“Quit distracting me. I’ve got this.” Just then, the clouds shifted overhead. Bright sunlight refracted off the tree’s leaves, blinding me. Without thinking, I lifted a hand to shield my eyes.
I lost my balance and tipped. And slid.
Falling.
In slow motion.
Kira’s nervous cluck spiked to a scream.
Tumbling, flailing.
I braced for impact.
But I didn’t hit the ground. Someone caught me. Something.
I was cradled in the crook of the tree’s lowest branch. The glassy leaves weren’t sharp at all, but gel soft. Like huge open palms, holding me up. Keeping me safe.
“I think you should come d-down from there,” Kira stuttered, backing away. “And I should get home. It’s almost dinnertime.”
“Wait!” I said. “Don’t go.”
Thud! A long purple pod dropped at Kira’s feet. It didn’t disintegrate into the grass.
“Ha! Ha!” My voice burst like firecrackers. “See? That’s practically an invitation. Even the tree wants you to stay.”
Kira picked up the pod, inspecting it carefully. “It doesn’t look normal.”
“Of course it’s not normal. That’s what makes it so incredible! Does it smell sour or rotten to you?”
She lifted the pod to her nose and inhaled, closing her eyes. “It smells ahhh-mazing. Magnificent. Scrumptious.”
“Open it already!”
“What if it’s poisonous? What if ten percent of these pods are poisonous?”
The tree’s bark flared fluorescent yellow, as if it were offended by the accusation. The upper branches shook, sending another pod plummeting downward in my direction. I snatched it out of the air, which felt a whole lot like catching a pop fly during softball practice.
“I know this sounds really weird, but I trust this tree.” As soon as I said the words, the pod in my hand split down the middle. “I’ll try the first one, but only if you come up here.” I patted the branch I was sitting on with my free hand. The branch moved. “Whoa, there!” I steadied myself as the branch tilted. Soon its tip rested in the grass at Kira’s feet like a ramp.
She stared, dumbstruck, then slowly climbed onto the outstretched bough and sat next to me. The branch began to rise. It was better than any ride at the amusement park. Kira gripped the branch with white knuckles. I shrieked with delight. Up we went, until we were perched about six feet above the ground.
I couldn’t wait another minute. I peeled back the pod’s skin. It was thick and leathery with a waxy film. Nothing like the feathery shoefruits.
Kira peered over my shoulder and gasped. Inside, half a dozen pecan shortbread cookies were stacked neatly. I removed one and held it between my fingers. It was still warm. I brought it to my lips. I took a bite.
I sputtered and coughed. “Poison!” I clutched my throat.
“No! I warned you!” Kira screeched, until she saw me laughing, crumbs cascading down the front of my shirt.
“Got ya.” I smirked, then shoved another cookie in my mouth, crunching loudly.
“I want to call you a lot of mean names right now!” She pouted. “That’s not nice. I almost had a heart attack. Are you trying to send me to the hospital?!”
That was the last place I wanted to send anyone. “Of course not. Here. I apologize. I really do. Truce?” I passed her a pecan peace offering. “Eat it. It’s perfecterrific.”
She pouted some more, just for effect. But she couldn’t resist. She took the cookie and chewed noisily, savoring the buttery sweetness. “I hate to say this, but it’s better than my mom’s recipe. Don’t you dare tell her I said so!”
“I won’t. I swear.” I held out my pinky finger to prove it. Then I reached for another pod, yanking it off its stem. A roll of dark chocolate fudgies was waiting to be devoured. We finished them all, wiping streaks of chocolate from our mouths with the backs of our hands.
The tree readjusted its branches for us—a moving ladder of leafy limbs—making it easy to climb higher and higher and giving us a gentle boost when we needed it. Together we collected and tasted the harvest. Pod by pod. Cookie by cookie.
We discovered bite-sized gingersnaps, with just the right amount of spice, just the right amount of snap.
“These are the best yet.”
Then we found peanut butter crisps.
“I take it back. These are the best. By far.”
Kira agreed, until she peeled open a pod stuffed with pillowy vanilla snickerdoodles. “So good!” she shouted, sugar spraying from her lips.
Another branch. Another pod of freshly baked, or grown, cookies.
“Wait, wait! You have to try these.”
Pistachio creams. Butterscotch chip. Cherry biscotti.
As the sun waned, we stuffed ourselves silly.
“My mom will be furious. I totally spoiled my appetite.” Kira climbed down and rested against the tree’s trunk, arms and legs splayed, stomach sticking out. “But it was soooo worth it.”
“Do you think if we eat enough cookies, we might actually turn into one?” I asked, plopping down beside her.
“Like a giant kid-sized cookie?” Kira cracked one last pod in half and pulled down the waxy peel, revealing a row of raspberry macarons. She popped one in her mouth. “After witnessing and tasting this—” She finished the cookie with a satisfied crunch. “It seems like just about anything is possible.”
Anything is possible, my heart echoed. The words coursed through my body, more potent than sugary grape juice on an empty stomach. I liked the way those words made me feel: brave and excited and curious. I didn’t want to let go of that sensation. “Anything is possible,” I repeated aloud.
Kira offered me a macaron. I took it and nodded thanks. “If you do turn into a cookie, I promise not to eat you,” she said solemnly.
“Ditto.” I took a bite. “Unless you turn into one of these, then all bets are off.”
“Cookie cannibal!” She threw the peel at me and laughed.
I decided Kira and I could be friends after all. Real friends. Maybe even best friends. Hey, anything is possible.
***
Before leaving the orchard, we filled our backpacks with as many cookies as they could carry.
“I’ll give some to Junie tomorrow,” I said, zipping up my pack.
“You’re going back to the hospital?”
“Hopefully my dad can take me, if my mom isn’t feeling well.”
“Is she sick too?” Kira asked.
“No, well, yes. A different kind of sick.”
“Like the flu?”
“Not quite. More like her heart is sick.” It was hard to explain something I barely understood. “We should go home, before it gets any darker.”
Kira shifted her weight back and forth. I could tell she had something else to say.
“What is it?” I asked.
She stared at the tree. “Aren’t you going to plant anything else?”
I suddenly felt careless. Kira was right. We needed to take advantage of the magic, or whatever it was, while it lasted.
“What should we plant?” I purposefully said we. We shared this secret now, together. “Do you have anything in your pockets?”
Kira pulled out a ball of lint and an elastic hair band.
My pockets were equally disappointing. All I had was a crumpled bus ticket.
Kira picked up a pebble from the ground. “This?”
“Why would we want a crop of rocks? And how the heck would we harvest a bunch of boulders?”
“Good point. What about this?” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a sheet of paper.
“Homework! Are you crazy? You seriously want to plant a homework tree? Like we don’t get enough from Ms. Perdilla and the other teachers already?!”
“Whoa! My mistake. We definitely do not want a homework tree!”
I turned my backpack over in the grass. The tiny brass bell jingled.
“Aha!”
�
�A keychain?”
“I won’t plant the whole thing. Just this,” I said, unhooking the bell.
Kira’s lips went sideways.
“It’s the best we’ve got. Unless you have a better idea.”
She shrugged. “Go for it.”
I dug a hole and dropped the shining bell in the ground. A single note of music escaped. Root tendrils extended, blue and twisting. My heart pulsed, giddy with hope. Kira and I filled the hole back up and packed the moist earth with our hands.
“When will it bloom?” Kira asked.
“When it’s ready. Could be a day, could be more. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“I hate waiting.” Kira stood up, brushing dirt from her hands.
“Tell me about it. It’s the worstible.”
“What?”
“Worstible. Worst-most-horrible. Two words smashed together. It’s a Junie thing.” I hadn’t been able to share the secret with her yet, but my sister was all around. In the words I spoke, in the swing that swayed in the breeze across the clearing.
“I thought you were referring to some kind of sausage. Like bratwurst or something. Not that I can even think about food right now.” Kira moaned. “Which reminds me. It’s almost dinnertime.”
We walked through the orchard, down to the place where our paths split. Soon dusk would cover us like a blanket. A chorus of spring peepers peeped and a few fireflies flickered. Kira’s mom would be waiting anxiously, pacing the floor of their warm, well-lit house. I imagined a gourmet meal on her table, set with real silver, fancy crystal glasses, and a bouquet of flowers. Okay, that was probably an exaggeration. Still, I knew I was headed to an opposite universe. At least I had new shoes on my feet, a full stomach, a hopeful heart, a whole lot of cookies . . .
And a new friend too.
Things were looking up.
Chapter 12
I threw the screen door open and filled the house with light, switch by switch.
As expected, Mom was still MIA—Making Infrequent Appearances. Something I was determined to change. I turned the knob on the stove, sending a flame licking at the bottom of our kettle. I found Mom’s favorite tea in the cupboard and dropped one bag into a sturdy-looking mug. I didn’t dare use the china cups, since she’d managed to smash one last time.
The kettle whistled.
I retrieved some oatmeal cookies from my backpack and arranged them on a plate. I carried everything upstairs. The door to my parents’ room was ajar.
“Mom?” I pushed the door open. “Mom?”
“Issaaa?” Her voice reminded me of the slow hiss of a punctured balloon.
“Yes. It’s me. It’s so dark in here. Can I turn on the light?”
“Please don’t. My head’s aching. The light bothers my eyes.” She sounded sadder than usual.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” I asked, fears gathering like gray clouds before a storm.
“Everything’s fine, baby. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
I shuffled across the room. I banged my knee on the dresser and yelped.
“Shhh.”
“You can’t shush pain, Mom.” I thumped and bumped around some more until I reached the edge of her bed.
“What are you doing, Isabel?”
“I thought you might be hungry. I brought you some cookies and tea. Chamomile. Your favorite.”
I felt like the mother now. Like when Junie and I used to play house. She always insisted on being the baby and I would be the mom. It was fun. I would fuss over her, rock her, groom her. Say ba-ba-ba and goo-goo. I would feed her candy, pretending it was medicine. I would take care of her. But that was make-believe.
This wasn’t. And it wasn’t fun.
“Remember the tea parties we used to have in the afternoons? With Junie? When you’d bring home treats from the café or bakery where you were working? Let’s do that again soon. It’ll be nice. Just like old times.”
“We’ll see, Isa.”
I placed the tray on her bedside table. The mug rattled. I almost hoped it would tip over. Make some noise. Make a mess. Wake up! I wanted to shout, loud as the kettle on the stove, whistling and wailing for attention.
Instead, I whispered. Releasing trembling words into the room. Hoping they might take seed and grow in her heart too.
“Mom, anything is possible.”
***
A faint clattering shook me from sleep. Dishes in the sink. My eyes popped open. Scrape, clank, clang! I rocketed out of bed, despite a stomach still heavy from last night’s cookie gluttony. The stairs creaked—no, they sang—good morning!
The shape of my father greeted me, his back to the door. A six-foot silhouette carved in pale yellow light. Memories of our old routine flooded my brain. Lazy weekend mornings, all together. I’d whisk the eggs. Junie would lick batter from the spatula. Mom would twist oranges until they cried sweet juice, and we’d cheer as Dad flipped pancakes with reckless abandon, a circus performer entertaining his adoring fans. Mom tsk-tsked if the pancakes flew too high or too crazy, landing on the floor with a fwap! Junie called those ones fwapjacks. Dad claimed they were still edible, citing the five-second rule. But Mom insisted we feed them to the neighborhood birds instead.
Then there was the bacon, fried to salty perfection on the griddle. Mom would hum and tap a slippered foot while we waited for the first crispy nibble, like a pack of drooling hounds. If we got too close, she’d swat us with the spatula that Junie had licked clean. We’d explode with laughter.
I ran across the kitchen and flung my arms around Dad’s waist. I nuzzled my face into the shallow of his back. I squeezed. A real squg. I inhaled, waiting for his Saturday smell to fill my nostrils: a comforting blend of clean laundry, smoky bacon, and musky dad-ness. Instead, the biting scent of aftershave hit me. The soft flannel shirt he usually wore was replaced by something starchy. The weekday fabric scratched my cheek, told me to back away. Nothing sizzled on the stovetop. The cast-iron griddle sat on the shelf, gathering dust.
“Isa.” He reached around and mussed my frizzy hair. His hand was as big as a cluster of bananas; my whole head could probably fit in his palm.
I loosened my grip, but kept my arms around his waist. In case he might try to fly away, like a pancake tossed too high.
“G’morning,” he said.
“You’re not . . .”
“Going to work. Yes.” He nodded, unclasping my hands from his waist. He knelt down so his eyes, steel blue like mine, looked at mine.
“But . . .”
“I know. I know,” he said.
It was hard to find the right words. “But . . . bacon.” Seriously? That was all I could come up with? I had about a million things I wanted to say. To shout. And all I could come up with was bacon? Pathetic.
His hand cupped my cheek. I tilted my head, resting my face in the cradle of his palm. I closed my eyes. A single, fat tear ran through the creases of his skin.
“I have to go to the office. Just for a little while. I’ll try to come home early. We’ll play catch tonight, okay?” He patted my head, like I was an obedient puppy. “Remember, be a good girl.”
Except I wanted to bark. And run. And howl!
“We have to see Junie today,” I said frantically. “All of us. Together.”
“Mom will take you this afternoon.”
“Will she? Really?” My eyebrows crinkled. “Because I haven’t had much luck with that lately.”
He let out a deep breath. “She’ll get better soon. They both will.”
“When?” I grumbled.
“Someday soon.”
“Someday? Someday is not a day of the week, Dad!” At least not according to Junie’s calendar.
“Isa, I’m sorry. I have to go to work.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
I glanced at the towering pile of mail on the counter. “Bills?” I said.
Dad loosened his collar, as if the word made him itch. He took a swig of coffee and tuck
ed in his unfriendly shirt. Suits didn’t suit him. They never had. On weekends, when he was outside trimming hedges, building swings, or playing with us, he was happy and free in jeans and flannel. The more patches and grass stains, the better. I wished he could find a job with a dress code like that.
“We could try the lottery,” I offered. “Then you wouldn’t have to work so hard.”
“And play with chance? Gamble with our future? That’s out of the question.”
“Let’s buy a scratch ticket. Just one.”
“Enough, Isa. I refuse to throw away a single hard-earned penny on something like that.”
“But . . . Dad.” I paused so that he would stop packing his briefcase and pay attention to me.
“What is it?” he said impatiently.
I waited seven more seconds, just to make sure he was really listening.
“Dad, anything is possible.”
He turned away from me. He placed a hand on the counter.
“Dad?” I took a step forward. Was he crying? That’s not what was supposed to happen at all.
He straightened up, wheeled around. He clutched his briefcase. His face was made of stone. Not a tear to be found. He cleared his throat and strode past me toward the front door.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look at me. I’d become invisible again.
Chapter 13
I sat on the front porch, hugging my knees to my chest. I wasn’t made of stone like my father. I couldn’t bury myself in bed and ignore the world, like my mother. There were only two things that could make me feel better. One of them was miles away at Delorna Regional Hospital. The other was a lot closer. I wiped my wet eyes with my sleeve. I rose to my feet.
The fields were already unruly, and it was only early spring. At this rate, it would be a summer of chaos in the orchard. Grasses needed mowing, weeds needed taming, fences needed mending. Everything was desperate for a little TLC—Tender Loving Care. Especially me. A daughter, feeling like a TLC—Totally Lost Child. The morning light touched everything, warming every blade of grass. And yet I still felt chilled.
I was surprised to discover Kira waiting at the edge of the clearing, sitting on the swing. She didn’t notice me because I’d perfected the art of walking ninja-quiet. I watched as she braided her chestnut hair. Three strands. Over. Under. Over. I’d tried to braid Junie’s hair once. Once and never again. It was a disaster. All I accomplished was one gigantic knot. It was tangled so badly that Mom had to use olive oil just to run a comb through it. Poor thing looked like a greasy mutt for about a week. But Junie didn’t mind, as long as we didn’t have to cut it all off. At least back then, it was her decision to make.
The Magic of Melwick Orchard Page 10