I push him, but naturally he doesn’t topple, only stops on a dime and yanks me to his chest in the middle of the ice. “How about a single flutz instead of a triple Lutz?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“That’s because I made it up. Ready?”
I squeal as he takes my hand and swings me out from his side. Somehow, he manages to whirl me around in a blur and pull me back, where his arm keeps me upright. I pant up at him. “No more of that.”
The twinkle in his eyes declares he has no intention of listening. “No more of what? This?”
He whips me out again. I scream, but this time I also laugh as the world flashes by in a swirl of white snow and silver trees and blue sky. I wrap my arms around his waist with an iron grip while I catch my breath. “Enough flutzes.”
“It’s fun, though.” He holds up his index finger and thumb with a small space between. “A tiny bit fun?”
There’s a moment in there, between the points when I’m certain my skull will crack open on the ice, where I feel like a figure skater. “Maybe a little. But only until I fall.”
“I won’t let you fall.” His hands cup my cheeks, and my face is so cold I can barely feel the brush of his lips. “Trust me?”
It’s not the first time he’s asked, but it’s the first time he’s asked when I know my answer without a doubt. “More than anyone.”
“Good.” He spins me out again and again, until I’m giggling and dizzy and have a stitch in my side. But my butt doesn’t hit the ice once.
***
My Twinkie layer cake has been made by Indy, who places the golden monstrosity in front of me with a shake of her head. I blow her a kiss and wave to the rest of the room. Dozens of faces smile back before they begin to sing. This I do not like, and I duck my head as blood rushes to my face.
Blessedly, it ends, and I lean toward Leo. “Help me blow them out?”
He kneels on his chair, lips puckered. “Did you make a wish?”
“Let’s both make one.”
I follow his lead and close my eyes. All I can think is please don’t let me lose any of these people, though I know that wish is doomed from the start. As Grace says, nothing is permanent, but since I’ve never had anything close, maybe the universe will grant me a little stability before it takes any of them away. It’s only fair.
“You gonna blow those out today?” Paul asks. I scratch my cheek with my middle finger to the enjoyment of everyone as juvenile as me, including Paul.
“Okay,” I say to Leo. “Ready?”
After the candles are out, the giant Twinkie is whisked away and replaced with a slice on a plate. The cake part is fluffy but cakey, the creamy filling is light and sweet, and every bite is full of glorious processed sugar. I raise my fork at Indy across the table. “This is the best cake I’ve ever had. And I’ve had a lot of cake.”
Indy grimaces. “You know what we used to make the filling since we don’t have butter? Shortening and lard. There is lard in your cake.”
“Then lard is awesome,” I say.
Grace examines the bite on her fork with trepidation, then says, “She has had a lot of cake.” She throws the bite into her mouth and chews. Two seconds later, her eyes roll back in her head. “Indy, she’s not kidding. Lard is awesome.”
Indy laughs and shovels in cake along with everyone else. Eric squeezes my knee and whispers in my ear, “We have one more thing to do.”
“What?”
“Take a walk.”
It’s early afternoon. The people who stayed behind were good sports, but we’ve been gone for half a day. “Shouldn’t we help clean?”
“You can’t clean on your birthday.”
“I’m not seven. I can clean on my birthday without whining about it.”
“The last party you had was when you were six, right?” he asks. “So today you’re seven. Anyway, I have to keep my promise.”
“What promise?”
His smile is mysterious. “You’ll see.”
By the time I’ve finished my cake, he’s in his outdoor clothing. He yanks my hat down over my ears and holds my coat in the air, then zips me up once my arms are in. He’s taking this whole seven-year-old thing a little too seriously.
I thank everyone I pass as he drags me out the door, though I’ll see them in an hour and it’s not like we’ll lose touch since we live in a walled compound. I know any excuse to celebrate is a good excuse, but I appreciate this outpouring of love more than they know. I think more than they know. I’m not sure how much they know, actually, and this could’ve all been a giant pity party with yours truly as the guest of honor.
Eric and I crunch through snow to cross the meadow. I hold off as long as I can but finally ask, “Does everyone know I’m a birthday charity case and that’s why they did this?”
There’s a pause in his stride before he continues walking. “No one thinks that. At all. Where do you get this stuff?”
“From my brain.”
He stops and rests his hands on my shoulders. “Your brain is stupid. Some people know, and some people don’t, but the thing is that every single one of them wanted to do this. Because they like you.”
“Why?”
“Beats me,” he says, and I laugh. “No, it’s because no matter how much you think you keep people away, you pull them in. And once they’re there, they realize how amazing you are and want to stick around.”
“I could say the second part about you.”
“Maybe you could.” He takes my hand and begins to walk. “But it’s not the same.”
He’s wrong. People are drawn to his smile and his humor and his bright, shiny self. I can’t think of a single person—except Denise, who doesn’t count—who dislikes Eric. We’d need a binder with color-coded tabs to keep track of my haters. “How is it not the same?”
“It just isn’t.”
“That’s not an acceptable answer.”
He shrugs. “It’s the truth.”
We reach the other side of the meadow and Eric guides me onto a small path off the road that circles the park. Our feet make almost no sound in the hush the new snowfall has created. Tree branches dip low, weighted with white to form a tunnel through which we travel. He once promised to take me to the Vale of Cashmere when the zombies die, and I think that’s where we’re headed. They’re not dead, but frozen is close enough. Frozen might be all we ever get.
The lack of greenery allows me to spot it below our sloped path—a circular fountain set into the ground, with unbroken snow blanketing the stone walls and surrounding brick walkway.
“It’s different in winter.” Eric says in a low voice as we hit the steps that lead down to the miniature vale. “But it’s pretty in its own way.”
I stop under a bent tree at the bottom stair. Woods cover the steep hills on either side. A few things are green under the white: a large fir tree, a mass of bamboo, and the bushes that have kept their leaves. The remainder is the skeleton that supports the leafy weight of other seasons.
Gardens with curved stone retaining walls extend into the round pool on either side. If filled, the water would give the impression of winding like a river, inviting you to follow it to its end in the imaginary valley.
“It’s different,” I say, “but it’s still beautiful.”
A cardinal lands on one of the square pillars that dot the perimeter of the fountain, blazing red against the monochrome background. My hand goes to the picture in my pocket. My grandma was like that cardinal in my colorless childhood, and I’m not sure who I would be if I hadn’t had her, even if it was for a brief time.
We walk the virgin snow of the path around the fountain. Eric points out the nooks and crannies now open to view. The mystery is partly exposed, but it’s magical nonetheless. This is the lair of winter fairies with its carpet of snow and the tiny glittering icicles that hang from branches.
“You know how it’s not the same?” he asks abruptly. “You versus me.”
&nbs
p; “How?”
“You’re like this place. It lures you in because it’s different, and you find all these beautiful, hidden things you didn’t expect. And not only are those enough to make you stay, but you find something new every time you turn around.”
My body thrills at his words, even if they are solid proof he’s insane. “I’m nowhere near that mysterious. You’re off your rocker, but thank you.”
“You wanted an answer. That’s my answer.”
“If I’m the Vale of Cashmere, what are you?”
“I don’t know.” He takes a few steps, deep in thought. “The meadow. Everyone likes it okay, and it gets the job done, but it doesn’t have the intrigue.”
“You are not a boring old meadow.” I spread my hands in the air. “You’re like no other place. You’re the wind and the sun and the stars.”
“I’m the wind? Thanks a lot. I know how much you like wind.”
I push him into the snow-filled fountain. “That was supposed to be lyrical.”
Eric grins and tromps deeper into the fountain beside a garden’s curved stone wall, then lifts a loose brick-shaped stone at the top. He turns to me, his gold eyes and pink lips warm spots of color like that cardinal. “If we’re ever separated, we meet here. If we can’t stay, we leave a note under this stone saying where we are.”
SPSZ has agreed on where we’re to meet in case the worst happens at our Safe Zone, but he means in a different case, another time. I nod even as my stomach clenches. It’s stupid to pretend it can’t happen. I can find the Vale of Cashmere now that he’s shown me the way, and I try to memorize this exact spot. In the summer it’s so different, but I’d lift every stone if I had to. I’d tear this place apart.
I pull the photograph from my pocket, holding it out until Eric steps from the fountain and takes it in his hand. “The day before my seventh birthday, which was also the day my grandma died,” I say.
He nearly whimpers in sympathy, and I smile through the memories of the hectic paramedics and her kind face gone gray and all the sleepless nights thereafter. “I know, it’s like a freaking Dickens novel. I’ve never told anyone that, not even Grace. After Bubbe died, it felt as though the world went grayscale, like I’d started in Oz and got dropped in the middle of a tornado in Kansas.”
My voice cracks, but I push on because there is a point to this particular sob story: the happy ending. “My dad was still around, but hardly ever around, and my grandma had been the glue that kept my mom together. Or kept me from seeing how bad she was. My mother said my grandma had worked too hard getting ready for my birthday party, and that’s why her heart gave out.”
Eric’s face darkens—there’s no sunny meadow to be seen, only the deep, black night behind the stars. I touch his arm. “I didn’t really believe it. But my grandma wasn’t there to reassure me, so I kept this picture to remind me that the world was color, even if it didn’t always seem that way, and that Bubbe loved me and wanted me to be happy. Not just on my birthday, but every day.”
“You were so happy,” he says, eyes on the photo.
“I am so happy. Right now, with you. With everyone.” He raises his eyes to mine, and I hold his gaze until he’s satisfied. I have nothing left to hide. “I want you to have it. To remind you, just in case I’m not around to tell you myself.”
“No, you won’t—” He stops for the same reason I didn’t argue about the stone. “You should keep it.”
“I don’t need it anymore.”
If the world ever goes grayscale for Eric, maybe it will help. Or maybe this is stupid as shit, although it doesn’t feel that way in this enchanted spot. The word vale means valley, but it has other meanings, too—pronounced differently, it’s an expression of farewell.
Vah-lay, I say silently. Here, today, is where I let this go, say farewell. And it’s where I let it all in, too.
His soft eyes make me think he understands; he usually does. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Eric tucks it into the jacket pocket over his heart and snaps it shut. He wears that brown jacket whenever he leaves SPSZ, whether rain or shine, snow or heat, so I know he’ll always have it if we’re apart. And I have Bubbe here with me, just as Grace and Brother David say. She always has been, but I’ve kept her confined to that photo because it hurt too much to let in the happiness when it also brought pain. She’s overjoyed I’m celebrating my birthday, and she’s also saying, in her forthright way, Took you long enough, shaina maideleh.
I smile. It means pretty girl, beautiful girl. And I am beautiful. I’m also fucked up and awkward, too quick to anger and too sarcastic for my own good. I’m imperfect both outside and in. But so is the rest of the world, and it’s beautiful, too.
Chapter 80
I sit on a bench at the top of the park, Bird on my lap, and we listen to Indy curse in the goat barn fifty feet behind us. Betty is not into being milked and likes to remind people of that with a well-timed hoof. There’s nowhere near enough milk for all of us, and the main reason we bother is the baby at Sacred Heart has run out of formula, and there’s another hungry baby at the monastery. They could die with no nursing mother to feed them; a fact I like to think of as Reason Number 362 Not to Have Kids.
Kirk came by to ask for our help, and I’m told he seemed grateful enough. Aside from visits to retrieve milk, Sacred Heart keeps to itself, and so do we. I guess it’s not an uneasy truce, since there was never a fight, but it still feels uneasy to me. I can’t shake the feeling that they had something to do with Carlos’ and Gary’s deaths, if only because Gary was too smart to do something stupid.
Below, on the hill, people work to ready the garden for spring. We’ve sown the earliest seeds and the greenhouse is crammed full of plants. They’re in every window of our heated houses. Not a single person declined taking in foster plants. No one wants to starve.
During the long freeze, we cleaned out the gardening store where we first found seeds, as well as Home Depot and Lowes, and with all the amendments we’ve added to the garden, Eric picks up, sniffs, and lovingly inspects clumps of the improved soil a hundred times a day.
I wave when he spies me from where he’s doing just that. He walks up the slope and drops to the bench. “Break time?” He takes in the setting sun. “More like dinner time, I guess.”
“Unless you want to make out with the dirt some more,” I say, and he laughs. “It feels more like bedtime. Aren’t you tired? We’ve been up since dawn.”
“March Madness. That’s what my mother used to call it. You know, like basketball?”
“I may not like sports, but I have heard of March Madness. I’m assuming your mother wasn’t into basketball either, hippie that she was.”
“Good guess. It’s where the garden looks as dead as winter, but we’re in a race to get everything ready for planting. Right now, all the microbes are coming alive, rubbing their little hands together and waiting for us to plant.”
“How did you just make microbes cute?”
“I am going to eat you, fucker!” Indy yells from the barn.
“Betty?” Eric asks.
I nod. Paul and Leo arrive for Indy’s next curse, and Paul lifts his chin. “What’s her problem?”
“Betty,” I say.
He grins and heads for the barn with Leo. Paul and Indy love to argue, and since she already sounds murderous, his presence might put her over the edge. I have a fantasy where he and Indy fall madly in love, and then everyone in our house is happily paired off like a cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie I would never in a million years admit to watching on sleepless nights. But, so far, Leo has proven to be more mature than them.
I get to my feet. “I’ll go break up that fight.”
“And then we’ll eat.” Eric jumps up and circles his finger at Jorge to signal end of day. Jorge begins to spread the word to the others in the field.
At the small barn-shed, we find Indy splattered with mud in the penned-off outside area. Leo and Paul lean on the b
oard fence. “It’s all in the hands,” Paul says. “You have to be gentle.”
Indy glares and rubs a speck of mud off her face. I can’t resist a chance to use the word of the week, so I ask, “You’re saying you need to finesse the milk out?”
I wink at Eric, who sighs good-naturedly. I haven’t peeked once, but I’m beating the pants off him. I work each word in multiple times a week, though I gladly gave him moist.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Paul replies. He points at Indy. “And you don’t have it.”
“I don’t have finesse?” she asks. Paul shakes his head. “All right, Mr. Finesse, come show me your mad skills.”
Paul dusts off his hands on his pants, jumps over the fence into the mud, and says, “Step aside.”
Indy mutters and follows him to where she has Betty’s rope tied to the shed wall. He settles his big frame on the small stool, which brings to mind a clown in a tiny car. Betty turns and sniffs the hand he holds out, then resumes chewing on something.
We can’t see what he’s doing, but Indy is intent on his hands. A minute later, she turns to us in outrage. “Why isn’t she kicking him? Everyone wants to kick Paul.”
“Everyone except Betty,” he says, still working.
“Well, I guess you have a new job, Mr. Finesse.” Indy climbs the fence to stand beside me. “What’s for dinner?”
Paul sits up. “What do you mean?”
“You’re the only person Betty doesn’t kick. Morning and night, it’s all you. Milk goes in the rec center kitchen and Sacred Heart picks it up every other day.”
I cackle and wipe a glob of mud from Indy’s neck while she sets her mud-covered hat on a fencepost.
“You suck,” Paul groans.
“Daddy,” Leo says warningly, “you’re going to get a timeout.”
Indy pulls him to her side. “Are you hungry, little man? I’ll take you to dinner. Paul, I’ll trade you—a goat for the kid.”
“Works for me,” Paul says, winking at Leo. “His bedtime’s at eight, he talks in his sleep, and he hates candy, so don’t give him any.”
Leo squeals in denial of the last statement. Jorge and Maria appear, and we head to the rec center with promises to save Paul a seat. I shiver on our way. The sun isn’t down, but the temperature has plunged.