Shades of Truth (8 page)

I
slid into the seat next to Ruth at lunch. “Are you ready for your report?”

She finished her bite of celery and then said, “Yeah. I’m doing it on
family
.”

Maybe I should have decided what to say before I sat down, because now, watching Ruth eat celery, my mind flooded with questions I couldn’t ask.
Did you tell on the boys and let me take the blame? Do you really not believe me?

Before I could sort out my thoughts, Frankie appeared and leaned across our table toward Ruth. “So, I’ve talked to every single seventh grader, and no one seems to have told on the boys. Sadie here insists she didn’t do it, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s right. So that leaves one person.”

“Leave me alone, Frankie.”

“What’s the squeaky-clean pastor’s kid more likely to do?
Tell, because she’s so pure and innocent and can’t have anything weighing down her conscience? Even when that means letting her new friend take all the blame?”

Ruth ripped the peel off her orange. “Go away, Frankie.”

Frankie gave her one last glare and began talking to Ty. As soon as I was sure Frankie was totally preoccupied, I said in a low voice, “Ruth —”

“I suppose you don’t want to come to youth group with me tomorrow?”

“I never said …”

“I thought all this was over.” Ruth shoved all of her garbage into her lunch bag and stood up. “I hate being a pastor’s kid.”

After she walked away, I didn’t find another chance to talk to her all day. She hadn’t admitted anything, but she hadn’t denied Frankie’s accusation either. My anger grew all day, anger punctuated by each gunshot that echoed through the woods and into our open classroom window.

By the time I sat down to work in the blue room, anger sizzled out of my fingers. Peter walked into the art studio with a plate of cookies, just as I was busy attacking my page with the graphite stick.

“Woah!” He set the cookies down on the table. “I didn’t realize drawing was a contact sport.”

“Why am I doing this?” I looked at my blackened fingers and the dark box on my page. “I can’t draw over this.”

Peter exchanged a look with Vivian before grabbing a cookie. “Later, gators.”

As he left, Vivian walked over and stood behind my shoulder. “Maybe you can try again, more lightly. We’re going for a light silvery gray.”

I drew a new box on fresh paper and tried to rub more lightly. The paper ripped, and I shoved the book away.

Vivian looked me directly in the eyes and then nodded. “Right. We’ll do this lesson backward.”

“I can’t even do it forward.”

“Come on,” she said. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

She led me through the kitchen into a small cement-walled room. A pile of brightly colored dishes waited in a stack on the floor. Vivian flipped a switch and the room filled with colored light: red, orange, blue, purple, and yellow.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

Vivian picked up a blue plate. “This isn’t exactly an art lesson. But you’re in the right mood to help me with my project today.”

“Which is?” I asked.

Suddenly Vivian hurled the plate against the wall and it smashed into tiny pieces.

I jumped back, startled. “What are you doing?”

“Feel like breaking some dishes? I need ceramic pieces for my next sculpture.” She handed me a green plate with a thick, purple border.

I looked doubtfully at the wall. “I can really throw this?”

“Please do.” She tossed another, Frisbee style.

I threw it as hard as I could, throwing not just the plate,
but the entire week, Ruth, Frankie, the ever-present gunshots, Jim Paulson, Mom’s exhaustion, and my enormous questions. As it shattered, something tight inside me loosened and rattled. I couldn’t stop. I threw another plate and another, until I doubled over with laughter. Vivian laughed too. Before long, tears streamed down our faces. We threw until two plates were left.

“Ready?” Vivian asked. “Let’s do it together, on the count of three. One … two … three.”

The crash echoed, then gave way to silence, the loud kind, the kind that settles after a fireworks show.

Vivian picked up a few shards and held them under the lights, casting shadows on the floor. “As you shade your drawings, adding light and shadows, that’s when your pictures come alive.”

There was my word again:
alive
. When every gunshot meant possible death, and suffocating anger met me around every corner, my word felt like a joke. But now, breathless from laughing and breaking plates, and with electricity buzzing in my fingers again — this time joyful energy, energy that made me want to grab a pencil and draw, to rub the puppy’s fuzzy ears — I understood why Ms. Barton didn’t want me to study words like hunting or murder, or even trust, words that pushed me toward the shadows.

I picked up a shard and held it under the light, looking at the brightest areas, where light gleamed off the shiny ceramic glaze. “You couldn’t draw the light areas if you didn’t draw the shadowy parts.”

“Aha!” Vivian tossed her shard aside and swooped me up into a twirling hug. “You made it an art lesson after all!”

“At least now I won’t rip through my paper each time I touch it, right?”

Later, Peter joined me on the porch, whittling a piece of wood as I drew the porch swing, focusing on the light and shadows. Once I had captured the light the way I wanted to, I handed my sketchbook over. “What do you think?”

“Not bad.” He held it out, comparing the drawing to the swing itself. “Your drawing looks real enough to start swinging any second.”

I took my sketchbook back. “Can I see what you’re working on?”

He passed me the little creature, a squirrel with his head tilted as though saying,
Pass the sugar
,
please.

“See,” I said, grinning at the life-like image. “How can my dad even imagine shooting something this adorable?”

“You mean hunting?” Peter took the squirrel back and used short strokes of his knife to shape the furry tail.

I picked at a loose sliver of wood on the deck. “Dad got a hunting license to be more like the hunters around here, but it won’t work. I know it won’t. First of all, Dad isn’t evil like they are.”

Peter put down his knife and looked me in the eye. “Sadie, hunters aren’t evil.”

“But they shoot living creatures, like your squirrel, and like Big Murphy. They’re murderers, Peter.”

“Sadie, around here, hunting is a tradition. Almost
everyone hunts.” He picked up his squirrel. “I’m making this little guy to commemorate a squirrel I shot this weekend.”

As his words sunk in, I stood up to leave. No. I didn’t want to hear this.

“Sadie, listen to me.” Peter stood to block my path. “My dad taught me to hunt as soon as I was old enough to hold my own shotgun. He taught me the sport, sure, and we eat some of the meat we shoot too, but more importantly, hunting is part of the natural order around here. If people don’t kill off enough bear or deer during hunting season, the population soars, and the weakest animals starve to death in the winter.”

“Everyone uses that excuse. The bears could find food somewhere. If not here, then they could move on.”

“To another community that already has a bear population, Sadie.”

“So you shoot bears?” I demanded. “You would shoot Patch, or Humphrey …” A sob caught in my throat.

Peter put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “Sadie, no. I wouldn’t shoot one of Helen’s research bears. I just want you to understand that hunters aren’t evil. The only way your dad will make any progress around here is if people can see both sides of this issue, come to the middle a little more.”

His words reminded me of my thoughts about the light and shadows, and also made me long for the electric feeling I’d felt after breaking dishes with Vivian. Why did happiness dissolve so fast?

Peter stepped away from the door. “I don’t expect you to see hunting differently this second, Sadie. I’m just asking you to try. Okay?”

I hugged my sketchbook to my chest and nodded. “Okay.”

I
asked Dad to drive me to youth group Thursday night even though Ruth and I didn’t talk all day at school. First of all, I had promised to take the puppy to the star shower, and maybe he would magically fix the problem between Ruth and me. I could hope anyway. I brought my sketchbook in case I ended up not wanting to talk to anyone.

Before Dad pulled out of the parking lot, he rolled down the window and called, “Come home with a name. We can’t call him the puppy forever.”

Ruth stood by the rope ladder with Bea and Lindsay, and followed them when they rushed over.

“Whose puppy is it?” Bea asked.

“Mine,” I said. I set him down, and they all crowded around.

“This is the perfect conversation starter, Ruth,” Lindsay said. “For Cameron.”

“Oh yeah, I think he has a dog too,” Bea said.

Ruth’s cheeks were the color of tomatoes, but she was trying to smile. I could tell she didn’t want Bea or Lindsay to know anything was wrong between the two of us. Her voice was a little choked as she said, “He’s adorable, Sadie. What’s his name?”

“I need help naming him, actually.”

Just then, the puppy sighed and laid his head down on his front paws in such a serious way that we all giggled.

“It’s got to be a serious name, like something you’d name your butler. But wiggly too,” Bea said.

“Because that’s not hard.” Lindsay punched Bea in the arm. “Come on, Doug and the guys are having their marshmallow contest while they wait for the sky to get dark.”

I let the puppy walk on his leash until he lay down and refused to go farther, then scooped I him up. Bea and Lindsay went up ahead, but Ruth hung back.

“I didn’t expect you to come tonight,” she said.

“The puppy insisted on seeing the star shower.”

“I know we need to talk, Sadie. But can we wait — I mean, until we’re not here?” She looked ahead, watching Cameron laughing with his band members.

I nuzzled the puppy’s head, breathing in his warm, spicy smell. Whatever Ruth had to say to me, whatever I had to say to her, could wait. In the end, no matter what Ruth said, once we cleared the air, I did want to be her friend.

“So what about Cameron?” I nodded at him. “I’ve been meaning to ask for more details ever since Black Bear Java.”

“He and I have never even really talked,” Ruth said.

I stared at her. “How do you know you like him then?”

“Well, we all talk at the Tree House, and when we discuss things he asks real questions, and doesn’t expect me or even Doug or Ben or Penny to know the answers. I always feel I should know everything, you know, like everyone expects me to. But I don’t think it would be like that with Cameron.”

We were close to the rocks now.

“So talk to him tonight, Ruth. See if he’ll help name the puppy.”

She gave me her best elfish smile. “Maybe I will.”

We found a rock and watched the end of the marshmallow contest. The football player, Ted, made it to nine marshmallows. His friend, Leo, got up to eight. But somehow Doug stuffed eleven marshmallows in his mouth all at the same time.

They spit out the goo and used wet wipes on their faces.

“Beat ya,” Doug said.

“I’ll get you in the end,” Ted said.

They all laughed and high-fived each other.

Doug checked the sky. “Almost dark enough. And I see that tonight
Sadie
brought a friend. Who’s this?”

“He needs a name,” Bea said. “A serious but also wiggly name.”

“Which is impossible,” Lindsey said. “I’ve told Bea this.”

“Everything is possible,” Doug said.

A few people shouted back, “For the one who believes!”

What was this — a church inside joke?

“All right. So your job tonight, as you’re watching the mystery and wonder of the stars, is to think about puppy names. That is a God moment if ever I heard of one. The tiniest of beings next to what is almost beyond our imagining.” Doug smiled over at me. “As long as Sadie really wants our help.”

“Yes. Absolutely,” I said.

“Tonight is a quiet kind of night, so I won’t do a lot of talking. But talk with one another. Talk about your week and the stars and what you wonder. And listen too.”

“Take the puppy and talk to Cameron,” I told Ruth. “I’ll draw for a little while.”

Ruth hesitated.

“Go,” I said.

She snuggled the puppy close, and carried him over to Cameron.

I wanted to draw the patch of sky just above the tree line. The trees were a deep black, the sky lighter, and the stars and sliver of moon lighter still. I shaded in layers, working to catch all the shadows.

“You’re an artist,” Doug said, sitting next to me.

“I’m learning to be.”

We sat, me drawing the sky, him watching for shooting stars. He didn’t ask questions or push me at all. The longer we sat I felt more and more comfortable, like it really would be okay for me to talk to him.

“I picked up
The Book of Common Prayer
at the library,” I said.

“Yeah?” he asked. “What do you think of it?”

“I like it, I think. I never really prayed before, and I don’t know what to say.”

“The prayers in your book have been prayed for centuries, so they have history and strength. You can almost imagine the voices of all the people who have read them, speaking along with you.” He pointed at a shooting star.

I drew a little, thinking, about people praying for so many years. Had they prayed for bears not to be shot? For their parents? For life to make more sense?

“My mom is sick,” I said. “Not life and death sick. She has Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I kind of want to pray for her, but I’m afraid to.”

Doug didn’t ask why. He nodded and then waited, watching the sky.

“I’m afraid,” I finally said, “because what if she doesn’t get better? What if my prayers don’t work? You always think God is the one thing that’s bigger than anything else. Bigger than doctors and wishes and everything. And if God doesn’t fix her …”

“Then no one can,” Doug finished my thought. “You know, Sadie, you’re right. God doesn’t always say yes. Sometimes we pray and things don’t turn out the way we want. But praying isn’t like wishing. Prayer is about you, not about what you want to happen. Praying is talking to
God — getting close to him. Think of talking to him like you talk to your best friend.”

“Like how I tell my best friend about things she can’t fix?”

“Yes, like that. She knows how you feel, and you know how she feels, and the space between the two of you gets smaller.”

“Does that mean God can’t fix things?”

“No. Like I said earlier, with God everything is possible. It’s just every single event on Earth affects every other single event. You know, like in the time travel movies, when one chance meeting changes all of history? God sees everything, big and small, and he cares about it all. He wants the best for us.” Doug pointed out another shooting star. “Don’t try to understand everything all at once, Sadie. Just hang out with the questions.”

Ruth came over. “Cameron came up with the perfect name.”

“Which is?” I put away my sketchbook and pencils and held the puppy tight.

“Higgins.”

“Cameron thinks I should call the puppy Higgins,” I called to the group. “Does anyone have other name suggestions?”

Names erupted from the darkness:
Midnight
and
Ranger
and
Pete.

“Okay, okay!” I laughed, as the real suggestions ran out
and the football players started shouting names like
Rugrat
and
Flea.

“Should we call you Higgins?” I whispered into the puppy’s ear.

He wiggled and sighed.

I hugged him close. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

Doug moved over to another group.

I turned to Ruth. “And Cameron? How was that?”

“It’s nice to finally talk to him,” Ruth said. “I was right. He’s different.”

I thought about what Doug had said, about every little event affecting every other event. The puppy nipped my finger with his sharp teeth. I rubbed the soft spot on his forehead. “You might be a miracle,” I said. Then I tried out the name, “Higgins.”

Ruth laid back on the rock next to us, and we looked up just in time to see another shooting star.