ELEVEN

The narrow aisles of the country store were as packed as a Georgia highway.

“Tourists,” James said. “You can tell by what they buy.” He nodded to a heavyset couple with a basket full of miniature, leaf-shaped bottles. “Vermont maple syrup is one of the biggest products for the tourist trade, but I guess you already know that.”

Mama’d always made me practice my very best manners when we traveled, but these people seemed to have left theirs somewhere else. One lady pushed in front of another to riffle through bins of fresh vegetables, then she walked away complaining about the “lack of variety of summer squashes in Vermont.” Three different people spun a rack of postcards at the same time, grumbling when one of them stopped the twirling to take out their selection. A bald man gathered a bunch of tiny blue and green flags in his hand and didn’t leave even one behind for the little kid reaching for the same thing. The kid looked like he might perish if he went home empty-handed.

James reached on a high shelf for a new jar and let him pick one out. “Thanks,” the kid said. “I really wanted one.”

Even with all that rudeness, being crowded made me feel at home. I could hide in a mass of people like this. For a few minutes I relished the sense of being one of many, and not the center of attention, which, I was realizing, could be exhausting.

James maneuvered me toward the front of the store, where two women managed the customers together. One lady was stout with dark hair and muscled arms. She bagged items up and made suggestions on other purchases. Next to her, a tall, thin lady with a light ponytail punched the keys of an old-timey cash register. Every time she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkled.

“That’s Sue,” James said, pointing to the short one. Sue looked over and blew him a kiss. “And that’s Kori.”

Biz climbed on a stool in between them. Kori automatically reached over to spin the seat so Biz swirled and giggled, her knees tucked up in front of her, her fingers curled around the edge.

“This is our second busiest time of year,” James said. “Peak foliage season in the fall is first.”

“What about in the winter—don’t a lot of people ski here?”

“They do, but skiers only stop on their way to or from the resorts. Most of their time is spent on the slopes. They don’t like to miss one minute of powder. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the moms later when they aren’t so busy.”

We picked our ice cream from a long freezer. There were more flavors than I remembered seeing in any specialty store back in Atlanta, where ice cream is as important a part of summer as air-conditioning and swimming pools. James went behind the counter and wrote down what we took in a spiral notebook, then led us out the back door to a yard.

A barefoot girl twirled slowly in circles on a wooden swing hanging from a tree, flicking her toes at fallen acorns. Leaning against the side of an old barn, a boy about the same age sipped soda from a bottle and watched her spin. Every few seconds the girl looked up from under long bangs and blushed, pretending she hadn’t noticed him studying her before.

“That’s Haily and her new bf!” Lucy whispered. She had a dab of chocolate ice cream on the end of her nose. “It’s her first one and the moms said we have to be re-special.”

James wiped the ice cream off with his thumb. “Respectful, not re-special.” He herded us to a picnic table on the side of the house. Lucy and Biz snuggled up on either side of me. Sonnet and Kendra sat next to James and watched me eat my Mexican chocolate ice cream cup as if I were the most curious thing to ever come to Vermont. No one had to tell me they weren’t as keen about my being there as the two little girls.

Lucy nudged me. “Did you know it takes twelve pounds of milk to make one gallon of ice cream?”

“No, I did not know that. You’re so smart.”

“Lots of cows in Vermont,” Biz said between licks of a cherry-chocolate-chip bar. “Ben and Jerry’s gives their leftover ice cream to pig farmers, but the pigs don’t like the Mint Chocolate Cookie flavor. Isn’t that weird?”

“You girls are full of fun facts,” James said.

A couple of fat, black-and-white speckled hens wandered near the table, pecking at the dirt.

“That’s Harriet,” Lucy said, pointing at the one closest to us. “And that’s Georgia. Johnny Austin named her ’cuz that’s where you lived.”

“They’re rescue chickens,” Biz said. “Haily has to collect the eggs every day, but she doesn’t like to. It’s dirty. She wears dresses now. That’s what happens when you get a bf.”

“Sonnet can’t eat eggs, she’s allergic,” Kendra said.

“Sometimes Harriet makes double-yolkers. You know what that means?” Biz asked.

“I can guess,” I said, but my mind was swirling with thoughts of my daddy naming a chicken after the state where I lived.

I took a bite of ice cream and let my eyes wander around the backyard. Haily and the bf had moved out of sight. I wondered if they were hiding somewhere, kissing. One of the chickens strutted over to a grassy area where flowers grew around a circle of pretty white stones. In the center, a wooden cross was stuck into the ground. It tilted slightly to the left and leaned against a homemade sign that read “Here lies James’s leg, kicking some butt in Amputee Heaven!”

They’d been telling the truth about the leg. My ice cream cup fell, but I couldn’t look away from the little graveyard.

“Oh no, her ice cream! It’s in the dirt!”

The chicken pushed through a clump of yellow daisies and pecked at something in the grass next to the cross.

“Pick it up, quick! Five-second rule!”

Kendra crawled under the table and inspected the inside of the dish. The cup was filled with dirt. “Sheesh, she wasted this one.”

A leg, and even animals they had loved, were memorialized in that graveyard, right outside the back door for them to see every single day. And I’d never even thought to ask Mama where my own daddy was buried.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s she staring at?”

“Maggie, you okay?”

I blinked really fast, aware of a quiet stirring going on inside my head. My chest had that melting-into-my-gut feeling, like I’d been walking on Mars for half my life, looking for a way to get home, and I was so close.

“Was he buried near here?” I asked.

“Who?” Lucy asked.

All the buoyant energy slowly sifted to the ground.

“The family plot is about twenty minutes away,” James said quietly.

“Who?” Lucy said again.

Sonnet narrowed her eyes. “Haven’t you ever been? He was your father, right?”

Was it my fault I’d never seen his grave? Mama should have taken me. Seems like no matter what else, he was responsible for my life. We should have gone as soon as we got here. I shook my head slowly.

“Do you want us to take you?” James asked.

“I’d like that.”