Mama came home, bursting into the kitchen with two bags of groceries and talking in one long stream of words. “I picked up Sadie’s she-crab soup for dinner. I’ve got rolls from Hardaway Market. I’ve got sugar cookies from Sook Diner. Who’s the best mother in the entire world?”
“You are,” Rosie said in a barely audible voice.
Mama crossed to the sink and tugged at the faucet. “That’s about as sincere as Anna Lee offering to come in early.”
“Anna Lee offered to come in early?”
“It was less of an offer, more of a grudging agreement after telling me she’s frustrated with the patriarchal stereotype of women serving as secretaries. But once I reminded her that being a secretary is actually the main part of her job description, she finally agreed. She looked about as happy as you do right now.” Mama slammed her hand down on the counter. “Shoot! The faucet is leaking again. There’s water all over the counter.”
“I could try to fix it,” Rosie offered. “My hands are really strong from holding my camcorder.”
“It’s all right. I’ll call the plumber. But if he overcharges me this time, I’m going to spray him with this faucet,” Mama joked, but her forehead wrinkled like a piece of crumpled paper.
Rosie’s gaze fell on her expensive camcorder across the room. She bet her father didn’t worry about paying for broken faucets. He probably didn’t even have to hire a plumber himself. He had an assistant who could take care of things he didn’t want to bother with, like plumber appointments and e-mailing his daughter.
“Enough about the faucet.” Mama dropped into the seat beside Rosie. “What’s wrong?”
Rosie shrugged. “Nothing.”
Mama tilted her head, examining Rosie’s face. “I don’t believe that.”
Rosie couldn’t bring herself to tell Mama about the cafeteria. It was too humiliating. Even thinking about it now, her face heated up as she remembered how idiotic she’d sounded and the way Cam hadn’t stood up with her. Mama wouldn’t understand the importance of a cafeteria table. It sounded stupid even though it wasn’t, and talking about it only made it bigger and more real.
“Is this about Cam again?” Mama asked.
Rosie bowed her head. Mama remained in her seat, for once not saying anything.
“Everything is different,” Rosie finally blurted out. “Cam is busy with soccer and her new friends, and Henry is always studying or doing research. No one wants to help me with my films, and I—I miss when it was the three of us playing outside by ourselves. Summer seems so far away already.”
Mama’s gaze softened. “I don’t blame you. You had a lot of good times together. Cam and Henry are like family.”
“Not anymore. It feels like our friendship is over.” Rosie’s head drooped.
Mama tipped up Rosie’s chin. “Just because everything isn’t exactly the same way it was doesn’t mean your friendship is over. It means it’s changing, and that’s okay. That’s life. Lots of things are going to change as you get older, and sometimes it’s good and sometimes it’s bad. Sometimes it’s both. The only thing in life that doesn’t change is change.”
“Change stinks,” Rosie said.
“It’s not worth giving up your friends over though.”
“I’m not giving anything up,” Rosie protested. “They are!”
“If you decide not to fight for your friendship, you’re giving up.”
Rosie opened and closed her mouth. She wanted to yell that Mama didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, but no words emerged. Mama hadn’t seen how Cam had cut her to bits in the cafeteria with a flick of her eyes. She didn’t know how it was in seventh grade.
Mama stood, pulled a plastic container filled with Sadie Dellarose’s she-crab soup from a grocery bag, and set it on the counter. Pouring a measure of cinnamon-colored liquid into one of their chipped bowls, she spoke again. “Cam and Henry have worked on all your movies, even this latest documentary. They’ve also listened to you and helped you for years. If they don’t have time to do everything you want anymore, that doesn’t mean they aren’t good friends. It means you have to work a little harder to spend time with them, but you don’t stop being someone’s friend because things get hard. That’s not the way I raised you.” Mama carried the bowl over to Rosie with a spoon.
Rosie took a small sip. The warmth traveled down her throat and into her stomach, where it spread through her body. Her shoulders relaxed. She took a larger spoonful.
Rosie didn’t know if Mama was right, but maybe, maybe she wasn’t wrong.
After slurping down most of her soup, Rosie’s mood had lightened considerably. Mrs. Dellarose had gotten Miracled as a kid. She’d come down with an awful stomach sickness and nearly died. She’d even given away all her toys to her little sister. When she miraculously recovered, she was left with a special knack for cooking. Everyone said her she-crab soup had a touch of magic in each bowl and made you feel like the worst thing in the world hadn’t actually happened to you. It just worked for Rosie … or had it?
Rosie toyed with her spoon, staring down at the remains of her soup. “Mama, do you—well, do you believe in the Miracles? You can tell me. I’m not a little kid.”
Mama went completely still. “That’s a hard question.”
“Because you don’t believe,” Rosie said, her heart sinking.
“No, that’s not it at all. It’s hard because I wasn’t always sure the Miracles were real. Your Grandma Rose believed without a single doubt. But I wanted proof.”
“Did you find it?”
“Nope,” Mama said. “At least, not really. Sure, the Blue brothers have this uncanny ability to predict the weather and Mr. Waverman seems to know if the mail is bad or good, but someone could still explain those things away.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Rosie said in a small voice.
“I’m saying I made a choice to believe years ago. It took me a while to get there, but once I did, it made the Miracles more real than ever,” Mama said, her eyes shining.
“But why did you make that choice?” Rosie asked.
“That’s not something I can fully explain.”
“I wish you could,” Rosie said, resting her chin in her hands.
“Oh, Rosie, some things don’t have an explanation.” Mama hesitated. “All I can tell you is it’s important to believe in something you’re not able to see or touch. We can’t explain love and goodness and faith, but they’re the most important things. Without them, we wouldn’t have any hope at all.”
Rosie filled her lungs with air and slowly let it out. Mama’s speech sounded good, but it didn’t prove or explain anything.
Mama tapped the counter. “Speaking of the Miracles, I still haven’t had time to set up interviews for you with Donna Davis or Beth Moore. I’ve been so busy helping with the festival. But I can do it tonight. I know you’re anxious to finish the documentary.”
“It’s okay,” Rosie said. “I already interviewed both of them.”
“Do you still want me to call Miss Matilda to smooth things over?”
“That’s all right. Miss Matilda hasn’t caused much trouble since the town meeting, so you don’t need to call her.” Though Rosie still couldn’t figure out what Miss Matilda or anyone else was worried about in the first place.
“How about I speak to Bob Willis about you filming at the museum?” Mama asked.
“I already convinced him to let me do that tomorrow,” Rosie replied.
“Oh,” Mama said, her chin dipping. “Well, you don’t seem to need me at all.”
Rosie could tell Mama was disappointed. “That’s not true. You could … You could help me with the final cut on Thursday night. I’ll need to add in some music and edit my final scenes, and I might be up late.”
“I’m there!” Mama said. “I’ll bring the hot chocolate with raspberry syrup.”
“A Flynn girl specialty,” Rosie said.
“A Flynn girl specialty,” Mama agreed.
>
Rosie stood and carried her bowl to the still-dripping faucet. She set the bowl down and stared at the sloping hardwood floor. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “I do want to believe in the Miracles, but I just don’t know anymore.”
Mama stopped unpacking the groceries and straightened, staring Rosie right in the face. “It’s okay to not know everything.” She put an arm around Rosie and pulled her close to her side.
Rosie sighed. Everything was different these days. The questions were different. The Miracles were different. Cam and Henry were different. She stood on her tippy-toes and rested her chin on Mama’s shoulder. Last year, she wasn’t tall enough to do that. She even fit in Mama’s hug differently these days.
* * *
Rosie snuck out of her house after Mama went to sleep and headed down Magnolia Street toward the First Presbyterian Church. It wasn’t as though she could sleep anyway. Her mind was too crowded with worries about the documentary and Cam and the Miracles. Each worry was like a toothache she couldn’t help nudging with her tongue—always there, always aching, and thinking about it over and over made it hurt worse.
Thick clouds covered up most of the moon, leaving only a sliver of silver in the sky. The graveyard felt like its own lightless tomb at eleven o’clock. Rosie huddled into her jacket. The raised white headstones took on a ghostly appearance, and the wind whipped through the branches overhead, rattling the leaves. It looked like the set of a horror movie in which rotting mummies popped out of the ground, one mangled hand at a time.
Cam was walking up the sidewalk, her braids tucked into a stocking cap. A pit formed in Rosie’s stomach. After talking to Mama, she wanted to try to fix everything with Cam, but she still didn’t know what to say to her.
“I wanted to talk to you about lunch,” Cam said immediately.
Rosie’s face softened. Cam must have realized she’d ignored Rosie.
Cam continued. “I felt so bad when you made that mistake about The Haunting. I tried to change the subject to soccer to make it less awkward.”
That wasn’t the response Rosie expected or hoped for.
“Thanks, I guess,” Rosie said, staring hard at the black metal fence.
“So, we’re good, right?” Cam asked, touching Rosie’s arm. “Because you seemed a little mad when you got up from the table.”
Mad? Rosie wasn’t mad; she was chopped up into tiny pieces. She’d wished Cam hadn’t turned her back on her. She’d hoped Cam would run after her when she got up from the table. But she wasn’t sure how to say any of those things without sounding like a sad loser.
“It’s okay,” Rosie said in a flat voice. “I shouldn’t have brought up that movie.”
“Luckily, I don’t think Leila cared that much. No one even mentioned it after you left,” Cam said.
Rosie gave her a stiff smile. She wondered what would have happened if Leila had cared. Would Cam have stood up for her? Right now Rosie wasn’t so sure.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Cam gestured to Henry’s figure ahead. “Have you talked to him since lunch?”
Rosie shook her head.
“Me neither,” Cam said. “I’m worried though. This whole thing”—she threw her arm out, encompassing the creepy graveyard—“isn’t like him at all.”
They started into the graveyard. The tall branches of the oak tree reached up past the church spire like bony skeleton arms. Henry stood to one side, shoveling dirt over his shoulder.
“You came!” Henry exclaimed, his hair glowing white. He leaned the shovel against the tree and gestured to the shallow hole in the ground. “I’ve already scoped out the topography and started on the side farthest from the road. The ground gets more water runoff, so the dirt is softer. It’s a logical place to bury treasure, like how dung beetles search for softer soil to bury their dung balls. I even brought some of Mama’s yarn so we can set up grids to show which areas we’ve excavated.”
Cam clicked on her flashlight. The shallow light illuminated her frown. “Henry, we don’t have time to set up grids. We need to dig as fast as we can before someone catches us in here.”
Henry looked over at the yarn and nodded. “You’re right. No grids. Only digging.”
A creak sounded from the opposite side of the graveyard like a long-suffering sigh. They froze. Rosie gripped her elbows, trying to quiet the tremors in her muscles. Was it the sound of a graveyard caretaker or a dangerous stranger?
“Let me check it out.” Cam started forward. “I’ll be right back.”
Rosie grabbed her arms and whispered, “Never say that.”
“Why not?” Cam whispered.
“Don’t you know classic horror movie rules? The person who says I’ll be right back never comes back. They end up dead,” Rosie hissed.
Cam dislodged Rosie’s hands and rolled her eyes. She headed in the direction of the noise. Seconds later, she was back. “It was the wind blowing open the gate.”
Henry was examining the hole and mumbling under his breath. “The treasure is here somewhere. I know it.”
Cam and Rosie looked at each other. Henry sounded like he was in a trance.
“Henry, is there anything you want to tell us?” Rosie asked.
“Because you seem weird,” Cam said bluntly.
Henry started shoveling again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, we are in a graveyard in the middle of the night,” Cam said.
“That’s because of the treasure,” Henry said. “Can you guys grab a shovel because I could really use some help.”
Rosie tried again. “It seems like something else is bothering you.”
“The dirt must have built up over time, right? I’m sure that’s why I haven’t found the treasure yet. It’s the only answer.” Henry increased his shoveling pace.
Cam grabbed the shovel out of Henry’s hand.
“What are you doing?” Henry said.
“Is everything okay at home with Miss Betty?” Cam asked in a gentler voice.
“I guess.” Henry stared at the ground.
“I know it’s hard with her being sick,” Rosie said.
“I really need to keep digging.” Henry reached for the shovel, but Cam held it out of reach. He sighed.
“Just talk to us,” Rosie said.
Henry kicked at the pile of dirt he’d created. “Fine. It is hard, okay? Sometimes Mama can’t get down the stairs in the morning. My dad has to help her. She still tries to cook dinner every night, but she doesn’t always finish because she gets too tired so my dad and I order pizza all the time. It’s funny—I don’t even like pizza anymore.”
“Pizza is overrated,” Cam said.
“The doctor says the treatments are working though, right?” Rosie asked hopefully.
Henry dusted off his hands, avoiding their eyes. “That’s what my parents tell me, but I wonder. Once I heard her crying when she thought I went to bed.” His throat convulsed. “She said her entire body hurt. I’ve never heard her cry before.”
Rosie bit her lip, afraid she was going to cry at the way Henry’s voice was trembling.
“Do you think they would tell me if she wasn’t going to get better?” Henry whispered. “Maybe they wouldn’t want me to know because I’m twelve and if my mama died, that would—”
Cam gripped Henry’s arm. “She’s not going to die.”
“They would tell you,” Rosie said, taking his other arm.
“I’m not sure. Sometimes … ” Henry’s voice trailed off.
“Sometimes what?” Rosie asked.
Henry shook off their arms. “It’s nothing.”
But Rosie knew he was hiding something. “You can tell us anything. We’re your best friends.”
“We want you to talk to us,” Cam said. “We want to help.”
Henry grabbed the shovel and hefted it up to his shoulder. “I should get back to work. We don’t have a lot of time, and I have to find that treasure.” His voice rose on the last word.
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“What’s so important about the treasure?” Rosie asked.
“I—I can’t explain it,” Henry said.
Rosie wrinkled her nose. “But—”
Henry had already begun digging again before Rosie could finish her sentence. Cam shrugged at Rosie and grabbed the other shovel. Rosie wanted to make Henry tell her what was bothering him and why the treasure suddenly seemed more important than anything else in his life, but she didn’t know how to ask the right questions.
After nearly a half hour, Rosie took over for Henry, then Henry took over for Cam, and so on until all three were sweating and exhausted. There were holes all around the tree, but the most they’d found was an old shoe and a few cigarette butts.
“Maybe we should come back tomorrow,” Rosie said, plopping down on the grass to rest for a moment. Her shoulders ached.
Cam collapsed next to her, rubbing her back. “Maybe we should stop.”
Henry continued to heave dirt out of the ground like one of the pirates from Treasure Island. His jaw clenched, and his eyes squinted down at the ground without blinking.
“Henry, it’s not here,” Cam said.
Henry didn’t stop shoveling. “It’s here somewhere. It has to be.”
“We’ve dug around the entire tree,” Rosie said, sighing. “I’m sorry, Henry. We tried.”
“It’s got to be hidden deeper,” Henry said in a choked voice.
“We can still research other places Lonnie went when he was alive. Maybe the treasure is buried at one of those. I’ll help you next week when the documentary is done,” Rosie said.
“I might not have a week,” Henry said.
A beam of light shot across the graveyard. Henry dove to the ground, and Rosie and Cam smashed their backs against the tree and slid down until they lay flat on the dirt. Heavy footsteps crunched in the dried leaves scattered among the graves. This was no creaking gate; this was a real live person.
Rosie and Cam stared at each other, eyes wide and scared.
“Who’s there?” A high voice came from their left. Rosie recognized it instantly.
“It’s Deputy Cordell,” Rosie whispered. “You know she only sleeps one hour a day since her Miracle, when she came out of that six-month coma.”
Forever Glimmer Creek Page 12