Poppy flings a series of T-shirts out her drawer, and they cascade to the floor like parachutes. She chooses a blue one with a Skittles graphic printed on the front, and then pulls on a pair of white denim shorts with rips down the front. I lie on her bed and use her stuffed unicorn as a pillow. My mind wanders to the call I had with my mom earlier when she told me the doctor said Bea has pneumonia. Dry cough, weakness, confusion, Bea had all the symptoms. Bea thinks she caught a cold that never went away, but Mom has her own theory. She thinks all the clutter in Bea’s house and the dampness in the air created a habitat for mold to grow and spread. I guess if you inhale that stuff all the time, it can really make you sick and cause respiratory problems like what Bea has. Mom’s flying up tonight but said I should stay with Poppy since she’s getting in late.
“Want me to do your makeup?” Poppy asks, interrupting my thoughts. She opens a toolbox full of eye shadows, brushes, lip glosses, and powders.
“Where’d you get all this?” I ask as I unscrew the cap of a silver tube and sniff the contents.
“Leanne gives me her old stuff.” She chooses a mint- colored shadow and holds my chin steady with one hand while she sweeps the powder over my eyelid. “So did I tell you that Mona’s mad at me?”
“She’s always mad at you,” I say as a soft brush dusts my cheeks. “What’s wrong now?”
“She claims I’ve been reading her diary, which I have, but I’m not admitting it.” Poppy hands me a magnified mirror. “There. You look fabulous!”
I study my new made-up face. Hmmm, I can’t tell if green makes me look glam or like I belong on a beanstalk.
“Now, all we need to do is fix your hair and we’re good to go.”
I hand her back the mirror and curl into the fetal position. “Ugh, I can’t go anywhere. Bea’s in the hospital and Linc’s mad at me. I can’t deal with it all. If you want to see your friends, go ahead. I understand.”
“Uh-huh,” Poppy says as she braids a small section of my hair. “Oooooooh, I have a great idea. We should pierce your ears.”
My hands automatically cover my lobes. “Very funny.”
“I’m serious, I can do it.” She scampers out of the room, and seconds later I hear her opening cabinets and slamming drawers in the bathroom across the hall. When she returns, her arms are full of supplies: rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, a sewing kit, and a small cup of ice.
My eyebrows shoot up. “What are you doing?”
“It’s not a big deal.” She returns to the bed to tug on my left ear. “Once you ice it, you don’t even feel the needle go through.”
I push her hand away. “No, thanks.”
“Well, I’m bored.” She puffs out her lower lip and bounces her finger on the top of the needle, lightly at first, then with more force until a pinprick of blood emerges. She shows me. “Ha. Wanna be blood sisters?”
My reply is a blank stare.
Poppy wipes the blood on the underside of her shirt. “Come on, let me pierce your ears. It will be over in seconds.”
“No.”
“Maybe this will change your mind.” She dives under her bed, surfaces with a tiny white box, and lifts the lid.
My heart lodges in my throat when I see what’s inside. A pair of silver dolphin earrings, the same ones she showed me in the Cod Café gift shop.
Poppy douses a cotton ball with the rubbing alcohol and wipes down the needle. “These can be yours if you sit there like a good girl.” She reaches for my head.
“Quit it.” I bat her hand away. But she won’t let up. She grabs my shoulders, and we tumble onto the carpet. The next thing I know, we’re in a full-on wrestling match. Somehow she manages to straddle me flat on my back and pin my arms down with her legs.
“That was easy. You’re such a weakling,” she says.
“You’re a weakling,” I scream back as I twist out from under her.
The needle in her hand brushes my upper arm and I feel a sting. An angry red line threatens to grow into an even bigger welt. I point it out to her. “Look what you did.”
She tosses the needle into the cup of ice and crouches into a wrestling stance. “Takedown, two points. Let’s go again.”
“Leave me alone,” I say, but she lunges at me anyway. We roll on the floor, grappling at each other’s shoulders, hands, anything to overpower the other. I land on my stomach, and she lies flat on top of me, leaving me nowhere to look but into the blackness under her bed. In that dark, I finally see the light. My longtime friend, my summer sister, doesn’t give two cents about me anymore. She doesn’t care that I had the worst day of my life. She doesn’t care that my grandmother almost died in front of my eyes. All she cares about is what she wants to do.
She smacks the ground with her hand. “One… two… two and a half…”
Red, white, and blue swirls come in and out of focus. But it’s the glint of copper that snaps me to attention. With a grunt worthy of a tennis pro, I free my arm out from Poppy’s weight. Sweeping it under the bed, I feel the pointed edges of a bronzed star.
“Get off,” I say with the force of a hundred lions. Finally, she lifts herself off of me, and we both scramble to our feet.
My chest heaves. I dangle Linc’s medal in front of her face. “Where did you get this?”
Fear flashes in her eyes before she pulls a composed face. “I don’t know.”
“This is Linc’s. Why do you have it?” My mouth is an avalanche. I cannot stop. “And why did you steal those earrings?”
Her eyes darken. “Those are Mona’s.”
But I can tell from the way her eyes dart around that she’s lying. We stand, facing each other, the silence between us charged and dangerous. I feel like the lid on our lobster pot is about to blow.
“Don’t lie. Those are the exact earrings you showed me at the gift shop. I’m not stupid. So now you shoplift and you stole Linc’s medal.”
“I didn’t steal his medal. I just found it,” she spits.
“Where?” I press.
Her eyes bounce nervously around the room. “It might have been near Cranky’s house. I don’t remember.”
“Give me a break. It fell off Linc’s jacket after you clobbered him with a football. I bet you found it right there in the grass, but what I don’t understand is why you thought it was okay to take it.”
She shakes her head. “You’re so obsessed with him, it’s embarrassing.”
“I’m not obsessed. While you’ve been judging him up and down, he’s actually been a real friend to me.”
“Is that why you took him to Little Moose? That was supposed to be our tradition, but I guess you like him better than me.”
“Right now I do, because he doesn’t take things that aren’t his! That medal is not only a family heirloom; it holds special meaning to Linc. And don’t tell me you took it because no one pays attention to you, because I pay attention. Not that you care.”
Poppy’s mouth drops wide open. “I don’t care? I give you a place to stay while your grandmother’s in the hospital and this is the thanks I get? How dare you accuse me? You come here for a few weeks every summer, and I’m supposed to rearrange my whole life to make sure you have a good time? Well, guess what? I’m sick of being your camp counselor, and I can’t wait for you to go home.”
Her words slap me across the face. Part of me wants to cry. But my eyes stay dry. “I’ll go home now, if that’s what you want.”
With clenched fists, Poppy storms out of the room. My body trembles as I pack up my pajamas and toothbrush. I tiptoe down the stairs. The house is quiet as if it’s holding its breath. A single lamp illuminates the foyer. On a side table by the front door, I see the blue-and-green friendship bracelet I made for her. Cut in half.
• CHAPTER 31 •
KEEP CALM AND EAT CHOCOLATE
I’m shaking so hard, my teeth chatter. My sneakers shuffle in the damp grass as I follow the path toward Bea’s house. Something catches my toe, and I stumble, but the medal remains safe in my cl
utched hand.
Up ahead, Bea’s darkened house and empty driveway tell me that either my mom’s plane hasn’t landed yet or she went straight to the hospital. I wish she were here.
I make a beeline for Linc’s illuminated tent, which shines like a lighthouse in a lonely sea. At least there’s one thing I can make right tonight.
“Linc, it’s me,” I say, knocking on the flaps.
“Go away,” he says, his voice muffled by the tent.
I go in anyway. He’s lying on his cot, bundled in an army-green sleeping bag.
He sits up on his elbows, his eyes squinty and sleepy. “I said go away, turncoat.”
“If I was a turncoat then I wouldn’t be bringing you this.” The Medal of Honor’s bronze star dangles from my fingers.
Linc snaps to attention and scrambles out of his sleeping bag. “You found it!”
I perch myself at the end of his cot and hand him his treasured medal. He cups it in his hands like a newly hatched chick.
“Where was it?” he asks.
Immediately, I think up things to tell him. That I stumbled upon it as I was walking home or a dog dragged it to the other side of the cove. But I’m tired of watching what I say and covering other people’s tracks. So, I do what’s right: I tell him the truth.
“Poppy had it in her room.”
He sucks in his breath. “That thief! How did she get her hands on it?”
“Remember that day the three of us played catch? After you went inside, Poppy found it, but instead of telling me, she snuck it in her pocket.”
Linc shakes his head in disgust.
“Trust me, I’m so mad at her, I may never talk to her again.”
He looks up at me. “I didn’t mean to call you a turncoat. I was upset.”
I nod. “It’s okay.”
Something distracts him. He scrunches his face. “You’re bleeding.”
“I am?”
Linc points to blood trickling from the needle scrape above my elbow. He reaches underneath the cot and returns with a plastic first-aid kit. “Always be prepared,” he announces before handing me a Band-Aid.
“Thanks,” I say as I peel off the protective paper.
“How’s Bea? Have you heard anything?” he asks.
“She’s fine, but they’re going to keep her in the hospital for a couple days. My mom’s probably with her now. I’m not sure what time she’ll get back here tonight. I really don’t want to go into that house alone.”
“I know what you mean. My grandpa’s not back, either. You can hang out with me for a while. That is… if you want to.”
“Sure.” I hug my knees against my chest. “Thanks.”
Linc reaches under his pillow and pulls out a square of blue cloth. He lays the medal on top, lifts the sides of the cloth, and secures it carefully with a safety pin. It’s only then that he fully relaxes; a peaceful grin spreads across his face.
My stomach growls like a bear emerging from her winter den, and we both hear it.
“Hungry?” he asks with a laugh.
“I guess. But I don’t want that gross cracker thing again.”
“Hardtack? Don’t worry, I don’t have any more, but I do have this.” A full-sized chocolate bar appears from inside the first-aid box.
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “You definitely are prepared. But, hey, does Hershey’s qualify as authentic reenactor food?”
“It does now.” He breaks me off a piece.
• CHAPTER 32 •
EVERY FAMILY HAS A STORY
The next afternoon, Cranky drives me and Linc to the hospital since my mom had to leave earlier to meet with Bea’s doctor. Bea’s still weak and her cough hasn’t gone away, but when she sees me, she beckons for me to come close, and she gives me a kiss on the forehead. “I owe you one,” she whispers in my ear. Mom says Bea will recover from the pneumonia, but she will need more help to heal her mind. The doctor gave Mom a pamphlet about hoarding. He said when someone really close to you dies, sometimes it can lead to extreme behavior, and maybe Bea also experienced depression or anxiety, which makes hoarding worse. He suggested Bea talk to someone, like a doctor or therapist, to sort out what’s bothering her deep inside.
In a weird way, I’m glad Bea got sick at Little Moose. Everything is out in the open now. No more secrets. I have to give my mom credit. When she saw the state of Bea’s bedroom, I thought she’d have a complete meltdown. But, instead, she hugged me and we cried together. It wasn’t scary, though. It felt more like a sigh of relief, like when the grip of fog lifts and you can see clearly again.
Country music pipes through the speakers of Cranky’s pickup truck as he drives us home. It’s a little squishy in the front cab for all three of us, so I crack my window open to get some air.
As we cross the bridge that connects the mainland to Cedar Island, I see a homemade sign at the side of the road. BLUEBERRIES UP AHEAD, it says in black painted letters. Moments later, we pass a man slouched in a director’s chair. The opened hatch of his car shades the little cartons of blueberries inside. It reminds me of the flea market and the downward spiral that happened after that. Now that Bea’s sick, she’ll have more problems on top of problems. Thinking about it makes my head spin.
My nerves feel shaky, so I pull out some embroidery floss from my hip pocket to start a new bracelet. I knot the purple, brown, and white threads at the top and fan them out into a sunbeam on my lap. I’ve made so many bracelets on this trip. An idea pops in my brain. What if I sold them, like I’d told Linc I would, but it would be a fund-raiser, like the way people sell rubber bracelets to raise money for a good cause.
A fund-raiser for Bea. I like the sound of that.
I nudge Linc. “Hey, what would you think if I went ahead with my bracelet sale but—”
He cuts me off. “You don’t need to do that anymore. You found the medal.”
“Medal?” Cranky turns down the radio. “You’re not still messin’ around with that, are you?”
Linc and I glance at each other. I mouth the word oops and he grimaces in return.
He takes a deep breath. “Grandpa, I have a confession to make. I did mess around with it. In fact, I lost it for a little while.”
Cranky opens his mouth to speak, but Linc stops him. “I was going to tell you, honest, but—happy ending—Shayne found it, and I put it back in your desk where it belongs. Look, I understand if you’re mad. You risked your life for it and I should have been more careful. I was irresponsible. I’m really sorry.” He hangs his head.
Cranky scrunches his face. “I didn’t risk my life for the medal.”
“Yes, you did,” Linc says. “You ran into the fire.”
“Are you crazy? You think I ran into a burning house to save that old thing?”
Linc’s face clenches. His hands ball into fists. “I think you’re crazy!”
“Don’t raise your voice at me, boy.” Cranky jerks the wheel and the truck lurches as he pulls us off to the shoulder of the road. He kills the ignition and unbuckles his seat belt. The hairs on my arm prickle. What is he going to do?
Cranky reaches around to his back pocket and removes a worn, brown leather wallet. He opens it and pulls out a crinkled picture. “This was what I ran in for.”
A thick white border frames the washed-out photo of an older couple hovering over a man with a scraggly beard. In the man’s arm is an infant swaddled in a plush blue blanket.
At first, I don’t recognize the dark-haired older man who’s beaming at the little baby. But then I realize I’m looking at a younger Cranky. It’s almost jarring to see him all happy like that. I’ve never seen him beam, let alone smile, come to think of it.
Cranky sees me staring and points to the blond woman in the picture. “That’s my wife, Cathy, and that’s my son, Henry,” he says of the bearded man. “And that little baby is the guy you’re sitting next to.”
I marvel at baby Linc’s bald round head and squishy cheeks. “Awww, you’re so fat and cute.”
>
Linc nods. “I have to agree with you, there.”
The corners of Cranky’s mouth turn up ever so slightly. “This picture was your grandmother’s prized possession. She kept it on her nightstand and would blow you and your dad a kiss before bed every night. I’m glad I was able to save it.” He folds the picture back into his wallet. “It’s all I’ve got left. My wife’s gone, and you and your dad…” He hesitates and starts up the engine. “You don’t come around so much anymore.”
Linc looks down at his lap. “Maybe we can visit more often. I’ll ask my dad when he comes back.”
Cranky nods in approval and steers the truck back onto the road. Nobody talks the rest of the way home. When we get to his house, he parks the pickup in the driveway but doesn’t get out. Something tells me I should stay put, so the three of us stare straight ahead at the cove in front of us.
“I’ve made a decision,” he suddenly says, gripping the wheel. “I’m not going to give the medal to a museum. I’ll keep it here, so you’ll have something to look forward to when you come back.”
Linc’s eyes light up. “Seriously?”
Cranky glances at him. “I’m always serious.”
Linc offers him a hand. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
They shake on it.
• CHAPTER 33 •
DON’T LOOK BACK… YOU’RE NOT GOING THAT WAY
THOMAS COVE yard BRACELET SALE! EVERYTHING MUST GO!
Bea’s only been out of the hospital for a couple days, but she’s already feeling stronger. She seems to love having my mom around. They haven’t fought once, which is a miracle. Even when Bea said she wanted to join me at my sale this morning, Mom told her she had to stay home and rest, and Bea actually listened to her. My recycled cardboard sign leans against the metal legs of the folding table. Linc sits on a plastic lawn chair with the empty cashbox in front of him. I arrange and rearrange my bracelets—first grouped by pattern, then color, then pattern again—and wait for a customer. This time we set up our stand on the side of the road near the entrance to Thomas Cove, hoping for more visibility. A car approaches, and I wave the sign over my head to flag it down. It whizzes by.
The Battle of Junk Mountain Page 12
