Slice of Cherry

by Dia Reeves

  “She’s looking for me,” said Fancy, feeling a twinge of guilt as she put her toy away. “How do I get back?”

  But she couldn’t see Cherry around the huge bubble, and not through it. She reached out to Kit, and the bubble exploded.

  Fancy gasped, all the breath knocked out of her. She blinked to find not only the bubble gone, but the cellar and Cherry gone as well. There was only the dark and the path, glittering pinkly but dimming like a guttering candle flame.

  Fancy raced back the way she had come, frightened of what would happen if the path vanished before she could return to her family. And it had taken such a long time to reach Cherry. The path would probably fade before she was even halfway—

  Fancy rushed out of the dark, otherworldly woods and into the glade, blinking at the brightness, wincing at the loud voices surrounding her even as she welcomed the noise. She’d never been so glad to be among people.

  “Fancy, what’s wrong?”

  It was Madda. Fancy, blinded by so much light after so much darkness, stumbled and fell. Into someone’s lap.

  “Man. I didn’t think Cherry’d grant my wish this fast.”

  Fancy’s eyes adjusted and narrowed on Ilan, grinning at her in extreme close-up. She shoved him into a plate of corn on the cob in her hurry to flee his grip. She ran to Madda, who was sitting across from him.

  “Why are you sweating like that? And shaking?” Madda felt her forehead. “You getting heatstroke?” She poured Fancy a cup of lemonade. “Drink this, and stay out of the sun for the rest of the day.”

  Fancy leaned against Madda’s side and drank the lemonade, glaring at Ilan the whole time. He was still just sitting there, dabbing at the smears of butter on his dress shirt. “What’s he doing here?”

  “He came to keep me company.” Madda smiled at him. “I told you, we’re old friends.”

  He seemed a lot more relaxed than the last time she’d seen him, less tense. Maybe because his brother wasn’t around.

  “That’s the second time I heard you talk in public,” he said, smiling at Fancy. “Your ma said you could, but I didn’t believe it.”

  “Whyn’t you go talk to your own mother?”

  “Fancy!”

  “I can’t.” He gave her a brittle smile. “She pissed off when I was ten.”

  Madda reached over and smacked Ilan upside the head. “Don’t say ‘pissed.’”

  He rubbed his ear good-naturedly. “Sorry. You might be wrong about her not being ready to socialize, though. She looks ready enough for me.”

  “I don’t mean physically. Stop leering at her.”

  “I’m not leering. I’m appreciating.”

  “Oh, well, that’s different, then.”

  The familiarity between them was infuriating. Fancy backed away from it, out of Madda’s arms. “Where’s Kit?”

  Madda’s jaw dropped. “Don’t you know?”

  “She’s with Gabe,” said Ilan, still appreciating her. “I can see through your dress.”

  Madda groaned, staring at Fancy as if she’d never seen her before. “What did I tell you about wearing a slip? And a bra! Good Lord.”

  Fancy crossed her arms over her chest and hid behind Madda. Ilan, unable to look through her clothes, was forced to make eye contact.

  “They’re over there in the trees,” he said. “Near the girls playing jump rope.”

  Madda grinned. “They?”

  Fancy bolted from the table, past the girls singing “Shimmy, shimmy, cocoa pop!” and glimpsed Kit and Gabriel through the trees. They were slow-dancing to “Signed, Sealed, Delivered,” which was not a slow song, and sharing an ice-cream cone. Gabriel was almost a head taller than Kit, and it was strange to see him towering over her—Kit had always seemed so much bigger than everyone else.

  “Why’re you being so nice to me?” Gabe asked.

  Kit took a lick of the vanilla ice cream—Kit didn’t even like vanilla ice cream!—and then held the cone to Gabriel’s mouth. “You think I’m nice?” She was surprised and open, letting him see her.

  “A nice change.” He seemed to like what he saw.

  “From what?” When she held the cone out of reach, he tickled her until she lowered her arm.

  “People who don’t know how to act around me,” he said. “People who think I need to be patted on the head or something. Because of what happened to my pop. You know?”

  “I know.”

  He let her go long enough to unfasten his necklace. “Take this.”

  She hesitated, staring at the cross dangling from the end of it. “I’m not religious. Not really.”

  “That’s not why I’m giving it to you.” Since she wouldn’t take it, he fastened it around her neck himself. “Look. It’s got my name carved on it. So now you get to carry me close to your heart.”

  “And between my boobs.”

  “I told you”—he wrapped her in his arms—“I’m always at the right place at the right time.”

  They leaned in close.

  “Kit!”

  Fancy charged forward as they jerked away from each other guiltily.

  “That’s . . . unsanitary.” She pointed to the ice-cream cone in Kit’s hand.

  “You should feel honored,” Kit told Gabriel. “Fancy only talks around people she likes.”

  “I wasn’t talking to him!” Fancy grabbed Kit by the hand and pulled her away so sharply her ice-cream cone tumbled into the grass.

  “Damn it, Fancy.”

  “Why ain’t you with your brother?” she asked Gabriel, ignoring Kit. “He don’t care enough about you, so you gotta come over and bother my sister?”

  Gabriel jerked as if he’d been pushed in the back.

  “Stay away from my sister!” Fancy grabbed Kit’s hand and stalked off, dragging Kit behind her.

  But Kit didn’t want to be dragged. She jerked free of Fancy’s grip. “What’s your problem?”

  “Don’t act like I did something wrong, when you’re the one who didn’t even notice I was gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “I was off in the woods. Cherry called me.”

  “Our Cherry?” said Kit, first stunned, then disbelieving. “Were you dreaming? I didn’t hear anything except bottles tinkling.” A faraway look clouded Kit’s eyes. “Like a woman laughing.”

  “I didn’t hear any laughter. Just a voice. Cherry’s voice.”

  “You met Cherry?” Kit saw the truth in Fancy’s eyes and met it with awe. “Holy shit, Fancy! What did she say?”

  “You didn’t notice I was gone. Or is it that you didn’t care cuz you were too busy making kissy-face at that holy-rolling weirdo?”

  Kit looked back at Gabriel guiltily. He stared at her, too, like he wanted to come over but didn’t dare. Fancy poked out her tongue at him.

  “Maybe Cherry put a spell on me,” Kit said.

  But Fancy wasn’t ready to let Kit off that easily. “She said you wished for true love. Even though you were supposed to wish for us to be together forever. How could you do that to me? For a boy you don’t even know. And who doesn’t know you. He called you nice. Not only is he a weirdo, he’s brain-dead.”

  “I could be nice if I wanted,” Kit snapped. “It’s easy when you hang around with nice people.”

  “So go be nice to him!”

  Fancy stormed away, and even though she was angry—Kit thought that weirdo was nicer than her?—it pleased her to see Kit’s shadow intermingling with hers as Kit hurried to keep up.

  At their isolated picnic table Fancy was glad to note that Ilan had joined the long list of people who had abandoned their family.

  Fancy came up behind Madda, who was clearing away the food, and hugged her. “I’m tired. Can we go home now?”

  “We sure can.” She squeezed Fancy back. “I don’t know about you two, but I had enough socializing for a year.”

  “Two years,” said Fancy. She looked at Kit, expecting her to say, “Three years.” Any other time she would have.

&
nbsp; But Kit was too busy staring at Gabriel.

  FROM FANCY’S DREAM DIARY:

  I SAW CHERRY HANGING OUT AT FOUNTAIN SQUARE. I SAID HI, BUT SHE TRIED TO PRETEND LIKE SHE DIDN’T KNOW ME. WHEN I FINALLY GOT HER TO SPEAK, SHE CALLED ME FRANNIE. BITCH.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Fancy snatched “Singin’ in the Rain” off the phonograph and whirled it like a Frisbee across the room.

  “Hey! I was listening to that.”

  “You got no business listening to something that cheerful,” said Fancy. She abandoned her losing hand of solitaire to rifle through the crate below the phonograph stand for a more acceptable record.

  Madda had long since left for work, and both Fancy and Kit were at the tea table with only the dim orange glow of a hurricane lamp to keep back the darkness. The sisters, fresh from their cold-water baths, had stripped down to their sleep clothes. They could have been haunts, so still and somber-eyed in the half-dark.

  Fancy put “My True Story” by the Jive Five on the phonograph, a depressing song completely in synch with her mood.

  “Wanna play beauty shop?” Kit asked, waving her gooey nail brush practically under Fancy’s nose.

  “I don’t wanna play with you.” Fancy dealt herself a new hand. “And why you gotta do your nails right next to me? You know I hate that smell.”

  “I have a bottle of polish that smells like violets. I could paint your—”

  “No.” She felt Kit’s gaze on her but ignored it.

  “If it’s just the smell that’s bothering you—”

  “Nail polish is not what’s bothering me.”

  “Fine.” Kit disappeared under the tea table and then laughed when Fancy squealed at the touch of Kit’s mouth on her bare foot. “I’m sorry. Sorrysorrysorry.” Every time she said “sorry,” she kissed Fancy’s foot. “I’m sorry. How many is that? A hundred? Is that enough?”

  “No. Ow!” Fancy snatched her foot away from Kit and rubbed the bite mark her sister had left on her instep.

  Kit crawled out from beneath the table, frowning, and slumped on the stool. “It’s not my fault my hormones keep getting in the way.”

  “It is your fault. You don’t have to give in to it. Especially over a guy like Gabriel.”

  Over the sound of the music Fancy heard the ping of bugs bouncing off the screens. The lamps drew them. Sometimes, especially on moonless nights, the light in the sisters’ room was the only light for miles.

  “Why don’t you like him, Fancy?”

  “Cuz he’s a big phony. Fussing at you for trying to rip out a guy’s tongue. Meantime he’s going around shoving sticks into people’s eye sockets.”

  “It was just a severed head.”

  “That’s not the point! Besides you already have one man. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  “What man? Franken?” Kit laughed. “I can’t exactly take him home to mother. I can’t take him anywhere. Except on Halloween.” She clapped her photo-shoot-ready hands together. “You know what? If you take a hostage, we could double-date!”

  Fancy shoved her finger into her mouth and pretended to gag.

  Kit grabbed her hand. “Look at those nails. You need a manicure even more than you need polish.”

  Fancy snatched her hand back. “I said no.”

  Kit looked so dejected that the last of Fancy’s anger sloughed away. “I forgive you, Kit. Okay? Let’s just forget about what happened today.” She reshuffled her cards. “But I like my nails the way they are. I like everything the way it is.”

  Kit looked at her own blood-colored nails and seemed more dejected than ever, yet she smiled. “Let’s just do what you wanna do, then.” She took the cards from Fancy and began to deal. “Whatever you want. Like we always do.”

  “Fancy . . .”

  Fancy awoke in Kit’s bed with Kit’s breath in her hair, their chests rising and falling as one.

  “Fancy . . .”

  Fancy rolled over, rubbing her eyes and shoving Kit’s knee out of the way. “What?”

  But Kit was fast asleep. “Fancy.”

  Fancy shot up, squeezing the sheets to her chest. The voice had come from across the room, from the phonograph Kit had forgotten to turn off; it hissed and crackled her name from the dark throat of its horn, darker even than the night surrounding it. She knew that voice.

  Fancy shivered as the leaves washed against the screens. “Cherry?”

  “You have an appointment to keep,” hissed the voice, “in the dark park.”

  Fancy threw the covers over her head.

  “Fancy.” The voice was reproachful, but Fancy didn’t budge. “Remember what’s at stake, Fancy. Your future. Your sister’s.”

  Fancy lowered the covers and got out of bed.

  “Come here.”

  Fancy went forward and stopped before the phonograph.

  “Reach inside.”

  Fancy reached into the icy throat of the horn, skin crawling, expecting it to clamp on her arm at any second. She flinched when her fingers bumped something.

  “Take it.”

  Fancy grabbed the object and ripped free of the phonograph horn, her arm as numb as if it had spent thirty minutes inside a refrigerator.

  “That will lead you where you need to go.”

  The object in her hand was a piece of paper, but in the dark she couldn’t make out what was on it.

  “Remember, you have to go alone. If you can’t get it on your own, you don’t deserve it.”

  “Get what?”

  “The key. Good luck.”

  A sharp snap resounded in the room as the phonograph shut itself off.

  Fancy chained her bike in the parking lot of St. Mike’s, which was across the street from the dark park. The sun floated just over the horizon, the sky streaked with red as though God had killed someone and hadn’t bothered to clean it up. But the dark park seemed to shun the light. Just the sight of those sunless, tangled trees, tall as skyscrapers and stretching wider than her eyes could see, had Fancy ready to hop back on her bike and pedal off. She lived in the woods and felt at home there, but the dark park was something else entirely—a creaking ancient forest full of doors and the monsters that had come through them. The only thing that made what she was about to do even remotely bearable was that the parking lot of St. Mike’s was packed with shiny green trucks. Mortmaine trucks. They often patrolled the dark park, keeping the monsters that lived inside in check.

  If things got out of hand, Fancy could just scream for help, and if the Mortmaine weren’t too busy or too far away or too indifferent (as they sometimes were), they might come to her rescue. Maybe the Mortmaine presence in the dark park had sent all the monsters into hiding; maybe Fancy wouldn’t even see one grotesquerie the whole time she was inside.

  Thus comforted, Fancy crossed the street and entered the dark park.

  To her surprise and relief she spied a sunlit trail and quickly began to follow it. She unfolded the paper she’d gotten from the phonograph as she walked along. It was as blank as it had been all morning. She had no idea why—

  As Fancy watched, a pink dot appeared at the bottom of the paper, while at the very top appeared a thick black X. The dot was moving, inching turtle slow up toward the X. When Fancy stopped moving, so did the dot. When Fancy walked backward, the dot disappeared. But when she walked forward, the dot reappeared.

  Assured that she was on the right track, Fancy hurried on.

  Though the line on the map was perfectly straight, Fancy’s way was not. But no matter how she swerved, the dot kept straight on the map. When she chose the wrong fork in the road, whenever she went in the wrong direction, the dot vanished. Fancy panicked every time it happened, as though she herself had vanished, but she always managed to get herself turned in the right direction.

  The dark park was normal at first, similar to the woods surrounding her home. But the deeper she went in, the weirder it got. The leaves seemed to reach out to her and trail along her arms and hair. Fancy pretended that the wind
was doing it, even though there was no wind.

  At one point Fancy passed a giant cobweb just off the path, with large bones stuck to it. Animal bones, Fancy thought, even though the partial rib cage and femur looked disturbingly human. Just old animal bones in a web that had been abandoned a long, long time.

  “Hey!”

  Fancy shrieked and broke into a run.

  “Hey!”

  The voice was human. Mortmaine?

  Fancy slowed and looked back, startled to hear a human voice after what seemed an eternity, but there was no one on the path.

  “Hey!”

  She peered through the dark trees to her left and saw it.

  Fancy knew right away it wasn’t human, no matter what it sounded like. It had a head, but the rest of it was some kind of yellow jelly. The nose it had given itself kept sliding into its mouth. As she watched, the jelly morphed itself into a humanish shape and began to walk toward her. “Hey!” A bit of its yellow blob stretched from the center of its chest and made something that looked like a hand. “Hey!”

  It reached for her, and when the hand it had made came into contact with the sun beaming along the path Fancy stood on, it caught fire. The thing shrieked and lost whatever humanness it had tried to give itself. It shrank into a ball of goo and squished out of sight through the dark trees.

  “Sunstroke,” Fancy said, shaking so hard that her teeth were chattering. She then checked the map. “I’ve been in this sun forever; that’s why I saw that.”

  She was three fourths along the line, almost at the X. It would be ridiculous to run screaming out of the woods when she had come so far. It was just sunstroke and animal bones and the wind. After Fancy got the key, she and Kit could both do whatever they wanted and there would never be any consequences, and for that Fancy could put up with anything.

  Fancy squared her shoulders and continued forward along the path, and the dot on the map disappeared.