Juniper was sitting across the counter of the Malt in what Ethan had come to think of as typical Juniper fashion. Her hair curled loose and long down her back, falling over her shoulders every now and then as she leaned forward to take a sip from her vanilla milk shake (she had finally gotten over her milk shake overload and couldn’t get enough of the vanilla). Her hands were damp with the icy sweat slipping down the side of the glass, and she hummed along with the song blasting from the jukebox while swinging her feet against her stool to a completely different rhythm. Ethan glanced at her out of the corner of his eye every now and then as he wiped the counter or flipped another page in his comic book.
It was still quiet in the mornings, minus the occasional primary school kid who would run into the shop flushed and clutching a quarter, breathlessly reciting their order to Ethan before they could even look at him. And Juniper, of course, was a regular customer, always insisting on paying no matter how often Ethan said that her drinks were on the house.
Today was a Tuesday, and the two of them sat in companionable silence, sweating in the seemingly airless shop as the minute hand on the clock inched toward one o’clock at a snail-like pace. Every few minutes Juniper would ask for the time and Ethan would mumble a response before wiping a new layer of sweat from his forehead. By the time Uncle Robert arrived, Ethan’s shirt was clinging to his back.
Uncle Robert grunted a hello to Juniper and Ethan, shifting a full brown paper bag out from under his arm and onto the counter. “For you and your aunt,” he said to Juniper. “Cara asked me to bring it for you. There’re some pies in there, I think, maybe some chicken.”
Juniper grinned, peering into the bag. “That’s so kind, Mr. Shay! Tell her thank you very much.”
“Don’t think she just did this out of the goodness of her heart,” Uncle Robert teased. “You’ve just been ’round our house so much gushing about her cooking that she wanted to show off her skills a little more.”
“Whatever the reason, I’ll take it,” Juniper said. “In fact, I think I’m going to run these home right now. Ethan, can we postpone our snail race an hour or two?”
Next on the summer list was to pick snails from a particularly damp area by the lake and race them across a big rock. Juniper claimed she had already scoped out the options and selected her champion.
“Actually,” Ethan said, as he hung up his apron, “what if I come with you? You’ve been to Aunt Cara and Uncle Robert’s house a bunch of times, but I’ve never seen yours.”
Ethan was surprised to see Juniper’s smile falter. She glanced quickly at the bag of food, then back at Ethan, as if wondering how quickly she could grab the bag and run.
“I mean, unless you don’t want to, I guess,” Ethan added. “Like, no pressure. It’s just that we’ve been friends for almost two months and I still don’t know where you live.”
If Uncle Robert was listening to this conversation, he gave no indication. His focus was on the freezer he was cleaning out, as he always did, because Ethan had yet to master the proper technique. Juniper watched Uncle Robert wipe the icy walls for a long moment before she responded.
“Yeah, okay. Sure.” She nodded too quickly. “Yeah, you can come over for a little while. But just a little while—I still have a snail race to win.”
Ethan smiled. “Deal.”
When they slipped out the back door of the malt shop, Ethan felt anticipation building in his stomach. It had been weeks, and though Juniper talked nonstop, she never seemed to talk about herself. For all that Ethan knew about her personality, he hardly knew anything about her history. He knew she lived with her aunt, and Uncle Robert had once alluded to her parents passing away, but the circumstances were unclear. He’d never seen her aunt or heard the woman mentioned in any detail. And though Ethan wasn’t one to pry, he was curious about the past of this redheaded girl who seemed to live in her own world.
He was buzzing with excitement as he mounted his bike, but Juniper was uncharacteristically subdued. She set the food gently into her basket and silently adjusted her yellow skirt so it swished beneath her like cotton rays of sunshine.
“All right,” she said. “This ride is a bit of a long one, just so you know. I live a little out of the way.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ethan assured. “Look at me. I’m practically Superman. I can handle it.”
Finally cracking a smile, she rolled her eyes.
Ethan couldn’t help but notice that she pedaled unnaturally slow the entire way there. Usually, Juniper was like a rocket on her bike; she went careening through the forest paths as if she was being chased by a wild animal, especially when she had a destination in mind. Today, she moved along at a leisurely pace, glancing back every now and then as if she thought Ethan would suddenly no longer be riding at her tail. As if she almost hoped that he wouldn’t be.
She had been telling the truth though: it was a pretty long ride. They passed the houses nestled in the trees close to downtown—those people who actually had neighbors—before finding their way to a significantly less populated area. The trees seemed denser here, as if they sensed the lack of inhabitants and were slowly closing in. The way the branches sulked overhead, blotting out the sunlight, made the hairs on Ethan’s arms stand on end.
“This way,” Juniper called, after they had been riding for about fifteen minutes. She made a sharp left onto a skinny, almost invisible path. If she hadn’t given the signal, Ethan would have pedaled right past it. The path they ended up on was bumpy and incredibly narrow; too thin to fit even a small car. It didn’t seem possible that there could be a house all the way out here.
But the moment that thought skated through his mind, Juniper came to a jarring stop. Ethan let out a surprised cry, braking quickly and swerving to avoid crashing right into her.
“We’re here,” she said softly.
Ethan looked up through the small break in the trees to find that they’d reached the end of the path. In its place, swelling at the center of the forest in a mass of color and light, was the most magnificent and lonely house he had ever seen.
Juniper had already begun to walk her bike toward it, but Ethan was frozen in his tracks, his mouth agape as he took in the ethereal structure. It was like an enchanted garden out of a fairy tale—as far as the eye could see, there were only flowers. Sunflowers, daisies, roses, bluebells, buttercups, and other species that Ethan had never even seen before. But they were not planted in neat little rows, like the community gardens Ethan had seen back home—these flowers had run wild, growing over each other, their stems twisting together and reaching skyward to the gauzy sun. The entire house was enveloped in a bouquet.
“Ethan,” Juniper said, jarring him from his wonder. “Are you coming, or what?”
“I—yeah,” Ethan stuttered, wheeling his bike after her and nearly tripping on a pothole. “I’m coming.”
Up close, he could see that a white picket fence had been built around the garden in a fruitless attempt to keep the flowers in. They spilled over, their petals bowing to meet the grass. Juniper leaned her bike against an almost clear patch of fence, and Ethan did the same. Then, without a word, she hefted the bag of food in her arms, unlatched the gate, and walked inside. Ethan scurried after her.
The forest seemed to disappear. The flowers were held back here by tall wooden trellises, but they still reached far above Ethan’s head. He felt immersed in the beautiful jungle.
“Sorry, June—” He hurried to catch up with her on the winding cobblestone path, and she turned around. “All of this,” he whispered in unintentional reverence. “Why? And—and how?”
“It’s my job,” she said, shrugging. “Every morning I cut fresh bouquets and bring them down to Mr. Abrams, and he pays me for them and sells them in the general store. We’ve had the deal for a while now.”
Ethan shook his head. “But how is this possible?” he asked. “How can there be so . . . so much of it?”
Again, Juniper shrugged. “My mother. I told you she had a green thumb, remember? Fourteen years ago, these were all seedlings, but once they started growing, they just didn’t stop.”
And with that, she began to walk again.
It was like a maze trying to reach the house. The pathway went left and right and back again seemingly a dozen times before it finally deposited them at the front door, where a tired two-story house stared down at them. Its sagging clapboard walls and faded, peeling white paint were a stark contrast to the lively garden. It had clearly been beautiful many years ago—now, Ethan thought, it kind of just looked old. A wide, covered porch led up to the front door, and on it were two wicker chairs. Even from the ground level, Ethan could tell that one had a cushion worn with wear; the other looked brand new.
He followed Juniper up the steps, and as they reached the front door, he noticed a pot on the table between the two chairs. Juniper was pulling her keys out of her pocket, but he squinted and moved closer. Inside the pot was a tiny tree, a speck of a thing compared to the forest around them. He tilted his head curiously.
“That’s a bonsai,” Juniper said, nodding at it as she noticed him staring. “It’s the only thing in this whole house that wasn’t planted by me or my mother. It was a present from my dad; he was deployed to Japan during the war, and when it ended, he brought this back for her.” She paused, then added, “It’s a juniper tree. The regular, big kind were always my mom’s favorites. That’s how I got my name.”
“Oh,” was all Ethan could say. Juniper was oddly still, staring at the plant as if she had no intention of ever going inside. She didn’t move until Ethan said, “So, do I get to see the inside?”
At his forcibly light tone, Juniper cracked a half smile. “Right, of course,” she said, then, bag balanced on her hip, stuck her key into the lock and turned it gently. The door swung open with a soft click, but she didn’t step inside right away; first, she frowned and leaned forward, turning to listen for something. When there was no sound from within, she let out a breath and led the way inside.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” she said quietly. “Keep your voice down a bit if you don’t mind. My aunt’s probably napping.”
Ethan took in his surroundings, not at all surprised by the homey clutter. They had entered a foyer, and the worn, stained bench next to the coatrack was piled with scarfs. A few coats were hanging on the rack, but most were draped across the small table in front of the wall mirror. Juniper was unapologetic about the mess, and in fact, didn’t even seem to notice it as she headed deeper into the house, jumping lithely over a pile of shoes in the hall.
She turned left into the living room, whose main feature was a giant patchwork couch, which looked to be bursting at its mended seams. A coffee table sat in front of it, squat and wide, framed on either side by two plush armchairs. On top of it, right in the center (and surrounded by cups and papers), was a radio. And on the wall, hanging haphazardly, were several paintings that Ethan recognized immediately as Juniper’s—the thick brushstrokes and colors that seemed alive. There was the lake at sunset, the front of the general store, some flowers that might have been from her garden. Scenes of Ellison, so normal yet so beautiful through her eyes.
“Wow,” he said.
Juniper followed his eyes up to the wall. “Thanks,” she said, grinning. “Some of my best work.”
“I’ll say.” He followed her through a doorway and into the kitchen, which was just as messy and outdated as the living room. The stove and refrigerator, with their curved, vanity-like legs, were a decade old at least, but probably more. Ethan figured that her family wasn’t the type to get rid of things.
“Sit wherever you’d like,” Juniper said, depositing the bag on the square table in the center of the room. Ethan dropped into one of the wooden seats surrounding it. Silence hung over the kitchen, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Thankfully, Juniper broke it by peering into the bag and saying, “Let’s see what your aunt packed, shall we?”
She took out the items one by one and laid them on the table. A half dozen chocolate chip muffins, their tops crusted with sugar. A container of grilled chicken and another of mac and cheese. Two pies—one blueberry, one apple. Juniper squealed with delight, momentarily back to her usual self.
“All my favorites! How did she know?”
Ethan happened to know that all of these dishes were staples in Aunt Cara’s house, but just shrugged and said, “She must be a mind reader.”
Juniper nodded distractedly, already unwrapping the blueberry pie. “By gosh, this looks delicious. We’ve gotta have some.” She hurried to the cabinet and pulled out two plates and two forks.
“Blueberry pie is my favorite pie,” she said, dishing messy slices onto the plates. “Actually, maybe pumpkin. Or rhubarb. What’s your favorite pie?”
Ethan thought for a moment as she pushed a plate in front of him. “I’m gonna go with key lime.”
“How fancy! I didn’t know I was in the presence of royalty.”
“Okay, new question,” Ethan said, laughing. He scooped up a large forkful of pie. “What is your favorite color?”
“Easy,” she said, her mouth full. “Teal.” Ethan quirked an eyebrow in question. “Because it’s the color of the lake, obviously.”
“Fine, fine,” Ethan shook his head. “Favorite book?”
“Oh! Oh! Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, definitely. The sea monster is my favorite character ever.”
“Really, the sea monster? But Captain Nemo is such a cool guy!”
Juniper gasped suddenly. “You’ve read it? That’s amazing! You must be the first person I’ve ever met who’s known what it is.”
“Obviously,” Ethan mimicked her previous tone, and she smacked him across the arm.
For the next half hour they sat at the table, plowing through the blueberry pie and firing questions back and forth. In between bites, Ethan learned that her favorite movie was Holiday Inn, simply because it was the last movie she had seen, over ten years before. He told her that he loved button-up T-shirts and Ella Fitzgerald, and had a pretty big crush on Debbie Reynolds.
“Okay,” he said slowly, poking at the crumbs of his pie. “What do your parents do?”
“Oh, they’re dead,” she replied casually. “Died in a fire eight years ago at their flower shop in town.”
She popped a blueberry into her mouth, seemingly unconcerned, but Ethan froze. “Oh wow, I didn’t—I’m so sorry.”
Juniper shrugged. “No sweat—it’s not that big a deal, really. People die all the time. And anyway, I’ll see them again someday.” Her tone was careless, light, even, but when Ethan stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye, he saw that she had stopped moving and was staring down at her plate as if wondering what it was doing there.
“I guess,” he murmured, and then they were silent.
“No need to kill the mood,” Juniper said after a moment, startling Ethan with her chipper voice. “Your turn—what do your parents do?”
“My dad works in advertising,” he said. “And my mom . . . well, I’m not really sure anymore. She was a nurse when I was little. But ever since she moved back to Montgomery, I haven’t—”
“Wait a second,” Juniper interrupted. “Did you say your mom moved back to Montgomery?”
“Yeah, that’s where she’s from. It’s where she and my dad met. Why?”
“Ethan”—she laughed—“that’s only, like, two hours away from here! The way you’ve talked about her, I thought she was out on a desert island somewhere.”
Ethan bristled. “Yeah, well, she might as well be. What, you think my aunt and uncle are just going to take me to see her? If I make them uncomfortable, she’ll make them ill.”
“I don’t think you make them uncomfortable, Ethan.”
“Yes, I do,” he snapped. “Sure, things have gotten a little better. They’re nice enough. But they always look at me like I’m a bomb about to explode. Like they’re just waiting for something to happen or for me to do something. My dad’s the only reason they tolerate me. Of course you don’t notice it, but I do. All the damn time.”
“What do you mean, of course I don’t notice it, I—”
Juniper was flushed and halfway through her retort when a floorboard creaked loudly above their heads. She jumped, her knees smacking against the underside of the table.
“Oh God, not now,” she muttered, pushing her chair back from the table.
“What?” Ethan demanded. He was answered by two long, slow creaks of weight on the stairs and felt a sudden twist in his gut.
“Just wait here.” She backed toward the living room. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay? Just let me—” She was cut off in the middle of her sentence when a woman suddenly appeared in the doorway and they collided with a soft thump. Juniper shrieked, whirling quickly around with her hands held defensively in front of her.
“Aunt Annabelle,” she began, her voice gentle.
Ethan was struck motionless by the sight of this woman, who was the last person he’d ever have expected Juniper to have as an aunt. He thought that any relative of Juniper’s would be bright, eccentric, energetic—the way she made her parents out to be, and the way she herself was. Annabelle Jones had blue eyes and gray-streaked auburn hair just a bit darker than Juniper’s, but that was where the similarities ended. Her shoulders were hunched, nightgown stained, face sagging—it was clear that life had hit her too hard too many times. She was probably in her seventies, but she looked even older. Even in the way her hands twitched, wringing together nervously, Ethan could sense the profound sadness. He felt a compelling urge to run from the room, to keep running and not stop until her crumbling image was razed from his memory.
“Aunt Annabelle,” Juniper repeated. She swallowed hard. “I didn’t realize you were awake. Why don’t I help you back to bed?”
“You didn’t make me my tea.” Aunt Annabelle’s voice was loud and halting. “I was waiting for my tea.”
“I’ll get you your tea, okay? Just let me take you back upstairs.”
She gently took hold of her aunt’s arm and was just tugging her back through the doorway when the woman’s eyes, scanning the kitchen, locked with Ethan’s. And she screamed.
Ethan pressed himself against the back of his chair, ears ringing. Aunt Annabelle was pointing at him, her finger quivering in time with her lips, her words mangled.
“B-B-Boy!” she stuttered wildly. “Nigger boy, in my kitchen!” In her anger, her southern drawl had thickened. “Junie, get him out! Get him out!”
Juniper turned quickly to her aunt and put her hands on the woman’s shoulders. “No, Aunt Annabelle. It’s okay. There’s no one there.” She began to steer her aunt back into the living room. “Come on,” she said firmly. “We’re going back to bed.” They disappeared into the room, and a few moments later, Ethan heard the stairs creak.
He was shocked, feeling as if his entire body had been pinned in place. The light, streaming brightly through the kitchen windows, burned his eyes. He squeezed them shut, only to see Annabelle’s words seared into his memory. He pushed his hands into his forehead and left them there until Juniper returned several minutes later.
When she came back, she didn’t look at him. She rushed through the door in a flurry of skirt and filled a kettle with water, then set it on the stove to boil. She kept her eyes averted as she leaned against the kitchen table next to her half-eaten piece of pie. Her eyes were red and swollen.
“You should go,” she said.
Ethan wanted to leave—he couldn’t wait—but instead of relief in his chest, he felt anger. “I should go?” he echoed testily.
“Yes. My aunt isn’t well.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ethan scoffed. “That’s the problem.”
Juniper looked at him finally, her eyes fiery. “What, Ethan?” she demanded. “Are you still mad about me saying you should visit your mom? Fine, I’m sorry. I’ll stop suggesting things that might make you feel better.”
Ethan had forgotten about that, but now he felt mad about it all over again. Still, he shook his head. “No, June. I’m mad because of what your aunt said.”
Juniper frowned, seeming genuinely confused.
“June, she called me a nigger,” Ethan said, nearly choking on the word. “Didn’t you hear her?”
“No, I guess I didn’t, but I’m sure she didn’t mean it and—”
“And you didn’t say anything about it! You didn’t defend me, you didn’t tell her not to say that word, nothing.”
“Okay, well, sorry!” Juniper cried, throwing up her hands. “I told you, she’s not well! She barely knows what she’s saying.”
“When it comes to that word, people always know what they’re saying,” Ethan said. He stood up and turned away from the table. “That’s what Samuel Hill said, and he knew.”
Juniper was silent for a long moment, but if Ethan was expecting a heartfelt apology, it didn’t come. Instead, when she spoke, her voice was tight. “I’m sorry that happened,” she said. “But what are you gonna do, punch my aunt in the face? She’s old, Ethan, and sick to boot. I can barely get her to understand what’s for dinner, much less how she should treat colored folks.”
Ethan turned back to her, crossing his arms. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”
“You know what?” Juniper’s face was so red that her freckles nearly disappeared. Her hands were clenched in fists by her sides and the sun through the window made her hair look like fire. “It’s not all about you, Ethan. I have other people to care about, and I can’t change everything in my life to make you feel better all the time. I’m trying to be supportive. I’m trying to be your friend. But my aunt is the only family I’ve got.”
Ethan thought then about his own family—how distant he’d felt from them at times even when they were under the same roof. He thought about Juniper’s aunt, who, even in her age and illness, still bore a resemblance to her niece. Ethan was tall like his father but didn’t share his thin nose, light complexion, or pale eyes. He didn’t even really look like his mother, whose skin was a deep brown, her eyebrows thick and cheekbones high. And certainly—certainly—he didn’t look like anyone in this town. Annabelle was all the family Juniper had, but why couldn’t Juniper understand that she was all Ethan had here, period?
He said as much to her, in a low mumble, his eyes pointed at the floor. Juniper threw up her arms. “I’m sorry it’s hard for you here!” she yelled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! How many times do I have to apologize for this town?”
“Until I can walk down the street without feeling like every single person wants to point a gun at my head and pull the trigger.”
“I can’t do that, Ethan! It’s not my job.”
“Well, it’s definitely not mine either!”
They stared at each other for a long moment, red faced and teary eyed, the pie on the table between them long forgotten. Finally, Ethan shook his head and turned to the doorway. “Whatever, Juniper. I’m leaving.”
“Fine,” she called at his back, her voice breaking. “Leave, then. See if I care.”
Ethan paused for a moment in the kitchen doorway, a sudden pain welling up in his chest. She had said she would be there for him—she had promised. And he had convinced himself to trust her, because otherwise, he would have been all alone. He felt shocked, betrayed. The loneliness washed back over him, and though Juniper stood only a few feet away, he felt as though he was seeing her through a long tunnel.
“Maybe you’re not who I thought you were,” he whispered. Then, before he could stop himself, he hurried to the front door. When it shut behind him, all the air went out of his chest in one long stream and he nearly collapsed onto the scratchy doormat. The bonsai tree, on the table to his left, seemed to taunt him.
It was in a daze that he made his way through the floral maze. Several times he imagined Juniper, sitting there alone in that sad, sad house, and almost turned back around—but another emotion, anger or maybe fear, drove him away again, made him forge ahead until he burst through the gate of the white picket fence and left it all behind him.
Juniper’s bicycle had fallen to the ground; he picked it up and leaned it against the fence, then picked up his own. He cast one last glance back at the house, feeling his heart pounding heavily in his chest. Anger made his vision pulse with red. There was a rolling nausea in his stomach; he didn’t want to be here anymore. Forcing his gaze away from the house, he climbed onto his bike and pedaled away down the narrow path. The trees seemed to sigh in relief.