Some Kind of Happiness (6 page)

These trees smelled sour and sharp—burned, though there were no flames.

The orphan girl noticed the change one day not long after her first encounter with the Rotters. She sensed a great pain lying hidden at the heart of the Everwood, a secret connected to the boot, the bridle, the blade.

Whatever this secret was, it had begun seeping into the Everwood trees like disease. The lady knight plucked a withered leaf from a low-hanging branch; it crumbled into ash at her touch.

“What does this mean?” the knight whispered. “What has happened here?”

The orphan girl did not answer. She was staring at the bridle. The ash from the crumbled leaf had fallen onto the bridle, and now the cords of leather were beginning to twist and grow.

The knight withdrew her sword.

“Do not interfere,” warned the orphan girl. “There is dark magic here. If we try to stop it, we might make it worse.”

Soon the bridle was no longer leather and gold but scales and skin—an enormous brown snake with bright turquoise eyes.

“What do you want?” demanded the orphan girl.

The snake hissed. “I know a secret.”

“Tell us,” yelled the knight, “or I'll cut off your head!”

The snake let out a wheezing laugh. Smoke curled up from its mouth. “I'd like to see you try.”

The orphan girl knelt to look the snake in its gleaming eyes. “What is the secret of the Everwood?”

“Oh, it isn't my place to tell you that,” said the snake coyly.

“Then why do you taunt us?” cried the knight.

“I said I know a secret. I didn't say I could share it.”

“Please, tell us what you know,” said the orphan girl. “We must save the Everwood.”

“You can't,” said the snake, with a cold smile. “Not with what you carry.”

The orphan girl stepped back. “What do you mean?”

“You know very well what I mean.” The snake raised itself up until it was as tall as a man. “Here. I'll show you.”

Then, too quickly for the knight to even raise her sword, the snake lunged at the orphan girl. Holding her upright in its coils, it opened its jaws wide over her mouth.

The orphan girl felt something deep inside her unraveling, sliding up her throat and out her mouth. She gagged.

The snake set her down in the dirt and spat a coil of darkness into her palm.

“There,” the snake said. “I cannot remove all of it. It is lodged too deeply. I am not powerful enough. And besides, it is not my darkness to fight.”

The knight crept closer. “What is it?”

The orphan girl stared at the slick, wriggling lump in her palm. When the orphan girl flung the thing away, it rolled through the mud, spitting smoke, until it, too, crumbled into ash and drifted away on the wind.

Raising her sword high, the knight shouted a battle cry and ran after it.

Once they were alone, the snake turned to the orphan girl. It was no longer smiling. “Whatever we carry within our hearts, the Everwood's power makes it real. And soon what you carry will destroy not only you but everything you touch. The Everwood is not as strong as it once was; your darkness will bring out its own. To save the forest you must face this thing inside you.”

The orphan girl held back tears of shame. Her great secret, the one she had worked so hard to conceal, lodged in her heart. “But how?”

“First you must give it a name,” said the snake. “Naming a thing takes away some of its power and gives it to you instead.”

The orphan girl backed away and shook her head. “But I cannot!”

The snake narrowed its eyes. “And why not?”

“Because I am afraid.”

“If you want to save the Everwood—and save yourself—you will have to find a way.”

The snake slithered off into the shadows.

“I cannot just stop being afraid!” the orphan girl shouted after it. Then she said quietly, “I have been afraid for so long.”

“Only fools try to run away from fear,” called the snake. “What you must do is learn to walk alongside it.”

Then the snake was gone. In the silence the orphan girl heard three distant keening howls. The darkness she carried inside her moved, restless, as though her secret were a beast and those howls were waking it up.

The knight returned. “My friend, I fear we cannot do this on our own. The evil here is too monstrous for only two warriors to conquer.”

“You are right,” said the orphan girl, watching the path the snake had taken, until her eyes burned. “We must find more brave souls for our quest.

“We need to bring others to the Everwood.”

I
AM EXPECTING A CALL
from home. Mom doesn't call that much—she has a secret phone phobia, so unless it's for work, she hardly ever uses it—but I talk to Dad almost every night at eight. It is now 8:05.

I pace up and down the hallway and then walk circles through the rec room. I peer out the tall windows, trying to see through the trees to the Bailey property.

One window of the Bailey house is lit up. The others are dark. A boy-sized shape walks along the river, then disappears up the hill.

I walk back to my bedroom, staring at my phone. 8:10. 8:12. I wipe my palms on my pajama pants.

The phone rings, and the screen lights up, displaying Dad's picture. He is dressed up for Halloween, even though Mom says he is too old for that. His costumes are always literary characters. Last year he was Miss Havisham from
Great Expectations
and carried around an actual spoiled cake.

“Lewis, why are you dressing up as a
woman
?” Mom asked.

Dad looked at her as though she had asked him to wear his shoes on his hands. “Because she's the best character in the book? Plus, my eight o'clock class dared me.”

Dad Havisham is calling me.

I answer. “Hello?”

“Fin! How's my girl? A whole week away from you, I'm going nuts.”

“I'm fine, I guess. Grandma's listening to the blues. Here, wait a sec.”

I creep to the landing and peek downstairs, holding out my phone. The air is full of music. It makes me think about one of my favorite words, a nine-letter word for “slow, heavy, rhythmic”:
ponderous.

In the living room Grandma and Grandpa dance in a slow circle. Grandpa presses his cheek against Grandma's hair. He says something soft, and Grandma laughs.

Something inside my chest gives way.

I cannot remember the last time Mom and Dad danced, or touched, or laughed, unless it had something to do with me.

The hand holding my phone is sweating. I go back to my room.

At the end of the hallway the door to Avery's room stands open. Everyone else went home days ago, but she is still here, and I can't figure out why. I assume it's because she loves our grandparents, but I haven't heard her say so.

There she is, sitting back in her pillows, playing with her phone.

She glances up, and I freeze. Her eyes cut into my skin, like my secret is this thing inside me, knotted up and quivering, and Avery knows right where it is.

I duck back inside my bedroom.

“Got to love Ray Charles,” Dad is saying in my ear. “Your grandma has good taste.”

“You never listen to Ray Charles.”

“I used to. You go through phases, you know?”

“Yeah. So how are you?”

“Excellent, excellent! The first section of summer school. Every day is packed full. Lots of grading. But the kids this time around are great.”

As Dad talks, I turn to the Favorite Words list near the front of my notebook and find
ponderous
. I enjoy how its letters look all together. This list has become so long that, to keep it to one page, I have begun writing words wherever I can find space, even in the margins.

Rivulet. Wanderlust. Flagrant. Gewgaw.
Three hundred and forty-six words so far.

I run my finger down the list, feeling the pen marks. “How's Mom?”

“Oh, she's engrossed in the Robertson renovation. You remember, that house on the lake? She's got swatches spread out all over the kitchen table. She's in heaven.”

There is that tiny pinch in his voice, the one that means Mom has been working too much. Again.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, sweetie.”

“Mom's really busy, huh?”

Dad sighs. “We both are. Sometimes I think . . .”

My heart pounds into the silence. “What?”

“Ah, nothing. You know me. I ramble.”

“How's . . .” I can't say it. It catches on my tongue like a swear word. “How's everything going? You know, with the stuff you and Mom are . . . figuring out?”

Dad is quiet for too many seconds. “Well, Fin. We've been talking about a lot of things.”

“Like what kind of things?”

“About me, and about your mom, and about our life together. School, her design firm. Whether . . . we're as happy as we should be.” He pauses. “It's pretty boring, actually. You're not missing a lot! But we miss you. We miss you like crazy.”

He's so cheerful, not saying much that is real, not really answering my question. I try to imagine him and Mom sitting around at home by themselves, talking and laughing without me, and I can't do it.

All I can picture is Mom working at the table and Dad working at his desk, and my empty spot on the couch, and silence.

All I can think is that, without me there, they don't have to pretend everything is okay.

They don't have to pretend smile, and say pretend
have a good day
and pretend
I love you
.

Pretend words sound so different from real ones. Like you've got something stuck in your throat that won't come out, and you're trying to act like it isn't there.

I feel sick to my stomach all of a sudden. “Grandma made pot roast tonight. And asparagus.”

“Asparagus? Hmm. Spindly green things, right?”

Dad hates vegetables. Mom says he had better be careful about that. He's not eighteen anymore.

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

“When you get home, I'm going to make you such a welcome home dinner, it'll put your grandma's cooking to shame.”

“Dad. Be serious.”

“I am, Fin. I am.” Dad gets quiet again, and I sit there waiting for him to speak, and wanting to ask to talk to Mom, and wanting to hang up on him, and twisting my shoelace around my finger until it is so tight my skin turns red.

I miss him. I'm angry they have left me here.

But I would stay here for ten summers if it meant, at the end of them, I could come home and everything would be the same as it used to be.

Then I remember something that has been on my mind. “Dad? I have a question.”

“Yeah? Shoot.”

“You know the Bailey family? They live across the river from Grandma and Grandpa?”

I wait. Have I lost the call? “Dad?”

“Yeah? Yeah! I'm here. Sure, the Baileys. They're still there, huh? What about them?”

“Yeah. Gretchen and I were outside, and they just started chasing us. The Baileys, I mean. We chased them but we couldn't catch them. Gretchen said Grandma told them they're supposed to stay away from us, and we're supposed to stay
away from them. She said Grandma said they're a blight on the town. But I don't get why. Gretchen acted like she really hated them, and I thought it was weird to hate someone for their house being messy. Don't you think it's weird? Unless they did something bad or wrong or something.” I pause.

I didn't mean to say so much, but it feels better now that I have. I miss having Mom and Dad around to talk to. “Dad?”

He draws in a long, slow breath and then says, “Finley?”

“Yeah?”

“I don't want you talking with the Baileys either. And I mean it.”

The seriousness of his voice frightens me. “But why?”

“Because . . .” Dad sighs sharply. “Look, Finley, when we were teenagers, the Baileys—their dad, I mean—he wasn't a good kid. He did . . . bad things. He's not safe to be around, and if he has kids now, I bet they're not much different. I wouldn't trust them for anything. And your grandparents don't like talking about this, so I wouldn't bring it up. Okay?”

“But I don't get it—”

“Finley. I'm serious. Do this for me, okay? Please?”

None of this makes sense. My head buzzes with questions. “Yeah. Okay. I won't say anything.”

“You promise me, Fin?”