“Great.” Like an idiot, I give him a thumbs-up.
Mr. Frederics bats a hand in front of his face. “I know I’m overreacting, coming here like this, but I’m just so pleased.” Now his hands don’t know where to go and he stuffs them in his vest pockets.
Mother pats the sweat from her brow with the back of her glove. “You’re not overreacting at all. Happiness is a gift that must be shared.”
While Mother and Mr. Frederics converse, Kali starts punching holes into the ground with her feet to let in oxygen, walking back and forth in even rows. The chickens peck the ground around her. Normally, I would strap on a pair of aerating shoes and join her, but I have to sniff Alice, and the sooner the better. While I remember her overt notes, I didn’t pay attention to the ones deeper down. I’ll just ride my bike over to tell her I can’t make the party, and am dropping off a “present” for her daughter, aka the fake elixir meant for Vicky. The fake elixir will buy us time. I’ll take my whiff and go.
“We’d be happy to give you a tour, wouldn’t we, Mim?” says Mother.
“Sure, but, actually, I have to go.”
“Oh?” asks Mother, somehow managing to look down on me, despite my half-foot advantage.
Kali stops stomping and throws me a questioning glance.
“I have to drop off something for a classmate.” No lies yet. “It’s not far.”
“Think I’ll go with you.” Kali pats her stomach. “Dahlia, my stomach’s begging for one of Stan’s donuts.” Everyone calls my mother by her first name because, like all aromateurs, we gave up surnames when we gave up the institution of marriage.
Kali does smell a little hungry.
“You should have said something,” says Mother. “We have oatmeal—”
“Thanks, but when your stomach wants donuts, it won’t take oatmeal.”
Mr. Frederics laughs. “Truer words have never been spoken.”
“We’ll be back soon, and then we’ll take care of those leaves. Might even get to trimming that ivy.” Kali knows how to stroke the belly of the crocodile. Mother hates it when the ivy gets leggy.
Mother pans her smiling face at Mr. Frederics, though fragments of her disapproval, like green tomatoes, loiter in the air. “Well then, I guess it’s just you and me. Come, I’ll show you what I mean about the pepita in your scentprint.”
Together, they walk toward the workshop, chatting like old chums. I hope my mother and my math teacher don’t become confidants. She doesn’t need regular updates on Ms. DiCarlo’s progress.
I bring my own confidant up to speed while we head back to the house. Tabitha the chicken dashes in front of Kali to catch a soil engineer skimming the dirt near Kali’s foot. Kali picks it up. The chicken head jerks side to side, peering longingly at the morsel, which Kali dangles like a curly fry. “Today is your lucky day.” She chucks the earthworm into the nearest compost bin.
Before we collect our bikes, we gather flowers to bring with us to the Sawyer house. The gift of flowers opens many doors. Kali kneels by an iris plant, shears poised.
“Not those!” I hiss.
“Why?”
“Irises say, ‘your friendship means so much.’ I couldn’t give those to Melanie.”
Kali rolls her eyes. “Psshh. Fine. Which ones then?”
I direct her to a rosebush with coral blooms, which simply represents girlhood. While she clips them, I pinch off orchid branches for Alice, symbolizing strength, which could fortify her broken heart. Working quickly, we bind our flowers with paper and twine.
My odd collection of hats line one side of the garage. I pluck off the cowboy hat and tuck my thick pollen-trapping hair inside. The last thing I take is a vial filled with nothing but water—fake elixir for Vicky to give Court. It’ll buy us some time to figure out what to do about Kali’s journal.
Soon, we’re pedaling toward the eastern hills of Santa Guadalupe. I pray that Court has soccer practice on Saturday mornings. If I can just avoid him, I’ll undo my mistake and he’ll never be the wiser.
A fountain with a griffin guards the entrance of the tony neighborhood of Cypress Estates. Water cascades from the eagle’s beak. Heavy clumps of “prosperity” bougainvillea drip from the rooftops of each mansion, which, despite variations in facade—hacienda, French villa, Tudor—still somehow manage to look the same. Wealth has a distinct odor that’s the same throughout the world, the showy sweetness of bougainvillea mingled with weed killer and chlorine from all the swimming pools.
We steer our bikes past a lush expanse of golf course. Then the road veers sharply up. By the time we’re halfway up the incline, I’m ready to collapse. I get off my bike and walk. Kali waits for me at the top, fresh as a plumeria lei.