Moonpie and Ivy

by Barbara O'Connor

  “Oh,” he said, wiggling his toes on the wet moss. “I thought you did it so nobody would like you.”

  Pearl stared at Moon. What was he talking about?

  “You’re crazy, then,” she said. “I don’t have to do nothing to make people not like me. All I got to do is breathe.”

  Moon tossed a stick into the creek. “Then maybe you should try doing something to make people like you,” he said.

  Then he stood up, wiped mud off the seat of his shorts, and left.

  When Pearl gave Ivy the soggy pillowcase and said, “We found every one of ’em,” Ivy hugged her. A long, quiet, hair-stroking hug. Pearl closed her eyes and breathed in Ivy’s smell. Talcum powder and cinnamon.

  “Now,” Ivy said. “Why don’t I get myself in to the diner so we can catch a movie later. How would that be?”

  “That’d be good,” Pearl said.

  “John Dee’s taking Moon into town to get some paperwork filled out with that social worker. I expect they’ll be home by dinnertime.”

  “Okay.”

  Ivy took her apron off and reached for her purse. “Would you put those back out there in the shed?” she said, nodding toward the silver dollars on the kitchen counter.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ivy smiled, then turned and headed toward the front door.

  “Ivy,” Pearl called.

  Ivy stopped and turned around, holding the screen door open. Pearl struggled to keep from looking down at the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “About the silver dollars, I mean.”

  Ivy flapped her hand at Pearl. “Aw, now,” she said. “See you tonight.”

  “Ivy,” Pearl called from the porch just as Ivy reached the car.

  Ivy turned and waited.

  “If you wanted somebody to like you,” Pearl said, “what would you do?”

  “Well, I reckon I’d just be myself.”

  “But what if you already tried that and it didn’t work?”

  Ivy opened the car door and climbed inside. “You sure ask some hard questions, my little Pearl.” She shut the door and rolled down the window. “I’m flattered you think I’m that smart, but the truth of the matter is I got no answers for them hard questions.”

  Pearl watched Ivy’s car disappear down the gravel road. The rain had stopped but the sky was still gray and gloomy.

  Pearl went back to her bedroom and took the shoebox off the closet shelf. She took out the ballet shoe necklace and went across the hall to Ivy’s room. She opened Ivy’s jewelry box and watched the little ballerina twirl around. Then she dropped the necklace inside and closed the lid. When she looked up, she saw herself in the mirror over the dresser and was surprised to see how much she looked like Ruby. Same thin lips. Same frowning gray eyes.

  She went back to her room and sat on the bed, looking down at the yellow-bird music box nestled among the postcards in the shoebox. She lifted the bird out and wound it up. Then she held it up in the palm of her hand, watching the bird turn around and around on its nest of flowers. She pretended she was little Ruby, holding that very same bird, listening to that very same tune. “When I grow up, little bird,” she said, “I’m going to have me a girl named Pearl and I’m going to think she’s a gem of the world and she ain’t never going to be invisible and I ain’t never going to leave her no matter what.”

  Then Pearl tucked the music box under her T-shirt and left the house. She hurried up the hill to Moon’s house. Skeeter wagged his tail when he saw her coming.

  “Hey, there, Skeeter boy,” she said, giving the old dog a pat on the head.

  She went inside. The house was dark and damp and smelled like mildew. Pearl quickly placed the bird on the shelf over the bed, left the house, patted Skeeter one more time, then ran down the hill toward Ivy’s.

  That night, Pearl studied a postcard. Whitewater Falls. She remembered being there with Ruby one time. They had sat in the car and read the sign that told how the top of the waterfall was in North Carolina and the bottom was in South Carolina. They had eaten lunch on the curb, listening to the roar of the water behind them. Pearl still remembered how the bees had swarmed around her jelly sandwich. How she had sung “Jesus Loves Me” about a hundred times while Ruby drank vodka and orange juice from a soda bottle. Then Ruby had slept in the backseat of the car until long after dark and Pearl had locked the car doors so bears wouldn’t eat them.

  Pearl turned the postcard over and wrote:

  Dear Mama,

  When you put that yellow bird

  music box back after you stole it,

  did people start liking you? I hope

  the answer is yes, because I don’t

  know what else to do.

  Love,

  Pearl

  19

  “I wonder if four dozen is enough,” Ivy said, scooping the last of the hermit cookies onto a plate to cool.

  Pearl had no idea if four dozen was enough, but she tried to look like she was seriously considering the question.

  “Let’s see,” Ivy said, narrowing her eyes and looking up at the ceiling. “I got about three dozen oatmeal cookies, and some of them lemon bars …”

  “And some of them cookies with the kisses in the middle,” Moonpie said.

  Ivy smiled and ruffled Moon’s hair. “And some of them cookies with the kisses in the middle. I reckon that oughtta do it. John Dee thinks I should make chili, but I think it’s too hot. What do y’all think?”

  “I never heard of having chili at a wedding,” Pearl said. “And what about a wedding cake? Ain’t you even going to have a wedding cake?”

  “Genevieve might make a sheet cake.”

  Pearl thought a sheet cake was a sorry excuse for a wedding cake, but she decided not to say it.

  “I know!” Ivy snapped her fingers. “Catfish! We could fry up some catfish and hush puppies.”

  “Yeah!” Moon said. “That’d be good.”

  Ivy untied her apron and draped it over the back of a chair.

  “It’s too dern hot in here,” she said. “Let’s go sit on the porch before the mosquitoes come out.”

  Pearl loved sitting on the porch this time of day—that slow, quiet time between daylight and dark. Ivy sat in an aluminum lawn chair. Pearl and Moon sat on the steps. A faint ripple of a breeze drifted over them. Ivy waved a paper fan in front of her face.

  When Pearl heard the crunch of the gravel on the road, she leaned forward and looked. Way off down the road, a car bounced along toward them. Too fast. Dust and gravel flying. The car squeaked and groaned with every bounce.

  All three of them watched. Pearl and Moonpie and Ivy. Craning their necks and squinting their eyes trying to see better. The car squeaked and bounced its way closer.

  And then Pearl’s stomach dropped clear down to her feet and her eyes burned and her hands gripped her knees and her thoughts raced around like a bee in a mason jar.

  Ivy stood up, letting her fan fall to the floor. She watched the car. Moonpie watched the car. Pearl watched the car.

  Chickens squawked and disappeared around the side of the house as the car stopped abruptly in the driveway with one final crunch of gravel.

  The car door opened with a squeak and Ruby jumped out with her arms spread wide and called, “Where’s my Pearlie May?”

  Nobody moved. Pearl could hear Ivy breathing behind her.

  Ruby put her hands on her hips. Her hair was redder, longer, curlier than Pearl remembered. She wore a short denim skirt. Her freckled legs looked skinnier. She was barefoot. Pearl looked down at Ruby’s toenails. Cranberry red. Ruby’s favorite color from her nail polish collection.

  “Well?” Ruby said, coming toward them.

  “Hey, Ruby,” Ivy said.

  Ruby’s lips were smiling but her eyes weren’t. She held her palms up and lifted her shoulders. “Well?” she said again.

  Still nobody moved. Pearl closed her eyes. She wondered if Ruby would still be there when she opened them. She opened them. Ruby was
still there.

  “Okay, Pearlie May,” she said. “Listen to this. Remember how you used to have that puzzle that was a map of the United States and how you used to take it apart and put it together and take it apart and put it together till you liked to run me wild? And then one time there was a piece missing? Remember that?”

  Pearl nodded. Ivy cleared her throat and said, “Ruby …”

  “Well,” Ruby went on, “you remember how you carried on about that piece?” She chuckled. “Lord, I thought you were gonna tear that house apart looking for that dern little ole puzzle piece. Remember?”

  Pearl nodded again.

  Ruby moved closer to Pearl. Shalimar. Pearl’s throat felt dry and tight, like she couldn’t swallow.

  “Do you remember what state that was?” Ruby said, cocking her head at Pearl.

  “Arizona,” Pearl said.

  “Yes!” Ruby squealed, clapping her hands together. “That’s where we’re going. Arizona!” She waited, but Pearl just stared down at those cranberry red toenails. Ruby’s mouth twitched slightly. “Phoenix, Arizona,” she said. “How about that?”

  Ruby’s mouth twitched again when nobody said anything. “Oh, wait,” she said, holding up a finger. “Guess what else?” She ran to the car and came back with a Wal-Mart bag. She reached in and took out a portable CD player. “Just like I promised,” she said.

  Just like she promised? Pearl looked Ruby square in the face for the first time since the bouncing, squeaking car had stopped in the driveway and Ruby had jumped out.

  “What?” Ruby said, her mouth set in that hard smile, her eyes darting from Ivy to Pearl. Then her smile disappeared and she went back to the car and yanked a pack of cigarettes off the dashboard. She pushed past all three of them and went in the house. The screen door slammed and Pearl jumped and her heart squeezed up tight in her chest.

  Pearl sat motionless, staring straight ahead but not seeing anything. She felt Ivy’s hand on the top of her head. Heard Ivy go into the house. Moonpie stirred beside her, but didn’t get up.

  Angry voices came from inside the house. Ruby’s, then Ivy’s, then Ruby’s. Pearl had that confusing feeling again. That feeling of wanting something and not wanting something at the same time. She wanted to know what those angry voices were saying. But at the same time, she didn’t. Still, she couldn’t stop some of the angry words from floating out the screen door and hovering around her. She couldn’t seem to fit the words together. They were just words. Child. Crazy. Daughter. Pearl. Mother. And then one great big, loud, “Mind your own damn business.”

  “Let’s go up and see Skeeter,” Pearl said.

  It was dark by the time Pearl and Moon got back to Ivy’s. As they crossed the backyard, Pearl could see Ruby in the glow of the porch light. She was sitting on the back steps smoking. When she saw Pearl, she stood up and said, “Pack your things. We’re leaving.”

  So she did. Stuffed her T-shirts and shorts and underwear and pajamas into her ratty old duffel bag. Fished her dirty socks and sneakers from under the bed. Grabbed her toothbrush from beside the bathroom sink. Then she stood on tiptoe and reached for her shoebox on the closet shelf. She searched through the postcards until she found the right one. Georgia peaches.

  She turned it over and wrote:

  Dear Ivy,

  Thank you.

  Love,

  Pearl

  She propped the postcard up on her pillow, turned out the light, and left the room.

  The icy silence in the house felt stifling. Like it was sucking the air out. Pearl carried her duffel bag and shoebox outside. Ruby waited by the car. Moonpie and Ivy stood on the porch.

  Pearl looked at Ivy. “It was nice meeting you,” she said in a tiny little voice that didn’t sound like hers.

  Ivy grabbed Pearl’s shoulders and pulled her close. She pressed Pearl’s cheek against her chest. Then she kissed the top of Pearl’s head. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Pearl and Moon waited on the porch. Moths circled the dusty bulb overhead. Ruby got in the car and slammed the door shut. She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out the open window.

  Ivy came back out on the porch and handed Pearl a brown envelope.

  “You take care, sweetheart, okay?” she said.

  Pearl hung her head and said, “Okay.” She stopped to put the envelope in her shoebox, then gathered her things and went out to the car. Moonpie and Ivy followed her.

  The car door squeaked when Pearl opened it. She climbed in and shut the door behind her. She rolled down the window and looked up at Moonpie and Ivy. Ivy kept dabbing at her eyes. Moonpie shuffled his feet around in the dirt.

  Ruby started the car with a roar and jerked the gearshift into reverse. The tires spun briefly in the gravel before the car lunged backward out of the driveway. Moon ran to the road and called out, “I like you, Pearl.”

  Pearl turned and looked out the rear window as the car headed up the road away from Ivy’s. Moonpie and Ivy stood in the road with their arms around each other. They grew smaller and smaller in the red glow of the taillights—and then they disappeared.

  Pearl turned back around and looked out the window at the darkness. Ruby was jabbering on about Arizona and cowboys and Mexican food, but Pearl let her thoughts push Ruby’s words away. She thought about Moonpie and Ivy and how they fit together so natural. She thought about how her whole life had been a big jumble of mixed-up craziness. And then she’d had this one little taste of the normal side of life, of people treating each other good and being deserving of love, and she hadn’t belonged. Had felt wrong and out of place. A fish out of water, flopping around trying to be normal, too. She knew she hadn’t been very good at normal living, but she thought maybe she could get the hang of it if she had another chance.

  When they left the bumpy gravel road and turned onto the main highway, Pearl remembered the brown envelope. She took it out of the shoebox and looked inside. Sunflower seeds. And nestled down among the seeds was the ballet shoe necklace and a folded scrap of paper. Pearl lifted the necklace out and put it over her head. She dropped the little ballet shoes down inside her shirt and pressed her hand against them.

  Then she took a sunflower seed from the envelope and put it in her mouth. She bit into it, tasting the gritty earthiness of it. She chewed and chewed and then she swallowed, because that’s where she needed to find hope. Inside herself.

  She opened the scrap of paper and squinted at it in the glow of the dashboard lights. “Ivy Patterson” was scrawled in big, hurried letters. Underneath, circled in red, was a phone number. Pearl closed her eyes and said the numbers in her head again and again and again.

  She put the envelope back in the shoebox. Ruby droned on and on.

  “Wait till you see …

  “You’re gonna love …

  “I was thinking we could …”

  But Pearl wasn’t listening. She hugged the shoebox, thinking maybe she could already feel that hope starting to grow inside her. Then she whispered Ivy’s phone number over and over while she stared out at the dark road ahead.

  ALSO BY BARBARA O’CONNOR

  Beethoven in Paradise

  Me and Rupert Goody

  Copyright © 2001 by Barbara O’Connor

  All rights reserved

  Designed by Judy Lanfredi

  eISBN 9781466813021

  First eBook Edition : February 2012

  First edition, 2001

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  O’Connor, Barbara.

  Moonpie and Ivy / Barbara O’Connor.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Twelve-year-old Pearl feels hurt, confused, and unwanted when her wild, irresponsible mother leaves her with Aunt Ivy in a little country house in Georgia and then disappears.

  ISBN 0-374-35059-0

  [1. Mothers and daughters—Fiction. 2. Country life—Georgia—Fiction. 3. Georgia—Fiction. 4. Aunts-Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.0217 Mo 2001 />
  [Fic]—dc21

  00-27709