by Shari Green
are Ending.
Not the same unit
as Marjorie
but that building.
Just one room
no kitchen to myself
someone else cooking my meals
setting my schedule.
The people seem nice
I say
thinking of Natalee’s bright face.
Iris doesn’t comment.
After a moment
she begins speaking again
and Olivia signs for me.
It breaks my heart
every time I see her.
No one imagines this
—no one plans
to lose their memories
their independence
the ability
to tell their story.
We’ll have to tell it for her
Olivia says
and she’s right.
People need to know
Marjorie is more than a scowl
more than a lady in a wheelchair
more than someone who’s losing
her words.
And what about Iris?
What about her stories?
As the bus bumps along
turns onto Pemberton Street
sends Olivia crashing
into my shoulder
I’m thinking
of my school project
—family stories
that I don’t really
want to tell
but someday might
(possibly
but not likely)
be glad
I did.
Chapter 23
The first leaves
are easy.
Pale green construction paper
pencil outline
carefully cut
into a leaf shape.
I start with Mom
write
Rachel McMillan
along the midline
of the leaf
then fill in the story lines
—words that tell
how Mom fits
into my family tree
how she fits
into my story.
I print them as neatly
as I can
along the vein lines
of the leaf
mother
helper
teammate.
I add her birthday
and mine
—the date our stories
started.
I create leaves
for my grandparents
and my uncle
and even make one
for me
because I suppose
that’s where my story begins.
Macy McMillan
October 16, 2005
daughter
gardener
book lover.
I gather the leaves
the first pages
of my book
and imagine the story
they tell…
Does my story
start with me?
Or does it start with my mom
or my grandmother
or…
Our stories all seem
to overlap.
For the first time
in a long while
I wonder
about my father.
Olivia was right
about me not knowing
his name.
Mom always said
he wasn’t meant to be
part of our lives
and mostly
that’s okay with me.
But even so
his story and mine
are linked.
I cut out another leaf
leave it blank
tuck it
on the bottom of the pile.
That’s all I need
—and to be honest
that’s all I want.
Chapter 24
Iris hands me a sheet of paper
glass of lemonade
sugar & spice cookie
—you are loved
you belong.
I settle on a kitchen chair
to read.
I dreamed of owning a cookie shop—baking for hours each day
listening to my customers’ troubles and quietly slipping an extra cookie
into their box, chosen especially to fit what they had to say.
I worked and planned, found a business partner to help me
make my dream come true. She ended up taking everything I had.
I’d never suspected she made a nasty habit of dishonesty.
Out of money (and dreams), I took my disappointed self to the want ads
saw a listing for the airport café, took a job working
for someone chasing their own dreams. It wasn’t all bad—
I met Marjorie because of it. Way back then, she took flying
lessons every Thursday. I always gave her one of my oatmeal
cookies—you can do this!—because the world was so often saying
she couldn’t. And I learned that having someone steal
my money wasn’t as terrible as I’d once thought. You could say
I learned to love such unexpected twists a great deal.
If Iris can bake cookies
that give someone courage
to become a pilot
imagine what amazing things
might’ve happened
if she’d had a whole bakery
a cookie shop
full of magical messages
for those who needed them.
But that didn’t happen
because Iris’s business partner
wasn’t who Iris thought she was.
How could she not know
not suspect?
Didn’t she check out
this person’s story
before becoming partners?
I point to the words
I’d never suspected...
Couldn’t she tell?
Iris sets her glass on the table
flips the page
writes for a few seconds.
I don’t know that anyone
is exactly
who they say they are.
Chapter 25
The last soccer game of the season
we lose 2–1.
Jennifer Blister scored one goal
against us
but she also scored
the one for us
so it all evened out.
After the game
the whole team is invited
to Jennifer’s.
We pile into her house
leave a jumble of soccer boots
in the entranceway.
All the parents cluster
in the kitchen.
A bunch of the kids zip right back outside
for a turn
on the backyard trampoline
and a few of us follow Jennifer
to her room.
Three huge posters hang
on the wall—black-and-white shots
of a ballerina
in different poses.
A bulletin board
displays a collection of ribbons.
I point to the ribbons
ask what they’re for.
B-a-l-l-e-t
Jennifer fingerspells.
I love—
&nb
sp; She starts spelling ballet again.
I interrupt
show her the sign.
She tries again
with a grin.
I love ballet.
Then she catches Olivia’s eye
speaks to her instead.
Olivia explains:
She says she only plays soccer
because she likes
being part of the team.
After Jennifer turns away
to chat
with some other girls
Olivia signs
so only I can see.
Dance…I never would’ve guessed.
It’s surprising
the things we don’t know
about people
surprising how often their stories
aren’t what we expect
which reminds me
of Marjorie.
Later, while my mom
is driving me and Olivia home
I nudge Olivia
say
Remember when you said
we should tell Marjorie’s story
for her?
Yeah
says Olivia.
Why?
I’m wondering
how we can do that.
Olivia purses her lips
taps her chin.
Mom pulls the car up to the curb
in front of Olivia’s.
Olivia unbuckles her seatbelt
turns to face me.
I’ve got an idea
she says
waggling her eyebrows.
If
you’re up for an adventure.
Chapter 26
Sunday afternoon
Alan holds out a box
lid open—donuts
with pink
orange
blue
brown frosting
multicolors
looking like a sugary garden
in a flimsy white box.
I stopped at that little bakery
on Anderson Street
he says
signing a bit awkwardly
fingerspelling bakery
and Anderson.
I can picture that shop
—the big storefront window
wedding cakes on display
and inside
air heavy with sugar and yeast
room crowded
people queuing up
mouths watering
while they wait for their turn
to order
gawking
at the glass cabinet
full of breads
muffins
donuts
cookies.
Cookies…like Iris
might’ve had in her own bakery
if her dream
had come true
if people had been
who they said they were.
I look up from the bakery box
Alan’s striped shirt
stubbly chin
gentle smile that just might be
hiding something.
If nobody is exactly
who they say they are
who
exactly
is Alan?
And if he’s not exactly the Alan
Mom thinks he is
maybe she won’t marry him
after all.
Take your pick
he says
still extending the box
toward me.
A little treat
for you.
No way
am I eating one of those.
Not hungry
I say.
Mom intervenes.
You love Anderson’s donuts.
I shrug
and turn away
just as Alan glances at Mom
with a subtle shake
of his head
and a look of frustration
like he just
can’t
win.
Chapter 27
The next bus
will pass Rosewood Manor
in a half hour.
Iris, Olivia, and I
chat with Marjorie
in the lounge
keeping an eye
on the time.
After a nod from Iris
Olivia grips the handles
of Marjorie’s wheelchair
I link my arm
through Iris’s
and we tell Natalee
we’re taking Marjorie out
for some fresh air.
We roll right out the front door
down the sidewalk
to the bus stop.
When the bus arrives
with a wave of heat
a stench of exhaust
the driver lowers the ramp
helps Marjorie board.
We transfer buses
at Tenth and Arlington
finally arrive
at the municipal airport.
The glass doors slide open
automatically
and when we step inside
I feel
triumphant.
Olivia’s idea was genius.
When we told Iris our airport scheme
we figured it would take some convincing
but Iris loved the idea
right away.
We park Marjorie in her chair
next to a giant window
that’s really more of a see-through wall
and we take in the view
—planes coming and going
baggage carts zipping about
people in neon vests
waving
their arms.
Marjorie’s scowl
hasn’t slipped
and I can’t tell if she’s pleased
to be here.
But then she says
“I was a pilot, you know.”
And there’s a hint
a spark
a light in her eyes
I never noticed
before.
It’s that spark
that makes me believe
she’s one of Iris’s Firecracker friends.
When we return to Rosewood Manor
Natalee doesn’t greet us
with her usual enthusiasm.
Instead, we get hands on hips
stern face
telling us
we’re in big trouble.
Olivia takes charge
steps forward
chin lifted
signing as she presents
our excuse.
We were telling Marjorie a story.
I suppose
we lost track of time.
Natalee comes around
relieves me of wheelchair duty
peers at us
skeptically.
As we turn to leave
Iris is wearing a small
but unmistakeably satisfied
smile.
Chapter 28
I enlist Olivia to help me
because she’s the best researcher
I know
(not counting Ms. Cleary
the school librarian
who can find out everything
about anything).
Finding information
gossip
facts for school reports
I tell her I need info about Alan
for my family history project
—not the truest thing
I might’ve said—
and something inside me
suddenly feels a bit off
like a bad taste lingering
in my mouth.
I swallow it down.
Why don’t you just ask him?
Olivia says.
He’s too busy
with wedding stuff.
I think my mom
is doing most of the wedding stuff
but it sounds
like a believable excuse.
But then just like that
the bad taste
is back.
Who knew a person
could taste lies?
(Turns out
they’re a bit like pineapple
after it’s been sitting too long
in the fridge
stewing
in its own juice.)
Olivia is my best friend.
Am I a person who lies
to her best friend?
Actually
I tell her
it’s not for the project.
She grins
a mischievous kind of grin
that says she loves the idea
of spying
sneaking
getting the dirt
on my stepdad-to-be.
It doesn’t feel quite so good
to me
but what choice
do I have?
It’s the only way
to stop the wedding.
Olivia and I gobble our lunches
dash to the library
pull two chairs close
and log on
to one of the computers.
This morning I asked Mom
