My Mixed-Up Berry Blue Summer (3 page)

Slowly, after selling marine maps, oil, full pies and slices, I stopped worrying. Most people just saw a kid working the cash register. They didn't know about Mom and Eva. But I couldn't get the picture of their wedding out of my head. If Mom and Eva had a civil union ceremony, then everybody would know.

Mom finally relieved me in the shop, and I jumped into the lake. I swam hard, washing away all the anxiety of the day, only coming up for air every four strokes. Dusk is the best time on the lake—when the calm often returns and the water turns inky black. The sun was casting its last light on Luke's island and the Green Mountains beyond. I floated on my back, thinking of my small self in this giant lake, all one hundred and ten miles of it. It was holding me, gently, like a hug from a friend.

I didn't notice Luke until his rowboat was almost on top of me.

“Watch where you're going,” he said. “I almost ran over you!”

“Watch yourself.” I rocked his boat.

“Hey!” he shouted, and pretended to fall in. We splashed each other and dove for rocks, letting his boat drift in the shallow water.

“This one's perfect for skipping.” Luke flicked the flat stone hard. We watched it skim three, four, five times.

“Watch this.”

“Not bad,” he said as it bounced three times.

For a while we were silent, scooping up rocks and skipping them.

“I heard Mrs. Costa's entering her pies, too,” he said.

“At the fair?” I thought of her professional farm stand pies—she won a ribbon every year. “But I'll be in the kids' section, anyway. We won't be competing.”

“Her pies are pretty good,” Luke said.

“Not as good as mine!” An idea crept into my mind. To win the kids' division, I'd have to be as good as Mrs. Costa. Their farm produced the best strawberries, and Mrs. Costa probably used homemade butter in the crust, churned from cow's milk.

“Maybe we should go visit Tina,” Luke said as if reading my mind. “Do some sampling of her mom's pies—compare notes.”

“I don't know,” I said. “Tina and I aren't really friends right now.”

He skipped another rock. “You don't think Sam had anything to do with the sign, do you?”

I shook my head. Even though I'd wondered, too, it was hard to imagine.

“C'mon—I'll flash my green light tomorrow when I'm ready to go,” he said, climbing back into his boat. Then he paused. “I'll look for your red light if there's trouble, OK?”

“Pie trouble, you mean?”

He grinned. “I'll row right over.”

“Thanks.” I watched his oars turn as he rowed home. Neither of us had ordinary families—how many kids live without a car or phone on an island?—but mine took the prize. I turned from the lake and walked up to the house. Through the kitchen window, I could see Mom and Eva preparing dinner together. Mom was smiling while Eva talked. I closed my eyes and wished it were just the two of us again. Then I could pretend my parents were divorced and that my dad was on the road, selling stuff, and everyone would leave us alone.

THE NEXT MORNING, the lake was frenzied, all choppy and wavy. I rested my head on my hands and watched the water crash against the shore, battering it. Just like the angry words crashing around in my head.

Downstairs, I could hear Eva talking about the wedding, about whether black-eyed Susans would be better than Queen Anne's lace on every table. Mom was too busy; I could tell. She was saying
uh huh
to everything as if she cared.

I flicked on my weather radio to drown out Eva's voice. “Today, northwest wind five to ten knots, waves around one foot,” the announcer said in his gravelly voice. “The Lake Champlain lake level at the King Street ferry dock is ninety-six point six feet. The water temperature is sixty-seven degrees. Chance of afternoon showers.”

It was comforting to hear the weatherman say what I could see—clouds low, waves crashing. Maybe it was a good day to make plans for the Champlain Valley Fair pie competition. I let my mind fill with memories of pies—ones I'd made and those I'd had from Mrs. Costa's farm stand. I examined my fingertips, still faintly red from hulling strawberries the day before. Maybe I'd make strawberry-rhubarb tonight. Maybe Luke was right—I could get some ideas from Mrs. Costa.

I turned away from the water and stared at the ceiling. No way did I want to go visit Tina, not even for pie research. Even with Luke with me, I didn't want to run into her brother.

The only person I wanted to see was Luke. I looked out the window, but his signal was yellow. I got up and clambered down out of the loft.

“Good morning, June,” Mom said from the breakfast table. Eva was filling her travel mug with coffee. “Luke dropped by to say he and his father were heading into Burlington all day.”

So much for doing something with my one friend. I popped a slice of bread in the toaster.

“Shelly called,” Mom said.

“Mrs. Costa?”

“Yes, Mrs. Costa.” Mom looked at me. “She said she needs some sixteen-plait running rigging. I told her you could bike some over today.”

“Won't that be too heavy?” Eva asked. “I could drive.”

Mom and I exchanged a look. “It's just rope,” she explained.

I took a bite of toast. I didn't want to go without Luke. “Don't you need me at the marina?”

“I need you to run this errand to the Costas.” Mom put her arm around my shoulders. “I hope you're not hiding from your friend, just because grownups disagree sometimes.”

I didn't say anything, flushing at the memory of Tina's silence after Eva's outburst. Obviously, Mom and Mrs. Costa were talking again, although I couldn't see how. Mom and Eva had been really mad at her after the softball game. Tina and I hadn't talked at all.

Mom handed me my backpack. “Shelly said Tina is going to enter Moonbeam in the fair this year.”

Last year it was Sam who had entered a calf, his father patting him on the back, guiding him. Tina and I had just hung around, too young to participate. It was our turn now. She would be in the dairy animals category and I would be in the culinary arts. Maybe it would be OK. Maybe we could talk about the fair and not about families.

I put on the backpack. “Did you pick up the entry form for the competition?”

“Not yet,” Mom said.

“I'm going to make the best pie ever,” I said as I banged out the door on the way to the marina to get the rigging.

***

IT WAS A short bike ride to the Costa Farm, along the shore, past the town, and then north. Once I left the lake, the day was muggy and hot, and my pedaling slowed. I wasn't in a hurry to get there, which gave me plenty of time to think. I hadn't talked to Tina since the game. I missed talking to her. She was probably busy around the farm, though, taking care of Moonbeam. I had been busy, too, so maybe that was why we hadn't called each other.

By the time I reached the farm, I was dying for a drink, and I had convinced myself that if Mom and Mrs. Costa were talking, then everything would be fine between Tina and me.

“Good to see you, June,” Mrs. Costa said from behind the farm stand counter. She sounded as if she meant it. “Do you have the rigging?”

I took it out of my backpack. “Mom said we'll put it on your tab.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“You tell her that's very kind,” Mrs. Costa said. “Tina, take a break and give June some lemonade in the kitchen.”

Tina was weighing a bag of potatoes for a customer. Our summer differences were already showing. I was lake- wet almost all the time, and Tina was dusty-freckled, although her pink nail polish sparkled as her fingers punched the register keys.

“That's three ninety-five, please.” Tina hefted the bag over the counter. She was a wiz on the cash register, just like me. When we were in second grade, our teacher had been amazed with our speedy adding and subtracting.

“I want to check on Moonbeam first,” Tina said. “C'mon.” She disappeared out the back door of the stand.

The barn was dark, cool, and quiet. Moonbeam's hide shone like a light in the corner of his stall. He was chewing quietly.

“Isn't he beautiful?” Tina said. “I weighed him this morning and he's thirteen hundred and sixty-two pounds. That's champion-size.” She entered the stall with a brush in hand. Moonbeam turned around to nuzzle her. I climbed up on the rail—no need to get too close to something thirteen times heavier than me.

I was quiet as Tina worked on Moonbeam, grateful that she hadn't mentioned Eva's craziness. It felt like old times.

“I hope you win,” I said. “Did you hear I'm entering the pie competition?”

“Maybe we'll both get blue ribbons,” she said. “What are you going to make?”

“I can't decide. What's your mom making?”

“Strawberry, probably.” Tina brushed Moonbeam's flank. “Whatever you do, I know it will be the best. My mom said the other day you make good pies.”

“She did?” Liking my pies was the same as liking me and my family, wasn't it? “I think hers are good, too.”

“All Moonbeam needs is water. Then let's go to the kitchen and see what's left.”

Tina handed me the hose and turned the water on. I filled up Moonbeam's water trough and cooled myself down with a quick splash on my head. I shook my hair out like a wet dog as we walked up to the main house.

The kitchen was full of brothers—Tim eating a slice of pie and Sam pouring milk.

“Look who walked in—did you fall in the lake?” Sam asked. “Or jump? Oh wait, you're too chicken.”

I flushed and started to snap back, but Tina spoke first.

“What are you talking about? June lives in the lake.” Tina took down two glasses and poured us both some lemonade. “I've never been over to her house when we didn't end up in the water.”

“Anyway, I'll jump someday.” I shot Tina a grateful glance.

“I'm going out to help Dad.” Sam bonked Tina on the head. “Tag, you're it, for Tim duty.”

Tina sliced up two pieces of strawberry pie, then washed Tim's hands and face. “You go and play,” she said to him. “I'll find you in a minute.”

We took a long swig of lemonade and came up for air at the same time, which made us giggle.

“You're lucky you don't have brothers,” she said. “Summer is more work than school.”

“I made six dozen cookies last week.” I wanted to make peace. “But it sure beats listening to grownups lose it.”

“Yeah, my parents have been acting a little weird lately, too.”

Truce, maybe.

Tina balanced a bite on her fork. “Where did you see Sam?”

“Promise not to tell?”

She nodded.

“Luke and I found a great new spot with wild blueberries. They're not ripe yet, but I'm going back in a week,” I said. “The berries are right on the edge of a cliff, along the trail up from the old camp. It's a cliff-jumping spot. When we were there, Sam and some other guys came.”

“Did they all jump?”

I nodded.

“I'd never do that—I'm too afraid of heights,” she said.

“Me, too.” But remembering the cliff's edge didn't make me stiffen as much as remembering the hateful words her brother had said. I couldn't tell Tina, not now that everything seemed regular between us again. I ate another mouthful.

“What do you think?” Tina asked, her lips red with berry juice.

“It's great, as usual,” I said. The crust was the best—flaky and rich, and it held together nicely because of their homemade butter. “I may have to ask for some of your butter.”

“I was talking about my lips!” she said, making a kissing face.

I grinned and smeared some strawberry filling on mine.

“Beautiful, dahling,” she said.

When it was time to go, I waved to Tina, feeling lighter than I had in a long time. I pushed my kickstand up and strapped on my helmet. A light rain had started. Just as I turned the farm stand corner, I heard Mr. Costa say, “Yeah, we're going to take it back.”

I couldn't see who he was talking to, and I didn't turn around. My insides just congealed a little, like a pie left out overnight.

WHEN EVERYTHING GETS muddled up inside my head, there's nothing better than making pies. Mom came back from her evening sail and set me up with flour, butter, and the big bowls. The strawberries were sliced and ready to go. Rhubarb stalks were washed and stacked next to a bowl of peaches.

“What's it going to be, pie maker?” Eva said, putting away the last dinner plate.

I washed my hands, my back to her. “Maybe strawberry- peach or peach-rhubarb.”

“Whatever kind you make will be perfect,” Eva said.

I turned to Mom, annoyed. “How many should I make?” I dipped my hands in the flour.

Eva went into the office, and Mom looked uncomfortable. “As many as you feel like,” she said. “I'll do more later. We'll be doing the accounting, OK?”

I began to fill the measuring cup, but Mom lingered, watching me. I was sorry she wouldn't be helping. I had made my first pie when I was six with leftover dough scraps she had given me. I used to pat the dough down, sprinkle it with cinnamon sugar, and Mom baked it for a snack. But that time, I had shaped the dough into a cup like a tart and begged for a few apples for filling.

“No worries, right, June bug?” Mom asked.

I smiled. She hadn't called me June bug in a long time.

“I know things are hard right now,” she said. “Everything OK with Tina?”

I nodded. I didn't say anything about Mr. Costa.

“Change is hard sometimes, but good, too,” she added. “Eva's just excited, hoping the rest of the world understands us.”

“What if Vermont is not ready?” I asked.
Or me,
I thought. But I felt a little bad for ignoring Eva again.