“My... what?” He looked confused. Claire thought that was his standard expression: light befuddlement. She supposed that when he woke up this morning he hadn’t expected to be in this situation. He’d expected an illicit trip to the Lake House to flirt with Mariana. All in all, she thought he was handling it well, except for the part where he’d run out onto the dock and almost gotten killed. That had been rather less than clever.
“What’s your favorite color?” Mariana pressed.
“Um, I’m not sure I have one?”
“Everyone has a favorite color, in case they’re asked their favorite color,” Mariana said. “You learn that in preschool. Colors and farm animal sounds. For some unknown reason, we allreceive intensive training early in life in farm animal noises.”
“I like green?” Jack ventured.
“Good! So does Claire. See, we’re bonding.” She shot a triumphant look over her shoulder at Reyva, as if that proved a point that Claire didn’t think anyone had really been arguing. Reyva responded with a snort. Undeterred, Mariana continued, “What about your greatest fear?”
“Ahh, I don’t...”
“Leave the poor boy alone,” Reyva said.
Claire changed the subject. “Do you see any edible plants?”
He liked that question a lot better. As they walked, he pointed out the various plants: ferns (you could eat the tightly curled tops of young ferns, called fiddleheads), poison ivy (you definitely couldn’t eat that), nightshade (don’t eat that), mushrooms (probably could eat some, but he didn’t know which ones so don’t eat them)...
Off the path, he spotted a blueberry bush and led them to it. Examining it, Claire memorized the leaf pattern: almond-shaped leaves that alternated along the stalks. Clusters of whitish-green waxy berries. A few had splotches of purplish blue.
“Not quite ripe.”
“Ripe enough?” Mariana asked.
“Maybe? Or it could give you a stomachache.”
He searched the plant and found a half dozen that were more blue than pale, less waxy too. He held them on his palm. Mariana grabbed two. So did Reyva.
Claire hesitated. “You’re certain they’re not poisonous.”
“Positive.” As proof, he ate one.
Then his eyes went wide, and he clutched his throat.
“Jack!” Mariana cried, dropping her berries. She grabbed his shoulders. “Breathe! What do we do? Breathe!”
He released his throat. “Kidding. Sorry.”
Claire sucked in air and put her hands on her knees.
Mariana punched him in the shoulder. “So not funny.”
“Sorry, sorry, I just thought... Lighten the mood, you know?”
Claire felt Reyva’s hand on her back, a cool pressure that made her head spin less. “You’re okay,” Reyva murmured near her ear, so close that it tickled. “We’re all okay. What do you need?”
She needed Reyva to punch Jack, but Mariana had already taken care of that, albeit not very hard. Claire made herself inhale steadily as she ran through ballet combinations in her head. She thought of an attack she’d had once in the supermarket, by the vegetables, and how she’d heard a little kid ask,Mommy, what’s wrong with her?She hadn’t had an answer. It wasn’t as if anything had happened that day. She’d merely seen a headline, another school shooting, not anywhere nearby or anyone she’d known, but it had been enough to set her brain spiraling. She hadn’t been able to stop imagining it happening in her school. Here, she couldn’t stop picturing Jack convulsing at her feet.He’s fine, she told her brain.Look at him, he’s fine. Grand port de bras forward, tendu back in fondu, close in plié, rond de jambe...She took a deep breath. Straightening, she said, “Are they edible? Truth.”
“Truth,” Jack said. “Completely edible. Sorry again.”
“And the fiddleheads?”
“You boil them,” Jack said. “Otherwise they’re too bitter.”
“You said you can eat dandelions too,” Claire said. If she focused on facts, the noise in her head retreated, at least somewhat. “How? Boil them too?”
“Or fry them. Make a tea out of them. They’re supposed to be better for you than spinach or kale, at least that’s what my dad said. He puts them in fish stew. Every part of a dandelion is edible.”
