The Secrets of Blueberries, Brothers, Moose & Me Read online

  Patrick turned and left the room, and I pulled the quilt up over my head.

  I had wanted a showdown, just like in the movies. I had wanted to crush Patrick, to run him out of town or throw him in jail, to make him admit his betrayal and beg for forgiveness. I had wanted a good guy and a bad guy, a winner and a loser. I didn’t get any of that.

  • • •

  When Mom tucked me in that night she ran her cool hand across my cheek. “How does your head feel?”

  “All right,” I said.

  “Not too painful?”

  “Not too bad,” I said. “Mom, do you know where my glasses are? I was wearing them right before I passed out.”

  “I’m sorry, Missy. They probably got crushed when you fell. I’m sure someone threw them away. It was a crazy moment.”

  “I know, Mom,” I said, trying not to cry about my glasses, and the snakeskin, too. “It’s a crazy world.”

  “Not so crazy,” she said as she bent over and kissed me good night. “Just some crazy moments here and there.”

  But alone in the dark, my head started to spin again. It was a crazy world. It was crazy that I could trust a complete stranger more than I could trust my own brother; that I could trust a complete stranger more than my own father. Just what could a person count on around here? I was about to roll off the bed to get my feet on solid ground when one answer came to me: food.

  We all needed food. We counted on food. I took a deep breath and forced myself to think of all the things I had learned about food—how simple it could be, and how complex. How quiet it could be, growing in a field, but at the same time how loud it all was—the earth so alive with movement and sound and color and smell. I forced myself to conjure the sky as it was over a field full of green, the biggest, widest stretch of pure color I’d ever seen.

  The more I thought about the things I knew, all the good things there could be, and about my place in those good things, the spinning finally stopped and my head was left with the sweet sound of Claude sleeping in the bed across from mine. And with that simple and perfect sound, I was finally able to fall asleep.

  CHAPTER 40

  CONSTANCE’S MOTHER, WHO ALWAYS GIVES GOOD advice, said I shouldn’t worry too much about it. She said that everything happens for a reason and that I would someday know the reason and that the dog would probably be all right, too. But when she said, “And honey, you’re only twelve. There are some things you can’t yet understand.” I swallowed hard so I wouldn’t start to cry all over again.

  It was the first time Constance’s mother had ever said the wrong thing, and her words were about as far away from me as any words had ever been. Which meant that even Constance’s mother, who told people’s fortunes for a living, had no idea. So I said, “I’d better go. I have some things to do. Maid of honor things.”

  Constance’s mother nodded. “People get crazy when it comes to weddings.” She bent close and stared at my bandaged face. “Did you end up having stitches?”

  I shook my head. “The nurse just had to pick out gravel with these tiny tweezers. It took a long time.”

  She put her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “Well, the girls will be home next week, in time for the wedding. I’m sure you’ll have the bandages off by then, too.”

  “Maybe,” I said. I knew that it wouldn’t matter. That I didn’t care. That with my plan in effect, no one would be looking at my face anyway.

  I had snuck out while Mom was at the store with Claude, snuck my bike out of the garage and rode it over. I knew, of course, that Constance wasn’t there, but I needed to talk to someone, someone outside my own family.

  Even though I’d left a note, Mom was still a worried mess by the time I came home. “Missy! You shouldn’t have been out! Don’t you remember what the doctor said? How are you feeling? How is your head? Drink this orange juice.”

  “Where’s Patrick?”

  “Sit down here.”

  I sat at the table and took a sip of juice. “Where’s Patrick?”

  “He’s at your dad’s, helping with things. Something about the backyard and a gazebo for the wedding.”

  “Oh.” Gazebo.

  “You look better today.” Mom’s worried wrinkle smoothed out. “Just like the doctor said you would.”

  “Great,” I said.

  “How do your scrapes feel?”

  I patted the bulky bandages. “Like I fell face-first in a gravel driveway.”

  Mom set out a cup for Claude and a plate piled with honey toast for us both. “Yum, yum,” I said to my brother in a Donald Duck voice, and he laughed. “So did Dad want me to help, too?”

  “No, Missy. He said you should rest. Like the doctor said. You need a few days’ rest.”

  “The big day is coming up,” I said. “Maybe I won’t be better by then. Maybe I’ll have to stay here.”

  “You’ll be better,” Mom said. “Although we do need to buy you a dress.”

  “I have a dress.”

  Mom’s right eyebrow shot up.

  “Tessa bought me a dress.”

  Mom looked at me funny but didn’t say another word about it.

  I picked up a piece of honey toast, noticing how my fingers were stained blue at the tips. I swallowed hard and said, “I need to go back to the field.”

  “Maybe next summer. They’re done with pickers this season.”

  “I want to go back today. I need to say good-bye. I didn’t get a chance—” My voice broke, thinking about it all—the Little Field, my 3-D glasses, that perfect snakeskin, the puppy. But especially Moose, bent over his daddy’s precious plants.

  “You need to stay out of the sun.”

  “Mom. Please. They were my friends,” I said. “They are my friends.”

  “No, Missy—”

  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Well, I have to get my money.” It was a lie, Bev had already paid me, but I was desperate. “I didn’t get my money. And I’m afraid if I don’t go today, they’ll forget. Please, Mom. Just drive me out there. I’ll just get my money and go. Please. I earned it. I worked hard. It’s only fair.”

  “Maybe tomorrow, Missy,” she said. “Or the next day. Today you rest.”

  CHAPTER 41

  ALL THAT DAY I RESTED ON THE COUCH, WATCHING one black-and-white cowboy movie after another. On the second day, when Patrick went to the lake, I decided I would stay on the couch the rest of the summer. Maybe the rest of my life.

  I sipped ice water and orange juice and studied the showdowns in each movie, imagining Patrick as the bad guy that I chase out of town. But then my imaginings turned to real-life color as I pictured Patrick at the lake, among the bikinis and cool swim trunks, doing cannonballs and being king of chicken fights. I worked myself into a fury, thinking about it all. Swimming at the lake! In his new swimsuit he got from the mall! With money from Moose and Bev! Praying Mantis Boy!

  By the time he came home, smelling like sunscreen and potato chips, I hated him even more.

  • • •

  On the afternoon of my third couch day, Mom called the doctor who said to come right in. After looking in my mouth and eyes and poking me and asking me some questions, he told her I was perfectly fine, that my heat exhaustion was not an issue, and that he could find absolutely nothing wrong with me. He peeled off the bandages and said that everything was healing nicely but to keep it covered for a few more days.

  “But she just lies on the couch,” Mom said. “Like she has no energy. Could it be a concussion?”

  He shook his head. “There’s no sign of a concussion. Is she under any stress right now?” He asked it as if I wasn’t even in the room. And while I stared at the shiny stethoscope hanging around his neck, I saw my mother nod meekly in its reflection.

  “I’m maid of honor at my father’s upcoming wedding,” I said loudly. “I
’m stressed that my hair won’t look right.”

  That got me sent me to the waiting room so they could talk privately.

  The ride home was silent until Mom asked if I’d like to talk about anything. I told her, “The blueberry field, Mom. I’d like to talk about that. You said I could go back out, but then you always come up with an excuse.”

  “Fair enough, Missy,” she said. “You are right. Tomorrow. First thing tomorrow.”

  • • •

  The next morning, on the way out to the field, Mom made me put on a hat and wear it even in the car. Patrick was gone by the time I got up, to the lake already, on his bike. She asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine, Mom. Like the doctor said, I’m fine.” But when we pulled into the drive and I heard the familiar crunch of gravel under tires, and I saw myself falling face-first all over again, I felt about as un-fine as a person could feel. I said, “Can you just drop me off and come back later? I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

  Mom wrinkled her forehead. “I’ll drive around for a few minutes. So Claude doesn’t get bored. But only for a few minutes, Missy. It shouldn’t take you long to get your money.”

  “More boo-berries?” Claude asked.

  “Not today, Claude,” I said, waving him off. “There’s no picking today.”

  The air was thick around me. Even on that short walk across the gravel drive I could feel it weighing me down. The lights in the garage were off, but as I turned toward the office, I heard a familiar and welcoming voice. “Well, here’s a sight for old eyes.”

  I smiled and walked up to the office window where Al sat, on Bev’s stool, drinking coffee from his red plastic cup. “Hi, Al. I didn’t expect to see you up here.”

  “Now that you kids are gone they don’t need me down in the field. So I’m stuck in this tiny room, answering phones and making sure there’s not a fire. And I sort berries, when they come in. We’re all sorting berries, day and night. What are you hiding under those bandages? Did you get a tattoo?”

  I laughed. “Just some gravel marks.”

  “How are you feeling? We were all worried about you.”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “Do we owe you some money?”

  “No, Bev paid me already. But I didn’t get to say good-bye.” Which was only half of what I needed to say.

  “Moose and Bev are out with the picking machines. Don’t expect them back anytime soon. I’ll tell them you were here, though. To say good-bye. I know they both hope to see you next picking season.”

  I leaned against the side of the house, feeling my head start to spin.

  “Are you okay, Melissa? Do you need to sit down?”

  “I’m okay. I just came out to ask something. I need to know something.”

  “I’ll tell you if I can.”

  “Well,” I said. “How can this be?”

  “What be?”

  “You know. Everything.” I motioned toward the hedge. “What’s the truth about Moose and Lyle?”

  Al shook his head as he gazed across the gravel drive. Finally he said, “Moose always loved the fields, but Lyle never seemed to want to stick around. I remember working here as a kid—I was older than they were, but friendly enough with both of them. Lyle took off as soon as he could, but then came back right before their father died. That meant the world to the old man, but it made things harder for Moose. Especially when Lyle suddenly had his own ideas about running the place.”

  “Moose told me some of it,” I said. “Out in the field. He told me they had different ideas about how to farm it.”

  “It’s just about the oldest story in the book. Hey, enough. Why don’t we talk about something else?”

  How could I tell him what this meant to me? That it wasn’t just someone else’s story anymore?

  Al filled his red plastic cup with more coffee. He looked done talking, and I knew my mom would be back soon. “Al,” I said, “I came out here to tell Moose something. It’s important. I didn’t tell him that day, the day it all happened. So I need you to tell him. I need him to know. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

  “I don’t see how it could be your fault, Melissa. No one blames you.”

  “But see, I let it slip. Moose asked me to be careful and I let it slip. My brother figured it out because, well, I wanted to show off. And I knew they were looking for it . . .” My voice trailed away and I closed my eyes.

  “I should have told Moose that morning, that I’d given it away. I could have stopped it. See, it really is my fault. I gave away the secret.”

  Al didn’t answer for a long time. When I opened my eyes, he was looking across the gravel drive to the hedge, like maybe he didn’t want to see me or speak to me ever again. “How’s the dog, Al?”

  “The puppy?” He chuckled. “Oh, he’s fine. Lyle just makes a big deal out of everything. He’s always been that way.”

  I was relieved. “That’s good. Well, my mom will be back soon. Tell Moose what I told you. Tell him I’ll pay for the damage done, even if it takes my whole life. Tell him I hate my brother and will never forgive him for sneaking into the Little Field and stealing all those berries.”

  Al chuckled. “Don’t hate your brother, Melissa. He’s a good kid.”

  “Tell me the truth, Al. It’s Lyle’s fault, isn’t it? Moose wasn’t lying, was he? Because that’s what my brother said. He said Moose stole from Lyle.”

  “Oh, it’s all so long ago. I’m an old man now. What do I remember? Anyway, Moose knew he was taking a chance, putting a kid out in that field. Maybe he wanted Lyle to find it.”

  “What?”

  “There are a lot of things that can hold us together, that’s all.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “I’m not saying it’s right, but maybe it’s their way of staying boys. Boys playing Capture the Flag. Boys wrestling in the backyard. Boys racing across the field. Only when they were boys it wasn’t a mean thing. Most kids don’t play mean. They were friends when they were boys. They grew up and didn’t know how to do it like kids do, take what works and leave the rest. But don’t feel too sorry for them, Melissa. People make their choices. They’ve chosen not to be brothers in the real sense. There’s nothing anyone can do about it now. They wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  I felt such a piercing sadness at that moment, thinking of Moose and his brother. “I loved being out there, Al,” I said quietly. “It wasn’t about the money.”

  “It’s never been about the money for Moose, either.”

  “Did Moose steal the little bushes from Lyle? Is that what started it?”

  “I guess it all depends on which side of the hedge you’re standing on.”

  “But you’re standing on this side.”

  “I happen to be on this side. But if you look closely, you’ll see I’m just about as in the middle as a person can be.”

  “What about Lyle?”

  “Lyle just felt left out. That’s how I see it. He never really liked to farm, and he felt left out. And so he went away. Took off just as soon as he could.”

  There had to be more to it than that. There had to be!

  The spinning in my head was back. I grabbed on to the edge of the window and held on tight. I heard myself saying, “I loved those tiny bushes. I loved the sandy soil and the flat, open field. I loved hearing the grasshoppers in the grass and the bees humming around the blossoms. I felt . . . complete. Like a bee must feel when it’s doing what it was born to do without anything getting in its way. Complete. And I don’t feel that way very much in my life anymore. My life is in little pieces.”

  I’d just said more about how I felt than I’d said since my father moved out. I said words that I hadn’t been able to, not even to my brother or Constance and Allie. I pinched my arm hard and concentrated on the sharp feeling o
f pain so I wouldn’t cry about the bigger one.

  Al looked down at his big, dry hands. He started to whistle a tune. Had he even heard me?

  “Please, Al. Just tell me.”

  Al must have recognized something near desperation in my voice. “I’ve never told anyone this before,” he said. “Never thought it was anyone’s business. But I’ll tell you, Melissa. After I do, you might think you know who’s right and who’s wrong. But you won’t. It’s more complicated than that. Will you remember that? Will you promise to remember that?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I promise.”

  “Okay,” he said. And then he told me. Most of it I’d known already, how Lyle had made it back to the farm before his father died. How the boys had tried farming together, but each had such definite ideas that it had been nearly impossible. So they’d agreed to divide the farm in half. Lyle left again to clear up his business and by the time he got back, the hedges were planted.

  But then he got to the new part, the part no one knew. And he told me. And when he was done, I wished he hadn’t.

  Al said, “You know when there’s a piece of cake that two people need to share? One cuts it down the middle and the other one gets to choose the piece. That keeps everything fair, right?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well, Moose divided up the farm and then let Lyle pick his side. Only Moose deliberately made one side a bit better than the other. And Lyle picked the better side. Still fair?”

  “I guess.”

  “Except there was something Lyle didn’t know. He didn’t know about their father’s Little Field. He never knew it existed. Moose cut it up so that the Little Field was on the slightly smaller side. He gambled that Lyle would pick the better side, leaving him with the Little Field. And his gamble paid off. Lyle looked at the map of the fields and picked what appeared to be the better choice. He got what he wanted. Eventually though, over the years, Lyle caught on that Moose had something special. Word got out this way or that. Those berries suddenly got to be a hot item—they weren’t at first, you know—not when Moose divided up the farm. He just loved that field because it was straight from his father’s hands. And, well, you pretty much know the rest, don’t you?”