The Language of Cherries

by Jen Marie Hawkins

  When she comes back, I’ll tell her myself.

  Agnes stomps off.

  I can’t let that happen.

  Wwwait,

  I call behind her.

  She turns back to me,

  crosses her arms over her chest.

  I’ll tuh-tuh-tell her.

  Just let mmme do it in my own tuh-time.

  Agnes shakes her head.

  I don’t believe ye will.

  She narrows her eyes at me.

  I pro-pro-promise. I mmmean it.

  Agnes stares at me for a moment,

  expression changing from anger to determination.

  Fine. I’ll keep my mouth shut and let you do the tellin’.

  Thank—

  She holds her hand up to stop me.

  Only if you’ll reapply to the schools on Edvin’s list.

  My mouth falls open.

  It’s such a low blow that I don’t know what to say.

  Essentially, it’s blackmail.

  But there’s no way to argue my way out,

  and she knows it.

  Fffine, I growl.

  I march to the sink and drop my ice pack there.

  On my own tuh-tuh-time, I repeat.

  And leave.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Evie

  Evie woke the next morning with a smile on her face.

  For the first time since they’d arrived in Iceland over a month ago, she was happy to wake on the squeaky twin mattress. She reached under her pillow and felt around for the heart-shaped piece of metal attached to a corroded chain. When her fingers tripped over it, she grinned wider.

  It had caught on her toe when she climbed out of the spring yesterday. She took it as a sign from the universe, God, or whoever was calling the shots, that Miss Izzy’s predictions had been right. That magic was real and existed ever-present in her life, no matter where she was on the map.

  A heavy-handed knock landed on her door.

  “Evie?”

  She sat up and bunched the eye mask on top of her head. “Come in, Papá,” she said, her voice raspy with sleep.

  He cracked the door open and hovered in the threshold. His forehead creased with wrinkles. Uh oh.

  “Did you submit your portfolio yesterday?”

  Evie opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Her face must’ve given her away.

  His voice changed then, and she knew she was in for it. “Ay ay ay, Evie. Yesterday was the deadline. I’ve been forwarding you the reminders all week! Your mother filed your paperwork for you, but you have to send them the portfolio.”

  She shrugged, a sigh of relief swirling in her chest. She hadn’t even checked her messages this week. She’d been too busy with Agnes and Oskar. “It’s no big deal, Papá. I didn’t want to go there, anyway.”

  “It is a big deal. Magnet Arts is your best chance at going to a good school for your senior year. If they don’t accept the portfolio late, you’ll have to settle for public school. Wherever your mother’s apartment in Queens is zoned.” He started to leave, pulling the door shut behind him.

  “Papá, wait!”

  The door inched open and he waited, jaw working overtime.

  “What if… what if I stayed here with you? I could maybe go to school here. We could bring Abuela up. She could hang out here with me whenever I’m not in school. She’d love it here.”

  She was done begging for Saint Bart’s. What would she be going back to there, anyway? The only thing she missed about home now was Abuela. Maybe home was never a location, but a feeling, a togetherness. If nothing else, being alone all summer had taught her who mattered and who didn’t.

  He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you hated it here?”

  “I did. At first. I guess you could say it’s grown on me.” She looked down, trying to hide the creeping blush. She didn’t want him to know why it had grown on her.

  He squinted at her. “Well, I’m glad you’ve made friends with the boy up the road, mija, but staying here is not part of the plan. My contract expires at the end of September. And school will begin for you in two weeks, rather than four, if Magnet Arts doesn’t accept your portfolio late. The public school’s calendar year begins sooner.”

  She started to protest about Oskar—how did he even know? But the two weeks part claimed all of her attention. Two weeks was not long enough. She’d just gotten settled here. She wasn’t ready to pack her things and head home—wherever that was supposed to be—yet.

  She remained steadfast. “I’ll do some research on the schools here. There’s a high school right in the village. I could probably walk. Abuela could—”

  “Bringing Abuela here is out of the question, and you know it. She can’t be left unattended. I spoke with her nurse yesterday, and she’s been having episodes.”

  Evie’s heart plunged to her feet. “Episodes?”

  “She loses things all the time, and now she’s in denial about it. She’s blaming the nurses, accusing them of taking her things. It means the dementia is progressing.”

  Evie stood up then, anger pushing her fully awake. “Maybe the nurses are taking her things. We don’t know for sure that they aren’t.”

  “I do know it for sure,” he said. “Call your mother today and make a plan for getting your artwork in. I have to go to work. You and I will discuss school at dinner.”

  The door shut behind him with a thud.

  Tears prickled at the corners of Evie’s eyes. How could he not believe Abuela? Why would he take some stranger’s word over hers? Of all the times her father had stood her up this summer, she’d never once done the same thing to him.

  But tonight, he would just have to eat dinner alone.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Oskar’s Journal

  Five years without eating cherries

  and all it took

  was a kiss from a girl

  to make me go back on that.

  I’d forgotten how sweet they were

  until I tasted them on her lips.

  I take another one

  from the dish.

  Little details from the past

  swim to the surface in my mind

  as I get lost in the spell of her painting.

  Is this what she saw when she ate them, too?

  I don’t know how it’s even possible.

  Four bodies in the water.

  A silver locket

  that broke as we swam that day.

  It fell from my mother’s neck,

  uncatchable.

  Into the abyss of jade.

  The white crystals clumped

  beneath my father’s nails

  after he’d dragged his hands

  along the bottom,

  searching.

  My brother’s toothless smile

  as he cannonballed

  into the warm water.

  All of them

  unaware.

  They only had days left on earth.

  All I can think

  is how unfair it is.

  How we’re just sitting ducks,

  waiting to be picked off.

  Snuffed out.

  Surprise attacked.

  Agnes wants me to be something.

  Contribute.

  But maybe I don’t want to give anything

  to a world without them in it.

  I gather her paintings

  and take them all to the lighthouse.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Evie

  It’d be embarrassing to face Agnes after what happened yesterday, but it was worth it.

  She pushed the door open and strolled in carrying her laptop, lugging her messenger bag full of art supplies over her shoulder and her empty canvas under her arm. She’d have to come up with a portfolio today if she was going to buy herself a couple of extra weeks in Iceland. She read the requirements for the first time this morning: she’d need a graphite sketch, a life painting, and a piece that ac
curately reflected herself as an artist. She planned to snap a picture of her latest painting at the shop, too.

  Agnes came out of the storeroom carrying a cardboard box.

  “Oh, good afternoon, lass! You’re just in time to help me add yeast to the wine.”

  She dropped the box on the counter with a thud, and motioned Evie to follow her out the back door. Maybe Agnes was just going to pretend she had forgotten about what she’d seen. Evie was one hundred percent okay with that.

  She set her things down on the counter and trailed behind her out the door, around the side of the barn, down the cellar stairs, and into a dank room that smelled like moss. Agnes pulled a dangling ceiling chain, and with a click, a lone light bulb cast a bright yellow glow on the small, dusty workspace. The bucket full of cherry juice was covered in cheesecloth and sealed around the lip with twine. Agnes untied it.

  “We’re going to add this,” Agnes said, pulling a small packet from her pocket, “to the juice. Then it’ll have to sit for a few weeks.”

  A sadness pulled Evie’s smile down as they stirred the solution into the cherry juice.

  Agnes, noticing, asked her, “What is it, then, lass?”

  Evie shrugged. “I just realized I might not even still be here when it’s ready.”

  “Oh.” Agnes clapped her on the back with a little more force than Evie expected. “Well, I’ll just have to mail you some.” She winked.

  At least Agnes wasn’t mad at her for kissing Oskar. That had to count for something.

  “So how much longer will ye be here?”

  “Papá says a couple more weeks. Maybe longer if things work out. Feels like I just got here.”

  They exited the cellar and went back into the shop. Evie looked up at the back wall and noticed that her painting was gone.

  “Did you sell my painting already?”

  Agnes glanced at the empty easel and her brows pinched, seemingly as surprised as Evie. “Yes! To a tourist,” she said, covering her mouth as if she were going to cough. “Said it was beautiful. Let me get you your money.” She waved her over to the cash register.

  For the first time, Evie considered what it’d be like to really make a living as an artist. While Agnes got her payment together, Evie peered out the window into the orchard, wondering if he would act different around her today. Or maybe he would just pretend like nothing had happened, the way Agnes did. God, she hoped not.

  “He’s not here, lass,” Agnes said. Evie looked back at her outstretched hand, money dangling for the taking. “He’s off with his teacher. Applying to schools.”

  Her heart sank as she took the money. It reminded her that she had to face her own issues regarding school. If she didn’t submit a portfolio to Magnet Arts now, she’d have to leave Iceland two weeks sooner. She grabbed her things and moved to a table in the dining area.

  “Do you have Wi-Fi?” Evie asked Agnes, opening her laptop.

  “Aye,” Agnes nodded, going back to unloading a box. “Password is my last name—McNally. M-C-N-A-L-L-Y.”

  Evie typed it in and connected, getting two more bars than she got at the guesthouse. She stared at the messenger app for a moment before clicking on it.

  3 unread messages.

  Ben Benson: We need to talk. (6 days ago)

  Ben Benson: I know you’re probably busy n all. But I’m kinda havin a hard time with this thing. Us. I like you n everything but your just so far away. Maybe we should just play it by ear til you get back. (6 days ago)

  How charming. He was dumping her via messenger when she wasn’t even online. Evie hoped he’d checked the app every day for the last six days, biting his manicured boy nails and wondering why his messages hadn’t been marked read.

  It was stupid for her to be mad. After all, she’d kissed someone else. And had spent the last few weeks completely crushing on Oskar. It hit her then that she should’ve been the one to dump Ben first. That’s what she was mad about. She hated he got to be an asshole and pull the plug on their sham of a relationship. She should at least get to do one of those things.

  She clicked on the next one.

  Loretta Devereaux (active): Here’s the thing. Ben and I are dating. He said we should wait to tell you until you get back, but I wanted to be upfront with you so you could be prepared for it. I care about you and your feelings, so it’s only fair. You guys hadn’t exactly made it official or anything. I hope you aren’t mad at me.

  Evie narrowed her eyes on the message. Loretta cared about her feelings. Ha. That was a good one. A real gold nugget. This settled it for her, though. She was definitely not going back to Saint Bart’s, even if a bag of money fell out of the sky into her lap.

  “You all right over there, lass? You look upset.” Agnes’s voice shoved her out of her own head.

  “I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes. She wasn’t crying so much as she was leaking anger. Of course, none of this was a surprise—she’d known it already. It didn’t make the confirmation suck any less.

  She clicked off the app and pulled up video chat and dialed Rhona. She would just get all the sucky things over with at one time. When Rhona answered, the screen opened up and her made up face came into view. Her hair was freshly colored, all black outfit neatly pressed. She almost looked glamorous, even if she was just the stage hand. It was such a stark contrast from the ratty-t-shirt-wearing mother she remembered from a few years ago.

  “Oh, hi Evie. Just getting ready for a show,” she said, leaning over to the mirror next to her computer and finishing off her lipstick.

  “I just wanted to let you know I’ll submit my portfolio today or tomorrow,” Evie said, flat.

  Rhona yanked her gaze back to the screen. “What do you mean? The deadline was yesterday.”

  “I missed it.”

  Rhona rolled the lipstick back into the tube and capped it, then tossed it a cosmetic bag. “That’s just great. They probably won’t take it. Deadlines are deadlines, Evie. It’s a very competitive school.”

  Messenger dinged in the bottom corner of Evie’s screen. 1 message from Loretta Devereaux. Evie minimized the notification.

  “Fine,” she huffed, looking back up at her mother. “Then I won’t bother.”

  “Yes, yes you will bother. Just take pictures of the things you already have and send it over to me now. You don’t need to do something new. I’ll take it by there myself in the morning and see if I can talk to someone. Explain you’re out of the country.” She flicked her fingernails like everything was such a bother. “I’ll make up something. Tell them you had a Wi-Fi issue up there and couldn’t get it in on time.”

  Evie gritted her teeth. “I don’t need you making excuses for me.”

  Rhona’s eyebrows raised ever so gently. “Obviously you do. Let me help you, Evie. Stop resisting me at every turn.” She glanced at her watch. “Look, I have to go. Send it over tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what they say.”

  Evie clicked end without saying goodbye. She opened Loretta’s message.

  Loretta Devereaux: You not gonna say anything back?

  Evie typed the words into the reply box so hard it sent zings through her fingertips. Agnes looked up from her spot behind the counter.

  Evelyn Perez: Did you tell him he’s a Zip-It? Or does that kind of thing not bother you anymore?

  The reply was instant.

  Loretta Devereaux: You’re being unfair.

  Evelyn Perez: How am I being unfair?! You’re the one who made fun of how dumb he is, then gave me advice on how to handle my relationship with him, then moved in on him the second I left!

  Loretta Devereaux: It’s unfair because you can’t expect everyone’s world to stop just because you’re gone. You’re only one person. And Ben isn’t dumb. He’s just different. I can’t expect everyone to be as smart as me, lol.

  Something hot and sharp stabbed the inside of Evie’s throat. She wanted to tell her she’d met someone. That it didn’t matt
er, because she felt nothing when she was with Ben, anyway. But it would all sound like bullshit, something prideful to save face.

  When it came down to it, Ben was never the point.

  Evelyn Perez: You’re right. You just like having people you think are beneath you so you can boss them around. That’s what you did with me.

  Loretta Devereaux: WTF are you even talking about right now, Evelyn? I get that your feelings are hurt, but you don’t have to be a bitch.

  Evie’s mouth popped open like a letter O. Without missing a beat, she typed her response.

  Evelyn Perez: My name is Evie. That’s what my friends call me, anyway. I should’ve known you weren’t my friend when you tried to change me. I’m not coming home to Florida. And thanks to all of this, I don’t even have to be sad about it. So thank you for that, at least.

  The message was marked read. Loretta didn’t reply.

  Feeling energized for finally standing up for herself, Evie clicked over to Ben’s IM window.

  Evelyn Perez: Here’s a tip: YOUR means something belongs to YOU. For example: Your girlfriend, Loretta, told me everything. YOU’RE is a contraction that means YOU ARE. YOUR never means YOU ARE. Used in a sentence: You’re a dick. Don’t ever contact me again.

  Her hands shook as she hit send. She slammed the laptop closed and met Agnes’s eyes across the counter.

  “Would you like some hot cider, dearie?” Concern pinched the corners of her mouth.

  “No, thanks.” To her surprise, her voice wasn’t uneven. She was one hundred percent recovered to chill. “Could I store my laptop behind the counter, though? And maybe set up in the orchard to paint? I have a lot of work to do.”

  Agnes nodded. “Of course.”

  Evie rose from her spot at the table and headed toward the counter. She thought for a moment. Maybe she’d just come clean with everyone. “I ate some of the cherries from the Aisling tree. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

  Agnes didn’t look the least bit surprised. “I know, lass.”

  Evie paused, weighing in her brain how much she could safely admit. “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to at first. I knew it was special somehow when I saw the rock with the awen on it. Then, the day of the earthquake, I saw that poem with the same symbol. You didn’t want me to see it because it’s a druid thing. A spell, right? Like the one on the wall.” She pointed to the framed poem. Light reflected off the glass. “That one makes the orchard grow, right? I Googled it.”