“California?”
Her eyes flipped open, and she stared at the sky. “Did you find them?”
“Not yet, but I found a boat. I came back for you.”
“A boat?”
“Yeah, a rowboat, tied to a dock.”
“You stole a rowboat for me.”
I pushed hair away from her mouth. “Yeah, if you put it that way.”
“We’ll bring it back, right?”
“Sure, we definitely will.”
I carried her, piggyback style, through the water, holding tight to her arms.
“You’re not so skinny anymore, Annie-girl.”
“Nope, all that food you’ve been forcing on me. You’re going to make me fat.”
“Yeah, you’re going to get fat.”
She gave a weak laugh, and I rolled her into the boat. Field plunged through the water and scrambled up behind her while I slogged back for the backpack and lantern, then yanked the rope loose from the cattails, climbed in, and turned the bow south.
With Herculean strength I rowed against the tide, the silence broken only by the dip, dip, dip of the blades. My armpits burned, my chest squeezed tight, and with every pull I let loose a desperate cry. What was I doing? Trying to find a phantom willow tree? Searching for two ponies that might only be alive in California’s mind? Blindly doing whatever she asked me to do?
No. I was doing what she would do for me. Anything. Everything.
Scanning the shoreline, I squinted, searching the earth, nothing but darkness between us. My arms and chest were on fire, my heart a vise stealing my breath, until finally I couldn’t pull one more time and dropped the oars to let the boat drift.
Up ahead, a ribbon of sky changed, ebony to silver. I rubbed my arms and hiccuped away the last of my tears. When I reached for the oars again, the first hint of peach was beginning to mingle with the gray. The border of the lake took on a real shape. I could make out the tops of the trees and the bottom, where their trunks met the ground—black against green. Wood in hand, I rowed harder, faster toward the blooming light, toward a place where the earth arched and curved, then spun into an almost perfect circle.
Water lapped lazily over flat lily pads. I skimmed the paddles lightly over the surface to keep them from getting tangled in the stems. The gray-and-peach sky gave way to yellow, glowing on a piece of land no bigger than the paddock at the farm. Close to the woods the parcel was covered only in thick, marshy grass. But near the edge of the water, a lone, pale tree stood guard, its long, thin branches spreading wide at the top, falling into the graceful curve of a hoop skirt against the grass of the tiny meadow.
The willow.
THIRTY-SIX
The warmth of a summer dawn never felt better than when I burst from the woods and ran up the hill toward Mr. McMurtry’s house. Every muscle burned from rowing the entire way across the lake, panicked I wouldn’t find help fast enough. I’d carried her, barely conscious, from the boat to the edge of the woods. Field stayed behind to guard her.
A black-and-white police car was parked at an angle in the driveway, its red lights flashing. Dad stood next to it, a crutch propped under each arm. Mr. McMurtry paced in front.
“Help!” I waved my arms and stumbled into the grass. “Help!”
Mr. McMurtry ran down the hill. One of the policemen sprinted ahead of him and got to me first. I dropped into a heap.
“My name is Officer Barcus. Where is she?”
“She’s . . . we . . . I . . . .”
The others caught up. Mr. McMurtry grabbed me by the shoulders and shook, his face inches from mine. “Speak, child, where is she?”
Dumbstruck, I jumped up and ran back into the woods with Officer Barcus right behind me. It took so long to find where I’d tied the boat, but California was still there, sitting with her back against a tree, her face the same ash color as the trunk. Officer Barcus felt her pulse, walked a few paces away, and talked into his walkie-talkie. Mr. McMurtry knelt next to California, cradling one of her hands in his.
“Oh, good God, Catherine, what have you done?”
Officer Barcus came back and lifted California in his arms. “Let’s go. An ambulance will meet us at the house.”
“Is she—”
“We have to hurry.”
The whole way back, Mr. McMurtry trotted beside Officer Barcus, one hand placed on California’s forehead. “Stay with me, Catherine. Stay with me,” he said between pants and sobs. “You can’t do this, not like this, no—”
“She’s okay,” Officer Barcus said. “We’re going to get her there in time.”
Dad and two men were waiting at the bottom of the hill with a stretcher. The men strapped California down and carried her up the hill to an ambulance waiting in the driveway. Mr. McMurtry jogged next to them, holding his hand over her heart. The last thing I saw were her feet going into the ambulance. She only had on one shoe. The other was still in the bottom of the rowboat I’d stolen to try to save her.
Mom stripped away my wet clothes and helped me into a clean T-shirt and pajama bottoms. Dad tucked me into bed and pulled the covers up snug. Both of them were silent, but their faces told me they were frightened. I don’t remember much else except for Mom mumbling something about my “mental and physical state.” They took up opposite ends of my bed while I cried myself to sleep.
It was already dark when I woke up. Mom had pulled the rocking chair up close and rocked gently, the quilt spread over her lap. When she saw me awake, she smiled and touched my arm.
“Have you heard anything?”
She shook her head. “Dad went back and fed the dog, but no one was home. One of the chickens was outside the pen, but he couldn’t catch it.”
“Lacy, she came back—”
I rolled over to face the window and cried until my body was empty. The rest of the night I flipped from side to side, back to front, cold and clammy to hot and sweaty. I kicked off the covers, then asked for more blankets. My throat burned. I couldn’t swallow. Every muscle ached, and my head pounded.
In the morning Mom swiped my forehead with the thermometer. “One hundred and one.”
“Let her sleep through this,” Dad said.
They gave me a spoonful of orange-flavored medicine, then laid me back in bed. Dad wiped damp hair away from my cheek and kissed my forehead. “As soon as we have news, we’ll wake you.”
By late afternoon my fever had broken. Mom helped me shower and put fresh sheets on the bed. Dad brought me tomato soup and a crispy grilled cheese.
“I thought you liked them burned, since that’s how you always feed them to me.” He winked.
“Have you heard anything?”
“No, but I left a note on the back door. We’ll hear soon, I’m sure.”
“Can’t you go to the hospital and find out?”
Mom and Dad looked at each other. Dad said, “We need to give them some privacy. If we don’t hear anything by tomorrow, I’ll go.”
Everything was turned upside down. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be. Dad gathered me in his arms and rocked gently, my head against the crook of his neck. “Shhhh, Pumpkin, go back to sleep. Everything is going to be okay.”
“No it’s not. Nothing’s going to be okay ever again. I wish I didn’t know.”
It was dark when I woke up. The green numbers on my clock flashed ten seventeen. I’d slept off and on for a day and a half. I went in search of Mom and Dad and, at the bottom of the stairs, saw them through the living-room window sitting together on the deck, their legs draped over the edge. Dad was holding the firefly jar, and Mom was batting her hand at something around her face. Dad turned to her, and his lips moved. Mom smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. He put down the jar, draped an arm around her, and kissed the top of her head.
I watched them sit together like that for a few minutes, then, without bothering them, went back upstairs and crawled under the covers, feeling safer than I had in a very long time.
Mom and Dad wer
e watching me. I jolted upright. “What’s wrong?”
“Honey—” Mom choked up. Dad moved to the edge of my bed and put one hand my knee.
“What’s wrong? Tell me! Where’s California?”
“Pumpkin, she’s—” He pulled my head against his chest and rocked. “They’ve taken her to Philadelphia, to a hospital that specializes in children’s cancer—”
“Will they save her?”
“They’re trying, Pumpkin. They’re trying.”
I lay against my pillow and stared at the ceiling. “Who’s with her?”
Mom took my hand in hers. “Both her mother and grandfather are there. That’s why we know, because Mr. McMurtry called and asked if you would take care of the dog and the chickens while he is gone.”
“Field, oh, poor Field, he probably doesn’t understand. Yes, I’ll go. I’ll go right now. He must be hungry.” I pushed my blankets away and tried to get out of bed, but Dad held me back.
“Field is fine, Pumpkin. He’s not hungry. He had one of Mom’s famous egg sandwiches this morning, which he seemed to like very much.”
“You took him an egg sandwich?”
“Not really,” Mom said. “He ate it downstairs. He’s here, honey. Dad and I brought him here for you.”
“Here? He’s in our house? You let him come inside?”
“It was Mom’s idea.” Dad winked at me and squeezed Mom’s hand at the same time. “He has to stay downstairs, but he’s waiting for you.”
“Mom?” I looked at her, not sure I understood correctly. “Mom?”
She didn’t say anything, just wiped her eyes with a tissue and kept nodding really fast. I raced downstairs. Field lay on the rug by the sliding glass door. He thumped his tail and shoved his nose under my arm when I hugged him.
“Oh, Field, you’re here. You’re here. It’s going to be okay. I just know it. I can feel it, Field, can’t you?”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Ten days went by without a word. Nothing. Each afternoon Field and I walked to the farm and took care of the chickens, then sat side by side on the back steps. Twice we went to the river, but it wasn’t the same without California. The sun didn’t shine as bright, the path felt dirty, the oak leaves hung limp in the August heat. Even the river water we used to swim in looked murky. The chickens were quiet and only laid a few eggs. Mom used them to make a lemon meringue pie. California was right—we practically needed sunglasses, the curd was so yellow.
On the eleventh morning I woke to the sound of the rocking chair creaking against the floorboards. Brilliant sunshine spilled through the window, turning my whole room the color of a daffodil. I lay still, my eyes only open a slit. Someone—who was not Mom or Dad—pushed with her toes to keep rocking. Her feet barely reached the floor. The hands folded in her lap were tiny and childlike. I knew it was Piper, even without any trace of California’s sturdy bones or yellow hair.
“Hi, Annie.”
“Is California—”
“We brought her home last night.”
I rose up on my elbows. “She’s home? She’s okay?” The chair rocked faster. “Tell me.”
“She’s back at the farm, but no—” Piper dipped her head and pressed a tissue under her nose.
“No what? What do you mean?”
She crumpled forward and didn’t answer.
“Tell me! Didn’t they save her?”
Every cell, every molecule in my body vibrated. I was on fire. What? What? What? She slowly raised her face, but she didn’t have to say anything. It was all right there in her empty, frightened eyes. California was going to die.
“It was too late. The cancer had already spread long before—”
I threw off the covers and shot out of bed, balling my hands into fists. “No!”
“They couldn’t do the treatments in Philadelphia, and she didn’t want to stay there. She wanted to come back to the farm, to have palliative care—”
“No! She can’t give up. You can’t give up!” I screamed, inches away from her puffy face. “She never gave up on you!”
Piper stood and reached for me. “Annie, I would never—”
Mom and Dad barged through the doorway, but not in time to stop me from trying to shove both fists into the middle of Piper’s chest. I pushed as hard as I could. I pushed California’s disease, her lonely life, her dying spirit away from me. Piper tipped back but held tight to my wrists, keeping us both upright.
“Listen!” Her eyes were huge, the color of dark chocolate. Not a hint of California’s blue. The room spun, and her face swayed. I tried to pull away to hold my stomach, to hold back the bile threatening to spew, but Piper’s tiny hands held tight. “We acted as soon as we knew, but it was too late. The cancer—”
“No! I hate cancer! I hate it! Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t I know?”
I caved into a pile on the floor. Dad lifted me in his arms and sat on the bed, holding me snug against his chest, rocking me like a baby. The last I saw of Piper, she was leaving my room, her back hunched, her face planted in her hands, with Mom’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.
The next morning Mom asked if she could drive me and Field to the farm. Her eyes were red rimmed, but the expected hysteria was missing, so I agreed. We sat in the car for a few minutes before I went inside.
“Are you nervous?”
“A little. And embarrassed. I was rude. But I want to see California.”
Mom watched me struggling. “Annie, I know you won’t understand this until you hold your own child in your arms, but there’s nothing in the world more powerful than a mother’s love for her child. Nothing.”
She reached across the seat and put her hand lightly on top of mine. It was warm and soft, and for a second I felt like I was little, wrapped in the circle of her arms.
“When you go in there, remember that Piper is a mother about to lose her only child. Her life will never be the same.” Her voice wobbled. “I don’t know what I would do if I ever lost you.”
I lay my head on her shoulder until Field whined from the backseat.
When I knocked on the screen door, Piper stood from the table, a sad smile on her lips and a wet tissue in her hand. “Annie, you came.”
Mr. McMurtry was rooted to the big rocking chair, his eyes trained on the brick floor, his large, gnarled hands woven together.
“I’m really sorry for the way I acted yesterday. I was—”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I understand.”
Piper poured us each a glass of water and sat next to me at the table. The only sound came from the whirring of the ceiling fan and an occasional cluck from outside.
“There are things you should know before you go see her.” She studied her lap, then took my hands and squeezed. “California was diagnosed with cancer when she was ten.”
Mr. McMurtry made this horrible noise, then stuffed his hand in his mouth and strode from the room, letting the screen door slam. Piper watched him leave with a steely expression. She blew a puff of air, then stood, crossed to the sink, and stared out the window.
“Regret is a terrible thing, Annie.”
The sound of an ax splitting logs came from outside. Crack. Crack. Crack. Each time Mr. McMurtry hit another piece of wood, Piper winced. After a few minutes she exhaled a long, slow breath and came back to the table.
“Forgive me. This isn’t easy. None of it,” she said, pulling a wad of tissues from a box. “It was one bad cell in a million good ones that qualified her for this experimental trial. She’d been doing so well. You saw how strong she was in the beginning of summer. We were lucky to be picked. So, of course, we came.”
“Why didn’t it work?”
She shook her head. “The drug was to try to eradicate the few cancer cells still in her blood. It had nothing to do with where it had already spread.”
“She wanted you and Mr. McMurtry to be fixed, but she said it was in case he— She never told me—”
Piper wiped my cheek with her thumb, then hu
gged me close. She smelled like lavender and fresh air. Her arms were muscled and strong, but I could tell she’d already started to break inside, exactly like California said she would.
“She’s always been so brave, and a dreamer, too, you know? She thought this farm was magical. She wanted to experience it the way I had. After everything she’d come through, I couldn’t deny her that.”
“It was magical,” I whispered. “For both of us.”
It was too much, watching Piper’s agony and trying to hold in my own. I lay my forehead on the edge of the table and let tears drop to the brick floor.
“Annie, listen to me. California said you are so strong. She said you are fearless, that you face every challenge with more courage than anyone she’s ever known. Be that person. When you go back there to see her, be courageous.”
Strong, fearless, courageous. The words were for someone else, not me, except they came from California, who knew me better than anyone. I lifted my head and took the tissue Piper offered.
“I’m really glad she got to be here this summer,” I said. “Even if we never did find the ponies. She wanted to find them for you, so everything would be like it was before.”
The corners of her eyes sank, just like Mr. McMurtry’s. “I have no regrets about sharing her with my father, letting her get to know him here on the farm. It’s what I always wanted for her. I know this is impossible for you to understand, Annie, but sometimes when you’re a mom, you have to do things that are really hard so your child can grow and be free.”
Her voice caught.
“California wanted to be here as much as possible. If I hadn’t let her come, she would have withered. You never want that. You always want your child to bloom.”
She studied my face. A big sob rose from a place deep inside her, and she wilted against my chest.
“I know you don’t understand, Annie. No one does. No one can—”
The screen door opened. Mom stepped into the kitchen.
“I do,” she said gently. “I understand.”
Swing Sideways Page 17