Olivia and I stared at each other. It felt like something was shifting around us. Like a small piece of our new pattern was falling into place. I didn’t know how I felt about it. But I was willing to bet if I could have put it into words, Olivia was the only one who would’ve understood.
CHAPTER
19
GRIEF AND GHOSTS
On Wednesday after school, I was standing in the hallway applying lip gloss when Melanie walked in, and said, “Where are you going?”
“Over to Austin’s,” I answered as I checked my reflection in the mirror. “We need to work on our Egyptian project.”
She frowned. “When did you tell me this?”
“I told Dad last night after dinner,” I said.
Melanie ran a hand through her hair. “Violet—look, I realize you’re used to coming and going as you please, but that’s going to have to change. We need to all start checking in with one another. That means telling your Dad and me.”
“Okay,” I said, fighting hard to stay calm. Just because Dad was now officially “Joey’s dad” did not mean I thought of Melanie as my mother. “Would you rather I not go? I’m not really excited to spend the afternoon studying,” I added, which was true, but my heart was doing jumping jacks at the idea of seeing Austin.
“How much work have you gotten done on the project?”
“Well . . . so far, none,” I admitted. Before she could get upset about that, I added, “But we’ll catch up, I promise.”
Melanie sighed. “Okay—you can go. But come back in a couple hours. Your dad is picking up a Christmas tree from Caulfield Farm after he leaves work, and we’re going to decorate it before dinner.”
Sometimes grief feels like a ghost—the ghost of all the Christmas pasts that I had with Mom—and it’s moments like these where they rise up and make the Terrible Beautiful Ache inside me squeeze tight. Last year during Black Christmas, Dad and I hadn’t gotten a tree, and even though I knew decorating one was on Mom’s list, it still felt wrong to be doing it without her.
“Sure,” I said, my voice catching a little as I zipped up my jacket. “That sounds great.”
“Violet.” Melanie’s voice softened. “I know—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, opening the front door. “I’ll be home in time.”
CHAPTER
20
ICE BLOCKING
It had rained earlier in the day, and the afternoon was chilly and gloomy as I turned onto Austin’s street, but my heart was beating so fast, I wasn’t all that cold. I’ve had crushes on boys before; I get them all the time. To me, a crush just means that you like a boy. Like, like him like him. You may not even know his name, but you can still like him. It still counts. But I’ve never had a crush on a boy who was already someone I knew, someone who was already my friend.
The Jacksons live next door to Izzy, so I decided to stop at her house first. I figured now was a good time to tell her about my crush. I’d meant to tell her when we talked on our walkie-talkies last night, but I’d forgotten to turn mine on again because I’d been texting back and forth with Austin.
I knocked on the door, and Grandma Bertie answered. “Oh, hello, Violet,” she said.
“Is Izzy here?” I asked.
Grandma Bertie shook her head. “No, she’s gone to Dandelion Lake with her dad. Crazy, if you ask me—it’s way too cold to be kayaking in this weather. Do you want to come in? I’m afraid Mildred isn’t here, either. She’s out on a date with Scooter McGee.” She lowered her voice and added. “That’s the third time this week!”
“No, thank you,” I said. “I couldn’t stay long anyway—I’m supposed to go over to Austin’s to work on a school project.”
I headed next door, and as I was walking up the driveway, the front door opened—like he’d been waiting for me—and Austin appeared. “Ready?” he asked.
“To work on our project, you mean?”
“Nope,” he said, without missing a beat. “Today we are in a homework-free zone. We’re crossing something off your mom’s list. Come on.”
“Austin, I think we really need to start,” I protested as I followed him to his garage, where he pulled a funny-shaped sled off a shelf. “Don’t you want to get a good grade?”
“Don’t you want to have a little fun?” He propped the sled up against a couple boxes. “My dad made this himself.”
“It’s awesome,” I said. “What are we doing with it?”
“Duh. We’re going sledding—it was on your mom’s list, remember?”
“Duh—of course I remember. But don’t you need, you know, actual snow to go sledding?”
“Nope. Because we’re not sledding over snow. All we need is a hill and some mud. We’re going ice-blocking.”
I blinked. “Ice what?”
“Ice-blocking.” He flipped the sled over to show me two deep inserts in the back side. “You put a big block of ice here and here. Dad keeps them in our freezer.” He flipped the sled back over. “And you take it to the top of a hill and go sailing down. Your mom’s list didn’t specifically say snow sledding, so today we’re sledding over mud. Ice-blocking.”
“It looks dangerous,” I said, examining the sled. “Can you actually steer it?”
“Who needs to steer it? You just go straight down.”
“Well . . . I don’t know. We really should start work on our project.”
Austin rolled his eyes. “There’s still plenty of time to get the project done. Have a little fun, Wordnerd.”
Hearing Austin call me “Wordnerd” felt a lot different than when Izzy did. And what could it hurt, anyway? I really did want to cross more items off Mom’s list, and unless Dad was going to suddenly take a day off during the busiest season of the year, ice-blocking was probably the only way I’d get any sledding done before Christmas.
I stashed my backpack in the garage while Austin wrapped up the blocks of ice in rags and stuck them on an old red wagon. We set off for Poppy Hill, both of us taking turns either pulling the wagon or carrying the sled. In the spring, Poppy Hill produces a carpet of wildflowers, but in the winter it’s frosted with dead grass and, thanks to this afternoon’s rain, a ton of slippery mud. We climbed the hill, and after he’d inserted the ice and righted the sled, he said, “The trick is to not fall off.”
“Sounds like a fancy strategy,” I said, and he shot me a dirty look.
Austin hopped onto the sled and went careening down the muddy hill until he came to a stop at the bottom.
“Your turn,” he said, after he dragged the sled back up the hill.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been sledding—Dad hadn’t wanted to take any day trips to the snow the last couple of years.
“Ready?” Austin asked after I’d settled myself. I gave him a thumbs-up. “Okay. One . . . Two . . . Three!” He pushed the sled, and soon I was flying down the hill, my stomach plunging, icy wind whipping at my face. Something sweet and fizzy bubbled up inside me—like drinking the best can of cherry cola in the world.
“That was awesome!” I yelled when I reached the bottom.
“I know!” Austin scrambled down and helped me carry the sled back up the hill.
“Exhilarated”—it can mean “to feel cheerful and excited.” That’s exactly how I felt as we continued taking turns going down the hill. The wind was in my hair, my heart was pumping, and I felt happier than I had in ages. I forgot about Gray Christmas and the Terrible Beautiful Ache, and wished I could stay on the sled forever.
When the sun was setting, we decided to go down the hill together. Austin hopped onto the back of the sled, and I settled myself in front of him.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready!”
He pushed off, but this time we veered slightly to the left, and halfway down the ice block struck the side of a rock. The sled upended and tumbled through the air, dumping Austin and me into the mud.
“Ow,” I said, rubbing my shoulder. “Apparently steering does m
atter.”
“Apparently, it does.” Austin groaned and rolled over. “Are you okay?”
He was on his side, staring down at me, and I could feel his breath on my face.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Good.” He sniffed. “Do you smell licorice?”
“Um . . . I think that’s my lip gloss.” I was glad it was dark, because my cheeks were probably as red as a Santa suit.
“Oh.” He glanced down at my lips and hesitated . . . then flopped over onto his back. I felt a huge wave of relief, because for the tiniest, craziest second, I thought he might try to kiss me.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I hope to kiss a boy one day. But I sort of hope it will be a day when I’m all dressed up and standing somewhere pretty, like a beach or a ballroom. Not lying in the mud with leaves stuck in my hair, a rock digging into my back on a cold December night. And definitely not before I tell Izzy, Sophia, and Daisy I have a real, true-blue crush on my hands. Because isn’t that half the fun of having a crush, being able to tell your friends about it? I was glad Izzy didn’t like Austin anymore, and I hoped it wouldn’t be weird for her that I liked him now.
“Think we should get going?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Austin said, but he didn’t sound too eager to leave. “Hey, Violet, can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, what?”
“Do you ever sometimes feel like the world is spinning?”
“The world is spinning,” I said. “Haven’t you ever studied astronomy?”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” I turned and saw he was staring up at the darkening sky, completely serious. “I mean, like, since middle school started, there are classes and family and friends and this thing with my mom and . . . all of it, I guess. It feels like it’s all spinning. Do you ever feel that way?”
I felt in my pocket for my mom’s letter. “All the time,” I said. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up.”
“The thing is,” Austin continued, “I’m happy for my mom—she left for New York yesterday, and she seemed real excited. But if she ends up wanting to go to the cooking school, that means I’ll spend almost a year living with only my dad. And that’s just weird.”
“I know what you mean,” I said, because I did. It wasn’t that I loved Mom more than Dad. It’s just that he worked so much, it was easier to feel closer to Mom. After she died, it took a while for Dad and me to figure out a pattern with just the two of us. I’d thought we were doing pretty good. Then he met Melanie, and things changed again.
Austin looked over at me. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I guess you do know what I mean.”
“Do you get along with your dad?” I asked, and I could feel Austin raise his shoulders in a slight shrug.
“Sort of. But he thinks I’m lazy and I play too many video games—and that if I want to play basketball in my driveway every night, I should try out for the team at school. He’s got lots of opinions—and he thinks I should have the same ones. If he starts getting too tough about it, Mom usually says something to him. But she might not be there to do that next year, you know?”
Mom always said Worry was a pesky bee that comes buzzing into your mind, trying to drive you crazy, and that you shouldn’t worry until you definitely have something to worry about. But Austin looked like he had a whole hive buzzing through his brain as he stared up at the stars, and I realized I wasn’t the only one who had things they wanted to forget tonight.
“It’ll be okay,” I said to Austin. “Things will work out.”
“Thanks, Violet.”
We laid in the dark for a while, staring at the sky and listening to each other breathe, until we both felt ready to go home.
CHAPTER
21
THE PERFECT FAMILY OF FOUR
As soon as we got back to Austin’s house, I grabbed my backpack from the garage and checked my phone. There were five voice mails from Dad and one text, all in caps: COME HOME NOW!
“Someone’s busted,” Austin said, reading over my shoulder. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know.” I glanced at the clock, and suddenly, I remembered. “I’m late! Melanie wanted me home earlier.”
I blasted out of Austin’s house and hurried back home as fast as I could. When I rounded the corner on my street, I came to a dead stop. Dad had decorated the outside of the house—the first time he’d bothered in a couple of years. Pastel-hued twinkle lights lined the roof and windows. With the brown paint and thick white trim, it looked like a gingerbread house. Nearly all the windows were lit with buttery yellow light, like the house was issuing an invitation, saying, “It’s okay. Come on in. Come home.” I walked slowly down the rest of the street and caught the scent of sugar cookies wafting from the house. It looked like a house from a movie, and all at once the Terrible Beautiful Ache came back and squeezed so tight that it felt like I couldn’t breathe.
A Christmas tree with sparkling white lights stood front and center in the downstairs bay window. Dad, Melanie, Joey, and Olivia were clustered around it, hanging ornaments. I saw a couple that I recognized: the snowman I’d made in first grade; the “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament Mom had given to Dad the year I was born. But that was it—all the others must have belonged to Melanie.
As I watched, Dad lifted Joey, who plopped a golden star on the top branch of the tree, while Melanie and Olivia cheered. They looked like a Christmas card. Like the perfect family of four.
But I knew, as soon as I stepped inside and entered the picture, I’d ruin it all.
CHAPTER
22
OPEN UP THE UGLY
Silently, I let myself into the house. I could hear talking and laughing and Joey’s high-pitched squeals as Dad tickled him. All of it vanished as soon as Joey caught sight of me, and said, “Violet, look at the tree!”
Dad, Melanie, and Olivia fell silent.
“You decorated the tree without me?” I said, and my voice sounded hoarse.
“You didn’t give us much choice, did you?” From the flinty look in Dad’s eyes, I knew he was angry. Angrier than I’d seen him since right after Mom died. “Where were you?” he demanded. “And why is there mud all over your clothes?”
Melanie grabbed his arm. “Mitch—not now. It’s clear Violet’s upset—”
“Yes, now.” Mitch shook her off. “Violet—this is unacceptable. Melanie told you to come home early.”
“Mitch, I didn’t actually tell her what time—”
“I don’t care what you did or did not tell her.” To me, he said, “She told you to come home early. It’s a simple request, and for once, you could’ve honored it.”
“I meant to,” I said. “I just got busy. I was at Austin’s and lost track of time.”
“I know I’ve given you a wide leash—”
“A wide leash? I’m not a dog, Dad.”
“And that’s my fault. I should have been more present this last year. But there are going to be some changes around here. We’re trying to build a family and a home—”
“But it’s not my family! And it’s definitely not my home!” I knew I should shut up and stop right there, but I’d spent so much time not saying anything, my words had built up, full as a toxic lake, and it was like someone had thrown the floodgates wide open and all the ugly inside me was spewing out. “This is Melanie’s home, and Joey and Olivia’s. But it’s not mine! You never asked me if I wanted to move to a new house or if I wanted the Hammer for a stepmother—”
“Don’t you dare call her—”
“Or Joey or Olivia for siblings. You never asked—but I don’t! I don’t want to be a family, okay? I liked things the way they were before you had to ruin it by getting married again!”
When I finally stopped to take a breath, Joey was crying. Both Melanie and Olivia looked like I’d slapped them. And worst of all, Dad was staring at me like I was someone he didn’t recognize. Or maybe like someone he did recognize, but didn’t like all that much.
“M
elanie, can you take Joey and Olivia upstairs?” Dad said quietly. “I’d like to talk to my daughter alone.”
Once they were gone, the anger seemed to deflate from him, and he said, “I’m sorry this is so hard for you. I’m sorry you’re so unhappy. But is it really so terrible living here?”
His eyes were wide and filled to the brim with a Terrible Beautiful Ache of his own. I saw a flash of Crying Dad, and I didn’t want him to come back. Crying Dad would spend the whole weekend in his bed and never remember to do things like buy new milk or take the trash out. It had been scary, living with Crying Dad.
I swallowed hard. “No. It’s not terrible . . . but it’s not all that great, either,” I added, because Dad always wants me to Talk About It; but how can I really talk to him if I can never tell him the truth? If I’m always scared that Crying Dad will come back?
“It feels like their family is more important than our family,” I continued.
“But that’s just the thing, Champ,” he said softly. “There’s not their family and our family. There’s the five of us, together. But that will never start to feel normal unless you decide to accept it. You’ve got to try, Violet.”
“I am trying,” I said.
“No”—he shook his head sadly—“you’re really not.”
CHAPTER
23
IN THE DOGHOUSE
Dear Mom,
Remember how when you would get mad at Dad you’d give him your I’m Really Annoyed With You look, then he’d place his hand over his heart, and say, “Oh, no, Lovely Kate—I’m in your doghouse tonight!” Then he’d start barking, and you’d start laughing, and it was like you weren’t mad at him anymore.
Well, I’m in the doghouse right now with everyone, and a stupid joke isn’t going to make it better. Even if I wanted to tell a joke to Melanie, I can’t, because after last night I’m not sure she’ll ever speak to me again. And I don’t know if Olivia or Joey will, either.
The Wondrous World of Violet Barnaby Page 9