I recognized him from school, but he was a few years older than me. “I’m Penny. And we are. Hopefully we can find a new buyer and finally open it.”
Nick scratched his head, which sported the last-all-summer-long buzz cut most of the boys around the town had. “Can we help?”
“Sure, since you’re offering. You can choose something from my trading cart in return at the end of the day.” The cart was still nearly full. Most people working on the Finest never took anything, even when I told them to. I wasn’t breaking Mama’s rules accepting help, since at least I’d offered something in trade. I turned around, looking for a job twelve kids could do. The bottles and caps around Carly glowed and shook, and I knew that’s where I should send them. “You can go work with Carly.” Her soda cap mural was turning out real nice, with a big butterfly floating among my soda bottle flowers. Her mom had even joined her to help out. It was nice to see the two of them smiling and laughing.
Joe’s tree house was taking shape, with the platform of the house coming to life around the trunk. He was taking a break, drinking a soda and looking up at the tree. All by himself, of course. No one ever seemed to talk to him—but at least no one was giving him a hard time.
I walked over. “Need any help?”
“Oh, I could use help, but I’m not letting a kid use power tools.” He grinned.
“Too bad Wren wasn’t here. I’m sure he’d be a big help.” I waited, hoping he’d give me some more information.
“He certainly would.”
“I can’t understand what two people could fight over that would end a friendship forever.” I crossed my fingers.
He said nothing.
“Did you guys beat each other up or something?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. It wasn’t anything like that.” He tossed his soda can on the ground and looked up at the sky. “I figure you’re going to pester me about this until I tell you.” He waited a moment, and his shoulders slumped. Then he sighed. “We got in a fight about your mom.”
I sucked in a breath. “So they did know each other.” I ran my hands through my hair. This was like changing a question mark to a period. To an exclamation mark! Mama knew Wren? Mama knew Wren. Mama knew Wren! Wren, with freckles like mine. “But what could’ve been bad enough for him to just leave? Did you like her, too?”
He shook his head. “No. That wasn’t it.” He kicked at a stone in the grass. His face looked pained, and I hated putting him through this. But I had to know.
“What happened, then?”
“It doesn’t matter what the fight was about. I just thought you’d like to hear that he did know your mom. Seems real important to you.”
“Thank you. It’s more important than anything.”
It was a lot more than I’d expected to learn. And it was probably the most proof I’d ever get that Wren was my daddy. That had to be good for something.
That news took up most of the space in my mind for the rest of the afternoon. I didn’t get much done. I wandered around the site, wondering which trees Wren had climbed. Which corners of the yard he’d sat in with a book. But most of all, I wondered where he was now.
At the end of the day, I went inside to inspect what was happening there, and even more people had taken on rooms upstairs: one had become a showcase for old toys, one was filled with rainbow murals and knickknacks, and one was taking on the form of a library with loads of books on the shelves already. It wasn’t even my project anymore. It was coming alive on its own. I swear, it seemed like the building sighed, content with finally being tended to.
Work wrapped up by dinnertime, with everyone promising to come back the next day. Some folks said they’d be bringing friends or relatives with them. I wondered if the whole population of New Hope could fit in the lot, ’cause it seemed like that’s where things were headed.
Parker and I walked home, and he didn’t say much along the way.
“Joe told me he and Wren stopped talking because they got in a fight over Mama,” I told him. “Wren knew her. But after the fight, Wren disappeared, and Joe never talked to him again.”
“So he left Mama. That’s another reason I don’t ever want to meet him,” Parker said.
How could the two of us have such different ideas about finding Wren? We were twins. I raised my voice. “You’re being selfish, not trying to find him.”
He tipped up his chin and crossed his arms. “You’re being bossy and mean.”
My jaw dropped, then I snapped it shut and looked away.
We walked on, saying nothing, occasionally shooting mean glances at each other. My anger felt like a pot starting to bubble up and boil. When we got home, we silently stashed the trading cart behind the shed.
I shook my finger, ready to start arguing again, when I heard a strange noise. A moan.
“Children, help!”
It was Grauntie!
CHAPTER 15
We ran to the house, where we found Grauntie lying at the bottom of the stairs, curled up on the concrete walkway.
I knelt beside her. “Are you okay?” I helped her slowly sit up.
“I’ve been lying here for hours. Yelled like the dickens, but your Uncle Jake didn’t hear me.” She touched her head and winced. Dried blood covered her forehead.
Parker charged up the stairs into the house.
“What happened?” I asked her.
“I … I grabbed the railing and just tumbled down the stairs. Then I couldn’t seem to get up.”
I looked up the stairs. The railing was hanging loose where we had glued it to the house. My heart felt like a hunk of lead. This was my fault. The glue didn’t fix the railing. “I’ll call for help.”
I ran inside for the phone. Parker was standing with it in the hall already, and he handed it to me, stretching the cord out. I looked at the emergency numbers Grauntie had listed by the dial before we even came to live with her. With trembling fingers, I called the fire station. “This is Penny Porter, and my Grauntie needs an ambulance.”
After they promised to send one out right away, I tried my best not to think about the doom painting. Seemed like this accident was exactly the kind of curse those paintings brought about. Losing Grauntie was far worse than me getting stuck in a tree.
I busied myself getting Grauntie water and an aspirin. Then I brought her a cool cloth and covered her with a blanket. What else could I do? She gripped my hand while we waited for help.
“You’ll be okay. Everything will be all right,” I told her, again and again. But to be honest, I was reassuring myself, too. I didn’t want Grauntie to be hurt. And I didn’t want her to leave. What would we do without her? Here I’d been doing everything to keep the three of us together, and I’d ruined it because I wouldn’t ask someone to fix the darn railing. But I wasn’t supposed to ask for help. I had to be able to do things on my own. To not be a burden or a bother.
My heart skipped a few beats as I wondered what would happen to me and Parker once they wheeled Grauntie into the ambulance. And where was the ambulance, anyway? The fire department in town had one. Why was it taking so long?
I tried to keep calm and remember that I’d put Clara Barton on my family tree a while back. She was a nurse in the Civil War. People called her the “Angel of the Battlefield.” After the war, she founded the American Red Cross, so since I was related to her, that meant I had some caretaking skills in me. I could handle this. I gripped Grauntie’s hand. I am the descendant of a great caretaker, I told myself as we waited.
When the ambulance finally came, a sheriff’s deputy was there, too, and the mayor! My knees knocked. Were they going to put us in jail since we had no one to watch us? Was I in trouble for not getting someone proper to fix the railing?
While the ambulance crew checked out Grauntie, Miss Meriwether led me and Parker inside and sat on the couch, patting the seat next to her.
We sat nervously on either side of her. It was way worse than being called to the principal’s office for chat
tering during class.
“I heard the call on the fire scanner, and I was worried. I know it’s just the three of you here. I wanted to be sure you were okay,” the mayor said. “I don’t know the extent of your Grauntie’s injuries, but I’m sure she’s going to be in the hospital for a bit.”
“And what about us?” I asked, bracing myself for the next part.
“Is there anywhere you can stay for a while?” Miss Meriwether asked. “Any nearby kin?”
I pressed my eyes closed and shook my head. “Not that I know of. Not anyone who hasn’t already decided they can’t handle us.”
“Please don’t send us to jail,” Parker said. “I bet jail food is horrible.”
Miss Meriwether laughed softly. “That’s not going to happen. Just let me make a few calls.” She stood and walked to the kitchen.
I went outside to see how Grauntie was doing. “Is she going to be all right?” I asked the ambulance crew.
“We won’t know until we do some x-rays,” one of the guys said.
I walked over to Grauntie and I looped my hands behind my back. “Get better soon, Grauntie. Please. You have to.”
“I will, Penny. You two stay out of trouble. Mind Uncle Jake while I’m gone. Can you find my pocketbook?”
“Okay.” I went back inside, found her purse on the kitchen table, and brought it to her. Then I went inside and sat on the couch with Parker. We looked at each other. “Sorry we were fighting,” I said.
He nodded. From the wrinkle on his forehead, I knew he was wondering if now was the time to pack up the cart and head for the mountains. I shook my head. His shoulders slumped, probably in relief. Even though he said it would be a fun adventure, I knew he wouldn’t be too keen on the idea of living in the woods. Sweets didn’t grow on trees; nuts and berries did, and he’d told me more than once he wasn’t fond of squirrel food.
Miss Meriwether came back and knelt in front of us. “The Carlsons said they’d be happy to come here and stay with you until your Grauntie’s back. Since they previously went through foster care training, the people from social services said it would be okay for them to stay with you for a while. Sound good?”
“The Carlsons were foster parents before?” My heart warmed up with that news. Not that I’d ever ask them to take us in for good. That would be begging to be loved. It was just nice to know good folks like the Carlsons were in the system.
“The Carlsons can come here, for sure.” Parker’s eyes popped open wide and he nodded like his neck was a spring. “Can they bring pie?”
Miss Meriwether laughed. “I’ll ask. Okay with you, Penny?”
I crossed my arms, not knowing how to feel. Mrs. Carlson would probably try hugging us to death. “That’ll be fine,” I said, only because I couldn’t think of any other options.
CHAPTER 16
The Carlsons showed up an hour later with suitcases and stacks of takeout containers. The smell of that good food almost brought me to tears.
“I don’t know if you two are hungry, but I’ve found a full stomach always helps make sense of a bad situation,” Mrs. Carlson said.
“You two doing all right?” Mr. Carlson asked. “That must’ve been scary for you.” His calm, deep voice settled over me like a cozy blanket.
I nodded. “We’re fine. Thanks.”
“Did you bring pie? We’ll be more fine if you brought pie.” Parker swooped his tongue over his lower lip.
Mrs. Carlson laughed. “We brought pie, and all sorts of goodies. We’ll sit down and eat soon.” She walked over to the front window and opened the curtains. The sun was sliding down the sky, making the clouds glow pink. Grauntie never opened the curtains.
“I’m not sure how we’re going to pay you back for your help,” I said. “I suppose I could make loads of tin can critters.”
Mrs. Carlson squeezed my shoulder. “There is no need for that. We’re happy to be here with you.”
“I didn’t know you guys used to be foster parents,” I said. “But how come you’re not anymore?”
Mrs. Carlson looked at Mr. Carlson, and he lowered his eyes, like something was real interesting on the floor.
“It just didn’t work out,” Mrs. Carlson said. “It wasn’t right for us.”
Now I looked down at the floor. “I see. Guess it would be awful hard.”
“But we are happy to be with you two for a short while,” Mr. Carlson said. “Does your Grauntie have a radio?” He looked around the living room.
“I’ve never heard her play one,” I said. “She just watches TV.”
But Mr. Carlson knelt in front of a piece of furniture I had thought was just a big stand covered with knickknacks. He opened the doors and found the controls to a radio. He twisted a knob and turned on some music. Then he fiddled around with another knob until he found what he was looking for.
It was instruments only, like nothing I’d ever heard. “What is that?” I asked.
“Jazz,” Mr. Carlson said, closing his eyes and smiling.
“Mr. Carlson’s a distant relation to Duke Ellington,” Mrs. Carlson explained, as she found the plates and started setting the table for dinner.
“Who’s that?” Parker asked.
“He was born a grandson of slaves, and became one of the greatest jazz musicians this country has ever seen,” Mr. Carlson explained. He pulled a harmonica out of his pocket and started playing along to the song on the radio, his eyes closed, his body swaying like he was making magic, not music.
I worried Parker might be bothered by the sound, but he was clapping and bopping to the beat.
“Mr. Carlson’s certainly got a drop or two of Duke’s blood in him, that’s for sure,” his wife said. “Mary did, too. She was amazing on the piano.”
I nodded. That’s exactly the sort of thing I wish I knew about myself. Maybe there was a famous musician in my father’s family and I was throwing away a perfectly good gift by not taking any lessons. But how would I ever know? I sat there, thinking about family and letting myself get lost in the song.
“I’ve got dinner set out on the table,” Mrs. Carlson announced, after a bit. “You all come sit down now.”
Mr. Carlson put his harmonica back in his pocket and sat at the table. Parker and I followed.
The table was set with plates and napkins and glasses. Usually we just ate out of our takeout containers, or at the couch. A pair of candles was even glowing bright at the center of the table, like it was a special night.
Mr. Carlson bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Dear Lord, we thank you for this food and all your blessings. Please guide these children through this difficult time and place your healing hand over their Grauntie. Amen.”
“Amen,” Mrs. Carlson said.
And, quickly, I added a few thoughts to the prayer: Please don’t make us leave New Hope. Please help us back on the map in time so we can stay. Please help me find Wren.
“Hope you don’t mind that we grabbed some leftovers from the diner,” Mrs. Carlson said. “We were in a hurry to get here.” She passed a bowl of mashed potatoes to me.
“We love your diner food,” I told them.
“Then you should see what she cooks at home,” Mr. Carlson said, with a wink.
“This week I’ll make us a big, home-cooked dinner,” Mrs. Carlson said. She slapped the table. “Thanksgiving, that’s what we’ll have. With turkey and all the trimmings. And we’ll give thanks for all our blessings.”
“Yum!” Parker said. “Pumpkin pie.”
Parker and I hadn’t had a proper Thanksgiving dinner in years, and Mrs. Carlson was going to make it in the middle of the summer for no reason? “That’d be real nice,” I said, trying not to sound as excited as I felt. I scooped a lump of creamy potatoes onto my plate. The meatloaf was still making its way around the table.
“You sure had a nice turnout at the site today, kids,” Mr. Carlson said.
“I’m surprised so many people want to help,” I said.
“I’m not,” Mrs. C
arlson replied. “People want to do good. People want things to be better, but they usually wait until someone else takes the first step. And that’s what you two did.”
I was surprised Mrs. Carlson had something positive to say about the Finest. I thought she hated the place. “It was nothing, really.” I felt dishonest, letting her praise me like that when my only reason for fixing up New Hope’s Finest was a selfish one.
“I’m ready for dessert,” Parker said, before I’d even taken one bite of my meatloaf. Then he burped.
“Parker!” I scolded. For a small boy, he let out big burps.
He giggled, and so did Mrs. Carlson. “My word, but you’re a hungry boy,” she said. “Help yourself to seconds.”
Parker looked confused. “No, we can’t have seconds. Need to save them for leftovers tomorrow. ‘One less meal we’ll have to make,’ that’s what Grauntie says.”
I tried to kick him under the table, but he was too far away. So I glared at him instead, thinking, Hush! We don’t want them worrying that Grauntie can’t take care of us properly.
Slumping back in his seat, he seemed to get the message. “I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t need seconds. Grauntie takes care of us just fine.”
Why couldn’t this be one of the times he didn’t talk?
Mrs. Carlson smiled, but it was a small one. “I’m sure your Grauntie takes care of you the best she can, but we’re here tonight, and we’ll be here cooking dinner, so we don’t want leftovers, right?”
Parker grinned and reached for the meatloaf. “Right.”
I gave Parker another look, and he put his hands in his lap.
“Is your Grauntie able to cook for you?” Mrs. Carlson asked.
“Oh, sure, lots,” I said. “If we’re not picking up dinner from you, she sends me to the grocery store with a list for all sorts of stuff.” The music was taking a slow, sad turn, with a lone trumpeter wailing a tune.
Mrs. Carlson frowned as she poked at her potatoes.
“I like doing the shopping,” I said.
“So, can I have seconds or not?” Parker asked.
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