“Purple?” Melanie blinked, and chewed on her cheek. Sometimes when she does that, she looks like she’s swallowing her lips.
“Yeah, I think I’ll paint them purple. Just like my old room.”
“I wasn’t aware we were painting the walls,” Melanie said, glancing at Dad, who suddenly looked uncomfortable.
Dad shifted back and forth, and I could tell he wished I hadn’t said anything. “We’ll have to figure it out later, won’t we, Champ?” His smile dimmed, and more than anything else, I didn’t want him to stop smiling.
“Dad never said I could paint the walls,” I said quickly. “It’s just, I painted my other room, and I guess I just assumed . . .”
“Well,” Melanie said with forced cheerfulness, “we’re all making a new start, aren’t we? We’ll talk about paint later.”
“Sure,” I said.
But I knew I’d be stuck with white walls for a long time.
CHAPTER
4
THE TERRIBLE BEAUTIFUL ACHE
After Dad and Melanie left, the door to my closet sprang open, and a small voice said, “Are they gone?”
I jumped and nearly tripped over a box as Joey stepped into the room. As far as stepbrothers go, Joey isn’t too bad. He’s short with flyaway blond hair and black plastic glasses that make his blue eyes seem twice as large.
“Yeah, they’re gone,” I answered, kicking the box out of my way. “And what were you doing in there, anyway?”
“I’m hiding, and your closet is bigger than mine,” he said, plopping down on my mattress. “Have you ever heard of a spy kit?”
“No,” I said, moving a half-opened box of books off my mattress. Odd—the box was blank, but I knew I’d labeled it yesterday.
“I got one for my birthday,” Joey continued. “And it came with a bunch of spy pens. They have disappearing ink, and I think I accidentally got them mixed up with—”
“With the pens everyone used for packing,” I finished, solving the mystery of the suddenly not labeled boxes.
Joey nodded. “I’m sure Mom will figure it out soon, and she says it’s naughty if I don’t come when she calls, so I’m trying to find a place where I can’t hear her.” He stared at me seriously. “And that’s hard because she has a really loud voice.”
I had to laugh at that. Beneath Joey’s cherub good looks lurked a criminal mastermind in the making. “What about in the backyard?” I said. “I bet you couldn’t hear her out there.”
His eyes widened. “That’s brilliant!” We high-fived, and after he scampered off, I shut the door behind him. Then I sat on my mattress, and pulled out Mom’s letter from my backpack. I stared at it for a while before taking a deep breath and opening it. My mouth felt dry and my hands shook as I read:
Dear Violet,
I hope that you are happy to be getting a letter from me. But if you aren’t, if this is too much, put this away right now and don’t open it again until you’re ready and the time is right.
I’m in the Kaleidoscope Café as I write this. Dad and I just got finished with another doctor’s appointment, and the clock tells me it’s after ten in the morning. When I was younger, Time was something I strained against, because it seemed to move so slowly, like trying to swim through a pool of orange marmalade. Now that I’m older, Time feels more like a bullet train zooming along, and I wish I had more of it. Because the truth is, the doctors say I don’t have a lot of time left. The trees outside are sparkling with sunlight and the Kaleidoscope smells like cinnamon pancakes. “Kaleidoscope,” I love that word. I wonder if you have it on your list of Words I Love? The thing that interests me about kaleidoscopes is that you can be looking at a beautiful scene, and if you shift things around ever so slightly, the picture will completely change and everything will look totally different.
I know that’s how it’s going to feel after I’m gone. Like everything has shifted around and is unrecognizable.
And I know that hurts, Violet. But I’m here to tell you, it’s possible to find beauty in the new pattern, even if you’re missing me. I promise that one day missing me will get easier. I learned that after my own mom died, your grandma Gayle. It’s sort of like a splinter that’s buried deep in your heart. Some days you feel the ache more than others, but it’s always there, and although the pain gets easier to bear, it never completely goes away. I call it the Terrible Beautiful Ache.
Terrible, because it’s a pain you wouldn’t wish on anyone; but beautiful, because you’ve discovered exactly how precious life is, and that’s a lesson many people don’t learn until they’re much older. I wish you didn’t have to experience the Terrible Beautiful Ache so young, Violet. Some things in life are just not fair.
While I was writing this, someone came into the café and was talking about Christmas, and it occurred to me that this Christmas, your first without me, is going to be pretty hard. I know Christmas is supposed to be a time of happiness and joy. But I also know that every year, no matter how old I got, I missed my mom. That’s what I want you to know, Violet. It’s okay to miss me. It’s okay to always miss me. I know you, Violet. You are a girl who feels things deeply, and I don’t want you to be embarrassed about that. But I also want you to know that it’s okay to enjoy this season, too, to make memories, and have good times. I want you to know that it’s possible to do that, even while you’re missing me. Nothing would make me happier than to know you were enjoying this holiday season, and I have decided to help you do it! You’ve never met a list you couldn’t conquer, so with this letter I’m including your Christmas To-Do List. It’s a list of things I hope you’ll do this season to make some happy memories. While you’re doing them, picture me smiling at you and cheering you on.
Love always,
Mom
By the time I’d finished reading, my heart was pounding fast. Mom’s voice sounded as warm and comforting as a cup of tea and a roaring fire on a rainy day. I cradled the letter in my hands, because I knew it was rare and precious, and probably the best present I’d ever receive in my life. I read it again and again; until an ache—the Terrible Beautiful Ache, I guess—squeezed my heart so much I had to put it aside and look at the list on the second page:
Violet’s Christmas To-Do List!
• ROAST MARSHMALLOWS IN THE FIRE PIT
• STRING POPCORN GARLAND
• VOLUNTEER FOR A GOOD CAUSE
• BUY A GIFT FOR SOMEONE IMPORTANT
• ATTEND DANDELION HOLLOW’S CHRISTMAS TREE-LIGHTING
• PLAY A CHRISTMAS GAME
• WATCH CHRISTMAS MOVIES
• SING CAROLS
• GO SLEDDING
• BAKE CHRISTMAS COOKIES
• MAKE SNOW ANGELS
• DECORATE A CHRISTMAS TREE
• HAVE A SLEEPOVER UNDER A CHRISTMAS TREE
• MAKE A CARD FOR SOMEONE
• WRAP CHRISTMAS PRESENTS
• LISTEN TO MY OLD CHRISTMAS RECORDS
• COOK A CHRISTMAS MEAL
• TELL A FRIEND ABOUT THIS LIST AND LET THEM HELP YOU!
After I finished reading, I felt cold. Mom was right; normally, I love making lists. I love the feeling I get when I cross off an item. Check, check, double check! But this list was different. I didn’t want to disappoint Mom—but even so, I still didn’t want to celebrate Christmas. Right after she’d died, I guess I sort of made a pact with myself: The world might still be spinning, but that didn’t mean I had to enjoy it.
And I definitely didn’t want to enjoy it this year. Not in Melanie’s house, surrounded by Melanie’s things. This year may not be as bad as last year—Black Christmas—but it still wasn’t great. It was only slightly better. Gray Christmas, I guess.
I wasn’t sure I could finish everything on the list, anyway, even if I wanted to. A lot of the items were doable. Others, like sledding and making a snow angel, I didn’t see how I could get those done, not without asking Dad to take me somewhere where it actually snows, and during the Christmas season h
e works nearly every day. The very first one, roast marshmallows in the fire pit, would be really hard, too. My old house had a fire pit in the backyard, and we used it all the time. But the new house didn’t have one.
I bet Mom never imagined that by the time I opened her letter I’d be living in a different house with Dad and his new wife.
I needed to talk to someone, but technically I was still grounded for one more day. Last month Izzy, Sophia, Daisy, and I got into a ton of trouble. We were trying to help Izzy earn charms for her bracelet for a home study course called Mrs. Whippie’s Earn Your Charm School and things had gone a little haywire after Izzy decided she’d earn her charm to “beautify” something by anonymously painting a wall in our middle school orange. Everyone had gotten really upset over it. Mrs. Whippie turned out to be Izzy’s great aunt Mildred, but we didn’t find that out until after we’d all been grounded for the month—except for last weekend, when Izzy’s parents took us hot-air-ballooning to earn the last charm Aunt Mildred had given us. They took us a little early because that was the only Saturday everyone could go. I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without Dad and Melanie, and since they’d taken away my cell phone, I couldn’t talk to anyone after school, either.
Or so they thought.
I went into my closet and shut the door. Joey was right; it was a pretty good size. I wedged myself between some boxes of clothes and pulled my walkie-talkie from my backpack. Izzy has a matching walkie-talkie. We used to call each other on them when we were younger, and we started using them again a couple months ago since Izzy isn’t allowed to have a cell phone.
“Wordnerd to Stargazer, do you copy?” I said, using our code names. I waited for a few minutes, but when Izzy didn’t respond, I put the walkie aside—I’d call her again in a few minutes—and started unpacking all my books and stacking them in my bookcase. Once I’d filled it up, I went back into my closet and tried the walkie again. “Wordnerd to Stargazer, do you copy?”
After a few minutes, Izzy’s voice came through with a burst of static. “I copy, Wordnerd. Report your position.”
“I’m . . . I’m in enemy territory,” I said, because I wasn’t ready to call it home yet.
Izzy’s voice softened. “How’s the house?”
“Stupid. It’s all white and sterile, and it smells like toilet cleaner. You’d hate it. And she said we can’t paint the walls.” No need to clarify who “she” was.
Even through the static, I could hear Izzy scowling. “Someone needs to tell the Hammer your house isn’t her classroom. Other people should get a say.”
Izzy and I had been secretly talking on our walkie-talkies all month, and hearing her voice through the static always makes me feel better. We used to be best friends, but after Mom got sick the idea of leaving the house—leaving Mom—made me nervous. I thought nothing bad could happen to her if I was there. I didn’t want to pretend to be a spy or jump in puddles or hang out in Izzy’s tree house, so when Izzy would come and knock on my front door, I would ask Dad to tell her I couldn’t play. Pretty soon after that, we stopped hanging out.
But I was really glad we were friends again; talking to Izzy every night was the only good part of the last month.
“Anyway,” I said. “How are things at your house?”
“Terrible. Mom is on my case about my new skirt. She says it makes me look like a vagrant—whatever that means—and she’s threatening to take it away. And she’s still upset over my progress report—she told me if I don’t start getting all my homework done, she’s going to camp out in my room and watch me do it . . .”
Okay, so this is the one thing I don’t like about our daily calls: Izzy always finds time to complain about her mom. I know Mrs. Malone can be tough to live with, but still, sometimes I get tired of hearing about it. When Izzy’s going on and on, sometimes I just want to take her by the shoulders and yell, “Don’t you know how lucky you are? Who cares if your mom is nagging you about your homework? That’s normal. Here’s a news flash for you: Nobody ever died from doing homework. It will not actually kill you. You will not actually die.”
I would never say anything like that, though, no matter how much I want to sometimes. I don’t want Izzy to get mad at me, not when we’ve just become friends again. Mostly, I just try to listen. Mom used to say that everyone needs someone to listen to them, and I know that—lucky or not—a lot of times Izzy doesn’t get that from her mom.
“. . . and then she said she doesn’t care if today’s the last day of our grounding,” Izzy was saying, “and that if I don’t stop mouthing off, she’ll ground me again.”
“That sounds tough,” I said. “But I wanted to tell you something. While I was cleaning my old room today I found—”
Suddenly, I heard the door to my room open, followed by a tentative voice saying, “Violet?” It was Melanie.
I froze. I didn’t want her to find me hiding in the closet, and I definitely didn’t want her to find out I’d been talking to Izzy on the walkie, but also . . . she didn’t knock. I’d closed the door after Joey left, and she just walked right in.
“Violet, are you in here?” she called again. Quickly, I shut off the walkie.
I kept quiet, and I was glad I did, because I heard soft footsteps and small thuds, like maybe she was looking through one of my boxes, followed by a long silence. I held my breath and hoped she wouldn’t think to open the closet door.
“What are you doing?” That was Dad. It sounded like he’d stopped in the doorway.
“Looking for Violet—and Joey. I can’t find either of them. Have you seen them?”
“They’re around here somewhere. Where do you want this box?”
“That one goes in Olivia’s room. . . .” Their voices faded, and when I was sure they weren’t coming back, I turned the walkie-talkie on.
“Violet? Violet, are you there?” Izzy sounded irritated.
“Sorry—Melanie barged into my room. I think she was spying on me. I really hate her. I can’t believe I’m stuck living with her.” I looked down at my mother’s envelope, and suddenly, I didn’t feel like telling Izzy about it anymore. Listening to Melanie poke around my room made the moment seem tainted somehow.
“It stinks,” Izzy agreed. “Once we’re off grounding, we’ll have to hang out at my house. Oh, and Aunt Mildred told me she wants you, Daisy, Sophia, and me to meet her at the Kaleidoscope Café before the tree-lighting tomorrow night. She says, since we’ll be off grounding, she has a task and a charm for us.”
I thought once we’d discovered Aunt Mildred was Mrs. Whippie, that would be it for earning charms. But instead, we’d all decided to form a club—the Charm Girls Club. I couldn’t wait to start adding charms to my bracelet, because to me, each charm represented a moment of fun and good times with Izzy, Daisy, and Sophia, and I wanted to collect more.
“Do you know what she has planned?” I asked.
“No idea,” Izzy answered. “I snuck into her room to see if I could find any charms she might have bought, but she caught me midsnoop. I’m not allowed in her room anymore.”
I laughed and said, “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.” We both said good-bye, and I clicked off the walkie-talkie and stepped out of my closet.
Olivia was standing in my room, glaring at me like I was something disgusting she’d found on the bottom of her shoe.
Seriously, doesn’t anyone around here have any sense of privacy?
“You’re not supposed to be on your cell phone,” she said, crossing her arms.
“I wasn’t. And you’re not supposed to be snooping in my room. Or spying on me.”
“Um, hello? I’ve got better things to do than spy on you.”
“Doesn’t look like it to me,” I said.
Olivia put her hands on her hips. “Here’s a little PSA from me to you: Your closet is right next to my bedroom. I can hear everything you’re saying.”
Oops. I thought back to all the stuff I’d said about Melanie. “I’ll remember that. But
feel free not to spy on my conversations.”
“I wasn’t spying,” she repeated. “But you could stop being such a jerk all the time.”
“How am I being jerk? I’ve barely said anything to anyone today.”
“You barely say anything to anyone, ever. That’s the problem. Everyone knows you’re unhappy. It’s casting a pall over the entire house.”
That’s actually one thing I like about Olivia: She uses interesting words. After she stomped out of my room, I looked up “pall” in my dictionary. It means “anything that covers, shrouds, or overspreads, especially with darkness and gloom.” It could also mean, “to have a wearying or tiresome effect, or to become distasteful and unpleasant.”
That’s me all right. Tiresome and distasteful, just because I’m not jumping for joy over Dad’s new family—even though I’ve gone out of my way to keep my mouth shut.
I highlighted “pall” in neon pink in my dictionary. I like to mark the words I look up in different colors. It’s my goal one day to look up every single word, so that when you open it, the whole dictionary looks like a rainbow on the inside.
“Dinner’s ready!” Melanie called.
I closed my dictionary, but I didn’t leave my room right away. I wanted to put off the moment when I sat down to dinner. It felt like when I did, that would be the real start of our brand-new family, and I wasn’t ready for that yet.
Melanie had made chicken tacos, and everyone was at the counter loading up their plates when I finally came into the kitchen. Dad was standing next to Olivia, laughing as she told him about something that had happened in her math class last week. If you didn’t know better, you’d think she was his daughter.
“Oh shoot!” Dad said, after he dropped a glob of shredded chicken onto the counter. “Does anyone have a napkin?”
“I’ll get it,” Olivia and I both said, but she was faster.
“Thanks, Olivia, you’re so helpful,” Dad said.
The Wondrous World of Violet Barnaby Page 2