Page 34

7

Things only got worse from there.

The tooth that Hart lost was a top back molar, making its absence easy enough to hide from his parents. But the next one was harder.

“It just fell out?” Mrs. Hargrove asked, pinching Hart’s chin and angling his face up to get a better view of the hole in his mouth the size of a central incisor.

“I think it was a baby tooth,” Hart lisped. A bald-faced lie that wasn’t fooling anyone. Mrs. Hargrove took him to the dentist that same day. And then, after his third tooth fell out, she took him to the doctor. The doctors didn’t know what mystery ailment had befallen Hart, but he had his own suspicions.

“It’s the garden,” he whispered to Heather, even though no one could hear them in the folly. After painful needle sticks in his arms and a battery of other useless tests, Hart had been sent home with instructions to “keep an eye out to see if anything changes.” And as a precaution, to stay away from candy. When the doctor said that, it all clicked for Hart. “My teeth are falling out because I wished for all this candy!” He pushed the chest of sweets across the dusty floor, disgusted by the sight of it now. Nothing sniffed the box, gnawing on the corner of it.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Heather said.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Hart lisped, a new phenomenon, now that his tongue could slip between his teeth. “I made a wish on candy, and now I’m losing my teeth.”

“So, make another wish to get your teeth back,” Heather said. “I tried to wish them back for you, but of course it didn’t work because the garden hates me.”

Hart shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. He saw the darkness in the garden, where Heather saw only its impossible light. It was a feeling, just a vague sense, but Hart already understood something that Heather would never be able to fully grasp: The garden was capable of much more than they realized. Enough for Hart to know that he shouldn’t be messing with it.

“The garden is bad,” he said simply. “I’m not going back there.”

Heather shrugged and stood up. She stuck a hand into her pocket, and Hart knew she was feeling around for the seeds she kept there. For Heather, who never much cared for flowers or gardening, seeds became an ironic constant in her life. As good as currency, as personal as a talisman. She’d never be without a few seeds in her pockets. “Come on, Nothing,” she said, patting her thigh. “Let’s go make some wishes.”

The twins would have kept their secret about the garden hidden forever if they could have. But the next day, there was no hiding what they knew or the damage the Hargrove twins had wrought.

Hart was doing homework in his room when Heather came barging in, panic and horror etched into her soft features and tears streaming down her cheeks.

Hart lurched from his chair. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Nothing,” Heather cried.

They ran, all the way through the garden, through the well-trod passageways of the hedge maze, until they got to its center, when they could no longer move.

In the garden, within the flowers, was Nothing, his lifeless body ensnarled with vines and bramble, as though the garden itself had squeezed him tight and never let go.

“He got in here by himself,” Heather said, gulping. “He was probably eating the flowers. I think the garden—I think the garden—” But she stopped when she saw Hart backing away. “Where are you going?”

Hart didn’t bother to give an explanation; he just ran back from where he’d come. It had gone far enough, and the only thing that would make things right again was telling the truth.

It was Mrs. Hargrove who took care of the dog’s body, carefully clearing him of the vines without disturbing the surrounding plants. But it was Hart who buried him. He was determined to do it himself, so that Heather wouldn’t have to. Nothing was laid to rest in a small plot beside the folly, marked with one flat stone the size of a fist, and four pebbles around the top of it. A paw print.

While Mrs. Hargrove grew concerned after finding out the twins’ secret, Mr. Hargrove became agitated. Though the children didn’t understand why, a party on the property seemed to be the only thing that would appease him. Hart and Heather always assumed their father threw lavish parties at Hemlock Hill because he loved to. But as they watched him organizing this impromptu event in a frenzy, they began to see that he did it begrudgingly. It was something he had to do, not something he wanted. It was Mrs. Hargrove who, taking the kids into the Wish Garden the same night as the party, ultimately explained everything to them.

“By now you know that this garden grants wishes,” she said. They sat among the flowers, on a clear patch of grass, forming a tight triangle together. “But it’s not the only thing it does.”

It was probably too much for them to understand, and that probably had a lot to do with why their parents hadn’t bothered explaining it to them just yet, but Mrs. Hargrove tried that night.

Long ago, when their ancestors realized what they had in their midst, they went wild making wishes, much like the twins had. But soon they discovered that they were getting sick. The garden gave, but it also ruthlessly took. Some members of the family got so sick that they died—deaths that came far too soon. Deaths that the outside community called “bad luck” or “tragedies,” but that were actually consequences.

Their great-great-great-great-grandmother, Theodora Eisley, had been renowned as the most beautiful young woman in Meadow Falls, but when she reached middle age and her once-supple skin began to sag with wrinkles, she wished for beauty every morning for months. Archibald Blythe wished for power constantly, never satisfied with how much he already had. And no matter how often Bunny Blythe-Hargrove roamed the quiet gardens, she could only find peace of mind by wishing for it every day.

At first, those members of the family got everything they wished for. But eventually they were afflicted with a mysterious malaise. Something that made them sluggish, zapped them of energy. Until eventually they all met the same fate.

It was only after the sudden deaths in the family started to mount that anyone realized the garden took something from them. Like a plant needing water and sun and nutrients to survive, the Wish Garden fed off the energy of the people who wished on it.

Hearing this, Hart’s hand flew up to his mouth. “Is that why it took my teeth?” he lisped. Then, eyes frozen wide with fear, he asked, “Am I going to die?”

Mrs. Hargrove held his hand and shook her head. She explained that while every wish still had its consequence, the Hargroves had discovered a way to lessen the damage. “Instead of the garden taking a lot from one person, we found that it could take just a little from a lot of people. For one night, the garden could feed off the energy of many, get full up for the whole season.”

“Is that why Daddy throws the parties?” Heather asked.

Mrs. Hargrove nodded. “Think of it like compost,” she said. “Sometimes the only way to keep the soil healthy is through human intervention. Collecting and adding organic matter. And the naturally expended energy at the parties—it’s a little something extra to keep the garden happy. The people who come to the parties, they have such a lovely time, and afterward maybe they won’t remember it all and maybe they’ll feel a little dizzy and lightheaded, but that’s all. The parties make it so that the garden never takes too much from us.”

Here, Mrs. Hargrove took hold of both her kids’ hands, her fingers wrapping around theirs and squeezing gently, but firmly. “But it still takes,” she explained. “It’s important that you understand that. The garden will take something from you for every wish you make. And the bigger the wish, the more it wants.”

“But why did it kill Nothing?” Hart asked, then shook his head quickly, realizing his mother wouldn’t understand his question. “Why did it kill our dog?”

Mrs. Hargrove leveled a keen stare at him. “Did he like chewing on things?” Hart nodded, and his mother did too, knowingly. “He must’ve been destroying the flowers.”

The twins turned to each other, coming to understand something important about the Wish Garden, about the fact that it had rules you had to abide by. Mrs. Hargrove explained some of the rules right then and there.

Keep the Wish Garden a secret.

Don’t destroy the garden.

Every wish has its consequence.

Once you make a wish, you can’t take it back.

You can only make wishes for yourself, not for others.

“That’s why I couldn’t wish back your teeth,” Heather whispered. And the two of them realized why all the wishes Heather had made against her classmates hadn’t worked.

Over the distant sounds of merriment coming from the party beyond the hedges, the twins began to understand. Why the garden needed to stay private, why it needed to be opened up to outsiders sometimes, and why they had to be very careful about the things they wished for. “If you must make a wish, keep it small,” their mother warned. “Make sure that it’s so small you’ll be able to live with the consequence of it. Because there will always be a consequence.”

Mrs. Hargrove let go of the twins’ hands and smoothed her palm over Hart’s cheek. “Now that we’ve had a party, the garden will stop taking so much from you, and you’ll get better. But we should do something about your teeth.”

She produced a seed packet from her wicker basket and handed it to Hart. “In order for it to work, you’ll need to plant a single seed, then say your wish out loud, in that order,” she instructed. “Think about what you’ll say, and remember to keep it small.”

Hart slipped his tongue through the three gaps in his mouth; two in the back on either side, and one in the front. He dug a tiny hole with his index finger, then he planted a seed and closed his eyes. “I wish I had a really nice set of teeth.”

He opened his eyes and looked at his mom expectantly. “Okay,” she said. “But an even smaller wish would’ve been better.”

As he sat there in the garden that night and poked his tongue around his mouth once again, Hart felt the smooth walls of his new, perfect teeth.