Chasing Jupiter (7 page)

“Scarlett!”

I looked up to see Mrs. Greene standing on the top of the hill. “Come on!” she shouted. “I told your mom I’d have you home by seven! It’s almost eight!”

“Coming!” I stood and brushed off my jeans. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Frank nodded. “Right. At the peach stand. Make sure Cliff’s got his sign ready.”

“I will. Okay, well, good-bye.” I smiled and ran up the hill toward Mrs. Greene.
I can’t wait until tomorrow
.

Y
ou cannot be serious.”

I tore my eyes away from the sign to glare at Cliff. He stood proudly in his freshly washed shirt and trousers, his hair slicked back with an unnecessary amount of gel. He gave me a smug smile and wrapped an arm around his sign. The smell of fresh paint still lingered in the air. “Don’t you like it?”

“Cliff!” I threw up a hand, exasperated. “It’s in Spanish!”

¡Pasteles de melocotón en venta!!
the sign read, in sprawling blue letters. A large painting of a peach sat in the bottom corner, while a sun graced the top.

This is weird. Even for Cliff, this is really weird
.

My head was beginning to hurt. I rubbed my forehead and prepared to turn on my heel. As I did so, I saw Cliff’s brows had knotted.

“Is something wrong, Scarlett?”

I rolled my eyes. “How did you even know how to spell
peaches
in Spanish?”

He shrugged. “From the Spanish translation dictionary you gave me for Christmas.”

Drat
. He had begged me for that dictionary. Then he’d walked around the house spewing out Spanish words for weeks.

“There’s only one solution.” I stepped back and rubbed my neck.
“You’re going to have to repaint it—and fast.” I shot him a look. “In
English
.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Cliff paint as I arranged the pies on the stand. The warm, tangy peach scent tickled my nose.
Oh, they smell so good. And they look so nice
. I couldn’t help but feel especially proud of the presentation. The crust was perfectly flaky, the peaches perfectly gooey. It had been worth staying up late to get them all made.

“Yum!” a deep voice grumbled. Dad sauntered out of the side door, wearing a large smile on his face. He wrapped an arm around me and took a big whiff. “Did you make an extra pie for your old man?”

“No, but if you’d like one, they’re only two dollars apiece.” I scrunched up my nose and beamed at him.

Dad rubbed his stomach and leaned in to kiss my cheek. “I personally know how good my Scarlett is at cooking, so I’m going to buy two.”

He reached into the pockets of his faded jeans and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill. “I believe that will be four dollars and a tip. That makes …” He looked down and held up the bill. “Well, I believe that’s five dollars exactly!”

Cliff whooped and snatched the money, doing a little victory dance. “Five dollars!”

Dad’s eyes twinkled as he watched Cliff dance. Then he turned to me and winked before grabbing two pies and walking back up the driveway toward the house. The screen door slammed behind him.

“Hey, Cliff, how’s that sign coming?”

Cliff held up the sign.
Peach Pies for Sale. Two dollars each
.

“Perfect.” Stepping back, I looked over the table.
Once again, perfect
. “Okay, now all we have to do is wait.”

The sun was hazy and warm overhead, making my head swarm.
The Georgia heat was intoxicating. I was grateful for the umbrella Frank had set up over the stand.

Cliff lay on his back in the grass and closed his eyes with a wide smile on his face. I itched to join him.
No, I’d better stay right here. A customer might come any minute
.

I looked down the dirt road. We were stationed at the end of the driveway, where it met the neighborhood road. Usually this road was pretty busy with folks going to church, the grocery store—anywhere, really. But today? Nothing. No cars, no bikes … Zip.

My eyes wandered back to the soft grass. Yes, soft. And warm and green and …

Okay, stop it. You never know when someone will show up
. I wrapped a strand of hair around my finger.
Although … if a car came I would be able to hear it, wouldn’t I?
And then I could jump up and be in my seat before they even got out.

“Knock, knock,” Cliff said.

I sighed.
Really?
“Who’s there?”

“Anita.”

“Anita who?”

“Anita eat one of those pies. They smell real good, Scarlett.”

I raised an eyebrow, pleased. “Well, I’m glad you like them, but we can’t have any until we sell at least a few of them, okay?”

He frowned but didn’t push the subject any further. We sat in silence for what felt like forever.

Finally, I inched out of the seat and onto the grass to sprawl out next to Cliff. I watched the bloated white clouds drift by.
Isn’t it wild to think that this whole world is spinning—me along with it? It’s sort of like flying
. The thought sent shivers of exhilaration all through me.

The sound of wheels on gravel jolted me out of my daydream. I sat up and saw Frank bicycling toward us with purpose. He skidded to a stop in front of the stand. “No customers?”

“Nope.” I squinted up at him. His hair looked dazzlingly golden
in the sunlight, although just yesterday I had thought it looked plain brown.
Funny
.

“Well, my mother sent me over with a request for three peach pies. We’re having company tomorrow night.”

I smiled but rolled my eyes. “Will they really need three whole pies?”

Frank shrugged. “Who knows? Hey, kid.” He nudged Cliff with his foot, chuckling.

Cliff peeked at Frank with one eye. “Hey, I’m enjoying my
siesta
.”

We were interrupted by the arrival of a car in the driveway. I jumped, feeling goose bumps pop up all over my arms. “A customer,” I hissed, nudging Cliff with my own foot.

He sat up abruptly, and his entire body appeared to be on alert. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know.” I strained my eyes, trying to see into the window.

The baby blue car pulled to a stop, and the door popped open. Pastor Greene stuck his head out. “Good morning!”

His wife climbed out of the passenger side, her hair piled high upon her head. She waved. “How’s business?”

I licked my lips nervously. “Well … you know.”
Slow
.

Frank straightened and shook Pastor Greene’s hand. “Good morning, sir.”

Pastor Greene squinted and looked over the pies. “Some nice confections you’ve got here. My wife tells me you’re a great cook. Did you have any trouble building the stand?”

Pastor Greene was wearing slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A straw hat was in his hand, politely held by his side. It felt so strange to see him without a suit and tie. I blinked, realizing I hadn’t answered his question.

“Um, no, sir. None at all,” Frank jumped in. “Cliff and I did most of the construction together.”

Pastor Greene nodded, pressing his lips together. He looked impressed. “You’ve obviously got a gift for carpentry.”

I glanced at the stand. I hadn’t realized it, but it really was nice, like something a handyman dad would build.

“Can we have two pies, please?” Mrs. Greene pulled a five-dollar bill out of her pocketbook. “I’m going to bring one to Mrs. Nice. She can’t get out of the house herself, you know.”

My eyes flickered to the ground. “Right.” I accepted the money and stuffed it in our savings jar, then handed Mrs. Greene a dollar from the change stash I’d created.
Nine dollars
.

Pastor Greene picked up the pies, balancing them in his two hands. “I think this is the most delicious load I’ve ever had the pleasure of carrying for you, dear.” He winked at his wife.

She turned back to me. “Scarlett, I’ve really got to run, but I’ll be back for more pies next week. I promise.” She squeezed my hand, leaning close enough for me to smell her lemony-fresh perfume. Then she dropped my hand and scurried back to their car.

They pulled out of the driveway just as another car pulled in. Cliff glanced at me, raising his eyebrows. I smiled.
We’ll have that rocket in no time
.

The sun was just beginning to set, turning the sky into a warm palette of roses and peaches. Frank sighed and stretched out on the grass, closing his eyes. “Ugh. I don’t want to leave.”

Cliff nudged him. “You’ve got to go. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Frank opened one eye and glanced at me. “Did I ever tell you that you have an ornery little brother?”

“What does
ornery
mean?” Cliff sat up. “Scarlett, what does that word mean?”

I smiled. My fingers flipped through the money quickly, smoothing out the bills. “At times I find him rather cantankerous.”

Cliff’s mouth dropped into a small O. “I don’t know any of these words!”

“Sometimes he does act in a juvenile manner.”

Cliff frowned. “How do you even know all these words without looking in a dictionary?”

I reached out and closed his mouth, pinching his chin. “But I find him absolutely congenial.”

He made a face and squirmed away. Right. I forgot about the no-touching thing. But he still managed a small smile. “I’m going inside.”

We watched him leave in silence. Then Frank climbed to his feet. “Hey, how much did we make?”

I patted the money. “Eleven dollars. Plus the money from the three pies your mom ordered. So that makes seventeen.”

His eyebrows rose. “Why, if we keep doing that well, we’ll have that rocket by the end of summer! We only need about fifty or sixty bucks for all the wood and metal supplies.”

“Well, that’s the plan.” I shut down the stand and grabbed the last two pies, while Frank grabbed the three for his mom. The sweet, tangy smell still tickled my nose. “And we have two extras. One for you”—I balanced a pie on top of Frank’s already large load—”and one for us. Good night!”

He took a big whiff of the pie, his lips curling up in childish delight. “Yum. Four pies in one night. Someone’s going to have a stomachache tomorrow.”

I rolled my eyes as he placed his collection of baked goods in a box he’d lashed to his handlebars, then headed home.

“Hey, Mama! I still have one pie left!” The door slammed behind me. I brushed into the kitchen and placed the pie on the counter. “We can eat it after supper!” The supper Mama had promised to make, since I’d be busy with the pie stand all day.

Silence. Mama wasn’t in the kitchen. The counters were caked in grease and flour, the oven was still on, and cracked eggshells lay on empty plates. “Mama?”
Why would she just stop in the middle?

Voices drifted in from the living room. Mama and Dad.

I tiptoed through the hallway, a sick feeling in my stomach. My conscience was itching.
I don’t have to sneak. This is my house. I can just walk in and—

“No, Bill, you really don’t understand.” Mama’s voice sounded tense. Stressed.

“It’s just twenty bucks. I don’t get how that’s a problem.”

“Of course you don’t!” Mama sighed. “We just can’t keep giving money to these different political groups. Our family has to have something to live off of too, you know. How do you expect me to buy groceries when our bread money is in some politician’s bank account?”

I peeked through the crack of the living room door. Mama was sitting in the love seat, running a floured hand through her hair. She was still wearing an apron tied over her plantation outfit. Dad stood by the fireplace smoking a cigarette. He turned to her and stuck a hand in his pocket.

“Vida, we’re making enough money. You’ve got your job at the bed and breakfast, and Mr. Leggett mentioned hiring me to do some extra work around the farm in August. You know we’ll have enough to—”

“I don’t know about my job,” Mama hissed.

Dad halted, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

Mama’s face darkened. She rubbed her cheekbones, brushing what remained of the flour onto her face. “The plantation house
hasn’t been doing very well. We’ve been getting very little business. The Cummins already had to let go of two workers in the last month.” She lowered her voice and leaned against the mantle. “I’m just not sure how much longer they’ll need me.”

The room grew silent. I shivered in the ninety-degree heat and wrapped my arms around myself. I knew this was bad. What this could mean for our family. My stomach churned and, for a split second, I felt angry at both of them. Why couldn’t they just work it out and kiss and make up like normal couples? Why did everything have to be so hard and complicated and secretive? It made me hate living there and having to act like I hadn’t seen anything.

My cheeks flushed.
I shouldn’t have thought that
. I didn’t hate my life or anything about it. At least not that much.

Dad stepped forward and laid a hand on Mama’s shoulder. She turned abruptly and bolted away from him, heading for the door. I jumped, feeling like a snoop.
Great
.

Without thinking, I began climbing the staircase. The living room door opened, and Mama stepped out. She glanced up. “Scarlett!” Her voice hesitated. “When did you get in?”

“Oh, hi!” I said brightly.
Just act natural. Just act natural. Maybe they didn’t hear you earlier
. My lips pressed together, heat warming my cheeks. “I just came in. I’m going to go up and change out of these sticky clothes. I brought an extra pie if you want one.”
I am the worst liar on earth
. It was probably written all over my face. “Um, I’ll come down in a few minutes and finish up supper, okay?” I turned on my heel and practically ran up the rest of the stairs.

Supper was quiet, as usual, and without my sister. Cliff and Grandpop Barley decided to go to bed early, so there were also no Spanish Civil War narratives that night.

By the time I trudged upstairs and headed to my room, the sky was continuing to fade, the peachy pinks fading into a dusky purple. I switched on the lamp in my room and began to undress, pulling
on my pajamas. I was just fastening the last button when the door opened suddenly and Juli walked in. She threw a bag onto the ground and nodded to me. “Hey.”

I blinked. I knew I was supposed to say something friendly and encouraging, but the only thing that came to mind was, “Oh. You’re home.”

“Yeah, well …” Without stopping to take off her shoes, Juli collapsed onto her bed. “I’m pretty beat.” Her words were muffled in the pillow.

I sat on the edge of my bed and looked her over. Her sandaled feet were dirty. Stains and smears covered her long skirt, and there were small cuts on her arms. Everything about her seemed skinny and dirty and weak.