The Garden of Eve Read online

  Dreaming

  That night Evie dreamed she was the Eve who had disappeared, and she was flying to Neverland with Alex, only when she got there, she found a beautiful garden—just like the one her mom used to tell her about. Her mother was waiting in the middle of it, laughing as she made everything grow. She turned as Evie floated toward her.

  “See?” Mom said. “I’m right here waiting for you.”

  Evie ran forward, but as she ran the garden began to shrivel and the beautiful colors burned into black. Branches coiled around her arms and legs, pulling her away just before her fingertips could reach her mother’s outstretched arms.

  She woke in her own bed, sitting straight up. Evie looked around wildly, but her room was exactly the same as it had been when she went to sleep, except it was morning now. As usual the sky outside her window was a deep, thick gray.

  Evie got up and flicked on the light switch, trying to shake away the dream. She went over to her nightstand and picked up the box with the seed, slid the lid off, and waited. She thought she felt a breeze blow through the room, but it was probably just a draft from her window.

  “Mom?” she whispered.

  She waited, holding her breath and glancing around for a sign, but nothing happened, and Evie’s shoulders slumped. She tossed the box onto her bed.

  It was only an old seed.

  Evie got dressed and walked across the hall to the spare bedroom where she could look down at the cemetery below. She told herself she wasn’t looking for Alex, but she couldn’t help spotting him. He was standing on top of a thin gravestone, balancing precariously on one foot. His arms were spread wide and he swayed, righted himself, swayed again, then toppled over. He fell hard on his back, and Evie waited for him to get up, but when he didn’t, she dashed downstairs. She sprinted out of the house and into the cemetery, where she found Alex lying on the cold, hard ground.

  “Are you all right?” Evie asked, kneeling over him. Alex’s eyes were closed and his face was the same ghostly white as always. He didn’t move a muscle.

  “Oh no,” Evie murmured, reaching out to touch his face.

  That’s when Alex sat up and Evie fell backward in surprise. He grinned mischievously. “You can’t get hurt if you’re already dead, silly,” he said.

  Evie’s eyes popped.

  “What were you doing lying there like that?” she demanded. “I thought you were . . .”

  “Dead?”

  Evie punched him on the arm.

  “I’m going in,” she said, standing up and hugging her arms tight around her thin shirt, but Alex stood up, too, and before she knew it, he’d darted in front of her.

  “Wait,” he said. “Look! You’re standing in the graveyard.”

  Evie paused and glanced around. She was in the graveyard.

  “And check this out,” Alex added, pointing at the stone he’d been balancing on. “This one’s mine.”

  Sure enough it said: ALEX CORDEZ, BELOVED CHILD 1997–2007.

  Evie’s breath caught in her throat. The prayer card was still in the pocket of her jeans, where she’d stuck it last, and she couldn’t help taking it out to look at it.

  Alex Cordez.

  “What’s that?” Alex asked, reaching around to steal the card out of her hands. He grabbed it, running around the gravestone and spinning in a circle before stopping to look at what he’d gotten.

  His face changed suddenly. “It’s my prayer card,” he whispered. “Where did you get this?”

  “Maggie gave it to me,” Evie said, blushing.

  A shadow moved across Alex’s features.

  “I wish . . .” he murmured. “I wish you believed me.”

  For a long time Evie was quiet, but then she nodded.

  “I wish I did, too,” she said. “I would have, before my mom died. It’s just that . . . she always told me stories and none of them came true.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  Evie shrugged. “Stories about magical places and amazing things that happen to people when they’re least expecting it. I remember once she told me that elves really existed, and if I tried hard enough, one day I would see one. I tried sooo hard.”

  “I believe in elves,” Alex said.

  “Well, you shouldn’t, because elves are made-up. So are leprechauns and fairies and trolls and . . . ghosts.”

  Alex leaned over his gravestone and dangled his arms.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t look with your eyes,” he said. “That’s what my grandma always told me. She said, ‘Look with your ears or nose instead.’”

  Evie shivered in the cold. “Or maybe you should try thinking with your brain. If you did, you wouldn’t be falling off gravestones. The shiny ones are too slippery.”

  Alex stood up straight and puffed out his chest.

  “Oh yeah?” He hoisted himself onto his shiny new stone, knees bent, one foot in front of the other.

  “Alex, get down,” Evie chided, but inch by inch he straightened his legs.

  “You’re going to fall again and I’m not going to help you this time.”

  Slowly he stood up.

  “I don’t think you should . . .” Evie stopped and watched as he balanced perfectly, arms wide, eyes straight ahead. Then he grinned down at her.

  “See?” he said. “I knew I could do it.”

  But as soon as he said it, he toppled into a heap on the ground.

  “Are you all right?” Evie asked.

  “You can’t get hurt when you’re dead.”

  Evie made a scoffing noise, but she couldn’t help thinking about her dream and the seed sitting in its box on her bed. She studied Alex as he brushed himself off, wondering if he could possibly be telling the truth.

  “Alex, I . . .”

  He looked up.

  “What is it?”

  Evie paused, but then she shook her head and kicked at a gravestone.

  “I better go in,” she said. “It’s really cold out here.”

  That night when Evie climbed into bed, she took the seed out of its box and held it in her hand. It was warm, and she tried to remember if it had felt exactly the same the first time she’d touched it.

  Again she thought she felt a breeze, silky and soft, quiet as a lullaby.

  Then, in her mind, the image of a tree sprang so vividly and suddenly to life that Evie dropped the box in surprise. It fell onto the bed and the seed rolled off the side. Evie got down and knelt quickly, catching it just before it rolled between the floorboards.

  Strange.

  The tree was only in her mind, but Evie hadn’t let her imagination run away with her in a long time. It must be because of Alex, she thought. Then she thought of something else.

  Mom would have liked this.

  The idea snuck in before she could stop it.

  Evie put the seed back in the box and shut the lid tight. No more stories. Tomorrow she would plant the seed and be done with it. She’d give it back to Rodney.

  Give it back . . .

  The words echoed in her mind as she shut off the light.

  Chapter Ten

  Birthday Wishes

  Evie’s first thought the next morning was planting the seed.

  It was early when she woke, and she dressed hurriedly, then crept down the creaky wooden steps. She was telling herself how relieved she’d be when the seed was gone, when she heard clanging from the kitchen and Father poked his head into the hall.

  “Don’t think you’re sneaking by without eating on your birthday.”

  Her birthday. She’d forgotten all about it.

  Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to remember.

  Evie stuck the stone box into the pocket of Mom’s sweater and went into the kitchen.

  “I’m not sneaking by,” she said, even though it hadn’t been true a moment ago. Still, now that she could smell the bacon and eggs, she was beginning to forget why she’d been in such a hurry. Father pulled plates out of the cupboard and set two homemade biscuits on them. Then he kissed t
he top of Evie’s head and held her closer than he had for a long time.

  “Happy birthday.” He went back to the stove, and Evie wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. It was her first birthday without Mom. For once she was glad to be in Beaumont, without friends and family to make a big deal about things.

  Father slid the omelet and bacon out of the pan and split them between their two plates, then he cleared his throat. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you,” he said, carrying the plates over to the table so he could sit down across from Evie. There was a long pause, and Evie knew Father was working up his courage.

  She picked at her food, and he shifted in his chair.

  “I know you didn’t want to come here,” he said finally. “I’m sure you heard your aunt and uncle whispering about your father going off the deep end, buying up some long-dead orchard that never made any money.”

  It was true she’d heard the whispering.

  “People lose their senses from grief. Poor man.”

  “Can’t someone put a stop to this nonsense?”

  “It’s just a shame Evie has to suffer for it. What would Tally have said?”

  “I tried to explain about buying this place,” Father said, buttering his biscuit, “but I don’t think I ever did a good job, and now here you are with no one but me to celebrate your birthday with.”

  He put down his knife. “Darn it, Evie,” he said, “I had to buy this orchard. I don’t think I ever told you that when Rodney called me, he said he’d gotten my number from Talia Adler.”

  Evie sat up straight. “Mom knew Rodney? How? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Because there’s nothing to tell,” Father said, shaking his head. “Your darn mother always had to be so mysterious about things. I have no idea how she would’ve met an old hermit in upstate New York or why she would have given him our phone number. Everything always had to be an adventure or . . .”

  Father slammed his fist against the table. The plates clattered loudly and Evie jumped.

  “Lord, I wish she were here.”

  He paused and his jaw clenched tight.

  “You know, once everyone started whispering, I wanted to prove them wrong. I wanted to prove I could make things grow, make things . . .”

  He stopped short of saying “live.”

  “Now I don’t know, Evie. I’ve never seen trees so bad off. I’ll have to cut away most all the branches and burn them before spring if there’s hope of bringing them back, and even then I’ll probably have to plant new trees. Plus, I might need to pick up some odd jobs for extra income to tide us over until the first harvest. That’s a lot of work for one man, and it might take several seasons before we have fruit.”

  Evie studied her breakfast plate.

  “I want you to be happy here. It hasn’t been easy for either of us since your mom died. Most days I miss her so bad that’s all I think about. I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything,” Father said. “I’ve got my work cut out for me here, but you come first.”

  Evie thought about Alex and the seed, but Father was already turning away, reaching behind him.

  “I’ve got to get back to the orchard,” he said, “but I wanted to give you your birthday presents first. You should be getting a package in the mail today from Gram and your aunt and uncle. You can open it when it gets here.” He handed her two presents, both wrapped in leftover newspaper. “These are from me. I forgot to pick up wrapping paper,” he added apologetically.

  Evie opened the first box. Inside were two pairs of jeans that wouldn’t bare her ankles to the cold. Only they weren’t the pretty ones Mom would have picked out.

  “These ought to fit better,” Father said, taking several quick bites of his breakfast. Evie nodded. She took the second present and unwrapped it. This one was smaller and heavier, and when the newspaper came off she was looking at a book with an apple on the cover.

  “The lady in the bookstore recommended this one. It’s about a girl whose mom gets sick and they have an apple orchard, so I thought maybe . . .”

  Mom would have chosen something about castles or fairies.

  Father shifted uncomfortably, and Evie knew she should say thank you, but she couldn’t force the words out. Instead Father reached behind him for one last present. He took a single green envelope off a pile of loose papers on the counter.

  “This one isn’t from me.” He took a deep breath. “Your mom asked me to give it to you on your birthday, so . . . here.”

  Evie stared at the envelope. Her lips parted and tears welled in her eyes, but Father wiped them off before they could slide down her cheeks.

  “No crying on your birthday,” he said, nodding at the card. “Save it for after breakfast so it’ll last a while.” He got up awkwardly, his shoulders tense. “I’ll check on you later,” Father said. “I’ve just got to make some progress with the pruning and then . . .”

  Father stopped, studying Evie’s face.

  “Aww, Evie,” he whispered. “It won’t feel like this forever. Just wait until spring and things will come alive again. That’s why I’m doing all this. You know that, don’t you?”

  Evie stared at the envelope with her name written in Mom’s swirly handwriting.

  “Not everything will come alive,” she said, and Father frowned.

  “No,” he said, “not everything, but maybe a few things that haven’t felt alive in a long time. Maybe we could hope for that much.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Only Gift That Counts

  After breakfast Evie sat alone in the living room with the unopened card from her mother on her lap. The house was dark and chilly, and the sound of Father’s chain saw was far away.

  “Father always remembers you, even when it seems like he’s forgotten.”

  Evie wondered if that was true.

  The package from Gram, Aunt Carol, and Uncle Pete had arrived and their presents lay strewn about the floor—they were practical gifts like new sneakers, a long red scarf Gram had knitted, and a wool sweater from Aunt Carol. Father’s book and her new jeans lay on the floor, too, but the only gift that mattered was the card.

  Evie pressed the envelope to her cheek, feeling the grain of the paper, then she held it to her nose, hoping it might smell like Mom, but it didn’t. The paper was homemade though, and Evie remembered the way her mother used to make paper in her studio, blending up the recycled bits of wrapping paper, cardboard, and old mail with water and starch and then pressing the milky mix onto screens to dry. Sometimes she pressed leaves or pretty beads into the new paper, and Evie wondered if the card inside would have something special on it. Something Mom had made just for Evie.

  One last thing . . .

  It was too bitter to be sweet. Once she read the words, there would be nothing new ever again. I don’t want a card, she thought. I want Mom back. But that was one birthday gift she knew she wouldn’t get.

  Evie set the card on the mantel so that it was just peaking out from behind the candlesticks, and reached into her pocket for the stone box instead.

  Slowly, carefully, she lifted the lid to see the seed inside. Again she felt a breeze and thought of a tree—not one kind of tree, but a tree that seemed to be every kind at once—its branches spread wide against the sky.

  She wasn’t frightened this time though, so she let the image fill her mind. She imagined the tree growing taller and stronger, and around its base plants of all kinds bloomed in abundance. Evie could almost smell the earthy scent of rich soil and fragrant flowers, and when she closed her eyes she imagined sun on her face.

  Then she shut the lid abruptly, squeezing it shut until her fingers hurt. Why had she let herself imagine that again?

  She wished she could tell Mom about the seed. She stared at the barely visible edge of the card and knew she ought to open it and see what was inside, but her fists clenched tight. What good were words on a page? You couldn’t tell a card your secrets.

  Evie slipped the box
back into her pocket.

  Father said I could talk to him about anything, she thought, and Father was still here. He could listen and respond and maybe he’d even hold her tight the way he used to when she was small.

  Evie grabbed her coat and her new scarf, and headed outside. The front door snapped shut behind her, and she made her way to the orchard, where she found Father working a couple rows in, taking down small twisted branches. He wore his safety glasses and his thick winter hat with the earflaps, so he didn’t notice Evie until she was right beside him.

  “Sprout,” he said, his cheeks flushed from the cold. “You snuck up on me.” He set down his chain saw.

  Evie only nodded and slipped the box with the seed out of her pocket.

  “I . . . I wanted to show this to you.”

  She slid the cover off without saying a word and handed it to Father. Now that he wasn’t sawing, the orchard was silent and still. Evie waited for the wind to pick up or for warm sunshine to bathe Father’s face, but nothing happened. She even reached out her finger to touch the surface of the seed, but it was cold.

  “I’ve already seen it,” Father said. “This is why you interrupted me?”

  Evie stared at the box, willing the seed to do for Father what it had done for her.

  “It’s just . . .” She paused. “I wondered if maybe it was special or . . .”

  Father laughed soft and gruff.

  “It’s just a seed, Sprout,” he said. “Why don’t you plant it and see if something grows? Start it out in the house, like a science project.”

  Evie opened her mouth, then shut it again.

  “I want to plant it out here,” she said. “In the orchard.”

  Father shrugged. “Well, I’m not so sure it will grow this time of year, but then again I’m not so sure my trees are going to grow, either. Heck, I’d say plant it anywhere you’d like. I bet you’ll find the perfect spot.”

  He handed the box back.

  “I’m going to have my chain saw out all afternoon,” he added, “so don’t be sneaking up on me again.”

  Evie nodded, but she stood still, hoping Father might reach out and wrap her up in a bear hug, but he just studied her carefully.