“That’s so interesting you like to cook, so . . . unexpected,” Mom said.
“I cook for Grandfather. He says I’m quite accomplished.”
“How nice,” Mom said, pleasantly bewildered.
The kettle full-out whistled like it was going to blow its top.
“I would be happy to teach you. Annie has no interest in cooking, but if you like, we could make a pie together.”
“I would like that very much. Thank you.” California shot an are-you-satisfied glance in my direction.
The kettle and I were both about to blow. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed it off the burner; put tea bags, cups, cream, and sugar on a tray; and stepped back into the dining room just in time to hear California’s voice booming.
“Could Annie spend the night at my house this Friday? It’s a full moon, and Grandfather has a telescope. I thought it would be good timing. Would that be all right with you? Grandfather has already given his permission.”
Oh-my-gosh-oh-my-gosh-oh-my-gosh . . . My feet were stuck to the floor. The tray shook in my hands. The cups clattered in their saucers. The room was electric. Mom wouldn’t be able to contain herself. This would be more than she could bear. I was about to be totally and completely embarrassed. But then Mom looked at Dad. Dad shrugged and shoved the knife into the pie. Mom held her dessert plate out and said, “Yes, I think that would be all right.”
Later, Dad waited in the car while I walked California to her door.
“What was that all about? You totally converted Mom—she’s letting me spend the night at your house. Where is this telescope?”
“There’s no telescope. Come at seven. And bring long pants.” She patted the pocket of her shorts where the map poked out the top. “I made our plan. We’re going to hike that lake in the full moon. We’re going to find that willow.”
THIRTY-FOUR
California was in a mood Friday night, worse than she’d been the day we read that awful letter. Mr. McMurtry was edgy, too, going in and out, from kitchen to grill and back. He’d buried ears of corn in the coals and kept turning them over and over and over like he had OCD. He rearranged the steaks over the fire so many times it was a wonder they cooked. Whenever he looked like he was about to say something to California, she turned away. It was the second time I’d been in that kitchen with them and felt so awkward.
We were halfway through the meal before anyone spoke.
“Annabel, I told your father I would send corn home with you.”
“Thank you, it’s delicious.”
California poked at her potato and pushed a piece of steak around on her plate.
“Catherine—” Mr. McMurtry held out the vitamin bottle. She rolled her eyes and dropped it on the table.
“Drink your milk, too,” he said.
“It’s not even like real milk. It’s from a jug.”
Mr. McMurtry set down his fork and shook out three pills. “I’ll get you water, but you will take these.”
I ate all my steak, the whole potato, and an ear of corn. Mr. McMurtry ate two of everything. California barely touched hers. She didn’t even care when he brought an apple cobbler hot from the oven. She was still mad.
“Oooo, yummy.” I nudged her under the table.
“Have some cobbler, Annabel.” Mr. McMurtry handed me a wooden spoon.
“Annabel, Annabel, Annabel—” California muttered. “Why can’t you call her by her real name?”
“Actually, Annabel is my real name. Annie is a nickname.”
California shoved her spoon into the middle of the cobbler and grunted. “Whatev.”
After dinner we took a pack of cards from a drawer and went to her room. She threw the cards on the night table, flopped down on her bed, and put an arm over her eyes. “Can you turn out that light? I need to rest before we go.” Within minutes her breathing had evened out. She was asleep.
Over the summer the sun had changed the color of California’s hair. It was still thick, almost wiry, and usually bushed out like she’d stuck her finger into a light socket. But now, instead of straw yellow, it was this weird, see-through color, like chlorinated swimming pool hair. That’s all I saw when she shook me awake a few hours later—white stuff waving around in the dark.
“It’s time,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Grandfather’s been asleep for almost an hour. It’s time to go. Come on.” I could tell by the energy in her voice she’d rallied again.
Somehow, I managed to climb out the window without knocking a lamp this time and waking Mr. McMurtry. After landing with a thud, we took off running around the back of the house. Halfway down the hill California stopped and pointed to the golden moon suspended in the sky like an ornament.
“A full moon to light the way. This is the perfect night. I can feel it, Annie. Can’t you?”
All around us knee-high grass, washed in gold, waved us on. California smiled that big-tooth grin that always made me giddy. Her cheekbones rose sharply, hollowing out her face, and her eyes sank at the corners. For the first time, I saw a bit of her grandfather in her.
“Hey!” She pointed behind us to where Field hobbled down the hill with Lacy close on his heels, flapping her wings and running side to side, squawking, Wait-for-me, wait-for-me! “She’s so smart for a dumb old chicken.”
At the river we picked up supplies she had stashed inside the tree: a lantern, a compass, a flashlight, two bottles of water, a packet of homemade brownies, and two ham sandwiches.
“You’ll get hungry on this journey, for sure.” She hoisted the backpack over her shoulder. “We can take turns. I’ll carry first, and when I get tired, you take it.”
The way she said it made something warm and sunny burst inside me. Our friendship had changed everything. It was more than just for now; we had a future as friends. Best friends, forever. Standing there with California, next to our tree, by our slice of the river, with that brilliant moon overhead and the ultimate adventure ahead of us, I 100 percent believed the only way the night could end would be with our finding the willow and the ponies.
“You’re the leader. I’m here for you.”
California held the lantern up, and the four of us turned south in a peculiar parade: Hippie Farmer Girl, Dreamy City Girl, Half-Crippled Stray Dog, and One Still-Ugly Chicken.
The moon was straight over the top of us when things started to go bad. We were so deep in the woods, I was already getting nervous about the whole adventure. But California was silent and determined. I knew better than to say anything. Every hundred yards or so she stopped, held the lantern close to the map, checked the compass, and mumbled to herself before changing course. The trees were so thick, moonlight barely broke through. Lacy had wandered off, but California was so fixated on getting to the lake that she didn’t notice. I was so fixated on making my way over rocks and rotted logs and other assorted booby traps that I didn’t see her hunched over in front of me until I crashed into her. Vomit splashed onto dried leaves.
“Oh, God, you’re sick.”
“Stop. I’m fine.”
“We should go back.”
She moved off without another word.
After another hour, when tears pricked my eyes and I just knew we’d never find our way out of those woods, she gasped and pitched to the left, heading down an incline. The trees thinned. Light broke through from overhead, and we passed out of total darkness, onto a spongy bank at the edge of the lake. About ten feet from the water, California fell to her knees, tilted her face to the sky, and cried, “We made it!”
Her words echoed. The moon spread a blanket of yellow over the lake so each tiny, blue-black wave danced with a sparkle of gold. I touched my cheek to be sure it was real, that I was standing in the light of something so beautiful. Neither of us uttered a word. There wasn’t anything to say. We’d made it through the woods, all the way to the lake. The first hurdle in reaching the willow.
The clouds played hide-and-seek with the moon, and silver
y shadows turned California’s skin as pale as cooked egg whites. She lay down and curled on her side in the grass, lost in her own thoughts. The flesh under her eyes pooled into wrinkled mauve shadows. Tiny bits of dried paste flaked off her skin and fell like dandruff. Makeup? Why would California wear makeup? The middle of my chest burned a warning. I pressed my fist against the pain and turned to watch the water lick gently at the edge of the earth.
After half an hour of silence I lifted the backpack off her shoulders. “My turn. Come on. We’ve got a willow tree to find.”
The going was easier out of the woods, but California struggled to keep up. Every once in a while she mumbled something, or sniffled, or let loose a tiny whimper. I waited silently for her, ignoring the worrisome thoughts cluttering my mind, and soldiered on. We had to find that tree before daylight.
Field whined. I turned, searching for him in the dark. “What’s wrong, pup?”
The flashlight lay on the ground. California was bent at the waist, arms stretched and palms flat against a tree. She threw up again, wiped her mouth, picked up the flashlight, and said weakly, “I’m fine. Keep going.”
She wasn’t fine, and I wasn’t going one more step until she felt better. I held the lantern high, marched down to the water, and pointed to a level spot.
“Sit,” I said. “I’m hungry.”
She lay on her back in the grass. I unwrapped a sandwich, picking at the crust, stalling to give her time to get her strength back. When she started talking, her voice was quiet and raspy.
“This is how Piper taught me about the universe. We’d lie outside under the stars, and she’d tell me everything.” She paused and took a few deep breaths. “Obviously she didn’t tell me everything, because she forgot to mention I had a real, live grandfather.”
After a few minutes she said, “Piper’s not strong inside, not like you and me.” Another pause to catch her breath. “She can split firewood better than Grandfather, but inside she’s like china. Her heart shatters if she thinks you’re mad at her. She needs to come back before it’s too late. We can’t pretend anymore.”
Her voice had gotten so quiet, I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. Fear inched its way into the center of my chest. I don’t know if I have ever been so scared as I was in that moment. Deep down, life-or-death scared. I tapped her arm lightly.
“We need to go home. I promise, I’ll come back and find the willow. But you need to get home.”
She pulled away. “Stop it.”
She started talking again, not to me, but around me. Her words made my panic rise. Not the kind that closed my throat—nothing that simple. Panic that made me want to run away and leave her lying there in the grass by herself. She frightened me.
“I never realized it.” Her eyes were strangely luminous. “All this time I wanted her here, but she’s been everywhere: the house, the woods, this lake—”
Tiny tears trickled from the corner of her eye, leaving a wet trail like chipped diamonds along her temple. I wanted to reach over and wipe them away, and wipe the sticky hair from her forehead, but she was too intimidating, too un-California-like. I didn’t know her anymore. She crossed both hands on her chest and closed her eyes, like a corpse. A chilly breeze swept across the lake. Goose bumps popped along my arms.
“California, I have to ask you something—”
“Shhhh, don’t.”
She drummed her fingers along her chest. The night closed around me, and everything turned black, so black I could only see her face, ghostly white, rising from the earth like a giant mushroom. I wanted to go home. I wanted to tear through the woods and crawl through her bedroom window and pretend this had never happened, that I’d never seen her this way. I wanted to gather eggs in the morning and eat pancakes in the kitchen and climb the apple tree and laugh and talk about dumb, totally meaningless things that meant nothing to anyone except the two of us.
And for the first time in years, I wanted Mom. Because right then, seeing California lying out under that moon, there was no way to ignore the horrible, awful truth.
“We can’t go back, Annie. It’s too late.”
“We can—”
“Stop!”
I did.
I stopped talking.
I stopped wishing.
I stopped breathing.
“Annie,” she whispered, and this time she reached out not to shush me, but to take my hand in hers. “Annie, it’s not Grandfather. It’s me.”
THIRTY-FIVE
The shock of her words stilled me. My hand crumpled inside hers. “What?”
“The drug trial, it’s me. But it didn’t even matter. The cancer had already spread.”
“You’re lying.”
She turned her head enough for me to see the truth. The beige makeup that had pooled into clumps was meant to hide faint purple circles under her eyes, and discolored skin. The grief she’d held in for so long bubbled up and spilled from every pore. Her clothes were draped over a gaunt body, and I was ashamed. I should have seen, I should have known, but I was too busy worrying about my own little world to recognize something so great in hers.
I yanked my hand away and slammed it, fisted, into the ground, wailing so loud owls flew away. How do people keep breathing after hearing something like this? How do they ever walk a straight line again, or brush their teeth the same as before? How would I pick which cereal to eat for breakfast, or decide whether to paint my room blue instead of green? How could I keep walking, talking, laughing, crying, sleeping when everything else had stopped, when everything good was stolen in the breath it took to utter two words? It’s me.
“Why didn’t you tell me? You lied! I thought we were friends.”
“Piper and I leave tomorrow.”
The air sucked out of my chest. “No! It’s too soon.”
“Not too soon . . . almost too late.”
“Where are you going?”
“Philadelphia.”
“Philadelphia? What’s in Philadelphia?”
“Hospital—”
“For what? Why? Are they going to fix you?”
She didn’t answer. I had to get Mr. McMurtry. We couldn’t go on. Mr. McMurtry would come. We’d get her home and put her to bed, and I could tell Piper about the ponies tomorrow. Piper and I could find them, and California would be so happy, maybe she’d even get well.
“I’m going back to get your grandfather—”
“No.” She inhaled sharply. “Find the willow. It’s our last chance. Please—”
“How am I supposed to leave you alone to go find it?”
“The same way you were going to leave to get Grandfather—” She spoke each word between tiny gasps.
My throat tightened. Panic made me jump up and pace, rubbing my chest, trying to make the pain go away. Her back was hunched, and through her T-shirt I could see the outline of her spine. She was so skinny. All summer she’d been worried about me and how I needed to eat, and all that time she’d been so sick and I hadn’t even paid attention.
“Have you been sick all summer?”
“Not when I first came. I was in remission. Annie, I’m too tired,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Please—”
I looked into the black night and shivered.
I’m tired, too. And scared. What if I get lost? What if I can’t find you again? What if you die?
California could die, and the only thing she wanted was to reunite her mother and grandfather. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go.”
I set the lantern in the grass and left her curled on her side to rest. Field sat at attention, guarding her. Which way? South, in search of the willow? Or north, in search of help? North. That was the right thing to do. She was asleep. She’d never know until I was back with Mr. McMurtry.
After a few steps I stopped. She wanted me to go south, to find the willow. If we found the ponies, we could re-create the magical world Piper had grown up in, and maybe she’d stay. Piper didn’t even know how much California wanted that.
It’s all she wanted, and I finally understood the real reason why.
I searched for the North Star, the one Mom said was special when I was little. I found it and wished to feel her arms circling me like when she read to me in the rocking chair. I wished to feel her hair tickle my cheek and inhale the fresh, clean smell of her Ivory soap skin. California was right. For all her spreadsheets and rigid ways, Mom was there for me. Every day, every night, whether I wanted her or not. And she was trying so hard to make me happy.
California’s family was all broken into pieces. Mr. McMurtry had never hinted she was sick. He’d kept her secret. What did he feel now, knowing he had missed all those years with her? What would he tell me to do?
Whatever she wants.
Pivoting south, I ran past her and kept running, running, running along the edge of the water until I was out of breath and every string that had ever been around my neck had fallen away. The earth curved on a narrow path between the water and the trees growing snug against each other to my right. An owl screeched, and fear pricked at the back of my neck. Wings flapped over my head. The owl shrieked again, so close I ducked to the ground, holding the flashlight up like a baseball bat. The noise faded deep in the woods. The moon sailed from behind a cloud and shone full and bright across the lake. Ripples of water splashed against a long dock jutting out into the dark. At the end, a rowboat swooned up and down, its oars already in the riggers like someone had left it for me. I ran down the dock, untied the rope, climbed in, and started rowing.
The lantern flickered in the grass beside California. I climbed out of the boat and waded through knee-high water, the tide and my soaked jeans tugging at me, trying to pull me under. I pushed through. Nothing was going to keep me from saving her.
Looping the rope around a clump of cattails, I clawed my way up the bank. California lay on her back, her chest slowly rising and falling. Drops of sweat dotted her forehead. Oh, God, please, let her be okay.
Swing Sideways Page 16