wouldn’t come out. She would only be mad at me and I didn’t think I could stand that—having her mad at me, too.

  As I turned away from the open doors, though, I saw a flash of something, all the way across the gravel, over by the hedge. I looked back at the spot, just past our overturned buckets.

  “What’s the matter, hon?” Bev asked. “You look jumpy.” She came and stood right next to me and squinted out across the gravel drive. “Do you see something?”

  “No,” I said. “Maybe.” I held my breath, waiting for it to reappear. I thought about Shauna, spying on me. I shivered. “For a minute I thought I saw something,” I said. “Like a flash of white.”

  Bev put her hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you’ve been out in the sun too long. Let me see your eyes.”

  I turned to her and looked in her face. “Aha,” she said. “Just as I thought. You’re suffering from lack of break time with me.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, maybe.”

  She stepped into the kitchen and came out with two cold sodas. We crunched across the gravel drive and settled down on our overturned buckets. I started to feel a little bit better. The sun was shining; the sky was about as blue as blue could be; and nothing bad could happen to me. I took a sip of soda.

  “I see things sometimes,” Bev said. “Out of the corner of my eye.”

  “When the sun is too bright?”

  “No. More like when I look up quickly. I see shadows. Shapes
.”

  “Really?”

  She looked at me. “Do you see them, too?”

  “Moose said they were from the sun. But I pretend they are little fairies. Out to keep me company.”

  Bev said quietly, “I see two dancing boys. That’s what I turn them into. It helps me think of happier times.” Then she shook her head and laughed.

  “What do you mean happier times?”

  “Oh, just Moose and his brother,” she said, staring across the drive. “My goodness it’s hot!”

  I remembered what Moose said about their family vacations, sitting in the backseat playing rock, paper, scissors. I tried to picture Moose as a boy.

  “So what happened to them? Why did they divide the farm? Why did they plant the hedge?” My brother’s words were like a plant in my brain, growing wild with twisting roots.

  Bev shook her head. “How about we save it for another day?”

  “Okay,” I said. Then I thanked her for the soda and told her I should be getting back out there.

  “Remind me to get a hat for you,” she said, crumpling her can. “So you don’t start seeing my little mirages along with your own.”

  I thought about what Moose had said, about my talking plants. “Maybe there is magic around us. Maybe we just need time and quiet to see it all clearly.”

  She smiled straight into my eyes. “That’s a nice thought, Melissa.”

  Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted her to know my real name. “Bev?”

  “Hmm?”

  But when I opened my mouth, it was too much. It was too hot, and my head was too full of the crazy confusion of the night before, and the morning, and the terrible words I’d said to my brother. So I just said, “Nothing.” I couldn’t stay there to say one more thing.

  CHAPTER 35

  BACK IN THE LITTLE FIELD I WAS NERVOUS AND JITTERY. I told myself it was from the soda, and I forced my hands to work fast so I wouldn’t have to think. When the sun got so hot on the top of my head that it almost hurt, I suddenly remembered the hat. Bev had forgotten to give me a hat.

  The sun said noon when my two big buckets were full again, and still there was no sign of Moose. When I straightened quickly, lights flickered in front of my eyes, but I blinked hard and they went away.

  I unhooked my little bucket and walked across the hot, sandy soil toward the shady strip near the hedge. Halfway there I saw something shimmer in the grass. I bent down for a closer look. It was a snakeskin! I’d never seen a snakeskin before. It looked so delicate and thin I was afraid it would crumble when I touched it, but it was surprisingly strong. All my other feelings about the day left me and I was suddenly happy, thinking about taking it home to Claude. Patrick, too. I poured my berries into the big bucket and placed the snakeskin right on top.

  My head, where the hair parted down the middle, was burning. I scooted into the shade of the hedge just as much as I could. The air was so hot, it almost hurt to take a breath and I noticed that my arms, already tan to the T-shirt line, were taking on the crispy look of a slow-roasting chicken from the supermarket rotisserie.

  Moose had better come soon, I thought to myself, and just as I thought it I heard footsteps from the other side of the hedge. My throat tingled with the thought of a cold soda, or maybe even a Popsicle.

  I pulled the 3-D glasses from my back pocket. The plastic border made a tiny bit of shade for my eyes. Then I picked up my snakeskin, all ready to show Moose. I was sure he’s seen a million of them, but still, it was something to share. I looked at it again, more closely this time, and could see exactly where the snake used to be—all the little ridges on its underside and even the bulge of the eyes. It was like a ghost of the snake.

  I twisted around, impatient for Moose. It seemed he was taking an extra-long time. “Hello?” I called. “Moose?”

  I listened for his footsteps, or the clanging of empty buckets, but there was nothing. Just the bugs and bees sounding louder than usual. I jumped up to look for him, but my head got so dizzy I had to sit back down. Which is when I saw it.

  The dog.

  At first I thought it was a new mirage—a big white one, out in the middle of the field. But then it began slinking toward me like a hunter would. I couldn’t believe it. A dog!

  Where did it come from? Was it friendly? I put up my arm, like a crossing guard to an oncoming car. “Stay,” I said, my voice loud but shaking. “Sit.”

  The dog didn’t listen but trotted to the edge of the sandy field. He crouched there and made a low, growling sound in his throat. The sound made me afraid.

  I glanced over at the opening in the hedge. No sign of Moose, but the slight movement, just the glance, was enough to get the dog back on his feet. He made the noise again and his tail started to wag. Was that a good sign or a bad one? I had no idea. I didn’t know anything about dogs, except that they scared me. And that they had teeth that could tear through raw meat.

  The dog opened his mouth and barked sharply, showing off pointy white teeth. Slowly I reached over and picked up my empty little bucket. My fingers wrapped around the metal rim and I brought it in front of me, holding it like a shield. I meant it as protection, but it must have looked to the dog like something else. A threat or a toy, I don’t know, but it was something that caused the dog to jump and change position, like he was either bowing or getting ready to attack. I didn’t wait around to see which one.

  Clutching the bucket shield, I made a dash for the hedge opening and squeezed through. Prickles scratched my skin, but I didn’t care. I sprinted down the dark pathway, certain that the dog was gaining on me. I could practically feel his breath at my heels, but I didn’t look back to see. When I reached the end, I threw myself through the hole in the hedge. I stumbled into the backyard, past the broken barbecue and rusted lawn chair, leaped up on the back porch, and grabbed the doorknob. It was locked.

  “Bev!” I shouted, pounding. “Bev! Moose! Bev!”

  I turned and pressed my back against the door. The dog was there, panting like crazy, just a few yards away from me. I held up my bucket.

  He bent low and growled.

  “Bev!” I shouted, kicking at the door. “I’m locked out! Help!”

  The dog inched closer, growling still. I threw my bucket, straight at his head, and then turned back to the door. Behind me I heard the clang of the bucket, and then a whimper. Before I could look the door flung opened and Bev stood, spatula in hand. “What the—”

  I pushed her back inside yelling, “Dog! Close the door! Dog! Dog!”

  “What?”

  I slammed the door. “There was a dog—” I panted. “A dog—”

  Bev took me by the elbow to the middle of the garage, grabbed a white plastic bucket and turned it over. “You sit here,” she said. “I’ll call Moose.”

  I sat on the bucket and tried to breathe. I heard her in the office, making the call. Then I heard her open the back door and say soft words to the dog. My teeth were on the verge of chattering, which didn’t make any sense with all the heat. I wondered about the dog. Had I killed it with the bucket?

  When Moose finally drove up, his face was all business. Bev met him in the driveway and I heard her say, “I’m pretty sure it’s his.” They both glanced at me.

  I’d finally caught my breath but hadn’t managed to stop the shakes. Moose opened the back door and said some soft words like, “Hey, buddy. Hey, boy.” And then the dog came wagging inside, playful and panting.

  “Oh,” I said. “I thought he was vicious.” But I still couldn’t stop the shakes. In fact, they’d turned into something else—something like shivering. Along with feeling stupid, I’d wasted good work time. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I have two big buckets full of berries still in the field. I’ll go get them.”

  But Bev gave me a look that told me to stay right where I was. “I’ll get you something to drink, hon. I have
to make a phone call about that dog. Don’t worry. He’s not going to hurt you.”

  While Bev made the phone call, Moose rubbed the dog’s back. The dog rolled over and stuck his feet in the air, begging Moose to scratch his belly. I noticed his nose was bleeding. “I think I hurt him,” I said. “I threw a bucket. I thought he was going to bite me.”

  “It’s just his nose,” Moose said. “A tiny cut.”

  Bev came back to the sorting shed and stood with her hands on her hips until Moose looked up. She nodded her head. “He got loose about an hour ago. They don’t know how. But he’s coming to fetch him.”

  Moose nodded slowly. “I think I’ll clear out of here until—”

  “No you don’t, Moose. You stay here and at least face him. At least that.”

  Moose said, “I’ve got work to do.”

  “Just stay.” She turned to me. “Do you want a soda, hon?”

  I shook my head. “Maybe just some water.”

  “Okay.” But she didn’t move.

  I’m not sure how long we sat there like that, Moose saying, “I have to get back to work!” and Bev saying, “Stay and face him.” Then all at once the puppy gave a happy yelp, scrambled to his feet, and bounded past me. He ran straight through the open garage doors and across the gravel drive. And that’s when I heard the voice.

  If I hadn’t been looking at him right in front of me, I would have sworn the voice belonged to Moose.

  When the voice said, “How’d you get loose, anyway?” I knew who it was. I knew exactly who was walking up the gravel drive behind me. All I could think was, this is it. Here it comes. Here comes the blood feud.

  CHAPTER 36

  “YOUR DOG WAS ON MY PROPERTY.” MOOSE’S VOICE WAS dull and flat and so opposite a blood feud voice that I nearly fell off the bucket.

  “Well, you know animals,” said the other voice. “They don’t understand property lines. A hedge is just a hedge to a dog.”

  I swiveled around so I could look at that face, and gasped out loud when I saw it. The man with Moose’s voice—Lyle!—was crouched down and examining his dog, so I couldn’t see exactly what kind of size he was. But it was his face I couldn’t stop staring at. It was Moose’s face, only through one of those mirrors at the carnival, the kind that changes just a couple of things so you see a slightly warped version of yourself.