Sparrow Road (8 page)

By the time we got to Comfort, I was so tired, I staggered when I stood. Eight miles was a long ride for a sleepy, main street town.

“You look like you just climbed down from a horse,” Josie joked. She dropped her heavy arm over my shoulder. “Come on, partner, the root beer float’s on me.”

We left the bikes, unlocked, against the five-and-dime. Comfort wasn’t much more than a few brick shops, a couple old cafés. Shady blocks of tidy houses. A small white church perched up on a hill. A safety Mama would have seen during her trips to town with Viktor. As far as I could tell there wasn’t any danger, no reason Mama had to keep me from this town.

“Comfort Cone, here we come!” Josie shouted. She flung her arms wide open to the world; the few people on the street gave us a stare. “First root beer floats, then the Blue Moon Café for Marge’s lemon bars.” Josie grinned. “Trinket shopping at the five-and-dime.” She rubbed her giant hand against my head. “One of these days,” she said, “your mama’s going to have to let you go.”

“I know,” I said. “And Grandpa Mac is worse! You should have seen them in Milwaukee. They always say it’s because I’m an only child. Mama says it’s easier to worry over one.”

“Could be,” Josie said. “If you were mine, I guess I’d keep you close. But even so, you need to know the world!”

Comfort wasn’t quite the world, but still I was happy that we came. On our short walk down the street Josie gave a wave or nod to everyone we passed. “Great day!” she’d say, as if every staring stranger was her friend. “There it is!” She pointed toward a rundown shack with a plastic statue of a twist cone stuck up on the roof. Faded picnic tables were scattered out in front. “The Comfort Cone at last!”

When we reached the little window, a burly bald man slid the small screen open for our order. “This is Dave,” Josie said to me. “He’s the owner of this ice cream palace. And that handsome boy is Leif, Dave’s son.” Leif was curly haired and cute, not much older than me; it embarrassed me to have Josie call him handsome.

“And gentlemen”—Josie shoved me forward—“this would be Raine O’Rourke. One of our summer writers.” Heat burned under my cheeks.

“A writer? You hear that, Leif?” Dave said. “This girl here can write.”

“No.” I blushed. “Not really.” Now I knew how Mama felt when Viktor said she was a singer. It seemed too big to call myself a writer.

“Well, you sure have a pool of talent at that place!” Dave said. “And how’s that patchwork quilt today?”

“Under construction,” Josie said. “It’s why Raine biked with me to town. We’re here to make a memory. Today’s square will be a root beer float in honor of the Comfort Cone and my first trip to town with Raine.”

“Sounds good by me.” Dave didn’t seem bothered by Josie’s wild braids or her floppy patchwork dress or her big black boots with buckles. He didn’t stare like the people who passed us on the street. “Two then, Leif,” he called. Behind him, Leif began to mix our floats. “So how’s life at Sparrow Road?”

“Great!” Josie said. “Right now we’re planning our first festival. An arts festival. So the town can come out to see the work we’ve done this summer. The Sparrow Road Arts Extravaganza! It’ll be a giant bash where all the guests make art.”

“What?” I said. “A party at Sparrow Road?” Josie’s sudden scheme was news to me; every day another wild idea popped into Josie’s brain, but this one was the wildest of all. Viktor would never let her throw a party at the house.

Josie gave my neck a sweaty squeeze. “Yep! I’ve been inspired by the Rhubarb Social tomorrow at Good Shepherd. I figured if Comfort could host a shindig, we could throw one, too.” She propped her hands against her hips. “Gatherings are good.”

“A gathering out there might change the way folks see it. The dark cloud over that place,” Dave said. “Most people still think of it as a place for misfit kids, even though they left there years ago.”

“Not necessarily misfits,” Josie said. “Just kids without a home.”

“True enough.” Dave slid the root beer floats to Josie. “Two dollars ought to do it.”

Josie handed him her money and then plopped a dollop of soft vanilla ice cream on her tongue. “Mmm-mmm, heaven,” she hummed. “And you’ll come to see my quilt. The memory square I stitch for Comfort Cone.” She knocked her knuckles twice against the wooden counter. “Be well,” she said. “Peace. And Leif, Dave. Don’t forget the Arts Extravaganza!”

“Sure thing.” Dave slid the tiny screen door shut. “But don’t count on me for making any art.”

“You never know.” Josie took a big slurp of the root beer. “You might surprise yourself.”

“Arts Extravaganza?” I asked Josie. “You’re kidding, right?”

She hiked her patchwork dress up to her knees and straddled the splintered picnic table bench. “I was just trying out that name. We can call it something else. Oh, look!” She dug an Orange Crush cap out of the dirt and dropped it in her bag. “A treasure for Diego!” Diego liked to think of trash as treasure—nuts and bolts, lost keys, a broken bird egg we found once on a walk—all of it he put into his art. So Josie kept her eye out for good trash.

“Viktor won’t let us have a party,” I said.

“Why not? A party’s a great thing!” She lifted her bright face up to the sun. “And besides, maybe the orphans would come home.”

“The orphans?” What did Josie mean? The orphans would be grown up by now. And Lyman wouldn’t be the boy that I imagined. I wanted him to stay the orphan in my dreams. “How would you ever find them?”

“I don’t know yet.” Josie stretched her legs out on the bench. “But I bet you that we could.”

I sucked the sweet bubbles through my straw. “I thought Viktor wanted to forget about the orphans. Old ghosts, Diego said. It’s why Viktor keeps the attic locked.”

“Maybe so,” Josie said. “But don’t you think the past is better faced? Even if it’s sad? Sometimes trying to forget isn’t worth the trouble.”

“But Viktor will never let—”

“Speaking of—,” Josie interrupted. She glanced across the street. “Look who came to town.” Viktor stood there on the sidewalk, shoulders slouched, towering over a small man dressed in painter’s clothes. White shirt, white pants. The brim of his white cap shadowed most his face. “I think that’s one of the men who were painting when we came. Nice guy. We met the day that I moved in.” Josie stuck two fingers in her mouth, and whistled long and loud. “Hey,” she called. “It’s me. Josie. We met at Sparrow Road.” At the table next to ours, a group of teen girls snickered.

The painter rested one hand on his cap brim; he stared hard for a second like he wasn’t really sure who Josie was. Then Viktor touched his shoulder, turned him so their backs were facing us.

“Hey, it’s me!” Josie called again, but they didn’t listen. Their heads were close in secret conversation. Finally, the painter glanced over his shoulder; then without a word or wave to Josie he turned and walked away. A few steps down the street he stopped, looked at us again, and gave a little wave. A hint of wave, but I saw it just the same.

“Weird,” Josie said. “He was friendly when we met.”

Viktor crossed the street and headed straight for us. “Is your mother with you, Raine?” He didn’t say a word to Josie.

“No.” I looked over at the girls. I didn’t want anyone to see me with the Iceberg. His rumpled clothes. His uncombed hair. The whiskers on his face. “We rode bikes to Comfort.”

“But she knows that you’re here?” It was bad enough to have people stare too long at Josie, but now these girls were watching me. Watching ragged Viktor Berglund talk to me like I was ten. Not twelve. Not going on thirteen. Leif was probably watching from the window.

“She does indeed,” Josie interrupted. “Raine’s finally been set free.”

“We rode in for root beer floats,” I said. “It’s fine.”

“Well then,” he said. “If the root beer floats are finished, I shall put your bike into my truck and take you home.”

“Viktor, we can bike.” Josie smashed her empty cup and tossed it toward the can. I could tell she was annoyed that Viktor had ignored her, and I knew it hurt her feelings when the painter turned away. Josie wasn’t too familiar with unfriendly. “Raine and I have business here in town.”

“Josie, you may bike,” Viktor directed. “Or you may ride with me. But Raine will go home now.” First Mama and now Viktor? What right did Viktor Berglund have to take me home from town?

“No,” I said. Both Leif and Dave were watching from the window. “I want to stay.” We still had our memories to make, and Marge’s lemon bars, and trinkets from the five-and-dime to buy.

“No,” Viktor ordered. “It’s best I drive you home.”

When we pulled into the driveway, Mama and Diego were sitting on the steps. A look of sudden dread shadowed Mama’s face. “What’s wrong?” she called. She was at my door before I even had it opened. “Did something happen, Raine?”

“I’m returning Raine from Comfort,” Viktor said, as if I were a package he picked up off the street.

Mama pressed her palm against her chest. “Is everything okay? Where’s Josie?”

“Josie stayed,” I snapped. I wanted Mama to know that I was mad. “Without me.” By now, Josie was probably at the Blue Moon eating lemon bars with Marge, telling her about the Arts Extravaganza.

“Well, I’m glad to see you home,” Mama said. She put her arms out for a hug, but I just stepped away. I was too old to be taken home from Comfort like a kid.

“He
made
me leave,” I said to Mama. “And there wasn’t any reason.”

“Molly,” Viktor said. “If I might be permitted to explain.”

“I should have stayed with Josie.” I crossed my arms over my stomach. “I’m not a little kid. I’m twelve. I’m going to be thirteen.”

“I know,” Mama said. “But—”

“That’s right!” Diego interrupted. He walked up and rested both his hands on Mama’s shoulders. “This girl is growing up. And hey, she looks okay to me. Safe and sound. No alien abduction after all.” Diego laughed his big deep laugh, but none of us laughed with him.

Viktor nodded toward his office. “Molly, if I might have a minute?”

Mama looked at Viktor and I saw that strange worry flash back through her eyes. “Sweetheart.” Mama touched my elbow, but I yanked my arm away. “I’m sorry you’re upset. The next time you go to town, I’ll take you in with me.”

“What?” I said. “The Rhubarb Social is tomorrow. I’m biking in with Josie and Diego. It’s already been planned.”

“Oh,
that
.” Mama sighed. “I don’t know about that social.”

“Why? Mama, I can’t miss it. We’re making rhubarb taffy. Josie and I have a recipe invented. There isn’t any danger in that town. It’s safe. You know that, Mama.”

“The silence rule,” Viktor scolded like he suddenly remembered; but it was only me he wanted to be quiet. “Perhaps we can observe it now that Raine is clearly safe.”

He pointed toward his office. “Molly, if I might have a minute?”

“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Diego joked, but I could tell he didn’t want Mama going off with Viktor. He gave my ponytail a little tug. “On a brighter note,” he said. “We have a date tonight. The three of us.”

“A date?” I said. Mama didn’t have dates. Not with anyone. Not ever. How did Diego get Mama to say yes?

Viktor flinched like he wished he hadn’t heard Diego just say date.

“Not a date,” Mama blurted. Her cheeks burned red. “It’s not a date at all.”

“Okay, not a date.” Diego winked at me. “Maybe a date was too much wishful thinking. We have an
outing
. An outing on the lake. Butter-brickle ice cream in a rowboat with the stars.”

“The silence, please.” Viktor stepped away. “Molly, in my office.”

“Yes,” Mama said. “I know.”

 

Mama was a long time in Viktor’s office—so long I walked back to our cottage, climbed the stairs up to my bed, slid my sketchbook from my mattress, and told Lyman the terrible story of my day. Lyman was half diary, half person—someone who would listen, and someone who would talk.

What’s wrong?
I wrote.
Why does Mama make me stay so close? Why won’t she let me go like other kids? Why was she worried about Comfort?

I waited, but Lyman wouldn’t answer.

Lyman?
I closed my eyes. My lids were hot, my skin itched from the heat. Everything about the day seemed fever strange—the long bike ride through the valley, Josie’s crazy plan for the Arts Extravaganza, the painter on the street, the way he turned back and barely waved. Mama’s sudden date. Viktor forcing me to leave while everybody watched.

Well, there has to be a story,
Lyman finally said.

I know,
I said.
But what?

What was or what could be?
Lyman said.
Dream. Maybe your answer will be there.