How to Disappear Completely

by Ali Standish

  “What’s her real name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where does she live?”

  I shake my head.

  “Did your gram know her?”

  “She must have,” I say. Well enough for the Apple Lady to write that Gram was her “best friend” in her inscription. Except that I remember this one time Gram and I had passed her picking blackberries on our way to the Spinney. She’d looked up only for a second before turning back to the bramble. I could hear the tinny sound of music coming from her headphones.

  “Why doesn’t she ever talk to anyone?” I had asked Gram.

  “Some people just keep themselves to themselves,” was all she’d said. “And we have to respect that.”

  I had asked Gram a question about the Apple Lady. So why didn’t Gram tell me that she knew her? That they had apparently once been best friends?

  Because she was hiding something, says a voice in my head.

  I suddenly remember the look Gram used to get sometimes when she was telling me her fairy tales. Like she was somewhere far away from me. Someplace I wasn’t allowed to see.

  And I remember the day she told us that she had breast cancer, and explained that she’d known for a while but didn’t want to tell anyone until she knew she was dying.

  I always thought that Gram was my best friend in the world. But suddenly she feels like an illusion. Like a character from one of her own stories made of ink and paper instead of flesh and blood.

  “That’s not a lot to go on,” Fina says, tapping her mouth. “It feels like instead of solving a mystery, we’ve just opened a whole new one.”

  A little trickle of cold air floats in from a gap between the window and the sill. I pull the covers up over my shoulders.

  Fina’s right. I want to know what Gram was hiding and why. And fortunately, I think I know where we can get some answers.

  A few minutes later, we’re all bundled up in our scarves and gloves. We’re just about to walk out the door when I hear Lily’s voice.

  “Where are you guys headed?”

  I turn around to see her curled up on the couch, her laptop, a mug of tea, and a bunch of papers spread over her lap.

  “Um,” I say, “out?”

  “Emma’s giving me a tour of the village,” Fina says.

  Lily smiles. “That’s cool. Have fun.”

  “Thanks?” I say, although it comes out as a question. I think this is the most Lily has said to me since my makeup tutorial. Since when does she care where I go on Saturday mornings? Or whether I have fun?

  “So where are we going?” Fina asks as soon as we get outside.

  “To find someone,” I reply.

  We walk by Ruth’s house first, but she’s not in her yard today, so we start in the other direction, heading for Gloria’s place. Halfway there, we hit the jackpot.

  Ruth and Gloria are outside the village hall. Old Joe is leaning against his tractor, which he’s pulled over to the side of the road so he can watch Gloria teetering on a ladder, strands of Christmas lights in her hands.

  “Tighter, Gloria, tighter!” Ruth demands, banging her cane.

  “Did I ask for your help?” Gloria snaps.

  “Hi, Ruth,” I call. “Hi, Gloria. Hi, Joe.”

  Three heads turn to see who’s calling them, and they all lift their hands to wave.

  “This is Fina,” I say, pausing as we reach the lawn of the village hall. “This is Gloria and Ruth and Ol— I mean, Joe.”

  Fina waves at them. “Here, let me help,” she says, striding over to the ladder and holding it steady. I follow her, take the knotted pile of lights on the ground, and start untangling them.

  I can feel Old Joe studying my face as I walk by. I haven’t been out in the village much since I stopped wearing makeup, so I’m sure he’s wondering about my patches. He doesn’t say anything, though. Good. We have more important things to talk about.

  “Well, thank you, dears,” Gloria says. “Now that is what I call helpful. You know, I’ve used these same lights for fifty-two years.”

  “Isn’t it a little early for Christmas lights?” Fina asks.

  “Certainly not,” Gloria replies. “Thanksgiving is right around the corner, and people expect these lights to be lit as soon as they’re done with their turkeys. They come from miles around to see them.”

  It’s one of Lanternwood’s traditions. Every year, once we’re done with Gram’s apple pie, we come and see the lighting ceremony. Every year, someone from the village gets chosen to plug in the lights on the village hall, and then, one by one, everyone else in the village switches their Christmas lights on. There are always a couple of Hanukkah houses, too, all done up with blue and white.

  “Aren’t they beautiful, Emma?” Gram had whispered last year, putting her arm around me and tilting her head against mine. “This is why I love this time of year. It’s when the world finds out how resilient it is. It may be dark and cold, but we band together and we hang lights and sing songs. And before you know it, spring is right around the corner!”

  Her breath hung in the air like an echo.

  I didn’t know yet that she was sick. That it was our last Thanksgiving together.

  “Some things just don’t change,” Ruth is saying now, tipping forward to make sure we turn our attention to her. “But most everything does. You girls will learn that soon enough. Oh, your bones are fine now, sure. But one day they’ll get to aching like mine, and then you’ll think of old Ruth and say, ‘She knew what she was talking about’!”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Gloria says with a sigh. “So nice of you girls to come and help us.”

  “Just out for a walk on this fine fall morning?” Old Joe asks.

  “Actually, no,” I say. “I was wondering if you could tell us something.”

  “Any old thing?” Old Joe asks. “Because I’ve got a nugget or two of wisdom still rattling around in this old clunker.” He taps the side of his head, and Gloria clucks her teeth.

  “Maybe another time,” I say, shooting him a smile. “I wanted to know about somebody who lives in the village. Or at least, I see her here sometimes. But I don’t know her name or anything about her.”

  “Well, go on, then.”

  “I’ve always called her the Apple Lady,” I say. “Because I’ve only ever seen her out in the mornings picking fruit.”

  Old Joe nods. “Ah. You mean Madeline. Madeline Mitchell.”

  “Madeline Mitchell,” I repeat. At last, my pen pal has a name. One I’ve never heard before.

  “She’s an odd one, and there’s no denying it,” says Ruth.

  “Been in this village as long as any of us,” Old Joe adds, adjusting his cap.

  “So, she lives in Lanternwood?” Fina asks.

  “Well, technically she lives just outside it,” Old Joe replies. “She lives in the house on Briar Hollow Lane. The only house on Briar Hollow Lane, all the way down at the end.”

  I squint up at him, shading my eyes from the sun. “Briar Hollow Lane? I thought there was nothing down there but a water treatment shed. That’s what Gram told me.”

  I look from Old Joe to Gloria in time to see a little frown cross over her face. Another lie, then.

  “Well, it was a white lie,” Old Joe says, as if reading my thoughts. “Kids can be cruel to folks like Madeline. Not you, of course. But maybe you tell someone, and they tell someone, and the next thing you know, kids are daring each other to ring her bell in the middle of the night.”

  “But did Gram know her?” I ask.

  Old Joe nods. “Sure. They were friends a long way back. I think Madeline used to visit your gram when she was still ill.”

  Gloria sucks in a sharp breath. Ruth looks suddenly interested. I feel my forehead wrinkle. “You mean when she had cancer?”

  Old Joe shakes his head, slow as a cornstalk swaying in the breeze. “Naw, I mean when she was a child.”

  “Now, Joe,” Gloria chides, her voice sharp. “I’m sure Emm
a’s not interested in ancient—”

  “What do you mean?” I interrupt.

  Nobody says anything for a minute. They don’t move, either. They just stand there, frozen, like three very wrinkly statues.

  Then Old Joe’s jaw starts to work side to side. “Well, now,” he says sheepishly, “I’m not really the person to be asking about that kind of thing. In fact, I’d, uh, better be getting back to the fields. You tell your folks I say hello. Nice to meet you, Fina.”

  He tips his hat at her, climbs up into his tractor, and rattles off.

  Gloria looks furious. Ruth wears an amused smile. I have never been more confused in my life.

  “What was he talking about?” I ask. “Gram never told me anything about being sick.”

  “Emma, some things are between family to discuss,” Gloria says, turning back to her lights.

  “Aw, psh,” Ruth says, waving her free hand. “Don’t you think that can of worms is open now, Gloria? Yes, your gram was a sickly child, Emma.”

  “Joe, that old busybody,” Gloria grumbles. “Always had a mouth the size of Texas.”

  “But sick with what?” I ask, ignoring her.

  Ruth and Gloria exchange a look. “Now, that we can’t tell you and not because we don’t want to,” Gloria says. “One spring, she just stopped coming to school as much, and in the fall, she didn’t come back. We were told she was too sick to do much besides stay in Morning Glory Cottage.”

  “They took her to the beach for the sea air, sometimes,” Ruth corrects her.

  “It was the mountains for the mountain air,” Gloria argues.

  “There were all sorts of rumors flying,” Ruth says, tapping her cane against the sidewalk. “Polio. Tuberculosis. A schoolteacher died from meningitis that year, remember, Gloria? She was so young. Pretty thing, too.”

  “Isabella Fortune,” I say, thinking of the stone in the graveyard. “Gram told me about her.”

  Gloria nods. “Poor woman. Anyway, I’m not sure anyone outside the family really knew what was wrong with your gram,” says Gloria.

  “How long did she stay in the house?” I ask.

  “A long time,” Gloria says.

  “A year,” Ruth adds, “or two.”

  “Two years?” I ask, my mouth dropping open.

  My head is buzzing, and my heart is beating fast, for some reason.

  “Oh, they came to church service most weeks,” Gloria is saying. “’Course, her daddy was the mayor back then and thinking about running for governor, so it would have looked bad not to have the whole family there. But they came in late and left before it was over, as I remember. She was too fragile to be caught in a crowd. I visited her once or twice, but it was a bit—well—frightening. Your great-grandmother kept her room so dark. The light gave your gram headaches.”

  “Then one day, she was back,” Ruth barks, snapping her fingers for dramatic effect. “Still a sickly thing to look at, but recovered, apparently.”

  “And you didn’t ask her what was wrong?” Fina asks.

  “It was a different time,” Gloria replies. “In those days, illnesses weren’t talked about in the open. They were whispered about behind closed doors. Anyway, it was obvious your gram wanted to put it behind her. It was the kind thing to do not to ask imprudent questions. We were all just thankful she was back again.”

  My hands tremble a little as I untangle the ancient lights from one another. At the same time that I’m hurt that Gram kept all this from me, I feel a deep pain in my heart for her. What could keep a child that sick? Was it cancer? Could you get cancer as a child and then again when you were old?

  “But what about Madeline?” I ask. “Joe said she visited Gram. Maybe she knows more.”

  Gloria gives her narrow shoulders a brittle shrug. “Maybe. All I know is your gram and Madeline were thick as thieves after your gram came back to school.”

  “But they grew apart in the end,” Ruth adds.

  “What happened?” Fina asks. “Did they have a fight or something?”

  “Nothing as dramatic as that,” Gloria said. “But as Ruth says, Madeline has some strange ways about her. From the time she was a child, she was timid as a church mouse.”

  “Afraid of the world,” Ruth croaks, before coughing loudly into her mittened hand.

  “Your gram was timid, too, when she first recovered,” Gloria says. “But she had a love for, well, just about everything. The river. The meadows. People, most of all. She had a gift with people. But Madeline, she wasn’t like that.”

  “She was afraid of people more than anything,” says Ruth.

  “I suppose nowadays, she’d have been diagnosed with something,” Gloria says, shaking her head. “Sent to a doctor, gone to therapy. Perhaps she could have been helped. But in those days— Well, after school, we saw her less and less until she just sort of—”

  “Disappeared,” Ruth finishes.

  The word sends a chill through me. I think of how I ended the last chapter of the story, with Ivy lying alone in the snow, waiting to disappear.

  Is that what happened to Madeline?

  And if I didn’t have Fina, could I have ended up the same way?

  Then I realize: Madeline did have a Fina. Gram.

  But if they were really such good friends, how could Gram have let Madeline fade away? Why hadn’t she fought for Madeline like Fina fought for me?

  I feel like my grip on Gram is slipping away faster than ever.

  “Now, my old bones need a break,” says Gloria, clutching the small of her back. “I have a pot of tea in the hall. Would you like to come in?”

  “No,” I reply. “We have to get going. But you guys have been really helpful. Thanks a lot.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Fina says.

  “Emma, dear?” Ruth says before we can turn away. She juts her wobbly chin forward and squints at me. “What’s all that white stuff on your face?”

  I hesitate a moment, glancing at Fina. “Skin,” I say. “It’s just my skin.”

  37

  If I had my way, we would run to Briar Hollow Lane right now to pound on Madeline’s door. But when we get back to Morning Glory Cottage, Ms. Ramirez’s car is already parked outside.

  She’s inside having coffee with Mom, who, embarrassingly, is in her Pilates clothes for her class later today. Except Ms. Ramirez doesn’t seem to notice how embarrassing she is. She’s laughing at something Mom said. Like they’re friends or something.

  I’m just about to ask if Fina can stay longer—another night, even—when Ms. Ramirez drains her cup and stands to go.

  “We’re volunteering with some of my students to help clean up the highway adopted by the college,” she says. She checks the time on her cell phone. “And we are officially late.”

  “I’ll go get my stuff,” Fina says.

  Once we’re upstairs, she grabs my hand. “Don’t go see Madeline without me, okay?”

  I hesitate.

  “Seriously, Emma,” Fina says. “I know she’s your pen pal or whatever, but it sounds like she’s kind of strange. You shouldn’t go by yourself.”

  “And also, you’re curious to meet her.”

  Fina grins. “And I’m dying to meet her. I’ll tell my mom we have to work on a project after school next week. We’ll go then, okay?”

  “Fine,” I grumble. “But if you weren’t my best friend . . .”

  “Oh, but I am, Emma,” Fina says, grin widening. “Oh, but I am.”

  After Fina leaves, I find Dad in the backyard trying to get the lawn mower to start.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say, sitting down on a mossy bench between two rosebushes.

  “Hey, Butterfly,” he says, looking up in surprise.

  “I was wondering, do you know much about Gram’s childhood?”

  He wipes his hands together and tilts his head in thought. “Not much, actually. Obviously she grew up here. But she didn’t like to talk about growing up a lot, I think because she had a tough relationship with her parents—your
great-grandparents.”

  “Tough like how?” I ask.

  He rubs a hand over his stubbly jaw. “I’m not sure. I just always got the sense they didn’t get along. They died when I was little, but I think they were very stern people. Not a barrel of laughs like your mom and me.” He winks, and I roll my eyes. “Anyway, I guess her father had to have been a serious person, to be the mayor and all. He even tried to run for governor at one point. I think he might have been more interested in being a good politician than a good father, actually.”

  “Do you know if Gram was ever sick as a child?” I study my own father’s face closely for any sign that he might be hiding something. But he just thinks for another moment, then sits down beside me on the bench and shakes his head.

  “Not that I know of. Are you wondering about her cancer? Because I don’t think anyone could have seen that coming. That’s just the way life is sometimes, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say. At least, I’m learning.

  He sighs and pulls me closer so he can kiss me on the head. “This happens when people die,” he says. “You start thinking of all this stuff you wish you had asked them. You kick yourself for not taking the time to do it when you had the chance.”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way. Would Gram have told me the truth if only I had asked?

  “There’s so much I didn’t know,” I say quietly.

  “You knew Gram’s heart, Emma,” Dad says.

  A few weeks ago, I would have agreed with him. But now I’m not so sure.

  After Mom leaves for Pilates, I decide to take Boomer for a long walk. I need some space to think about everything I heard today.

  Lily is still on the couch, which is weird, since she and Mom usually go to Pilates together.

  “Study break,” she says. “Want to join? I was thinking Mean Girls.”

  One of the only movies Mom, Lily, and I all like. Why is Lily being so nice to me this morning? I don’t get it, but that’s one mystery that’s just going to have to wait.

  “No thanks,” I say. “Boomer needs to go out.”

  She looks the slightest bit disappointed as we leave. I think back to what she said when she was doing my makeup, about it being hard to make friends at her new school. Is that why she’s suddenly being nice again? Is she so desperate for company that she wants to hang out with me?