My scarecrow is placed on Dock Street in Edgartown, across the street from Candies from Heaven, where Nina and I used to spend our money on Pop Rocks and gummy worms. Jack, Molly, Charlotte M., and I style the scarecrow perfectly. We place him on a bench, so his arms are open and hanging on either side of the backrest, just like Jack on the first day I met him. Ms. Ratowski stopped by Sal’s and picked up an old pair of jeans that we slid over the scarecrow’s legs. Jack and Charlotte M.’s two chains run from the scarecrow’s belt loop to his pocket.
And the shirt. The JOIN US shirt is perfect. The letters are wobbly and Anna would never approve of the stitches—they’re way too uneven—but the message is clear.
Anyone who wants to sit next to our scarecrow is more than welcome.
“Cove, I’m just so proud of you,” says Mom. “I remember when you were that little spirit kicking around inside my belly and it feels like all my hopes for you have come true. You’re a gorgeous being, Cove. A blessing.”
Mom pulls me into her arms and that’s when I lose it. I almost lost it two nights ago, when I got home from school after making my scarecrow and my fingers were stinging with needle pricks. I almost lost it this morning when I saw a new letter from Create You in a stack of unread mail on the kitchen table. I almost lost it an hour ago when a photographer from The Vineyard Gazette took a picture of me with my scarecrow that Molly and Jack photobombed. The photographer said it was the best picture he’s taken all year and that it’s definitely going to run on the front page.
All those almosts pile up inside me until there’s no more space. “Mom,” I say into her chest because I don’t have the courage to say it to her face. “I did something really, really bad and I need to fix it.”
Anna isn’t in the lobby when I get there. I look in the common room with its plaid sofas and the dining room where circular tables are set with silverware and folded napkins. I see Walt shuffling down a hallway using his walker.
“Walt,” I yell, running toward him.
“Hey there, child,” he says. “You scared me. Not much running happens ’round these parts.”
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just, I’m looking for Anna. Have you seen her?”
“Anna?” Walt leans on his walker and lifts one hand as if he wants to reach out and touch me. But his hand trembles and he puts it back down. “Oh, child, she moved on, our Anna. Just one night ago. It was her time.”
“Moved on? Where? Where did she move to?” Even as I wait for Walt to say another room, or another floor, I know what he means. It’s in the way his entire body sags. Anna’s moved on to a place that she can’t come back from.
“Come,” says Walt.
I follow him to Anna’s room. There are cardboard boxes on the bed and the closet door is wide open. A woman wearing a navy-blue sweater peeks out of the closet and smiles. She stands up straight, like a teacher in front of a class. “Let me guess,” she says. “You must be Cove.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Anna talked about you all the time. In fact, the last time we spoke, Anna mentioned staying up all night to finish sewing a dress for you. When I told her not to forget about her beauty sleep, she shushed me right up. Said nothing mattered except making you the perfect dress, so that you’d always have something to remember her by.”
“Anna said that?”
The woman nods. “And that she hoped she had sewn enough love into the seams to last you the rest of your life. I hear a lot of things in my line of work, but that one hit me right here.” She puts her hand over her heart.
It hits me, too. “Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m Andrea, her social worker.”
“Social worker?”
Andrea nods. “We check on folks who need to be checked on. Make sure they’re getting the help they need.”
Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe Anna did just move to another floor. Like in a wheelchair or something.
“So where is she?” I ask.
Andrea reaches out and puts her hand on my shoulder. Her fingers feel like octopus tentacles latching onto me and I want to peel them off, one by one. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply . . . Anna’s dead. She died peacefully in her sleep. But she left you something.” Andrea walks over to Anna’s desk and nods to the sewing machine. “She wanted you to have this.”
The sewing machine looks lonely. And sad. Like something that’s lost.
It looks how I feel.