Free Drizzle by Kathleen Van Cleve

crybaby chicken you’ve ever seen.”
    “You just put your hand in a moving motor to save the lives of hundreds of people. Not exactly chicken material.” She pauses, an amused smile playing over her face. “And I don’t hate criers.”
    “Yes, you do.”
    “Okay.” She grins. “I do. A little. But only because I used to be one myself.”
    She could have dropped a million-pound weight on my foot and I wouldn’t have been more surprised. “You?”
    “Yes, even me. Until the day I realized that an entire ocean of my tears had been wasted and I had nothing to show for it. You’ll figure that out too, I’m sure of it. But in the meantime, Polly, please stop worrying. Everything will be fine.”
    “Did you really cry?”
    “I did.” She shrugs. “Not so much in public, naturally. Bad for my image.” Aunt Edith leans over as she gently wipes my eyes with the back of her hand. “Listen very clearly, dear. Are you listening?”
    I nod, blinking back my tears. I’m sure Harry is listening too.
    “Then trust me, Polly. I have everything under control.”

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27
     
    Headlines
     
    This morning, when I come down for breakfast, Beatrice showed me the front page of the local newspaper.
    RUPERT’S RHUBARB FARM IN DISARRAY: UMBRELLA RIDE BREAKS AND RIDERS IN MORTAL DANGER!
     
    By Debbie Jong
    EXCLUSIVE
    Rupert’s Rhubarb Farm—the only rhubarb farm in the world that can guarantee rainfall once a week—suffered the setback of its life on Monday. Its notorious Umbrella ride got stuck while thousands of feet in the air, tossing hundreds of passengers around in what-seemed-like-certain-death.
    Naturally, this could have been a catastrophe of catastrophic proportions. Reports allege that an offending weed was finally wrenched from the motor of the ride by an underage girl, although this has not been confirmed. An eye-witness confirmed that the girl looked shaken and a bit vapid, utterly incapable of such a feat. It is this writer’s opinion that relevant authorities need to come and review the business practices of this company. Just because this particular farm happens to be managed by Edith Peabody Stillwater should not mean special treatment . . .
     
    I read it over and over again until Dad walks into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.
    “Hey, pumpkin!” Dad says, giving me a kiss on the head. Only Dad can be so flaky that he can he act cheery after such a disaster.
    I hand him the paper. “Did you read this?”
    Dad laughs. “I did. Ah well. Don’t fight city hall.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “You can’t take it too seriously, Polly. People will say what they want to say.” He reaches into his pocket. “Plus, Debbie Jong’s a moron.”
    “That’s Jennifer Jong’s mom, right?”
    “Yes. She was in Edith’s class in school. Edith used to tell people that Debbie was proud of being dumb. I think the words she used were ‘aggressively stupid.’ ” Dad pulls out a bunch of receipts and coins from his pocket, not what he’s looking for. He reaches into his other pocket. “I’m not surprised she targets us in a news article. She always wanted to be Edith’s friend. Horrible position to be in, especially with my sister.” Dad smiles as he pulls out what looks like a tiny glob of yellow Jell-O. It’s a vitamin. “Here,” he says, handing it to me. “Vitamin E. Take it so—”
    “I live to be a hundred and four. I know.” Dad always pushes Vitamin E. He says it’s the closest thing to a wonder drug that exists.
    I look back to the paper. “But what if someone believes it?”
    He glances at the article and shrugs. “The Umbrella did break. We do need to figure out what happened.”
    “We know what happened.”
    “We do?” Dad looks up at me, genuinely curious.
    “Yes.” Why are the adults pretending they don’t know? “The plants did it.”
    “The plants?”
    “Dad! Didn’t you see them tangled up inside?”
    He looks at me blankly for a second. Then, like