“I’ll help you,” I tell her.
“No, you won’t,” Violet cuts in. “You and Sol are heading into town. Right after breakfast.”
“Lucky,” Zinnia says, pouting as she pulls Rose’s red hoodieon. It’s too big for her, too, though it doesn’t look nearly so long on the girl’s lanky form.
I stare at Violet, confused. “I’m not old enough to go into town,” I say, as if she doesn’t know this. “If I get caught, I could get sent back—”
“I’m aware.” Violet’s voice is raspy from the cough, but it doesn’t hold the same relaxing, tingly quality that Rose’s does. Instead it’s like a cheese grater scraping against her throat—and then my skin as the harshness is turned on me. “But neither Lily nor I are in any condition to go. So you’re going.”
“I wanna go into town,” Zinnia whines. “I’ll go if Iris won’t.”
“No” is the only response Violet gives before she’s coughing again. Then, face still in her elbow, she gestures at me. “You got shopping to do. Wear something with big pockets.”
Rose glances at me, one dark eyebrow raised. But I don’t meet her gaze. I’m too busy staring at Violet’s hunched, retreating back as she leaves the attic. I have no idea what to say or think or do. As far as I knew, leaving the hollow wasn’t even going to be an option for a while. And, unlike Zinnia, I’ve been mostly fine with that.
On the bright side, though, I’m not thinking about my hair anymore.
IRIS
Solhas a lot of thoughts about money.
He says money is purely material. Pieces of paper given an arbitrary value by strangers we’ll never meet. It’s all a made-up concept designed to control people, to keep them worried about things beyond their own souls.
“If working in finance taught me anything, it’s that you don’t need money,” he often says. “Those who rely on it, who believe their personal worth is determined by how much they make or have saved in a bank, may live in material luxury, but their spirits will dwell in the deepest poverty. I pity them, honestly. I’ve been one of them. I know how sad and miserable it is.”
“It’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven,” Zinnia always chimes in when he makes one of these speeches.
Always followed by Poppy’s exclamation of “Amen!”
Iagree with him, of course. Growing up, we never had much money, and for a long time, we were so happy.
But for all Sol’s convictions, the rest of the world does not agree. And sometimes Sol’s odd jobs, Violet’s busking, or the quilts Lily makes to sell in town just aren’t enough.
I stare out the window of Sol’s truck as we make our way down the dirt road, around one of the low blue mountains. The pawn shop on the outskirts of Culverton is the first building we pass, about three miles from the cabin. As we drive by the blocky, concrete building, I wonder if the things I brought to the hollow—the ones Violet and Lily sold for me in the days after my arrival—are still on a shelf.
“Don’t talk to anyone unless you have to,” Sol is saying, his deep voice raised to be heard over the wind and the familiar sounds of Tim McGraw on the radio.
“I won’t,” I say. I’m shivering beneath the ratty green comforter Sol keeps folded up on the back seat of this rickety old Chevy. The passenger’s-side window is broken and won’t roll up all the way, so it can get pretty chilly in the truck on cold days like this.
“Normally, once you’re old enough, I’d have Lily or Violet show you the ropes here. But since that isn’t an option, just get in and get out. Buy what we can afford and take what we can’t.”
Inod, even though my stomach churns a little at the thought. I’ve shoplifted before—Sol knows that—but I hadn’t been prepared to do it again.
“The old man who runs the store is nosy,” Sol continues. “Violet and Lily say he asks a lot of questions. He might try to offer some kind of charity. You can be polite but turn it down.”
“Okay,” I say, and then, after a moment of thought, I ask, “Why? If we need the food, why turn it down?”
“Because we shouldn’t be reliant on anyone but each other,” he explains. “There are always strings attached when other people help. Strings that aren’t there for family, like ours. I’m sure his offers come from a place of good intent, but we don’t know him. And we don’t want to owe him. Or anyone outside our family. Because you never know when he might come to collect or what he might demand. He could hold that kindness over your head for years. People do that all the time. It’s just better to not rely on anyone else. Especially since we don’t need to. We’re a strong enough unit without the aid of strangers.”
It sort of makes sense, though I’m not entirely sure what the difference is in taking the man’s goods knowingly as opposed to without his permission. But my stomach is tying itself in knots,and I don’t have hair to play with to calm myself down, so I just nod, hoping I can get this over with quickly.
“I’ll drop you off at the gas station on Maple,” he says. “I told a couple people I’d haul some stuff off to the junkyard for them. The job shouldn’t take long. I’ll pick you up after.” A few minutes later, as I’m shrugging off the green blanket and about to slide out of the passenger’s seat, he reaches across the console to put a hand on my shoulder. “Iris?”
I pause, hand on the handle, and look back at him, at his bright blue eyes that slice like arrows into my soul.
“You’re the only one of the younger girls I’d trust with this,” he says. “I know you know the risks. If anyone finds out about you or Poppy or Zinnia or Rose …”
“I know,” I say. “I’ll be careful.”
