by Holly Jacobs
“Do you think she’ll mind me just making myself at home?”
“She’s waited for you every day of your life. She gave me an Irish name because of yours. Siobhan and Fiona. We sound like sisters, don’t we? Siobhan and Fiona.” She said our names together as if she’d practiced them before.
I realized that she’d known about me her whole life. I felt bad about missing out on hers. A big sister should be there for a little one. And yet, Fiona was the one offering me comfort and support.
As if on cue, she added, “Mom loves you. She won’t mind. She’ll love it.”
I nodded. I picked up my coffee cup and we walked toward the house. Fiona stopped. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.
“What?”
“There was a different bird call. Not a robin or sparrow. I’ll tell Mom. We’ll watch for it. She wrote Fiona and the Magic Feather for me, ’cause I loved birds so much.”
With a different cadence to her voice, she said,
Fiona heard a call that she’d never heard before and ran to the feeder. She saw a feather resting on the ground. It was a very large feather. Blue and green and brown and black. The colors seemed to glow. She understood it was a very special gift . . . she was little enough to know magic when she saw it. Grownups were often too busy with the real world to notice that magic was real and that it was all around them.
I realized she was quoting the book.
“I believe in magic,” she said. “I always believed you’d come home, and here you are. Magic.” She opened the back door into the house.
I followed her in. “That must be so exciting to see your name in a book.”
“It is.” Fiona gave me a look that again was far too old for a nine-year-old. “But you know she wrote everything for you.”
“I know. For Amanda,” I said as we entered the kitchen. The sink and counter were filled with the remnants of last night’s dinner dishes. I thought about Piper, making me a dinner despite the fact that food made her nauseous. It might be presumptuous to make myself at home, but I could at least get this cleaned up for her.
“Yeah, and—oh, you only read the older books. Hold on.” She tore out of the kitchen and was back a few seconds later. “Here.” She handed me a book called The Naming of Things. “This is one she wrote before I was born.”
“To Siobhan . . . and Ned. You are my heart.”
My hand trembled as I read the words. Piper had changed her dedications. She’d used my real name.
“And this one is after I was born.” Fiona handed me another one. “For Ned, Siobhan, and my little Fiona.”
“You have always been part of our family,” Fiona told me. “Even before you knew us.”
Fiona walked over to the pantry as if what she’d shown me was no big deal. I stood another moment, my finger tracing the letters of the dedication.
I felt another stab of guilt that I’d waited so long to come find Piper. And Ned and Fiona, too.
“I like to feed her healthy stuff,” Fiona said.
I set the book aside as my sister and I—I realized I liked thinking that, my sister and I—made steel-cut oatmeal and finished cleaning the kitchen while it cooked.
When the last dish was put away, I said, “Why don’t you go get a brush. I’ll show you a braid my friend Jaylin used to do on my hair.”
“Cool. Then we can make some fruit salad.” Fiona dashed from the room almost silently. That she could move so quietly didn’t surprise me, I realized. She’d had a lot of practice as she tried not to disturb Piper.
Piper came down half an hour later and smiled when she saw me and Fiona sitting at the table, Fiona’s new braid in place.
She ran her finger across Fiona’s woven hair and said, “Beautiful.”
“Siobhan did it. Her friend Jaylin used to do her hair like this. She’s got lots of hair like we do. She says it’s called a fishtail, but her and Jaylin always called it a Canadian braid ’cause Jaylin learned to do it from some Canadian girls at school. And when you got this much hair, a braid is always good.”
“It is,” Piper agreed and then added, “You cleaned the kitchen.”
“Yep,” Fiona said, willingly carrying the conversation. “Me and my sister are a good team.”
Fiona bound from her chair and pulled out the one next to hers. “Sit down. Me and Siobhan made breakfast for you. She gets up early like me, and we were in the garden. I heard some new bird, so maybe later we can go out and see if we can spot it. Did you know a group of seagulls is a squabble?”
Piper sat down at the table. “No, I didn’t.”
I felt awkward and intrusive, though I already knew that Piper would deny both. “I hope you don’t mind. Fiona thought—”
“This is your home, Siobhan,” Piper said simply, though there was nothing simple about meeting her, meeting all of them.
Piper managed a few bites of her oatmeal. I think she only managed that much for Fiona’s sake. I could see that it was taxing. She didn’t look like someone who’d just gotten out of bed. She looked exhausted.
“Can I get you something?” I asked softly as Fiona ran to get her a bowl of fruit salad.
“Maybe you should go get Ned. I think there’s a chance I need to get to the doctor’s. I think I’m running a bit of a fever.”
“Hey, Fiona, would you go ask your dad to come down?” I called.
Fiona looked at me, then Piper, and then bolted from the room without saying a word.
“I’m so sorry,” Piper said. “You’re finally here. All I want to do is sit somewhere quiet and pepper you with questions. I want to know about your childhood, what you do now. I want to know about your best friend. Instead—”
“We’ll have time, Piper,” I promised her and maybe myself. “I have questions, too.”
“I tried to answer most of them in the journal. I wanted to be sure that whenever you came to find me there was something for you. I’m glad I wrote it. If something should happen to me—”
“Don’t talk like that.” I’d just met Piper, but already the thought of a world without her in it hurt.
She patted my hand, trying to give me comfort. “Honey, everyone dies someday. I want you to know that I never forgot you. I might have given you to your parents, but I built a life around you. You were always loved.”
I wanted to tell her that I loved her, too. But I didn’t know her well enough for that. I could tell her I wanted to love her and yet was afraid to love her.
“I—” I didn’t have time to say anything. Ned and Fiona rushed into the room. He took one look at Piper and simply picked up the phone and called the doctor.
“We’re going to meet him at the hospital,” he said when he’d hung up.
“I don’t want—”
I took Piper’s hand and squeezed it. “We’ll have time. Go see the doctor.”
Then an idea occurred to me. “Why don’t I take Fiona? I mean, I understand if you’d prefer she go with someone else. You hardly know me.”
“She’s your sister,” Piper said. In her expression I could see how formidable she must have been before she got sick. “Of course you can take her for the day.”
I wanted to argue against this basic trust she put in me. I knew I was trustworthy, but how could she?
“I checked you out, remember?” Ned said, answering my unasked question.
I nodded. “She mentioned wanting to see some birds on the peninsula. I thought we’d make a day of it.”
“Thank you. I wish I could be there,” Piper said. “I want—”
“We’ll have days,” I promised her again. “Many days. A lifetime of days,” I said, willing it to be true.
She nodded, accepting my words as truth, even though neither of us could know if they were.
“I love you,” she said, as Ned led her from the kitchen.
Chapter Four
Susan walked down the beach, leaving the lifeguards and swimmers behind her. Slowly the sand gave way to rocky sand and finally to ju
st rocks. And the sounds of radios and children screaming gave way to the sounds of the waves and an occasional seagull.
She turned the bend, sat on a giant boulder, and stared out at the lake, her feet resting on a huge piece of driftwood.
THE GREAT LAKE. She thought the words in all caps because from where she sat, Lake Erie felt as big as an ocean. And because it seemed so big, she felt dwarfed by it. Small. And suddenly so did all her problems.
They felt smaller and more manageable.
All she had to do was sit here, alone at the water’s edge, and watch the waves and the seagulls. She didn’t have to worry about—
“Hi, Susan.”
She turned, and he smiled at her as he sat down next to her. So much for not worrying.
—Susan’s Summer, by Pip
We saw Ned and Piper out to the car, and then Fiona and I cleaned up the breakfast dishes. Her optimism seemed to deflate as her mother left.
“It’s happened before. Lots of times,” she said. “She gets sick so easy. But she always gets better.”
I could almost hear her think until one day when she won’t. I could almost hear it because I felt the same way.
I went next door and Logan was up. “I wondered where you went to,” he said with a smile that slipped as he studied me. “What happened?”
“Piper’s sick. Ned’s taking her to the hospital to meet the doctor, so I’m taking Fiona to the peninsula for the day. Want to come?”
I glossed over Piper being sick because I didn’t want Logan to worry. He hadn’t seen her, but I had. And I was worried enough for the both of us.
He gave me a look. An intense sort of look.
It was as if he could see what I was thinking. It was as if he could see the whirling emotions that I couldn’t seem to slow or even begin to sort out. But he looked as if he could. So he didn’t press and ask me more about Piper. He simply said, “My shift doesn’t start until seven tonight, so sure, if you don’t mind me intruding.”
“You wouldn’t be. Fiona seems happy to get to know me, but still, I’m a stranger. I think she’ll be more comfortable having someone familiar along.”
Logan snorted. “Fiona has never met a stranger, and even if she had, you wouldn’t be one. You’ve been part of her life for as long as she can remember. Not just the birthday parties. I babysat for her sometimes, and she says her prayers every night. You’re always in them. It sounds like a simple thing but it’s not. Every night, she thought about you and hoped you were happy. That’s pretty powerful. So, no, you’re not a stranger to Fiona. But, yes, I’d love to tag along. Let me go get changed.” He left and went back up the stairs.
I started to go as well, but the chest that was still under the window caught my eye. I walked over and ran my hand over the top, tracing the faded lettering T. P. E.
I thought about opening it but didn’t. I wasn’t sure why, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I was curious about what Piper had put in it. I’d read the excerpt of the journal that Ned had given me. What other stories had she told me in it?
I turned away from the chest and hurried upstairs to get ready. I didn’t bother to put a bathing suit on. It was too late in the season for me to want to swim. But I grabbed a towel and wore some capris I could easily cuff.
Logan came down in shorts, an Mercyhurst University T-shirt, and a small sports bag thrown over his shoulder.
“Want me to drive?” he asked. “I know the way.”
“Thanks. If you do, I won’t need my GPS then.” Fiona was out front in shorts and a T-shirt that read Fi Fly Flo and had a picture of a unicorn on it. I wondered if she’d chosen the shirt to feel closer to Piper. I didn’t ask, but I did tug at her braid. “Logan said he’d drive since he knows the way.”
“Great!”
Fiona was a mini-encyclopedia of knowledge. She spent the drive telling us that Presque Isle peninsula was once the home of the Eriez Nation. It was defeated by the Iroquois , but the name stuck to the lake and the city. The Eriez had a legend of the Sheltering Arm of the Great Spirit, who they believed sent them to the peninsula for the abundant wildlife, the clean water, and the cool summer breezes.
She said that there was a chance we’d see some migratory birds today. The peninsula was a frequent stop for many of them. “Maybe we’ll see some eagles or osprey,” she said in a tone that most kids would use about Christmas.
“She likes birds,” Logan said as he drove past a local amusement park. I could see a huge Ferris wheel, and then we passed under a section of rollercoaster track. “I remember coming to Waldameer when I was a girl,” I said. “But I don’t remember the rollercoaster coming out over the road.”
“It used to, but then they tore it down years ago,” Logan said. “The park just put it back a few years ago. I haven’t ridden in it yet. Too bad the park’s closed for the season or we’d stop.”
“We’ll go in the spring,” Fiona said. “Logan’ll be here because of school, and you’re gonna come visit a lot, right?”
“Yes,” I assured her. “It’s not too bad a drive. I’ll come visit so much you’ll get sick of me.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I waited my whole life for you. I won’t get sick of you.”
Her words reminded me of what Logan had said. “You’re my sister, Fiona. Even when I go home, you can always call me, and we can Skype.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Really,” I assured her.
That seemed to satisfy her. She went back to her running history of the park. She had the same sense of wonder and excitement of a tour guide.
She made us drive out to the end of the peninsula and loop around to Beach 11. “It’s shallow like forever here,” she explained.
She ran out on to the beach, threw her bag down, stripped off her shoes, and raced down to the water. She was up to her knees before Logan and I had made it to her bag.
“Come on in,” she called.
“I’ll come stick a toe in,” I called back. “But I don’t think I’m doing much more than that.”
“Me, too,” Logan echoed.
We stood in ankle-deep water and watched Fiona as she cavorted in the shallows.
“She seems to be doing okay,” I marveled. “I can’t help worrying about Piper.”
“Fi’s grown up with Ms. Pip’s illness. She wasn’t even in school when it all started. This is normal for her.”
“It’s not fair,” I whispered.
“I’ve spent the last few years working at clinics all over the world. I’ve seen so much . . . ,” he paused and his voice was shaky as he continued. “There’s so much need, Siobhan. I could work the rest of my life and never make a dent in the need that’s out there. I said as much to Ms. Pip one day. I felt like I was tossing tiny pebbles into the ocean during a storm. The water’s already churning so much the pebble doesn’t make even the tiniest of a ripple. You know what she said?”
“What?”
“No one person can ever fix all the world’s hurts. All we can do is our best to change our corner of it. She said that’s what she does with Amanda’s Pantry and even with her books.” His voice changed, and he quoted her.
I mean, I realize my little stories won’t end world hunger, but maybe for a few minutes, someone who’s hurting is comforted. Maybe someone who’s sad smiles or even laughs. And even if a sad part in my book makes a reader cry, maybe that’s cathartic. Maybe they don’t feel quite as alone. And maybe that’s enough.
“I never thought about things like that,” I said. I remembered reading Piper’s books when I was growing up. I felt connected to her characters, like they knew me; like they understood what I was going through.
Logan laughed. “Yeah, making you think is something she’s good at. She asked me something about what if everyone tossed their own pebble into the sea in some way? Then she said she thought maybe life would be a whole lot sweeter. So, that’s what I do. Wherever I’m at, I just try to toss my pebble into the ocean. Life will never be fair
, but we can all try to make our corner of it a bit better. You’re doing that today for Fiona.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I said. Fiona reached into the water and held up something I couldn’t make out.
“Beach glass,” Logan filled in for me. “And you are doing something. You’re here with her. Spending a day with her. She’s waited to meet you for so long, you being here is making things easier.”
“Shove, come in,” Fiona said.
“Ban,” I corrected. “If you’re going to shorten my name, Ban’s much better than Shove.”
She laughed as I reached down and cuffed my pants and waded farther into the water.
“Are you coming?” I called to Logan.
“Go ahead and bond with your sister. I’m going to catch a catnap.”
“Ban,” Fiona called, trying my nickname on for size. “Why that?”
“Think about how my name is spelled. A teacher pronounced it Ceo-ban. The ban part stuck.”
“I like it,” she said. “Ban. Okay. Fi and Ban. Mom can write a book for us when she’s better. She’ll . . .”
She went on, deciding that Ban, being Irish, was Fi’s best friend. And she wove book-worthy adventures for them as we walked down the beach. “Watch for beach glass,” she instructed.
Logan, good to his word, had spread out a towel and lain down on it. He seemed to be dead to the world. “He barely woke up and he’s napping,” I said to Fiona.
“When he works nights, he takes a morning then an afternoon nap. He works per diem at the hospital whenever he’s in town.”
“Is he here often?” I asked, glancing back at his inert form on the empty beach. It was late in the season for swimmers. I liked having this little corner of the lake to ourselves.
She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess he’s home a few times a year. Sometimes he stays with his mom, sometimes next door. He’s been all over the world, you know. He sends me postcards in the real old fashioned mail. But he e-mails and Skypes, too. He’s been everywhere. I’ve got a map on the computer that we mark off every time he goes somewhere new. He was in South America once and worked at a place that helps kids with cleft palates. Have you ever seen them? It’s easier to fix ’em when they’re babies, but sometimes they’re as old as me and still got them. And then—”
