I couldn’t remember hearing Penny laugh at school. But it turned out that not only could she laugh, she could also make me laugh.
Still, even with all the talking we did, I felt she was only offering me the tip of the Penny iceberg. She could change the subject so fast, I wouldn’t have time to figure out why. And even when we laughed together, she sometimes cut off the laughter as quickly as it started. She seemed to keep an eye on everybody who came near us. It was like she expected somebody to sneak up behind her every minute of her life and shout “Boo!”
“Don’t look now,” Penny whispered late in the afternoon, when I’d used my ten-minute break to work on my tan. We were sitting on her towel, facing opposite directions.
“Why?” I couldn’t resist turning around.
I wished I had resisted. Wanda and Ray strolled in together.
“They might not have come together,” Penny said. “She could have grabbed him in the parking lot.”
“Why should I care?”
Penny didn’t answer, and I felt like a dip for snapping at her.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “She definitely grabbed him in the parking lot.”
“I can see the claw marks on his arms,” Penny added.
“Skid marks on the sidewalk.”
“Poor Ray.”
We laughed together.
Her laughter broke suddenly, and she scrambled to her feet. “I have to go.”
I glanced at the pool clock. “I’ve got two more minutes of break, Pen. Don’t leave me here alone. You can stay that long, can’t you?”
“No.” She tugged at her towel, the one I was sitting on. When it didn’t come out from under me, she let it drop. “Keep it.” Then she raced to the locker room, ignoring Laura’s whistle.
Penny’s stepbrother strutted up. It took me a second to recognize him. His long hair had been shaved to a crew cut.
“Fancy hairdo, Chuck,” I said.
He ignored the comment and jerked his head in the direction of the disappearing Penny. “What scared the mouse?”
I didn’t like the way he called Penny “Mouse” all the time. After a while, she probably started to feel like a mouse. “You got me. I don’t know why Penny ran off like that.”
He yawned and scoped out the pool area. “So, Tree …”
“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” I laughed.
He didn’t. “What were you and the mouse talking about?” His words came out covered in thick syrup, as if sliding out in their own time.
I shrugged.
“You two aren’t talking about me behind my back, are you?” Chuck’s smile looked forced to me. “Really, what were you talking about?”
I got to my feet and folded Penny’s towel. “Nothing much. I’d better get back to work, Chuck.”
“Work? I didn’t know you worked here.”
I nodded toward the basket room. “There. I’m a basketgirl.” I’d never realized how silly that sounded. I handed him the towel. “Give this to Penny, okay?”
He jerked the towel from my hands, nearly toppling me. “All right, Tree the Basketgirl.”
I walked away, with the eerie feeling that he was watching me.
Sarah was waiting when I got back to the basket room. “What were you talking about with Charles Atkinson? That is Penny’s stepbrother, right?”
“Nothing. I just gave him Penny’s towel. Did you see her split like the place was on fire?”
“I thought you said something that ticked her off. Maybe it was Charles. I don’t think they like each other much. He’s kind of creepy, don’t you think? But he’s awfully cute.”
“I don’t know.”
“I think he has a crush on you, Tree.”
“Gross, Sarah!” I threw a basket at her. “How about you work more and talk less?”
She grew quiet all of a sudden. She bit her lip and eased the basket into the right slot. People all around me were changing moods faster than a Missouri weatherman.
“Sorry I snapped,” I said, taking the next basket.
“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered.
“Well, something’s wrong,” I said. “You’ve been acting kind of crazy all day. Is it the farm? Did you talk to your dad?” Maybe she and her family had worse money troubles than she thought.
Sarah shrugged and wouldn’t turn to look at me.
“That does it!” I dragged her to the corner of the basket room.
“The baskets are going to pile up,” she said, still not looking at me.
“Let ’em.” I held on to her shoulders and waited for her to look up.
“Okay. After work yesterday, I went home to a store instead of a home.”
“I don’t get it.”
“My parents had put tags on the furniture, Tree. Everything is up for sale today. Okay—not everything. Not the antique stuff Mom got from Grandma. But everything else. When I left this morning, people were walking all through our house, buying lamps and junk. I know my parents really need money, but how are we going to watch TV without a couch?”
I did not like the sound of this at all. “You have to make them talk to you, Sarah.”
“I tried. Believe me.”
“What did they say?”
“The usual—that I didn’t need to worry. But I kept pressing them until they promised to talk to me after the sale tonight. And they said I shouldn’t talk to anybody about it until they’ve had a chance to explain things to me.”
“Explain what?” I asked. “I don’t get it. Half the town already knows about the yard sale.”
“Exactly. So why am I supposed to keep things secret?” Sarah demanded.
I had no answers for her. “I don’t know. But I think I hate secrets.”
27
What’s the Tale, Nightingale?
Sunday morning I made our whole family late to church. I wanted to keep sleeping so I wouldn’t have to worry about Sarah. But I couldn’t stop wondering how the big talk with her folks had gone. It would be hard to have to sell off your own furniture and belongings.
Finally, Eileen dragged me out of bed and practically stuck a dress on me, a stupid plaid I never would have worn if I’d been in my right mind.
Sarah was already in the Sunday School room when I got there. She hadn’t saved me a seat next to her, and our teacher had already started talking. I’d have to wait until Sunday School was over to find out if she’d had the big talk with her parents.
The second our class ended, I rushed over to her. “Sarah, what did they say?”
She swallowed hard. “I’ll tell you about it later. We’re going to be late for church.”
“There’s no way I’m waiting until after church.” Maybe she could wait, but I couldn’t. By the end of the service, I’d be a basket case. I was already imagining a million awful reasons why her parents would put everything up for sale. Maybe something was wrong with Sarah, and they needed money for her … polio, tuberculosis, or leukemia—like Gary Lynch. Or maybe her parents were getting a divorce. Or her mom was pregnant, or—
Her eyes were red. I couldn’t remember a single time when Sarah had cried. She claimed farmers never cried. Even when she broke her arm on the teeter-totter, she didn’t shed a tear.
“Tell me! What’s going on?”
Sarah took in a deep breath. “Dad sold the farm.”
“What? He can’t—”
“He and Mom finally told me last night. That’s why they’ve been selling off everything. That’s why they had the stupid sale.”
Sarah loved the farm. I could not imagine her living in town … although I hated myself for imagining it right then. Sarah and me walking home together after school. No bus to catch. She could come to ball games and be on school committees.
“I know it will take some getting used to,” I said. “But it won’t be so bad. You might even come to like living in town. You and I can hang out more and—”
She frowned up at me then, her mouth a hard, straight line.
“No, Tree. We’re moving.”
“I figured. But maybe you can find a house on our end of town. Wouldn’t that be cool?” I put my arm around her. “Pretty soon, we can drive ourselves to the country. It’s not like the country won’t be there, right?”
“Tree, you don’t get it!” She jerked away from me. “We’re moving. To Kansas.”
“What? Where?”
“Kansas. Uncle Thomas, Mom’s older brother, runs a hardware store in Iola, Kansas. Dad’s going to work for him. They’ve got it all figured out. And they never even asked me.”
“Kansas?” Of all the places in the world … We hated Kansas. We’d grown up hating Jayhawks. I knew more Jayhawk jokes than knock-knock jokes.
“They’ve known for months they were going to sell, and they never said a word. Even Mack knew. But they let me go on thinking I’d be coming back to school here. I guess I should have figured it out without them telling me. There were enough clues—not planting, selling off the tractor, stock. And the yard sale! I should have seen it coming.”
Me too. Some investigative reporter I turned out to be. All I could do was shake my head. I’d be losing my best friend. I would never be as tight with any girlfriend as I was with Sarah. We’d grown up together, walked hand in hand into every classroom on the first day of school, celebrated every last day of school with chocolate ice cream and three cherries. I’d never missed a single one of Sarah’s birthday parties, and she’d never missed one of mine. We trick-or-treated together every Halloween and hunted eggs every Easter. Sarah was too big a part of my life. She couldn’t move away.
Eileen appeared and whispered, “You two. Mom says to come and sit down.”
I slid into our pew, my regular seat. Sarah’s family always took the pew behind us. All I could think about during the service was that Sarah wouldn’t be there from now on. She’d be sitting in some strange pew in Kansas.
After church, two people cornered Dad for free medical advice. Then when we tried to leave, we couldn’t get through the little congregation, still congregated outside on the lawn. People were pointing up and laughing.
There on the roof, propped against the steeple, stood the latest reserved parking spot for Hamilton police vehicles.
As soon as we got home and ate our traditional pancake lunch, I excused myself, grabbed my notebook, and headed outside to try to write. I wanted to record everything Sarah and I had ever done together.
Mom caught me at the door. “Hold on. I need you to run something down to Mrs. Kinney for me.” She left, then came back with a folder of papers labeled “Federated Church Missionary Society.” “Tell her this is the information about our projects for the steam engine show. She’s welcome to attend our meetings too.”
“Okay.” I piled the folder on top of my journal and walked to the Kinney house.
Mrs. Kinney looked surprised when she opened the door. “Tree, can’t say I was expecting you today, Sunday being a family day and all.”
“I know.” I handed her the file. “Mom asked me to give you this. She said it tells you what they’re doing for the missionaries. And there’s information about the Steam and Gas Engine Show too.”
“Mighty thoughtful of your mother. Thank her for me.” She stood in the doorway, the screen held open by her elbow. “Would you like to come in a spell, Tree?”
I thought about it. Part of me did, and part of me didn’t. “Thanks, but I was planning to write this afternoon.” I patted the journal in my hand.
“Ah, then that’s what you’d better do. I imagine writers need to write most when they’re feeling the deepest. They can put their emotions on paper. I get the feeling something’s bothering you.”
“How’d you know, Mrs. Kinney?”
“It’s written all over your face, Tree.”
I grinned. “That’s what Jack always says.” The grin died on my lips. “Sarah, my best friend, is moving to Kansas. She told me in church this morning.”
“Well, I’m right sorry about that. It’s not easy losing a best friend.”
Telling her about Sarah made it too real. My throat tightened, and I felt tears coming on. “Well, I’d better go.”
I walked back home as far as the end of our property. Dad had anchored an old porch swing to the ground. I eased onto it, never positive the swing seat would hold. With a touch of my toe, I swung low in the shade of the willow. I closed my eyes and breathed in horse and strawberry atoms and tried not to think about the fact that my best girlfriend wouldn’t be with me next year. I knew how moving away worked. You say you’ll stay best friends. But letters stink. Phone calls are too expensive. And pretty soon you run out of things to talk about.
Midge barked at me from the backyard, but I couldn’t let her out. She’d want to sit on my lap. And if I shooed her off, she’d go hunt chickens. Finally, she wandered back into her dog palace—with windows put in by Dad, a rug donated by Mom, glamorous walls decorated by Eileen, and my best pillow for a bed.
A horn honked. I looked up expecting to see Jack whiz by in Fred.
Instead, a dark green pickup pulled up with Wayne Wilson behind the wheel. He stopped in front of me, took the cigarette from his mouth, and blew a string of smoke. His black hair was slicked back on both sides, forming a ducktail. Wayne had just turned sixteen and gotten his license. Already he had a reputation for drinking and smoking. But he’d always been okay to me.
“What’s happening, Wayne?” I shouted.
He gave me a chin wave. “All is copacetic, Little Tree.”
Ray Miller leaned forward. I hadn’t seen him in the passenger seat. “What’s happening with you, Tree?” he hollered past Wayne.
“Not too much,” I answered.
“Heard you made the scene at the reservoir,” Wayne said.
So much for the well-kept secret. “I guess.”
“Heard you danced the socks off your elders.” Wayne said this while taking another puff on his cigarette.
I sneaked a glance at Ray’s face and could tell by his wrinkled brow that he had no idea what Wayne was talking about. I had to change the subject fast. “So what are you guys up to?”
“Just drivin’ around.” Wayne shoved up the sleeve of his black leather jacket and turned his wrist to check his watch. A chunk of gray ash fell to the ground. “I gotta split, though.”
Ray and Wayne exchanged words I couldn’t hear. Then Ray climbed out of the truck, and Wayne drove off, honking again.
When the dust settled, there stood Ray Miller, his dark hair windblown. He wore a cool madras plaid shirt with faded cutoffs and loafers, no socks. And he was standing in the middle of the road—my road—grinning at me.
28
Foxes
“Lost?” I called out to Ray, hoping my voice wouldn’t shake the way the rest of me was.
“I just decided I didn’t want to go where Wayne was headed,” he answered.
“Should I ask?”
“Some things are best left unsaid.” He hadn’t moved from his spot in the road.
“You could get run over out there,” I warned.
“That would stink.”
I scooted over. “I can’t guarantee this swing will hold us both. But I’m willing to risk it if you are.”
Ray ambled over and sat beside me. “They don’t call me Ray the Risk-Taker for nothing.”
“So you pay them to call you Ray the Risk-Taker?” I breathed in his Ray-ness.
“Of course.” He nodded at my notebook. “Don’t tell me you’re studying. Trying to get an edge on freshman year?”
“Not likely.” I held the notebook to my chest so he couldn’t see anything.
“What are you working on?”
I didn’t answer right away. I could have said I was writing about Sarah, although I hadn’t written a word yet. But I didn’t want to talk about Sarah’s horrible news with Ray. What if I broke down and cried like a baby?
Ray narrowed his sky-blue eyes at me. “Either tell me what you’re writing or t
ell me what dance Wayne was talking about.”
I chose the lesser of two evils. I spilled the whole story—about how I started out trying to write an article on the Kinney shooting, about my writers’ quotes, about the interviews with Mrs. Kinney going nowhere, and how I’d promised Randy Ridings I’d have an article for him the day of the steam engine show. “Okay. Let me have it,” I said when I was all done. “Go ahead—laugh.” I braced myself. But I was afraid I’d burst into tears if he really did laugh at me.
“Why would I laugh? You’re a good writer.”
“How would you know?”
“Tree, I’ve known you since kindergarten, in case you forgot.”
Like I’d ever forget anything about Ray Miller. “I really want to get on the Blue and Gold staff next year.” The second I blurted it out, I wanted it back. Wanda. Ray and Wanda. Wanda said they’d talked about how “cute” it was of me to dream of being on the Blue and Gold staff. The last thing I needed was for Wanda to know I was still gunning for her job. “Don’t tell … anyone … okay?”
“Okay. But I think you’d be great.”
“You do?” Great, not cute? Was Wanda lying about that?
“Are you kidding? You’re a natural! You should go for it, man. Is that why you’re writing about the Kinneys?”
I nodded. “And for the Hamiltonian too, maybe. Randy said if I could get to the bottom of the Kinney story, he’d run it in the paper.”
“Way to go, Tree.”
“I don’t know. It seemed pretty cool at first. But now that I’m getting to know Mrs. Kinney, I’m not so sure.” I pictured her in her doorway, looking sad for me because I’m losing Sarah. “Mom says Mrs. Kinney has had a pretty hard life. I don’t want to make it worse.”
“Huh. I never thought about that.”
“Me neither, until I started talking with her.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
I doubted it. But the fact that he thought I would made me want to grab him and kiss him right there. “Thanks.”
“You should write about the Steam and Gas Engine Show, Tree. Wayne’s into old Model Ts and Model Rs with flywheels. He knows all about that sh—that stuff.” He glanced over at the strawberry patch. “Is this your garden?”
The Secrets of Tree Taylor Page 13
