by Laura Ruby
“I’m really sorry.”
“And that was a lot to lay on me, all that face-blind stuff. Especially after . . . well . . . after. . . .”
“I know. I’m sorry. I am! I’m dumb. Really dumb.”
“You are dumb. Pretty, but dumb.”
“Pretty?”
“Don’t fish for compliments.”
“You’re pretty, too,” she said.
“And dumb?”
“Seriously dumb.”
“I’m sorry, Petey.”
Her arm brushed his. “What can we do to make it up to each other?”
Trying to get a handle on what he thought, what he felt, what he thought about what he felt and vice versa, was like trying to open a locked door by ramming it with his head. He wasn’t getting through. The only things he was sure of: it sucked she hadn’t trusted him, it sucked he was blind, it sucked she wasn’t sitting in his lap.
“You’re smiling,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“A little bit.”
“This is not a smile.”
“What is it?”
“This is my thinking face.”
“I think I know what you’re thinking.”
“You can’t. I’m too mysterious for you.”
“Is it something dishonorable?”
“Only slightly.”
“I’m disappointed, then.”
“I forgive you,” he said.
She moved close enough that he could smell the mint of her gum. “Do you?”
“Maybe. Eventually.”
Petey put her hand on his knee. “I can work with that.”
After Petey left, dragging the people of Bone Gap with her—including a vigorously protesting Jonas Apple, who wanted statements, damn it—Finn went to his room to check on the Kittens. He gave them some food and some water and lay on the floor, let them use him as a playground. They hopped over his legs and chewed on his hair, chased his fingers, nibbled his toes. Finn fell asleep draped in Kittens and dreamed that the corn walked the earth on skinny white roots, liked to joke with the crows, and wasn’t afraid of anything.
He woke up a day or a month or a year later, Rus the wolf-dog snorfling at his face.
“I’m not edible,” Finn mumbled.
Rus woofed. Finn opened one eye. Cat and Kittens had retreated to their closet, peering out at the giant shaggy creature.
“This is important,” Finn said. “Nobody in this room is edible, okay, dog?”
Rus woofed again, wagged his giant shaggy tail against the bed. It sounded like someone beating a rug.
Finn sat up, groaned. “How long have I been asleep?”
The animals didn’t respond.
“Some help you are.”
He used the bed to leverage himself off the floor and shuffled to the window. From the light coming through, he could tell it was evening. Outside, Roza stood with the mare, brushing her coat and murmuring to her as the goat tottered around them both.
Finn said, “Hey.”
“Look,” said Roza to the horse, “boy with eyes great moons of love.”
“Where did you find her?”
“Who?”
“The horse.”
“I ask brother same question.”
“Huh? What do you mean?’
“I know horse. My babcia’s horse. This Córka. Means daughter.”
“That can’t be your babcia’s horse.”
“No?” said Roza. “Why not?”
Finn had no idea why not. The horse snorted as if to laugh.
“Where Petey?”
“She went home. Where’s Sean?”
“I say go to work. He say no. I say yes.” She shrugged. “He go.” She continued to brush the horse. “Soon, I go.”
“What? Go where?”
“Poland. See Babcia.”
“Now?”
She smiled. “No. Soon.”
“But you just got back! And you have to heal, don’t you?”
She touched the line of stitches. “I go. Then I come back. You see?”
He saw. As she stroked the horse, the air around her shimmered and danced, and he saw through her to a young woman with black hair, then copper, then yellow, eyes the color of the greenest grass, the bluest sky, the deepest earth, skin kissed gold, white, bronze, night. She was a horse galloping across a plain, she was a mountain spring, she was a shoot thrusting through the earth, a red flower in the barley.
And then she was just a girl petting a very large mare, a goat chewing at the hem of her dress. “What?” she said. “Why you stare?”
He thought about telling her what he had seen, how many faces she had. But maybe he was seeing things again. And it was nothing he could explain.
He said, “That scar makes you more beautiful.”
She laughed. “Ha. You not so blind.”
THE PEOPLE OF BONE GAP
WHAT THEY HAD HEARD: FINN O’SULLIVAN HAD SEEN the kidnapper lurking around Charlie Valentine’s house and had followed him to his lair, where he had found Roza.
Or something like that.
But the kidnapper found him, and threatened to kill them both.
Or something like that.
So Roza broke a mirror and fought with her kidnapper. She was injured, but she and Finn got away with the help of a dog the size of a horse.
Or something like that.
The details were fuzzy, which just made the story that much more fun to tell. Jonas Apple had an all-points bulletin out on the suspect, but Roza said the man wouldn’t be kidnapping anyone else ever again. The people believed her, because she had a way of saying things that just sounded true. Maybe it was the accent.
Plus she made such excellent cookies.
Roza brought hundreds of these cookies and trays of golobki to the Chat ’n’ Chew. They joined Mel Willis’s honey clusters and piles of sandwiches and vats of chili and dozens of bean and tuna and macaroni casseroles on the counter. Halloween wouldn’t arrive for months, but the people of Bone Gap were throwing a costume party. Masks required.
The highlight of the evening was the game. Everyone was supposed to guess the identity of the other guests without anyone removing their masks. When a person guessed correctly, Jonas Apple would slap a bee sticker on him or her. Whoever was wearing the most stickers at the end of the night won a prize.
Finn O’Sullivan was covered in bees. He recognized Miguel Cordero (his ghost costume couldn’t hide the long arms peeking out from under the sheet). He recognized Amber Hass (her pirate costume couldn’t hide the fact that she was hanging on Miguel’s big arms). He recognized the Rude boys (the cowboy costumes couldn’t hide the bowlegs). He recognized Mel Willis (the devil costume couldn’t hide her honey voice). And he recognized Charlie Valentine, who just wore a paper bag on his head (he had a chicken cradled like a baby, and a dozen great-grandchildren who followed him like a brood of chicks).
The people were amazed, especially considering Finn’s condition. Wasn’t that so strange? And didn’t it explain so much? Finn’s own face was painted black and white—a crescent moon on one side, the other side dark as midnight. Moonface, as if they would ever use a name like that! The people of Bone Gap called Finn a lot of things, but mostly they said he was brave.
At the food table, where Finn was going in for another round of honey clusters, Jonas Apple sidled up. “How are you feeling, Finn?”
“The scrapes on my leg are healing. Still itch like crazy, though.”
“Good to hear,” said Jonas. He was also costumed in black and white, though for different reasons. He was dressed like an old-time prisoner, complete with a ball and chain around one foot. His shirt and pants were painted with black and white stripes. “I wish we could catch that guy.”
“Yeah,” said Finn.
Jonas pulled at his striped shirt as if the collar was pinching him. He was about to say something, maybe apologize again for not listening or not seeing or not doing whatever it was he thought he should have
done. But Finn was tired of sorry.
“How’s Linus?” Finn said.
Jonas Apple smiled broadly. “He’s great. He’s just great. I would have brought him, but I don’t think he would have appreciated the party.”
“Cats usually don’t,” said Finn. Ever since Finn had given Jonas one of Calamity’s kittens, the sheriff’s allergies had miraculously cleared up. Mel and Petey had taken another, a fuzzy kitten they called Beebop, otherwise known as the Cat That Sleeps in the Lane. The other four kittens—Frank, Derek, Spike, and Priscilla—had moved to Finn’s barn, where the mice were now busily dying of despair. Calamity Jane spent every night sleeping on Finn’s bed and had never seemed happier. Rus the dog hopped from bed to bed, because he was a glutton for love.
And weren’t they all? Jonas Apple was dancing with Mel Willis. Miguel Cordero and Amber Hass were caught making out in the girls’ bathroom. Charlie Valentine stuffed his face with cookies and fed some to his favorite chicken, as well as to his great-grandkids. Mrs. Lonogan pushed her Persian, Fabian, around in a baby carriage, Rus enthusiastically licking the poor cat’s pouting face. The room was abuzz with the news that Derek Rude had come out to his family and that his date was a dark-haired boy who bore a slight resemblance to Finn O’Sullivan. And though the party was for Roza, Roza and Sean sat quietly in a corner, Roza chattering away while Sean leaned in to listen, the scar on Roza’s face a rosy curve like an extra smile.
The diner got stuffy and the party spilled outside. Finn walked a little farther than the others, till the voices of the people of Bone Gap washed over him the way they always did.
“I used to think that boy was nuttier than a honey cluster.”
“You’re the one who’s nuttier than a honey cluster.”
“I always knew he was onto something.”
“Jonas should have listened.”
“We all should have.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Hey! How many cookies have you had? Leave some for the rest of us!”
“Where do you think Priscilla Willis is?”
“Funny-looking girl.”
“I’d call her . . . unique.”
“You would not.”
“Would too.”
“Finn would, anyway.”
“Finn would.”
“She not here?”
Sean stood next to Finn, hands in his pockets, huge and muscular and as superhero-ish as ever.
“Not yet,” said Finn.
Sean said, “Nice party.”
“Yeah.”
“Got a lot of fans now.”
“You always did.”
Sean laughed. “I meant you. You should have heard the Rude brothers going on.”
“Before you say it, Derek’s boyfriend doesn’t look anything like me.”
“How would you know?” Sean said.
“He walks like his pants are too tight.”
“His pants are too tight. Derek’s happy, though. Don’t think he’s going to beat you up anymore.”
“Actually, I think he’s the one who always held back.”
Sean said, “Listen, I know I said it already, but—”
“Stop.”
“I was a jerk.”
“I have to warn you, if you and Roza break up, I’m siding with her.”
“You might have to move to Poland, then. It’s official. She’s leaving next month.”
“You couldn’t convince her to stay?”
“I said there are schools here, and Jonas said he could help with the immigration status, since no one would deport a kidnapping victim.”
“That’s romantic. A shocker it didn’t work.”
Sean rolled a stone under his work boot. “I might have said some other stuff. But she needs to see her grandmother. And she has things to do on her own before, well, before she does anything else.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
Neither of them saw Roza until she was thrusting a plate between them. “Eat.”
Sean and Finn peered glumly at the plate.
“Come on, eat.”
Finn and Sean each took one. Finn said, “What are these called again?”
“Kolaczki,” she said. Before they could bite into them, Roza said, “You eat cookie, you must visit me in Poland. Is rule.”
“Is that so?” Finn said. He popped the cookie into his mouth. “Delicious.”
“Secret is pomegranate filling,” said Roza. “My own recipe.”
“I’ll remember that,” Finn said.
“I remember always what you do.” Roza kissed his cheek. “And what you do,” she said to Sean, and kissed him, longer. Then she laughed. “You do very different things.”
Finn, who never wanted to see his brother cry, now got to watch him blush the shade of pomegranates.
“No more gush,” said Roza. “More cookies. I’ll be back.”
The brothers watched her go.
Finn said, “You’ll just have to trust her.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re young, too. Maybe you’ve got some stuff you want to do.”
Sean nodded. “Maybe.”
“And I hear Poland is beautiful in fall.”
Sean snorted.
They looked up at the sky. It was a warm, clear night, and it seemed that the stars were putting on a show. Which wasn’t surprising. The whole town seemed to be doing that, the flowers finally revealing their colors, trees shedding yellowing leaves for shiny new ones, gardens bursting with ladybugs and vegetables as if the spring had never died in the first place, and the summer would never end.
“Hey, what are you guys doing out here?”
Petey could have been a bee or a butterfly with her tattered silver wings veined with gold, the silver mask hiding her face. But because Petey was Petey, she had paired the wings and mask with a white T-shirt, a pair of cut-offs, and Converse gym shoes.
“Nice wings,” said Sean.
“Thanks!”
“I think I’ll let you guys commune with nature.” Sean clapped Finn on the shoulder and ambled back to the Chat ’n’ Chew, humming to himself.
Petey said, “Was that Sean O’Sullivan humming to himself?”
“He’s acting a little crazy these days.”
“Distracted?”
“You could say that.”
“Sidetracked?”
“Sure.”
She poked at his face. “Mooning around?”
Finn smiled. “Quite a bit, actually.”
“Huh,” said Petey. “Wonder what’s wrong with him.”
“Some chick.”
“Just any chick?”
“Nah. Special.”
“Pretty?”
“He thinks so.”
“What do you think?”
“I think she’s awesome, but I found a honey of my own.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Honey? Ugh.”
“I’m just getting warmed up.”
Petey grinned and backed away, gauzy wings fluttering against a wall of corn.
“Hey,” he said. “Where are you going?”
She tapped the silver mask. “If you catch me, I’ll let you take it off.”
And then a gentle wind blew across the cornfields, and the corn whispered here, here, here. Petey dove into the vast sea of green, and Finn after her, the voices of the people of Bone Gap swelling like a chorus behind them, the moon winking above them, the corn laughing with them, because it would have known them anywhere.
THE IDEA FOR THIS NOVEL FIRST CAME TO ME SOME SEVEN years ago when my late father-in-law, Raymond Metro, handed me a newspaper article and got me thinking about the way we see the people we love. I miss him still.
But this book would never have come together without the time, help, and support of so many others. First, I must thank the people of Bone Gap, Illinois, who might be surprised to learn that their town is full of whispering corn, quasimythical creatures, and mysterious gaps one can slip through to ge
t to other worlds. (Or not.)
Thanks to my dad, Richard Ruby, for all his colorful tales about the horses on my great-grandfather’s farm. Thanks also to Linda Zimmerman and her daughter, Kelly Zimmerman, who invited me up to their beautiful home in Wisconsin to talk about everything from runaway racehorses named Mellow—not so very mellow—to barn cats that won’t be confined to the barn.
Thanks to Kathy Lipski for her expert take on Roza’s story, and to her parents, Bruno and Sophie Ogrodny, for their assistance with the more obscure Polish translations.
And thanks to beekeeper Mollie Edgar, who patiently weathered all my pesky inquiries about swarming behavior, and to Robin Blatzheim for chatting about the job of an EMT.
Much gratitude to everyone on the Faceblind listerv at Yahoo Groups for answering my questions and for sharing their stories. A special thanks to Malcolm Cowen and Amy B. Mucha for so generously taking the time to read and comment on this manuscript. Their feedback was invaluable; any error in fact or perspective is mine.
I owe the amazing Ellen Reagan an enormous debt for her sharp eye and her encyclopedic knowledge on everything from runoff channels in cornfields to the offspring of the goddess Demeter. And I’m further indebted to the incomparable Franny Billingsley, who read the first draft of this book and said the words that reverberated in my head as I revised it: “I want more magic.”
To Tina Wexler, a spectacular agent, reader, and cat lover: I can’t thank you enough for taking this book, and me, on. You’re a tiny warrior of justice.
And thanks, too, to everyone at Balzer + Bray and the rest of the folks at HarperCollins, especially my editor, Jordan Brown, whose deep and thoughtful feedback and willingness to go to the mat for his authors is unprecedented. Many thanks also to Michelle Taormina, who designed the gorgeous cover, and to Sean Freeman for the striking bee art.
For the many words of support and encouragement, thank you, Esther Hershenhorn, Esme Raji Codell, Carolyn Crimi, Myra Sanderman, Jenny Meyerhoff, Brenda Ferber, Mary Loftus, and Carol Grannick. Thanks in particular to Sarah Aronson, Tanya Lee Stone, and Katie Davis for knowing when to call when I most need it.
Thanks to all my brilliant colleagues and friends in the Hamline MFAC program, including Swati Avasthi for the late-night Googling of cake people and the handouts for every occasion, Miriam Busch and Christine Heppermann for the thrift store outings and the bitch sessions, and Megan Atwood for talking me down from the Tower.