Chapter 9 - Full Moon

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Poppy's mom dances barefoot sprinkling fresh rosemary, basil and oregano into a bubbling pot of tomato sauce. Dolly Parton's greatest hits steam from her phone to a small portable speaker on the kitchen table. She sings along to the song "Jolene," doing a good impression of Dolly as she stirs and the herbs release their magical fragrance into the steamy air. The golden breeze from an open window above the sink wafts the scent of homemade pizza sauce through the narrow doorway, into the living room, where Poppy and I sit at a folding card table.

"So, you have five community cards in the middle and two cards in your hand. You have to mix and match them to make the best five-card hand possible, like poker. You know how to play poker right?" Poppy stares down at me with patient eyes. In her hands is a yellowed, worn deck of playing cards.

"I know there's something called a full house and a royal flush, but that's about it." I wipe sweat from my brow.  Although there are window AC units, the air in the old farmhouse is thicker and stickier than what I'm used to. An oscillating fan blows in the corner, but fails to bring the temperature down to a comfortable range. "Go ahead and deal the cards. I'll figure it out."

Poppy shuffles and deals the cards expertly, like she may have a part-time job at a casino I don't know about.

I raise an eyebrow. "You're good at that."

Poppy smiles. "I used to play a lot with my dad. He loved playing Texas Hold 'Em."

"Loved?" I'm confused. Past tense indicates maybe Poppy's dad no longer exists, but she told me he was out of the picture. Which is it? Death or divorce?

Poppy's gaze falls to the cards in her hand and she frowns. "He doesn't play poker anymore. At least not with me."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Divorce?"

"Not exactly." Poppy bites her bottom lip and studies me carefully for my reaction. "Can you keep a secret? 

I nod yes.

"He's in prison."

My jaw instinctively drops and I fall back in my chair in utter shock, but under Poppy's curious gaze, I quickly adjust my posture and contort my splayed face into a normal expression. The word "prison" reverberates in my body. It bounces between my ears, plummets like a pinball to the pit of stomach, and ultimately lodges itself my throat. "Seriously?"

She nods and slumps in her seat, her eyes welling up with tears. "I wish it wasn't true, but it is. Three yeas ago." 

What do I say now? I shake my head in disbelief and the silence grows between us. My mind is useless at forming a coherent thought, let alone a comforting sentence to ease her sadness. I'm thinking about myself. My best friend's father is a felon. 

"I bet you feel differently about me now." A single tear traces a curve on Poppy's cheek. She is quick to wipe it away. 

"No, I don't." My words ring hollow and I consider delivering the message again with more conviction, but that could make things worse. I can't bring myself to look her in the eyes for fear she will see through my lie--and I will see a different Poppy. A broken one. Not the carefree, spirited person I met on the playground a week ago. "It's not your fault."

"Yeah, it's not, but sometimes it feels like Mom and me are being punished too." 

"I'm so sorry, Poppy." I drop my cards and pat the back of her hand, staring at her long fingers, stacked silver rings, and sapphire-painted nails. It's all I can think to do, but it doesn't seem like enough. "That must be really hard."

She sniffles then shakes her sadness away, like it's as simple as tossing your hair over your shoulders. "Enough of that depressing stuff. Let's play."

I nod and dare to look Poppy in the eyes. On the surface, she is the still the same girl with cheerful with a carefree smile, but there is a dullness in her gaze. A pain lingering in the depths of her soul. Maybe it's been there all along, but once Poppy trusted me with her secret, I can't unsee it. Now, I am aware of the burden she carries. In one intuitive glance, the truth of hurt and loss crosses the space between us and settles in my heart. Heavy and unescapable.


After five rounds of Texas Hold 'Em, Ms. Cooper calls us for dinner. Two bubbling, hot cheese pizzas are displayed in the center of the kitchen table, topped with basil leaves and sliced cherry tomatoes. A pitcher of iced tea dripping with condensation puddles on the oak tabletop right next to a wooden bowl filled with romaine lettuce, red peppers, cucumbers and more cherry tomatoes. 

"Dig in!" Poppy's mom plants her hands on her hips and smiles. "The veggies and herbs are fresh from the garden. Oh, and I almost forgot to put the brownies in the oven."

"I've got it." Poppy is already standing next to the stove. "My mom makes the best brownies."

"The secret is adding chocolate chips to the batter, with salted caramel drizzled on top." Ms. Cooper winks at me. 

She's got a thing for winking, and its so old-fashioned and maternal it gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling. It's a sensation of southern comfort and hospitality I'm not used to. My mom never winks and smiles, and she hardly even bakes brownies or homemade pizza.

"Thank you, Ms. Cooper." I slide into a seat at the table.

"Call me Celeste, really. I'm not that old yet." She reaches out and pats my shoulder.

"Mom's almost 40 and no gray hair or wrinkles. That's some good genes." Poppy grins at her mom and slides the brownies into the oven. 

"Well, I'm sure you'll give me some gray hairs over the next few years. You are a teenager now." Celeste chuckles and takes a seat. "Sweet tea, Violet?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say, then catch myself. "I mean Celeste."

"That a girl." She fills my glass all the way up. "What do you gals have planned for tonight?"

"I thought we'd set up the tent out back and camp out under the stars." Poppy joins us at the table again and rubs her hands together excitedly. "It's a full moon tonight."

"Oh, that sounds perfect." Celeste gulps her iced tea. "Do you like camping Violet?"

Camping? I stare at her blankly, hardly believing my ears. "I don't know. I've never been."

"You'll love it. We'll set up the tent, have a campfire, roast s'mores, and have a midnight swim in the pool to cool off." Poppy's eyebrows raise gleefully and she passes out slices of pizza to us with her bare hands. "Think of it as an adventure."

"An adventure?" My voice sinks and I contemplate calling Mom to come get me. It's probably 90-degrees Fahrenheit outside. If I can even survive the heat, there are mosquitos, spiders, snakes, coyotes and who knows what else out there waiting to devour me. "Do you have any bug spray?"

"Of course. But you won't need any. Mom's got essential oils. Let's anoint ourselves like priestesses in a sacred temple." That dreamy look and movie voice I remember from romping around with Poppy during the 'initiation' makes another appearance. "It'll be our full moon ritual."

"Oh, Poppy, you're so dramatic." Celeste pats Poppy's head and she leans into her Mom's touch. 

"Yeah, but that's what you love about me." Poppy winks just like her mom and turns to me. "So whatcha say? Are you up for it?"

It's a dare. I know because Poppy is raising an eyebrow and mushing her lips into a sly grin. Of course, I want to blurt out 'no' and stay put in the safety of the house, but I can't. There's a competitive and curious part of me (a part of myself I am just now discovering) that doesn't want to be weak, afraid or predictable. Not anymore.

"All right, let's do it."

Poppy throws up her arms and cheers. "Best friend material! I knew it."

Celeste laughs at this and raises a slice of pizza to her lips. I do the same and my taste buds light up like bulbs on a Christmas tree. This is the best pizza I've ever tasted! I gobble down the entire slice and grab another. For a moment I wish this was my life. Homemade pizza on Friday nights inside a cozy, old farmhouse with veggies and herbs in the garden out back, but then I remember Poppy's secret. The reality of it sours in my stomach, and the pizza is suddenly less appetizing. 

I picture my dad: his round, pink cheeks, shiny bald head, and bright, blue eyes with creases in the corners. He's a total nerd--a middle-aged accountant who loves to collect comic books, Star Wars action figures and Lego sets--and always sings the wrong lyrics to our favorite songs. Dad knows just what to say to smooth things over when Mom is exasperated with us kids or stressed out with her job. The thought of him being absent from our lives, rotting away in a penitentiary with criminals twists my stomach into knots.

"Something wrong, Violet?" Celeste's motherly instincts are on point. 

I shake my head. "Not at all. Just enjoying my food."

"Eat up, there's plenty to go around." Celeste piles another slice of pizza on my plate.


* * *


Once the green nylon tent is set up next to the pool, and our sleeping bags and pillows are laid carefully inside, Poppy hauls a blue plastic cooler through the kitchen door. 

"Let me help you with that." I jump to my feet from the plastic lawn chair I am resting in, and come to her side. 

She pops open the lid to reveal a horde of plastic water bottles and aluminum cans of Big Red and Dr. Pepper chilling on a bed of ice cubes. When Poppy cocks her head back triumphantly, I nod in thanks. Together we pull the cooler down the creaky back porch steps and deposit it onto the grass next to the tent with a thud. Crickets chirp from the canopy of the trees bordering the grassy field and the familiar song fills my soul with a serene stillness. I inhale the sweet summer scent of fresh cut grass and honeysuckle while searching the sky for the full moon. It has yet to make an appearance but the sun is still there. It melts into the horizon, painting the sky in sweeping strokes of magenta, crimson and orange.

Poppy wipes her hands on her back athletic shorts. "Now that that's done, let's set up the fire before it gets dark."

"Do we really need a fire?" My cotton sundress is damp against my skin. I shake it out for some relief.

"Uh, yeah." She looks at me like I'm fool. "How will we have a full moon ritual without a fire? Plus, it keeps the bugs away."

I shrug like it all makes sense and follow in lockstep with Poppy around the side of her house, across the dry grass to a rusty shed. A neat pile of chopped wood leans against the metal siding topped with a green plastic tarp.

Poppy peels back the tarp and digs into the pile, balancing five logs on top of her forearms. "Grab what you can."

I grab two, one in each hand, and follow her back around the house, past the pool, towards the woods. When Poppy gets to the edge, she keeps going, into the thicket of bushes, grasses and trees.

"Whoa." I stop in my tracks. "Where are you going?"

"I know the perfect spot."

"In there?" I point with a log toward the inky wilderness.

"Are you in or not?"



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