by Kim Tomsic
My guilt about lying to Bailee and about dumping crickets in Priscilla’s shirt, her cute new shirt, makes me rush and say the first thing that pops into my head. “My tomorrow wish is that Bailee and I get new clothing.”
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.
Candlelight dances across Bailee’s unhappy-looking face. “Blow it out!” she screams.
I blow it out, and the candle shrinks to a nub shorter than my thumbnail.
“All that wax!” Bailee says.
“I know.”
Chirp! The room is shadowy, but we still see the zombie-gray cricket, the morning escapee, jump by our toes.
Bailee screams and my nerves are shot. I join her for a double dose of “Ahhhhhhhhhhhk!”
Momma walks over to the bug and—
STOMP!
She murders it!
“Stop screaming!” she snaps, and then rubs her temples.
Bailee hugs my arm. I’m pretty sure my jaw unhinges. I hide the candle behind my back.
“It’s just a bug!” Momma rips a paper towel off the roll, squats by the dead cricket, and wipes its guts from the floor. “Where’s that candle, Sage?” she says in the sternest voice I’ve ever heard my momma use. “I can’t pay bills in the dark.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll find something better for you, Momma.” I whip a look at Bailee, and her eyes are as round as basketballs. Is she thinking what I’m thinking—that this curse-reverse is turning ugly?
Momma tosses the paper towel into the trash can and washes her hands. I use that moment to hide the magic candle in the deepest, darkest part of the mess drawer and set other birthday candles on the counter. I need to get Bailee out of here so we can talk. “We’ll be right back, Momma. We’ll run next door and borrow a flashlight from Miss Tammy.”
“That’s a great idea.” Momma takes a breath. “In fact, we’ll all go to Tammy’s.” Her normal sweet tone is back. “I’m sorry, girls. The bills have me stressed out.” She sighs again. “I’ll gather my papers and meet you there.”
“It’s okay, Momma.” I rush Bailee out the door and grab her arm. “My momma killed a bug!” I whisper-shout. “Probably the first in her life!”
“I saw!” Bailee throws a hand on top of mine and squeezes.
“And she sounds like Mrs. Petty!”
“I heard.” Bailee frowns and says, “So . . . about the wish. Um . . . thanks? But I thought you were going to make the friends-forever wish we talked about.”
“I know. I couldn’t think straight. I’ll wish that next.” I turn away and knock on Miss Tammy’s door before Bailee can press the issue.
It swings open. “Lil’ Spice and Bay Leaf!” Miss Tammy says. Motown music, the kind Mr. Melvin loves, plays from the speakers. She dances as she says, “Come in, come in.”
“Electricity is out again,” I say. “Momma will be over in a minute.” The smell of lasagna wafts from the kitchen, and naturally my stomach does a monstrous growl.
“Goodness!” Miss Tammy laughs. “It sounds like I’m having company for dinner! You girls like Italian, right?”
“Yes!” we say. “We’ll set the table,” I add.
“Perfect.” She shuts the door, and we follow Miss Tammy to the kitchen. “You know where everything is. I need to check the oven.”
The music changes and now a jazz song pumps from the speakers.
“Mmmm-mm. It doesn’t get better than B. B. King,” Miss Tammy says, setting the timer on her stove.
I take out four blue-checkered placemats. Bailee grabs the red dishes.
We set them on the glass table, and I whisper to Bailee, “What am I going to do about Momma?”
Bailee shakes her head, darting a look at Miss Tammy. “We’ll talk later.”
We get silverware, and I tell Miss Tammy all about the Noodler contest and how I’m going to be famous and how Bailee will handle all my legal affairs. Miss Tammy chops lettuce and tosses it into a big glass salad bowl. She cuts up cucumbers and olives, too, and we each pop a salty olive into our mouths. Then Bailee pours four glasses of water, and I set out white paper napkins.
Momma walks in the door without knocking. She’s holding the phone to her ear with one hand and a bunch of bills in the other.
“How much?” she says into the phone, her voice high and jittery. She listens for a moment and then drops everything. The phone bangs to the ground and tumbles under a chair. The papers and envelopes flutter to her feet.
Momma’s face turns ashen.
“What’s wrong?” I bend down and fish for the phone. “What is it, Momma?”
Miss Tammy places a gentle hand on Momma’s arm, and Bailee gathers up the papers.
“That . . . that’s Re-Bay.” Momma points to her phone, which is now in my hand.
“Okay?”
“Talk to them!”
I hold the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Are you there, ma’am?”
“Yes,” I say, but Momma starts talking again so I tell the Re-Bay person, “Just a minute, please.”
Momma keeps pointing at the phone, her hand trembling. “One . . . of the frames your father bought from a yard sale.” Her voice catches. “One of those frames . . .”
“Uh-huh?”
Miss Tammy puts an arm around Momma’s shoulders. “Here, sweetie, sit.” She helps Momma to a chair. “Slow down. What is it you’re trying to say?”
“One of those frames has a piece of art in it worth a lot of money, and a collector has submitted funds to purchase it.” She puts two hands over her heart and takes a big breath. “Re-Bay wants to know where they should wire the money.”
A man’s voice on the other side of the phone says, “Hello? Hello?”
I speak to him. “How much money did you say it would be, sir?”
“One million two and some change,” he says.
“A million dollars?” I look right at Bailee, and I can tell she’s thinking what I’m thinking—my money wish from Friday is complete! “We’re rich!”
I squeal. Bailee squeals. We jump up and down and in a circle. Now the magic just needs time to finish cooking the curse-reverse. Big changes are coming! I squeal again.
Momma grabs the sides of her head and shouts like I’ve never heard her shout before. “Quiet!”
“Rosemary?” Miss Tammy says to Momma, looking shocked.
Bailee and I stop our celebration; my insides turn cold. Big changes are coming, but I’m no longer sure that’s a good thing.
Chapter 24
Tuesday, December 18
The next morning, Momma is home when I wake up. She’s back to sounding sweet and says, “We are taking a personal day and going shopping in Denver!”
“Whoa, shopping on a Tuesday?” A zing of lemonade yellow soars through my veins. “I guess that’s what millionaires do!”
Momma laughs. She calls school and work and tells them we’re not coming in. She makes a few more calls, and I spend the time practicing Noodler sketches for the contest. Being rich won’t change the gossipers; they’ll probably think we stole this money. I still need to win my fame.
But something’s wrong with my art today. All my drawings keep ending up in a peculiar slant, full-on crooked, or with odd proportions. And the colors are all wrong.
At nine thirty, Momma says, “Ready?” I close my pad, and we head to the car.
Once inside, I buckle my seat belt. Momma starts the engine, and it makes its normal clunking sounds.
“Cherry Creek Mall, here we come.” I can practically hear what she’s thinking—Hooray, Denver, where nobody knows our infamy.
“How much gas do we have?” I ask.
“Full tank.”
“Really?” The mall is about forty-five minutes away. I lean over to check the dashboard. Sure enough, the gauge is on full.
Momma gives me a sideways look. “I can take care of us, Sage.”
I twist my mouth. Maybe.
We pull down the road with the radio playing. A Mimi Glosser
song comes on, and we sing loud and off-key, laughing the whole time. I settle in my seat, feeling safe and happy and thinking the curse-reverse is going to be all right.
Several gold, orange, and red-raspberry leaves cling to trees; others have fallen to the sidewalks and flutter as we drive past. It’s easy to figure out when we’ve left Goldview, because the temperature plummets and the autumn colors disappear into brilliant white snow.
“Brrrrr,” I say.
Momma clicks on the heater, but it doesn’t work. “New clothing today,” she says. “New car next week!”
At Cherry Creek Mall, we park in Nordstrom’s covered lot and rush from the cold to the heated indoors. It’s warm and cheerful inside with festive music and sparkly lights.
I stop walking. “Wait, Momma. I have to see it all.” I crane my neck to look at the holiday decorations on the ceilings and archways and then all around the store. Nordstrom’s managers must have hired a theater crew to build their huge winter wonderland scenes—green-and-white snowcapped trees, giant silver balls, and woodland animals. They also have a miniature lake that looks real with frosted blue ice and skaters. It makes me smile thinking of how Daddy, Momma, and I used to go ice skating.
“It’s lovely,” Momma says, rubbing the cold from her hands. “Come on, this way.” She directs me to the café. “Let’s grab a couple of warm drinks.”
Nordstrom Café is bright, and holiday music flows from the speakers. The chalkboard menu is looped with greenery and on the top sits a bird’s nest strung with pearls and silky blue ribbons.
One customer stands in line ahead of us. I check out the glass case filled with cranberry muffins, banana bread, and oatmeal cookies. Then I see the yogurt parfaits. My stomach growls, but I’m not about to ask Momma for one—they cost twelve dollars each!
When it’s our turn, Momma orders lemon ginseng tea, and she’s given a special honey stick to melt into it. I order Daddy’s favorite, a hot chocolate. The barista towers it high with fluffy whipped cream.
“Thank you!” I say.
“We’ll have a couple of yogurt parfaits, too,” Momma says as she winks at me.
My feet float off the ground. I can’t help but think it’s the Pettys’ breakfast, and that the curse-reverse is taking hold and all is well!
Momma uses her credit card to pay, the same card she used to have the electricity turned back on at home. For a fleeting moment, I hold my breath, wondering if it will be declined, but the charge goes through just fine.
We sit at a café table and chat about all the stores we want to visit and the things we plan to buy. When we finish our drinks and parfaits, Momma says, “Let’s look at shoes first.”
The mall has two floors and probably over one hundred stores. There are restaurants and coffee shops and even people who will show you how to do your hair.
We shop for hours and buy a new purse and cashmere gloves for Momma, and shirts, sweaters, skirts, pants, and underthings for me. My favorite purchase is a pair of purple Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars. And Momma doesn’t even blink when I ask her to buy an outfit and shoes for Bailee, too. She’s generous that way.
After we eat turkey-and-cheese paninis for lunch, we pass a store that sells just pajamas. Right in the big glass window is a long-sleeved powder-blue cotton top with a llama on it. Llama pajamas! “Momma! I need those pj’s!”
“You’ve got it.” We go inside the store and find the right size for me.
We wait in line and when it’s our turn, Momma slides her credit card into the chip reader and smiles at me. “This day reminds me of my first Christmas with your daddy. He bought matching red-plaid pajamas for him and me.” She has a faraway smile. “We stayed in them all day long—breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“Aww.”
“Please sign,” the tired-looking cashier says.
Momma removes her credit card and signs. “He gave me a guinea pig pup, too.”
“Really?” I can’t keep the startle from my voice—I thought guinea pigs were a taboo subject around Momma. “I never knew you owned another pet after the boa constrictor incident.”
The cashier gives me a funny look.
Momma’s face changes. I’ve said the wrong thing.
“Here you go.” The cashier hands the bag to me and calls, “Next.”
Holiday music keeps playing, and I wait for Momma to say something. I follow her out of the store and into the busyness of the mall, people rushing this way and that. I try again. “Um, what color was it? Your guinea pig?”
Momma stops walking and fiddles with her wedding band, her thoughts far away. Shoppers step around us. I stay still, not wanting to make another wrong move, hoping to stay inside this rare moment. Momma lifts her chin. “Your daddy gave me a light brown one,” she says, smiling. “I know you must think it’s weird, Sage, my reaction to guinea pigs.”
“Well . . . I’m sure it was hard, seeing . . .”
Momma puts an arm around my waist and we walk slowly. “Snowball was the name of my pup when I was your age. He was tiny and white and fit right into the palm of my hand.”
I blink. She’s really talking to me. Really opening up.
“The hardest part about the snake incident wasn’t watching Candice Petty’s snake swallow Snowball. It was that Candice gave him to me and said we’d be friends forever. And I believed her, but then the lightning and the curse, and . . . you know the rest. I lost so much all at once.”
“I’m sorry, Momma.”
“It’s okay. That was a long time ago.”
Momma starts to drop her arm from my waist, but I grab her hand and keep it in place. “Tell me about the guinea pig Daddy gave you? Where did you keep it? Did Daddy surprise you or did you pick it out together?”
Momma laughs. “It was a surprise.” Her phone rings. “Give me a minute.” We sit on a granite bench and she takes her phone from her new leather purse. “It’s Miss Tammy,” she whispers to me. Then back into the phone, “Hi, Tammy! Sage and I are having a great time.” Pause. “Oh, sure, like a three-way call? Yep, I’ll hold.” She winks at me.
It’s nice to put the bags down and sit. I rub my arms.
“Hi,” Momma says brightly to whoever is the third party on their conference call. “Yes, very exciting.” Pause. “An accountant? Not yet. Mm-hmm. Right. The taxes? How do . . . ?” She listens, her face tenses. “To be Carl’s new lawyer?” The call goes on like that for another ten minutes, Momma’s face turning more and more strained.
I smile at her, but she stares off in the distance.
“Is that possible?” she says into the phone. “How . . .” Pause. “Okay, thanks, you guys. It’s all a bit much to take in at once. Can we talk later?”
Momma rises from the bench, rubbing the sides of her head. “I feel a headache coming on.”
“But you were telling me—”
“Not now—”
I’m desperate to hold on to the connection we were building. “But what happened to the guinea pig Daddy gave you?”
“Nothing stays forever, Sage.” Her voice is sharp, and I gasp.
“He died when you were a baby.” Momma must see the shock on my face, because she softens. “Sorry, honey.” She rubs her temples. “My head is really throbbing.”
That’s it. No more conversation. We take our bags out to the car and drive in silence. After we drop off Bailee’s outfit, we go home. Momma heads straight up to our apartment. I grab the mail. Inside, I put the bills on the table and stuff another letter from my daddy into my top drawer.
That night, I shower, wash my hair, and go to bed in my soft cotton llama pajamas, feeling like the little princess from that book by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I even try to pretend my daddy is off to war. Only problem is tonight I can’t pretend all those unopened letters stuffed in my drawer are from a hero on the battlefront and not from prison. Tonight, everything feels a little too real for make-believe.
Chapter 25
Wednesday, December 19
&
nbsp; On Wednesday morning, I wake clenching my teeth: the solstice is two days away, and I only have two wishes left—one on Thursday and one on Friday. I’m starting to wonder if I should be patient and trust the curse-reverse or if I should just wish Daddy out of jail. Added to that, I still don’t understand what Minerva wants me to wish for by sunset on the solstice. A pebble of worry starts knocking around my rib cage.
On a positive note, my new-clothing wish has come true thanks to the shopping spree. My closet is packed with a dozen new things to wear. I push aside my covers and bounce out of bed—should I wear the green shirt with the jean skirt, or the soft gray sweater and blue jeans, or maybe the blue-striped shirt and the red skirt? I pull my white jeans out of my closet and toss them on the floor—good riddance, pickle-stained pants. I run a hand over the hangers of new clothing and choose the red skirt. I finish slipping it on when Momma says from behind me, “Hey.”
I jump. “You’re not at work!”
“Nope, I called in again.” Momma sips her honey-and-lemon-scented tea. “I’m not sure if that skirt is right for you after all.”
“It’s not?”
Momma looks me up and down. “The salesgirl at Nordstrom looked cute in it, but . . .” Momma scrunches her face and stares at my waist. “Maybe we should have picked up a bigger size.”
My excitement fizzles. “Oh.” I put a hand over my stomach.
“Here.” Momma grabs a pair of jeans with a special wash and a purple mid-sleeve shirt cut in the latest fashion. “This will look great.” She sniffs. “Make sure you put on deodorant before you get dressed.”
She walks out of my room, and calls back, “I do hope you’ll do something with that hair of yours.”
The color that pops to mind is scaly green, because Momma probably doesn’t mean to, but she’s making me feel small like Godzilla does.
I go into the bathroom and use lavender-scented deodorant, slip on the new outfit, and brush my hair five different ways. Forget it—I pull my hair into its regular ponytail and return to my bedroom. I stand in front of the full-length mirror hanging on my door. For a quick second, I think I look amazing. Daddy would say so. But Momma’s words linger, so I shift and check again. Am I pudgy? Do I stink? Is my hair okay? Does everything fit? I gulp—my purple shirt is exactly the same as the new blue shirt Priscilla wore on Monday! The shirt I sabotaged with bugs.
