Where the Heart Is, page 2
Rainbow sniffed my hand, then licked it, leaving a trail of sticky saliva.
My mom pulled a plastic bag filled with baby carrots out of her pocket and handed them to me. “Put one in the palm of your hand and hold it out flat so he doesn’t nip you,” she said. “Like this.”
I put a carrot in my hand and held it out, and Rainbow slurped it up with his big velvety lips.
“I want to try!” Ivy yelled. Rainbow reared his head at the sound and stepped back, frightened.
“Don’t scare him, Ivy. You have to use a gentle voice,” my mom said.
“Hi, Rainbow,” Ivy whispered, letting him take a carrot from her hand.
We spent the rest of the day preparing a stall for him in the old barn behind the house, and Ivy and I took turns walking him on his lead while the other rode bareback. My mom said we needed to spend a lot of gentle, loving time with him in order to bond. But I think Rainbow would be friends with anyone with a carrot and a soft voice. My favorite thing to do with him was put Ivy on his back and tie him to a stake in the grass, just like in my mom’s photo. Then I’d sit in my mom’s old plastic lawn chair and read to Ivy while she braided the bits of mane she could reach.
For my eleventh birthday, I got a new bridle for Rainbow, since the one he came with was so worn, the leather reins kept splitting in two and my mom kept having to patch them together with duct tape. I don’t even know why I bothered to try to ride him, he was so fat and lazy. The girth on the old saddle he came with barely stretched over his round belly. No one knew how old he really was, but the guess was that he was in his twenties. There was something special about him, though, and whenever I came toward him with his bridle, he’d sniff my hand for a treat and sometimes lick it fondly, like he did the first time we met. I knew it was his way of accepting me, even though I was sure he preferred being read to in the grass than taking me for rides. I was allowed to ride him to the bottom of the field across the street, but it was agony getting him to go. The only time he picked up speed was when we turned around and he knew he was heading for home. Then he would trot slowly with his ears perked up and pointed straight for the barn, where he knew my mom was waiting with a sugar cube. Riding in the field felt like our special time, and sometimes I’d sing “Over the Rainbow” to him as we trudged along. I know it sounds silly, but I think it made him feel special.
For my twelfth birthday, I got a new saddle pad for Rainbow, which was white and was supposed to look like sheep’s wool but was fake. It made his old saddle look even more shabby. But by then it didn’t matter because Rainbow had decided he was done with giving me rides and refused to cross the street to the field, even when I swatted him lightly with a crop my mom made out of a stick. Not even the promise of sugar cubes and singing his favorite song would work.
“He’s an old guy,” my mom said to me when I finally gave up trying. “But you got a lot of rides out of him. Maybe you should just sit on him and read, like I did on Buddy.”
“OK,” I said. But instead I put Ivy on his back and read out loud because I didn’t like to read alone the way my mom did. It was more fun sharing stories than reading them by myself.
But today, on my thirteenth birthday, all I get is a phone call from Micah, who sings “Happy Birthday” in an operatic voice so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
“Thanks for remembering,” I say.
“What’d you get?” he asks.
I don’t want to answer at first. But Micah is patient. Silence never makes him uncomfortable like it does me.
“Nothing,” I finally say. “I guess they all forgot.”
“Your parents? That’s impossible. I bet your mom is just waiting for some special moment to surprise you. She always does stuff like that. Remember the scavenger hunt when you turned eleven? You were convinced you weren’t getting a present, but your mom hid all those notes that led to Rainbow’s new bridle. That was the best! I bet they have something like that planned.”
“Maybe.” But it’s already seven thirty and we had dinner and it just seems like if there was going to be a surprise, it would have happened by now.
“Well, I love you,” Micah says. “And you should have invited me over because I could have brought you your present and then your family would have clued in and felt guilty and probably gone out and bought you a huge cake or something.”
“It’s OK — they can’t afford it anyway. I would have at least liked a homemade card, though.”
“Sorry, Rachel. That stinks.”
We get off the phone, and I go over to my window to breathe some cool air. It’s dusk, but across the street I can see a big horse trailer in our neighbors’ driveway. The new barn they built has three stalls with actual wood floors, not dirt like the ones in our old barn. I bet it’s a lot easier to muck out the stalls when you have a wood floor.
As I look out the window, feeling sorry for myself, the sky gets darker and darker. And then a strange, flickering light comes from the bottom of the driveway. Then another. Three altogether, marching toward my window. They’re sparklers. As they get closer, I can see my mom, dad, and Ivy each carrying one, swirling them in the air to make circles and hearts that last just a second before dimming into black. Then my dad spells out Rachel before his sizzles out and he has to light another.
“Happy birthday to you,” they begin to sing as they approach my window. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Rachel. Happy birthday to you.”
“Come on out and see what we got you,” my mom calls.
“Did you think we forgot?” Ivy says. “You didn’t, did you?”
“Of course not!” I lie happily.
I quickly text Micah, They remembered! and run outside.
“Stay here while I go get your present,” Ivy says, all excited. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but I wanted it to be dark. You have to guess the surprise before you can see it.”
“I hope you didn’t think we forgot,” my mom says.
I shrug. “Maybe. But I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Ivy’s been planning this for days,” my dad says. “Even the sparklers were her idea.”
My mom and dad stand on either side of me, squeezing me tight. It’s a good sandwich to be in, feeling love from both sides like that, when no one can see us so I don’t have to be embarrassed.
“Are you excited?” my dad asks.
“I can’t really imagine what it could be,” I say.
“Your sister put a lot of work into it, so if you don’t love it, pretend to anyway,” my mom says.
I wish she didn’t feel like she had to tell me that.
Pretty soon there’s a familiar click click clicking sound a bike makes when you’re coasting along, and then I can see reflectors shining as Ivy begins pedaling toward me, then a light flicks on the front. She squeaks the brakes just before she gently bumps the front tire into me.
“Ta-da!” Ivy steps off and flails her arms like a game show host presenting a prize.
My dad runs into the house and turns the outside lights on so we can see better.
“I saw an ad in the PennySaver and grabbed it quick before anyone else could,” my dad says. “Ivy has been making all the repairs, greasing the chain and making it as good as new.”
“Wow,” I say. “Thanks!”
“Try it out!” Ivy says. “It’s a million times better than your old piece of junk.”
“Ivy!” my mom says.
“Well, it is!”
My old bike really is a piece of junk. Riding to Micah’s is a huge risk because I never know if the chain will fall off or the worn brakes will give out when I go down the big hill on the way to his house and I’ll end up in a ditch. Plus it’s way too small for me, so my knees rise up high when I pedal and I look ridiculous.
I climb on, and the seat is already set just right for me. Ivy looks genuinely excited. Usually when she smiles, it means she has set up some sort of prank, but on holidays like Christmas and my birthday, I can usually rely on her smile being genuine.
“Do you like the light on the handlebar? That’s my favorite. It’s why we had to wait until tonight to give it to you!” Ivy points to a flashlight she duct-taped to the handlebars.
I click the light off and on. “Yeah!” I ride in a circle around the driveway, the flashlight casting a yellow glow in the space a few feet in front of me, as they all watch.
“What do you think?” Ivy asks.
“It’s great!” I say. “I love it!”
After I ride around for a bit, my dad leads us out to the back porch, where my mom has hung my birthday banner after all. There’s a cake with lots of frosting, and a vase with wildflowers set in the middle of the table surrounded by homemade cards with funny drawings. There’s even a card from old Rainbow.
My thirteenth birthday is pretty good after all. Maybe the best one yet. I can’t wait to ride my bike to Micah’s and show it off.
That night, after I help clean up, I go to my room and lie in bed. A warm breeze drifts through my window. My parents’ bedroom is below mine and I can hear their bedtime voices from their open window, but not enough to make out what they’re saying. The sound steadily gets louder and eventually turns into one of their fights. A door slams, and footsteps pound through the house.
Ivy peeks her head through my bedroom door. “Did you hear that?” she asks.
“The sound, not the words,” I say.
“They’re fighting about money again.”
“What else is new?” I ask.
“I hate it,” she says.
“They’re just stressed — don’t worry. They still love each other.”
“They sure don’t sound like it,” she says. “They sound like they hate each other.”
“We fight all the time, and we don’t hate each other.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Sisters are supposed to fight and stuff. Not Mom and Dad.”
“It’ll be OK,” I say. “Try not to worry.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
“I’ll worry for you, OK? Now go to bed.”
She hangs her head sadly. “All right. G’night,” she says, and sulks off down the hall.
“Thanks again for the bike!” I call after her. But I don’t hear a reply.
The house is quiet again, but I can’t sleep. I wait and wait until finally I hear the floorboards creak below and my parents’ voices again. They get low and quiet, and I can tell they’re making up. I hope Ivy is still awake so she can hear, too.
“This is pretty great!” Micah says when I ride my bike to his house the next day.
Micah always gets new stuff when he outgrows something. He never has to sort through hand-me-down bags like I do. He probably doesn’t even know what one is.
“Let’s go for a ride,” he says. “To celebrate summer. We can pack a picnic.”
I follow him inside. His parents aren’t home, so we raid the kitchen for snacks. We make peanut butter, lettuce, and mayonnaise sandwiches. They’re my mom’s favorite and have become mine, too. The first time I made one for Micah, he almost threw up when I told him what it was. But then he took another bite and realized how delicious they are. We add a bag of chips and half a box of ginger cookies. Then we put it all in Micah’s backpack and head out.
I follow behind Micah and get used to my bike, trying the gears and testing the brakes just to make sure they really work. I’m so used to being scared on my old bike that I can’t seem to stop worrying.
We didn’t agree on where to go, but I have a hunch we’ll end up at our usual place, the small local beach that’s only a short ride away.
It’s early summer, so there aren’t too many people here. The lifeguard looks bored. We lock up our bikes and find a spot at the far end of the beach where no one likes to sit because tall grass grows where the beach ends, and there are lots of frogs and crayfish.
Micah unzips his backpack and hands me a small box wrapped in neon-green wrapping paper. “Happy birthday,” he says.
I slowly unwrap the paper, careful not to rip it. The box is white with a horse head drawn in blue pen.
“Did you draw that?” I ask.
He laughs in an embarrassed way. “You know I can’t draw horses.”
“I like it.”
Inside, there’s some folded tissue paper, which I lift out to reveal a woven friendship bracelet.
“Wow,” I say. “Did you make this?”
“Of course I made it. That’s our rule. Do you like it?”
I nod, turning it over in my hand. “Thank you.” He chose all my favorite colors: purple, blue, and green. When we were younger, we made a pact that we had to make whatever presents we gave each other. I know this was partly Micah’s idea because he felt bad for me and didn’t want me to feel like I had to spend money on him. I like our tradition, though. It makes all of our presents more special.
“So what are you going to do all summer?” Micah asks as he helps me tie the bracelet around my wrist.
I shrug. “Probably help my parents out with gardening chores, and find some babysitting jobs.”
“Ugh. Babysitting. Not the Grayson twins, I hope.”
“They live the closest.”
“Those kids are horrors, though. Remember that time they tied you up and then wouldn’t let you go?”
“They have boundary issues.”
“They have life issues.”
“At least their dad pays well.”
“Well, if you take a job with them, tell me and I’ll come help you.”
“I can’t afford to split the money. Sorry.”
“I’ll do it for free! That’s how good a friend I am.”
“You just want them to tie me up so you can laugh and take a picture.”
“You don’t know me at all!” He makes a fake offended face.
“Fine. You can come. Maybe you can teach them some manners.”
“Exactly.”
We lean back on the sand and look up at the sky. There isn’t a single cloud up there, just blue, blue, blue forever.
When we’re too hot, we walk to the shoreline and stand up to our ankles in the water.
“Too bad we didn’t think to bring our bathing suits,” I say.
“Who needs bathing suits?” Micah starts to wade into the water.
“We don’t even have towels!”
“We have the sun! Come on!”
We race to see who can go under first. Micah always wins because I hate the ice rush. But I can’t be outdone, so I force my head under. Beneath the water, the world feels completely different. The echoey sound of the water surrounds me, and I open my eyes.
Micah swims over to me and waves as we hold our breath. I move my hands through the water to keep myself under, and my hair dances out around me. Micah makes a funny face, then blows bubbles at me. “Can you hear me?” he yells, but it sounds all distorted and strange. I pop my head up and gulp fresh air.
“I won!” Micah says.
I splash him and go back under and swim away from shore, out to where the rope line is. I’m going to be the first to touch it this time. As I push my arms through the water, it feels like I’m swimming through another world. Underneath me, I can see the sandy bottom, with a few rocks. Above me, the sun shines on the surface, making it look like a ripply window. The underwater sound echoes through my ears in a peaceful way, and it feels as though, for this brief moment, this is all there is and I am the only one here. Ahead, I make out the rope line and swim toward it, just as I feel a hand on my foot, pulling me back. I cough and breathe water and have to break the surface.
“Hey!” I say, sputtering.
Micah laughs and swims past me.
“Cheater! That doesn’t count!”
I cough again. My throat and nose sting from the water going down the wrong way. I swim as fast as I can, but I can’t catch Micah. He grabs the line and lifts it up a little, smiling. He doesn’t even have to say I win.
The lifeguard blows her whistle at him.
“Hands off the line!”
“Sorry!” he calls at her. “Sorry not sorry,” he says to me as I swim up to him. He grins.
“You’re a jerk,” I say.
We float on our backs and squint up at the sky.
“Wouldn’t it be great if life could always be this easy?” Micah asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Imagine if I didn’t have to get a summer job and we didn’t have any chores, and we could just come here every day all summer.”
“Do you think we’d get bored?”
“No way. We could swim, sleep, have picnics. Maybe get a boat . . .”
“How would we get a boat?”
“Maybe we’d inherit money from some long-lost rich aunt we never knew existed. And we’d never have to work a day in our lives.”
I think of all the relatives I know. I’m pretty sure none of them has a secret stash of money.
“Or maybe we could just win the lottery,” I say.
“I watched a show about people who won the lottery, and they all ended up miserable and poor.”
“What? That’s crazy. If I won the lottery, I’d be so happy. I could pay off my parents’ mortgage and give them enough money so they could quit their jobs. And then I’d buy my own house, with a big barn with wood floors for Rainbow.”
“Yeah, you could buy him one of those fancy blankets horses wear for the winter!”
“Only he wouldn’t need it because the barn would be heated.”
“Right! And he’d have an indoor riding ring, and he wouldn’t have to go out all winter unless he wanted to, and that’s when he’d wear his fancy coat.”
“Exactly.” I picture Rainbow in a fur-lined horse blanket and golden halter. He looks ridiculous. “What about you? What would you do if you won the lottery?”
Micah thinks for a minute. “I guess I’d pay off your parents’ mortgage and buy you a house and a barn for Rainbow.”
Micah always says selfless things like this. I wish I had thought of saying something I would get for him.
We’re quiet for a while after that, both floating on our backs, slowly turning in the water.
