The Magic of Melwick Orchard

by Rebecca Caprara

  Kira looped an elastic band around the end of her braid. Once, twice, nice and tight. Everything in its place. Smooth and orderly. It’s funny how looking at someone else can make you see yourself more clearly. I was suddenly aware that my own hair was about as wild as the meadow grasses. My life was equally messy. Why would someone like Kira even want to be friends with someone like me? Maybe this was all a big mistake.

  I thought about retreating back home using my ninja-stealth, as if I’d never been there in the first place. Kira still hadn’t seen or heard me. I was getting really good at this invisibility thing. But that would be another TLC—a Truly Lame Copout.

  Instead, I forced reluctant words out of my mouth. “Hey there.”

  “Tree buddy!” She jumped off the swing, waving like a lunatic. “A few tiny buds have sprouted, but they don’t look ripe yet.” She ran in circles around the tree’s fat trunk, talking a mile a minute, thrusting her arms in the air and pointing up at the branches like some kind of wacky disco move. She could be put together and perfectly braided one minute, but klutzy and silly the next. A contradiction, to use her own word. And I liked her that way.

  “Don’t worry,” she sputtered, her eyes popping. “We won’t miss a thing. I’ve been watching.”

  “For how long?”

  “Since about six this morning. I couldn’t sleep last night. I was just thinking and wondering. You know?”

  “I do.”

  “I even drank some of my mom’s coffee to stay alert. I probably braided and re-braided my hair fifteen times. I’m prepared. In case something happens. You can count on me! I’m ready!”

  I chuckled. “I can see that.”

  “Now what?” She was still running and pointing and flailing. The opposite of ninja-stealth.

  “I think you should calm down a little.”

  “Oh, okay.” Her body relaxed. “Good idea, tree buddy. You always have good ideas.”

  “Maybe next time skip the coffee.”

  “Definitely. Another good idea. Caffeine not necessary. Magic is exciting enough on its own.”

  “Very true.” I walked up to the tree and patted it. The leaves glittered.

  “Aren’t you going to the hospital with your parents today?” Kira asked.

  “I was. Now I’m not. Until later, at least. My dad has to work.”

  “Bummer.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “We could take you. I mean my mom could. Because I can’t drive yet. Obviously.”

  I looked up at the tree. Mom always said a watched pot never boils. If the same was true for the tree, then there was no use hanging around all day. Not when Junie needed me. “Do you still have any cookies?” I asked.

  “Of course. I ate a couple for breakfast, but there are tons left. All different flavors. Why? You hungry?”

  “They’re not for me. They’re for Junie. We’re going to bring them to her.”

  “You are?”

  “We are.” It’s a small word, really. Two letters. Even the sound is tiny. But it’s not nothing. Actually, it’s a big something. One plus one equals we. And that’s huge. “I mean, if you want to come, that is.”

  “I do!”

  “Okay, I’m going to run home, pack a bag, and leave a note for my parents.”

  “Sounds great! I’ll talk to my mom. We’ll swing by to pick you up soon. Yay!” she cheered, as if going to the hospital were a trip to the amusement park. If only.

  Chapter 14

  Kira hovered in the hospital hallway, doing that shifting thing. Nurses and doctors moved past her fluidly, like she was a pebble in a stream.

  “Come in with me,” I said.

  Back and forth. Left foot, right foot.

  “You do know that Wilms isn’t contagious, right? You’re not going to catch it from Junie.”

  “I know that!” A bruised mumble. “Jeez. I’m not a total moron.”

  “You’re not a moron at all. But you are acting a little weird.” I wanted to make the most of every minute with Junie. It was Saturnday and there were swings and cookies and secrets to tell.

  Kira kept shifting. Left. Right. Left.

  “Look, we don’t have all day. What’s up with you?”

  “You should go in first. Have a couple minutes, just the two of you, to do, like, sister stuff.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’ll wait here for a bit. Check out the aquarium in the lobby. It’s no problem.” She studied the tiles on the floor like they were the most interesting things in the world.

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t forget these.” She handed me the bag of cookies.

  I opened the door to Room 612. A nurse in pink scrubs stood by the bed, tapping buttons on some alien-looking machine and jotting notes in a chart. She must have been new, because I didn’t recognize her. We spent so much time at Delorna that we were on a first-name basis with most of the people who took care of Junie.

  “Come in,” the nurse said warmly. “She’s almost finished.”

  I did not appreciate her choice of words. The machine beeped. A few lights flashed. Junie’s eyes were closed. Some medicines turned her face round and puffy, but today she looked paper-doll flat and kind of grayish. Worse than yesterday. It frightened me.

  I wrung my hands. “Is she asleep?” I whispered.

  “No, just resting. Right, Penny?” The nurse rubbed Junie’s arm gently. Her eyes opened. She looked like she needed a dose of feisty juice.

  “Junie,” I corrected. “Her name’s Junie. Not Penny.”

  The nurse frowned. “Her chart says Penelope. I just assumed . . .”

  “No one calls her that.” My voice became fierce. I was Isa, Protector and Defender of Sick Sisters. Hear me roar!

  “My mistake. I just transferred to Delorna from another hospital. I’m still getting to know everyone here. I’ll make a note in her file, so I don’t forget.” The nurse scribbled in the chart, smiled, then straightened her scrubs. The ones Junie thought were pajamas.

  “How’re you feeling?” I asked, leaning over Junie’s flatter-than-normal face. I tugged the frayed strings on the cap hiding her hairless head and gave her a tiny kiss on the forehead.

  “Crumbuckets,” she croaked.

  The nurse raised an eyebrow. “Your sister is quite a little wordsmith.”

  “Smith? My last name’s not Smith. It’s Fitzwilken.” Junie propped herself up in bed, color slowly creeping into her cheeks. “That makes me a wordwilken. Not a wordsmith.”

  The nurse chuckled. “My point exactly.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ll be back in an hour to give you the next dose. Okay?”

  Junie stuck out her tongue. “Crummy crumbuckets!” Maybe there was a bit of feisty juice left in her after all. “Give it to that Penny Smith girl instead. I don’t want it.” She glowered. “Ugh. My tongue already feels scalched!”

  “You mean scalded. Or scorched,” corrected the nurse.

  “She means both,” I said. I knew that some of Junie’s treatments had side effects like causing numbness and sores in the mouth.

  “I won’t be able to taste my ice cream with a scalched tongue. And tomorrow is Sundae, right, Isa?” Junie pointed at her calendar, now adorned with a frame of crooked Band-Aids.

  “Posolutely. Sundae will be a funday.” I would make sure of it.

  “You mean Yumday,” Junie replied firmly. Ice cream was serious business. “That reminds me. I’d like to place my order for a banana split.”

  “Do I look like a waitress to you?” The nurse planted her hands on her hips and gave a little wink. “I don’t have any banana splits at the moment, but in an hour I’ll have a dose of your medicine.”

  “That’s so not an even trade! Give it to that Penny Smith girl instead.”

  “No. It’s for you, Miss Junie Fitzwilken of Room 612.”

  “Maybe if I sneak into another room, she’ll give it to someone else,” Junie whispered to me.

  “I heard t
hat,” the nurse said. “I know you don’t like it very much, but that crawpucket medicine, or whatever you call it, is going to help make you better.”

  “Crawpucket? Crawpucket!” Junie thought that was just about the funniest thing she’d ever heard. She looked at the nurse’s nametag: Edith Minkey. “You’re a wordinkey, Nurse Minkey!”

  “You can call me Edith,” she replied, trying not to laugh, because Junie’s silliness was infectious.

  “But Minkey-wordinkey is much more fun to say. Plus it rhymes with stinky and Slinky!”

  A giggle meltdown was a bit like an avalanche: a single goofy-sounding word could set off a chain reaction, gathering momentum until Junie was giggling uncontrollably. Normally, I would egg her on, feeding her new words until both our tummies ached with laughter. But I could tell that her body wouldn’t be able to handle that kind of shuddering, shaking silliness. Not now. She was too weak. I was afraid she’d get hurt. You knew things were bad when laughing was a dangerous activity.

  Unfortunately, I was right.

  Junie’s eyes grew wide. She started wheezing. It was an awful sound.

  “Calm down. Junie, calm down.” I felt like I was falling, again. But with no special tree to catch me. I watched her gasping for air.

  Her grayish-pink face turned purple and I screamed. Nurse Minkey moved lightning fast. She pushed some buttons. She attached a space mask to Junie’s mouth and nose.

  Whoosh! Hiss. Some urgent beeping.

  Then, a sigh of relief.

  Junie closed her eyes. Her chest rose. And fell. Up and down. She was breathing. Or the machine was breathing for her, I couldn’t tell. At least she wasn’t purple anymore. She was okay.

  But I was a total wreck. I felt like I’d aged at warp speed. From twelve years old to an ancient, tired one hundred in a few seconds. My skin hung from my bones. My heart was exhausted from beating so wildly, from caring so hard. I wanted to crawl into bed and not get out until everything was better.

  Just like Mom when she came home each afternoon.

  The thought pricked like a needle.

  I lay down next to Junie. I forgot about the nurse and the beeping machines. I forgot about the backpack filled with cookies. I forgot about my new friend waiting in the hallway. I just watched Junie breathe. Her chest rose and fell. You’d think it would be boring, like watching paint dry. But it wasn’t. When it’s someone you love, you stare like the world depends on each breath. Because it does.

  After four excruciatingly long minutes, Junie’s eyelids cracked open and fluttered like moths fresh out of their cocoons. She squinted. Like she was expecting to see heaven or something.

  She saw my face instead. I can only imagine how bad I looked, all rumpled and crooked with worry.

  She reached a hand up and touched my cheek. “Better than an angel,” she wheezed.

  “This ugly old mug?” I made a face and gently pinched her bony knee under the covers. She nudged me back. Sisters speak all kinds of languages. Many of them don’t require words.

  ***

  The nurse continued checking machines and pushing buttons. From time to time, she would poke at Junie or attach some tube here or there. She scribbled in her chart.

  Finally, she removed the mask from Junie’s face. “Everything looks stable now. Feeling better?”

  Junie took a breath on her own, then stuck out her tongue.

  “All right. A little attitude is fine with me. Shows me the spirit is strong.” Edith stuck out her own tongue. “See? Two can play at this game.”

  Junie grinned, but didn’t dare laugh. She took a few more deep breaths instead. I helped tuck some pillows behind her head. My sister closed her eyes. Within seconds she began to snore.

  Edith watched her for a minute, then pressed some kind of remote control into my hand. “If anything happens, you push this immediately. Got it?” She spoke quietly, so she wouldn’t wake Junie. “Her vitals look good. But she needs rest. Please don’t do anything to rile her up.”

  Which pretty much ruled out stories about a magical orchard.

  She rested a hand on my shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. “It’s hard to see someone you love get sick. If you ever need to talk, there are people here to help. The child life specialists, counselors, doctors. And me too.”

  I swallowed and nodded.

  “Junie is strong. And so are you. I can tell.”

  I felt the exact opposite of strong. Junie looked the opposite of strong. We were like two sticks of petrified chewing gum about to crumble into tiny pieces. I didn’t want to disappoint Edith, so I made a pathetic fist and raised it in the air. What a joke.

  She seemed convinced. “All right. I’ll check back soon.” She patted me on the head. Just like Dad had earlier that morning before he turned into a gargoyle made of stone. Good girl. Be strong. Compared to what Junie was going through, my life was a walk in the park. So why did it feel so hard sometimes?

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. My fist softened into a wave. I turned to Junie. She snorted and rolled over, nuzzling next to me. I closed my weary eyes. Just as I drifted off, one of my eyelids peeled open. A tiny finger poked me once, twice.

  “Quit it,” I said, swatting the hand away. In my drowsy state, I temporarily forgot we were in the hospital.

  Another poke. “I have to tell you about my dream before it disappears,” Junie’s voice was scratchy. My other eyelid peeled open.

  “Ouch.” I sat up, remembering where I was. The lemony bleach smell hung in the air. The too-bright lights hurt my eyes.

  “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Junie said.

  I looked at my watch. Junie had been asleep for less than ten minutes. “That was quick,” I said groggily, wishing for more time.

  “Power nap. I’m a pro at those.” She yawned and I saw sores inside her mouth. She cuddled close to me and we looked at each other for a very long time. Memorizing. Breathing. Staying quiet and being still.

  “Are you reading my mind?” Junie eventually asked.

  “No. Are you reading mine?” I pressed my forehead to hers.

  “Nope.”

  “Would be cool if we could.”

  “We could chat all day long.” Junie eased back against the pillows. “And we’d never be lonely.”

  “Are you lonely?” I felt myself aging, worrying, growing old again.

  “Not really,” Junie said matter-of-factly. “I’ve got oodles of visitors. Mom, Dad, you. The other kids down the hall. And now I’ve got Henry.”

  I felt a pang of jealousy.

  “Who’s Henry?”

  “My tumor.”

  Great. I was jealous of a tumor. This was officially a new low.

  “Hold on, your tumor’s name is Henry? I thought it was Willie. Or Pablo?”

  “Duh, Isa. Henry is Willie’s brother. Pablo was their cousin.”

  “I’m confused. Didn’t the doctors make them go away? During your operation?”

  “They did. Except everyone was so worried about Willie and Pablo that no one noticed Henry.”

  Apparently, this tumor and I had a lot in common. Awesome.

  “How come you never mentioned him before?”

  “How come you never mentioned her before?” Junie pointed. Kira stood in the doorway, her long braid draped over her shoulder.

  My cheeks flushed. I didn’t want Junie to think I’d replaced her. Thankfully, Junie’s big eyes and equally big smile told me I had nothing to worry about.

  “You never told me you were friends with a princess,” Junie said.

  “Princess?”

  “Rapunzel,” she said, eying Kira’s endless tresses with awe and a little bit of envy.

  I made an awkward introduction. “Junie, Kira. Kira, Junie.”

  Kira fiddled with her braid the way I usually fiddled with the contents of my lunch tray. I suddenly got the impression her hair was her shield.

  Junie glanced at me. “You did tell her I’m not contagious, right?”

  “S
he knows,” I said. “Kira, come in.”

  Kira didn’t budge.

  “And you told her I don’t bite? I don’t smell, either. I swear,” Junie’s voice trilled. She seemed excited to meet Kira. I was glad I’d invited her to come with me. “The nurses give me baths way too often. I couldn’t even stink if I wanted to.”

  I sniffed and smirked. “You sure about that?”

  She elbowed me and made a face.

  “Seriously, Kira. Please come in,” I said.

  She slowly crossed the room and perched on the foot of the bed. She continued to fidget, braiding and re-braiding her hair.

  Junie was transfixed. “Can I try?” she asked.

  “Huh?”

  “She likes your hair,” I explained.

  “Aw, thanks! Here.” Kira moved closer, then extended the braid, thick as rope, and placed it in Junie’s palm.

  “It’s so long!”

  “I haven’t cut it since my dad left,” Kira said. “That was a couple years ago, not that I’m keeping track or anything.” I wondered if that was true. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who counted time? “He used to tell me it was pretty.”

  “It is. Pretty and beautiful. Prettiful. If I had hair like this, I wouldn’t mind taking a bath. I’d shampoo it really well. I’d condition it, comb it, style it.” Junie studied the braid, tracing the pattern with her fingertips. “Could you teach Isa how to do this?”

  “I could teach both of you. It’s easy.”

  “Hear that, Isa? Easy peasy. Ha! More like hairdo greasy.” She snorted, recalling my prior failure and the olive oil that followed.

  “Very funny.” I opted not to engage in our regular rhyming rally for fear of needing the remote control Edith had given me.

  “I’ll teach you right now. Watch.” Without realizing what she was doing, Kira pulled the purple cap from Junie’s head.