Popo’s smile faded. “I’m not sure I’ve got the full story, yet. I couldn’t get hold of Cari until this morning. Something about a camp in Fresno? Or Mendocino?”
“He ran away!” Daphne yelped. “We had no idea where he was! I had to spend hours tracking him down!”
“Julian, why don’t you go upstairs and get your things,” Popo said. “We can straighten this all out later.”
It took a moment for it to dawn on Julian that his confinement was over. He brushed past his aunt and ran up the staircase two steps at a time, as behind him, Daphne’s voice wheeled higher and higher. In his room, Julian quickly stuffed his clothes into his duffel bag. He took his toothbrush from the bathroom and jammed a couple of books into his backpack. As he started down the hall, he had the nagging sensation that he was forgetting something. He came to a sudden stop, turned around, and ran back to Preston’s room.
Preston was sitting at his desk, drawing sea creatures.
“I’m going home,” Julian said softly. “Popo, my grandmother, came to get me.” He looked at Preston’s picture. “An angler fish,” he said. “Very cool . . .”
Preston looked up from his drawing, disappointed. “I thought you were staying here.”
“Well, better with Popo than stuck in my room,” Julian said. “She’s waiting. I’ll see you soon, OK? I promise.”
“How can I talk to you?” Preston said sadly. “If I do get a million dollars, how will you know?”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Julian said. “Don’t forget, you’re my number one cousin.” He passed his hand over Preston’s soft, blond hair. “I’ve really gotta go. Take care.”
Downstairs, Sibley had joined Daphne, creating a barricade to the door. Julian could just make out the purple of Popo’s scarf behind them.
“Eleanor,” his uncle was saying. “I see you finally made it back from D.C. Was it a profitable trip?”
“For me, yes. But, of course, how you measure profit depends on what you value.”
“Ancient Chinese wisdom?” said his uncle with a fake chuckle.
“I’m getting old, I admit, but not quite ancient. At least not yet.” She caught Julian’s eye through the doorway. “You’re ready?”
“Julian has a little unfinished business with us, as I already informed you,” Sibley said, his eyes flat. “He’s not leaving here until we get an apology. He put Daphne through hell.”
“Hmmm,” said Popo. “From what Daphne tells me, it seems as though Julian’s been through quite a bit as well. I don’t know what Cari would think.”
“Well, since his mother is wandering around China right now,” Daphne said, “her opinions are not really our greatest concern.”
“I think it’s time we were going,” Popo said. She gave Julian a nod, and he ducked under Sibley’s arm and stood next to her.
“If he leaves now,” Daphne shrieked, “that’s it! Next time Cari wants to go traipsing around the world, tell her she’s on her own!”
Popo drew herself up to her full height and looked Daphne in the eye. “I don’t even know how to begin to respond to that,” she said. Then, without another word, she turned and marched down the steps.
As Julian followed Popo down the sidewalk, he felt a surge of energy flow through his body. It was like eating a candy bar on an empty stomach. Not an hour ago, he’d been locked in a solitary room, mute and powerless. Now he felt the rush of freedom.
He climbed into Popo’s little blue Toyota and they rode in silence past the monumental homes that lined the streets of Pacific Heights. Finally, Julian asked, “When did you get back?”
“Just this morning. I had to stop in at the Chronicle office downtown for a meeting.” She came to a stop sign and waved the other driver through. “And I finally got through to your mother. She’d left me a few messages.”
“Oh.” Julian started picking at the hole in the knee of his pants.
“She seemed to think you needed to get away from Sibley’s as soon as possible.”
They drove west down Geary Boulevard, the stores and shop fronts gradually giving way to pastel–colored houses. When they turned down his street, Julian could see the white waves breaking on Ocean Beach. They pulled up in front of his shingled gray house.
While Popo prepared the tea, Julian walked from room to room, taking a quick survey of home. From the living–room walls, his mother’s masks leered down at him. Everything was in disarray. There were dirty cups in the sink and a vase of dead roses drooped on the dining–room table. His mom must have left in a hurry.
Julian stopped in the hallway and stared at the three black–and–white pictures lining the wall. The first was of his mother when she was about his age, sitting on a park bench in a raincoat. She wore her hair in two long pigtails and she was smiling and leaning her head against the shoulder of a man with sad eyes and a kind face. Julian knew this man was his grandfather, who had died when his mother was a teenager. In the second picture, his mother’s face looked slightly puffy and she wore a sleepy smile. Up against her shoulder, she held a naked infant with a shock of black hair—him. The third picture was of his father, handsome and laughing, his head thrown back, holding a young Julian in his arms.
“I bought this tea in a tea shop in Washington,” his grandmother called from the kitchen. “It was very expensive. It’s supposed to be good for your memory.”
It was disorienting to see Popo standing at the counter instead of his mother. She poured him a cup of tea from a pumpkin–shaped teapot.
“This may turn out to be a good thing in the end,” she said, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it. “The trip to Washington wore me out. And now we’ll have time to catch up.” She poured herself a cup of tea and sat down across from him. “Where should we start?”
Julian shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“To begin with, would you like to tell me why you ran away from Sibley’s?” Popo had removed her purple scarf, and with her loose black T–shirt and short hair, she looked like a solemn little monk.
Julian took a sip of the tea. It smelled like earth and honey. Where did his story begin? “Well, Sibley wanted to send me away,” he said. “He was sending me to math camp. I mean, he never even asked me about it. And it was in Fresno. For four weeks!”
Popo frowned sympathetically.
“And so, I kind of knew this girl named Robin. And her family had this exchange program in Mendocino County and she said I should come up. At first I wasn’t going to, but Danny said it would work. Well . . . it wasn’t his fault. I just thought it would be better than math camp. And we thought Sibley wouldn’t even know.”
“You were planning to come back after the four weeks?”
Julian nodded.
“And how did you ‘kind of know’ this girl, Robin?” Popo asked.
Julian thought he’d been very smooth in glossing over that point, and the question drew him up short. He remembered, with discomfort, that his grandmother was a newspaper reporter.
“Your mother didn’t think you would run away from Sibley’s without a very good reason,” Popo finally said.
“How about, they hated me?” Julian said. All week, he’d kept his excuses for running away dammed up in his mind, and now they burst out uncontrollably. “How about, they hated my dad? And said stupid things about Mom? How about, they couldn’t wait to get rid of me? How about, they were sending me to math camp?”
Popo took another sip of tea. “What makes you think they hated your father?”
“I don’t just think it,” Julian said angrily. “It’s true.”
Popo just looked at him.
“I was sick,” he began, “and Sibley sent a taxi to pick me up at school.” It all felt like a million years ago. “But then he had to go to a meeting and I fell asleep. When I woke up, I found this e–mail Sibley wrote.” He took a deep breath. “He said they were sending me away. That I was rude and sullen. Just like my father.”
Julian felt his v
oice starting to quaver and he bit his lip. His grandmother looked at him gravely. “I didn’t know your father as well as I should have,” she began. “But he certainly wasn’t rude. Or sullen. Not that I saw, at least.” She had a faraway look in her eyes. “He was very good–looking. Very charming. And, of course, he was very young. He wasn’t even thirty when he died.” She looked away. “It broke your mother’s heart.”
Julian felt his eyes fill up with tears and he tried not to blink, but it was too late. His grandmother’s words had released something inside him. A tear slid down his cheek and he wiped it roughly with the sleeve of his T–shirt. He took another sip of tea.
“And Mom,” he said, staring down at his saucer, his voice still shaking. “Sibley wrote stuff about her too. You could tell he didn’t like her.” He blinked and a tear dripped off his cheek and plopped onto the saucer. Julian smiled and sniffed hard.
Popo handed him a tissue. “Sometimes, it’s better not to pry. Whatever Sibley wrote wasn’t intended for you.”
“There was another e–mail too,” Julian said quickly. “From this girl.” And, haltingly, Julian began. He told her about Robin’s e–mail and about the Plan, about Huckleberry Ranch, about Big Tree Grove and the morning that Deputy Sheriff Ralph O’Brian and Daphne had arrived. He reported briefly on his days in solitary confinement. The only part he left out was Operation Redwood, because that was a secret and because it probably wouldn’t happen anyway.
Popo listened intently, speaking only to clarify something he’d said or ask him if he wanted more tea. When he told her about Danny’s message on the answering machine, she raised her eyebrows and laughed.
When he was finished, she said, “You’ve had quite an adventure. You are a very enterprising young man. It’s good to be adventurous and enterprising.” Then she added, “However, you should never go visit strangers that you meet by e–mail.”
“I know, Popo.”
“Something terrible could have happened. Also, you shouldn’t disappear without telling people where you’re going.”
“Danny knew. And I couldn’t tell Sibley and Daphne!”
“Well,” she said, taking a small sip of tea. “At least you’re safe.” She searched his face again and smiled, her eyes crinkling happily in the corners. “I took a few weeks off from work. Maybe your mom will be back by then. Or you can come and stay with me in Sacramento.”
Ever since Popo appeared at the door, an idea had been forming in the back of Julian’s mind. “Popo,” he said. “We were supposed to go back to Huckleberry Ranch in August. Danny and me. At least, before the sheriff came. I don’t know if her parents will still let me, but if they said it was OK, could I go?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Popo said lightly. “I think there’s been enough excitement for one day.”
They had a late dinner at a restaurant in Japantown. Julian ordered three rolls of cucumber sushi and miso soup, and Popo told him about the museums and beautiful gardens she’d seen in Washington.
It was more time than they’d ever spent alone together before. When his mom and Popo were together, Julian felt like he was watching a play in a language he couldn’t completely understand. There would be a warm greeting and an enthusiastic exchange of news. Then, after a while, usually in the middle of lunch, something would go sour. Julian could never figure out what it was, but he could hear it in their voices. By the time Popo said good–bye, everybody would be relieved.
But now Julian found that he was actually enjoying himself. When they finished eating, Popo poured each of them another cup of tea and said, “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with your uncle. When your mom told me the plan, I thought it might be”—she hesitated—“interesting for you to meet your father’s family.”
Julian shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. And I got to know Preston better.” He wrapped his hands around the warm teacup. “You know, he did this whole report on redwood trees. I gave him the idea, but he did a really good job. He had all these facts and he said if he had a million dollars, he’d use it to protect redwood trees. He’s really nice. Nothing like Sibley and Daphne.”
“Well,” Popo said thoughtfully, “you gave him the idea to study redwoods, and now he cares about redwoods and he knows a lot about them. That’s pretty good. Even with all the news on television and in the papers, a lot of people really don’t know what’s going on. The people who do know—the ones in charge—sometimes they want to keep it that way. They’ll confuse everything, say black is white and white is black.”
“But you’re a journalist, so you tell people the truth. You tell them what’s really going on, right?”
“Well, I try.” She sighed. “But sometimes we’re just shouting in the dark. Shouting as loud as we can, but nobody’s listening.”
“That’s how Robin feels about Big Tree. Here something so terrible’s going to happen. And nobody cares. It’s not even against the law. Did you know that?”
“You know, it’s ironic,” she said. “One of your ancestors, what would it be”—she started counting out on her fingers—“your great–great–great–grandfather actually worked in the logging camps near Mendocino. On the coast, not far from Willits.”
Julian stared at her in amazement. “You’re kidding me.”
“It was my grandmother’s father. He was a cook. There’s still a Chinese temple in Mendocino from the 1850s. A long time ago, cutting down a redwood with a cross–cut saw was a major accomplishment,” Popo said. “People thought there were so many trees, they could never run out.”
“But now they’re almost all gone and they’re still cutting them down.”
“That’s true.” She sighed again. “There was a lot of press coverage of the Headwaters deal, and the government saved thousands of acres of old–growth up in Humboldt County. But not everything. Maybe we should have shouted a little louder.”
Julian lay in bed that night, thinking about what his grandmother had said. Over the years, Popo had occasionally shown him one of her newspaper articles, but they were dull and dense, filled with dry language about politicians and committees. He’d certainly never thought of her as shouting in the articles she wrote. Maybe she should actually shout instead, he thought.
He tried to picture his grandmother shouting, but he couldn’t. The way she had talked to Sibley and Daphne was as fierce as he’d ever seen her. She was fierce but polite, he decided, like a samurai or a knight. He could picture her in one of those Chinese kung–fu movies, brandishing her sword and deflecting bullets with her bracelets. He drifted off to sleep, imagining his grandmother as a Chinese warrior woman, leaping from treetop to treetop.
On the Fourth of July, Julian called Danny and relayed the story of his escape from Sibley’s, which Danny greeted with satisfying hoots of delight. That night, sitting on a cold stone wall overlooking the Bay, the boys watched the firecrackers shoot up into the sky. As the glow of fog changed from blue to pink to green, they raised their cups of hot chocolate and toasted Julian’s liberty.
After the holiday weekend was over and Popo had recovered from her jet lag, she set about cleaning the house. With ferocious energy, she mopped and scrubbed and straightened up piles, sending Julian out to empty trash cans and buy sponges and cleaning supplies.
Julian couldn’t relax with her sweeping under his feet all the time. He decided to reorganize his room as well. He winnowed down his rock collection, filled an entire trash bag with outgrown clothes for Goodwill, and recycled three boxes of old spelling tests and book reports and drawings he no longer liked. Popo bought him a blue comforter to replace the one he’d had since first grade, a matching beanbag chair to read in, and a small blue lamp to put next to it. His room, when he was finished, looked fit for a seventh–grader.
Danny had started journalism camp, but in the evenings his room still functioned as Operation Redwood Headquarters. He relayed the news of Julian’s good fortune to Robin, who wrote back promptly:
“A brat
!” Julian said, looking over Danny’s shoulder at the screen. “They probably wish her aunt would come and drag her away!”
“Yeah. Now they’ll appreciate what an angel you were!” Danny said. “And why should you apologize? You were just trying to help them. Robin’s father should apologize to you for letting Daphne abduct you!”
Julian half agreed with Danny. He hadn’t been running away. Nobody could have guessed that Daphne would track him down like she did.
But if Bob wouldn’t let them back, then they could never do Operation Redwood. And if they didn’t do Operation Redwood, Sibley would never change his mind about Big Tree. It would just be business as usual for IPX.
Unless he could figure out some other way to change Sibley’s mind. After all, Sibley was his uncle. There were a few obstacles—like the fact that Sibley hated him and never wanted to see him again. But think if he somehow succeeded—if he could single–handedly save Big Tree Grove! Then he wouldn’t have to apologize. He could return to Huckleberry Ranch a hero.
All week Julian racked his brains, trying to think up a way to convince Sibley not to log Big Tree, until he imagined his mind must look like one of those computers in space movies, beeping and flashing as it crunched all the data. He thought so much his head hurt, and he still hadn’t come up with a single good idea.
Over the weekend, he biked to Danny’s, hoping he would give him some inspiration, or at least be up for a game of basketball, but Danny was stuck doing a project for journalism camp.
“How did I end up going to a camp that gives homework?” he grumbled. “You were the one who was supposed to be stuck with the overachievers. My mother must be secretly taking lessons from the Evil Ones.”
“Just get it done. Then your brain will be free to help me think.”
“I’m trying! I’m trying! It’s not so easy.”
“Forget the stupid homework, then. Look up ‘saving redwoods,’” Julian said.
Operation Redwood Page 13
