Free Pieces of My Sister's Life by Elizabeth Arnold Page A

Sometimes I wished my lucky number was two.
    I jumped over the fence to her back garden, feeling utterly depraved. But honestly, nobody could consider stealing dead dandelions to be real stealing, and besides, I had no choice. I would rather have Justin fall in love with me naturally, but that just wasn’t going to happen in time.
    I dug through to the middle of the compost heap, where things seemed the least decomposed, the smell of green mixed with the smell of rot, like broccoli left in the refrigerator too long. Dandelions had been everywhere in LoraLee’s garden (since her weed-control practices mostly consisted of hot pepper spray and lots of pulling) and I found them easily. Brown, yes, and covered with Lord knew what, but still pretty recognizable. I tucked them into my pocket, then went to LoraLee’s door.
    She was wearing an orange flowered dress with a pale blue apron, probably the only person in the country who could make those colors work. “Why Kerry, ’magine this,” she said. “Don’t you mos’ often has school on a Tuesday?”
    I waved my hand dismissively. “Teacher’s conferences. LoraLee, could I ask you a question? Just for curiosity’s sake.” I gave her a quick, innocent smile and said, “I was just wondering if you ever heard of lovage root.”
    “Lovage root? Where you heard of that?”
    I shrugged, thought fast. “In school. We’re studying…” I flashed another smile. “Studying roots.”
    LoraLee eyed me carefully, then walked into the kitchen. She opened a cupboard door and gestured at rows of labeled peanut butter jars and margarine tubs filled with powders that were all minor variants of the same shade of brownish-gray.
Snake Moss
I saw, and
Betel Nuts
.
    “You sees these here,” she said. “These is the spices what I uses for my tea. Mix ’em right, and they makes goodness in your belly.” She gave me a pointed glance. “Mix ’em wrong and you be sorry. This here the lovage root. It’s for your heart, jus’ like it sound.”
    She handed me a plastic bag of tan powder. I sniffed at it and detected the sweet earthiness I’d often tasted in her tea.
    “I brew this for you when your heart were broke for missin’ your daddy, and with a touch of raspberry oil besides.”
    She turned again to the cupboard. Pulse racing, I opened the bag of powder and stuffed a handful into my pocket with the decayed dandelion petals. I closed the bag as LoraLee lifted a jar of pink liquid. “Good for soothin’ the soul,” she finished.
    I rubbed my hand against my jeans. “Do you think it really works?”
    LoraLee inspected the bag I returned to her, then looked into my eyes. “It’s difficult, matters of the heart.”
    I went to the window, rested my elbows on the chipped wooden sill. Even in the midday light, the sun seemed distant. I could blot it out with my thumb. “You ever been in love?” I said.
    LoraLee made an odd grunting sound, then lowered herself into a chair by the table. “Oh, Kerry.”
    I sat beside her, suddenly wary. In a way, I’d never considered LoraLee a real person with real dreams and desires. I guess I’d thought she was above it.
    “His name Hector,” she said after a minute. “He live with me in Atlanta some forty year ago, work hisself near to death jus’ cos he haves a dream to travel up north and study for the ministry.”
    “Did he leave you?”
    “Yep, he lef ’, but ’fore he go, he carve me this ring I wears.” She slipped the thick wooden ring from her finger. “And he say, ‘This ring my heart I gives to you, whilst I goes to find the Lord. Onest He tell me what best to do,’ Hector say, ‘onest I fix on my greater love, then I come back to reclaim my heart from you or to pledge eternity, one or the other.’”
    I watched LoraLee’s fingers caress the edge of the wooden circle. When I couldn’t stand it anymore I asked, “So then what? What happened when he came back?”
    LoraLee shrugged. “I’s still waitin’.”
    I