Katie was about to stop her dad and ask what the Cold War was, but he’d trailed off anyway. She followed his gaze across the couch, where she caught her mom doing a very serious head shake and a zip-it-now face. She faked a smile when she realized Katie was watching.
“It wasn’t really a war, sweetheart, and it was over long before you were born.”
Katie glanced back at the TV, where a map of Russia showed on the screen.
Her mom clicked the mute button and turned to Katie. “Governments can fight all they like, but there are good people everywhere. You remember that. Now don’t trouble yourself with this anymore tonight.” She smiled again, but soft this time, and Katie guessed her next words before she even began. “If you know too much, you’ll grow old too soon.”
Katie didn’t want to grow old yet, but she felt ready to grow up, at least a little. Her mom always pulled out that saying at the absolute worst moments. Sometimes Katie even wondered if that was what had happened to her parents—they’d grown old so soon because they knew so much.
Katie’s dad taught history at the university, and his new job was the reason they’d had to move. But more important, he was the world’s best storyteller and creamy-potato soup maker.
Until Katie had come along, her mom had been a teacher too. She could read stories with all the right voices, and even the hardest math homework didn’t seem hard to her. And, of course, she could cook and bake about a thousand amazing things without ever opening a recipe book. Colorful English trifle, peanut-butter pinwheel cookies, homemade doughnuts. Soft rolls that peeled into layers with a sour-sweet kiss of orange glaze on top.
The two of them sat flanking the fireplace, a perfect pair in their matching chairs. And there sat Katie, alone on a couch that could have easily fit all three of them.
Katie tried to ignore the empty spaces beside her as she filled her Thankfuls with all the usuals—house, school, teachers, friends. She squeezed one perfect dot of glue onto each strip and began pressing the links closed, one after another, together and together and together. But as she pressed, her eyes kept darting to the first one she’d written, the last link still waiting to be added to the chain.
There were five seats in this family room, even if only three of them were filled tonight.
Katie’s story had a beginning, and even if she didn’t remember it, she couldn’t just forget it either.
In a brave, brash moment, Katie changed her most important Thankful, making it different by one word and a whole world.
I’m thankful for my birth parents.
Before she could lose her courage, Katie pinched the last strip closed around the end of the chain. She couldn’t look at her parents as she laid her Thankfuls on the coffee table.
“Finished already?” asked her dad.
“I have a lot to be thankful for,” said Katie.
It was true, but it wasn’t quite the truth.
Nobody would read that last link until Christmas Eve, and Katie knew she’d have to force herself not to change it back before then.
“Good girl,” said her mom. “Would you hand me the remote? I think I’ll do better with a little happy noise in the background. And that means no more news.”
Once her mom had found a holiday special, Katie slipped into her coat and shoes and snuck through the back door to wait for Ana’s signal. Outside in the frosty night air, she settled herself on the squeaky porch swing. A little grease, she thought, just like the typewriter in the attic. A little love and attention and it would be good as new.
Katie used her toes to gently rock herself back and forth, back and forth, as she watched for the signal. Her two best friends were so different—fearless Ana in Boston, quiet Grace back in Salt Lake—and with the rocking of the swing, she felt the pull of both her worlds.
Ana, Grace. Ana, Grace. First one, then the other, tugging on her heart, each of them a little like a sister. Or at least, how she’d always imagined a sister would be.
The rocking of the swing reminded Katie of her parents too. The mom and dad who had raised and loved her, who had paid for her three expensive surgeries and would find a way to do it again, if they needed to. But every time she swung toward them, there was something deep inside that pulled her back. The barely there memory of wheat-colored hair in a long braid that fell over a soft, safe shoulder. The rattle of paintbrushes against glass rinsing jars, and a smell like Christmas. A voice singing softly in another language, something about a hero and trouble in a strange land. Was it a real memory of Russia? Was that her birth mother’s song? Or just something she’d seen in a movie or read in a storybook, once upon a time?
Katie heard her mom’s voice inside her. If you know too much, you’ll grow old too soon.
Were parents even supposed to say things like that? Weren’t parents supposed to tell you to learn all you could? Maybe Katie’s mom was too old to remember what it felt like to not have all the answers.
Twin lights flickered on in Ana’s window, pulling Katie out of her thoughts. Two candles were the signal to meet by the pond, but it seemed too cold and dark for that. Katie watched Ana’s empty back porch long enough that she’d begun to wonder if Ana had made a mistake.
Then light spilled from Ana’s door and two shapes emerged—Ana and Mikey. They gripped each other’s arms and slipped down the slope to the pond.
In the cold. In the dark. But together.
Another pulse of loneliness pulled Katie off the swing and toward her friend. The snow sifted down softly, like the calm first chapter of a big adventure story. The thin layer on the ground barely skimmed the canvas of Katie’s sneakers as she started across the backyard and toward the pond, but she knew there would be inches and inches by morning.
As Katie approached, Ana smiled, her eyes bright in the moonlight. “Ever been ice-skating?”
Katie shook her head.
“Ready to try?”
If she stayed near the edge, the worst that could happen was wet socks. Okay, ice-cold wet socks.
But it wasn’t even officially winter yet. “Are you sure about this?”
Ana grabbed Mikey’s hands and dragged him toward the edge of the pond. “Nope,” she said. “That’s why this brave soldier’s going first.”
Mikey may have only been in first grade, but Katie was so small they were almost the same size. Would Ana drag her too?
Katie’s toes tingled, and she could feel her nose getting ready to run. She glanced up at the warm golden light of her kitchen window. “I don’t know, Ana. We don’t even have ice skates.”
“Of course not!” Ana said. “We’d chop right through if we were wearing ice skates.” She turned to Katie and winked, which was the signal to play along. (With Ana, that was a very important signal to know.)
“Some people,” Ana said, “wouldn’t even count this as skating, since we don’t have skates.” She was still trying to coax Mikey to go out ahead of her, which wasn’t super courageous but was probably smart, since Mikey was so much smaller. “But I say it counts. Absolutely.”
Katie knew Ana always looked out for Mikey, and she usually did her best to play along. Still, this seemed like a terrible idea. “I don’t think the ice is thick enough yet.”
Mikey darted away from his sister, burrowing under Katie’s arm and hiding his face against her coat.
Ana laughed. “Says the girl who just moved here. Boston winters are cold, and this one’s colder than most already. Watch.” She rolled back her shoulders and stretched a boot onto the ice.
“See?” she said. “Perfectly safe. Come on out.” She smiled back at them. “You have to believe!”
But once she put a little weight on her front boot, the ice made a shrieking, cracking sound. Ana tried to pull back, but it was too late. She screamed and grabbed at Katie’s sleeve, and the scream made Mikey grab harder onto Katie’s coat, and the next thing Katie knew, the three of them were tumbling and shouting and splashing into the dark, icy water.
Ana
WHEN THE LAST bell set the school free for Thanksgiving break, Ana headed toward the first-grade hall to bundle up her little brother for the cold trudge home. She should’ve been listening for the hockey buzzer, not the school bell. She should’ve spent the whole day with her teammates, out on the ice in her favorite hockey tournament of all, the New England Freeze Out.
Ana and Mikey tucked their chins into their coats and stepped outside. The sun shone so bright in the cold air that colors seemed to fade like an old photograph. Leaving school never even felt like freedom to Ana anymore, and five days away wouldn’t be much of a vacation without any hockey to look forward to. This break was going to stink worse than cafeteria trash. It was going to bite worse than great whites. The fourth week of November was supposed to be spent skipping school to play in Springfield, shoveling down turkey and pie, then skating it off at the rink with her dad.
Last year, when Ana had been the only ten-year-old to make the twelve-and-under elite hockey team, her dad had actually come to the tournament, and everyone had freaked out to see a real live NHL player there. Then Ana and her dad had spent the whole day after Thanksgiving at the Bruins’ practice arena, working on her slap shot and her puck handling while Mikey watched movies and ate popcorn in the stands. Ana had even gotten extra-good Hanukkah presents, because her mom had been kid-free for Black Friday shopping.
This year, there probably wouldn’t be any presents, and there definitely wouldn’t be any hockey.
Partly because Ana hadn’t even tried out for the league.
Mostly because her dad was gone.
“Come on, Mikey,” Ana said, slowing her pace to match her little brother’s. First he’d raced ahead without waiting for Katie, and now that Katie had turned down her own street, he was barely moving. Sometimes Ana felt like she spent half her life telling her little brother to hurry up.
Mikey dropped to his knees in the snow.
Ana sighed. “What’s the problem now?”
“I lost it,” he said. His chin trembled as he held up his hand to show her one lonely marble. “I lost the other one.”
Whenever he could, Mikey held the two smooth swirls of orange glass, one in each hand, and tapped them against each other. For months, he’d been obsessed with pairing things up. Shampoo and conditioner, salt and pepper, peanut butter and honey, always lined up and touching like they were getting their picture taken. She’d leave her room for two seconds and come back to find her shoes that way, instead of in a heap like she’d left them.
But his favorite pair was the orange marbles. And now one was missing.
Ana scanned the sidewalk and the ditch. “Geez, is that all? I’m surprised you can hold on to anything with those fat mittens.” It only took about five seconds for her to find the marble in the gutter and drop it back into Mikey’s hand. “Put them in your pocket, okay?”
Before he put them away, Mikey tapped the marbles against each other with a soft chik-chik. “The Flyers need my good luck. They’re playing Pittsburgh tonight.”
“Holy smokes,” Ana said. “How many times do I have to tell you? I do not give one single rip about the Philadelphia Flyers.”
Except she did. Of course she did. Ana had been following the Flyers all season, because that was her dad’s team now. She slid Mikey’s backpack off his shoulders and looped it around her front like a chest guard. Even though she hadn’t played in months, Ana’s brain still found its way back to hockey.
Ana nudged Mikey forward, trying to think of anything that might get him to move a little faster. “We’ve got to check on Mom. Hey, maybe it’s a good day. Maybe she made cookies!”
Ana’s mom hadn’t actually made much of anything for months. The whole reason Ana had told her mom she didn’t want to try out for hockey this season was so she could watch Mikey while her mom went to work, but now her mom didn’t even leave the house. She just wore her workout clothes all day without ever actually going to the gym.
But there were memories inside Ana that came to the surface sometimes, like making sugar cookie turkeys last year with candy-corn tail feathers. There were still moments when her mind wouldn’t believe that everything had changed.
Ana fished out her key and creaked the door open. Her “hello” echoed hollow through the house, unanswered.
Not a good day, then.
She led Mikey through the maze of mess to the kitchen. The house was never clean anymore unless Ana was the one to clean it, and that didn’t happen very often.
Mikey unzipped his backpack and started unloading everything onto the counter. Crumpled worksheets, fruit snack wrappers, an unidentified art project with colorful feathers.
“Stop,” Ana said. “You’re making it worse.”
Mikey ignored her and kept digging.
“There it is!” His face lit up as he pulled a paper chain from the bag.
“What is that? Mikey, did you make a Christmas countdown?”
Mikey rolled his eyes. “We’re Jewish, Ana.”
As if she’d forgotten. As if she hadn’t reminded the teacher when she was in first grade and her own class was supposed to make red-and-green Christmas countdowns. Instead, Ana had been given a “special assignment” that was just the first Hanukkah coloring page her teacher could find on the internet.
“It’s a winter-break countdown,” Mikey explained. “My teacher made one too. He’s super excited for winter break. Every day I get to take off one circle, and when it’s gone, hallelujah! The orange circle is Thanksgiving and the blue ones are Hanukkah. He showed us lots of ways to make them with the different colors.” He scanned the kitchen. “Where’s Mom? I want to show her!”
Ana sighed. “I don’t think she’s . . .”
“Hey!” Mikey scooted a dirty plate aside and climbed onto the counter. “There’s a note!”
A note. Just like that day last summer. Ana tried to swipe it, but Mikey held it close. “I can read it.”
It was a lie—Mikey was only in first grade and not the greatest reader. But Ana let him give it a shot.
“Dear Awesome Kids,” he started, and Ana knew he was faking it. She’d seen Mikey spell awesome: O-S-U-M.
Mikey squinted at the words. “Eat anything you want as long as Mikey gets the biggest piece. And he can play with Ana’s hockey gear and wear her dinosaur slippers. Love, Mom. The End.”
“Don’t lie, Mikey,” Ana said.
Don’t be like him.
But she didn’t say that part. She just snagged the note from Mikey’s fingers and scanned it, surprised by how much he had gotten right.
Hi, my awesome kids,
Ran to the airport to pick up a surprise. Clean up after yourselves. Clean up as much as you can. I should get home right after you do.
Love, Mom
Ana touched the last two words and felt a gentle brush of hope. If her mom had left the house, it might be a good day after all. She reread the first sentence, wondering why she’d felt a hint of something even better there.
Then she got it: a surprise from the airport. People didn’t go to the airport to pick up packages. They went to the airport to pick up people.
Maybe Dad was coming back.
The last time Ana had seen her dad was three months ago at that same airport, when he’d stayed behind for training camp while the rest of the family went off for two weeks at the lake. He’d hugged Ana extra tight at the curb that day and given her one of the game pucks from his collection.
As she’d held the puck and turned it over on the plane, running her fingers across the cool, black rubber, she’d thought, He gave me this because he loves me. He gave me this because I’m his favorite. She hadn’t even for one second thought, He gave me this because he’s leaving.
When they’d returned from the lake, just a few days before school started, they’d waited for him at the curb for over an hour. “I sent him an email,” her mom had said, like that was a normal way for families to meet up after weeks apart. She’
d called again and again, but he hadn’t answered, and finally they’d given up and gotten a ride-share driver to take them home.
When they’d walked through the door that day, the house had felt empty and quiet and way too clean. Like something had been erased. The only thing on the counter at all had been his note, which Ana’s mom had still never let her read.
Not that it mattered; Ana knew the important parts. Her dad had signed with Philadelphia, and he didn’t want them to follow. After Mikey had found out, he’d cried every time Ana or her mom left the room, afraid they’d leave for real like his dad had. Ana and her mom had slept on either side of Mikey that first night, all three of them piled into her mom’s bed, crying together. Ana was the only one who hadn’t cried almost every day since. The next morning, she’d woken first and hidden the puck under her mattress, too mad and hurt to hold it or even look at it, but needing to be near it all the same.
Now, Ana read her mom’s note again. Clean up as much as you can. Maybe they were supposed to clean up so it would look exactly like it had when he’d left, so he’d feel like he hadn’t been gone so long. Like he hadn’t missed out on Mikey’s soccer season and Ana quitting hockey and everything else that had happened since August.
But maybe things were coming back together, and that was the reason her mom had left an almost-normal note. Maybe they’d all be moving to Philadelphia. Maybe it wasn’t too late for her dad to keep some of his promises.
“Mikey!” she shouted. “Help me clean up! Or at least don’t make any new messes. They’ll be here any minute.”
Wrappers crinkled in the pantry.
“Mikey, please!” When Ana opened the pantry door, Mikey had climbed the shelves like a ladder and was clutching a bright orange bag.
“Check it out! Cheetos!” It had been so long since they’d had good snacks that Ana was tempted.
“And orange is good luck for the Flyers. Catch, Ana!”
Mikey tossed the bag down, and Ana caught it.
Paper Chains Page 2
