Luanne Rice (4 page)

“
It’s
okay, Rose.”

“I can
still have my party, right?”

“Rose’s
birthday,” Dr. Neill said. “That’s a red-letter day if ever there was one.”

“Thank you,
Liam,” her mother murmured, with a funny, bright look in her eyes.

“No
problem. Take care, Rose.”

“You too,”
she said, and watched him go. White clouds moved across the blue summer sky,
and seagulls circled above the docks. When she looked down, she saw some
rainbow fish scales lying on the ground. Very carefully, she put them in her
pocket with the first stone she and Jessica had been kicking. He had called her
birthday “a red-letter day.”

“A man of
few words,” her mother said, the way she made comments about people she didn’t
like much or didn’t understand.

Rose’s
shoulder leaned firmly against the stone fisherman. While her mother stared
after the oceanographer, Rose lifted her head and looked straight up at the
statue’s face. He wore a sou’wester and held a lantern aloft, seeming to peer
out to sea. Engraved into the base were the names of all the town fishermen
lost at sea—this was their monument.

The stone
fisherman looked over all the missing, no matter where they were now. He was
cut from granite, just like the blue rock cliffs above the town. Rose looked
down at her blue fingertips; what if she turned blue all over, cold as stone?
What would happen to her mother if she did?

“It’s
nearly the end of the day,” her mother said. “I’ll close up early.”

Rose
nodded. She watched as the oceanographer walked over to his office. He had a
few words with Jessica, who was standing on the steps. Then he went inside.
Rose’s stomach flipped as Jessica came toward her. Their friendship had just
changed; no matter what, once someone saw, everything was different.

“Are you
okay?” Jessica asked.

“I’m fine,”
Rose said. “It was no big deal.”

“You looked
a little like a ghost—pure white.”

“I’m better
now.”

“That’s
good,” Jessica said.

“Would you
like a ride home, Jessica?” Rose’s mother asked.

Jessica
hesitated, seeming to think about it. Rose felt her color rise—was their
friendship over before it really started? Was Jessica embarrassed to be with
her? Or did it have something to do with Jessica’s secrets, the fact that her
real name might not really be Jessica Taylor? Could she really be named after
that singer, James Taylor? Maybe Jessica’s mother liked love songs, like Rose.

“Well, I’m
not really supposed to get into cars without asking my mother, but in this case
I think it would be okay.”

“We’ll call
your mother first—how’s that?” Rose’s mother asked.

And they
did.

Chapter 3

D
riving Jessica home, Lily was actually doing
several things at once. Keeping her eye on the narrow road, keeping her eye on
Rose, and trying to assess how upset Jessica was by what had happened. Lily
glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“Thank you
for coming to get me,” Lily said.
“For thinking so fast.”

“She didn’t
seem to be feeling too good,” Jessica said.

“Well, she
wasn’t. But she’s fine now.”

“What
happened?”

Lily
glanced down at Rose. This was the moment Rose always dreaded. Because the town
was so small, most people had known her for her whole life. They knew and loved
her—and, the thing Rose disliked the most, compensated for her. Lily knew she
could answer right now—say something vague and dismissive. Or she could take
the direct approach and tell Jessica the truth. But she had learned over time
to leave it to Rose. What Rose wanted her friend to know, she would tell.

“I had a
spell,” Rose said.

“You’re
under a spell?” Jessica asked, not understanding.

They drove
past a few summer cottages and the old mill. The road was shadowed by steeply
rising cliffs and tall spruce trees. Lily glanced down at her daughter—her wavy
brown hair and gold-flecked green eyes. Lily had to hold herself back from
explaining. She watched Rose formulate the words, knowing that once she said
them, her friendship with Jessica would change, however slightly.

“Yes,” Rose
said. “An evil wizard put it on me.”

Lily
glanced down, taken by surprise.

“He turned
your hands blue?”

“Yes. And
sometimes makes me dizzy and weak. He attacked my heart.”

“Rose …”
Lily began.

“Is he
real?” Jessica asked, sounding nervous. “Will he put a spell on me? It’s
Captain Hook, isn’t it? I saw him standing there, just before you had to sit
down!”

“No, it’s
not him. He’s good,” Rose said. “It’s someone else. He lives far up the fjord,
in a cave in the tallest cliffs, surrounded by straggly old pine trees.
Sometimes he turns into a fish hawk. You hear him cawing in the early morning,
gliding over the bay in search of sweet little things to eat.”

“Rose
Malone,” Lily said. Her daughter looked up defiantly. She knew that Lily wasn’t
about to call her a liar in front of her friend; on the other hand, she had to
know that Lily couldn’t allow Jessica, newly moved to this remote and foreboding
part of Canada, to think that there was an evil wizard attacking little girls.
The road twisted up the crevasse behind the village, onto a flat stretch
overlooking the bay’s wide blue expanse.

“I live
here,” Jessica announced as they pulled up in front of a small white house.

“Jessica,
there’s not really an evil wizard,” Lily said.

“There is,”
Rose insisted. “And he puts slivers in people’s hearts so no one will ever love
them. The heart is where love lives.”

“Rose,
everyone loves you,” Lily said, smiling in spite of herself. “So you’d better
make up a better story than that.”

“Okay,
then. He put a spell on my heart that makes all kinds of crazy things happen.
He gave me a heart condition.”

“But,”
Jessica said, frowning, “my grandmother has a heart condition—you’re too young
for that!”

“Even
babies can have them. I did as soon as I was born.”

“Will I get
it?” Jessica asked, the frown deepening.

Now Lily
knew she had to step in. “No, you won’t,” she said. “Rose was born with a heart
defect—you can’t catch it or anything. She’s had all the best treatment, and
she’s doing great.”

“I’m just
not supposed to walk home from school,” Rose said. “Or do things like that,
till I have the last surgery. I’m having it this summer, and afterwards I’m
going to be really fine. I’ll be able to run and everything.”

Just then
the front door of her house opened, and a woman stepped onto the porch. She
hung back, watching for Jessica to get out of the car. Lily waved. The woman
seemed to hesitate—not sure whether to walk over and say hello or not. Lily saw
her marshal herself—literally
draw
herself up
taller—and she came toward the car.

Jessica
opened the door to get out. Lily felt Rose’s anxiety as she watched her friend
go. This was the big moment, Lily knew. What would Jessica make of what had
happened? Lily wished she could soothe her daughter, assure her that it didn’t
matter, that Jessica would like her no matter what.

“Thanks for
giving Jess a ride home,” the woman said.

“It’s our
pleasure,” Lily said. “I’m Lily Malone, by the way—Rose’s mom.”

“I’m Marisa
Taylor—Jessica’s mom.”

The women
smiled, acknowledging that they knew there was much more to both their stories.
Something mischievous flashed in Marisa’s eyes, and Lily thought she saw a
Nanouk Girl in the making. Jessica stood very close to her mother’s side,
staring through the car window at Rose.

“You like
to garden,” Lily said. “Your window boxes are beautiful.”
She
gestured at them—pink, white, blue—geraniums, petunias, blue moon verbena, and
cascading tendrils of ivy—stark against the whitewashed cottage.
Some
old, thick-stemmed red roses, carefully pruned and tied to a trellis by the
door, were just starting to bloom, tongues of fire in the afternoon sun.

“Thanks,”
Marisa said. “Yes, I do enjoy it.”

“I like
your roses,” Rose said from the back seat.

“They’re my
favorite flower,” Marisa said. “They have been, ever since I was a little girl.
I love your name.”

“Thank
you.” Rose smiled.

“I thought
this would be a different growing season from what I’m used to. But seriously,
my flowers are blooming as if we were in New England—or even farther south.”

“You’ll
find that we’re on an earlier schedule than the rest of Nova Scotia,” Lily
said. “The Annapolis Current runs just offshore, keeping us much warmer. It’s
amazing, but that’s why your roses are already in bloom. We’re at least three
weeks ahead of Ingonish, and even Halifax.”

“That
explains it,” Marisa said. Then, crouching down to look through the window, she
added, “When Jessica called to say you’d be giving her a ride
home,
she said that something had happened to Rose. Is
everything okay?”

“Rose has a
bad heart—like Grandma,” Jessica said. Her voice sounded thin, as if she’d been
holding it in, and suddenly she started to cry.

“No,
honey,” Lily said. “What Rose has is different—she was born with heart defects.
She’s got the best doctors, and in July, right after her birthday, they’ll be
replacing an old VSD patch.” Marisa nodded, as if she knew what Lily was
talking about. Lily just kept talking: “We expect it to be her last surgery.
Just wait—she’ll be running races
… .”

“Winning
them,” Rose said.

Jessica
shuddered and cried harder. Marisa hugged her, and Lily looked on, feeling
helpless. She could feel Rose’s friendship dissolving right then and there.

“What
happened to your grandma?” Rose asked.

“She … she
…” Jessica said.

“She had a
heart attack,” Marisa said.

“Well, I
won’t have one,” Rose said.

Once again
Lily and Marisa’s eyes met. The air was full of mothers and grandmothers and
sisters who weren’t there, yet somehow were. Lily felt the spirit of her own
mother, coming to give her strength—she felt it all the time. Overhead, the
tall pines rustled in the warm summer wind.

“You know
we’re counting on you,” Lily said, glancing back at her daughter. “To help us
celebrate Rose’s birthday and give her a good send-off for her surgery. I hope
you’re both planning to come.”

“It’s a
whale-watch cruise!” Rose said. “It’s going to be my friends and the Nanouk
Girls.”

“The what?”
Marisa asked.

“The Nanouk
Girls of the Frozen North,” Lily said. “After one winter here, you’ll
understand. We meet to needlepoint, eat, and gripe.”

“Sounds
divine,” Marisa said.

“So you’ll
come on the cruise?”

“We’re in,”
Marisa said. “Right, Jess?”

Jessica was
still crying a little. She was an almost-nine-year-old who had seen a little
too much hard truth about what can happen—to her father, to her new best
friend. Lily felt a pang in her own heart. She’d
been wanting
to protect Rose from the hard truths as long as she’d been alive.

“It won’t
be the same without you,” Rose said. “Please say you’ll come, Jessica? Please?
I swear, I’m almost normal!”

Almost normal.
The words sliced Lily in half, and Marisa saw.

“We’ll be
there,” Marisa said.

Jessica
nodded, giving a real smile. She asked her mother if Rose and Lily could come
in for a snack, but Marisa acted as if she hadn’t heard. Instead she waved,
walking Jessica toward the house. Rose pivoted in her seat as they pulled away,
watching her friend and Marisa as long as possible, until Lily turned the
corner beneath the granite cliffs, driving down the long, steep coast road
toward home.

Marisa
closed the door behind her, the palm of her hand slick, slipping on the brass
knob. She wiped her hands on her jeans, walked into the kitchen to get Jessica
her snack. “Can we invite them in?” Jess had asked. Lily had heard, had seen
Marisa ignore the question.
Staring at the sky, at the hawk
flying overhead—an osprey, silver fish in its talons.
Looking
anywhere but into Lily’s eyes.
Mother to mother—the
unspoken language of life.
Lily had seen, and now she would wonder.

“Mom, we’re
really going to the party?” Jessica asked.

“Yes, you
can go.” Marisa heard her own voice speaking to Lily: the quick, enthusiastic
We’re
in
. So when she backed out, her regret
would seem sincere.

“So I can
pretend it’s mine?”

“Honey—”

“I can’t
even tell my best friend that we have the same birthday!”

“Jess, you
know why. People use last names and birthdays and social security numbers to search
for other people.”

“You mean
Ted. Why don’t you just say that, instead of pretending that everything is nice
and normal? We’re hiding from him, not
‘people’
!”

Marisa took
a deep breath. Jessica had been handling the move, and everything associated with
it, so well. At first she had been so relieved to get away, she would have gone
along with anything. She had taken to their new identities almost as if it were
a game. With the help of Susan Cuccio at the Center, they had made up new
names, birthdays, and family histories. Jessica had been so helpful with the
history part, helping to weave in the real and beloved—her aunt, her first cat,
their love of music—with the fictional.

But now,
especially as her real birthday drew near, everything changed. Marisa had been
fighting depression—finding it hard to stay the course, get up in the morning,
do
everything she had to do. She had been wavering,
wondering whether they had done the right thing, coming up here. No wonder
Jessica was upset and confused.

“You’re
letting me go to Rose’s party, but I couldn’t go to Paula’s back home.”

“That was
different.”

“Because
he’s
not here?”

“Sweetheart
…”

“Will he
ever find us?”

“Let’s not
worry about Ted,” Marisa said. “We’ve got plenty to do, just taking care of ourselves.
Now—peanut butter and jelly, or oatmeal cookies?”

“Cookies and milk.
I don’t like it here that much, Mom.
Except for Rose.
She makes being in this cold, rocky place
almost okay. Rose is the best, best friend I’ve ever had. Mom, is she really
going to be okay?”