“Oh, hi,” Esmeralda says. I freeze. Marcus looks up at me and I have no choice but to walk over. “You were looking for us?” Esmeralda asks.
“No,” I say. “I was actually just looking for a book.” I hold up the book in my hand as evidence.
Esmeralda reads the title aloud. “Preparing for Zomb-ocalypse: A Survivalist’s Guide.” I glance down at the book and sigh. Of course. Out of the two dozen new books on the shelf, this is the one in my hand when they catch me spying.
“Well,” I say. “It’s good to be prepared.” I throw in a laugh for effect, but I clearly don’t have Esmeralda’s gift. Rather than melodic, I sound like a chicken in pain. Marcus smiles at me. Well, that’s something. At least he finds me amusing. “I don’t want to bother you,” I say, backing toward the exit. Unfortunately, in my haste to get out, I back right into Mrs. Zinnia’s giant antique globe. I spin to catch it, but the zombie apocalypse guide and my general klutziness get in the way. The stand falls with a loud thud, spilling the globe out onto the floor. It proceeds to roll toward the magazine rack at an alarming speed. It hits the base with a resounding boom, toppling the whole thing backward and sending periodicals flying in every direction. The globe ricochets toward the fish tank.
I drop the zombie guide and hurry after it. The globe strikes the fish tank stand, sending a tsunami of water up and over the side. Only a miracle keeps the tank upright and all of the fish inside. Only I didn’t take into account the splash back from the tidal wave. I succeed in stopping the globe’s destruction, but end up drenched in fishy-smelling water in the process. Marcus is the first to reach me, followed by Esmeralda. He looks worried. She looks, well, not covered in fish tank water. Mrs. Zinnia bursts out of her office to see me standing, dripping, clutching the giant globe to my chest.
“Oh my goodness,” she says, hurrying over. “Penny, are you okay?” I nod, wishing I weren’t. Like maybe I could be unconscious or something. But no, I am fully and horribly conscious. Mrs. Zinnia looks around at the path of destruction. “What happened?” she asks. I try to come up with a lucid explanation, but I can’t find one in the midst of my embarrassment. “Well, never mind,” she says. “Let’s just get you cleaned up.”
She takes the globe from me and gestures toward her office. I follow her, my feet squishing in my now wet sneakers. I know I shouldn’t look back, but I do. Marcus looks concerned. Esmeralda looks, well, lovely as usual. Mrs. Zinnia shuts the door behind us so that I can get cleaned up in private. I am able to dry off well enough, but the fishy smell stays with me. I walk back out into the library just as the bell rings. I help Mrs. Zinnia clean up the mess, drying the globe and resettling it into its stand. Then we reorganize the magazines and check on the fish. The last item I pick up is the cursed zomb-ocalypse guide. I tell myself it’s fine. Marcus has seen me in a lot worse condition. It’s just that this time Esmeralda was there smelling like oranges and not fish. And I know it’s not her fault. I put the book away and head toward the library door, wondering if maybe Cinderella’s stepsisters always felt like this. Like maybe they weren’t ugly after all. They just weren’t as pretty as Cinderella. Well, if that’s the case, I have to hope that Marcus prefers the interesting stepsister type.
Mom drops me off at the ARK on her way to Lancaster. She’s delivering a last-minute Thanksgiving order. Mom asked me to be creative and they came out awesome. I made four different kinds. Some have a turkey leg made from a mound of frosting, graham cracker crumbs, and a white chocolate “bone.” Others I made to look like a dish of peas and carrots. I made the carrots out of orange Starbursts and the peas are chewy SweeTarts. The mashed potatoes came out the best with a yellow Starburst for the butter and a pool of caramel sauce for the gravy. The last kind just has mini pecan pies on top with a tiny scoop of vanilla frosting for the ice cream.
Mom tells me she’ll be back in a little over an hour to pick me up. She’s not about to chance Gram being there alone in case Dutch arrives early. I walk down the long driveway and around the side of the house to where the shelter is. I’m actually pretty nervous about seeing Tally. I haven’t spoken to her since the meltdown in art class. I thought she’d call me, but she never did. I almost didn’t come this morning, but I thought bailing might make everything worse.
I don’t see Tally, so I head toward the building housing the exotic pets. The ARK is really just a bunch of buildings nestled among the trees between Monica’s house and Six Mile Lake (which for the record isn’t six miles long. It’s six miles from town). It’s obvious from looking at it that Monica just added buildings as she needed to. Nothing matches. The dog building is blue. The cat building is pink. And the exotics building is half-and-half. I head straight for this last building, which overlooks the lake. Most of the animals in the exotic building aren’t really exotic at all. They are just common lizards and parakeets, but there are a few really odd residents. In addition to Snowball, the wingless albino vulture, there’s Poe, a raven with a permanently broken wing and a limp. And the newest resident: Winston Churchill, a blind snowy owl. He’s my favorite.
I pull open the door and head inside. The heat lamps over the lizards’ cages give everything a rosy glow and warm the whole space. I walk back to Churchill’s cage and give him the peanut butter and sunflower seed cookie I made for him. I know he’d prefer some kind of rodent, but I’ll leave that for Monica. I brought extra cookies for both Poe and Snowball because they’d raise a stink if they saw me feeding Churchill and they didn’t get anything. The door opens just as I’m giving the last of the cookie to Poe.
“I thought I saw your mom pulling out of the driveway,” Tally says. She’s carrying bowls of cut-up apples and lettuce leaves for the lizards and a takeout container of crickets for the snakes. I pass out the fruits and veggies while Tally handles the live dinner. I know the snakes need to eat and I know they’re just crickets, but I still can’t quite bring myself to do it. Tally’s more pragmatic. Everyone has to eat.
The heat lamps flicker when Tally accidentally bumps one with her elbow. She cringes, but they stay on. She frowns at a spot on the ceiling in the corner where water is starting to seep in. Then she looks at me. “I’m sorry I was such a jerk,” she says. “Are you still mad?”
I shake my head. “I just don’t understand what’s going on,” I say.
“I can’t talk about it.”
“Can’t or won’t?” I ask. I’m trying hard not to be offended, but it’s not easy. Clearly something is really wrong. I don’t understand why she won’t talk to me.
“Can we talk about this later?” she asks. She turns and walks toward the door. She pulls it open and is out in the yard before I have a chance to respond.
“I guess we’ll have to,” I say to myself.
I help Tally pass out treats to the dogs. It takes a while because each of them wants to play. I’m throwing a tennis ball for a bulldog named Henry when Tally finally breaks the silence. “I saw Esmeralda and Marcus sitting together in the library.”
“She’s tutoring him,” I say.
“I’ll bet,” she says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. I throw the tennis ball a little harder than I intend. Henry looks at me, a little accusatory. He’s not terribly athletic, but he goes after the ball anyway.
“Penny, you’re not stupid.”
“Thanks for that,” I say.
“Obviously she has her sights on Marcus,” she says.
“She’s not Charity,” I say.
“No,” Tally says. “She’s not. She’s worse.”
I shake my head. “When did you become so cynical?” I ask.
“Hmm. Let’s see,” Tally says. “Maybe when my dad dumped me with Poppy? Or maybe when my letter to him got returned with a big stamp on it saying he refused to accept it? Or maybe when he—” Tally shakes her head. There are tears in her eyes.
“When he what?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” I say. There’s the sound of car tires on the ARK’s gravel driveway. I turn and see my mom pulling in.
“You should go,” she says.
“I can ask her to wait for a minute,” I say.
Tally swipes at her eyes impatiently, like her tears are irritating. “Just go,” she says. Her voice is raw with anger.
“Why are you mad at me?” I ask.
“I’m not,” she says. She closes her eyes. “Please just go.” She turns and walks back toward the exotic building without saying goodbye. The back door of Monica’s house squeaks open. I turn and see Monica stepping outside.
“Penny?” she calls.
“Be right there,” I say. I look back at Tally, who is still walking away from me. Then I head toward the car, where Monica and my mom are standing and talking.
“Thank you anyway,” Monica says to my mom. “But my son and his family are driving down from Maine. They’ll be here soon.”
Mom smiles at me. “I was just asking if Monica wanted to join us for dinner,” she explains.
“Thank you for your help, Penny,” Monica says.
“Anytime,” I say. Then I remember my conversation with Esmeralda. “Do you think it would be okay if I brought someone from school here next week to see the animals?”
“Of course,” Monica says. “There’s always cat boxes to scoop and dogs to walk.”
I smile at the thought of Esmeralda scooping a cat box. Undoubtedly she’d find a way to do it that would make it seem exotic and stylish.
“Well,” she says, “I need to get my pies out of the oven and help Tally finish up so I can get her home. I’m not sure what I would do without her around here.”
Mom and I climb into the car and pull out. “Did you have a good time?” Mom asks.
“Mixed,” I say.
Mom looks at me for a long moment to see if I’m going to elaborate, but when it’s clear I’m not going to give up any more details, she just pats my hand. It’s a pretty lame gesture, but then I guess I’m being pretty lame, too. I pat her hand back. Mom pulls the car out onto the road and we start home.
* * *
I’m finishing setting the table when Tally and Poppy arrive for Thanksgiving dinner. Poppy hugs everyone, but Tally just gives us each a tiny smile. (Everyone but me, that is.) I’m hopeful that when Blake and his mom arrive, it will ease some of the tension, but it doesn’t. It’s obvious to everyone that something’s really off.
Gram puts everyone to work. She directs Tally and Blake and me to set out the fruit and cheese for everyone to nibble on while we wait. Tally and I are both quiet, looking everywhere but at each other. Blake tries to fill the silence, telling us about his mom’s new chocolate avocado raw foods pie that she made. He leans toward us. “Even I wouldn’t eat it,” he says loud enough for his mother to hear.
She smiles from where she’s standing at the counter spooning cranberry sauce into a dish. “It was pretty gross,” she says.
“Pretty gross?” Blake asks. “It was green.”
“Greenish,” his mother says.
Mom keeps checking the clock and looking out the front window while pretending not to look out the front window. Thankfully Gram is too immersed in mashing potatoes and making sure the gravy doesn’t have lumps to notice.
Gram asks me to go out and fill the wood basket so that we can stoke the woodstove before we eat. I grab the wicker basket, glad to do something away from the kitchen and the awkwardness. I walk out onto the front porch and pull the door shut behind me. I step onto the driveway just as Dutch is pulling in. I wait while he parks, then head over to his truck.
“Hey there,” Dutch says, climbing out of his truck. “Need some help?” He gestures toward the basket I’m carrying.
“I’ve got it,” I say.
“Let me rephrase that,” Dutch says. “Can I help?”
“Sure,” I say. I pull the barn door open and flick on the lights. He follows me inside and together we fill the basket. It’s not really a two-person job, so we’re finished in only a couple of minutes. Dutch brushes his hands together to get the sawdust off of them. Then he picks up the basket.
“I’ll get this if you’ll grab what’s on the front seat.” We walk back outside and I shut off the light and pull the door closed. Dutch looks up at the low-hanging clouds. “Looks like it might snow,” he says. I open the passenger’s-side door of his truck and pull out a foil-covered plate. Then I push the truck door shut with my hip. I start toward the house but realize Dutch isn’t behind me. I turn and see him still standing in the same place, looking at the sky. I walk back over to him and wait.
“You nervous?” I ask.
Dutch looks at me. “That obvious, huh?”
“Sort of,” I say, hedging a bit. “But listen. Gram might be mad. But she’ll work it out. She always does.” Dutch nods, but I can tell he’s not convinced.
The front door opens, making both of us jump, but it’s not Gram. It’s Tally, propelled outside by Blake. He gives her one last push and then shuts the door behind her. Tally turns as if to go back in, but we hear the lock click into place. She rolls her eyes and makes a menacing face at the door. I know Blake’s likely watching her through the peephole and probably laughing. Then Tally turns toward us.
“Hi,” she says as if nothing unusual just happened.
“Hi,” I say.
“Tally,” Dutch says, dipping his head a little.
Tally walks right over to me and hugs me hard, almost making me drop the plate. “I’m sorry,” she says.
“Me, too,” I say, feeling tears spring to my eyes.
“I was a jerk,” she says. I start to say something, but she shakes her head. “Don’t deny it. I was.”
“A little,” I say.
“Forgive me?” she asks. “Again?”
“Of course,” I say. I glance over at Dutch, who seems vaguely amused.
Tally nods her head at the plate. “What is it?” she asks.
“You’ll see,” Dutch says. He takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. “I guess we better get this over with.”
“Um, it’s dinner. Not an execution,” Tally says.
“She might poison his food,” I say.
“True,” Tally says, heading toward the house. “Or pour gravy on his head.”
“Or drop a pie in his lap,” I say, following her.
“This isn’t helping,” Dutch says. We make it to the front door, which is still shut.
“Let us in,” Tally says.
“Have you two made up yet?” Blake calls from inside.
“Yes,” we say in unison. The lock clicks open and the door pulls inward.
“Well, good,” Blake says. “I’m sorry I had to get tough with you two, but there’s only just so much emo chick stuff a guy can take.” He looks past us to where Dutch is standing holding the firewood. “Oh, hey, Dutch,” he says. He backs up to let the three of us pass.
“Blake,” Dutch says, nodding his head.
Gram comes around the corner, stopping any further conversation. She narrows her eyes at Dutch and then at the three of us, standing with him. Blake scoots around her on one side while Tally and I move around her on the other. All three of us are eager to get out of the line of fire.
“Hello, Dutch,” she says.
“Afternoon, Joy,” Dutch says.
“You can put the wood over there,” she says, pointing toward the fireplace. She narrows her eyes at the plate I’m carrying. “What did you bring?” she asks.
Dutch puts down the wood basket so that he can take the plate from me. Then he steps toward her as he lifts the foil. “Pineapple upside-down cake,” he says. Gram peers at the cake. “I remember you like it.”
“I do,” she says. She doesn’t even crack a smile. She’s not going to give him an inch. She takes the plate from him and turns toward the kitchen. “I imagine you’ll want to wash up before we eat.” It’s a statement. Not a question. “Penny will show you where.” We all
stand around staring at each other. I think we all had braced ourselves for a giant meltdown. The complete lack of drama has left us all stunned. Gram comes back out of the kitchen and looks at each one of us. “I’m sorry to disappoint you all,” she says. “I know you came for a show, but all you get is a meal.” She says it with a smile, which makes everyone relax. Even Dutch smiles. Then Gram points the whisk she’s holding at him. “You’d better watch yourself, Mr. Ingmar. I’m still as riled up as I was. I just don’t want to ruin dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dutch says. But then just before Gram retreats back into the kitchen. A tiny smile. Meant only for him. I just happened to be standing where I could see it. Dutch picks up the wood basket and carries it over to the fireplace. And I wonder if he saw it, too.
At first I’m not that thrilled about Tally and Blake and me having to sit at the kids’ table. But the truth is Gram’s table is so small that we’d be knocking into one another every two minutes if we all tried to cram around it. Plus, Tally says she has something to talk to us about. Gram lets the three of us serve ourselves first from the dishes lined up on the kitchen counter. Then we retreat into the living room and sit on the floor around the coffee table.
“I’ve been thinking,” Tally says. She takes a bite of turkey and waits.
I glance at Blake, who is shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Well, tell us,” I say.
Tally grins at me. “The odd jobs aren’t bringing in enough money for the ARK. Monica has a long list of all of the things that need fixing or replacing. Even if we paint ten miles of fence, it’s not going to be enough.” I nod and take another bite of potato. “So, Poppy and I were listening to NPR while we were driving to Lancaster.”
Blake and I cut our eyes at each other. NPR is the inspiration for most of her wild ideas. Tally sees us look at each other and frowns.
“Easy, Tal,” Blake says. This doesn’t help. “Look, you know we’re in,” he says. “Whatever it is.” He looks at me for confirmation. I nod. Absolutely. “I was all for the Rock Paper Scissors Society; the Fruitcake Initiative; and the Waste Not, Want Not Drive. I also dressed up as a giant acorn for Arbor Day last year.” I can’t help staring at him. Other than the RPS Society, I have no idea what he’s talking about. “I think I’ve earned the right to ask a few questions.”
Frosted Kisses Page 11