would be worse? Eating all of this apple, which would be stealing a whole piece of fruit? Or not finishing it, which would be wasting food?”
The little girl thought about this, but only for a second. Then she smiled and did a somersault in the sloppy ground, crushing an apple against her back and leaving a long cider stain along her spine.
This kid,
thought Marissa,
is hopeless. Completely hopeless.
Sometimes, she knew, Mom’s fiancé seemed to think Cindy was cute. But that was probably because Eric didn’t have any kids of his own yet and didn’t know any better. He didn’t know what to expect from a six-year-old. Besides, he really didn’t have a choice: He had to like Cindy because he was marrying Mom.
Marissa had a sinking feeling that he and her mother were someday going to have more children. This, too, made her dislike Eric—and made her angry with her mom. It also caused her to like Laurel even more. Her father had told her that she and Cindy were his priorities, and he had no intention of dating any woman right now who wanted children. This further endeared her to Marissa.
“Think Daddy will buy us another candy apple when we leave?” Cindy asked her the moment she finished her tumble, her eyes wide with pride from her small gymnastic accomplishment.
“I didn’t have a first one.”
“Yeah,” said Cindy. “’Cause you wanted to wait to steal the regular ones from here.”
This was it, the last straw: the final petty, stupid, completely illogic, totally childish remark. It was time to silence her sister—or at least send her packing.
“I did,” said Marissa, aware on some level that she needed to be careful now in her anger not to narrow her eyes. That would ruin the effect. Instead, she looked back and forth slowly, histrionically. She was slightly amazed that the waves of clouds high above them were cooperating on cue and bunching together to block out the sun. The orchard was growing darker before their eyes.
“What?” her sister asked. “What?”
“Shhhhh. Don’t move.”
“Tell me!”
“I will. But don’t move—just for a second. Okay? I’m listening. This is very important.” She added a tiny, warbling quiver to her voice that she hoped sounded at once pleading and…scared. Really, really scared.
It worked. The kid stood like a statue. Then, almost desperate, her voice little more than a whisper: “What?”
“I heard something. And then…then that apple tree behind you. It just…moved.”
“’Cause of the wind.”
“No. Not because of the wind. It started to reach…and stretch.”
Cindy paused, trying to decide whether her big sister was teasing. “Did not,” she said finally, but she had spoken in a nervous murmur that was only faintly audible. Marissa knew that the child still believed in fairies and trolls and some bizarre prankster dwarf she’d read about in a picture book called a Tomten. It was a wonder the girl didn’t believe the Teletubbies were real—though it was possible she believed in them, too. Best of all, Marissa knew that Cindy was terrified of the angry, talking trees in
The Wizard of Oz—
a dread that absolutely dwarfed her fear of the flying monkeys. They had watched their DVD of the movie just the other day, and the moment the trees had started hurling apples at Dorothy and her pals, Cindy had (once again) burrowed underneath the throw pillows on the couch until it was over.
“It did,” Marissa said softly, ever so softly. “I would not lie to you about something this important.”
“You’re making this up. Trees can’t move.”
“Of course they can. How else could they have filmed that scene in
Oz
? They went to the apple trees and asked them, and the trees said—”
“No. They did not!”
“Laurel has pictures!” Marissa had no idea where this whopper came from, but both sisters knew that Dad’s girlfriend was a photographer and the lie was almost reflexive.
“Of trees talking?”
She nodded slowly, almost
The little girl thought about this, but only for a second. Then she smiled and did a somersault in the sloppy ground, crushing an apple against her back and leaving a long cider stain along her spine.
This kid,
thought Marissa,
is hopeless. Completely hopeless.
Sometimes, she knew, Mom’s fiancé seemed to think Cindy was cute. But that was probably because Eric didn’t have any kids of his own yet and didn’t know any better. He didn’t know what to expect from a six-year-old. Besides, he really didn’t have a choice: He had to like Cindy because he was marrying Mom.
Marissa had a sinking feeling that he and her mother were someday going to have more children. This, too, made her dislike Eric—and made her angry with her mom. It also caused her to like Laurel even more. Her father had told her that she and Cindy were his priorities, and he had no intention of dating any woman right now who wanted children. This further endeared her to Marissa.
“Think Daddy will buy us another candy apple when we leave?” Cindy asked her the moment she finished her tumble, her eyes wide with pride from her small gymnastic accomplishment.
“I didn’t have a first one.”
“Yeah,” said Cindy. “’Cause you wanted to wait to steal the regular ones from here.”
This was it, the last straw: the final petty, stupid, completely illogic, totally childish remark. It was time to silence her sister—or at least send her packing.
“I did,” said Marissa, aware on some level that she needed to be careful now in her anger not to narrow her eyes. That would ruin the effect. Instead, she looked back and forth slowly, histrionically. She was slightly amazed that the waves of clouds high above them were cooperating on cue and bunching together to block out the sun. The orchard was growing darker before their eyes.
“What?” her sister asked. “What?”
“Shhhhh. Don’t move.”
“Tell me!”
“I will. But don’t move—just for a second. Okay? I’m listening. This is very important.” She added a tiny, warbling quiver to her voice that she hoped sounded at once pleading and…scared. Really, really scared.
It worked. The kid stood like a statue. Then, almost desperate, her voice little more than a whisper: “What?”
“I heard something. And then…then that apple tree behind you. It just…moved.”
“’Cause of the wind.”
“No. Not because of the wind. It started to reach…and stretch.”
Cindy paused, trying to decide whether her big sister was teasing. “Did not,” she said finally, but she had spoken in a nervous murmur that was only faintly audible. Marissa knew that the child still believed in fairies and trolls and some bizarre prankster dwarf she’d read about in a picture book called a Tomten. It was a wonder the girl didn’t believe the Teletubbies were real—though it was possible she believed in them, too. Best of all, Marissa knew that Cindy was terrified of the angry, talking trees in
The Wizard of Oz—
a dread that absolutely dwarfed her fear of the flying monkeys. They had watched their DVD of the movie just the other day, and the moment the trees had started hurling apples at Dorothy and her pals, Cindy had (once again) burrowed underneath the throw pillows on the couch until it was over.
“It did,” Marissa said softly, ever so softly. “I would not lie to you about something this important.”
“You’re making this up. Trees can’t move.”
“Of course they can. How else could they have filmed that scene in
Oz
? They went to the apple trees and asked them, and the trees said—”
“No. They did not!”
“Laurel has pictures!” Marissa had no idea where this whopper came from, but both sisters knew that Dad’s girlfriend was a photographer and the lie was almost reflexive.
“Of trees talking?”
She nodded slowly, almost
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