What Happened on Fox Street (14 page)

T
HE EVENING MIST
wreathed Fox Street in a delicious coolness the likes of which it hadn't felt for weeks. Everyone had eaten barbecue till they were ready to burst, and now Mrs. P was pressing pizzelles on people. Walking through the near dark toward the Green Kingdom, Mo heard a car horn toot and turned to watch a big silver car nose its way down the street. Three-C, it had to be. What would he make of Mercedes coated in mud, and Baby Baggott's diaperless butt, and the guys from the Tip Top dancing in the street? And what about Monette? What would she do when she discovered Da, Mrs. Steinbott, and
Mercedes all waiting for her? Maybe she'd already decided to tell her secret. Maybe that was what she'd come to tell Merce, the reason she'd come home at last. Mo hoped so. Any minute now, there was going to be a whole lot of exclaiming and explaining and crying and laughing up on that spotless Steinbott porch.

Mo knew she'd hear all about it, first thing tomorrow. She hoped she'd be able to help Mercedes think it all through.

She patted her pocket, where the twin plum pits waited. Her idea was for her and Merce to plant them on the very same day, at the precise same hour, Mercedes in her backyard in Cincinnati and Mo…wherever. She'd visit Merce's tree, and Merce would visit hers. The trees would grow up together, the exact same age, with the very same parent.

Tomorrow she'd tell Merce all this. Tomorrow, she had the feeling, a lot of things would be happening. But for now, the Green Kingdom stretched in front of her, rustling with its quiet secrets. For now, Mo was all alone.

“Surprise!” Dottie leaped up from behind the guardrail.

It was no use claiming she hated surprises. Besides,
did she? Mo knew she'd have to think that over later, along with so many other things. And besides again—even though she hated to admit it, Mo wasn't sorry to see her little sister. “May I ask what you think you're doing here?”

Dottie threw her hands over her head, spun around, and bowed to the street. “The dance of joy!” she proclaimed.

Dottie danced till she was dizzy, then leaned into Mo. Mo plucked potato chip crumbs from her hair.

“Mo? I really do remember stuff.”

Mo's arms made a circle around her sister. All up and down Fox Street, fireflies drifted up from the grass. Mo saw Taur Baggott nab one. She steeled herself, certain he'd squish it, or stomp it, or pluck off its wings.

“We're always going to be sisters, right?”

“Right.”

“Till deaf do us part.”

Up on Paradise, a siren wailed, then abruptly stopped, as if it had changed its mind.

Down in the Green Kingdom, the trees rustled, holding their own thoughts secret. Hidden among them, a fox watched the night fall.

And in between stood Mo Wren, in between not just
the two poles of her beloved dead-end street, but in between so many things her head spun, as if she herself had just performed the dance of joy. Mo was tempted to shut her eyes tight, so she wouldn't have to see what she was going to have to give up, one day soon. Instead she looked. She looked at it all, people and houses and darkly shining street—she looked at it hard.

And then, wonder of wonders, as if he'd fallen under the spell of the day's many goodnesses, she saw Taur Baggott stretch his fist toward the sky. He uncurled his fingers and let that tiny bit of life go. The firefly's light meandered skyward, blinking but determined, and Mo pointed to make sure Dottie saw, too.