My Mixed-Up Berry Blue Summer (7 page)

Unlike our regular customers, he was wearing jeans and a collared shirt. He was dressed for a city job, not as if he'd come in from the water, all windblown or wet. He looked along the shelves at the line and oil, and he picked up a cotter pin, flipping it around, as if he'd never seen one.

“That's for a sailboat,” I said. “Do you need one?”

“No, no.” He shifted his gaze to the food on display. “Do you have any pies?”

I shook my head, sorry again that I'd ruined the last four. “We'll have hot cookies in the next half hour.”

He picked up a ham sandwich instead. “I just wanted to lend my support,” he said.

He handed me a ten, and I gave him his change. I didn't say any more, but I had a weird feeling that he had seen the “Boycott Gay Businesses” flyer.

He left, and several more people came in, buying the last sandwich and Ben & Jerry's ice cream bars. None of the purchases was large, but everything was adding up. The cash register had more crumpled tens and twenties than I'd seen all summer. Something was going on. I knew I should be glad for Mom's sake, but it was making me nervous. Just then Mom returned, sliding me a peanut butter and jelly and waving freshly wrapped cookies.

“Chocolate chip,” she said.

“Great,” a woman gushed as she approached the counter. She held two postcards in her hand but had been browsing. She snatched up two pairs of cookies. “To share, in the office,” she said.

Mom rang it up. “Five eighty-nine.”

“Is that all?” The woman looked around the shop.

Mom laughed. “It's not often that I get a customer who wants to spend more.”

“I want to be supportive, that's all.” She picked up a Stillwater visor. “How much is this?”

“That's fifteen ninety-nine,” I said.

“I'll take it.”

Mom added the item in, her mind quietly working. “What did you mean, ‘supportive'?”

“I think it's just terrible what's going on. I think everybody deserves to be happy, and it doesn't matter who owns a business.”

I pulled my cap low down over my eyes. It felt like my tongue was stuck on the roof of my mouth like the peanut butter I'd just eaten. I suddenly hated this cheerful woman. I watched her leave.

“How unusual,” Mom murmured.

“Luke and I found some black raspberries.” I needed to change the subject.

“That will make a nice pie.”

I nodded. I didn't mention the fair. I shifted in my stool. It was a good plan to register in the adult division; yet it made me uncomfortable not to tell the truth.

The door jingled, and we both looked up. A strong woman with deep lines on her face strode in, wearing a jaunty hat over her white curls.

“Ruth!”

I was surprised. Ruth played tennis with Eva occasionally, but she was better known as an opinionated letter writer to the local paper and a talker at town meetings. She probably had a position on the civil union law, but I didn't know it. I jumped off the stool and nervously realigned all the cotter pins in neat rows.

“MJ! Got any pies? No? What, didn't expect customers? I wouldn't think you would take this lying down. You and Eva are fighters, aren't you?”

“We've had a slow week, but nothing we can't handle—”

“Nonsense! Eva did the right thing—strike back! Gather your allies!”

Mom's bewildered expression flicked to me.

I ran up to the counter, placing myself between Mom and Ruth. “Try one of these chocolate chip cookies! They're fabulous!”

“Sure, honey. This must be tough on you. But you two have held your own all along. I'm not worried about you. What else should I buy?”

I grabbed a map of the lake. “Have you got the latest depth chart? You'll need this if you want to know the ins and outs of every cove.”

“Sure, and sunscreen, too, for my next fishing venture—”

Mom clapped her hands on the counter. “Ruth. What are you talking about? June, what is going on?”

I looked at Ruth and then down at the floor.

Ruth cocked her hat back. “You haven't heard? The flyers are showing up all over town.”

“What flyers?”

I felt in my back pocket. I was still wearing the same jeans. I pulled out the “Boycott Gay Businesses” flyer, unfolded it slowly and laid it flat on the counter. Ruth was already talking.

“This kind of thing is outrageous. I'm glad Eva sent out the e-mail, alerting everyone. You've got a lot of support, MJ, and there's no way we'd let one of our Vermonters suffer this kind of injustice. We're all behind you, MJ, so ring me up.”

Mom closed her eyes. I came around and gave her a hug. “I didn't want you to worry. Please don't be sad.”

“I'm OK. You don't need to worry about me.” Her squeeze was quick, her eyes flashing to the flyer.

Ruth adjusted her hat and pulled out her purse. “So when are you and Eva tying the knot? Don't forget to invite me!”

Mom murmured, “August third,” gave Ruth her change, and they said their goodbyes.

As soon as she was gone, Mom picked up the flyer and turned to me. “How long did you know about this? Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't want you to worry,” I repeated.

“My June bug.” Mom gave me an exasperated shake. “I'm the one in charge of the worrying!”

“No worries, right, Mom?” I tried to say it like she did, but it came out squawky like a seagull.

She tossed her cap on the counter and shook her head angrily. “I thought you were having a little bit of trouble with Tina, but this . . . If people are attacking my family, my business . . .” She seemed to see me again. “Can you handle the cash register? I need to call Eva. I cannot believe she did this without telling me.”

Mom's anger didn't make sense. “But isn't it good to have all these customers again?”

“No! Yes, of course!” Mom grabbed her cell phone. “But it's not exactly lying low, this telling everyone our problems.”

As I rang up another sale, I had to admit I was impressed with Eva. Telling people to shop at the targeted businesses was a good idea. It was better than Luke's idea to tear the flyers down. Maybe Eva and I could change people's minds. I would do my part, too.

I would make a champion pie for the fair.

“IT'S HERE!”

I wiped cinnamon toast crumbs from my mouth. “What?”

“The fair, silly,” Tina's voice over the phone filled the kitchen the next morning. “They're setting up. My dad said he saw the Ferris wheel on the fairgrounds when he drove by this morning. Let's go!”

“Now?” I glanced at Eva, but she was absorbed in the newspaper. I hoped it wasn't too late to register for the pie contest. I'd filled out the adult form last night, by flashlight. Luke was busy with his dad today; it would be nice to go with Tina.

“You're the only other kid I know who has entered the fair,” she said. “I'll meet you at the stoplight in fifteen minutes, OK?”

We said goodbye, and I clanked my plate in the sink.

“I'm going biking with Tina,” I said, and waited for Eva to give me the third degree—or at least remind me to put my plate in the dishwasher.

“I'll tell MJ.” Her eyes didn't leave the page with the headline, “Candidate Denounces Civil Union Law.”

I grabbed my sweater and paused at the door. Maybe it had been a mistake to give Eva the cold shoulder. She was turning out to be pretty good at it, too.

A “thank you” sat on my tongue, without budging. I was grateful to Eva for bringing customers to the marina, and I almost wanted to tell her my plan to help, too. But how do you talk to someone who won't look at you?

***

AS I BIKED down the road, I thought about how nice it was to see Mom busy again. I could tell she was still mad at Eva for not discussing it with her first. They had been up late talking. One e-mail wouldn't change everything, though. It was more important than ever for me to win the pie contest, for Mom and the shop.

Tina waved to me when I reached our meeting spot. “C'mon, let's go see what's set up. I can already smell the cotton candy.”

Tina's pink nails gripped her handlebars as she rode high on a hand-me-down boy's bike. I wouldn't have minded it, but Tina always worked hard at looking like a girl. I guess it came from having two brothers.

At the fairgrounds, we stashed our bikes and walked through the exhibitors' entrance. Trucks and cars were parked in and around the booths, unloading.

The fair was at once exotic and ordinary. Men with faded snake tattoos connected wires, hoisted tents, and tied ropes. Women, cigarettes hanging from cracked lips, hauled equipment into place. I remembered the rides from last year, the funnel cakes, and tie-dyed shirts. Even the crocheted tablecloths and knitted baby outfits looked familiar. Except this time was my first pie competition.

We watched a large truck back up to position the Zipper, the upside-down ride.

“Will you try it this year?” Tina asked.

“I don't know. What about you?”

“Maybe.”

We went over to the farm area and watched the men set up the corrals. Soon each pen would hold a prize pig, goat, or cow.

“Moonbeam's doing great,” Tina said. “My dad and I will bring her down tomorrow.”

I hadn't seen Mr. Costa since I'd overheard him at the farm. But he was helping Tina get ready for the fair. It was weird the way people could be good and bad. My form bulged in my back pocket, making me anxious.

Tina saw me kicking the hay. “Do you want to go look at the culinary section?”

I took a deep breath. “My mom doesn't want me to register for the fair.”

“What?! I thought you already had. That's awful.” Tina grabbed my arm. “Let's go see if it's not too late.”

I hesitated. “I'm going to enter the adult berry pie competition.”

“Why?”

“This way, I don't need anybody's signature.” I glanced at her, hoping I didn't need to explain more.

But Tina got it. “That means you'll be competing against my mom.”

I nodded. I had worried about going for the adult contest for two reasons: it would make it harder to win, and it might make Tina mad. But I didn't have any other choice. “Is that OK?”

“I guess,” she said. “But you can't just walk into the office and ask for an adult form.”

I unfolded the piece of paper from my back pocket. “I got this from the library.”

She read it over. “It looks like you filled it out right.”

We started walking toward the office door. My mouth was dry, and I got worried all over again. How could I do this? “Maybe you could turn it in, and say your mother asked you to drop it off.”

“But what if it's someone who knows me? And my mother really has turned in her entry form.”

I looked at the office door. If someone was going to lie, I figured it should be me.

“I'll do it,” I said.

“I'll come.”

I was surprised—and glad. “Thanks.”

The woman behind the counter was stapling entry forms.

“Hi,” I said, too quietly. I tried again louder. “My aunt was hoping it isn't too late to enter the berry pie competition.” I pushed the form across the counter.

“She's just in time.” The woman put on her glasses and read over my entry form. My breath came ragged, as if I had been running. I clenched my fingers, waiting.

Finally, she took out a pen and wrote a number on it. “Tell her she's Number forty-seven and to deliver her pie on Monday by ten a.m.”

I nodded, relief steadying me. “Does that mean there are forty-seven pies entered in the contest?”

“That's right,” she said. “So tell her good luck!”

As soon as the door shut behind us, Tina and I grinned.

“The competition will be much harder now, you know,” Tina said.

“Number forty-seven can handle it!” I did a cartwheel right there in the dirt. I was registered!

Tina clapped and laughed. When I came up right side up again, I was face-to-face with Mr. Costa, stopping his farm truck beside us.

“Well, look who's here.”

“It's Tina and that test-tube kid!” Sam jeered from the flatbed.

“No name-calling, son,” Mr. Costa said. He looked down at me from the driver's seat. My face was red from Sam's words.

Mr. Costa rested his arm on the window. “You're turning out fine, it seems, but I should tell you I don't approve of homosexuals like your mom raising kids and wanting to get married,” he said. “And you're getting old enough to start thinking about boys. If you ever get mixed up, you can come on over to our place. You're always welcome.”

I couldn't speak.

“Dad!” Tina said.

“June's normal—she's got a boyfriend,” Sam teased. “Weren't you and Luke holding hands the other day?”

Tina squealed, “You never told me.”

“He's not my boyfriend.” My voice came out hot and fast.

“That's OK, sugar, you're a little young,” Mr. Costa said. “Tina, Mom needs you back at the farm to watch Tim. He's underfoot. We've got some hay to deliver.” And he drove off.

The dust from the truck filled my eyes, but the bumper sticker on the back of the truck was unmistakable:
TAKE BACK VERMONT
.

“Can you believe my dad is talking to us about boys!” Tina laughed. “Tell me about Luke! What happened?”

“Nothing.” I strode over to our bikes and grabbed my helmet, struggling with the strap.

“What's wrong?” she asked. “Why are you leaving?”

I picked up my bike. I was shaking all over. “It's just like at the game at school,” I said. “You're on his side, aren't you?”

“What are you talking about? You aren't mad about what he said about your mom, are you? Just don't pay any attention. He was concerned, anyway.”