Dear Opl (14 page)

“Cider?” Ollie offered.

“I brought a gift,” Rudy said, bending over to pick up the saltines. “I wasn't sure what to bring, so I just looked through the shelves at the pantry.” He held the box out to Mom. “We had lots of these.”

She swallowed and took the box, handling it as if it might explode. She looked down at the crackers and then held them out to G-pa. “Could you take…Rudy into the living room? Maybe you two could talk about army business or something. Opal? May I speak with you upstairs?”

I gave an encouraging smile to Rudy and followed Mom up to my room. She used the bathroom for a whole five minutes, but I didn't hear the toilet flush. I sat on my bed and waited, twisting my hands to calm the big hairball of fear growing in my stomach. Was she going to shout at me? Maybe she was practicing her mean face in the mirror. When she came out, her eyes were all puffy and red, like after the time we watched
March of the Penguins
where some of them didn't make it through the whole march.

We sat on the bed and she took my hands in hers. “Opal…today was surprising. I did not expect to find someone in my shop. Or find out that someone had a key. It was an even bigger surprise to discover he was an employee of mine, yet I hadn't had the chance to hire him myself.” She paused and gave me the super-serious look. The one that says,
Turn
the
volume
dial
on
your
ears
up
to
ten
. “And the biggest surprise was finding out the person I thought I was teaching was in fact teaching me.”

“What do you mean, Mom?” This was the part where I always got blindsided. It looks like she's going soft on you and then…
whamo!
I waited and watched her eyes.

“I read in a book once that while we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about. I was wrong to mislead you. Those pictures of the women on the fridge. The whole skinny jeans thing. The dieting.” She put her head in her hands and groaned. “Ugh. I was really caught up in other things, but that was definitely not the right way to go.” Mom looked at me again. “I am so sorry.”

I took a big breath. No whamo. “Does this mean no more pantry letters?” I looked at her hopefully.

“The days of my pantry posts are over. Besides, I think we've got a much better writer in the family. I'm a big fan of your blog.”

My jaw dropped. “Really? You're reading it?”

“Every post. G-pa sent me the link. I love it. You tell it like it is—really speak the truth as you see it.”

I suddenly deflated. “Yeah, about that. I'm really sorry for lying to you about the after-school bookshop work. But you're gonna love Rudy. He's a mess to look at sometimes, but hey, even G-pa's Christmas Stewed Fruit Compost Pile looks like something Mr. Muttonchops chucked up, but it sure tastes great. I think we just have to search for the underneath like G-pa says.”

Mom smiled for the first time tonight. “It's Fruit Compote, not compost.”

I gave her a hug. “Whatever you call it, it's not on the menu tonight. And speaking of, your Grand Opening Eve Celebration Dinner awaits. And Rudy too. Come on. He only gets one meal a day and I think we've made him wait long enough.”

I stretched out in bed, the way we do in yoga class. I touched my headboard with my fingertips and reached with my toes in a superhuman attempt to make contact with the other side of my bedroom wall. I lengthened my spine the way Aura had us practice on the mat.

She always reminded us to notice our bodies and said to make yourself aware of the sensations that speak to you. Notice pain and try to soften it. Notice no pain, and breathe thanks into those places. I put my hands across my stomach and noticed something I hadn't noticed in what felt like a hundred years. Bones. I could feel bones underneath my skin. That was a big surprise. I'd thought maybe I'd never get to feel them again.

I guess I'd started to think about food as no longer a way to help swallow my feelings. I had my blog to help me spit everything out. And my blog readers left their ideas and opinions in the comment section for me to look at afterward. I could either take them or leave them. There was no easy way to ditch a one-pound bag of Peanut M&M's once you've eaten them.

Other things needed noticing today too. Like the fact that Rudy now had a job. And that Mom's Grand Opening was in two hours. But most importantly, Alfie Adam still had not called or even written back to let me know what time he was coming. I do not like when people run things down to the wire. He might have been used to living life at fevered pitch, zipping around the world, because he had his
people
to do all the dirty work for him. But I had no people. I was just me. And just me had not heard from any of his people.

In my last email to him, I had told him he no longer had to make a Grand Speech for the Grand Opening. He just had to stand on the little podium and say welcome. Then he could smile for a few snapshots with customers—and of course Mom and me. And lastly, we could go back to our house for a cup of tea. He could even have the stinky perfumed Earl Grey kind that English people drink by the bucketful, and I could have the one Aura gave me called
Relaxed
Mind
. We could then spend the rest of the afternoon correcting his recipes for us Americans. The whole metric system with their liters and grams gives me a massive headache. We'd swap all that out. Then he could publish a new version of his cookbook and I could have second billing. Or he could just put me at the top of his acknowledgment page where he lists all the important people who helped to make the book. I have written all this to him in my most recent email and yet he's leaving his plans to the last minute.

Breakfast would be leftovers from last night's food festival. I rubbed my eyes and remembered some of the best parts of it. After Mom and I came downstairs, I'd waited to introduce Rudy properly. He was telling G-pa about life as a rodeo clown, and Ollie was spread out on the floor, his White Witch costume hitched up around his waist. Bits and pieces of broken toys lay scattered about on the floor where Ollie measured Rudy's prosthetic foot. Rudy's pant leg was rolled up to his knee. When Ollie saw Mom and me come into the room, he jumped up and said, “Hey, guess what? I'm going to make Mr. Muttonchops a Transformer leg like Rudy's. He can slip his hind leg in and out of it whenever he wants.”

“Ollie,” I said, coming closer. “Rudy doesn't have the rest of his leg in there. That plastic bit
is
his leg.”

Ollie's mouth fell open and his eyes popped wide with shock. “Really? That whole part came off?”

Rudy nodded and knocked on the hollow sounding plastic. “Yup.”

“Wow,” Ollie whispered. “Only part of you died.”

On that cheerful note, I told Mom about Rudy's history, letting him fill in some of the interesting details while I brought the food to the table. Dinner tonight was all comfort foods. Chunky tomato soup with a chicken pot pie. G-pa and I had practiced dough rolling for days before we found a recipe that said you could make individual pot pies in small ovenproof dishes without having to worry about making any pastry. We just filled the dishes with chunks of chicken, peas, carrots and potatoes, all in a thick chicken broth and then placed a square of puff pastry right over the top of each dish. Super easy. Super delish.

Dessert was homemade chocolate chip cookies. I found Dad's old recipe on the dusty top shelf of where the cookery books live. I had to stop and think for a minute to make sure I could go through making them. Every time I thought of Dad, either my fists balled up full of anger, ready to tear something apart, or my eyes leaked like the Emerald City guard guy from
The Wizard of Oz
when he eavesdropped on Dorothy's sappy
there's no place like home
story. Neither one of those were a pleasant reaction to whipping up a batch of homespun happiness, and I refused to see myself falling apart at school anytime somebody announced we were going to have a bake sale.

I held on to the paper with his smeary handwriting. I brought it up to my nose and inhaled his memories. I couldn't let this part of him die too. I decided to go ahead and make them. It was too early to say whether I would feel any comfort from them or not.

The food was a big success and over dinner, Rudy told Mom about all the little things he'd been doing in the shop since he'd started working there. I could tell she was impressed because most of the time her mouth hung open. She said she couldn't believe all this had happened right in front of her eyes. Except I had to remind her that a lot of the time her eyes had been closed while they were happening.

Rudy told Mom about some of his ideas for the next couple of months. It turns out, Rudy's organizational skills from working on a highly efficient ranch as well as with the United States' government would be put to good use in the bookshop. And Mom said she refused to have an employee who didn't get paid. She said she'd been planning to hire someone after the bookshop got up and running, after it built up a little customer base but apparently some of Dad's life insurance money had finally been sent. She couldn't think of a better way to put that money to good use.

I met G-pa in the kitchen. He'd already heated up a bowlful of last night's chicken pot pie, but he'd cracked an egg over the top and cooked it beneath the broiler. “Great idea,” I told him and started working on a copy for my own breakfast.

Clacking footsteps zipped back and forth across the ceiling above us. The kitchen was just below Mom's bedroom.

“Sounds like it's a fancy pants sort of day,” G-pa grunted. “She's got her high heels on.”

“Twenty minutes,” Mom shouted from the top of the stairs. “We're leaving in twenty minutes!”

Ollie came around the corner with an empty bowl and a tomato-red mustache. “I smushed everything together from last night. You should try it, Opal.”

I crinkled my face and took the bowl from him to put in the dishwasher. “Maybe next time, buddy. And you might want to wash your face before we go. It seems breakfast is kind of stuck there.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Nah, I think it might go with my outfit today. I bet Mom will really like this one. It's my best idea yet.” His best idea yet was Mrs. Clause. Covered in my old Red Riding Hood cape and the scarlet tree skirt from the Christmas boxes G-pa had brought down from the attic, he lacked only the ruffled white cap.

“What will you wear on your head?” I asked him.

“Mom said I could use her white shower cap. And G-pa gave me his old reading glasses that don't read anymore.”

“Excellent.” I nodded. “I hope it's well received with the crowds today. It screams festive.”

He put the reading glasses on. “Not my message.”

I looked at him seriously. “What
is
your message, Ollie? Is there something you're trying to tell us?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Just Mom.” He left in a blur of red fur just as Mom came into the kitchen, smelling like she'd fallen into a department store perfume counter. The fumes made my eyes water.

“How do I look?” she asked, rushing for a cup of coffee to go.

“Scared,” G-pa said. “Are you accepting an Academy Award or selling a couple of paperbacks today?” His chair scraped along the floor as he pushed it back under the breakfast counter.

Mom bristled like a bloated porcupine. “I'd welcome a little support this morning, Grandpa.”

He slid his tattered winter coat over his arms and shoulders, flipping back the frayed corduroy collar. “Pfft. You've got my support. But I won't act like your paparazzi and rile up your nerves further. Aren't you just going to flip the front door sign from
closed
to
open
?”

“No,” I jumped in as Mom began to answer. “There's a little podium where the Grand Master of Ceremonies will make a speech just before we do the ribbon cutting ceremony and let people pass through the doors.”

Both Mom and G-pa turned to look at me.

“Grand Master of Ceremonies?” Mom repeated. “I didn't ask anyone—”

“But I did. It's part of my Christmas present surprise for you and the shop. Just wait.” I swallowed nervously. “It'll be a good speech.”

“I'm bringing my paper,” G-pa announced, heading for the front door. “I'll see you all in the car.”

When we swung past the store front on Main Street and into a parking space across the road, we saw Rudy already at work. The podium stood off to the side so it wouldn't block the view of the shop's entrance. The big sign
Bound
to
Please
Bookshop
covered in gold garland hung above the front door. A braid of shiny gold rope with tassels on the ends surrounded the door itself. Two whittled wooden posts stood in front of the door, sunk into five-gallon Crisco drums filled with sand. A red-and-white ribbon looped across the posts. Actually, it was a homemade streamer made from old Campbell tomato soup labels taped together. Rudy sure knew the meaning of thrifty and salvaged a lot from the soup kitchen. I flashed him a big thumbs up as I crossed the street.

Mom rushed up behind me and spluttered. “Rudy, it's fabulous. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Basically, everything was ready for the Grand Opening. The display counters showcased the latest novels. The children's section had a beanbag chair and some colorful mats on the floor. Dad's old comfy chair would be an enticing invitation once G-pa left it. And soft holiday music played over the speaker system. Mom even had a pot of mulled cider with little paper cups on a table by the entrance right next to a plate of gingerbread men I made two days ago.

A couple of people started to gather outside on the sidewalk, peeking in through the frosted-glass windows. Mom had let Ollie do the windows. Spraying white paint all around the edges and corners was enough to inspire his imagination, but Mom stopped him before he could cover the hardwood floors in fake snow.

I set out napkins at the treats table and started taking inventory of the people I'd invited who'd showed up already. Summer and Ethan waved to me through the glass. I waved back. I hoped Summer wasn't paying too much attention because I waved a little bit longer to Ethan than to her.

Beth Friedman stood behind them, her scrubs peeking from beneath her winter coat. Chefs Jerry and Patricia had called Mom last week to ask if they could set up a table outside with samples of the new menu line they were serving in school. Apparently, it went along with their new book, which Mom said she'd stock in the store. I don't know if they'd find much success.
Bottoms
Up! A Guide to the Healthiest Colon Ever
had not inspired a lot of interest at school—that was for sure.

In the back of the gathering crowd I saw my yoga posse. A head of white-gold hair and sparkling eyes belonged either to Aura or our Main Street's Christmas tree angel. Maybe the angel had popped off her spire and floated down to the bookshop for a look. Mr. Stretchy was not stretching. But I did see a larger cloud of air crystals above his head than anyone else's. I guess he was still yoga breathing.

Hannah Hammertoes stood beside the Fishbowl. Her lips had the look of a drawstring purse. And instead of blinking, her eyes pinched shut as if she was squeezing something out. I figured either the Fishbowl was passing a load of cheek squeakers or Hannah wore her toe-crushing shoes. Regardless, it was good of them to come and I was happy the twenty flyers I'd taped to the entrance of the yoga studio and the thirty I'd rolled up inside each yoga mat had gotten got the message out.

I recognized a few more people from school. Mr. Inkster had just driven by in his hydrogen car with a bumper sticker that said, “Obey Gravity. It's the Law!” And even Principal Souresik walked toward us. He must have read my school flyers too. They were kind of hard to miss. If he hadn't caught sight of one of the seventy-five I'd pasted up around school, then surely he'd taken the time to read one of the ten I'd plastered across the windshield of his car.

Ollie peeked out from behind me. “Double darn!” he said, scrunching up his face and stamping his little black boot. “The Bulldozer is here.”