“You always help me with my homework, Gertie. Let me help you,” Loam said.
“It’s okay, G. Open your backpack,” I said.
G did not look pleased, but she super slowly released her clingy grip and unzipped her backpack.
Loam leaned over and peered inside, then he stood up tall and let out a long whistling exhale. “That’s some real contraband for sure. Where’d you find it?”
“On the floor behind the bin of onions in the kitchen pantry. Will you put it back for G?”
“For me? I wasn’t the one who took it!” G’s eyeballs shot a few invisible bullets at me.
“I’ll handle it,” Loam said. “Don’t worry.”
And he leaned over again, untucking his shirt from his jeans. He reached into G’s backpack and slid that bottle right under his shirt, slick and speedy, as good as a street magician.
“You don’t have to worry about this contraband again. I’ll take care of it, right, Sis?”
Weed girl clapped her hands and off they went.
G gave me another eyeball glare. “He better put that back, Jane.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I thought my plan was perfecto.
Contraband problem solved.
A Note to Pop
That night as it got dark, I sat on the lumpy couch in Officer D’s room. She had gone down to the kitchen and brought me back a mug of hot cocoa filled with mini marshmallows. I’d never had a foster person who’d done that for me. Ms. Dubois made me hot tea once. She called it something like chameleon tea and it tasted bad, just like I imagined a dirty chameleon might taste. I didn’t finish it.
“Good cocoa, Jane?” Officer D asked, slurping on her own mug of marshmallow yumminess.
“The best,” I said.
Honest truth.
“I told you Noreen was a great cook. I don’t know how she does it. I only know that everything she makes is quality.”
Well, I knew something about Noreen. Something secret. It sure seemed like there were a lot of secrets in Three Boulders.
“Tell me about your day. What did you think of school?”
I was feeling real comfy right then, sitting next to burly Officer D with our mugs of yummy cocoa. I was just about to spew all the details of Mr. Biggs’s nature project when I remembered sitting in the kitchen, eavesdropping on Officer D and Old Red. I remembered how they talked about me and Pop and Saturday night. A tiny bit of anger grew in my gut, and I didn’t want to chat about school with Officer D. I didn’t want to show her the leaves that were stuffed inside my cargo shorts pocket or the plant book G had loaned me.
Officer D had broken all that confidentiality that she told me she was required to maintain.
So instead, I asked, “Did you see Pop today?”
I had learned that Officer D had three faces. There was her I-mean-business cop face, the one that practically shot bullets out her pupils and made people follow her orders. Then there was her question face, the face she used when she didn’t quite believe you, the face that made the stubby hairs on her head stand up taller. That was the face she gave me this morning when I said my hand was doing just fine. And her third face was her worry face, or her almost-like-a-parent face. That was the face I saw when she arrived at my house Saturday night, the same one she wore at the hospital as they bandaged my hand and wrist.
Right now, she gazed at me with her question face. “I saw him, but I didn’t speak with him.”
“Oh.” I took a gulp of cocoa. “Did anyone else talk to him?” I had to be careful what I asked, but I also had to know if he had talked to those nosy social services people.
Officer D put on her cop face. “He’s undergoing some interviews, Jane, but not with me.” She set her cocoa mug down and leaned forward. “Whatever happened Saturday night requires some sorting out.” She paused. Her cop face remained. “Do you want to talk more about that night?”
“No,” I said. I did not want to talk about it.
That night was over.
But I did want to talk to Pop.
“Officer D, is it okay if I write a note to Pop? A get-well-soon note?” I added.
“That seems like a fine idea.”
“You won’t read it, will you?”
“I will not.” She rose from the couch and went to her desk, grabbing paper, pencil, and a small envelope. “Write your note and then brush your teeth, Jane.”
I wasn’t sure I trusted Officer D and her police confidentiality anymore. Just in case, I was careful what I wrote.
Hello, Pop!
It’s me, your Jane Girl. This Three Boulders place is weird, but I’m staying out of trouble.
I am real good and my hand is fine.
Accidents happen, right, Pop?
Remember what you told me all those years ago?
It’s you and me. We got this.
Ten more days, Pop. Get better.
XOXO
Your Jane Girl
I folded the paper, kissed it once, and tucked it into the envelope.
I knew that my note would make Pop’s eyeballs get all teary, but he had to remember what he said to me when I was just seven, right before he left for rehab the first time. I remembered everything he had told me, like it was just a second ago.
It all started when I begged and begged him to take me longboarding on Park Street, to teach me to bomb the big hills. Pop was acting weird. His breath smelled yucky, like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in days. When we got to the top of the hill, he told me he would demonstrate how it was done, and then he jumped on his board and started cruising down, but he wasn’t turning. I started yelling and yelling at him to slow down, to make the zigzags like you do when you longboard. Gravity just took over, and Pop kept going, until . . . until . . . he slammed against a car parked on the side of the road. That thump exploded in my ears, and then my screams exploded. And then I was at the hospital with Pop, and he was in one piece, but it looked like the gazillion tiny stitches over his face and arms and chest were all that held him together. I began to cry because it was my fault Pop was here. I made him take me to Park Street.
That’s when he told me about his disease. He said it was like a bad ogre living inside him, but he assured me, I’m not dying. I just need a little help to get better.
I said, I’ll help you, Pop. I promise.
And he said, You already have. You saved me. Then he looked right into my eyeballs and he continued, We ONLY have each other. It’s you and me. Jane and Pop. Always. We’re two matching socks, Jane Girl. If one of us gets lost, the other one is unmatched and alone. But we got this. We’re going to be apart for a bit, but I know where to find you. We can’t be kept apart for long. I need you.
And I said, I need you too, Pop.
And that was the honest truth.
And it’s still the honest truth.
Day Three
The Three Boulders Vortex
I couldn’t find Pop’s orange stocking cap the next morning. I looked through the entire black trash bag, but the cap seemed to have vanished. That was Pop’s favorite.
“Come on, Jane. You can search later. I need to change your bandage.” Officer D was sitting on the couch, unrolling some clean white gauze. In her shirt pocket was my note to Pop, the one she promised not to read.
I peeked one more time under the couch, but I still couldn’t see Pop’s orange cap. I whisked an old gray stocking cap out of the sack and yanked it over my uncombed hair. I sat down next to Officer D, and she handed me a pain pill and a glass of water. She didn’t even ask if I needed one, but her mom-like cop senses were right. I did.
When we got downstairs for breakfast, I heard the hum of voices and the clanking of silverware on plates. I got lots of hellos from the sunshine kids, and offers to sit with them, but I wanted to find G.
She sat in the same spot as yesterday, except today her face was puffy and ghostlier than normal. Even her triangle head seemed kind of flat. I stepped over the bench and sat down.
; “G, you look terrible.” It was the truth.
“My dad knows what Old Red’s big secret is, but he won’t tell me. I think it’s bad.”
Officer D placed a big bowl of oatmeal right in front of me. This was a serious disappointment, worse than whatever bad news Old Red had. Where were the pancakes and bacon and scrambled eggs from yesterday? Mrs. Yarber fed me lumpy oatmeal for the whole twelve days I stayed with that family. It stuck to the top of my mouth. I spit most of it into my napkin when she wasn’t looking.
Officer D noticed my scowl. She pushed four smaller bowls toward me, one with brown sugar, another with raisins, another with chopped nuts, and the fourth with chocolate chips. I scooped out sugar and chocolate chips and piled them on top of my oatmeal blob. I took a very small bite.
This Chef Noreen was truly magic. This was like a bowl of mashed cookies, warming my insides.
I heard a raspy throat clearing and turned to see Old Red and Chef Noreen herself standing right behind me.
I had a lump of oatmeal in my mouth, so I didn’t say hello, I just gave Chef Noreen a thumbs-up and she smiled a little. She wore a polka-dot sundress with a white apron, and her hair was one thick brown braid, coiled up tight in a hairnet.
“Ernie,” Noreen said, looking across the table at Mr. Biggs, “when you see Lester this morning, could you have him find me? I have a shelf in the pantry that is broken.”
G leaned into my shoulder, and I think I felt her nerves trickle into my skin, but I just scooped another bite of oatmeal goodness.
“How did that happen?” Mr. Biggs asked.
“I don’t know.” She pulled off her apron and smoothed her sundress. Her fingers quivered.
“Are you feeling well, Noreen?” Officer D asked.
“Oh,” Chef Noreen said, “I’m fine, really. I’m just . . . missing something.”
“Ah!” Mr. Biggs said. “Something else vanishing into the Three Boulders vortex.”
G laughed at that, but it was a fake laugh. She looked to where Loam and Dandy sat nearby. They were both smiling.
“What’s the Three Boulders vortex?” I asked.
“It’s the mysterious force that sucks things away,” G explained.
“Yes, almost everyone has had something lost in the vortex,” Mrs. Biggs added.
“Things just seem to vanish around here,” Loam said.
Dandy clapped her hands.
Maybe Pop’s orange stocking cap had been sucked into the Three Boulders vortex.
There was a thumping on the floor. It was Old Red, banging his shotgun cane.
“Folks,” he rasped. He was pretty loud for an ancient dude. “As you were all told, we have a short church service this morning. Let’s meet in the next ten minutes.”
“Church?” I looked toward Officer D. “But it’s Tuesday. Church is for Sunday.”
I was pretty sure that was true, not that me and Pop ever went to church.
“You don’t think God accepts prayers on Tuesdays, Jane?” Officer D asked.
Truth was, I didn’t know when God accepted prayers.
I tried saying prayers lots of times on my own, but God never seemed to answer any of them.
Church
After a second helping of oatmeal, I walked with all the Three Boulders folks to church. We left Noreen’s dining hall together and marched like a miniparade across the gravel road and to the fire pit where school had been yesterday. I had been introduced to everyone during my first two days, but it was seriously impossible to remember fifty-six names.
I sat on a log with Officer D on my left and G on my right. Old Red sat in a folding chair watching Mr. Alan Stein and his son toss wood into the flames. The Moonbeam family sat together in a row, crisscross applesauce, right on the dirt with their backs resting against one of the logs. Timmy Spencer and his mom, Amelia, were nearby. Twitchy-body Timmy stood, dropped his hands to the log, and pumped out some push-ups. Chef Noreen was the last person to arrive, her braid still coiled up in the hairnet. Folks were pretty quiet, which is what I expected at church even though I’d never been.
“What are the church laws, G?” I whispered.
She leaned toward me. “Just be a good listener. We start with a song, then a prayer, then a sermon if someone has one, and then community announcements.”
“Who’s the preacher?”
“There isn’t one. Mr. Stein and Mr. Carter give a lot of the sermons because they know some Bible stories. Mr. Moonbeam gave a sermon about birds once, and another time Noreen gave a sermon about making doughnuts.”
“What do birds and making doughnuts have to do with God?” I asked, pretty sure she was making this stuff up.
“Everything has to do with God.”
I didn’t quite know what to say to that, but it didn’t matter because Officer D whispered, “Quiet now. Mr. Norton is ready to begin.”
Old Red gazed through his thick lenses at all of us perched on the pew logs. He cleared his throat and spoke. “For the sake of time on this Tuesday morning, we will forgo our usual hymns, and begin with a moment of silence or prayer.” He lowered his head.
Since I wasn’t so sure about praying, I put my head down and thought of Pop. My brain waves sent him good wishes. I silently told him to read my note and say all the right things to those social services folks, so he could come get me and we could get back to Jane-and-Pop good times.
Next Old Red asked, “I know that this service is spur-of-the moment, but does anyone have a sermon prepared?”
There were a few mumbles from the log pews, but no one stepped forward. I was slightly disappointed because hearing about God or birds or doughnuts might be pretty interesting.
“Then I’ll get right to my reason for having you all here.” Old Red cleared his throat goobers. “I have spoken to every adult now. You know that I am asking each of you to begin making your preparations for leaving Three Boulders.”
The air buzzed with loud whispers. G briskly turned toward her parents. I watched them nod to her. Mrs. Biggs’s eyes were watery. G shook her frizzy head over and over, like that would make Old Red change his words, make it all just one big joke.
This was the big secret, the answer to all her eavesdropping questions. Everyone had to leave boonieville. I put a hand on G’s back, but she wouldn’t stop shaking her head.
A man sitting between the blondie twins, Megan and Millie, shouted out, “You going to give us an explanation, Red?”
Old Red sucked in a big breath of boonieville air. “I’m an old man, and I believe that part of the reason I have lived to the ripe old age of ninety-one is because so much of my life has been spent on this land, in this little community with all of you and the others who once were a part of Three Boulders.”
Mrs. Biggs pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped a tear. Chef Noreen squeezed her quivering hands together.
“I may only live another thirty days, or I may live another thirty years.”
“Amen!” Mr. Carter shouted out.
“But uncertainty has led me to make a decision. I’m selling this land after all this time. The money will be sufficient for my future health care and living arrangements and leave enough for my other obligations.” His eyes scanned every person perched on the log pews, and I swore he gave me an extralong eye gaze.
“Officer Dashell has found an apartment for me in Willis. I plan to move there next month,” he said.
“Red”—Mr. Stein rose from his log—“you know some developer will buy this land and turn it into mansions that folks like us could never afford. These firs will be clear-cut and the cabins torn down. That’s just not right.”
Preston Farmer stood up next and said, “Or someone will turn this place into a hoodlum camp. Those juveniles will destroy our cabins and spray paint the boulders. That isn’t right either.”
Then Chef Noreen slowly rose. She finally pulled off that hairnet and her thick braid flopped down her back. Her hands still quivered. “Or,” she began, “nothing will be
done with the land, and our little homes and garden and fire pit and the community we love will simply disintegrate. And that’s the worst possibility of all.”
Folks grumbled in agreement, and teardrops rolled down cheeks. Finally Old Red raised his arm, requesting silence.
“I agree that those are all possibilities, but I just can’t worry about that anymore. I need the money, now more than ever.”
“Are you in trouble, Red?” Mr. Moonbeam hollered out.
Old Red turned to the man and said, “No. It’s not me who’s in trouble. It’s someone I care about deeply.”
And right after he said those words, there was a gust of wind. My loose hairs swept across my nostrils, tickling me.
I couldn’t help but wonder if that wind was God talking to all of us. I figured God probably needed his own special way to communicate, since I didn’t think there were cell towers or satellites up in heaven. God must have had a reason for sending that windy message right at that moment, just when Old Red said someone was in trouble. I looked at every person resting on those log pews, wondering if that person in trouble was sitting here in this nature church. G was listening to God’s message too. Her eyeballs were scanning the crowd just like mine, but hers were drippy with tears.
“Well, folks, I know this is tough news,” Officer D said, her cop face tight and stern, “but some of us need to be getting off to town for the day.” She lifted her hefty body off the log pew, her whacking stick slapping her thigh. “I suggest you chat with Red privately about your concerns.”
Officer D gave me a pat on the shoulder, and she turned and headed back to the main gravel road with a few other adults behind her.
And so I sat there in the Three Boulders church with my aching hand and wrist, surrounded by God and a bunch of upset boonievillers, and I reminded myself that all this news about the end of Three Boulders was no concern of mine. My main concern was still the same—getting through these next ten days.
Mostly the Honest Truth Page 5
