Season of Salt and Honey

by Hannah Tunnicliffe

  “And the female had a long, curved beak,” Huia adds, curving her index finger.

  “Yup,” Jack says.

  “And the boy bird had a short, stumpy one,” she says with a degree of satisfaction.

  “Well, I dunno about stumpy.”

  “Not as interesting.”

  “Fair enough, bub, not as interesting,” Jack says. “Their feathers—well, the whole of them really—were very valuable. They were regarded as treasures. There’s a painting of one of my—our—ancestors wearing a cloak with a line like this”—he drags his finger across his chest—“of huia feathers. They’re really striking.”

  Huia stands as though she’s remembered something and wanders towards the hallway.

  “Sometimes she reminds me of my sister,” I say, thinking out loud.

  Jack tips his head. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Maybe it’s the hair. The dark curls.”

  But it’s more than that. It’s something to do with the way she dashes here and there, her thirst for life, to know more, to know everything. It makes me feel sad and strange. I’m reminded of Bella and me in the yard at our nonna’s house, before she passed away. Bella used to pet the rabbits while I, like Huia, gathered food from the garden.

  “We had fun today. Foraging. I haven’t done that before.”

  “Huia loves it. I blame Merriem.”

  “I used to help my nonna in the yard, and Papa too, a long time ago, but not gathering out of the forest like that.”

  “What did your nonna grow?”

  Green beans, Swiss chard, onions, garlic, cucumbers, peppers, eggplants, rapini, parsley, rosemary, oregano.

  “Everything?” I answer with a smile.

  Jack smiles back. “Sounds like my Nan. She had a veggie garden out the back of her place that fed all of us.”

  “You’ve got a big family?”

  “Yeah, you could say that. Where I’m from we all kind of . . . muck in.”

  I nod. “That’s what we do too.”

  “I never knew Nan to turn anyone away. If you were there, you got fed. She was never put out. She’d make it work, make it stretch. Even if there was only one bit of meat, she’d just add more veggies and more bread or eggs. I wish I’d learned more from her.”

  I know what Jack means. Everyone tells me that Mama was a good cook. I’ve learned some things from the aunties, but they make Sicilian food. Mama didn’t even speak the same Italian as the Caputos. Sicilians and Calabresi are known for having some tension between them, but Papa thought Mama exotic because she was from Calabria, despite the fact that Calabria is just across the water from Sicily, and the two of them actually, technically, were American.

  “My nonna used to keep rabbits,” I say.

  “In Seattle?”

  I laugh out loud at Jack’s surprised expression.

  “Yup. In her backyard, till it was time for them to be eaten. Then the older cousins and my uncles would prepare them.”

  “You and Bella helped with that too?”

  “Just me. I’d get Bella busy doing something else.”

  Jack smiles. “I’m the second youngest of my siblings. My sisters used to protect me like that too.”

  I shrug. “She was only little. Besides, she really loved those rabbits—she would have been upset.” No one charged me with protecting her; I just knew it was my job. Till she made it too hard. I change the subject. “So you’re from New Zealand?”

  Jack nods.

  “We left several years ago.”

  “What brought you here?”

  Jack laughs a little and drops his head, and I spot those silver hairs in his crown I’d noticed the first time I met him. The rest of his hair is as black as ink and shiny. I find myself touching my own hair, hoping I remembered to brush it.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “I won a green card. I dunno, it still seems kind of funny. I went to Hawaii for a paddling competition and heard how you could win a green card, and later, when I . . . needed a change, I put my name in the lottery.”

  Of course I’ve heard of the green card lottery. People asked us about it on family trips to Europe, even strangers, as though it couldn’t be real. People couldn’t believe a country like the United States had such an arbitrary system for granting citizenship. I thought it was wonderful. There were all the usual rigorous processes and then there was the lottery—a piece of good old-fashioned American spirit. Luck. Fate. Hope.

  “And you won,” I say.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s something.” The way it comes out makes it sound as though he somehow made it happen.

  “It sure is. Pure luck,” he reminds me. “I took it as a sign. I wouldn’t be here without it, wouldn’t be working for the Gardners and the others.”

  At the mention of the Gardners I feel my stomach form a fist. I take a breath. Jack looks like he wants to apologize but I glance down at the watch on my wrist, avoiding eye contact.

  “What brought you here, specifically, I mean? Washington State? The work, Chuckanut, Edison?” I ask, my voice a little softer.

  “Umm.” He glances out the glass sliding doors. The trees stand like unapologetic eavesdroppers, their branches furred with leaves and needles, tops leaning in a little. “I guess it was more a running away from than a running to.”

  That I understand.

  “I needed to be somewhere different, somewhere I could be a new person . . . you know? Without anyone calling me ‘Jacky boy’ and expecting the same shit from me. Sorry . . .” he adds, for swearing.

  “It’s okay.”

  “We didn’t have firm plans. I knew Rocky, Summer’s brother, from my paddling days. After I won the green card Rocky said he could get me some landscaping work, and I could bring Huia along to jobs. It was pretty reckless really. Especially with her being so young.” He glances at me as though to check my reaction. “But that was a while ago. We’re settled now.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “No, I know. I just wanted you to know . . . in case . . . Well, a lot of people don’t trust a father with a daughter. They think a girl should be with her mother. They think any child, boy or girl, should be with their mum. Some people think it’s weird, unnatural.”

  Jack’s brow is furrowed. I know what he means. People were always asking Bella and me, “Where’s your mom?” as though Papa was invisible. And they always said “mom” when they meant “parent”—get your mom to sign the camp forms, get your mom to write your name on it, get your mom to drop you off. I remember Papa taking me for dinner one night to celebrate my first full-time job, and the way the waitress looked at us, first at him, then me, then back to him. At the end, when Papa was paying the bill, she gave me a strange smile, a sympathetic look, as if she wanted to say, “You can do better than that old dude, honey.”

  “I don’t think it’s weird,” I say. “Papa raised us. He did a great job.”

  “Yes he did—do a great job. I want to make sure Huia has a good, stable life, just like your father did for you. I see how important that is. The beginning of her life wasn’t very stable.”

  He doesn’t explain any further, and I don’t ask about Huia’s mother. I’m not sure I can carry any more heartache. I prefer to think of Huia springing from the forest, like the sprite Merriem says she is; fresh and green as a shoot, barefoot and chattering to the birds in their own language.

  I take a bite of the bread. It tastes of banana and cinnamon and walnuts, and the toasting has given it a crust. The center is soft and warm and cakey.

  Huia returns to the living room with things to show me. A stamp from New Zealand peeled off a postcard from her grandmother, Jack’s mother. A book about foraging that she borrowed from the library, with big words she needs some help with. She sits next to me on the couch and we start to go through it. Characteristics, encounter, compound, distinguish, tenacious.

  Jack stands and brushes crumbs from his shirt before heading into the kitchen. I hear the gas
element clicking and igniting and then the sound of oil sizzling.

  Huia leans against me. We flick through the illustrations to find the plants we gathered and others we saw.

  The air smells like gently frying garlic and oil. It reminds me of home, and for a moment my breath catches in my throat. I have a vague and distant memory of Mama in the kitchen. She is out of sight but I can hear her singing and there’s that same smell—oil and garlic in a pan—the way all good meals start. The beginning smell.

  Huia begs my attention and we look back at the book. There are so many things we can’t collect yet, things that summer and fall will bring. Berries, for instance. And I recognize some plants I saw on the path to the ocean, before Bella arrived, but didn’t pay mind to. It strikes me that we only notice things when they’re suddenly of use to us.

  Huia finishes my slice of banana bread without asking, crumbs sticking to her pink lips. I have the urge to kiss the top of her head, her curls that smell like lemon-scented shampoo and fresh air, but don’t. I notice that it’s quite dark outside and wonder, idly, how I’ll find my way home, though darkness no longer scares me.

  Jack serves Huia a plate of fiddleheads and sausages, with a little puddle of tomato sauce on the side, then refills my cup with fresh tea. A phone rings in the hallway. He goes to answer it as Huia gobbles the fiddleheads and swings her legs and tells me how good they taste, talking with her mouth full.

  “Right. Uh-huh.” Jack glances back at me. I can hear the conversation from his side only. “Right. So . . . how many? . . . No, no, I think I can handle that, Bob.”

  I sit up straighter, consider standing.

  “No, I don’t think the Gardners need to . . .” He gives a forced laugh; his brow’s furrowed. “Ha! Yes, well, you know how . . . Yes, Bob, okay, I’ll be right there.”

  Jack hangs up the phone, and I stand. Huia looks between us and puts her fork down.

  “The cabin?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “Merda.”

  * * *

  Huia slides in between Jack and me in the front of the pickup truck. Jack’s spades and rakes and other tools rattle in the tray as we drive towards the cabin. When we arrive, we have to park quite far up the driveway because it’s crowded with other parked cars. A black one with large, shiny hubcaps, a rusted Toyota, and Bella’s buttercup-colored bomb—no surprises there. The music is loud, and there’s lots of laughter and someone whooping.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mumble to Jack, but he doesn’t hear me, striding on ahead of Huia and me.

  I see the cabin, a dark shape behind an orange bonfire with flames like fingers that wave at us. I take hold of Huia’s hand.

  “Stay close to Frankie,” Jack instructs her through the thumping of the music.

  I peer into the dim light for someone I recognize but see only strangers. Two guys in the Adirondack chairs, drinking from long silver cans and laughing with their mouths wide open. Others are perched on cars, and there’s a couple up against a tree, kissing as though their lives depend on it. I pull Huia closer to me. Jack’s standing in the doorway of the cabin.

  “Hey,” one of the guys in the Adirondack chairs says. I ignore him. “Hey,” he says again, “aren’t you a Caputo too?”

  Huia glances up at me, but I continue staring ahead. My chest tightens. Bella.

  “Yeah, yeah,” the guy says to his mate. “She’s a Caputo, man. Look at her, would you?” He sucks airs through his teeth.

  “You a friend of my sister’s?” I ask bluntly.

  “Who?”

  I scowl. “You know who.”

  The guy in the other chair pipes up. “I know you—Francesca, right? My brother went to school with you. Ballard.”

  “That’s great,” I murmur. “Come on, Huia.”

  “Hey . . . hey! Weren’t you with that guy, that hockey player? Yeah, Al or something?”

  I freeze. “Alex. Gardner. This is his family’s cabin,” I say, lifting my chin and wishing Jack would come out. I squint into the dark, looking for him, but the brightness of the fire makes the rest of the forest even darker. I’d even take seeing Bella at this point. At least it’d be someone familiar to be furious with. I will the guys in the Adirondack chairs to disappear in a cloud of smoke.

  “Oh, yeah, that guy. Shit. Didn’t he die?”

  Huia glances at me again, her eyes wide. My stomach tightens and my breath quickens.

  “Oh, yeah, that guy . . . I saw it in the paper,” the other one says.

  “Yeah, man, it was in the news. He was really young, right? Like, your age?”

  “Nah, more my brother’s age. But young, yeah.”

  “And this is his cabin? That’s spooky.”

  “Yeah, that’s spooky, man.”

  I notice now that one of the guys is holding a cigarette, except it doesn’t smell like a cigarette. I grip Huia’s hand and she nestles into me.

  “You’re trespassing.” My voice is taut.

  “Nah,” one of them says, passing the joint to his friend.

  “Yes, you are. This cabin belongs to the Gardners. You need to leave.”

  The guy with the joint sucks on it and considers me. “Don’t that mean it’s yours then?”

  “Yeah, don’t you get it now?” the other guy says.

  Jack reappears in the cabin doorway, but he’s facing inside. Huia looks at him, but doesn’t let go of my hand. It’s my right hand, the one with Alex’s big watch on it.

  “I don’t get anything,” I say through gritted teeth. “I get nothing.” I glare at them. “You have to go. The police are coming.”

  Both guys look at me, paying attention now.

  “Frankie?” A voice behind me.

  I turn to face Daniel; he’s shoving car keys into his pocket.

  “Daniel? What are you doing here?”

  Both guys stand. Daniel blinks at them, but they’re busy downing the last of their beer and extinguishing the joint, wrapping it in tinfoil.

  “I heard—” Daniel begins.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t here, I didn’t—”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Jack’s inside. This is Huia, his daughter.”

  Huia blinks at Daniel. He bends down to her level.

  “Hey, Huia. It’s a bit noisy, huh?”

  She nods, then presses her face against my side.

  Daniel shrugs and stands. “I’m not great with kids.”

  “No. It’s just . . . this . . .” I nod towards the bonfire and then the cabin, the source of the noise. “It’s frightening her.”

  “Yeah,” Daniel says, frowning. “Frankie, I’m sorry, but I had to—”

  Jack comes towards us. His face is grim. Bella follows him. My heart pounds, angrily, at the sight of her. I could burn holes in her with my glare.

  “Hi, Daniel,” she says calmly.

  “Hey, Bella. Are you okay?”

  I shake my head and interrupt. “ ‘Hi, Daniel’?! What the hell?”

  Bella stares at me. Huia surrenders her grip and moves to her father.

  “What is this?” I bellow.

  “I know,” she sighs, her voice measured. “It’s out of control.”

  “Out of control? It’s a mess! There’s a fire!” I point to the flames, rage clotting my throat.

  Jack tries to say something, but I ignore him. “You could have burned down the entire forest, and the cabin!” I yell.

  Bella blinks at me, her eyes round and glazed, silent.

  “And you . . . Are you stoned?” I hiss.

  She doesn’t answer, just continues to stare.

  “Um, excuse me, Jack?” Daniel steps towards Jack and the two of them, along with Huia, now next to her father’s leg, move away from us. I hear Jack apologizing to Daniel, and then Daniel apologizing back. The whole time Jack’s big hand is against the side of Huia’s head, to make sure she’s still with him and to protect her from the thumping music. The two guys in the chairs
have vanished, and I can’t see the kissing couple by the tree.

  Bella moves closer to me. “No, I’m not stoned,” she hisses, sounding incredulous.

  “Well, you look stoned,” I shout. “I told you to leave, but you didn’t. Instead you drugged me up on Valium! And now I come back to this!”

  “Frankie, stop. You don’t—”

  “No!”

  “This isn’t what you think. I didn’t—”

  “Frankie?” Daniel says, cutting across Bella.

  But I squeeze my eyes shut and wave my hand across my face. “No!”

  Behind my eyelids I see the dark, rectangular hole in the green earth. How did Alex fit in that hole? He was so much bigger than that.

  I jerk my attention back to the present. “Bella brings trouble wherever she goes. I’m sick of it!”

  “Frankie, no, it wasn’t Bella’s fault,” Daniel says.

  I glance at him. “Please don’t fall for it, Daniel. Any of it.”

  Daniel glances at Bella, who is staring, sadly, back. “Bella’s a hurricane,” I say spitefully. “She leaves a wake of mess behind her. Always. A dusty, shitty pile of . . . broken . . . mess.”

  Bella is biting her lip, and in the light that flickers from the bonfire I see her cheeks are wet.

  Jack steps forward. “Frankie, she’s your sister,” he says in a gentle voice.

  “She’s no sister!” I shout at her, my voice warped. Huia recoils, hides behind Jack. “She left! She just . . . ran away . . . because that’s what she does.”

  “That is not true,” Bella says firmly, though her lips are quivering.

  “You can’t say she’s not your sister, you can’t ever say that, Frankie,” Daniel pleads.

  “Can’t I?” The voice coming out of my throat doesn’t sound like my own.

  I’m vaguely aware of new lights coming and going in bright waves. The sound of car tires.

  “No, you can’t, it’s not fair!” Bella says. “You blame me for everything. You think you’re so perfect?”

  I shrug, like I don’t care what she has to say.

  “Yes, you do,” she says hotly. “You think you’re better than me—with your perfect apartment, your perfect life, everything in order. Always the ‘good one.’ ”