Drizzle (10 page)
Authors: Kathleen Van Cleve
SAME DAY, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27
Heartbreak
“Dad said good things were going to happen,” I murmur to Beatrice, who stands next to me under the weeping cherry blossom tree.
The mist is above us, crowding the limbs of the weeping tree. It’s gotten a lot bigger. I can see the dragonflies zipping through it. I automatically lift my arm up, scraping my fingers at the bottom of it. It doesn’t feel at all like I think it will. I assume it would feel like fog—that touching it would be like touching steam. But it doesn’t. It feels like a cotton ball that’s been drenched in water and squeezed so tightly that it’s heavy and thick.
And wet. When I look at my fingertips, they’re dotted with drops of green water.
“Weird,” I mutter.
Beatrice flinches, as if I’ve just woken her up.
“The dragonflies know what they’re doing,” she announces. “Stop trying to figure them out.” She puts her hand on my shoulder and twists me around. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the Learning Garden?”
I cross my hands around my chest. “I’m scared,” I admit, glancing back up at the mist.
Beatrice’s eyes scan the mist too. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I get that.” She turns so we’re side by side, her arm still around my shoulder. “People always get scared when they don’t understand something. But really, what’s the use? Does it change anything?” She pulls me alongside her as we walk out from under the tree. “Anyway, I trust the dragonflies. You should too.”
“But—”
“Polly,” Beatrice says calmly. “There’s nothing you can do here.”
She taps me on my shoulder, and I start to walk away from her. She’s probably right. But I still can’t help turning around and peeking at the mist as I leave. The good news is that by the time I reach the Learning Garden, I can’t see it at all.
“You two are going to put out the new pesticide in the Giant Rhubarb field,” Mom tells Basford and me after I arrive. “Ophelia brought over a new one. Says it won’t harm the plants or the bugs.” Mom walks over to a yellow star lily and plucks it. Another one instantly grows back. She sticks the flower in my hair and smiles. I take it off as soon as she turns around.
Ophelia’s new pesticide turns out to be beer. Plain old ordinary beer.
“Ophelia says all we have to do is pour it into little saucers and leave them in between every third plant. In a week, she promises they’ll be teeming in bugs! Happy, happy bugs!” Mom smiles as I hold out my saucer for her to fill. “Start in the Giant Rhubarb field,” she directs us.
“Mom—” I protest. She knows that I don’t especially like working in the Giant Rhubarb field, since it’s so close to the Dark House. Mom shakes her head. “You do the north side. Basford can do the south side. You’ll be fine.”
We finish pretty quickly. When we’re done, I stop by the lake to fill up my water bottle. I want to go back and talk to Harry. I don’t invite Basford to come along with me, but I don’t tell him
not
to come along with me either, so we end up walking across the entire farm together. At first, we don’t talk that much. But then we walk over the iron bridge to the west side of the farm, and I see him gazing at the water. I think that maybe he’s missing his home.
not
to come along with me either, so we end up walking across the entire farm together. At first, we don’t talk that much. But then we walk over the iron bridge to the west side of the farm, and I see him gazing at the water. I think that maybe he’s missing his home.
“Are you sad you left Bermuda?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Sometimes.”
“I’ve never lived anywhere but here,” I tell him.
Basford keeps looking at the lake. “Who would want to leave here?”
The answer pops into my mind so fast it surprises me. “Aunt Edith.”
He turns, interested.
“She lived in New York until she had to move back here after Grandmom died. She was so busy she couldn’t even come to the funeral. She was in Russia and had to take cars and planes and even a donkey to get back. She was interviewing someone really important. Like a king. Or a sheikh.” I pause, thinking. “It may have even been a terrorist.”
This makes me think of those six days before Aunt Edith showed up, when I was going totally out of my mind because of Grandmom’s death.
“Grandmom was totally different from any old person you’ve ever known. She had cancer but wouldn’t get treatment because she said that if she couldn’t walk around the fields, there wasn’t any use to her being alive in the first place. Then she’d say that if the plants couldn’t help her, she didn’t want to be helped.”
Basford squints in the sunlight. We’re off the bridge now, heading over to the chocolate rhubarb.
“Remember I told you that Dad is a rhubarb scientist? That’s because of Grandmom. She thought rhubarb could cure anything if someone could only figure out how to get its magic from the plant into the person. That’s why my father is always working in his lab, trying for some big cure. He was so sad when Grandmom died. I mean, we all were, but he was really sick about it. I think he thought that if he were a better scientist, he could have found a cure and made her better.”
Basford doesn’t say anything, and my head is now so filled with images of Grandmom and me that I’m quiet too. We’ve almost reached Harry’s field when Basford speaks.
“My mom,” he says softly. “She had cancer too.”
I’m so surprised, I forget to breathe, and I end up having a coughing fit. Basford hands me a water bottle. I drink some and try to sort out my thoughts.
“Did she die?”
Basford nods. Suddenly I feel like all my worries have dissolved and in its place is an image of Basford, alone in Bermuda without his mother.
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yeah. My dad was really worried. I stopped talking.”
“For how long?”
“About a year. Maybe more.”
I look down and watch a two-headed spider scramble in front of me toward a plant. “Why didn’t you talk?”
“Nothing to say.” His cheeks seem to tremble, and I think he’s going to cry. But then he looks at me and his eyes are just sad and empty of everything, including tears.
We just stand there for a long time.
“Hey,” I say. “Do you want to meet my best friend?”
SAME DAY, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27
Welts
In five minutes, we’re standing in front of Harry.
“I talk to plants,” I confess. “This plant especially.” I lift my head and look Basford squarely in the eye. “Go ahead. Laugh.”
His eyes flicker over me for a second before he leans down and studies Harry, like a scientist. “What’s his name?”
“Harry,” I say. “Harry, meet Basford. Basford, meet Harry.”
Harry’s bottom stalk bends in half.
“He’s smiling,” I tell Basford. For the first time during our long walk, Basford cracks a smile too.
“Nice to meet you, Harry.” He looks back at me.
“Do I shake something?”
“No. He’s a plant. Not a person. Plus there’s that poison, remember?”
Just as he says that, Harry stretches out one of his leaves and brushes Basford’s knee. Basford recoils.
“Poison?” he mouths.
“No,” I laugh. “He’s telling you to relax. There’s no poison on that side of the leaf.”
“How long have you been friends?”
“Since I was six,” I tell Basford, although in my head, I say,
Until Monday, when he didn’t warn me that his friends were going to try to kill people.
I look sternly over at Harry. “I’m kind of mad at him right now.”
Until Monday, when he didn’t warn me that his friends were going to try to kill people.
I look sternly over at Harry. “I’m kind of mad at him right now.”
“Why?”
“You know when you know someone’s going to do something bad but you don’t do anything to stop them?” I kneel down in front of Harry. “That’s what he did.”
Harry starts flapping his leaves up and down, upset.
“Maybe he had a good reason not to stop them.” Basford looks at Harry. “Is that it?”
Harry shakes his middle leaf.
“That means yes,” I explain. “And I already know that’s what he thinks. He’s just not telling me what the reason is. Right, Harry?”
At first Harry doesn’t move. Then, as if he deliberately wants to make me mad, he pulls his leaves up and makes the bouquet sign.
“ARGH!”
“What does that mean?” Basford asks.
“I have no idea. And he knows I have no idea. But he keeps doing it.”
“Maybe we can figure it out,” Basford suggests. “Are you mad?” he asks Harry.
He shakes his middle leaf again.
Yes
.
Yes
.
“At Polly?”
He lifts up his leaf and turns it back and forth.
“He’s saying no,” I tell Basford. “Listen,” I say, frustrated. “Harry, didn’t you hear what Aunt Edith said? You don’t have to worry. She has everything under control.”
Harry doesn’t answer.
“Whatever it is that’s bothering you—whatever it is that made your friends try to hurt the people on the Umbrella—”
He lifts his leaf, vehemently turning it back and forth. Basford shoots me a confused look.
“Well, if you weren’t trying, you messed up, because you really did almost hurt people. How would that make you feel?”
I know what’s going to happen before it does. The bouquet.
“Just stop it!” I yell. “You have nothing to worry about. Aunt Edith told us! You were right here, listening!” I realize I’m trying to convince myself as well as Harry.
Harry’s stalks stiffen and rise up, so that my face is directly in front of his largest, healthiest leaves.
I’m mad at you.
I’m mad at you.
“You’re acting just like a crybaby. You can’t be mad at me. You’re the one who tried to kill people for no good reason!”
Harry picks up his biggest leaf and slaps me.
I hear Basford gasp. Tears crowd my eyes and my cheek stings.
“I don’t care,” I say stubbornly, tears falling. “You can hit me as much as you want. You’re wrong.”
He doesn’t slap me again. He just starts rumbling his leaves, drumming them on the ground. The other plants join him. Basford’s face has gone white, but I can’t think about that now. I scramble to my feet and rush out of the field as fast as I can. Welts form on my face as I run, I can feel them. He
hit
me.
hit
me.
I hear Basford running behind me, but I don’t stop running. I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.
Harry
hit me.
hit me.
SUNDAY, AUGUST 31
Ask What You Want To Ask
I’ve refused to see Harry for the last three days, and I don’t even feel guilty about it. Nope, not a bit. Basford thinks I just need to go out to the field and get Harry to explain. But I won’t. It’s Harry’s fault. For hitting me, and then for ruining my life at St. Xavier’s—because that’s what’s going to happen as soon as everyone sees the huge welts on my face, courtesy of my once-best-friend.
Besides, even if I wanted to see Harry—which I don’t—Mom’s kept me working every second. I wasn’t even allowed to have a Friday tutorial with Aunt Edith. Tomorrow, the Monday before Labor Day, is the farm’s biggest tourist day, so we’ve all been sweeping and folding and packaging during every spare minute. Well, all of us except for Dad. He’s been holed up in his lab, working furiously on something top-secret. He’s going to finally tell us about it at dinner tonight.
“Polly, take this.” Mom hands me an hors d’oeuvres tray, olives and cheese and roasted almonds, just as Aunt Edith walks through the door.
“How lovely!” she exclaims, taking an olive. “Special occasion?”
Mom sets down a white ceramic basket filled with bread. “Always, Edith.”
Girard steps inside. “Good evening,” he says, then looks over at me. “Good Lord, Polly. What did you do to your face?”
I take a deep breath. “I tripped,” I say as I hear Patricia snicker. Aunt Edith raises her eyebrows but Girard nods, like it’s an acceptable answer. He doesn’t know anything about rhubarb. Or farming, for that matter. One time he literally yelled at the dirt because a speck got on his fancy English shoes. (Then he stepped in a puddle of mud, which hadn’t been there one second earlier. It made me giggle because I knew the farm was getting back at him.)
We eat the olives and almonds and drink apple-rhubarb juice. Freddy’s not with us because he’s been feeling sick and running a fever again, and Dad’s not here yet either. Finally, when we’re all just listening to Girard drone on about something none of us cares about, Dad rushes up the stairs, beaming.
He’s holding a crate-sized box.
“Just had it copied,” he pants. “One for all of you. I’ll explain after dinner.” Dad says, breathing hard. Mom smiles nervously, but Dad’s so clearly happy that it’s not long before everyone’s joking and laughing.
Everyone, that is, except for Aunt Edith. All through our meal, she’s distracted, constantly glancing at Dad’s box. Finally, when Patricia, Basford, and I finish clearing the table, Dad picks up his mysterious box and takes off the lid.
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