Sisters in the Wind(83)

Meanwhile, I had to grow a healthy human baby and figure out a way to keep said baby safe after it was born. The stakes were so high.

I followed all the recommendations on the handouts my medical provider gave me at the end of each prenatal appointment. A daily vitamin. A diet rich in vitamin D, calcium, iron, and protein. Prenatal yoga and low-impact aerobics classes for me and Paige—led by Jennifer. The younger Mrs. Hoppy also took us on daily walks up and down the driveway. The more pregnant we got, the more Paige and I resembled a pair of waddling ducks.

I hoped Jennifer wasn’t part of the baby-farm scheme. She was as kind and helpful as ever. But every day, Missus’s words echoed.

Tonya wasn’t the only witness.



* * *



In November, Bruce’s colonoscopy showed several noncancerous polyps, which were removed. But there was one small tumor that was also removed. His surgeon diagnosed stage 0 colon cancer; it was the earliest stage and had the best survival rates. He didn’t need surgery or chemotherapy but would need regular follow-ups.

Another development that month was Mister and Missus deciding they would prioritize placements for pregnant teens instead of coed placements. They announced it over dinner one Sunday.

Mister said the non-pregnant teens could sign up for a paid gig renovating the first-floor annex to become a space for pregnant girls. The rooms formerly used by the boys were to be reconfigured into two bedrooms and a bathroom that included a large, jetted tub with nonslip steps and grab bars.

“We offer something special at Hoppy Farm for young women in crisis. We help pregnant teens—and through them can help couples who want to provide loving homes for the sweet babies,” Missus proclaimed.

I dipped my head, tugged on my piercings, and served a major eye roll to no one but my eyelids. Hoppy Farm, my ass! More like Hoppy’s Baby Farm: where poor girls grow happy babies for rich people.



* * *



One Sunday in December, Bruce and Devery returned from the movies. He went inside while she wandered over to where I was at the hammock grove. The hammocks had been put away for the winter. By the time we set them up again, I would have given birth. The fetus that fluttered inside me would be in their adoptive parent’s arms.

“Hey, whatcha doing, Clancy?”

“Checking on Tonya’s tree,” I said. “Hey, do you still keep a cigarette or two on hand?”

She laughed and pulled a pack from her winter coat.

“You smoke now? And who’s Tonya?”

“She left right after Boyd died.”

I took the cigarette, broke it open, and crumbled the tobacco.

“My friend Misho Abe showed me how to give thanks. He said it was to keep things in balance. Give and take.” I paused. “Didn’t I tell you all this before?”

“I don’t know…”

I grabbed her arm. Underneath her coat and shirt, there was a homemade tattoo.

“I did! You gave yourself a tattoo. Remember? Happy. Sad. Happy. Sad.”

I mimicked the faces she made years ago.

Devery stared as if I was batshit crazy. Then she blinked, and her face changed.

“I did!” she said.

Nobody laughed like Devery.

She took a cigarette and crumbled it in her hand.

“So, what are we doing?” She squatted beside the little tree.

With some difficulty, I squatted next to her and nudged her left arm.

“Left hand. Hold it in your left hand. Closer to your heart,” I said. “Then you say thank you for the tree, and you leave with happy memories of Tonya.”

“But I didn’t know her,” Devery pointed out.

“She was a good person. We shared a room until she got pregnant. She wanted her baby to be adopted by Allen and Jennifer. She died a week after she left the farm.”

“How?”

“Overdose,” I said, “but I don’t believe it.”

Devery scratched the tree trunk like it was a lonesome kitten.

“Poor Tonya. Be at peace.” She stood and looked around. “Does everyone get a tree when they leave?”

“I don’t think so. We didn’t plant anything after Emily left. Or Paige. These two crabapple trees are for Tonya and Otto. They left around the same time.”

“Maybe trees get planted when people die,” she said. “Is Otto dead?”

“No.” I glanced from the Tonya tree to its companion. “He calls Lexi all the time.”

Tonya left about two weeks after Boyd died. I’d never said anything about that night to Devery. I trusted my foster sister, but given her deepening relationship with Bruce, I didn’t want to put her in an awkward position of clamming up when bluntness was how they communicated, where she needed to watch her words. Besides, it was just a coincidence that two people died so close together.

“Who’s that little tree for?” She pointed to the sugar maple.

I thought back to when it was planted: the day after my seventeenth birthday. Diego was gone. Boyd had said he’d left to get closure or rekindle things with Emily. But he was already dead, killed by Boyd with the same rusty shovel that Missus used to plant a tree the next day.

A chill ran down my spine. Three trees planted in one year. Three teens died in that year.

I spun around, taking in the trees. There were two or three dozen, at least. All different sizes. Planted over multiple years.