Chapter 4: The Candy Jar Promise

She was silent for a few seconds, then replied, "We'll talk after your Uncle Dave and I settle down."

Her hesitation was like a splash of cold water. I clung to the phone, holding my breath, waiting for more, but there was nothing.

Even though I was going to see Mom as her niece, I was still full of joy.

I twirled in my bedroom, hugging myself. I’d never met Uncle Dave, but I imagined he’d have a big smile and maybe a dog. My heart felt lighter than it had in months.

I washed all my clothes inside and out, even sewed up the holes in my socks, stitch by stitch.

I scrubbed the stains with bar soap until my knuckles hurt. I found a spool of blue thread in the junk drawer, poking the needle through the thin cotton, tongue sticking out in concentration.

She was my only mother.

I hadn't seen her for a year. I had so much to say to her.

I imagined telling her about the creek, the apples, the time I rescued a squirrel from the gutter. My words tumbled over each other in my head, waiting to spill out.

When the 21st came, Mom called again.

She said, "Jenny, it's not convenient here. I'll come see you in a while."

Her voice was distant, distracted, like she was speaking to someone else at the same time.

"Mom also has to consider Uncle Dave's family's reputation. Jenny, please understand Mom, okay?"

She hung up.

Brady's dad, Uncle John, happened to come back to Maple Heights.

At the beginning of the year, Dad went out to work with him.

He patted my head: "Your dad said the round-trip ticket is too expensive. He won't come back this year."

His hand was rough, but gentle in its own way. He offered me a sad smile, his eyes kind but helpless.

"Why don't you spend Christmas Eve at your mom's?"

Mom had a new home.

She didn't want me there, either.

On Christmas Eve, every house started setting off sparklers and putting up lights early in the morning.

Windows glowed with colored bulbs, porches draped with plastic garlands. Someone in town played Christmas carols so loud you could hear them from the woods.

I sat in a daze on the big rock at the door.

I picked at the moss, listening to distant laughter and the pop of sparklers. My breath made little clouds in the chilly air.

Tina, from down the street, passed by, stared at me for a while, walked far away, then came back and sat beside me.

She took a handful of roasted peanuts from her pocket and stuffed them into my hand: "Eat."

Maybe they were over-roasted.

They tasted bitter.

Tina was four years older than me, known as the toughest girl in Maple Heights.

Her boots were scuffed, her nails bitten to the quick. She kept her chin up, eyes steely, and nobody dared mess with her, not even the older boys.

Her dad loved to drink, and when drunk, he beat his wife.

His yelling sometimes echoed all the way to my house, and I’d see Tina’s mom limping to the store, sunglasses on even in the rain.

Her mom couldn't stand it, so she ran away one dark, windy night.

Her dad then turned to beating Tina.

Until two years ago, when Tina picked up a kitchen knife and chopped off one of his fingers, things got better.

The story ran through the town like wildfire. Some kids looked at her with awe, others with fear, but she just kept to herself, eyes hard.

But since then, the adults in town kept their kids away from her.

Afraid she'd go crazy.

She didn't like to talk, always wore a long face, kept to herself.

But at that moment, I thought she was very kind.

She sat quietly beside me, letting me eat the peanuts. The silence between us felt safe, not awkward.

After eating the peanuts, I ran back to the house and brought out a big jar of candy.

It was the only treasure I had, the last link to my mother. The glass was smudged, but the wrappers inside gleamed.

I opened it and picked out two strawberry lollipops for Tina.

"Where did you get so much candy?"

"The day my mom left, she bought it for me." I smiled at her. "She said when I finish these candies, she'll come back to see me."