Dear Poppy

by Ronni Arno

  I feel like I just swallowed the lump of dirt. I don’t want Brody to think I don’t like him. But with Kathryn always lurking, I just can’t take the chance. Of course, none of that matters now. I’m sure Kathryn’s plotting her revenge right this very minute.

  I’m trying to figure out how to tell Brody that it’s not that I don’t want to talk to him at school, when Britt comes zooming by on her bike.

  “Hey,” she says to me. “What are you doing here?”

  Brody spins to face her. “Where were you today?”

  Britt shrugs. “Home.”

  “Does Mom know you missed school?” Brody’s smile is gone.

  “Yeah.” Britt is glaring at Brody. “I told her before she left for work that I wasn’t feeling good.”

  “You look fine to me,” Brody says.

  “Well, I’m feeling better.”

  “Did you even get your homework?” Brody asks.

  “That’s not your problem,” Britt spits. I feel like I’m spying on a conversation I shouldn’t be hearing.

  “If Mom gets stressed, then it’s my problem.”

  “Mom isn’t going to get stressed. I’m doing fine in school.”

  “You skipped today! How is that doing fine?”

  “I was sick!”

  “Whatever,” Brody says, then turns to me. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay. I have a brother.” I look at both of them and give a small smile. “I totally get it.”

  “So, do you guys have a date or something?” Britt asks. She doesn’t say it in a mean way at all, but Brody must think she does, because his ears turn bright red.

  “I just missed my stop,” I say before he can answer her.

  “You’re not having much bus luck, huh?” Britt smiles.

  “I’m still trying to figure the whole thing out.”

  “Are you hungry? We have snacks.” Britt turns her bike around so she’s heading back down the gravel driveway. “Come on.”

  “Sorry about her,” Brody mumbles as we walk toward the house.

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” I say. “I like your sister.”

  Brody’s eyes shoot up. I can’t tell if he’s pleasantly surprised or just surprised. He opens the gate of the white picket fence, and leads me to the front porch. There’s a swing hanging next to the front door, overlooking the lawn. I follow Brody into the house, and we meet Britt in the kitchen. Their house is small, but every room looks like it came from a “Beautiful Homes” board on Pinterest. There are flower arrangements on the dining room table, colorful beeswax candlesticks in the living room, and what looks like a very expensive wooden coatrack in the foyer.

  “This is a great house,” I say. “Such amazing decorations.”

  “Yeah.” Britt looks around. “Our mom loves to do crafts and stuff. She made most of the things in the house.”

  “She made this stuff?” I point to the coatrack. “Even that?”

  Britt laughs. “That one took her a few months.”

  “It’s amazing,” I say. “Is that what she does for work?”

  Britt’s expression changes. Her smile fades, and her eyes dim a little. “No, she works at the factory now.”

  “Now?” I ask.

  “Well, she used to sell her stuff, but when my dad left she had to get a more steady job.”“Oh.” I look down at my feet. “I’m sorry. I mean, that your dad left.”

  Britt shrugs. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. He—”

  “Jeez, Britt,” Brody interrupts her. “I’m sure Poppy doesn’t want to hear about our lame family life.”

  “Oh no, it’s okay,” I say. “I could even—”

  “Want a cookie?” Brody shoves a plate of chocolate chips in my face.

  “Yeah, sure.” I take a cookie. “Thanks.”

  “Be careful,” Britt whispers as Brody goes to the refrigerator for some milk. “He only likes to talk about happy things.”

  “It’s pretty nice outside,” Brody says. “Let’s go sit there.”

  We go out the back door and onto a patio. I hold my breath when I look beyond it.

  It’s the most incredible garden I’ve ever seen.

  There are rows and rows of flowers—tulips and daffodils and lilacs and roses—and they’re all amazing.

  “Is this your mom’s garden?” I walk to the edge of the patio and stare out at the garden.

  “No.” Britt comes to stand next to me. “It’s ours.” She points to Brody, then back to herself.

  I turn to look at her so fast I think my head might fall off. “Yours?” Britt does not look like the kind of person who gardens.

  “And yours?” I look at Brody. He’s pulling blades of grass out of the ground.

  “Yeah, it’s kind of a hobby, but don’t tell anyone at school,” Brody says.

  “Okaaaaay,” I say. “But why?”

  Britt rolls her eyes. “He doesn’t think gardening is cool enough for him.”

  “That’s not it.” Brody puts a blade of grass between his fingers and whistles. “It’s just that . . . my friends wouldn’t understand.”

  I walk out to the roses. I probably should ask permission, but I can’t help myself. It’s like they’re pulling me over to them and I have no will of my own.

  “Who planted these?”

  “Those are mine.” Britt nods. “Brody doesn’t have the patience for roses.”

  “Are you going to enter these into the 4-H fair?” I ask.

  “Ummmmm, no.” Britt bites her lower lip. “I don’t do the 4-H fair.”

  “Why not?” My hands fly into the air. “You’d totally win.”

  “Competition’s really not my thing,” Britt says. “And besides, the judges are so . . . judgy.”

  Before I can say another word, Brody interrupts us. He’s holding out a phone.

  “Hey, shouldn’t you call your parents or something? Tell them you’re here?”

  Oh no! I forgot about that. I don’t know how New Dad is going to react to me coming home late. Old Dad never would have noticed.

  I take the phone and dial Dad’s cell. He answers on the first ring. I tell him I went home with a friend, and he tells me to call him when I’m ready for a ride, but to make sure it’s before dinner because he’s trying out a new recipe.

  New Dad is so weird.

  I hand the phone back to Brody, and then turn to Britt. “Can you teach me how to plant roses?”

  “Why do you want to plant roses?” Brody asks. “You can’t grow them in time for the fair.”

  “I know,” I say. “I just—I really want to learn how.”

  I can’t tell them why I want to know. I can’t tell them that my dead mother is sending me a message from beyond the grave, and I’m pretty sure she wants me to avenge her roses. I can’t tell them that because it sounds crazy.

  Even though I’m pretty sure it’s true.

  “Don’t you have a garden at home?” Britt asks.

  “We did. Once,” I say. “But there’s nothing there now. I’d love to start one.”

  “Maybe we can help.” Brody looks at Britt.

  “You guys would do that?” I’m sure this was a ton of work and took a lot of time. Why would they want to have to do it again, for someone they hardly know?

  “Sure,” Britt says. “But you’re going to have to be willing to keep it up.”

  “Oh, I will,” I say. “Maybe you can come over sometime?”

  Britt and Brody look at each other and nod.

  YES! I’m going to grow roses.

  CHAPTER

  11

  MY ALARM GOES OFF EARLY on Friday morning.

  Finally Friday!

  Letter day!

  I throw the covers off me and stumble for my dresser. I pull open my underwear drawer, take out the metal box, and bring it back with me to bed.

  I crawl back under the covers and yank out the letter marked #3.

  A photo flutters out, and I quickly grab it off my bedspread. It’s a picture of
a rosebush—a dry, wilting, sad-looking rosebush.

  Poor Mom.

  I lean back on my pillow and begin reading the letter.

  April 27, 1985

  Dear Poppy,

  School was the worst today. THE WORST. Tammy Griffin hates me, and I’m pretty sure it’s because I had the nerve to talk to Brian.

  I made it to the library last weekend, and guess who I ran into?Did you guess Brian? Yes? Ding, ding, ding, ding! You’re the million-dollar winner!

  He was there looking at books for our social studies report. When he saw me come in, he actually walked over to me and asked if I could help him find a book on Abraham Lincoln! Of course, I tried to play it cool, but you know I was totally wigging out! I found him a book, and he thanked me. Then I didn’t know what else to say, so I walked away. WHY AM I SUCH A DORK AROUND CUTE BOYS?!

  So when I saw Brian in the hall today I was determined to actually talk to him. I asked him how he liked the book on Abe Lincoln (lame question, I know  ). Tammy must have heard me, because she told everybody that I was a total nerd who spends her weekends at the library reading about old dead guys. I pretended like it didn’t bother me, but of course it did. I don’t want Brian to think I’m a complete geek.

  To make things worse, I can’t figure out how to save my roses. I’m not sure they’ll have enough time for them to recover (I included a pic so you could see how bad they look ). They have to recover, Poppy. They just have to. I have to beat Tammy at the 4-H fair. I wish you were here. Together, we’d definitely win that blue ribbon and put Tammy in her place. I can dream, right?!

  Off to watch GROWING PAINS. Kirk Cameron looks soooooooo much like Brian!

  Until next week.

  Love & friendship always & forever,

  Daphne

  I type “Kirk Cameron” into the Google bar of my phone. He was the star of Growing Pains, which was a TV show when Mom was my age. He was kinda cute. I guess. And bonus: Now I know what Brian looked like.

  I laugh. I can’t believe Mom—my beautiful, confident, lovable mother—was ever shy around boys. The crazy thing is . . . I’m shy around boys too! Who knew we had this in common? Plus, Mom had trouble with mean girls too. Maybe that’s why she wrote these letters. So I could see that I’m not alone.

  I quickly grab the notebook I keep on my nightstand and scribble a note back.

  Dear Mom,

  I had a terrible day too! There’s this girl, Kathryn, who sounds just as mean as Tammy. She’s known me for less than two weeks, but decided to hate me anyway. She told me I don’t belong here, and that I’m not allowed to talk to Brody (a really cute boy who’s nice AND friendly ).

  And it’s not like Brody’s my boyfriend or anything. Not that I’ve ever had a boyfriend. The only thing I know about boys I learned from Troy, which means all I know about boys is that they eat a lot, play Minecraft (that’s a video game), tell fart jokes, and torture their younger sisters. But Brody seems—I don’t know—different. Maybe more like Brian. He and his sister, Britt, have an awesome garden and they said they’d help me with mine! So there’s still hope for my roses!

  Anyway, it totally sounds to me like Brian liked you! Not that it matters, because as you know, you grew up to marry Dad. I wonder if you ever wondered what happened to Brian. So Tammy’s just being a jerk to you for no reason. Just like Kathryn’s being a jerk to me for no reason.

  You want to hear the worst part? I’m not even sure I should tell you this (although you probably know because spirits know everything), but Dad wants to ask Kathryn’s mom out to dinner! Before you feel bad about that, you should know that he hasn’t dated anybody since you died. He was really sad and just worked all the time so he wouldn’t have to think about it.

  Love ya,

  Poppy

  PS: I hope Kathryn’s mom is a lot nicer than she is.

  I throw on some jeans and a T-shirt, and shove a cardigan in my backpack in case it gets cold. I purposely move as slowly as possible. Maybe if I miss the bus, Dad will drive me to school. After going home with Brody yesterday, I especially need to keep my distance from Kathryn today.

  Some incredible smell is wafting up the stairs, and I follow it to find Dad in the kitchen, once again wearing his REAL MEN COOK apron on top of his overalls. And he’s humming.

  “Good morning,” he says when he sees me. “Bacon and eggs?”

  I glance in the frying pan, and even though I’m skeptical after the oatmeal Dad made, my mouth waters. “You’ve graduated from oatmeal?”

  Dad laughs. “You probably don’t remember, but I used to cook all the time before . . .”

  His voice trails off, but I know what he was going to say. Before Mom died. Maybe she got him that apron?

  “Well, it smells good.” I grab a plate out of the cupboard. “Better load me up before Troy gets down here.”

  “I heard that,” Troy says, barreling down the steps. “You better save some for me!”

  Troy pats Dad on the back, and they do some kind of man-handshake thing that I’ve never seen before. Then they laugh and laugh.

  Where am I?

  This is not my life. Or at least, it wasn’t before. My life before was waking up, getting dressed, meeting Mandy in front of Starbucks on Tenth Street at 7:10, picking up a muffin and a mocha latte, which I ate and drank on my walk to school. I bought lunch at the cafeteria, Mandy and I walked home together, did our homework at either her apartment or mine, and then I grabbed a slice of pizza or Chinese takeout for dinner. I didn’t see Dad. I hardly saw Troy.

  And now we’re all sitting down eating breakfast together? And Dad’s cooking?

  I take a bite of scrambled eggs. Wow. Oh, wow. These are actually good. A lot better than the oatmeal disaster. Soft but not mushy, and seasoned with just the right amount of salt and pepper. I close my eyes, and for a second, I swear I could smell mint tea.

  My eyes shoot open and I look around, fully expecting to see Mom—or at least the ghost of Mom—standing over me. It would make perfect sense! Who else could orchestrate a breakfast like this? Who else could turn Old Dad into New Dad?

  But there’s no sign of her.

  Instead, Dad’s standing next to me with a teapot.

  “Want some tea?” he asks. “It’s mint, your favorite.”

  I look at him, searching for some kind of realization that mint tea was Mom’s favorite too. But he looks pretty normal. I mean, except for the crazy apron.

  “Ummmm, sure, Dad.” He pours me a cup, and I figure tea drinking is a nice, slow activity. One that will surely cause me to miss the bus.

  In an effort to distract Dad from the time, I try to have a real conversation with him—something I can’t remember doing since, well, since ever.

  “So, Dad,” I say in between bites of bacon, “my friends are going to help me plant a garden here. Is that okay?”

  Dad puts his tea mug down on the table. “I didn’t know you were into gardening, Poppy.”

  I shrug. “It’s something I’d like to try.”

  Dad looks really closely at me, his blue eyes all sparkly. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  His mouth opens like he’s about to say more, but he just gets this spacey look on his face, like he’s thinking about something that’s very far away.

  “I know you’ve been wanting to do some farming.” I blow on my tea. “So I wanted to ask you where I can have my garden.”

  Dad looks out the window. “What about in the back, next to the barn? I seem to remember a long time ago, Grandad had a huge garden there.”

  “Hey, Dad,” Troy says, with his mouth full. “Can I build a racetrack for my truck?”

  “Let’s work on getting your driver’s license first, okay, buddy?” Dad gives Troy a light punch on the shoulder.

  I glance at the clock. Two minutes until the bus comes. If I want to miss it, I have to keep the conversation alive, so I blurt out the first thing I think of.

  “Did you know Mom grew roses?”

/>   Dad stops drinking his tea midsip, and Troy drops his fork.

  Nobody has spoken Mom’s name out loud in years.

  The room is so quiet, that I’m pretty sure I could hear the rumble of the bus up the hill. If Dad or Troy notice, they don’t say anything. I think they’re stunned into silence.

  “I mean, I kind of remember her telling me that,” I say.

  “Wow, Poppy.” Dad smiles. “I can’t believe you remember something like that. It was so long ago.”

  Oh no. What if I blew it? What if he knows there’s no way I’d remember something from that long ago? What if he finds the letters and—

  “But you must have a pretty good memory, because you’re right.” Dad holds his tea mug tightly and inhales.

  “I kind of remember that too,” Troy says. “She had a ton of flowers out on our balcony in the city.”

  Dad nods. “She did. In fact, we couldn’t fit furniture out there because there were so many.”

  Troy laughs. “Yeah, I remember that.”

  I stare down at my tea. I wish I remembered that. Troy was ten when she died, so he probably remembers a lot more than I do. But we don’t talk about her. We’ve never talked about her.

  A huge lump is growing in my throat. I take a big gulp of tea to try to push it down.

  “Oh, hey.” Dad looks like he snapped out of whatever had him possessed. “Look at the time.”

  I glance at the clock on the stove. “Uh-oh,” I say, trying my best to sound disappointed. “I think I missed the bus.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll give you a ride.” Dad gets up and grabs his keys off the key hook hanging near the door. “You ready?”

  “Yep.” I pick up my backpack and head out to the car.

  I sit in the front seat, and neither of us says anything for most of the ride. I wonder if Dad’s thinking about Mom, like I am. I wonder if being in the house brings back memories for him, too. I want to ask him, but I don’t. I’m still not sure exactly how to act around New Dad. But for the first time in a long time, I’m looking forward to figuring it out.

  Dad drops me off, and I weave in and out of the kids coming off the buses. I just need to go to my locker and get to class without Kathryn seeing me. Thank goodness it’s the Friday before spring break, and I’ll have a whole nine days off before I have to do this again.