“People yearn for something beyond what they know. The exact experience is hard to put into words, but when God reaches out to touch you there’s a startling moment when you see both the present moment and feel something beyond — you feel God. Our job is to stay open to these moments, which happen all the time. So this week, watch. Pay attention. Witness God in your life.” Doug stood up and asked us all to stand too.
“God, you showed up tonight. Thank you. Give us wide-open eyes to see you throughout the week. Amen.”
And then it was over. Cameron and his friends unplugged their instruments, and Ruth pretended not to watch as we talked with her friends, Bea and Lindsay.
“I hope you’ll come back, Sadie,” Doug said. “Do you have any questions?”
Questions? I had too many to count. But I didn’t know how to ask even one of them. “No. Not really, I guess.”
“Okay. Well, if you ever do, I’m here. And so is Penny. And I know Ruth is too.”
“Umm, thanks.”
He moved on to mingle with the others.
I tried to pay attention to the girls’ conversation, but I couldn’t focus. I wanted to be alone in my room with my sketchpad, to draw the Tree House and its vanishing point. Was that spot, that exact place that faded away into invisibility, where I’d see God?
Bea touched my arm and I blinked, realizing I’d drifted far away.
“Sadie, are you coming for the star shower next week?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “Um, yeah. I think so.”
Chapter 12
Perspective
“What’s Mom doing in the closet?” I asked Dad when I walked into the kitchen.
Dad wore the Sugar-and-Spice apron and carefully watched a pan of scrambled eggs. “Done!”
I scrambled backward to avoid being smacked in the head with the pan as he whipped around and divvied up the eggs.
“Seriously, Dad, someday you’re going to hurt someone.”
“Perfect eggs are extremely important.” He brought the plates to the table.
“Are you sure you want to interrupt Mom?” I asked as he picked up the third plate. “What’s she doing, anyway?”
I’d caught him mouth open, ready to shout. He closed his mouth and winked. “Guess I’d better not. I’ll just take them in to her. She’s organizing.”
Interrupting Mom mid-organization was more dangerous than Dad frying eggs. I’d had to duck at least ten flying shoes while learning the hard way. But if she was organizing, she must be feeling much better.
I gave him a wink of my own. “Good luck.”
“I’ll tiptoe. I’ll be the invisible man. She won’t have the faintest idea I was there.”
Thirty seconds after he’d left the kitchen, Mom shouted, “Out! Out! Out!”
After he’d come back to the table, she called, “Thank you!” Humming to himself, Dad dug into his eggs. I’d already eaten half of mine.
“These are good, Dad.”
“Good? Good?” Dad shouted. “They aren’t good. They’re excellent. In fact, they’re superb.”
From down the hall, Mom called, “They’re marvelous!”
I grinned and took my last bite. Not even Frankie could ruin a day like today.
But half an hour later, when we pulled up to school, my stomach tightened. Clumps of whispering students shot me dark looks as I walked up the school’s front steps. I’d gotten used to the cold shoulder, but this was different. People were truly angry.
As I turned the corner toward our classroom, Ruth collided with me, red-faced and breathless. She pulled me to the side of the corridor and opened her mouth to say something, but just then Tess and Nicole passed by. Tess raised an eyebrow at Ruth, and Ruth shrunk back against the lockers.
Tess tapped my shoulder three times, her sharp fingernail jabbing me deeper each time. I rounded on her. “What?”
“So, yesterday, you went to the principal’s office during lunch. Today, Mario, Nick, and Demitri are suspended. How do you think that happened, Sadie?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I was in the office to call my mom, to ask if I could go to Ruth’s house after school.”
“And to report the boys for starting the fire?” Nicole asked.
I studied the pained expression on Ruth’s face. Had she told on the boys? She couldn’t believe Tess and Nicole’s accusation, not after I’d refused to tell so many times.
Finally I said, “I didn’t tell on them.” Though it was pointless. If Tess and Nicole had decided I told, nothing I said now would change their minds.
“And even if Sadie did tell, everyone knows Mario, Nick, and Demitri did it,” Ruth said. “They weren’t at the community meeting the night of the fire.”
Ruth was trying, but of everything she could have said, blaming the boys was low on the helpful scale.
“Frankie said we couldn’t trust you to keep out of our business.” Tess leaned in so close I could smell her winter-green toothpaste. “Watch your back, Zitzie.”
As she and Nicole walked away, I turned to Ruth. “Even if Sadie did tell, Ruth?”
Ruth was small to begin with, but now, with her shoulders slumped and her eyes on the ground, she seemed tiny. “I’m sorry, Sadie.”
The bell rang and she walked into the classroom, leaving me in the hallway to wonder whether she meant she was sorry because she had told and let me take the blame, or she was sorry because she thought I had told and didn’t know if she could trust me.
I headed into class and curled into my chair, wishing Pippa were here. Pippa would never doubt me, and I would never doubt her.
The day stretched on forever. People treated me like the sludge lining the cafeteria garbage cans. I avoided Ruth. Friends trusted one another — period. And either Ruth didn’t trust me, or worse, she had betrayed me and was now letting me take the blame. To believe that, though, meant I didn’t trust Ruth. If I could just wait long enough, maybe the truth of what happened would come clear, without some horrible showdown between Ruth and me. An hour before the final bell, I started watching the clock. Fifty-five minutes. Thirty-two minutes. Seventeen minutes. Twelve minutes.
“Before you go,” Ms. Barton said, “I want to introduce our word study project. You will each pick a word to investigate. For instance, you might pick the word dream.”
Abby didn’t bother to raise her hand. “What do you mean, investigate a word?”
Ms. Barton opened a blue cloth-covered notebook, searching for a particular page. “I’ve already begun researching my word, which is mother.”
She read, “A mother is not a person to lean on but a person to make leaning unnecessary.’ — Dorothy Canfield Fisher.”
“Who’s that?” Abby again.
“She was an educator and a writer. But that’s not the point.” Ms. Barton read again from her book, “In the dictionary, the word mother is defined as ‘A woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth.’ “
“What about mothers who adopt children?” Erin asked. “They’re mothers too.”
“The dictionary leaves a bit out, doesn’t it?” Ms. Barton said. “Words like dream and mother are hard to define because they represent ideas that can’t be summed up in just a few words. The word truth is another one. Listen to this quote: ‘The truth is more important than the facts,’ — Frank Lloyd Wright. And, ‘Facts and truth really don’t have much to do with each other.’ — William Faulkner. What do you think Wright and Faulkner are saying?”
Frankie leaned back in her chair. “They’re saying that just because someone was playing with a lighter doesn’t mean they set a tree stump on fire.”
Ty smirked and added, “Just as an example.”
As usual, Ruth raised her hand. Sometimes she just didn’t know when to put her head down and stay out of things.
“I think Wright and Faulkner are saying certain things are bigger than facts. A mother is more than the dictionary can describe,” Ruth said.
Ms. Barton nodded. �
��Well put, Ruth. So class, your assignment is to one, choose a word that means something to you. Two, find examples of it in images, quotes, stories, poetry, music, and letters. Collect everything you can for two weeks. And three, create a presentation that includes a written report and a creative oral section. Your presentation must include at least one visual aid. You’ll get extra credit for creativity.”
“I call cheese,” said Rickey.
“Clearly,” Ms. Barton said, “you’ll want to choose a word that provides enough material. Words like hope and dream will take you further than a word like cheese. Monday, bring three words to propose. After I approve one of your words, you can begin your project.”
The bell rang and I gathered my things, wondering what word I should choose. Trust was the only word that came to mind. I used to think I knew all about trust, but Ruth had shown me I had much more to learn.
Chapter 13
Alive
When I got home from school on Monday, Mom had completely reorganized the kitchen and started on dinner. Chicken breasts defrosted on the counter while she chopped up broccoli.
“Should you slow down, Mom?” I asked. “You’ve been working non-stop since Saturday.”
“Are you offering to help?” She handed me a bag of chocolate chips. “Because the cookie dough in the refrigerator is begging for chocolate chips.”
“Mom …”
“Sadie …” Her voice was laced with warning.
I sighed and took the cookie dough out of the refrigerator. Just because Mom didn’t want me to worry didn’t mean I could automatically switch off my feelings.
“How was school today?” Mom doused the chicken with marinara sauce, sprinkled the red mound with shaved parmesan cheese, shook various spices on top, and put the pan into the oven.
Ruth and I sat together at lunch and suffered through a strained conversation about the word study project, but all the topics that really mattered were off limits. I couldn’t see how we could continue being friends without really talking.
Mom still waited for an answer, so I said, “Umm … We started a word study project today. I have to find quotes and stories about the word alive.”
Ms. Barton had talked me out of my other choices, saying, “Choose a word that you believe in, Sadie, one that inspires you.”
Dad pulled up as Mom drained the broccoli, but he still hadn’t come inside when I finished setting the table. Something was odd.
I called out the front door, “Dinner’s ready.”
Dad came in with the tight smile he sometimes got when he was very mad but trying not to show it. More importantly, his eye was ringed with black and purple.
“Dad, what happened?”
“What?” Mom came out of the kitchen with the casserole dish of chicken. “Matthew, what happened to your eye?”
Dad sat at the table. “It’s dinner time. Let’s eat.”
Mom set the dish down and sat beside Dad. “Matthew, you look like you’ve been in a schoolyard brawl. Sadie and I can’t just eat and ignore your eye. Do you need ice?”
Dad took a sip of water and set his glass down very slowly.
I stood at the end of the table and tried not to look at Dad’s swollen eye. Black eyes were for punk kids, for mobsters and professional boxers, but not for Dad.
“Sadie, sit down.” Dad dished chicken onto each of our plates. “Chicken parmigiana — my favorite.”
I sat, but didn’t touch my food.
Dad took another bite, but neither Mom nor I moved. Finally, he said, “The story of my eye isn’t dinner conversation, Cindy. Can I tell you later?”
“You appear to be the only one who can eat right now,” Mom said.
Dad set down his knife and fork. “Mack Jefferson shot his bear today near the research center.”
My stomach dropped. Not Patch, please not Patch. And not Big Murphy. Tears spilled down my cheeks. How could the hunters do it? How could they shoot our bears?
“Helen and I helped him pull the bear out from the bush. We needed to know … We were hoping …” His voice cracked.
“It was Humphrey,” he said finally. “Helen’s bear.”
“It’s not fair!” I pushed my chair back, almost knocking Dad over. “They’re murderers.”
“Sadie, they’re hunters. We’re not here to stop that,” Mom said.
“But I can’t believe Dad just lets them —”
Mom’s look stopped me. Whatever I thought, she expected me to keep it to myself.
“How did you get your black eye?” Mom took a bite of chicken and tried too hard to look casual, the same expression she used when she asked me about an unexpectedly low grade.
Dad ran his fingers through his hair. “Mack had a bunch of hunter friends with him. Jim Paulson, for one. When we pulled out Humphrey, Helen cried, and of course Jim started in on her. He was merciless. I lost my temper. And then Helen lost her temper and shoved Jim. He shoved her back, so I got between them, and he punched me. It got out of hand really quickly.”
“Matthew, how is this mediating? First, you buy a gun, which I’ve never wanted in my house. Then, you go out hunting, and now you’re punching hunters? This town is changing you.”
“I’m not changing, Cindy. I just —”
They both looked over at me, as though they had suddenly remembered I was at the table. I listened to the silence grow and deepen until I thought I might disappear into it. I shoved away from the table and ran upstairs to my bedroom, slamming my door behind me.
I leaned against my door, my parents’ words still echoing in my ears. Sick to my stomach, I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I rolled onto one side and the other. I fluffed my pillows. I closed my eyes and counted to fifty, hoping I might fall asleep. I listened to Mom and Dad come upstairs, knock softly on my door, and discuss whether to let me be or come inside. I held my breath until Dad suggested they talk to me tomorrow, until I heard the soft thump of their bedroom door closing. Still, as the quiet settled again, Dad’s bruised face swam in front of my eyes. Finally, I threw off my covers. Absolutely, positively time for reason seven.
WHY PIPPA REYNOLDS AND SADIE DOUGLAS WILL ALWAYS BE BEST FRIENDS —
REASON 7: TOGETHER, WE LEARNED THAT A PEANUT BUTTER AND DORITOS SANDWICH CAN FIX ANYTHING.
Pips and I had needed peanut butter and Doritos sandwiches quite a few times. The first time was when my fairy costume had been lost in the mail, the one Pippa and I had carefully planned and both ordered so we’d match. So she had hers in time for Halloween, and I didn’t. I’d been in tears, so Mom had turned over the kitchen before taking us trick-or-treating. “We’ll make any dinner you want,” she’d said. We’d put together the most random combination we could think of — PB and D — and were shocked, and overtaken with giggles, when it turned out to be delicious.
In the picture, Pippa laughed in her Doritos-stained purple fairy dress, and I lay on the floor, breathless with laughter, in my pink tutu with paper fairy wings. All around us, boxes and bags of every ingredient possible crowded the counters. Other photos crammed the pages. Pips and me in front of the soggy refrigerator boxes that had been our fort until her sister turned the hose on them. Pips and me waiting on the bleachers after losing a soccer championship in overtime when a player on our team accidentally kicked the ball into our goal.
My stomach growled. I closed the book and climbed out of bed.
“Well, Pips, I’ll try it. I didn’t eat dinner tonight anyway.”
Thankfully, we had a fresh bag of Doritos and my favorite peanut butter — Skippy, extra crunchy. I made the sandwich and went to the darkened living room to sit by the fireplace. I wasn’t allowed to start a fire and figured now wasn’t the time to test the rule.
The sandwich tasted like home, but eating it wasn’t the same without Pippa. The best part was stacking too many Doritos on top and trying to open our mouths wide enough to take a bite. If our sandwiches fit too easily, we’d make it harder and harder until we
made such ridiculous faces we couldn’t help but laugh.
“I miss you, Pips,” I whispered into the darkness.
I put my dish in the sink and went back upstairs.
On my bedside table I kept a picture of Mom and Dad, arms linked, laughing in front of Yosemite Falls. Mom said Owl Creek was changing Dad, but I didn’t want him to change. I wanted him to stay Dad, my laughing, silly Dad who could fix anything.
I brought my drawing pencils and pad back to bed and used the picture to draw Dad’s face. I made a shaded box like Vivian had shown me and used my pencils and erasers to draw and redraw until I was satisfied with the shape of his eyes, the curve of his eyebrows, the exact shape of his chin. I began to shade his eye.
So who was Dad changing into? What really happened with Jim and Mack? Dad stepped between Jim and Helen and got punched — or had he been part of it? Had he shoved or hit someone? What happened after Jim punched him? Had Dad just walked away?
Even worse than the questions about Dad, I realized I didn’t know what I would have wanted him to do. So who did that make me? I didn’t know Humphrey, but Helen had known him. She’d loved him. What gave the hunters the right to take his life? I wanted to punch Mack in the face. Punch Jim. Punch Frankie and Ty and all the kids at school. My word study word was alive. What a joke.
Doug said God connected with us in tiny, beautiful moments. But what about these ugly things? What about black eyes and punching and dead bears? Was God there too? And if he was here, right now, what did he think of me and my terrible thoughts?
I scribbled out my drawing and turned to the next page. The trouble was with the eyes. Dad’s real eyes were always full of weather. Either they sparkled with mischief or brooded with frustration, but Dad could never keep emotion out of his eyes. These eyes were the shape and size of Dad’s eyes, but they didn’t have any life.
Another page. And another page. It didn’t matter because I couldn’t sleep. I’d draw until I knew every inch and shadow of Dad’s face. Maybe in the meantime I’d learn who he really was.
Shades of Truth Page 6