“I love that idea! Plus, I need all the help I can get.”
We tossed the copper bell back and forth, with the tree fielding some of our wilder throws now and then. Soon we developed a secret language. We had signals for fastballs, changeups, curveballs, and even my specialty—the window-breaker.
When our arms grew tired, Kira tucked the bell back into her bag. “We still need to decide what we’re going to do with the rest of these.”
I wanted to share their beautiful music, without completely giving away the secret of the tree. But how?
Then it was crystal clear.
“The hospital!” I cried. “We have more than enough bells for every kid on Junie’s floor. Gregory’s orchestra is about to get a whole lot bigger and a whole lot better sounding!”
“That’s a great plan,” Kira said, biting her lip. “But I’m just skeptical about the execution.”
“I’ll bring them tomorrow when I go with my parents. Easy peasy.”
“Except how do you explain a bagful of mystery bells? They’re noisy. Not exactly easy to smuggle.” She began twirling a strand of hair around her fingertip. “I guess you could bring one at a time. Attach it to your keychain or something? No one would suspect anything.”
“Hmm. That would take way too long. Those kids will be in the geriatric wing before I have time to deliver each bell. This might be trickier than I initially thought.”
“What if we shipped them?” she said.
“In the mail?”
“Why not? We’ll say it’s a donation.”
“An anonymous donation for musical enrichment.” I nodded. “I like it. It just might work.”
Kira touched the end of her ponytail, like it reminded her of something. “I mail a package to my dad every week. I’ll tell my mom I need to send him a big one this time.”
“Will she wonder why you’re sending him a box of bells?”
“I’ll say it’s a school project or something.” She let go of her hair. “Since the divorce, she doesn’t want anything to do with him. I doubt she’ll investigate the contents too closely.”
I thought about what Kira said earlier, about seeing me. I wanted to show her that I saw her too. “Do you get to visit him often?” I asked, sitting down in the grass, leaning my back against the tree’s warm bark. I knew how it felt to miss a parent. I could still feel the gentle squeeze of my dad’s hand from earlier that evening.
Beside me, the tree’s twisted trunk shifted, forming a space like a backrest, inviting Kira to sit too. Maybe even trying to comfort her. She nestled into the hollow. “Not really. I used to visit him once or twice a year when he lived a few states over. But then he moved all the way across the country. Near Seattle. I’ve never flown that far by myself. I’m not sure my mom would actually let me.”
“Seattle is one place I’ve never lived,” I said. “Which is impressive, since we’ve lived in eight different cities so far. Actually, Bridgebury is the ninth.”
“Nine? That is a lot.”
“Tell me about it. Sometimes it feels like we’ve lived everywhere and nowhere.” I thought about all the moving trucks, all the apartments, all the new schools and packing and good-byes. “Nine moves for me. Two before Junie was born. This is number seven for her.”
“Lucky number seven?”
“Some luck.” I closed my eyes, remembering what my parents had told me during dinner. I felt the scar on my tongue from the pizza burn. The ache in my heart, the clawing worry. “She has another tumor.”
“What?” Kira sat up. “Junie? No.”
“Yup. She calls this one Henry.” Every word hurt.
“Oh, Isa.” Kira reached an arm over and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“My parents knew for a little while, but I just found out tonight. Actually, Junie mentioned Henry briefly yesterday, but I got distracted and forgot all about him.” The tree grew warmer as I spoke. I knew it was listening too. Tears pressed behind my eyelids, but I wouldn’t let them out. If I did, I was afraid they’d never stop.
I didn’t resist Kira’s hug. I even hugged her back. It wasn’t quite a squg, but it did feel a bit like one of the softball signals we’d just invented—a way to send an important message without words.
Kira let go of me and leaned back against the tree. Her face turned serious.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
She didn’t answer right away. “I’m just thinking that it’s probably good you never lived where my dad does.” She started fiddling with her hair again. “Apparently it rains all the time there. That’s what he wrote in his last postcard. But that was months ago, so who knows what the weather is up to now.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it doesn’t sound like a place I’d really want to visit.” Except everything in her voice and her moonlit face said the opposite.
“Couldn’t he come to Bridgebury to see you instead?” I asked.
“He keeps saying he will. But we’ve been here for two years already and he hasn’t come once.” Kira fidgeted uncomfortably. She reached into her bag and cupped several small bells in her hand. “Listen to these,” she said, changing the subject. Avoiding the conversation and the feelings that went along with it.
I knew how that felt. So I gave her lots of space and quiet, in case there was more she wanted to say.
She sighed, letting the bells roll across her palm. “Such glorious tintinnabulation.”
I giggled. “Is that one of your fancy vocabulary words?”
“Indeed,” she said in a smarty-pants voice. “It means the ringing of bells. A perfecterrific word for this occasion, I think.” Kira looked down. “They’re so small and they look so delicate, but they make such a big sound.”
I knew all about that idea too. Sometimes little things could be incredibly powerful. My sister was proof. So was the tiny acorn that the squirrel had buried months ago.
Kira yawned. “We should get back home. It’s late and I’m sleepy.” She returned the bells to the bag, then stood up and stretched her legs. “You know, I’m a little relieved.”
“Why?” I didn’t want to leave the tree’s warmth, but I rose to my feet, shivering as the cool spring air hit my skin. I wished I were wearing my cozy flannel pajamas instead of my cotton nightgown.
“It’s dumb, really. I mean, you planted a bell, so it makes sense. But we had all sorts of cookies. And the shoe harvest was pretty diverse, right? You got boots and cleats and sneakers. So I wasn’t really sure what to expect this time.” She shrugged. “This might sound crazy, but I actually imagined clarinets and cellos and French horns drooping from the branches.”
I laughed at the image. “How about a tuba? Or bongo drums!” I drummed my hands against my thighs and stomped to the beat.
“A didgeridoo would’ve been funny,” Kira said.
“Anything’s an improvement over instruments made from bedpans and pill bottles. Imagine that symphony.” I wheeled around and pointed at the tree. “Don’t get any ideas!” The tree’s bark turned deep magenta, like it was blushing, which made us laugh all over again.
Chapter 18
There’s a reason sprinkles, whipped cream, and cherries are called fixings. They’ll fix a bad mood or a worried heart real quick. Maybe they’d even fix a case of Nephew-Blast-o-Rama, as Junie called it.
Dad pushed a cart down the freezer aisle at the market, while I filled it with pints of our favorites: rocky road for Junie (which seemed to accurately describe our life lately), pistachio for Mom, strawberry for Dad, and mint chocolate chip for me.
The whole time, Dad kept saying, “Anything for my girls!” with a smile pulled across his face. But when the cashier packed everything into a cooler, I could see Dad cringe as he handed over the credit card to pay.
As we drove out of town, we passed my school and the softball diamond. I was itching to get out there and practice on Monday. Dad was quiet, deep in his own thoughts. I missed Kira’s chatterboxing. And th
e stash of juice boxes her mom kept in the back seat. My throat was dry, probably from nerves. All four of us Fitzwilkens would be together, which was fantastic. I just wished our little reunion wasn’t taking place at the hospital.
***
Inside Delorna Regional Hospital, I led the way, now comfortable taking the elevator and navigating the corridors by myself. Dad trailed behind, lugging the cooler.
When we arrived on Junie’s floor, we greeted the receptionist at the front desk. I watched the mobile with clouds and rocket ships rotate around and around while Dad checked us in. We stopped to disinfect our hands, then made our way past the colorful murals, toward Junie’s room.
I opened the door. “Look what we brought!” I sang, brimming with excitement.
Junie and Mom weren’t there.
“Ooph.” Dad placed the cooler on the floor and rubbed his back. “That thing is heavy! I hope your sister’s hungry.”
“Me too.” I really hoped she was feeling more awesomesauce than barftastic today.
“I’ll go see if I can track down our favorite ladies,” Dad said. “I bet they’re in the activity room.”
As soon as he was gone, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a silvery iridescent bell the size of a golf ball. It shined so brightly that it practically glowed. A minute later, I heard the heavy clomp of Dad’s stride down the corridor, followed by the ticky-click of Mom’s heels. Without a second to spare, I tucked the bell under Junie’s pillow.
“Special delivery for my Junebug!” Dad entered the room and lifted the cooler over his head like the heavyweight champion of the world.
Mom appeared next, pushing Junie in a wheelchair. She must have felt too weak to walk, which was not a good sign. But when she saw me, she rose to her feet. I swooped in for a sisterly squg. The purple cap was back on her head and she was wearing unicorn pajamas paired with a green sequined tutu. The sparkling ruffles reminded me of the seedling and its crown of glittering leaves. When Junie smiled up at me, her nose, chin and cheeks had to scoot and squish, just to make room for all that happy. I returned the smile, wishing I could bottle up the look on her face and save it for a rainy day.
Dad set the cooler down and hugged Junie next. We all knew she was light as a feather, but he made a fuss about how big she was getting, how strong, how healthy. Everything that was true was the opposite. We played along, and it didn’t feel like lying. It felt like hoping.
Dad carried her over to the bed, still pretending she weighed as much as a bag of bowling balls. Junie chanted, “Hooray, hooray for Sundae! Yumday! Funday!”
I joined in, praying no one would rearrange the pillows on her bed and reveal the hidden bell.
Mom set up an ice cream buffet on a table and pushed it against the edge of Junie’s bed. She peeled and sliced ripe bananas, then arranged them artfully inside paper bowls. Junie smacked her lips and pointed to the flavors and fixings she wanted.
“Whipped cream. Don’t skimp. Extra sprinkles, please. Good. And a few more blue-flavored candies, too.” She clapped her hands excitedly.
“Junie, blue isn’t a flavor,” I said, covering my own sundae with a drizzle of caramel sauce.
“Sure it is. If red is a flavor, then so is blue.”
“Red’s not a flavor either,” I said, which made my mom laugh. “Cherry is a flavor. So is strawberry. Those are usually red colored.”
“Shows how much you know.” Junie snorted. “Mama, can you crumble some cookies on top too?”
“Sure, baby.” She picked up the plate of cookies that Kira and I had left behind yesterday. “Did you buy these at the market the other day, Nathan?”
“Nope,” he answered. “Don’t know where they came from.”
Mom dropped pieces of the chocolate hazelnut delights into Junie’s bowl. She snuck a taste. “Mmm. They’re even better than the ones we used to make at the bakery. Who brought these?”
“Isa—”
“Sure, I’ll take some!” I interrupted. “Nurse Minkey, er, Edith made the cookies for you, right?” I did my best to wink at Junie without our parents seeing.
Junie stared at me. My eyes practically bugged out of my head. This would be so much easier if we were mind readers, or at least had some sister-code signal for this type of thing.
“No, not Edith,” Junie said.
Come on! Work with me here! I made my eyes even bigger.
“It was another nurse,” Junie said, frowning at me. “She baked them for the whole floor. Gregory and his orchestra got some too.”
“That’s a nice gesture. I should ask her for the recipe. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.” Mom took another bite. “Nathan, could you pass the pint of pistachio, please?”
Their curiosity about the cookies seemed satisfied for the moment, but Junie studied me, like she couldn’t figure out why I wanted her to fib.
“Dig in!” Dad said, plunking a cherry on top of his own towering sundae.
For a few delicious minutes, we almost forgot we were in the hospital. Junie and I took turns sporting silly whipped cream mustaches. Dad entertained us by tossing candies into the air and trying to catch them with his mouth. He was much better at catching things with a baseball glove. Like his fwapjacks, most of the candies ended up on the floor. Mom sliced more bananas and probably didn’t even realize she was humming. The fixings did their job, at least temporarily.
But our cozy family bubble was just that—a bubble. The moment Dr. Ebbens came into the room, it popped. The doctor nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and examined the scene. I thought he might scold us, until he said, “Ah, yes. Just what the doctor ordered.”
“Would you like some?” Mom offered, looking guiltily down at the sweet spread.
“That’s kind of you, but no thank you.”
Junie held up her bowl. “Ice creamo-therapy, Doc.”
“Clever as always. You might be missing a kidney, but your funny bone is still in working order,” he replied with a hearty chuckle. He turned to my parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilken, could I speak with you alone for a moment?”
“Of course.” Mom and Dad looked like they’d been called into the principal’s office.
“There’s a consult room available down the hall. We can meet in there.”
“Will you girls be okay here for a little while?” Mom asked, placing her bowl on the table and wiping her lips with a paper towel.
We nodded in unison.
“Good. Don’t make yourselves sick eating too much sugar, understand?”
As if sugar was the biggest of Junie’s worries.
***
“I think I might be a real princess,” Junie announced in a raspy voice as soon as the grown-ups left the room.
“Why’s that?” I added another scoop of mint ice cream to my bowl.
“I could feel this! All the way through one, two, three pillows!” She dug her hand behind her back and retrieved the bell I’d stashed there.
“It’s not exactly pea-sized, Junie. But, sure, you probably are a real princess. I think that’s what the doctor wanted to tell Mom and Dad. Maybe one of those blood tests finally revealed your royal heritage.”
“It’s about time. I always knew it.” She inspected the bell. “What I don’t know is why you put it there. And why couldn’t I tell Mom and Dad that you visited with Kira and brought me cookies?”
“Because Kira’s mom didn’t bake those cookies.” I paused. “And because Mom and Dad don’t know I snuck here to see you.”
“Sneaking, huh? Sounds a little dangerous.”
I wiggled my eyebrows. “You’re worth it.”
“Because I’m a real princess?”
“Even if you weren’t.”
“But I am,” she said, completely serious.
“I know.”
“So, who did bake these?” Junie extracted cookie chunks from her melting sundae.
I’d waited so long to tell her the secret, and here was my shot. I paused for effect, and th
en I said, “A tree.” My whole body buzzed with delight, and also lots of sugar. I waited eagerly for my sister’s reaction. I pictured imaginary fireworks exploding with color above us, confetti cannons blasting, trumpets blaring.
Instead, Junie stared at me blankly. Her eyebrows had fallen out months ago, but the place where they should have been lifted up so high that the patch of skin almost disappeared beneath her purple cap. Then she put down her sundae and laughed in my face.
“Ha! Ha! Riiiight.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me blue’s not a flavor, but trees can bake cookies? Good one, Isa.” She practically cackled. “I think somebody needs to go for a ride in the donut machine and get her head checked.” The donut machine was what she called the CT scanner, because it was big and round with a hole in the middle.
Kira warned me that Junie might not believe the story. I couldn’t really blame my sister—the truth did sound pretty strange. “The tree didn’t exactly bake the cookies,” I explained. “The tree grew them!” I sat back and waited for her to erupt with wonder and amazement. “It grew that bell too.”
She peered at me skeptically, then she clicked her tongue along the roof of her mouth. “Suuuure. That makes so much more sense.”
“It’s true! You know I’d never lie to you. Don’t tell me the doctors took out your imagination when they removed Willie and Pablo?”
“I don’t think they did.” She took off her knit cap and scratched her head. “You’re saying trees can grow cookies and bells?”
“And shoes!” Before she could roll her eyes again, I added, “It’s not just any tree, Junie. It’s a chance seedling.” I took her hand in mine. “Do you remember the stories about our property? The wacky things people would whisper about our orchard whenever we said we lived in the old Melwick place?”
She shifted in her bed. “One girl in my class told me the apples would turn your skin purple if you ate one.”
“I never heard that, but okay. My point is, the stories are true. At least a part of them is true.”
She reached over and lifted up the sleeve of my shirt. She inspected my arm. “You don’t look purple to me. If the stories were true, you’d be purple, wouldn’t you?”
The Magic of Melwick Orchard Page 14