Genuine Sweet (15 page)

“Travis saves the day,” I said to myself.

“Huh?” Jura asked. Something near Sonny, over by his locker, had caught her eye.

“Nothing.” I put the note in my pocket, a confidential little smile on my lips.

I might have kept on smiling, too, had Sonny Wentz not sauntered over to ask Jura if he could walk her home after school.

“Oh, and you, too, Genuine,” he added.

15

D
ISAPPEARED DADDY OR NO, IT WAS HARD TO
imagine anyone being surly for long living in the Tromp house. I'd passed by it, of course, but seeing as how the place was surrounded by a big fence, and considering that I'd never felt moved to go inside before, I was more than a little surprised to find out they'd been concealing paradise behind their gate.

I knew, like everyone else did, that Miz Tromp had some kind of herb-growing business making medicine teas and oils that you smear on your skin, but somehow I had never considered the size of the operation. Their tiny house, a wooden cabin hand-painted with a thousand brightly colored birds, was surrounded by five acres—easy—of plants in boxes and plants in bowls, of blossoming vines climbing trellises shaped like horns and hearts and hoops. Tomato bushes bowed with their red fruit, while rows of purple-faced lettuces and collard greens burst skyward, as if they were grateful somehow. And beyond that, there was a whole orchard of apple and peach trees, plus great swaths of a tall-stalked plant I thought might have been bamboo. In the middle of it all, a small pond with a fountain spouted water from a statue of a girl holding a watering can.

I just stood there for a while listening to the falling water and the ringing of the wind chimes that hung from the eaves of the house. After a time, though, some movement caught my eye, and there was Travis squatting in a clump of basil, collecting leaves.

“That's not for your nasty cigarettes, is it?” I asked.

He jumped. “Oh! Genuine! Naw, just helpin' out my ma.” Now he smiled. “You look pretty tonight.”

“Friends don't tell friends they look pretty,” I schooled him.

“You girls talk about who's pretty all the time!” he countered.

The other girls did, it was true. No one ever said it of me, though. Suddenly I was very sure I didn't want to own up to that.

“Well, then, you look pretty, too, Travis.”

He led me through the garden, glancing over his shoulder every two or so paces. “Let me hold those for you,” he said, taking my starlight-harvesting buckets.

Off to one side, a metal contraption caught my attention. It was something like a staircase, about eight feet high, with four wooden crates fixed to the top of it and a bunch of pulleyed ropes dangling down.

“What's that?” I asked.

“What?” Travis looked to see where I was pointing. “Oh, that's the harvester. Ma's picky about bruises on her custard apples. For a long time, we was having to climb up, bring down what few apples we could carry in our arms, then climb back up again. Which was fine before business got good, but now we're too busy for it. So I made that for her. She can climb up one time and set the fruit in the crates real gentle. Then, with those ropes, we can lower the boxes down and land 'em soft.” He shrugged. “Looks funny, but it works good.”

The perfect tool for the job, was how it seemed to me. With Travis's smarts and his handyman know-how, it was hard to imagine how even the stars could do better.

Travis walked me to the cabin door, set his hand on the door handle, and said, “Sorry if the place smells funny. It's Ma's herbal fixin's.”

But the house didn't smell funny. It smelled
miraculous
—sweet like chocolate and spicy-clean like a summer day at the river. There was the impossible, otherworldly smell of newborn babies and the scent of good grandmas leaning over your shoulder while you're puzzling out your homework. I even caught a whiff of snow and spring rain.

“How does she do it?” I asked, whispering with the sheer wonder of it.

“Do what?” Travis asked.

I was still trying to find the words when Miz Tromp appeared.

“Genuine! Welcome!” She held a bunch of celery in one hand. “You got that basil, Travis? Toss it in the pot, will you?”

“Anything I can do to help?” I asked, following them both into the kitchen.

Every burner on the stove was taken up by a pot billowing clouds of steam into the air. The counters were full, too, with bowls and cutting boards and vegetables in every hue I could name. My stomach rumbled.

“She could decorate the cake, Ma,” Travis said.

“Sure,” said Miz Tromp. “Cake's on the top shelf, orchids on the bottom.”

Travis went to the fridge and came out with a white cake so perfect it made me croon. With its rounded edges and fluffy icing, it couldn't possibly be anything other than store-bought. Real food just didn't look like that!

Travis set the cake on a table and went back to the fridge. “It was gonna be a wedding cake, but the bride chickened out,” he explained.

“Travis, be nice,” said his ma. “It is true, though. It was going to be a wedding cake. I do like to cook for guests, Genuine, but I normally don't go to
that
much trouble.”

“You made this?” I asked.

“I did,” she said. “If you're interested, I can teach you how someday. Meantime, though, pretty it up for us, will you?”

Travis set a box at the edge of the table and pulled off the lid. It was filled with flowers.

“You decorate a cake with flowers?” I asked, not exactly sure what I thought of that.

“You can eat 'em, see?” Travis took one and ate it.

When he offered me one, his ma piped up, “Those are for the cake!”

I took the yellow flower from Travis and traced the dashed stripe that ran the length of one of its petals. “Really? Right on the icing?”

He nodded encouragingly.

Carefully, I set the flower at the very center of the cake. It made me smile—though it took me some time to figure out why. I'll tell you now, but I don't expect you'll understand it.

You know how things stop growing in winter and all the trees are bare? That flower on that white-iced cake made me wonder, for just a second, what it would be like to live in a world where flowers could blossom in winter, where in spite of freezing weather, the alive things kept on growing, as if to say, “You can't stop me!”

Sounds silly, I know.

Travis handed me the flowers one at a time until I'd used up the whole box.

Miz Tromp looked over her shoulder while she stirred something on the stove. “Very nice. Maybe I should hire you.”

“Genuine's already got a job, Ma. She's a wish fetcher,” Travis said.

“Mm. So she does. I want to talk about that over dinner, Genuine. Whatever happened to my wish?” She said it with a smile, though, so I knew she remembered I'd told her to be patient.

 

In all my born days, I'd never had such a supper! Travis heaped up so much spaghetti onto my plate, there was barely enough room for fancified greens and bread with olive paste—which may sound peculiar but nearly brought tears of joy to my eyes. When he got to serving the meatballs, one actually rolled off my mountain of food. Thankfully, I caught it with my napkin before it hit the floor.

“Uh, maybe I'll just take this one to Gram,” I said and set it aside.

Full up and feelin' fine, Travis and I did the dishes while Miz Tromp packaged the leftovers—including a whole
bag
of goodies for me to take home. Then I quick ran out to whistle down some starlight, and Travis and I got to baking.

We were pulling our first triple-sized batch of biscuits from the oven when there came a knock at the door.

“I'll get it,” Miz Tromp said. “I wonder if it's the Teagues, changed their mind about the wedding cake.”

“Tell 'em they're too late!” Travis called. He'd managed two slices, even after his own outsized dinner.

We heard some mumbling in the hall, and then Miz Tromp reappeared with Edie Walton, Penny's daughter, and a man I'd never seen before.

“Some folks to see you, Genuine,” Travis's ma told me.

“Edie! What are you doing here?” With the upscuddle between her ma and me, I was fairly certain it was nothing good.

Edie, who'd graduated from Sass Public only last June, was the prettiest girl in town. She had long blond hair and dimpled cheeks and a smile so sweet folks said she could charm the moon from the sky.

But she wasn't smiling now.

“I need to talk to you, Genuine,” was all she said.

“Your grandma told us we might find you here,” the man said to me. Giving the Tromps a regretful smile, he added, “Sorry to interrupt your evening.”

“We 'preciate the apology, but who
are
you?” Travis asked, stepping between the man and me.

“My name's Tom Holt.” He offered Travis his hand. Travis shook, wary but civil.

“Please, both of you, sit down,” Miz Tromp said. “You, too, Genuine. Can we get y'all something to drink?”

The man said he'd be glad for some water, but Edie only shook her head and sat. With nothing else to do, I took a seat, watching helplessly as Miz Tromp pulled Travis with her into the kitchen.

“What's all this about, Edie?” I asked.

Edie opened her mouth, tried to say something, and started to cry. I rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a handful of Miz Tromp's fancy paper napkins, and offered them to her.

When she finally collected herself, Edie said, “My mother didn't want me to talk to you, but Tom—Tom saw you on the news and he said,
Aren't you neighbors? What could it hurt?
And so here we are, you know?”

“Sure.” I nodded encouragingly. “That makes sense.” Though, I confess, I was hoping it would make more sense soon.

Tom spoke up. “I work at the Ardenville Cancer Center. I'm a nurse there.”

Edie slapped her fistful of tear-damp napkins on the table. “My mom is sick, Genuine! Really, really sick!”

“I—I'm sorry, Edie,” I said, and I meant it.

“We thought she was going to get better, but all at once, it struck her worse than ever. The pain—it hurts her so bad she
cries,
Genuine!”

I tried to imagine a pain that terrible. Even when I had broken my arm—and that smarted something terrible—I shouted, but I never bawled.

Miz Tromp drifted in and set a glass of water before Tom. Travis, I saw, lingered within hearing, leaning just inside the kitchen door frame.

“We—Tom and me—we were hoping you might come and talk to her.” Edie sniffed. “See if you can wage some kind of peace between you two, so maybe she'd accept one of your wishes.” She leaned forward. “A wish
would
fix her, right?”

“Truly? I don't know, Edie,” I told her. “Maybe. I've never tried to fix a sickness before.”

“But you could try, couldn't you?” Edie asked.

I dropped my chin to my chest.
Could I?

Part of me wanted to. After all, I knew what it was like to be bad off and alone, wishing like mad for some prospect of help.

“Even if you could just help the pain some,” Edie pleaded. “She's so tired with it. She can't even sleep!”

“Late last night,” Tom said, “I went in to check on Penny. She wasn't in her bed. Finally, I found her in another room, sitting with another patient—a girl who was sick from her treatments. Penny was hollow-eyed and trembling with her own pain, but there she was stroking this girl's back, whispering,
You can do this, sugar. You're a fighter.
She stayed there till the girl nodded off.” Tom pressed his lips together. “Penny made me swear I wouldn't sneak in one of my alternative medicine ‘crazies' for her. But seeing her caring for that girl . . . Please try, Genuine. Talk to Penny. And if she's willing, use whatever tools you have—”

I looked at Edie. Her lip trembled, but besides that, she'd gone utterly still.

The smell of fresh-baked wish biscuits hung in the air.

“Can I say—nobody here is asking for a miracle.” Tom seemed to think something over, then went on, “Well, maybe we are. Asking for one. But we're not
expecting
it. Some treatments work. Some don't. We know that. We accept it.”

Edie nodded.

I searched out Miz Tromp, who stood in the corner, expression heavy, hand resting over her heart.

I said to her, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, honey.” Her voice was soft.

She led me into the kitchen, past a worried-looking Travis, and out onto a little porch.

She'd barely closed the door behind us when I blurted, “I've got biscuits to bake and send!”

“I know,” Miz Tromp replied. “You've been working hard.”

“But I have to go. Don't I?” I asked. “I can't just leave Penny to suffer.”

“I'm sure we can arrange—”

“But, then, what if I go to her, get Edie and Tom's hopes all up, and Penny Walton turns me away? Or what if I can't do it at all? What if the stars don't have that kind of power?” My ma never did try her shine against Loreen Walton's sickness.

Miz Tromp stood with me, sturdy as an oak. “How can I help?”

I squinched up my face. “Could you come with me? Tonight? You and Travis both? And—also—could we drop off this first batch of biscuits at Jura's?” Was it too much to ask? I wasn't sure.

“I can be ready and out the door in under three minutes. Travis, too, I imagine. Isn't that so?” Miz Tromp knocked on a nearby window. I hadn't noticed it was open just a crack.

Travis's face appeared. He nodded. “Yes, ma'am. Jura's, then Ardenville.”

I let out a sigh. “Thanks, y'all. To go off to a big city, not a friendly face around me—I don't know if I could do it!”