Unspeakable Things(30)

“Come on, Sephie!” I squealed. I didn’t look, but I knew she was following me even before I heard her feet hit the gravel. We watched the bus pull away, lumbering down the road and finally past our house.

“Dad’s gonna be mad that we got off early.”

“He won’t even notice,” I said, grabbing her hand. “And if he does, we’ll tell him we had to pick strawberries. He’ll get a kick out of that.”

Sephie didn’t respond. There wasn’t much to say because here we were. I crunched across the gravel until I was standing on the lip of the ditch separating the public road from Goblin’s private land. Summer bugs were whirring and clicking. I smelled clover and the rich, gritty scent of rain-soaked gravel. The ditch looped down, sandy by the road, turning green as it neared Goblin’s, and between, the patch of early wild strawberries, ruby jewels like I remembered.

I swallowed. I bet they tasted like pink lemonade, sweet-tart and happy.

Goblin’s farmhouse was one hundred yards beyond the wild strawberry patch. Sephie pointed at the NO TRESPASSING sign driven into the ground.

I pursed my lips. “The berries are on our side of the sign. Technically, we wouldn’t be trespassing. Come on, Sephie. You only live once.”

I thought I’d have to do a lot more convincing. I was wrong.

To this day, I’m not sure what made Sephie bolt across the ditch and grab at those berries like a starving animal. I’d always been the one to lead, always pushing the line, but without warning, it was like she needed to get at those berries more than she needed to breathe.

I was laughing when I took my first step into the ditch, following her. She looked so silly stuffing those strawberries into her mouth, like Cookie Monster on a binge. I swear she was even making the gobbling noises. I kept giggling as I neared her, would have laughed all the way to the berries if Goblin’s dog hadn’t caught wind of us and started barking to beat the band from inside the house.

We both froze.

Goblin charged out of his farmhouse moments later, ferocious dog at his ankles, shotgun in his hand. Only his mouth was visible below the brim of his hat, an angry slice of red across his face. He racked his gun, the crack echoing in the countryside.

Sephie screamed. So did I.

We sprinted toward our house, not looking back.

It was almost a mile, but we ate that road up in record time, running so hard that our sneakers slapped our butts. Once we were safely on the other side of our mailbox, we fell into a giggling heap. I felt so alive. My side was all stitched up from running fast, and it hurt to laugh, but I couldn’t stop hooting.

I look back at that day and wonder where we’d be now if I’d eaten those strawberries, too.

It wasn’t fair that only Sephie had to bear that.





CHAPTER 17

Birds sang, crickets rubbed their rear legs together, the green-juice tang of crushed fiddlehead ferns drifted up from the bottom of our sneakers, the chickens in our coop clucked and warbled, and a far-off car zoomed.

But there was no nearby sound of nailing, or mowing, or sawing or welding.

“I don’t hear Dad working,” I finally said, still on my rump, the giggle stitch fading.

“Me neither.” Sephie stood and brushed herself clean, offering me a hand. A ratty-looking black cat ran up to her, twining between her legs.

“Hey, Bimbo,” she said, petting him. I’d named him that because he’d let anyone pet him, but he especially liked Sephie.

“Race you to the house!” I called, dashing ahead.

She didn’t even try to catch up. Probably that letter was weighing her down, now that the exhilaration of being chased by Goblin had passed.

“Down here!”

Mom was kneeling in the one-acre garden at the bottom of the hill that tilted away from the driveway and barn. She waved her spade. My stomach dropped. No way was she going to have us slave in the garden on the last day of school. What was she even doing home so early?

“I know you see me!” she yelled, laughing, when I hesitated.

“Mom!” I whined. “Can’t we have a day off?”

“Yes, Peg,” Dad hollered from behind me. I jumped. I hadn’t heard him come up. “Can’t the girls have a day off?”

His green eyes were dancing. He held a sketch pad with a tiger lily drawing on its open page. It would make a gorgeous sculpture. I tilted my head, gauging his mood, his alcohol level. He seemed both sober and happy, which made no sense. I tossed a nervous gaze at Sephie. Her expression said she was as confused as me.

Mom stood, wiping dirt off the front of her cutoffs before grabbing a basket and strolling toward us. “I still have planting to do,” she said when she reached us. “And I have to drive in early tomorrow to get my grades in, so it has to be today.”

“We could plant, or we could go to town,” Dad said. “Who wants to join me?”

“Me!” Sephie raised her hand.

Mom had probably an hour’s worth of seed packets in her basket.

“Me too!” I said. I was worried Dad was meeting up with Bad Bauer for more of their Bad Business, but it would be better than working.

Dad gave Mom his full attention. “What do you think, love?”

Mom smiled. It was tired. “I’ll keep Cassie. We’ll plant the rest of these seeds and have supper waiting for you two when you get back.”