by Holly Jacobs
Love, Piper.
The small glass heart was easy to spot in the midst of the small gold charms. The small piece of glass had broken from something larger. A beer bottle? A soda bottle? Over time, the waves and sand had beaten and polished something that had been an accident into something beautiful. I slipped the bracelet on my wrist. It tinkled as I moved my arm.
There at the top was a leather book. It had to be the journal that Ned had mentioned and copied a page from.
I opened the cover and read the first page.
Dear Amanda,
Amanda’s Pantry truly began on your fifth birthday, almost a decade ago now. I was at the grocery store buying . . . I don’t remember what I was buying. Probably something with no nutritional value whatsoever. I was only twenty-one, and I didn’t worry about things like proper nutrition.
I was standing in line at the register behind a young woman and a toddler. The little girl had red hair. Not auburn. Not strawberry blonde. Red. Like Orphan Annie red. Like mine. I felt a kinship with her immediately, and, of course, I thought of you.
She told how the young mother hadn’t had enough money to pay for her groceries. Piper had helped her buy them and had bought the little girl a candy bar.
I had the nightmare again that night. You were cold and hungry, and I couldn’t get to you. I ripped apart my pantry and couldn’t find anything for you to eat. But you came into my kitchen, sat down at the counter, and picked up a candy bar that was suddenly lying there.
You looked at me and said, “Thank you,” as you pushed a strand of your carrot-colored hair behind your ear and then tore into the candy.
Love,
Piper
My dream the night before had been different, but there was the same sort of feeling behind it. I got a bit of the Twilight Zone feeling as I read Piper’s.
I suddenly realized how hard I was sobbing. I brushed at the tears and the bracelet tinkled, reminding me of its presence.
I’m not sure how long I sat there crying as I realized that T. P. E’s hope chest had become Piper’s hopes for me, but I was still there when Logan walked in. The lights were still on in the living room, so he came in and saw me.
He didn’t say a word. He walked across the room, scooped me up—bracelet, journal, and all—and carried me upstairs to my room.
He tucked me in as if I were a small child. He brought me a glass of water and another pill. “Go to sleep,” he whispered.
I heard him take a shower, and a few moments later I saw him peek into my room.
Without either of us discussing it, he came in and crawled back onto the right side of the bed he’d occupied the night before. He pulled me into his arms, and the last thing I remembered was the sound of his heart beating and the smell of soap.
Chapter Seven
“Couch,” Felicity called. “Your name’s funny.”
“Coach,” Coach Divan responded, correcting her pronunciation.
“Couch Divan. I bet people pick on you. My grandma calls her couch a divan. So you’re really Couch Couch.”
“Coach,” he repeated.
“I like Couch better. Couch Divan. Yep. Couch Couch. Yeah, I like it—”
—Felicity’s Folly, by Pip
I woke up to find myself in Logan’s arms again sometime in the middle of the night.
The clock was on the other side of Logan, and I couldn’t see over him, so I wasn’t sure what time it was, but moonlight spilled through the window so it definitely wasn’t morning yet.
Sharing a space with Logan—whether the house or the bed—didn’t feel awkward. It felt comfortable. And maybe even familiar at this point.
He was a back sleeper. I was a side sleeper.
It felt almost normal to curl up in the crook of his arm and rest my head on his chest. Even the cadence of his heartbeat felt like a lullaby I knew by heart.
Maybe that’s why I knew the moment he woke up—the tempo of his heartbeat changed.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” I teased to cover my embarrassment.
In the moonlight, I could make it out as he opened his eyes slowly and offered me a long, lazy grin that stirred something in me that I hadn’t expected. I saw the laughter leave his eyes and be replaced by something else as well.
Slowly, he sat up and kissed me.
It was not the comforting kiss one friend might give another. It was more. But before I could let myself fall into it, he pulled back. “We shouldn’t . . .”
I scooted over to the far end of the bed. “You’re right, we shouldn’t. I mean, this entire situation is complicated enough. I’m sharing a house with you. We’re practically strangers and . . .”
“Stop. I don’t think of you as a stranger. I think of you as a friend. But there are two very valid reasons for us not to take this beyond friendship. Three maybe. You’re freshly out of a long-term relationship. I don’t want to be your rebound guy. Secondly, your life is in turmoil as it is.”
Softly he added, “And thirdly, I’m not staying in Erie. I’m here long enough to finish my degree, but after that?” He shrugged. “I’m already signed up to go on another medical trip next summer with First Aid.”
It was already October. He’d be leaving in just eight or nine months. I nodded. “My life is complex enough right now,” I said. “You’re right, I don’t need the complications. And between school and work, neither do you.”
“Friends?” he asked, extending his hand.
I shook it. “Friends.”
I moved to the other side of the bed. I thought he would leave, but he didn’t. He stayed on his side.
I woke and knew that it was morning even though the room was still dark. I was back in the crook of Logan’s arm, and we were in the center of the bed as if some magnetic force had drawn us both from our respective sides. Part of me would have liked to stay there, but he’d warned me off last night. We were friends. I understood his reasoning.
I’d been with Carey for years. I wasn’t in a hurry to rush into a new relationship after just a month.
I wouldn’t take advantage of Logan’s friendship again. I’d dealt with my own dreams in the past, and I’d do it again. Carey slept like the dead and never heard me, and even if he had, I wasn’t sure he’d have comforted me.
I could easily go back to managing my dreams on my own.
I slipped out of bed as carefully as I could. I was still feeling an unremitting ache that was punctuated by an occasional sharp stab of pain. Still, I managed disentangling myself without disturbing Logan.
I took the journal with me and tiptoed down the stairs.
I made coffee and thought about sitting in the kitchen to drink it, but the house felt too full of Logan for me to do that.
I took my cup and Pip’s journal and let myself out the back door.
I slowly made my way down the now familiar path, through the fence, and to the bench at the back of the garden.
I set the book on the bench along with my coffee cup and just sat very, very still.
I didn’t pick up the journal. I’d hesitated reading it for so long. And now that I’d opened it, I wanted to gorge myself on it and read every word. Conversely, I wanted to take my time and savor these letters from Piper.
I’d felt as if reading the journal was admitting that I’d never hear the sentiments it contained from Piper herself. It felt like I was admitting defeat. But now, she’d had the treatment.
I wasn’t a believer in visualization techniques—well, I guess I wasn’t a nonbeliever, either. I was an agnostic about the technique. Still, I found myself picturing my bone marrow carrying suitcases and moving into Piper’s blood stream. I pictured it settling in, making tiny little white blood cells. Hundreds then thousands.
The sound of Canadian geese pulled me from my absurd mental imaginings. I’d heard some people call them Canada geese, but I thought that sounded wrong, which probably meant it was right. I heard geese honking to one another, and then I saw a skein of geese in a la
zy V formation heading south. One goose was out of sync, flying way to the left of the V. I wondered if he’d master the art before they hit Florida, or wherever they were going. I listened until their honking faded.
In the sudden silence, I noticed a dry, crisp smell. If Erie was anything like Port Clinton, soon the dried leaves would be covered in snow as fierce Canadian air blew off the Great Lake.
I heard a back door open, and soon Archie was running through the garden. He found me and yipped a greeting before covering me with dog kisses. He was gentle, though, as if he realized that I was still sore.
“Good morning,” I told the empathetic dog. He crawled onto the bench, curled himself into a tight ball without disturbing me, the coffee, or the book, and he rested his giant head on my thigh.
I glanced at the journal. I reached over and ran the tip of my finger along its age-softened cover. Finally, I gave in and picked it up.
I turned to the second entry.
A few pages later, I had to stop for a breather. This book was going to be difficult to read because each page was filled with so much longing—so much love.
I heard the sound of a door banging and then the rustling of leaves as someone stepped on them. Even if I wasn’t sitting in the garden, I’d know they were Logan’s footsteps as surely as I now recognized the beat of his heart.
He came into view wearing ancient sweats, a bright orange T-shirt that proudly proclaimed, Prep, and a pair of flip-flops that were no longer in season.
He was also wearing a frown as he looked at me and said, “Siobhan, you should come in. You’re still recovering.”
“I can feel Piper out here, you know?” I said softly, knowing he’d understand. When I first met her she said she wanted me to see her as more than her illness. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to do. At the hospital, all I see is the illness. It’s as if it’s so weighty that it obscures everything that’s truly her.
“But here in her garden I can see her. I get glimpses of the real her. I’ve read a few pages of her journal, and she’s there naked on the page. I wonder if the woman who planted and loved this garden, the woman who wrote me these beautiful letters, can find her way out from under that illness.”
I thought of all the Pip books I’d been reading. “I can see her in her stories, too, you know? Not her illness but her heart. I can’t believe how big and all-encompassing it is.”
Logan nodded as if he totally understood. There wasn’t much room left on the bench because Archie didn’t seem inclined to move, but Logan picked up my coffee cup and squeezed into that small space. “When I was a kid, there was never a sense of shame when we went to the food pantry. Instead, there was a sense of anticipation. I knew I’d see Ms. Pip there. And when she saw me, she’d smile, and she’d ask me how I was. She’d ask about school. And when I answered, she listened as if no one else in the world mattered at that moment. Only me and my response.”
I nodded. She’d been so sick since I’d been here, first just ill, then the chemo, and now the waiting to see if my bone marrow was enough.
“She made such a difference in my life,” he added.
I realized we were both whispering, as if the garden deserved that kind of respect.
“She made a difference in Mom’s life, too. In so many other people’s lives through Amanda’s Pantry or her books or reading stories to kindergarten classes or simply waving to the kids as they came and went from school.”
He paused and said, “Everything she did, she did for you. Her books, the food pantry—all of it. So I guess everything I have is thanks to you. I think like Ms. Pip, Ned, and Fiona, I felt I knew you and cared about you before I ever met you. And now? It’s not just the myth of Amanda that I know and care about. It’s you. It’s that you’re here, helping when you don’t have to. It’s how you are with Fiona. It’s how deeply you feel, just like your mom. You try to hide it, but I can see it.
“About last night, I need you to understand. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I know that I can’t let my feelings go any deeper. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. You’re an emotional powder keg, and I’ll be gone again by this time next year.
“You asked why I called her Ms. Pip? The naming of things matters, and to me she will always be Ms. Pip because it’s a mark of my respect and gratitude.”
I didn’t have a name for her. I called her Piper for the same reason I called her mother ma’am. They were both more to me than a first name, but for now a first name was all I had to give them.
“Names matter,” I said. “I reread Felicity’s Folly. There’s a man, Coach Divan. Felicity calls him Couch Couch and sometimes Coach Couch. His name matters in the story. It made me think about Piper and what to call her. Ms. Pip is too formal, and I can’t call her Mom. Mom is already taken. She signs all the letters I’ve read so far as Piper. So Piper is where I’m stuck. But I don’t know if that conveys everything I want. But I know what to name you—friend.”
He smiled. “That’s my name for you, too. Now, come in the house. I’ll get you some breakfast.”
I nodded and felt a little more human as I shuffled back along the path behind him. Archie followed us as far as the fence then turned and walked back toward Piper’s.
The day was less blurry than the day before. I took a couple of half doses of the pain medication.
Logan didn’t give me time to worry about anything. We moved on from Firefly to Buffy. I laughed loudly at how cheesy the early episodes seemed, but soon I was as totally a Scooby wannabe as Logan. He laughed when I kept asking, “How did I miss this?”
The next morning, though I wasn’t ready to run a marathon, I felt more like myself, even if I was still moving slower.
I wanted to do something to thank Logan for all his care. I dug around the kitchen and found some baking mix. I had everything I needed for a mock quiche. Onions, spinach, cheese, eggs, baking mix—it took only a few minutes to mix up. I put the quiche in the oven, started the coffee, and thought about picking up Piper’s journal but instead got one of her new-to-me books.
All the elements I loved about her books when I was younger were still there, but these newer stories had more . . . depth, maybe?
When I was younger, her books resonated with me because her characters felt what I felt. Now, as an adult reading them, they still resonated. Today I read Jonah Jones and the Jupiter Smith. Piper had written it four years ago. It was about two neighbors and classmates who were night-and-day different but were friends. Just friends. Until their senior year when Jupiter realized she might want more.
I’d never fallen in love in high school, but I remember meeting Carey. He was cute and far more social than I’d ever be. I had Jaylin as a friend and that was enough for me. But Carey knew everyone. He dragged me and Jaylin out and made us do typical college stuff. Though Jonah and Jupiter was written for teens, I still could relate to it—to them.
“You are a friend. A good friend. My best friend. Maybe you can be more, but I know you’ll never be less than that,” the book had said. I got that.
As if on cue, Logan walked in and the timer went off on the stove.
He sniffed. “What is that?”
“Breakfast,” I announced triumphantly.
I got out of the chair, still a little gingerly but definitely better than I’d moved yesterday.
“You shouldn’t be up and around—” he started to lecture.
I interrupted. “I’m fine. I’m still taking it easy, but I’m fine. I wanted to do something for you. You’ve done so much for me.”
He gave a self-deprecating little snort. “No.”
“Yes.” I pulled the quiche from the oven.
“The coffee’s hot—” I stopped short. “That was dumb. You’re on your way to bed. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to eat first or when you got up. This is not only easy, but it refrigerates and reheats easily. I’ve never had to pull an all-nighter for work. No, I take that back. Our first app. At the last minute, the customer wante
d some tweaks, so we recoded for a whole night.”
I smiled at the memory of coffee and ice cream. Jaylin was in love with Hershey’s ice cream and kept her freezer stocked. We’d decimated her reserves.
“I’m not sure exactly what you do,” he said.
“Here.” I pulled out my phone and opened a small Ohio chain of grocery stores’ app. “You get the hours, the week’s specials. Daily specials, too, if there are any. It’s got your shopper’s card number in it. And there’s even a spot for your shopping list.”
“And you made this?” he asked.
I nodded. “Me and Jaylin. We’ve got a few freelancers working for us, but I think next year we’re going to hire full-time help. We used to do most of the programming, but more and more we’re taking care of business. But we still can do the bulk of our job at home. Maybe I get that from Piper?”
“Get what?” he asked as he dished up a hefty slice of quiche.
“Enjoying working at home, on my own.”
He took a bite. “This is good.”
I laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised. Mom always felt everyone should be able to cook for themselves as well as have a few company-worthy dishes.”
“Tell me about your parents.”
I realized I’d missed talking about them. It wasn’t that I thought Piper and Ned would mind any more than Dad minded me talking about them. It was simply awkward. “You’ll meet Dad and Margo this weekend. Plus, you know so much about me. You’ve had a front row seat for my drama. So, it’s your turn. I mean, I know that you wear smiley face boxers and that Piper helped your mom out. I know you travel and help people, but only in the most general way.” I realized how much I wanted to know more about Logan.
He was quiet for a moment, as if searching for something he wanted to share. Finally, he nodded more to himself than to me and said, “On one of my first trips, I met a girl in Zimbabwe. I was part of a team giving inoculations. She was around two and found my skin fascinating. She told her mother I looked like a ghost.”
