Read Online Operation Oleander (9780547534213) by Valerie O. Patterson - Free Book Online

drinks, of course,” she’d say, and laugh, as if it were a joke. A joke that she told when they had company. Whenever her mother would say “virgin,” Meriwether exhaled in a puff of embarrassment.
    Meriwether washes her hands in the sink. Trickles of dirty water drip along the counter. I ache to wipe them away like the rings from yesterday’s coffee cups at home.
    Everything in the house reminds me of Mrs. Scott, and I don’t know how Meriwether stands it. I’d be half-crazy.
    Maybe that’s what’s wrong.
    Meriwether’s shut everything out. Become like a zombie because it’s too hard otherwise. She brushes past me, moving her shoulder in an exaggerated way, as if to show she won’t touch me. Her room is down the hall.
    â€œMeriwether—” I reach for her.
    â€œDon’t.” Meriwether jerks back. She retreats into her room. On the bed, her back against the wall, she barricades herself with pillows. I stand at the door. That’s another thing I always loved about Meriwether’s house—enough throw pillows to stack to the ceiling. In all colors. Some striped, some polka dotted. A riot of color, as if Mrs. Scott’s day lily garden had been transplanted indoors.
    â€œI called as soon as—I mean, I called. Last night. I wanted to tell you in person. I’m so sorry,” I say. “What can I do to help?”
    â€œDo?” Meriwether’s red-rimmed eyes squint. “You can’t do anything.”
    â€œWhy don’t we go outside? Walk to the beach?” I can’t stand it in the house anymore. Everything reminds me of Mrs. Scott, and I can’t breathe. Because I love her too.
    On the beach, I can breathe, and I can cry and taste the salt on my cheeks as though it’s just ocean spray.
    â€œThe beach?” Meriwether’s voice accuses me, as if I’ve suggested we put on bikinis and go to a party.
    â€œI’m really sorry.”
    â€œYou should be.” Meriwether grabs another pillow, pressing it against her stomach as if to hold herself together.
    I touch the door to steady myself. The floor moves underneath me like the deck of a boat.
    â€œIf it weren’t for you, my mom wouldn’t have been at that stupid orphanage in the first place. I didn’t even want to help you. Remember?” Meriwether flings words at me like acid spray.
    I nod the way a marionette does when a puppeteer yanks a string. The
orphanage.
The way she says it stabs me. Meriwether’s face is blotchy.
    â€œEvery day since school’s been out, I’ve gotten up to sit at that stupid booth with you and ask people for money for school supplies. I don’t even like mornings. My mom couldn’t believe I was getting up. She told me she thought it was
great.
That maybe I was finally an army brat after all.”
    My brain feels thick as felt.
    â€œAnd you know what else?”
    Now I am the one unable to talk. Unsure of what comes next. I am sinking, pulled down by undertow in the gulf, and there’s no lifeguard on duty to save me. I see myself sucked farther down and away from shore. I can’t fight it.
    â€œI never said this before because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. But oleander, Jess? That’s the stupidest name I ever heard of. Oleander is poisonous. Don’t you know that?”
    I nodded. Every summer the local news carries stories about people who poison themselves accidentally by inhaling oleander fumes from a beach bonfire. Or people who use oleander twigs to roast hot dogs. But what had drawn me was the photo of the oleander growing next to the orphanage, all the way in Afghanistan. It bonded us all together—Warda, Dad, and me. Poisonous, yes, but in its own way, oleander is beautiful, and it grows in places that more delicate plants can’t.
    â€œYou knew and you wanted to use the name anyway?”
    â€œYes, I—”
    â€œJust go. Get out.”
    Her