by Han Nolan
Jerusha took one last sip of her tea and then started cleaning up. I scrambled to my knees and helped her, wondering at the same time how I could be more unpredictable.
Jerusha paused and looked about the cabin. "It's nice here," she said. "The lamplight's nice, all the shadows. I like it here, don't you?"
"Yeah, it's really nice, especially with you here." I said it without thinking, then realizing what I'd said, I felt myself blush and hurried to pick up the rest of the dishes.
"Hey, I wasn't through with that tea, ya know," Pap said when I grabbed his cup.
"Sorry," I said, setting the cup back down. Then I had a thought, an idea, an unpredictable idea.
Jerusha stood up and held open the plastic bag the rolls came in. "Here, stick the dishes in here," she said.
I slipped the plates in and said in as nonchalant a tone as I could deliver, "So, since you like it here, why not stay the night here with me?" I glanced at her, felt myself blushing again, and turned to Pap. "You too, Pap. Let's have a sleepover party out here."
"All right!" Pap said, getting to his feet and spilling his tea on the blanket.
I turned back toward Jerusha.
"Sounds good to me. I'll go take these dishes up and get some more blankets and pillows. Pap, you can help."
"Right," I said, feeling the grin on my face move through my whole body—a whole delighted body grin. I could get used to this unpredictability.
While they were gone I busied myself with arranging three places to sleep. I made a pallet out of one of the blankets and set it next to the sleeping bag. I spread the other blanket out over Larry's table, making sure the wet spot from Pap's tea didn't touch it. I knew when Pap saw the tentlike setup he'd choose it instead of one of the other two, and then Jerusha and I would be side by side.
When I heard Pap's voice outside, I opened the door to wait for them. I looked up and saw three people coming down the slope—Jerusha, Pap, and Leon. Leon carried Jerusha's cello in one arm and a foldout chair under the other. Pap and Jerusha carried blankets and pillows and two rafts.
"Leon suggested some music," Jerusha said when they reached the door.
"It's going to be a real party," Pap said.
"Sure is," I said without enthusiasm, stepping back to let everyone in. I hadn't figured on unpredictability being a two-way street.
"Hiya," Leon said, stepping into the cabin. "Place looks bigger on the outside," he added after looking around.
"That's because of all the people inside," I said "Be careful of the heater."
Leon scooted out of the way and moved to the other side of the room.
Jerusha set her blankets on the table and unfolded the chair Leon had leaned against the wall. Then she grabbed her cello and said, "I'll have to tune this thing up again. All these changes in temperature aren't good for it."
"Jerusha's going to play," Pap said, and then discovering the tent I'd made him, added, "Hey, neat. I call I get the tent to sleep under." He grabbed a pillow and a couple of blankets and crawled under the table.
"I can hear you, Jerusha," he said. "I can hear you playing your music instrument all the way from under here."
Leon and I fixed up the other beds, placing rafts under two and just folding a blanket under the sleeping bag I had brought down.
Leon chuckled. "I don't know what everyone else is going to do tonight, I think we got all the blankets." He crawled onto one of the rafts and spread out on his back, folding his arms behind his head. "If music be the food of love, play on," he said to Jerusha, quoting Shakespeare.
I sighed and climbed into my sleeping bag. At least Jerusha would be sleeping between us.
Jerusha warmed up with some scales and I realized I'd never paid much attention to her playing before. I thought her scales sounded pretty good. Then, before she finished with the scales, we heard voices outside, and then loud knocking on the door.
"Fee, fi, fo, fum," Susan called out. "We're going to huff and puff and blow your house down."
"Hey, it's Susan," Pap said, rising from under the table and banging his head. "Ouch!"
The door opened and in paraded Susan and Harold. Harold had a large bowl of popcorn in his hands and Susan had her guitar and another folding chair.
"Impossible," I said. "We'll never fit."
"O ye of little faith," Susan said, stepping over me and setting her chair in front of Jerusha so she'd be facing her when they played. Harold stepped over me and sat down on Jerusha's bed, lowering himself in one movement so that he ended up cross-legged, the bowl of popcorn held high in his hands. He lowered it and Pap came out from under the tent and joined him on the blanket. Both of them blocked most of my view of Jerusha. I sat up. Jerusha tapped the edge of Susan's chair with her bow and said, "Quiet, please. I will now play Bach's Prelude, Suite number one."
And just like that, we hushed and Jerusha played. Her whole body moved with the music. She kept her eyes closed, and as she moved her hair swung into her face and away again. Then she came to a place in the music where the notes escalated, climbing and climbing, and her torso moved in circular breaths and I found my own breath changing to fit her rhythm.
When she had finished I had no breath left; I just held it. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want anyone to move or speak. I wanted her to play it again, but I didn't want to have to tell her, I didn't want to interrupt the spell with words. Then Susan began the same piece on her guitar and Jerusha joined her and they played it through again. Susan didn't play as well as Jerusha, but still it sounded beautiful. Jerusha was beautiful and I found myself falling in love again, in love with Jerusha and Bach's Suite no. 1.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE SIX OF US stayed up most of the night. Jerusha and Susan played a mixture of classical, folk, and jazz. Then Susan strummed the guitar while Harold recited one of his poems about his father, a father he never knew, and about how he planned to be there for his own children, be responsible, capable, accountable. I liked it because it came across as more powerful, more personal than some of his other poems. I decided I liked Harold better after hearing it.
I thought about it again later that night, or really, the next morning, when we had all settled down and were falling off to sleep. His poem revealed something about him, just the way Bobbi's singing and Jerusha's cello playing revealed something about them. They were sharing something of themselves with their art and it made me understand them a little more. It made me like them, and I wondered what I had to share. What could I do to reveal who I was? I had already tried with computers and the Game of Life, but they weren't interested. Why was it I could listen to their poetry and music, but they couldn't care less about my interests? How could I make them care? I didn't have any idea, and I fell asleep thinking about this, lying on my opened-up sleeping bag, sharing a pillow with Harold, who shared a blanket with Leon and Susan, who shared a pillow with Jerusha. All six of us lay spread out across the cabin floor, sharing blankets and pillows and breathing in the kerosene fumes.
Just a couple of hours later my watch alarm went off. I groaned. I had to get ready for school. I left the others sleeping and lumbered up the slope toward the house, hoping Larry would still be asleep and I could get dressed and eat breakfast without running into him. I made it through my shower and got dressed and was halfway through making breakfast when Larry shuffled into the kitchen. He squinted in the light and, catching me standing over the stove, paused. He scratched his head, then shuffled forward again, over to where I stood.
"Smells good. What you making?" he asked.
I thought about saying, What does it look like, stupid? but I changed my mind and said, "My grandmother's pancakes. I know I used some of your buckwheat flour, but that's the only flour we've got."
Larry dug a cigarette out of the pack in his breast pocket and nodded. "We don't have any syrup," he said, lighting up the cigarette and shuffling to the table and sitting down.
"I know. I made some sauce with a couple of your oranges an
d your cinnamon and—"
"Okay, cool it with the my oranges stuff. We were just fooling around. You have a right to the kitchen if you want it."
I didn't say anything. I flipped my pancake, one large one that filled the skillet, just the way Grandma Mary's always did. It looked a lot darker than hers, from the buckwheat flour, but it smelled the same. I lifted it out of the pan and put it on a plate. Then, feeling a mixture of excitement and embarrassment, I took it over to Larry and set it down in front of him.
He looked up at me and I said, "It might not be so good made out of buckwheat. Try it and see what you think."
I grabbed the sauce I'd made off the counter and handed it to Larry. He stubbed his cigarette out in a coffee mug left over from some other day and pulled his chair up closer to the table. "Thanks," he said.
I handed him a fork and knife and he cut a slice and ate it While he chewed he nodded. "Excellent," he finally said, cutting another piece. "Excellent."
"Want coffee or what?" I asked. "I've boiled some water."
He glanced up at me, then back down at the pancake. "Well, normally I have herb tea, but since I'm eating this, why not go whole hog—sure, hit me with some coffee."
I went back to the stove and ladled some pancake batter into the skillet for myself. Then I fixed Larry's coffee, smiling to myself. Maybe I could share this with the others. Maybe I could cook up more of Grandma Mary's recipes.
I sat down with my own pancake, and while I poured on the sauce Larry said, "Sorry about yesterday. That was stupid."
I shrugged. "What are you going to do with that table?" I asked. "Sell it?"
"Nah." He took a sip of his coffee and poked in his pack for another cigarette. "I thought I might, I don't know, give it to my family."
Larry's face got red. He shook his head so that his hair fell into his face. He lit his cigarette, took a drag, and closed his eyes. "Wonder what they're all up to these days."
"Why don't you go find out? Why don't you take them the table as a ... as an Easter gift? Easter's coming up soon."
"Yeah, I could do that," Larry said, but his voice sounded uncertain.
I took a bite of my pancake. Even buckwheat couldn't destroy Grandma Mary's recipe. "I'll go with you," I offered, hoping I'd be in just as generous a mood when the time came. "I could visit your brother," I added.
Larry nodded. "Okay, we'll see. Thanks." He turned to me and gave me a light punch on the arm. "It's complicated, but we'll see."
I wondered what he meant by "complicated," but I didn't have any time left to discuss it with him. I had to get to school.
It was the first time in my life I had ever dreaded going to school. For one thing, I'd had all of two hours' sleep, and for another I hadn't done my homework. I expected a lot of yelling and a lot of zeros for the day, but all the teachers were understanding. I could do the homework that night and turn it in a day late.
Instead, I skipped my hour helping at the computer lab and did it in the library, handing the assignments in by the end of the day. Then, feeling pleased with myself and my good day's work, I decided to stop by the chorus room and pick up Bobbi and walk with her to the veterinarian's office, maybe talk to her about things.
When I got to the chorus room, though, I found Don standing just outside the door, peering in through the small square of glass.
"Hi, Don," I said.
He twisted his neck and glared at me. "What's she doing in there?"
I peeked through the window. Bobbi stood on a platform with Andrew Weinfeld. The two of them were singing to each other, holding hands.
I looked at Don. "It's just a duet. They're acting."
He shoved me aside. "Yeah, well, I don't like it"
"Believe me, Bobbi doesn't like Weinfeld. The guy's a nerd."
"Yeah? Then what's she doing with her head next to his, huh?"
"They're acting, I told you."
"Well, she's done acting."
The singing stopped and I heard the teacher announce something, and then the door opened. Don could hardly wait for Bobbi to get out. He pushed at the kids filing out of the room, grabbed Bobbi by the arm, and pulled her out into the hallway.
"Hey! That hurts. What's wrong?" Bobbi said. Then, seeing me, she added, "Hi, JP."
I walked behind them, not sure what I should do. Don held on to Bobbi's arm and hurried her out of the building. I scooted along behind them. He pulled her out to the parking lot, yanking on her arm if she dragged too far behind. Bobbi kept asking, "What's wrong? What did I do?"
Don wouldn't answer. He just kept marching her toward his pickup.
Thinking I could slow things down a little, I said, "Hey, Don, could I get a ride home?" I bobbed about in front of the two of them, and Don shoved me out of the way without answering.
"Get in," he said when we'd reached the truck. Bobbi looked at me, then opened the door.
"Bobbi—" I stepped forward and held the door while Bobbi climbed into the front seat "Wait, I—I need some help at the office—uh, they told me to see if I could get someone to help me today, and I thought maybe you—"
"Look, JP, stay out of it, okay? I know what you're trying to do, but just butt out. I can take care of myself."
Don shouted from the other side of the truck, "Shut the door!"
Bobbi reached out for the handle and pulled the door shut.
Then Don jumped in and peeled out of the parking lot, and I saw Bobbi looking back at me a second before her body jerked toward Don's. He had yanked her hair.
I wanted to run after the truck, do something. If Bobbi could take care of herself, why didn't she?
***
WHEN I GOT home later that day, I found Pap had climbed back out on the roof, Aunt Colleen was flirting with the leprechaun, and the workers were loading up their truck. I could find no one else around. I called up to Pap to ask how long he'd been sitting on the roof.
"I just got out here, 'cause I went to work and I have a new plant, see?"
Pap stood up and held up a spider plant. "Soon I can make me a wildflower garden with Bobbi. They said so at the Center, that I could do it soon 'cause the ground is getting unfrozen."
"That's good, Pap. What are you doing up there?"
"I'm just talking, JP, so don't you be telling me what to do. I have things to say now, so you go away."
I waved. "All right, Pap." I left him and decided to walk down to the cabin. I wanted to relive the memories of the night before. I wanted to recall Jerusha's eating dinner with me, and her music, and Harold's poem, and all of us, including me, squeezed in under the blankets, getting in a few jokes before we all fell silent and drifted into our separate thoughts. I had loved being a part of it all. I loved that they had come down to me—maybe not to be with me, but I was the reason they were at the cabin and not in the house. And it didn't seem weird and uncomfortable and Bohemian at all. It felt easy and relaxed. I felt glad the others had come down after all.
I stepped inside and started up the heater. I had decided to do my homework in there among the blankets and pillows and bask in the warm feelings from the night before.
After a while Aunt Colleen came down and checked on me before leaving, and I watched from my window when she pulled out in her car behind the leprechaun's truck. I wondered if they were going to get dinner together somewhere. I told myself not to get bothered by it. Ignore it. It's none of my business. Butt out, as Bobbi would say.
Then, just after thinking about her, I heard Bobbi yelling, "I already told you, okay? I told you."
Then I heard Pap shout, "Yeah, she told you already."
I looked back out the window and saw Bobbi and Pap standing up on the roof. Don stood leaning halfway out the window. I hadn't even heard them come home.
He shouted at her and Bobbi shouted back and Pap echoed Bobbi. Back and forth they went. I shrugged and told myself to butt out. I sat back down to do my homework, but I couldn't concentrate.
"She's a big girl. She can handle it herself
," I said, but I kept listening. Then I heard Bobbi squeal, "Stop it! Stop!"
I jumped up and Pap shouted, "You're bad. You're a bad man! Stop that now, 'cause you're hurting her," while Bobbi kept shouting, "Stop it!"
I saw Don out on the roof wrestling with the two of them, and all three were knocking into the Nativity set. I dropped my notebook and flew out of the cabin, shouting at them to watch out, but I was too late. Pap's feet had gotten tangled up in the electrical cord. I saw him look down and try to get out of the way of it. I called out to him and he looked up, twisting his body slightly, and over he went with the whole Nativity set falling down on top of him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
PAP'S BODY LAY sprawled out on the grass, the Nativity set in a tangle of wires all around him. I felt a flash of relief that he'd fallen off the side instead of over the front onto the driveway, but then I saw how still he was lying, how lifeless he looked, and I panicked. I ran to Pap, shouting up at Don, "I swear if he's hurt, I'll kill you! I swear I will."
I fell on my knees, knocking the Wise Men out of the way, and called to Pap. "Pap! Pap, are you okay?" He had his left leg bent from the knee, up under him.
Bobbi cried, "You killed him! Look what you did, you killed him!"
I kept calling to Pap, placing my ear to his chest and listening for a heartbeat.
Again Bobbi yelled, "You killed him!" and I shouted for her to shut up and call an ambulance. "Do it now, Bobbi!"
A minute later Don ran out of the house and hustled toward his truck Pap had opened his eyes, but when I saw Don trying to escape I shouted, "I will hunt you down, you bastard! I swear I will. You're dead!" The man tore out of the driveway and sped off down the road.
I returned to Pap. "Pap, are you okay? Say something."
"Kerplooie!" he said, lifting his head and shaking it "I fell off the roof!" He tried to rise up onto his elbows, but I held him back. "James Patrick, you're getting tears all over me face, you know, and I've got to move, 'cause me leg is in very great pain." He tried again to move and bellowed, "Owww! Who-ee, this hurts! James Patrick, get off of me with your tears."