Some Kind of Happiness by Claire Legrand Page A

around back there,” Grandma says.
    â€œNot even in the pit?”
    Her lips purse. “If you must. But not beyond that, Finley. It isn’t safe.”
    My shoulders tense. She dares to forbid me to enter my Everwood? “What do you mean? It’s fine out there. It’s just woods.”
    â€œI know you aren’t used to how things work around here, Finley, but in this house, when I give you instructions, I expect them to be obeyed. Is that clear?”
    Her words are quiet, clear, polished. They slice right through me. I could cry; I could scream. It isn’t fair, being here. It isn’t fair, having to pretend to fit in and understand these rules that make no sense.
    Avery comes down the back stairs into the kitchen, one earbud in, her arms full of sketch pads. She wears what I have come to know as her painter’s uniform—a ratty oversized T-shirt and orange shorts splattered with color.
    â€œGrandpa told me to tell you he’s leaving,” she says to Grandma.
    â€œThank you, Avery. Finley, I asked you a question: Is that clear?”
    Stick is staring out a window, holding her shake tightly in one hand, her back to us.
    Avery watches, paused by the door to the garage.
    Grandma’s smile is polite, but her eyes are sharp.
    I know you aren’t used to how things work around here, Finley.
    Grandma knows the truth: I am not one of them.
    â€œYes, Grandma,” I say quietly. “I understand.”
    Grandma’s face relaxes. “Good. I’m glad we’re clear. I’ll be back shortly. I need to ask your grandfather something before he leaves.” Then she tugs off her soapy gloves, brushes a paper-dry kiss on my cheek, and leaves us. Her earrings glitter in the sunlight.
    Without another word Avery slips into the garage.
    Stick resumes sweeping. “Your grandfather and his drives,”she says cheerfully, rolling her eyes. “Ever since he retired and Uncle Reed took over the company, it’s become his quiet time. He’s always liked long drives. It’s his way of meditating, but don’t ever tell him I said that. He’d disown me if he knew. He thinks meditation is a bunch of new age hokum.”
    I stare at the refrigerator, at the pictures of my cousins stuck on with magnets. All my cousins, all the aunts.
    Not me. And not Dad.
    He’d disown me if he knew.
    I swallow hard. “You mean like how they disowned my dad?”
    The kitchen goes still. Stick crouches in front of me, taking my hands. Her smile is gone; she looks older without it. I can see the tiny lines around her eyes.
    â€œFinley . . . Finley, listen to me, sweetie. I’m sorry I said that. It was thoughtless of me. I never wanted Lewis to stay away. None of us wanted that.”
    I look Stick in the eye, and I try to imagine myself as beautiful and untouchable as my grandmother.
    â€œGrandma did,” I say, and return to my work. Stick doesn’t correct me.
    I polish the cabinets until every inch of them shines.

9

    T HAT NIGHT, AFTER THE ADULTS have gone to sleep, we all sneak out of the house and down into the pit.
    The trees shiver around us, silver with moonlight; the air is soft and warm on my skin. We sit in a circle, and I dig my fingers into the dirt. Four pairs of eyes lock on to me: Kennedy, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head. Dex and Ruth, wide-eyed, sitting on either side of her. Gretchen.
    Hello, I think to the Everwood. I am here.
    I think, Protect us, hide us, because if Grandma wakes up and finds us, I’m not sure what she will do.
    And then I think to the trees, I hope you will like my cousins —because I’m not sure if they will. Or if I will like having my cousins here, in my trees, by my river.
    It’s silly to think of this place as mine, after only a week. I haven’t had the time to properly explore yet, since that first day with Gretchen. But they say people can fall in love in a day, or even