June shrugged and then nodded her chin toward the Emily Dickinson poster. “So, what do you think that means?”
Ivy turned and looked at the quote. She scrunched up her face as she read it again, not that she needed to. The words were printed on her brain like ink on paper.
“Um… maybe…” Ivy stumbled over her words. She didn’t want June to think she didn’t know, but now that she thought about it, she wasn’t exactly sure what the quote meant. There was just something about it that she liked.
“Yeah,” June said, like Ivy had said something profound. “What was her letter to the world? And why would the whole world write her a letter anyway?”
Ivy shrugged, but kept looking at the poster. She felt like she knew the answer, but it was hiding, like a secret she was afraid to tell.
June plopped back onto the floor and shined her phone’s light on the pile of books. “Want to join me? I’m reading some old favorites.”
“Sure, I guess.” Ivy sat down across from June. The carpet was so thin that Ivy could feel the cold from the concrete underneath. As June’s light swept across one of the titles—Harriet Honeywell and the Mermaids of Hurricane Cove—Ivy sucked in a breath.
“I love these books,” June said, picking up a thin paperback and opening to the first page. “Have you read them?”
Ivy swallowed. “Um. Yeah.”
“I know they’re for younger kids, but they make me so happy. I’ve read all four about a million times. I really love the drawings, you know? Harriet is so funny, but Greenleigh is my favorite.”
Ivy couldn’t help but smile at that. In the first book, when Harriet accidentally set sail in her uncle’s boat and mermaids came to help her get back to shore, it was Ivy’s idea to create Greenleigh. Greenleigh was a mermaid who became Harriet’s best friend for the rest of the series. Ivy even got to name her, and she’d helped Mom on every single Harriet book since.
But Mom hadn’t had time to talk about Harriet at all lately.
Ivy got up and limped toward the checkout counter, where she found a piece of plain white paper in the printer. Then she borrowed a nicely sharpened pencil from the blue mason jar on the librarian’s desk. She hobbled back to June, stretched out on her stomach, and started to draw.
Except for the low tick of the wall clock and June’s soft breathing, the room was quiet. Ivy didn’t need to look at the book as she drew. She knew this character by heart. She had created this character, in a way. It didn’t look exactly like her mom’s drawing, but it was close enough. Plus, Ivy liked that it wasn’t an exact copy, that it was hers. As she shaded in Greenleigh’s short hair, she realized the mermaid looked a little like June. After that, she erased the nose and turned it up a bit more, made the eyes a little rounder, the top lip a bit thinner. Soon, it was June. Or a mermaid version of June, anyway. But with her diamond-patterned mermaid tail, frayed tank top, and the little beaded seashell necklace around her neck, the drawing was also Greenleigh. It was a perfect blend.
When she was finished, Ivy handed the drawing to a wide-eyed June.
“Wow,” June breathed, holding the paper like it was made of the thinnest glass. “You’re really good.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not really good at anything.” June blinked at the drawing and ran her finger over Greenleigh-June’s pixie hair.
“Everyone’s good at something,” Ivy said.
“Not me. I never really—” June’s face sort of crumpled, but she smoothed it out really quickly. She shook her head. A smile landed on her face and stayed put. “Maybe you could teach me!”
“Teach you… what?” Ivy asked.
“How to draw, silly.” June waved the paper at Ivy. “You’re good enough.”
“Oh. Well. I don’t think… I mean, drawing is just something I do. I never learned.”
“I know I’ll never be as good as you, but I could learn some basics, right? Like, I can’t even draw a decent cat. Stick figures all the way for me.”
Ivy thought about how she first started drawing, how the shapes and shades sort of fell out of her. Still, her mom had taught her some techniques, and they helped. Ivy got better. Plus, a minute ago, June had looked so sad that she wasn’t good at anything, and now she looked so excited about drawing that Ivy couldn’t say no.
“I guess we could try it,” Ivy said.
June squealed and clapped, then smacked her hand over her mouth. She was so cute that Ivy couldn’t help but laugh.
“Oh, but instead of a cat, let’s do a whale!” June said.
“A whale?”
“A blue whale.”
“I don’t have any colored pencils.”
June laughed. “No, an actual blue whale, the largest mammal on the planet.” June grabbed her phone and tapped the screen a couple of times before holding it out to Ivy. There, a huge whale swam through deep blue water.
“Used to be,” June said, setting her phone back down, “scientists thought the aorta in their heart was big enough for a human to swim through. Now we know it’s not, and their whole heart is about the size of a golf cart. I still love the idea, though.”
“Love… what idea?”
Even in the dim light, June’s eyes sparkled. “That a heart could exist that’s big enough to fit a whole person inside. Isn’t that cool?”
A smile pulled at Ivy’s mouth. “You know a lot about whales.”
“Well, I’ve had a lot of time to think about them. And dolphins too. And photography and poetry and archeology and parallel dimensions and all sorts of stuff.”
Ivy blinked.
“Oh,” June said, pressing her hands to her face. “I made it awkward, didn’t I? I’m always doing that. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Ivy said. Suddenly she wanted to put June at ease. She wanted June to smile. “It’s not awkward, it’s… interesting.”
Then June did smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Now let’s draw a whale.”
“A blue whale.”
Ivy laughed. “The bluest of blue whales.”
After they got some more paper and borrowed another pencil, they stretched out on their stomachs, hip to hip, and June Somerset learned how to draw a blue whale.
CHAPTER TEN
Lost
Ivy and June whispered and giggled all the way back to the gym, papers crinkling between them.
“I’m going to name her Emily,” June said, beaming down at her freshly drawn blue whale.
“Why Emily?”
“For Emily Dickinson. Maybe this blue whale is my letter to the world.”
June grinned and Ivy laughed. She’d laughed more in the past hour than she had in weeks. Maybe months. They’d drawn for hours, and June was hilarious as she learned, pressing her tongue to her top lip in concentration and scrunching a hand into her hair when she got frustrated. Still, she smiled through the whole process, like drawing a simple whale was the best thing that ever happened to her. She wanted to learn how to draw people next, and Ivy agreed to teach her.
Now, as June practically glowed next to her, Ivy’s stomach fluttered with happiness. She tried to remember a time when she and Taryn had so much fun that it made her all giddy and trembly.
She couldn’t.
If she drew this feeling, it would be softly flowing waves the color of a delicate pink ballet slipper. In fact, that’s exactly what she planned to do—draw this feeling in her notebook, maybe a few sketches of June learning to draw. Ivy never thought she could do something that could make someone so happy.
They stepped inside the gym, where everyone was just starting to wake. The lights were still off, but the morning sun turned the room a pinkish gold. Ivy tried to breathe it in, like the color could untie the sudden knot in her throat. People were everywhere. Yawning, coughing, stretching. Most were folding up their blankets and tossing them into piles in the corners of the room, but some just lay awake on the floor or propped against the concrete walls, staring into space. Ivy could hear
Aaron crying.
Ivy would rather go back to the library and teach June how to draw another whale. Or maybe a dolphin this time.
“Uh-oh,” June said. She wasn’t looking at Ivy, so Ivy followed her gaze across the room to where June’s mother was glaring at her, hands on her hips.
“I’ve got to go,” June said. Before Ivy could even get out an “Okay, see you,” June jogged over and joined her mother, whose mouth immediately started moving. Ivy couldn’t hear her, but she could tell Dr. Somerset was mad. Her hands fluttered in the air as she talked before she rested them on June’s shoulders. June shoved them off, and her fingers balled into fists. She stalked away and smacked the back exit doors open. Sunlight poured into the room before swallowing June whole.
Ivy wanted to go after her and apologize for getting her into trouble, but Layla called her name and waved her over.
“We’re going to a hotel,” Layla said. Her sister looked so tiny in her clothes, an Auburn Tigers sweatshirt and too-big sweatpants from the donation pile. Ivy’s own secondhand clothes felt sticky from her being awake all night.
“What? Why?” Ivy asked.
“Where else are we going to go, Ivy? Move in with Grammy?”
“I thought we might go…” But Ivy had no idea where they might go, probably because she hadn’t thought about it at all. Her grandma lived in Florida, in one of those assisted-living places that always smelled like baked chicken. No way she wanted to go there, but she couldn’t go home either. She didn’t have a home. It was a gut punch every time she thought about it.
Layla handed her a cereal bar—blueberry, gross—and then started pulling on her boots. Ivy blinked at the blue-foiled wrapper.
“Did you sleep okay, Ivy?” her mother asked. She sat against the wall, working Evan’s arm through a onesie. Both boys were lying on a blanket in their diapers, but Ivy knew it was Evan because his head was totally bald. Aaron had a head full of Dad’s dark hair.
“Slept great,” Ivy said flatly. Her mother hadn’t even noticed Ivy wasn’t next to her all night.
“Did you find enough clothes to last you a while?” Layla asked as she finished lacing her boot.
“Not really. I just have whatever you brought me yesterday.”
Layla picked up Aaron and then laid him back down so he was facing her. She pulled a clean onesie from the diaper bag. “Do you want me to come with you to get more?” she asked. “I can help you find something cute.”
“I can find it myself.”
Layla sighed. “Maybe you should call Taryn. She and her mom just brought by a bunch of doughnuts for everyone, so she might not be home yet, but I’m sure someone has a phone you could use. Maybe Taryn can help you feel better.”
“Well, maybe you should call Gigi.”
Ivy would like to be able to say that Gigi’s name came out of her mouth because she was so used to Gigi being a part of their lives, but that would be a lie. She watched Layla, waiting to see how she would react.
But Layla didn’t say anything. She blinked at Ivy a few times before turning away, kissing Aaron on the cheek.
Ivy stomped off toward the donated-clothes pile, shame and anger and sadness a giant knot in her chest. She caught a glimpse of June, who had come back inside and was now collecting blankets in one pile and pillows in another.
Pillows.
Ivy went back to her family’s little campsite and looked around for her pillow, but there were only a couple of cereal bar wrappers and some bottles of water. All the blankets they used last night were gone.
“Where’s my pillow?” Ivy asked. She tried to keep the screech out of her voice, but she was pretty sure she failed.
Layla shook a raggedy teddy bear with a rattle in its stomach at Aaron and glanced up at her. “What pillow?”
“My pillow. The blue one. The only thing I brought out of the house.”
Layla looked around as Aaron grabbed a chunk of her hair. “Oh. They wanted the floor cleared for the blood drive. Maybe it got tossed into one of those piles over there.” She waved her free hand toward the back wall.
“You knew it was mine,” Ivy yelled. A few people passing by threw her a look, but she didn’t care. “Why didn’t you keep it?”
“I’m sorry, Ives, but I’ve got a little bit more on my mind than your baby pillow.”
“It’s not a baby pillow.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, but our entire house is gone.” Layla’s voice was annoyingly soft. She stood up and took a step closer, like she wanted to comfort Ivy. “We can get you another pillow.”
Ivy couldn’t listen to her anymore. She definitely couldn’t look at her because Ivy was pretty sure she was about to cry. She turned away and headed toward the nearest pile of blankets. They were folded neatly, and she tried to leave them like that, but her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t keep herself from tearing through the cotton and wool, praying for a flash of swirly blue.
Her hands scraped at the polished floor, no blue in sight, so she moved on to the next pile. Ivy tried taking some deep yoga breaths in through her nose and letting them out slowly through her mouth, like her mom had started doing when she was pregnant, but Ivy just sounded like a huffing rhino.
Nothing in this pile either. Ivy looked around the room for June, but she was gone and so was her mom. She saw a few other kids from her school, though. Drew Dunaway, one brown arm casted to the elbow, was taking a few sack lunches from a volunteer and slipping them into his backpack. Annie Demetrios, in a pair of bright orange sweatpants, was arguing with a woman Ivy assumed must be her mother because they looked so much alike. Annie looked tired. Everyone looked tired, but everyone was moving, going about their business, and Ivy couldn’t get a lock on anyone or anything, no blue pillow in sight. Some people were setting up tables and chairs. Nurses in blue scrubs unpacked a bunch of tiny plastic blood bags.
Ivy’s empty stomach lurched at the thought. She saw her dad come into the room carrying some clothes, and he looked so pale that Ivy’s stomach jumbled up even more. Dad saw her and waved her over. He didn’t smile. No one smiled. There was nothing to smile about.
It’s just a pillow, Ivy thought. But it wasn’t just a pillow. Her notebook was inside, and those were the only two things she had in the world. Couldn’t she just have those two things? Plus, what if someone found her notebook and saw all the things she drew—
Ivy shuddered. She wasn’t ready for anyone to see that notebook. She couldn’t trust her own sister, much less the rest of the town. She didn’t want to think about it. She just had to find her notebook, simple as that.
She kept trying to breathe deeply, but she was doing it too fast and started feeling dizzy. Right when she thought she needed to sit down, Ivy saw a nurse with bright red hair and a stack of pillows in her arms. And in between dingy white and stripes and polka dots, there was a peek of blue.
“Excuse me!” Ivy called, limping toward the nurse.
The woman turned quickly, and the top pillow tumbled to the floor. Ivy picked it up and tried to smile.
“I think you have my pillow,” Ivy said.
The woman tilted her head at Ivy. “These were donated by First Baptist.”
“No, I know. But that blue one right there”—Ivy tapped the edge of her pillow—“it’s mine. My sister accidentally put it in the pile.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, hon.” She set the stack on the floor and tugged Ivy’s pillow out. She handed it over and took the cream one Ivy was holding in exchange. Ivy squeezed her only possession tight and finally breathed a normal breath.
“Thank you,” Ivy said.
“No problem. Hang in there.” The woman bundled the pile in her arms again and walked off toward the other nurses.
Heading back toward her family, Ivy sneaked her hand into the pillowcase. She just wanted to feel the cool paper of her notebook.
Her fingers reached inside.
And kept reaching.
Her hand found a folded piece of paper, bu
t no notebook. Suddenly the pillow felt light as air. Too light.
Ivy swallowed a scream and opened the pillowcase wider, nearly sticking her whole head inside. But all she saw was that infuriating drawing of her family she had stuffed into her pillowcase last night before the tornado hit.
Her notebook wasn’t there.
“No, no, no.” Ivy dipped back into the pillowcase, hoping she’d just missed it somehow, tears gathering like storm clouds in her eyes.
“Hey, you found it,” Layla said, suddenly beside her. Ivy didn’t even hear her come up. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ivy whispered. She looked around the room, her eyes seeking out every blip of purple and white. It had to be here somewhere. There was no way she could leave this gym without that notebook. Without her hope chest.
“Come on, Ives,” Layla said softly. “This is really rough. It’s okay if you need to cry.”
Ivy wiped her eyes and dragged her teeth over her bottom lip until her eyes were dry and her voice felt steady.
“I’m not crying,” Ivy said. “I’m not crying at all.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Displaced
Ivy blinked at the hotel room. They were in downtown Helenwood, about a mile from their ruined house, at the Calliope Inn. The owner, Robin Coyle, offered a lower price for people displaced by the storm. That’s what Dad called it—displaced. Like someone just needed to come find them and everything would be okay.
The building was an old Victorian house, and it was within walking distance of anywhere they might need to go. Plus, it was more of a bed-and-breakfast, so they’d be able to use the kitchen and have at least one meal guaranteed a day.
The room was all dark wood and creaky—creaky wood floors, two creaky dark wood four-poster beds, creaky dark wood rocking chair in one corner, a creaky sofa with dark wood armrests in another. Ivy was sure even the TV and minifridge were creaky.
“This is the biggest room we have,” Robin said, and she brought in a big plastic box of granola bars, a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, and a bunch of apples and oranges. She set it on the sofa and blew her dark curls out of her face. Her eyes were gentle looking and were the same warm brown as her skin. “I wish there was more I could do. Y’all are going to be pretty cramped in here.”
Ivy Aberdeen's Letter to the World Page 5