I’m the luckiest girl in the world. Becky likes me!
Becky saw her own face come closer. She let the ribbon drift from her palm as she sank into her own memory of their first kiss.
When she opened her eyes, Brisa’s arms were around her shoulders. “I wish I could show you what you look like to me,” Becky said, knowing she should be strong, and let Brisa go. But she couldn’t. Not yet.
“Oh, I think I can guess,” Brisa said blithely.
“Tomorrow I’ll talk to Dr. Lee,” Becky said. First things first. “I don’t want to be a doctor. And Sheriff Crow hinted that someone wants to take my place, so I guess I won’t be leaving him without an apprentice.”
“You won’t,” Brisa said.
“How do you know?” Becky asked.
“Who’s my brother Rodrigo’s best friend?”
“Alfonso Medina,” Becky said automatically. Then she considered it. “Really? Alfonso?”
“Rodri says Alfonso always wanted to be a doctor, but he was too shy to ask. But when you said you might quit, it got Dr. Lee thinking about who else he could take on. So he asked Alfonso if he was interested. Said he could start even if you decided to stay. Alfonso’s thrilled.” Becky giggled. “Quietly.”
Becky was immensely relieved. “If I’d known that quitting would make someone that happy, I’d have talked to Dr. Lee before.”
Unexpectedly, Brisa laughed.
“What?” Becky asked.
“Listen to yourself, Becky,” Brisa said. “You care about people, and you always have. I remember when I Changed, and I showed off my power in the schoolyard. Everyone else looked at the explosion. But you looked at me. And you didn’t smile till you saw that I was excited and happy. If you were like the rest of your family, you wouldn’t love me, and I wouldn’t love you. I don’t think any of them sat down and decided to be horrible, but one thing I do know: they have always tried to make you think that everything is your fault.”
“But it . . .”
“Isn’t,” Brisa said, her gaze steady. “Do you see it, Becky? You’ve always had what my dad calls a sense of responsibility. You tried to fix every wounded furred and feathered thing in town, then you tried to learn to fix sick people. Do the rest of your family do that?”
“I—I don’t want to claim I’m something special. Not when I have so much to learn. And I make so many mistakes!”
“And you own up to them,” Brisa said, still serious, her face so close as she watched Becky’s eyes that Becky could see her own reflection in Brisa’s pupils. “Beck, my great-granny told me on my quinceañera that being a real grownup isn’t about age, or being stronger or smarter or richer than everyone else. She said it means owning up when you mess up. Then you go and fix it. The ones who go around blaming everybody else for everything that goes wrong are still angry little kids inside. Even if they’ve got gray hair and wrinkles.”
Becky blinked, nearly dizzy. It’s all your fault . . . it’s his fault . . . it’s her own fault . . . YOUR FAULT. She had heard those words all her life. For the first time, she felt that ever-present weight of blame lifting. Her own mistakes were still hers, but she could fix those. She was not to blame for anybody else’s.
The knot inside her began to loosen. Sheriff Crow was right, she could choose to be strong. If someone as wonderful as Brisa loves me, then it means I am worth loving.
Becky wasn’t sure which one of them reached out for the other first. But their lips met, soft and sweet and warm as ever. Not a long kiss, not a deep kiss, just a kiss that said that there would always be a kiss waiting for them, whenever either of them wanted one.
Then they walked away, clasped hands swinging, leaving the old house behind.
Chapter Thirty: Felicité
Felicité dribbled her basin of wash water around the edges of her tub, wetted the part of her hair that didn’t touch the skin, then rubbed herself vigorously with a barely dampened towel before patting herself dry. Satisfied that she was clean, she hung up the towels. Anyone who came in or saw her would think she’d just bathed.
She was dressed and dabbing perfume on her wrists when she heard a call from downstairs. “Felicité, Henry is here!”
“Send him up!”
She opened the door for him, then stepped back to admire his new shirt and pants. The shirt beautifully matched her sapphire dress and set off his blue eyes. He looked like a young man, not a boy.
Felicité stood on her tip-toes to kiss him. His breath was sweet from the mint leaves she’d told him to chew when she’d explained her plans for the evening. The appalling dinner where Daddy had walked out would be redeemed by this one, in which Henry would demonstrate his maturity and convince Daddy to let him into the Rangers.
“Remember,” she said. “Even though I’m the hostess, serve Grandmère first.”
“I know,” Henry said. “Use the outside forks and work your way in. The two-pronged fork is for the clams.”
She bent to chirp to Wu Zetian, who leaped up into Felicité’s arms, her gorgeous sapphire bow neat as a pin. No other rat in town would allow a bow to be tied around its neck, or look so pretty in it if it did. Certainly not Kerry’s peculiar rat pup, the worst of Peach’s litter, that she’d been showing off all over town as if it was the greatest creature to ever be born. Come to think of it, that was the perfect metaphor for Kerry herself.
With her lovely Wu Zetian riding in the crook of her arm, Felicité took Henry’s arm with her other hand, and they walked downstairs together.
She was delighted to see that Daddy had acceded to her request to wear his best shirt and his greatcoat. He’d even shined the pearl buttons. She knew what a sacrifice it was for him to take even a single evening away from patrolling the beaches with the Rangers, watching for Voske’s ships. Mother was perfection itself in her hundred-button dress, and Grandmère was exquisite in a silk coat embroidered with chrysanthemums.
Better yet, Grandmère was smiling as Daddy poured more wine into Mother’s glass. Felicité had spoken to them both, and just as she’d asked, they had called a truce in honor of her graduation.
“Shall we go into the dining room?” Felicité asked, with an elegant wave of her hand. She knew it was elegant. She’d practiced it in the mirror.
They went to their places at the table, where the candelabra were already burning. She’d lit it herself before Henry’s arrival.
“Thank you all for joining me at my first dinner party as an adult,” Felicité said. “I think you will enjoy tonight’s menu.” She rang the crystal bell, and Clara came out in her best apron. She set the roast beef down before Henry, who carved it expertly and offered the first slice to Grandmère.
“I must say, darling, I will miss your lovely face when I stop by the schoolhouse,” Grandmère said.
“But your loss is my gain,” Mother said. “I have needed extra help since her father stepped down from the council.”
“Always tactful, Valeria,” Daddy murmured.
Grandmère chuckled. “I was about to say, I was delighted to second your nomination as mayor’s aide.”
As the conversation moved on to guesses at what play the Catalina Players would present that evening, Felicité sat back and admired Henry. He looked grown up and very handsome, his golden hair burnished by the candlelight. She let herself indulge in a little daydream: Henry sitting at the head of the table opposite her, in their own house.
By the time dessert was finished, everybody was in a genuinely good mood, not just pretending for her sake. Daddy had even offered Wu Zetian tidbits, which he almost never did, saying that you shouldn’t treat a working animal like a pet.
“Tonight’s special,” he’d said, leaning down to offer her a bit of cheese. “You won’t get spoiled, will you, Wu Zetian?”
It was easy to suggest that Mother walk ahead with Grandmère to get good seats. Felicité and Henry fell in with Daddy as they walked into the balmy twilight air. Even the weather was cooperating. The dry winds that had b
lown all morning had died down, but Felicité knew how quickly they could start up again. Although the rainy season was probably over, she wore her broadest hat with a ribbon knotted under her chin. A blue silk scarf protected her throat, and two hidden clips held it tight.
Felicité coughed to cue Henry.
“Mr. Preston,” Henry said. Felicité was glad to hear the humility she’d suggested. Henry didn’t sound at all like the arrogant boy who Daddy had said didn’t live up to his talk. “About the Rangers. I won’t ask what’s going on, but I’ve seen you all patrolling the beaches day and night. I’ve changed a lot since Ranger training. It seems to me you might be able to use another hand. I’d like to try again.”
The hours they’d spent practicing had paid off. His speech was word-perfect.
Daddy looked at Felicité. He knew. Embarrassed, she glanced away. Maybe the words weren’t Henry’s, but Daddy should be able to see that they were true anyway.
Daddy turned back to Henry. “I can see that your attitude has improved. You don’t need to convince me of that. But it seems to me that a real sign of maturity would be working with your strengths. You’re well-spoken and you’ve learned to get along with all sorts of people. What about helping Jack at the saloon? He’s got his hands full, and he’s got scrip to spare. It would be an interesting job, never a dull moment.”
As Daddy spoke, Henry visibly struggled to conceal his disappointment and frustration. It was true that Jack was wealthy and respected, but Henry wanted to ride with the Rangers, not fetch drinks and clear tables. How could Daddy keep holding him back just because he’d been a little immature when he’d been younger? Indra Vardam had sucked his thumb till he was seven!
Will came racing up with the two friends he’d had supper with. “There you are! Come on, everybody’s ready!”
Daddy walked off to join Mother.
“I’m sorry,” Felicité said. “We can always try again.”
He flashed his familiar grin at her. “Don’t worry, Princess. I haven’t given up.”
“You’re so determined.” It was something they had in common. Between her and him, there was no way they wouldn’t succeed. Eventually.
“Don’t let this ruin your graduation party.”
“I won’t,” she said. He was considerate, too, always thinking of how she felt. She couldn’t have chosen a better boyfriend. Felicité squeezed his hand as they entered the town square.
The Catalina Players had set up a raised wooden platform in front of the town hall and rearranged its floodlights to shine on the stage. The town hall itself would be their backstage area. She didn’t see any of the players, so presumably they were inside.
Felicité turned her attention to the two picnic tables of refreshments she had provided for her party. Teenagers were already crowded around, eating and drinking and laughing, dressed in their best clothes. The balmy air, the golden light before sunset, and the music from the band reminded her suddenly of the dance last summer.
She glanced up at the sky. Not even a cloud marred it. And Voske wouldn’t catch the town by surprise again. The Catalina Players were doing three shows, so people on guard tonight could see the play tomorrow or the next night. Daddy had divided the Rangers so each night one-third could see the play while the other two-thirds patrolled.
Grandma Thakrar was selling beer from a stall, calling, “Ice cold and refreshing!” Felicité spotted Peter and Hans attempting to sneak into line, but Grandma Thakrar did, too. “Haven’t you two learned your lesson? Lemonade’s over there!”
The boys sulkily wandered off.
Near the beer stall, the Rileys and Lees were swarming around a horseshoe of picnic tables laden with food and drink. Felicité had invited everyone her age to her party, regardless of whether she actually liked them, but she was relieved to see that Ross, Jennie, and Mia were planted at those tables.
Ross and Jennie were dressed normally for a party, but Mia wore a bizarre fluffy dress embroidered with purple orchids. The sleeves were gigantic puff balls, and ribbons hung everywhere, fluttering even in the still air.
“What is that thing Mia’s wearing?” Felicité muttered.
Mother, who had come up beside her, replied quietly, “I believe that’s her aunt Olivia Lee’s old party dress. It was in fashion twenty years ago. I have a dress with puffed sleeves and red ribbons in our attic.” As Felicité shook her head in disbelief, Mother patted her arm. “But you look very stylish. Come greet your guests.”
Felicité put on her best smile to receive the compliments of the gathered adults. To her dismay, Mrs. Callahan and her mother pounced on Henry and struck up a conversation. Felicité had no desire to speak to either of them, so she hurried toward the teenagers in her party.
Kerry was among them, no doubt just to annoy Felicité. She stood tall in high-heeled black boots, wearing one of the weird suits she’d designed herself and had Mr. Kim make for her. They all consisted of a tight blouse and pants with a short jacket, but this one was fancier than usual, of black linen embroidered in silver.
Felicité was even more irritated to see that Meredith had imitated Kerry, in a green and white version of the same outfit. Then Nasreen stepped out from behind a cluster of people. Felicité stared. Nasreen was wearing it, too! Kerry had actually managed to start a fashion trend. And of course it was a hideous one. She certainly wasn’t going to wear any such thing.
Indra followed Nasreen, whom he was escorting. From the admiration on his face, he didn’t think that awful outfit was ugly. And her indigo suit matched his pants and tunic. They’d plotted it out in advance!
Felicité wasn’t going to stand there watching them. She looked out at the square. Once again, she was reminded of the terrible evening of Voske’s attack, even though so much had changed since then. Voske’s daughter and Ross’s sister were present, and a number of people who had been at the visitor’s dance were absent. Sujata and Paco were patrolling, along with two thirds of the Rangers. Yuki was gone. Sera Diaz and Mr. Vardam and Grandma Alice Callahan were dead, along with so many others. Ken Wells and Estela Lopez, who would have been sixteen this year. Laura Hernandez, who had helped Jennie in the schoolhouse. Laura, with her black claws . . .
Unsettled, Felicité turned back to her party. She nearly bumped into Becky—in yet another Kerry suit! And a scarlet one, at that. Felicité could not believe it: Becky Callahan in tight pants instead of ribbons and lace. She was nearly unrecognizable as the girl Felicité had grown up with.
The disorienting sense that Becky had become a stranger only grew when she spoke in a clear voice that easily carried over the party chatter. “Hi, Felicité. Congratulations on graduating.”
“Thank you.” Felicité searched for a polite topic of conversation. “Did Brisa get to come with you, or is she stuck on the wall?”
“The wall. Ms. Lowenstein didn’t want to repeat the mistake we made at the last town party.” Becky said nothing more, but her cool regard reminded Felicité strangely of Sheriff Crow’s, who often kept quiet to encourage people to fill the silence with whatever it was that she wanted to know.
Felicité could guess what Becky might want to know. Or rather, to hear. She knew perfectly well that she shouldn’t have avoided Becky all this time, but she still couldn’t think about Becky’s Change and every awful consequence without imagining herself in Becky’s place. Of course Daddy would never strike her. But it was easy to imagine him walking past her in the streets as if he didn’t even know her, the way Mrs. Callahan walked past Becky.
Felicité had always known Becky was unhappy, and had even assumed it was because of her family. But she’d imagined nothing worse than having to live with unpleasant, complaining people.
I should have asked, Felicité thought.
Finally, she found something to say that was both tactful and honest. “I was glad to hear that you’re working with Sheriff Crow. You like it, right?”
No matter what else had changed, Becky’s answering smile was the same
one Felicité had known all her life. “I love it. I learn something new—do something new—every day.”
“I never would have guessed you’d want to do that.” Felicité glanced at Becky’s skinny body in those form-fitting clothes. “You must be training hard . . . ?”
She hoped she hadn’t made Becky self-conscious. The two of them had always avoided training. In fact, they’d gotten to be close that way, standing on the sidelines and whispering while everyone else sweated in the sun.
But Becky only nodded. “I’m working on it. Sheriff Crow and I are practicing with different weapons. She says I still haven’t found the right one. But there’s time.” She caught a clip that was sliding out of her fine hair and clicked it firmly back into place. “Congratulations on being the mayor’s aide.”
“Thank you. Being town scribe was the perfect training for it. I’ll have a lot more to do, of course.”
“You’ve always been good at organizing things. Running a town is a bit like planning a party, isn’t it?”
“I’ve always thought so,” Felicité admitted. At last, they were talking like they used to, back when they’d been friends. “Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll be mayor and you’ll be sheriff, and we’ll be on the council together.”
“Me, the sheriff? I’m just one of her deputies. I’m not her apprentice!” The words sounded more like the old Becky. But she didn’t talk to her shoes. Instead, she laughed.
Felicité hated to end Becky’s cheer, but if she didn’t say something now, she never would. Before she could have second thoughts, she blurted out, “Becky, I wanted to say—I’m sorry about what happened. With your mom. And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything until now. I’m sorry I didn’t know anything.”
Then Becky did look down at her shoes. “Nobody did. I didn’t want anyone to.” She straightened up. “But it’s over.”
Felicité wished Henry wasn’t still living with Mrs. Callahan. She knew his mother didn’t hit him, and that Sheriff Crow had asked him if he’d rather move in with a foster family and he’d refused, saying he’d be in Singles Row soon enough. But he’d be so much happier away from his awful mother and grandmother.
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