Seaglass Summer

by Anjali Banerjee

  Saundra pops her head in the door. “Daffodil’s here,” she says. She frowns at me.

  Duff motions for me to follow her to the treatment room, where a magnificent golden dog trots back and forth. Her long, wavy hair flutters, and her tail wags like a flag. Daffodil is like the royal, celebrity version of Stu.

  “Here, go for it. Do your styling magic.” Duff holds the dog while I run the comb through her hair—not a single knot, just a few kinks. When I’m finished, Daffodil looks spiffy.

  Saundra calls from up front, “Daffodil’s owner is back to pick her up. Can you walk her up front, please? And, Duff, you have a call on line two.”

  “Hang on a sec.” Duff steps into the hall to answer the phone. I pull the bow from my hair and tie it on top of Daffodil’s head. She looks beautiful now. I grab her leash and trot her into the hall, past Duff, who’s waving her arms at me. I wave back, and when Daffodil and I make our grand entrance in the waiting room, a tall man is standing there in a leather jacket; a red bandanna is around his head, a tattoo on his cheek. He takes one look at the bow on Daffodil’s head and bellows, “What have you done to my dog?”

  Chapter Nine

  THAT SANJAY

  I hide in the kennel room. Stu wanders in and sits next to me, as if he knows I’m upset. He rests a paw in my lap.

  “I messed up with Daffodil and Shopsy,” I tell him, “but I need to keep trying, right?”

  He looks into my eyes. Stu might give me wise advice, if only he could talk.

  “I have to do more than hold puppies. What if I can’t learn to brush a dog?”

  Stu’s tail thumps on the floor. I pet his ears. “You don’t care either way, I know. I wish I could be like you.”

  On the walk home, he sticks close to me. He doesn’t slobber or stop to bury his nose in garbage.

  “My dear niece, don’t worry,” Uncle Sanjay says. “It was your first time at the clinic, nah?”

  “Daffodil’s owner hates me now. He ripped off the bow.” Now I know why Duff was waving her arms in the hall. She was trying to warn me.

  “He doesn’t hate you. He needs to get in touch with his feminine side.” Uncle Sanjay chuckles. We stop to let Stu pee against a mailbox.

  “Doris won’t bring Shopsy to the clinic ever again.”

  Uncle Sanjay waves his arm. “Bah. She says that every time.”

  “Except for the puppies, my first day sucked.”

  “The days will get better, but sometimes you must endure difficulties first. I thought becoming a veterinarian was going to be all fun and games. I pictured Dr. Dolittle surrounded by talking animals. But real life is messy. We see so many sad cases. Sick pets, old pets, some hit by cars. I do my best, but I can’t save all of them. My skills only go so far.”

  “Mine too. Mine don’t go anywhere.”

  “You’ll keep learning. What matters is what you begin to know about yourself.”

  I’m not sure I’ve learned anything.

  When we get back to the cabin, Uncle Sanjay boils water for tea, and just as the kettle starts to whistle, my parents call. Mom’s voice, eight thousand miles away, echoes across the wide ocean. “Poppy, how are you? We’re staying with my parents. We’ve also seen your dad’s ma and a few of your aunts and uncles. They send their love. They miss you.”

  “I miss them, too.” I wrap the long telephone cord around my wrist.

  “Wish you were here, sweetie. How was your first day with Uncle Sanjay?”

  I want to tell her about the worms in jars and my disasters with Shopsy and Daffodil. But I tell her only the good stuff. “Two litters of puppies came in. Nineteen of them! My day was amazing. I’m so glad I came here.”

  Uncle Sanjay hands me a cup of tea, his eyebrows raised. I give him a woeful smile.

  “I’m sneezing just thinking about all that fur,” Mom says. “But I’m glad your visit is going so well. Have you heard from Emma and Anna?”

  “They don’t have cell phones at camp,” I say.

  “Are you making new friends on the island?”

  “I’ve only been here one day!”

  “Seems we’ve been away from you forever. Hold on, your grandpa wants to talk to you. Bye for now, sweetie. Love you!”

  A moment later, my grandfather’s deep, gruff voice comes on the line. “Poppy, why aren’t you here with us? Why are you staying with that Sanjay?”

  “I miss you, too, Dadu.” I’ve always called him that, the Bengali word for a grandfather on the mother’s side of the family. “How are you?”

  “My feet are paining, and my heart is weak. If that Sanjay had become a surgeon, he could’ve taken care of my heart. But he insisted on working with cows and goats—”

  “Mostly dogs and cats. He’s a great doctor.”

  My grandfather harrumphs. “Don’t get bitten by one of those wild beasts. You don’t want to come down with rabies.”

  “I don’t have to worry about that here—”

  “Next time, you come to India, nah? Everyone sends their love. Let me speak to that son of mine.”

  I hand the phone to Uncle Sanjay. He listens, murmurs, and says “yes” a few times. “Give everyone our love,” he says. When he hangs up, he’s quiet. Then he rubs his forehead. “Ah, family. I miss them.”

  “Me too.” I miss Mom’s clinking bangles. I miss Dad calling me Poppykins.

  Uncle Sanjay comes over and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Come, let’s forget our worries and have a little fun. Would you like to go to a festival? We still have time. The evening is young.”

  Chapter Ten

  EVERYTHING LAVENDER

  At eight o’clock, the sky is still bright, as if it’s only late afternoon. Uncle Sanjay drives me through town to a special “surprise” festival. I bring ten dollars in my purse.

  “Don’t tell your ma and dad that I’m taking you out so late.” He winks at me. “We have long days here in July. We’re so far north, nah? We have light in the evenings and time to go to the fair.”

  “Is there a roller coaster? A Ferris wheel?” I grab the door handle as the truck sputters over bumps. Stu keeps farting. His breath smells like rotting seaweed.

  “It’s not that kind of fair.” Uncle Sanjay adjusts the broken rearview mirror, which tilts downward, giving him a view of Stu’s rear end. “No rides and such, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself. It’s a special annual island festival, happens every July.”

  “What’s there? Is it like the Santa Monica Pier? My friends and I like to ride the carousel. There’s a juggler on stilts—”

  “You’ll see.” Uncle Sanjay is driving out of town now, where the hills rise and fall and roll away in bright green and pink and blue. A sweet, perfumy scent rises through the air.

  Uncle Sanjay turns down a dirt road and parks in a clearing with about a hundred other cars. Stu leaps around, wagging his tail and whining.

  “We have to walk through the woods to the farm area,” Uncle Sanjay says.

  “We’re going to a farm festival?”

  The gravel trail goes on through the woods forever. The forest is beautiful, though, with the fading evening sunlight sprinkling down through the leaves, moss creeping through the shade, and flitting sparrows. Stu’s happy enough to chase birds, keep his nose to the ground, and sometimes chew on a rock. Stu is always hungry. I bet he sees the world as food. Tree bark = food. Rocks = food. Dirt = food.

  As we walk, we see people strolling in the opposite direction, toward the parking area. Some carry bags; some are licking ice cream cones; and others are carrying foldup chairs. My heart starts to beat a little faster.

  “Sometimes I walk here, when I need to get away,” Uncle Sanjay says. “My work can become quite stressful. The forest helps me relax.”

  “When I get upset, I sit in my closet,” I say. “I have a lot of space in there. It’s quiet, too. I bring my flashlight and read.”

  Uncle Sanjay takes my hand. “You and I are alike. We both need a sanctuary.”

&nbs
p; I never thought of that before, but it’s true. From our house on a hill in Santa Monica, I can hear the loud rush of traffic. But in my closet, the sound fades to a murmur.

  “Here we are,” Uncle Sanjay says.

  All of a sudden, the trees come to a dead stop. We’re standing at the edge of a crowded field full of white tents. A big sign reads LAVENDER FESTIVAL.

  “A flower festival?” My mouth drops open.

  “Lavender is much more than a flower, my dear niece!” Uncle Sanjay leads me down the first aisle of tents. He keeps Stu close on a leash. We stop at a booth full of lavender soap and lotion and potpourri.

  “Come here, honey, and I’ll give you a sample.” A lady dressed all in pink slaps lotion on my hand, sprays perfume on my cheek. I buy lavender soap for Mom and walk away in a cloud of scent. A bee buzzes by and brushes my hair. Stu’s nose works a mile a minute in my direction.

  At another booth, I try on a hat made of lavender stalks—and I buy a lavender candle. We even buy lavender dog biscuits for Stu. He inhales them all in one gulp, and he tries to eat my lavender shortbread cookies, too, but Uncle Sanjay stops him.

  “These taste … purple,” I say, but I can’t stop eating them. I sample all the lavender foods—jam and jelly and honey mustard and chutney. I buy a jar of chutney for Dad and two bottles of chocolate sauce for Emma and Anna. I can’t wait to tell them about the festival, about the man on a stage giving a talk about—you guessed it—lavender. I learn that there are thirty-nine species of lavender plants in the mint family, and that lavender is used to keep moths away, and as medicine and tea, and for healing wounds. There’s even lavender ice cream; the flavor is like flower honey.

  Uncle Sanjay strides ahead to a booth and leans over to talk to the woman sitting behind the table. She reminds me of a mermaid—white skin with a flush of pink, and long red hair that floats down past her shoulders. She’s wearing a necklace made of tiny chunks of green seaglass. Her eyes are the greenish blue of the sea, and I half expect her legs to be made of fish scales and fins, but her ankles stick out of a gauzy green dress, and she’s wearing sandals on her narrow feet.

  “Francine and Droopy are looking forward to seeing you tomorrow,” she says to Uncle Sanjay. Her voice is soft. She hands him a lavender silk eye pillow.

  “Tomorrow is it?” Uncle Sanjay sounds surprised. He turns the lavender pillow over and over in his hands. “Are they all right?”

  “Francine has a bit of an eye infection.”

  “Bulldogs are prone to skin and eye problems.” Uncle Sanjay sniffs the eye pillow and puts it gently on the table.

  The lady smiles at me. I can’t move. I wonder if she’s casting a mermaid spell. “Who’s this young lady? I see the family resemblance. Is she your daughter, Doc? Are you keeping something from me?”

  “This is Poppy, my dear niece visiting from California. My sister’s daughter.”

  “Ah.” The lady takes my hand. Her mouth stays open after the “ah,” and she squeezes my fingers. “I’m Toni Babinsky. You look worried, Poppy. I can tell when someone is troubled, or uncertain—furry or human.”

  “I’m perfectly okay.” I pull my fingers out of Toni’s grip.

  She hands me a miniature purple pillow, the size of a quarter. “Lavender sachet,” she says. “In a time of stress, take a whiff. It has a calming effect.”

  I press my nose to the fabric and breathe in the strong, sweet scent. “Can I keep this? How much is it?”

  “No charge. You’ll need it.”

  “Thank you,” I say politely. How does she know I’ll need it?

  Chapter Eleven

  TWO DOGS AND A PSYCHIC

  First thing in the morning, I accidentally step in poodle pee and track it around the clinic. Saundra glares at me, but Hawk comes to my rescue and mops the floor. I wash the bottom of my shoe with antiseptic soap.

  My second day is just great so far.

  Toni Babinsky comes in at ten o’clock. She sits on the bench in the exam room, two dogs at her feet. She’s wearing a long blue dress that ripples and shifts in waves, and a matching seaglass necklace. The bulldog, Francine, is snorting and sniffing. Droopy, a skinny brown mutt, cringes in the corner. Francine has a wrinkly face, a stocky body, and two long bottom teeth that stick out. She flops onto her back, right on my foot, her stubby tail thumping.

  Duff comes in and raises her eyebrows at me but doesn’t kick me out. “Hello, Toni!” she says cheerily. “What’s new since your last visit?”

  “Francine has gained weight, I’m afraid.”

  Duff hauls Francine onto the floor scale, but Francine keeps flopping over to be petted.

  Toni smiles. “She’s a handful, isn’t she?”

  Francine rolls off the scale, and Duff gets up to write in the chart. Her cheeks are flushed. She puffs from the effort of hauling Francine. “She’s good and, uh, solid. I see Droopy came along for the ride again. He’s not on the schedule for an exam.”

  “The two are inseparable.” Toni smooths her silky blue dress, which is covered in tiny brown dog hairs. “Wherever Francine goes, Droopy goes. Brother and sister.”

  They don’t look anything alike.

  “How’s Francine holding up?” Duff asks.

  Toni rattles off Francine’s problems—eye infection, bad breath. “I wipe down her wrinkles with tissue, but I don’t scrub them. Her skin is too sensitive.”

  Duff scribbles in Francine’s chart. “Doc can give you more eyedrops for her.”

  “He’s the best.” Toni rummages in her purse, then pouts. “I forgot my wallet. I took it out when I switched purses this morning….”

  Duff blushes. “Doc will work it out, like always. He’s running behind, but he’ll be with you soon.” She slips out.

  Toni sits back on the bench, crosses her legs, and smiles at me. “I still see trouble, honey. You got your lavender sachet?”

  “I left it in my bedroom today. Smells like perfume in there now.” I sit beside her, my hands clasped in my lap. “Are you psychic?”

  “I rescue animals. I can tell when they’re disturbed. Same goes for people. I’m a nurse up at Nisqually Island Retirement Center. I know when the residents are in distress, and I see that you’re in distress, too.”

  “I’ve always wanted to be a vet like my uncle, but things aren’t going too well.”

  She leans in toward me and lowers her voice. “Doc and I, we’re friends. You know what he told me? Things didn’t go so well for him at first, either. He’s such a caring man. Too bad his father never understood….”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His dad wanted him to be a surgeon, or an engineer. Veterinarians are not well respected in India. Your uncle told me so. That’s partly why he came here. His father wouldn’t talk to him for a while after he started veterinary school—”

  “But Uncle Sanjay didn’t tell me all this.”

  “He doesn’t want to tarnish your dream. He had many bumps in the road to becoming an animal doctor.”

  I want to hug Uncle Sanjay. I’m glad he didn’t listen to his father. Now I understand what Dadu meant when he said, If that Sanjay had become a surgeon, he could’ve taken care of my heart. “My parents say I can be anything I want.”

  “Good thing, but even here, doctors like your uncle don’t always get the respect they deserve. Your uncle is a very determined man. He forges ahead because he loves what he does. He had to learn about many species in school, not just one. Dogs, cats, horses, cows, pigs—”

  “I want to learn about all those species, too.”

  “Maybe you will, honey. The universe has a plan for you.”

  “A plan? Like what?”

  “I won’t know unless I read your soul. I dabble in the spiritual arts. I could do a reading for you tonight, around seven?”

  I nod, my heart beating faster. “How do you do a reading?”

  She laughs. “First, I meditate and communicate with the spirits. I receive information clairvoyantly, in the
form of visions. Clairsentiently, through feelings, and clairaudiently, through sounds. Clairolfactorily, through smells.”

  “How did you learn all that?”

  “I started when I was twelve, after I shoplifted a pack of tarot cards.”

  “You stole?” My mouth drops open.

  Francine snorts, and Toni nervously brushes the dog hairs off her dress. “Not my proudest moment, but I wasn’t allowed to have those cards. My parents thought I was possessed by the devil. I was actually channeling spirits of long-dead loved ones and transcendent beings.”

  Uncle Sanjay comes in. “Sorry for the delay.” He flips through Francine’s chart. “How’s my favorite bulldog today?”

  Even though my uncle looks like he just walked past a fan, even though his hair sticks out wildly and he needs to clean his glasses, he looks strong and wise. He didn’t give up, no matter what anyone said. He traveled halfway across the world to follow his dream.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE READING

  “You’re going where?” Dad says on the phone. The line is full of static.

  “To see a psychic!” I shout with my mouth full. We’re in the middle of supper. I’m scarfing down my curried tofu. It’s nearly six-thirty.

  “What’s that uncle of yours up to?” Dad sounds worried.

  “Nothing. I’m just getting a reading.”

  Mom comes on the phone. “We saw some cousins yesterday. Your auntie makes the best mishti doi. Such smooth, sweet yogurt. Delicious. Dad couldn’t stop eating. I’ll try to make some when we get home. Are you all right?”

  My mouth waters for mishti doi. “Everything’s great. I’m going to see a psychic who hears the universe clairaudiently.”

  “Clair-what? Poppy, what’s going on there?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m about to discover my inner self.”

  “Your what?”

  “Stu! No!” Stu is trying to steal tofu off my plate. “The universe has a plan for me.”

  Mom sighs. “Put Uncle Sanjay on, will you?”

  I hand him the phone. He nods, listening, then says, “She’s doing all right. Dropped her suitcase. Yes, yes. Long story. Her veterinarian kit was ruined. Clothes needed washing. I bought her some island gear.”