Dear Poppy

by Ronni Arno

  So that’s what Mom meant when she said Poppy was in the “great beyond.” She meant Greenland.

  “And then, when we got home, your mom went to visit her cousins in New England for the summer. I remember because it was such a boring summer without her. We wrote back and forth while she was there, but I guess those letters that she wrote while I was in Greenland were forgotten about by the time she came home.”

  “Were you—were you best friends?”

  “Oh, honey,” Penelope takes my hand. “We were the best of friends. We were practically sisters. We grew up together.”

  Penelope touches the photo of Mom in the cowboy boots. “After high school, I moved away. I went to college in London, and we just kind of lost touch. By the time I moved back here, she was living in the city, and we just never reconnected. And when I heard she died, I broke down. It was one of my biggest regrets in life—losing touch with her.”

  Penelope pulls me into a hug. She smells like mint, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  When I open them, I see Dad walking into the barn. His forehead is wrinkled. He must be wondering why I’m hugging this strange woman.

  And then I remember that I told Dad my poster was on plant genetics.

  Penelope lets me go, and I smile at Dad. But he’s not looking at me. His eyes are fixed to my display.

  “Poppy?” Dad glances at me, then his gaze goes back to the poster. “What is this?”

  “My project isn’t on plant genetics,” I say. “Not exactly.”

  Dad touches the close-up photo of Mom. “Where did you get these?”

  “It’s a long story,” I say. “And I’ll tell you everything. I promise. But can we wait until we get home?”

  Dad’s too mesmerized to answer me.

  “Dad?” I touch his arm. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Dad blinks and gives me a small smile.

  “Dad, this is Penelope Fuller.”

  Dad extends his hand. “Dave Pickler,” he says. He doesn’t seem to recognize her name, and then it occurs to me. Maybe he doesn’t even know about Penelope.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Penelope says. “I was—Daphne and I were best friends growing up.”

  “Penelope? You mean Penelope Topolski?” Dad’s eyes instantly well up with tears.

  Penelope nods.

  “You’re Poppy.” Dad’s mouth falls open, and a flash of recognition crosses his face. “The Poppy our Poppy was named after.”

  Penelope nods and laughs, and she and Dad fall into a hug. They’re both crying and laughing and crying and laughing.

  “She talked about you all the time. When we got married, we tried to find you, but in the days before social media it was tough. We had no idea where you were, and your parents had moved away,” Dad says.

  “I was living overseas,” Penelope tells him. “I didn’t move back here until I was pregnant with the twins.”

  “After Daphne passed, I wanted to track you down and tell you.” Dad dabs his eye with a finger. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of it. Of talking about it. I just couldn’t—I just couldn’t do anything.”

  Penelope takes Dad’s hands in hers. “I understand. She was so very special.”

  They look at each other and smile. When I finally turn to look at Britt and Brody, they’re both standing there with their mouths hanging open.

  “Mom,” Britt says. “You mean the Daphne you always talk about is Poppy’s mother?”

  Penelope touches Britt’s hair. “It appears that way.”

  “That’s crazy,” Brody says, shaking his head.

  “Why didn’t you ever mention Poppy to me?” Penelope asks the twins.

  “Are you kidding, Mom?” Britt asks. “I talk about her all the time.”

  Penelope puts her palms over her eyes. “Oh my goodness. Where have I been?”

  “That’s a good question,” Britt says, barely above a whisper.

  “I’m so sorry.” Penelope wraps her arms around Britt and Brody. She kisses each of their foreheads, and then her eyes rest on me.

  She smiles a sad smile, and I instantly understand.

  Mom doesn’t care about the 4-H fair. She doesn’t care about the blue ribbon. She cares about me. And Dad. And Penelope. She knew we needed to find each other.

  CHAPTER

  29

  DAD, TROY, AND I SIT at the kitchen table, my poster board balancing on an empty chair. I tell them about the letters and the pictures, and I even get up the nerve to tell them that I thought the letters were for me. To my surprise, Troy doesn’t laugh.

  “Sorry that Mom was right about Tammy,” I tell Dad. And I really am sorry. He deserves to be happy.

  “That’s okay, Poppy.” Dad touches my cheek. “It just means something better is in store for me.”

  “I have one important question,” Troy says. His lips are pressed together.

  “What is it?” Dad’s brow is wrinkled, and he looks like he’s ready for the inquisition.

  “What happened to Mom’s hair?” Troy asks.

  Dad reaches over and gives him a noogie. “That was the style back then.”

  Troy shakes his head. “The eighties were so weird.”

  Dad laughs.

  “She had such an awesome smile.” Troy’s staring at the picture. “I remember one time I was riding my bike, and I fell off. I came into the apartment screaming. She ran to the front door, looking terrified. But as soon as she saw that I only had a scraped knee, she broke into this huge smile. And I knew I’d be all right.”

  I stare at Troy, wondering if he’s being possessed by the ghosts of hillbilly hill. He looks—not sad exactly, more like lost, and then I remember that she was his mom too.

  There’s a knock on the side door, and I get up to answer it. Britt, Brody, and Penelope walk into the mudroom.

  “I hope this is an okay time,” Penelope says.

  “Yes, of course.” I step aside. “Come in.”

  “Actually,” Penelope says, “we were hoping you’d come out. We’d like to take you somewhere.”

  I yell for Dad and Troy. Dad walks into the mudroom, and his face lights up when he sees Penelope.

  “We’re wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking a ride with us,” Penelope says. “We have a surprise.”

  “Sure,” Dad says, “I’ll get the car keys.”

  “We can all fit in my car, if that’s okay with you?”

  “You bet,” Dad says, and we follow the Fullers out into the driveway. We all pile into their SUV, and Penelope rolls down the windows. The warm air blows my hair back, and I turn to Britt and Brody, smiling.

  “Where are we going?” I whisper.

  “It’s a surprise,” Brody whispers back.

  After a few minutes, we pull into the cemetery where Mom, Grandad, and Grandmom are buried. Penelope’s car slowly approaches Mom’s grave site.

  We all get out of the car.

  “I have something for you,” Britt says. She pulls a box out of the back. Inside is a perfect, potted rosebush.

  “Oh, Britt,” I say. “It’s gorgeous.”

  Brody grabs a shovel and some gloves, and starts digging a hole in front of Mom’s headstone.

  “No.” I touch his hand. “Let me.”

  Brody hands me the shovel, and I finish digging. Britt gives the rosebush to Dad, and he places it gently into the hole. As Troy packs the soil around the bush, Penelope pulls a bag of mulch out of the car. She sprinkles mulch on top of the soil and then pats it down with her hands.

  “She’ll love it,” I say.

  We stand at the grave site in silence for several minutes. It feels good to be here all together. I’m sure it’s what Mom wanted all along.

  “One more thing,” Penelope says, and she pulls the envelope I gave her earlier out of her pocket. She rips it open and reads Mom’s letter out loud.

  June 1, 1985

  Dear Poppy,

  The fair was today. I came in second. Guess who came in fir
st? Tammy, of course. I know I should be more upset than I am, but the truth is, I’m still proud. Second out of almost fifty entries is pretty good.

  Plus, Brian held my hand today as we walked through the fair. Is there anything better than that?

  As a matter of fact . . . there is! The best news ever is that you come home from the Great Beyond next week! Sure, we’ll only have a couple of weeks together until I go to my cousins in Boston, but still . . . two weeks of fun and catching up! These last couple of months have just reminded me of how important our friendship is, Poppy, and I hope we’re never apart again.

  Until next week (when I see you in person!!!!).

  Love & friendship always & forever,

  Daphne

  I look up, and everybody’s teary-eyed. Even Troy, although he’s trying to hide it by lowering his baseball hat over his eyes.

  Penelope takes my hand. I take Brody’s. Brody takes Britt’s. Britt takes Troy’s. Troy takes Dad’s, and Dad takes Penelope’s, until the circle is complete.

  We stand there in silence for a long time, each linked together through Mom’s love.

  “Who’s hungry?” Dad finally asks. “I have some fresh veggies back at the house. We can whip together some salad and sandwiches.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Penelope says.

  We spend the car ride back laughing and talking. Penelope pulls up to the garage, and everyone pours out of the car. We pass the garden as we enter the house, and that’s when we see it.

  I don’t have to look around to know that every single one of us is frozen, unable to move.

  Because my garden is covered with flowers.

  And not just any flowers.

  My garden is covered with poppies.

  “How—” Penelope starts to say.

  “I don’t understand,” I say. And then I turn to Britt. “When you gave us those rose seeds, are you sure they were rose seeds?”

  “Of course.” Britt can’t keep her eyes off the garden. “Rose seeds and poppy seeds look nothing alike.”

  I remember the seeds we planted. They looked like pebbles. And the only poppy seeds I’ve seen are the ones on a bagel. They’re tiny and black, and look nothing like the seeds we planted in the garden that day.

  “So how . . . how did these get here?” Brody asks.

  “There must have been a mistake,” Dad says. “You must have had the wrong seeds.”

  But as he says it, I know even he doesn’t believe his own words.

  Mom always wanted us to have roots somewhere. And before we could have roots, we needed to have seeds.

  And now we have both.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to my wonderful editor, Alyson Heller. It is truly a pleasure to work with you! Thanks for believing in my vision and for cheering Poppy on all the way. Thanks also to everyone at Simon & Schuster who brought Poppy’s story to life. Your behind-the-scenes work is greatly appreciated.

  A big thank-you to my agent, the brilliant Sarah Davies, for your unwavering support and faith in me. I’m looking forward to many more books together!

  Thank you to cover artist Stevie Lewis for capturing Poppy’s connection to her mother (and her trip through the 80s) so beautifully.

  As always, a squishy group hug to the MGBetaReaders, the most creative, smartest, and funniest critique group I could ever ask for. Special thanks to Poppy’s early readers Jen Malone and Brooks Benjamin. I’m blessed to call you my friends.

  To all my middle school and high school friends, I’m so glad I saved the notes we wrote! I’m brought back in time whenever I open that old box, and I feel a little sad that my own kids won’t have that experience of putting pen to paper and discreetly passing those folded-up gems in the hallway between classes.

  Thank you to my parents, who taught me that magic always follows if you do the work. It’s a lesson I hope to teach my own children. Hear that, Hallie and Morgan? You can get anything you dream of . . . as long as you’re willing to work for it. And while I have your attention, thank you for reading, thank you for commenting, thank you for just being you. I’m so grateful to be your mom. Thanks to Josh, for reading far below your grade level and well out of your genre. Your input is greatly appreciated! And thanks for handling the dinner, laundry, dishes (I could go on and on) when I’m engrossed in my own little writing world.

  And finally, a huge thanks to you, the reader! I’m so happy that you chose to spend your time with Poppy and friends!

  RONNI ARNO writes books for tweens and teens. In her previous life, she worked as a publicist in Hollywood, ran a nonprofit organization, and taught yoga to children. She now lives on the coast of Maine with her family, where she kayaks, eats chocolate, and stalks her kids for story ideas.

  IF YOU LOVED DEAR POPPY, YOU’LL LOVE RUBY REINVENTED.

  ALADDIN • SIMON & SCHUSTER, NEW YORK

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  ALSO BY RONNI ARNO

  Ruby Reinvented

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALADDIN M!X

  Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

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  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  First Aladdin M!X edition October 2016

  Text copyright © 2016 by Ronni Arno Blaisdell

  Cover illustration copyright © 2016 by Stevie Lewis

  Also available in an Aladdin hardcover edition.

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  Cover designed by Karina Granda

  Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia

  The text of this book was set in MrsEaves.

  Library of Congress Control Number 2016939155

  ISBN 978-1-4814-3760-8 (hc)

  ISBN 978-1-4814-3759-2 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-1-4814-3761-5 (eBook)