Zoe in Wonderland (5 page)

Now Open on Sunday

T
he following day, Daddy didn't go to church with us. Instead, he opened the Wonderland. For as long as I could remember, the Wonderland had always been closed on Sundays.

“It's because of all the bills, huh?” I asked Mom as we drove.

Mom stared straight ahead. “I may be going back to school to get my teaching credentials. With another degree I'd make more money.”

She'd been talking about going back to school for years, but so far that's all it's been—talk.

“We could sell it,” Jade said.

“Sell what?” Mom asked.

“The Weirdland. I mean, if it's not making enough money, what's the point? It's a stupid place to live, anyway. If we sell it, we can live somewhere normal,” Jade answered.

“It's not called the Weirdland,” I reminded her again.

“I'll call it whatever I want to call it!” Jade informed me in her snippy way.

Mom spoke up. “We are not selling the Wonderland. It's your daddy's life.”

Jade kept yapping, “I'm just saying . . .”

Mom frowned. “Not another word, Miss.”

Miss
was code for “if you have good sense, you'll shut up now.” And Jade did.

When we got home, I found Daddy trimming his bonsai trees and plants. He was whistling a tune the way he sometimes does when he's happily working. The sound of his whistling always makes me smile. Over and over, from the time I was little, I'd tried to learn how, putting my lips together and blowing. But no matter what, I'd only been able to produce the sound of plain old air, and after I'd failed for what felt like the hundredth time, I'd finally given up.

“Howdeedoo, Zoe,” he said when he saw me.

There were no customers around that I could see and I wondered if any had come in. “Any business?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he replied without looking up. “Suppose folks in the neighborhood are used to us being closed on Sundays.”

“You could put a sign outside that says ‘Now Open on Sundays.' Then people would know,” I said.

He looked up at me and smiled. “Good idea, Zoe . . . very good idea.”

Right then, inside Zoe G. Reindeer, a spark or two of happiness came to life.

And because I finally had his attention, it seemed like a perfect time to bring up baobab trees. “By the way, Daddy, that man from yesterday wasn't trying to buy the Wonderland. He was from Madagascar and he was looking for baobab trees, but Grandpa checked the computer and said we don't have any. Do we?”

“Baobab? That tree that looks upside down?”

“Uh-huh,” I answered. “Some people even call it the upside-down tree and the monkey bread tree.”

“Monkey bread tree?” He completely stopped what he was doing. “That, I didn't know.”

I blurted out the other stuff I knew about baobabs and ended with, “It's endangered.”

“Endangered, huh?” he repeated, and went back to working on his miniature tree. “Didn't know that either.”

Now, I thought. “If it's endangered, shouldn't we buy some?” I asked.

“Very hard to grow in this climate, Zoe. That much I do know. Temperatures in Pasadena can dip to near freezing some winters.”

“Maybe we could buy one and try to grow it in the greenhouse. I'd take care of it.”

Daddy sighed. “Not now, Zoe. The cacti I bought yesterday cost me more than I thought, plus the gas to get to the desert and back, and the other bills . . . Not now, Zoe.”

Like a rock tossed in the pond, my spirits sank. “Okay,” I replied.

“But the sign's a good idea. I'll get to work on that as soon as I'm finished here,” he added.

“I could help you,” I offered.

“And let your mom catch you working on a Sunday? You know how she is . . . bad enough me being out here.”

He was right. I'd heard Mom warning him earlier this morning that everyone needed a day of rest and ours was supposed to be Sunday.

“Well, can you at least teach me how to trim the bonsai? That's not working—it's learning.” I'd asked him I don't know how many times before, but he'd always said no, I wasn't old enough.

A smile painted his face and loud laughter flew
from his mouth. Daddy motioned me to come close. “Okay, Zoe.”

Right then,
Imaginary
Zoe
knocked on the door to my mind.

It was Zoe's graduation day from college. Of course, Zoe looked gorgeous in her black cap and gown. She received degrees in both horticulture and business. Daddy and Mom presented her with a bouquet of flowers. One day soon, she'd expand the family business. She'd change the name to Zoe's Exotic Plant Wonderland and have locations all over the country.

“Zoe?” Daddy said.

“Huh?”

“Daydreaming again?”

I didn't know he'd noticed. “Kinda,” I replied.

He placed my hand around the small pruning clippers. “This requires precision, Zoe. Very carefully, clip right here.” He pointed to a spot. “But be careful.”

I squeezed and clipped. A teeny piece of leaf fell off. My hands were a little shaky and beads of sweat broke out on my face.

“Very good!” he said, and pointed to another spot. “Now here.”

I was ready to clip again when my glasses slipped down and I missed, cutting off an entire tiny branch instead.

“Zoe!” he fussed, then yanked the clippers from my hand.

“Sorry. My glasses slipped—I couldn't see. It's not my fault, Daddy. Really.”

Sometimes I can't do anything right.

“Sorry,” I repeated. “Don't be mad.”

Daddy patted my hand. “I'm not mad, Zoe. We all make mistakes.”

It was feeling like one of those times when he was going to say “I love you,” but a woman customer walked through the door and grabbed his attention.

“Okay if I go to Quincy's?” I asked.

Daddy glanced at the wall clock. “Yes, but be sure and be back by five. We're having dinner at your nana's.”

“I will,” I replied. And while he waited on the lady, who was the first customer to discover we were now open on Sundays, Zoe G. Reindeer slipped outside.

The Movie

A
s usual, our next-door neighbor Mrs. Warner was outside, rearranging her
creatures
, as she calls them—mostly small statues and gnomes and stuff. From what I've seen, nothing ever gets added or subtracted, just moved from place to place. Supposedly, she's more than a hundred years old, and Daddy says the inside of her house has so many piled-up newspapers and magazines that he doesn't understand how anyone can live in there. Daddy claims it's like a maze. And because I like mazes, I'm curious to get inside, but she's never invited me. The only thing that separates her house from ours is a low wooden fence, and because my bedroom is closest to that fence, some nights the flickering lights from her
candles dance on my walls and her old-time jazz music helps puts me to sleep.

Mrs. Warner, who has a very bad memory, said in her raspy voice, “How're you, little Miss Jade?”

“I'm not Jade, I'm Zoe,” I reminded her for what seemed like the thousandth time.

“It's so nice to see you on this beautiful day, little Miss Jade.” She smiled.

Some days her memory was normal and she made sense. Other times it was useless, like today.

She squatted, brushed a space in the dirt with her hand, and put down the statue. “You have a nice day now, little Miss Jade.”

I reached for her hand and patted it gently. “You too, Mrs. Warner.”

I felt sad as I walked away. No one ever came to her house except for the people from the senior-meals place or the van that takes people to the doctor. “Bye,” I told her, and headed to Quincy's.

On the way, I tried very hard to push baobab trees out of my head. Even if we did have the money, it's a dumb idea, I convinced myself.

I rang Quincy's bell.

“Who is it?” his mom, Kendra, hollered from inside.

“
Just
Zoe!” I answered.

“Door's open!”

I turned the knob and stepped inside.

Normally on Sunday—Kendra's only day off from work—you'd find her sprawled on the sofa with the TV remote glued to her hand. Instead, she was in the kitchen doing something I had hardly ever seen her do before—cooking. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He eyes were red and watery, like she'd been crying.

“You okay, Miz Hill?” I asked.

Kendra, short and curvy, gazed at me with her hazel eyes, pointed to the onions she was chopping, and smiled. “Onions,” she replied. Then, she stopped cooking, wiped her hands on a dish towel, stepped toward me, and stretched out her arms. “Gimme a hug, girl. You know my rule. You can't come in this house and not give Kendra a hug. Give it here . . . and make it a good one.” Kendra cooking was unusual, but Kendra hugging was not. She swallowed me up in her arms and I hugged her back.

Every now and then, I find myself wishing my mom were more like Kendra—the hugging stuff, anyway.

She motioned toward their den. “He's in there, on the computer probably.”

Quincy and I bumped into each other in the hallway.

“I found out a lot more stuff about baobab trees,”
Quincy said as we settled in front of his computer. “The bark is even used for making ropes, but the reason they're endangered is because people have been cutting them down because they want the land to grow other stuff or they need places for their herds to graze.” Quincy took a deep breath and rattled on, “But the most interesting thing is that the fruit isn't pollinated by bees; it's pollinated by fruit bats. Interesting, huh?”

I wanted to tell him to BQ,
be quiet
, but instead I just shrugged.

“Whatsamatter, Zoe?”

“My daddy said no.” And instead of telling him about the bills and stuff, I added, “He's heard of them, but he said he has enough plants for now.”

“But I had this idea for an amazing movie.”

Movie ideas were like vitamins to Quincy. He usually had one a day.

“What kind of movie now?” I asked.

“I thought we could buy some baobab seeds, which aren't that expensive, maybe five dollars online, and I would make a movie from planting them and then videotaping them as they grow week by week, until you finally give them to your dad. I'm calling it
Zoe and the Baobabs
.”

“Hmmm? I didn't even think about seeds,” I told him.

“We can buy them online.”

I flicked his shoulder. “With what? We need a credit card, genius.”

“We could ask my mom. She's been nicer than ever lately, so I don't think she'll say no. It's not that much money, anyway.” He bolted to the living room and returned in no time at all with Kendra. “See, told you.”

“Is this for a school project?” she asked.

“A movie,” he answered. “I'm going to make a video of everything from when we plant the seeds to when they start to grow, and turn it into a movie.”

“My baby, the director.” Kendra smiled and kissed the top of Quincy's head. “Are you two hungry?” she asked. “Because I'm going to have a four-course meal ready soon.”

“I'll just have a little because I'm having Sunday dinner at my nana's.”

Once she'd left, he said, “My mom's been off from work all week on vacation and cooking every day. It's weird. Except for dessert, it mostly doesn't taste that good, but I don't want to hurt her feelings, so I've been eating and eating. I'll be glad when she goes back to work and starts bringing home takeout again.”

Then he grabbed his video camera, pointed it at me, and began recording. “It's October in Pasadena, California. We just bought the baobab seeds online,
and this is Zoe G. Reindeer,” he said. “Smile, Zoe,” he directed.

I smiled, but it must have looked fake.

“Again, Zoe . . . like you mean it,” Quincy commanded.

I grinned from ear to ear.

“That's more like it!”