True Places(39)

“I get it.” Reid bounced the ball a few times as if deciding when to take his shot but actually thinking that Alex was exactly right. Reid had the sense that his self—who he was—wasn’t a fixed point somewhere inside of him. His self seemed more like a moving target, or like an amorphous blob that ought to be in a container with a label but wasn’t. Maybe that’s why he resented his father so much. His father acted like he knew who Reid ought to be and got pissed off when Reid couldn’t come up with an alternative. He didn’t have an alternative and wasn’t going to pretend he did. It was hard, trying to figure yourself out, because it meant you didn’t belong. All the kids he knew except for Alex stuffed themselves inside boxes to avoid the fear of not belonging.

Reid looked his friend in the eye. “I get it. I really do.”

Alex clapped him on the shoulder. “No one does different like you. Now shoot, you pussy.”





CHAPTER 18

Suzanne came down the stairs carrying a bundle of sheets long overdue for washing. She had underestimated how much time Iris would take from her day. Less than two weeks had passed since Iris had left the hospital, and Suzanne didn’t yet feel comfortable leaving her at home alone. Suzanne and Whit had attempted to impress upon her the importance of staying in contact, but sixteen years of free ranging was hard to overcome. When Iris first arrived, she slept a lot; the doctors had said she would do so until she fully recovered from the infection and gained sufficient weight. Suzanne had been able to accomplish most of her duties then, but now Iris had more energy. Yesterday, while Suzanne had been on the phone taking care of Booster business, Iris had climbed to the top of the fifty-foot maple in their neighbor’s backyard. At times Suzanne felt she’d taken on the responsibility of caring for a large, intelligent cat.

Iris was perched at the kitchen counter with her feet on the seat, leafing through The Sibley Guide to Trees. Suzanne went through to the laundry room and stuffed the sheets in the washer. It occurred to her that Iris’s knowledge of trees was probably vast, even if she didn’t necessarily know their scientific names or geographical distribution. Suzanne hadn’t thought of asking Iris what she knew; she had been too busy teaching Iris about the world she lived in now. Suzanne filled the detergent dispenser, started the washer, and returned to the kitchen.

“Do you like that book?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know there were so many trees, different trees, in other places.”

Suzanne nodded. “What about the trees you know already? Did you learn anything new?”

“No. But I don’t know a lot of the words.”

“I’ve got some other books. Hang on.”

In a box in the attic she found her college botany textbooks. Why she had held on to them for all these years was anyone’s guess. Many of them were too technical, such as Introduction to Ecological Biochemistry, but Suzanne thought some others might spark Iris’s interest and perhaps give the two of them common ground.

Suzanne carried the books down the narrow ladder, folded it into the ceiling, and brought the stack into the kitchen.

“These were my books in college.” She spread them on the counter: Stern’s Introduction to Plant Biology, Herrick and Snow’s Iroquois Medical Botany, and Balick and Cox’s Plants, People, and Culture: The Science of Ethnobotany.

Iris scanned the titles. “What’s an Iroquois?”

“A Native American.” The girl stared at her. “An Indian, the people who lived in America before the Europeans arrived.”

She picked up the book, opened it carefully, and turned a few pages. “My mother had a book like this but with more drawings.”

“She did?” Suzanne had not thought to ask what books Iris’s family might have had. She made a point of not prying, respecting Iris’s connection to her home, the woods, her past. Whit and the police had a different view, claiming they had a right to know. Suzanne agreed that finding Iris’s family was important but didn’t see the rush. Iris was recovering from one ordeal while coping with another. More, Suzanne could tell Iris’s memories were sacred to her. They were all she had left.

Iris studied the drawings closely, running her fingers along the outlines of the leaves and flowers as if touching the plants themselves.

“Did your mother teach you from the book?”

Iris looked up from the pages, her violet-blue eyes less guarded than usual. “Yes. We had to know the plants. For food, for medicine.” She lowered her head and became very still.

Suzanne suspected for the first time that Iris was holding on to more than memories. The girl had secrets, too. But pushing her now would only drive her further into herself. Instead Suzanne reached for the ethnobotany text, held it in her hands for a moment, feeling its weight, then turned to a random page and began to read. How had she forgotten how fascinated she had been with the intersection of people and plants? Each culture across the world, no matter the habitat, had discovered the utility of plants not only for food but also for medicine and in religious practices. Often all these uses were linked: sustenance, wellness, and spirituality were bound together, the way a plant is rooted in the earth while reaching for the sun. And despite the advances in modern medicine—and they were considerable—powerful natural sources of healing were being discovered, or rediscovered, all the time. Everyone knew about penicillin, aspirin, and digitalis, but hundreds of other, lesser-known medicines had been derived from plants. An extract from yew trees was one of the most potent drugs available against breast cancer, and the rosy periwinkle was used to treat childhood leukemia. Who knew how many more were yet to be uncovered? Plant compounds held so many answers, if we only knew the right questions. Suzanne lost herself to the ideas and possibilities.