by Elly Swartz
Then a small boy wearing a dinosaur shirt and holding his mom’s hand, sits down next to Gertrude. They leave her daffodils and the boy tells his grandma Gertie that he won his soccer match. She doesn’t respond.
A sadness I understand creeps across his tiny brow. I hand him a piece of paper, and together we color pictures for those who can’t answer.
On the way home, I make one stop. My hand shakes a little as I ring the doorbell and stand still, nervously counting inside. The last time I showed up unannounced it wasn’t exactly a welcomed surprise. I see a neighbor going into his apartment with a cup of coffee. He nods. I wave. I ring the doorbell again. The door’s still closed.
Finally, it opens. Jess stands there. I wait to see if she’s mad that I’m here—the place where her secrets are hidden, but she waves me in. No sign of mad. I step in. And suddenly I’m not sure why I’m here.
Leila runs up and hugs me. As she wraps her little arms around my neck, she asks, “Are you staying for dinner?”
I look at Jess. She hands me a cookie sheet. “You two can make dessert.” I text Dad the new plan. Leila’s curls bounce as she hops up and down. I glance at the couch to the right and am relieved not to see their mom sleeping. Jess puts on music, and the three of us dance around the kitchen like friends who don’t keep secrets. When Leila ditches cooking for Legos, I tell Jess everything about Pink Roses, Operation Mom, and Reggie. And that’s when I realize why I’m here. I’m sick of hiding and half-truths and friends-turned-not-turned-something-else.
“Wow! Impressive.”
I stare at her. “Soliciting my dad and breaking and entering? I think you may need to rethink your definition of impressive.”
“No. Doing all that for your dad. I mean, to make sure he’s okay.”
In that moment, I know we’re the same. She did the things she did for her mom, and I did what I had to for my dad. We sit on the wood floor and watch Leila build a blue and yellow and red castle.
Then Jess disappears into her room. When she returns, she’s wearing her Jessica and Frankie BFF bracelet. She slides next to me on the floor and says, “I went to see him.”
“Who?” I ask, putting the cookies into the oven.
“My dad.”
I look into her eyes to see if she’s lying or sad. She isn’t.
“I mean, I went to see him on purpose. No hiding behind a bush.”
“How was it?” I ask.
“Weird. But okay, I guess.”
Somewhere between the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and double chocolate chip cookies, Jess’s mom walks in the front door. I wonder if the vibe will shift. But it doesn’t. Mrs. Blaine looks like the mom I remember. The one who helped us run a bake sale in third grade to raise money for the local fire station. She’s wearing regular mom clothes and asks me mom questions. How’s school? How’s the float? How’s your dad? And she joins us for dinner, in a chair at the table.
“Sorry you had to see me like that the other day,” she says to me as she buries her embarrassment in the heap of potatoes on her plate.
“It’s okay.” I try to think of something deep and philosophical to say, but I’ve got no Yoda moments in me.
“No, it wasn’t. But it’s getting better. I’m getting better.” She reaches out and puts her hand on top of Jess’s.
I nod to keep any stupid things I might say from coming out.
“Thanks for being such a good friend to Jess,” she says.
So that’s what we are.
Good friends.
Before school, I put on my Jessica and Frankie BFF bracelet and grab Annie’s now-late Valentine’s card. The one I made when Annie was just my former kindergarten teacher, not Dad’s person. It’s covered with pink feathers, silver rhinestones, and glitter. I never gave it to her on Valentine’s Day, and I’m not sure I want to give it to her now. But when I see Blue Shirt Sub standing in the front of the school again, I feel a drop of missing, stuff Annie’s card back into my pack, and pull out the one I made for Elliot. He left to go to his grandmother’s ninetieth birthday celebration in New Jersey before my glitter fest at Mills. His card has no rhinestones, just lots of ghosts and one zombie. I put it in his locker as a post-dentist-appointment surprise. Apparently, he’s starting his day getting a cavity filled.
Jess waves and smiles from her locker down the hall, the BFF bracelet dangling off her left wrist. Then Mr. Bearson calls us in. His tie is checkered with tiny elephants. “Good morning, everyone,” he says as I scan the room. Shanti’s doodling, Josh is writing something, and Greg is trying to get the bubble gum unstuck from his braces.
Mr. Bearson clears his throat and does a drumroll on the reading table at the front of the room. “The time has come to announce the winner of our float theme contest.”
The room buzzes. Even Squirrel, the class hamster, speeds up on his wheel race to nowhere.
“While there were many creative ideas, there was one unique suggestion that stood out from the rest.”
“Bet it’s mine,” says Caroline. “A sea animal float. Narwhals. Otters. Whales.”
“Nope. I’m winning this,” Raheim says. “Baseball Hall of Famers. Like Ty Cobb and Joe DiMaggio.”
Mr. Bearson motions us to stop talking. “I know you’re all excited.”
The blueberry pancakes that Dad made me this morning flip-flop in my stomach.
“The winning theme for this year’s Winter Family Festival Float is Who’s in Your Herd?”
“So we’re going to be like a bunch of elephants?” Shanti asks.
Mr. Bearson laughs, then shoots a broad grin in my direction. “No, elephants. Actually, the whole title is: Who’s in Your Herd/Bloat/School/Murder/Dazzle/Tower? It’s the perfect theme for this festival where we celebrate family.”
“Still not really getting it, Mr. Bearson,” Shanti says.
“Frankie, want to explain?”
The air freezes around me. I don’t move. I never actually thought my idea would win. I just needed one that would keep me from being called up to Mr. Bearson’s desk. I scan the room, take a deep-to-my-belly-button breath, and then share, “Those are the names of the groups that different animals live with. Like, a bloat of hippos, murder of crows, herd of elephants, school of fish, tower of giraffes, and dazzle of zebras.”
I actually used dazzle to beat Elliot in Word Play the other day.
“So we are going as animals,” Shanti says.
Mr. Bearson shakes his head. “No, we’re going as a family. After all, that’s what all these groups of animals are and that’s what this festival is about—family at home and in the community.”
Whoops and claps and stomps build until the room bursts with a cacophony of celebration, drowning out the few lasting mumbles of “that’s not fair.”
Jess gives me a thumbs-up even though her puppets seem to not understand how Fashion Trends Through the Years didn’t win. I can’t contain my happy dance.
“Congratulations, Frankie. You and your family will be able to ride on the float during the parade.”
Ride on the float!
Woot!
With my family!
Woot!
Wait. What does that even look like?
Me, Dad, and Annie.
My family of three.
My happy dance slows.
At that moment, I realize I got what I wanted. A family for the Winter Family Festival Parade.
So why do I feel more like a lone wolf than dazzle of zebras?
The snow and ice crunch under my boots as I leave school. I want the yay-I-won feeling to zip up from my holey sock and flood my body, but it doesn’t. It’s stuck. I twirl the four-leaf clover in my pocket as I try to keep my hands from freezing on my way to Mills.
The card room smells like flowers. I’m thankful they’re not pink roses.
When I walk in, Sid and Gram are holding hands. Gram pats the empty chair next to her. “Come sit.”
Sid looks at me, then kisses Gram’s hand. “Gonna l
eave you two ladies alone for a bit.”
I ease into the chair. Gram smiles as she watches Sid leave the room. I wonder what’s stronger, Rule #11 or the kind of love that leads to coral lipstick, perfume, and red nail polish.
Then, as if she’s flipped on her magic mind-reading powers, Gram says, “You know, loving Sid doesn’t mean leaving you.” She holds my hand with her soft, buttery fingers. “My heart has room to love a lot of people.”
I blink back the tear that I worry might leak out.
“That’s true for your dad, too.” She pauses, looks into that place where most people don’t see and says, “Annie’s a wonderful person.”
I nod.
“Your mom loved her.”
I nod again. “Does Dad?”
Gram shrugs. “Don’t know. I do know that his heart has lots of room, though.”
“How did you find out?”
“Your dad came to me in the beginning. He wanted my blessing.”
I’m not sure if I’m more surprised they had a secret that didn’t include me or that Dad wanted her approval.
“And?”
“I gave it to him. Frankie, your dad loved your mom, so much. And that will never change. But he still has a lot of life to live.”
The words seep deep into my skin.
“I hear he hasn’t been the only one keeping secrets,” she says with a laugh. “I knew you were up to something, but Connection.com? That’s priceless. Just like you, Smart Cookie.” We play cards for a while, and I tell her about the float contest.
“Count me in,” she says. “Maybe Sid can ride on the float with us.”
I leave Mills wondering how my family now seems to include Jess’s pop, and head over to meet Elliot in front of Bert’s Ice Cream Shack. Even though it’s freezing out, I owe him a double-scoop Oreo ice cream cone after losing the last round of Word Play. Inside, we run directly into Annie. She’s with a little kid I don’t recognize. Annie’s hair is in a frosted silver clip, and she looks like she does every other day … except totally different.
Now she’s my dad’s person.
“Hi there,” Annie says as she walks over and gives us her usual-but-now-not smile. There’s no trinket or story today.
She introduces us to her niece, Mackenzie, who’s visiting from Fayetteville, Pennsylvania. That’s why Annie hasn’t been at school. She’s been showing her niece around. Elliot tells them about some famous ghost haunts close by and a really cool cemetery they should visit. I say nothing.
“What’s up with you?” Elliot asks after Annie and Mackenzie find a table in the back.
Feels kind of like a trick question.
“I mean you barely said hi to Annie.”
I never got to tell him about Dad and Annie. His dentist appointment ended up lasting all day. Something about an infected tooth. Sounds painful. I stare at Elliot, hoping his ghost-hunting skills help him read my thoughts.
But they don’t.
“You’re freaking me out. What’s wrong with you?” Elliot asks. “Did something happen? I mean other than your gram and Jess’s pop. I’m still processing that one.”
I take in all the air I think I’ll need to tell the story of Annie and the pink roses. When I’m done, Elliot’s staring at Annie while his ice cream drips down the side of his cone.
“Okay, not helping,” I say. “Stop staring. I don’t want her to know what we’re talking about, and if you bore a hole in her face with your eyes, then chances are, she’ll know.”
“Wow. Annie. Didn’t see that coming,” Elliot says. “What about your dad’s profile.”
“Shut it down.”
“Did he find out about it?”
“I confessed. Don’t worry, I left you out of the plan.”
“Thanks.”
“Didn’t want him to kill my only ally.”
“How mad was he?”
“Stop doing that thing with your eyes.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose. It just happens. Like breathing.” He licks the side of his cone and then stuffs the rest into his mouth. “On a scale from one to ten, how mad was he: ten—he’s in the process of disowning you—one—he thought it was the best idea ever?”
“About a never-do-it-again seven.”
“Not bad. I assumed a solid nine.”
“I think he would’ve been a ten, but he’d been keeping Annie a secret from me. So not sure how angry he could really get without sounding like a total hypocrite.”
“I guess. But you did make him a profile and pretend to be him to find a mom.”
“For a good cause.”
“True. So in a way, you succeeded. You found him a, um, you know, person.” He digs in his bag and takes out a bag of beef jerky.
“How can you still be hungry?” I ask.
“Most of the day my mouth and the tip of my nose were numb,” he says. Then he takes a big bite of his smoked maple beef jerky. “And I’m pretty sure the nose part was a mistake.”
The smell of beef jerky bleeds everywhere. “That’s the part I don’t get,” I say.
“Why? Are my nose and mouth still droopy from the novocaine?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t get how I could’ve wanted my dad to find someone before the Winter Family Festival. And he did.”
“So what’s the problem?”
I shrug because I honestly don’t know. “Let’s talk about something else. I’m sick of pink roses.”
He takes a bite of the beef jerky. “Well, we could talk about Reggie and how he’s trying to steal the B&B.”
“Out with it,” I say.
“Turns out Reggie wants to knock down the B&B to build his empire.”
“We’ve been over that. He can’t. We’re here. Even the man who doesn’t give out candy on Halloween wouldn’t drive a tractor over an inn filled with people.”
“Maybe not, but he’s hoping it’ll be empty soon.”
“How?”
“I’m getting to that. First, you need to know that Reggie used to own the B&B and then, suddenly, one day, sold it to Mickey for cheap.”
“Why? That doesn’t sound like Reggie,” I say, glancing over at Dad’s Annie.
“Not sure yet. Maybe he was hoping that Mickey would keep it and then Reggie could buy it back later. But supposedly, Mickey really loved the place.”
“Then why did Mickey sell it to my dad?”
“He needed the money.”
I think of Mr. Cuddles at the B&B and part of me feels sad for Mickey.
“When Reggie found out that Mickey sold it to your dad, he went nuts.”
“Why would Reggie care?”
“Don’t know. I found emails to Mickey in those photos you took at Reggie’s office. Angry emails. Then the paper trail dropped off until a few months ago.”
“What happened then?” I scoop the chocolate sprinkles off the bottom of my cup.
“Reggie started some kind of development company, and he’s been going around to small towns, buying up properties, with the hope of building developments, escalating prices, and selling.”
“But I still don’t get how he’s planning on buying the B&B if my dad won’t sell.”
“He’s driving customers away.”
The sprinkles stick in my throat.
“How?”
“Cousin Mickey. Remember those brochures we saw at Mickey’s house and the dates on the calendar that were circled?”
I nod. The things I didn’t think were clues.
“Reggie paid him to disappear. Then started a rumor that Mickey was missing. People assumed the worst because Mickey was always in trouble. Always owing someone money.”
“But I don’t get how that ties to the B&B.”
“This was the part that took me a while to figure out. But then I saw something similar on The Great Ghost Pursuit last night. Reggie pulled the classic haunting—dead owner returns to haunt his beloved old home.”
“Like Beatrice Jacoby?”
Elliot nods. “
Everyone in town knew how much Mickey loved the B&B. So all Reggie had to do was plant the seeds. One, Mickey owed money to some bad people. Two, Mickey was missing. Three, a ghost was seen at the B&B.”
I try to take in everything that Elliot is telling me without puking my Oreo ice cream all over the table.
“Customers heard the rumors and ran. If your dad can’t pay his loan, he’ll have no choice but to sell or lose the property. I checked the photo of Reggie’s calendar. He’s got a meeting at the bank next week. It could be about the B&B.”
Every empty room, cancellation, and extra batch of leftover cookies spills into my brain. But in my haze of mad, I notice Elliot’s serious detective face fade into a set of sad eyes. “I guess you were right about the ghost meter after all. It’s just some made-up junk science,” he says.
I don’t want to be right. I shake my head no. “I don’t think it’s really junk science. Maybe this one just has a broken part or wobbly connection.”
He ponders that while he finishes the last piece of beef jerky. “Maybe. I’ll inspect the meter when I get home and see if the laser’s loose.” He pauses and then says, “Either way, I think we need to tell your dad.”
“Not yet. You said there’s a meeting with the bank next week. If we get there earlier, maybe we can stop the bank from selling the loan. You know, show that Reggie manipulated this whole thing. Save the B&B.”
“I just hope it’s not too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“If your dad’s already defaulted on the loan, Frankie, we may be out of options.”
When I get to the B&B, there’s a sticky note on the front desk with Dad’s ETA. I crack open a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos and look around. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. This is our home. My home. I spent a whole summer sitting on that flowery cushion by the bay window, reading every book we keep in the lobby for guests. I learned how to bake the best cookies ever in that oven. And I never put my muddy sneakers in that boot bin. We can’t lose this place. I think and eat and think and eat, but no grand plan crystalizes. I move to the living room, and around seven, Dad joins me, Lucy, Winston and the big bag of Doritos on the king-size couch. Part of me wants to keep my no-secrets promise and tell him everything about Reggie. But the other part wants to fix this. To remind him that I’m still his person.