Mulberry Park

by Judy Duarte

  “Well, we don’t live in the same world as we used to, and there are wicked people who prey on little ones.”

  Maria found it impossible to argue with her logic or to defend the boy’s parents.

  They sat quietly for a while, lost in their own thoughts and worries. When Maria’s tummy growled, she glanced at her wristwatch, then at Hilda. “Maybe we ought to call the children and have them eat lunch.”

  “Good idea.”

  Maria took the kids to the restroom and helped them wash up. When they returned to the table, she passed out sandwiches and apple slices, but something kept her from joining Danny and Sara and opening the baggies that held her own meal.

  Her gaze drifted to Trevor, who remained seated on the teeter-totter. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a handful of something small and bite-size.

  A snack?

  Maybe.

  The baby moved about in her womb, and her stomach grumbled again. Her blood-sugar levels had been screwy lately, so she shouldn’t skip lunch, but she suspected that whatever had been in Trevor’s pocket had been his breakfast, too. So there was no way she’d eat in front of him. She’d just have to leave the park early. And next time, she’d make an extra sandwich—just in case.

  “Trevor,” she called to the boy. “If you like peanut butter and grape jelly, you can join us for lunch. I have plenty.”

  The boy’s eyes, as leery as a stray cat, studied her for a moment. A long moment. Then he slowly got up from the sloping wooden plank on which he’d been sitting and trudged to the table.

  Maria placed the food she’d packed for herself next to Danny. “I’m glad you’re going to join us for lunch.” She nodded toward the gray cinder-block structure that housed the bathrooms. “Why don’t you wash up first?”

  The boy glanced at his dirty palms, then turned over his hands and furrowed his brow as if he’d just noticed how grimy they were.

  As he headed for the restroom, Maria wondered what his story was. Yet even though she was curious about who was looking after him and tucking him in at night, she wouldn’t ask. After all, there wasn’t much she could do, other than offer him scraps of food. She was having a tough enough time looking after her own kids and certainly couldn’t afford to take in strays.

  Especially since she’d once been—and still felt like—one herself.

  After lunch, as Trevor sat in the swing, digging the toe of his tennis shoe into the sand, a shadow settled over him. He looked up and saw Analisa standing beside him.

  “Can I talk to you?” she asked. “We’re going to be leaving soon, and I need you to do something for me again.”

  “Climb the tree?” He couldn’t believe she was still leaving notes and pictures and stuff for God.

  She nodded, then pulled out a folded envelope from her pocket. “I wrote another one last night.”

  “Why do you keep doing that? He hasn’t been answering you.”

  “He did once. You saw it. And the letters we leave are always gone the next day.”

  “Anyone could’ve taken them.”

  Analisa crossed her arms. “God took them. And He’ll answer every single one of them when He has time.”

  How was Trevor going to get it through her head that this was a waste of time? God didn’t answer prayers. Trevor knew that; he’d prayed a ton of times and nothing had happened.

  She stood there, that dumb letter in her hand.

  Trevor should have told her no, but he took the note instead. “I’ll stick it in the tree, but I hope you’re not expecting an answer.”

  “God’s just very busy, that’s all. How would you like to be in charge of the whole wide world?”

  “If He’s that busy, why bother Him?”

  “You can’t bother God, Trevor.”

  The dumb little girl had an answer for everything.

  “I’ll prove it to you,” she added. “What do you want? I’ll ask Him to give it to you.”

  Trevor, who’d learned to keep his troubles a secret, wouldn’t tell her what he really wanted. But there was something else he’d really like to have. It was a long walk to the park, and he’d asked his dad for a bike last Christmas.

  Absolutely not, his father had said. No bicycle. The way he’d said it made Trevor think no one but God could ever change his dad’s mind.

  Trevor got off the swing and took her challenge. “Okay. I’d like a bike. A red one.”

  Analisa grinned as though she and God were best friends. “Okay. Let’s pray.”

  “Here?” Trevor scanned the park. “Are you nuts? No way.”

  She reached out her hand. “It works best this way.”

  “What way?” He merely looked at her.

  “If we hold hands. A prayer works better when two or more people agree.”

  So much for the bike. Trevor wasn’t going to hold hands with a girl. And he wasn’t going to pray out loud in the park.

  “Don’t you want a bike?” she asked.

  “Not that bad.”

  Her arms were still crossed, and she shifted her weight to one foot like his mom used to do when Trevor did something to annoy her. “God doesn’t like it when people don’t believe in Him.”

  Trevor looked over his shoulder, but didn’t see anyone paying attention to him or to Analisa. “Okay, but let’s go behind the tree.”

  Analisa led him to the center of the park, and when he was sure they weren’t being watched, he let her take his hand.

  This was so dumb.

  She lowered her head and closed her eyes. “Dear God, please let Trevor have a bike. He needs to know that You love him and want him to have good things. Amen.”

  As Trevor started to pull his hand away, she held on tight. “You gotta say it, too.”

  “Say what?”

  “Amen. It’s like saying good-bye to God.”

  Oh, brother. “Amen. Okay?”

  Analisa grinned as though everything was wonderful now.

  Yeah. Right.

  As Trevor turned to walk away, he shook his head. If a new red bicycle magically appeared on his front porch, then maybe he’d have to change his mind about God.

  Of course, there were some things he needed a lot more than a bike.

  But God—if He was up there—already knew everything about that.

  And He hadn’t done anything about it.

  Chapter 5

  Even for a Saturday, the park had been pretty quiet. Trevor hung out until after the last kid went home, but why stay by himself here when he could do that at home?

  He looked at the sun, saw it slipping lower than the big palm trees near the brick office building. He wasn’t all that good at guessing the time unless there were other things making it easy. Like the old guy who’d packed up his chessboard and was heading toward his red pickup.

  It had to be way after five o’clock, so it was time to go—especially if Trevor wanted to beat Katie home, which he did. Some nights she worked really late, but this wasn’t one of them.

  Besides, he was getting hungry even though he’d had more to eat for lunch today than he usually did. It was cool having a mom-made lunch for a change. Mrs. Rodriguez had cut the skin off the apples just like Trevor’s mother used to do.

  It had been sad, too, and Trevor had gotten pretty quiet while they ate. That happened whenever he thought about his mom. Sometimes he couldn’t even remember what she used to look like, and he was afraid that when he got to be old like the chess-guy, he’d forget he even used to have a mom. That her hair had been blond. That she sometimes sang silly songs when she drove him to school. And that she smelled nice and kind of powdery.

  Trevor blew out a sigh. Not having a mother sucked. Katie tried hard, but it wasn’t the same.

  As he headed toward the apartment complex where they’d moved a couple of months ago, he kicked a half-crushed beer can along the edge of the road. His shoelaces flip-flopped from side to side, but he didn’t care.

  If his dad was here, he’d tell T
revor to stop and tie them. So would Katie. But when Trevor was all by himself, he didn’t have to obey anyone or do anything he didn’t want to do.

  A kid at the park once told him that he was lucky, but that wasn’t true. Trevor was probably the unluckiest kid in the whole world.

  As he approached the weeded area near Paddy’s Pub, his stomach rumbled in spite of the peanut butter sandwich he’d eaten today, so he considered taking the shortcut home.

  “If you go to the park,” Katie always told him before she left for work each day, “you can only stay for an hour. And be careful when you walk. Stay on the sidewalk and don’t cut through that vacant field.”

  Trevor didn’t always listen to Katie, though.

  As he took the path that wound through the empty lot, a noise buzzed in his ears. Some kind of insects, he suspected, but they had a scary, snakelike sound, and it was hard to tell for sure.

  The weeds had grown really high, so he couldn’t see anything to the right or left of him. For that reason, he stayed on the dirt walkway. Rattlers were deadly, but even pet snakes in an aquarium-like cage scared him.

  Once, when Trevor first moved to this side of town, he’d asked a younger kid if they ever spotted rattlesnakes in the area.

  “No,” the kid had said. “But you gotta be careful of the cobras ’cause they’ll spit in your eye.”

  Trevor knew cobras didn’t live in California, so he figured the kid was just dumb.

  Still, he watched his step and listened for a rattling sound. He was more than halfway across now, so he kept walking, scanning the field ahead and feeling like Dorothy and her friends in Oz as they chanted, “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.”

  There wasn’t much Trevor was scared of, so he didn’t like the feeling now. Didn’t like the pounding of his heart, the sweaty prickle that skittered down his spine.

  Off to the right, something red and black and shiny lay almost hidden. He stood at a crossroads, tempted to trek through the knee-high brush and check it out, yet wanting to remain where there were definitely no snakes.

  It could be junk.

  But what if it wasn’t?

  He stepped off the path and spotted more and more red. It looked like a…

  It was. A skateboard.

  How did it get way out here? Had someone thrown it away? Or maybe hidden it for some reason?

  He picked it up and turned it over, studying it carefully. The scarred wood base was kind of dirty and banged up a bit. But not that much.

  Josh Ryder, his friend from the old neighborhood, was really into skateboarding and had everything that went with it—the gear, the clothes.

  Trevor placed his hand on the wheels and made each one spin. The trucks, the part of the board that the wheels were connected to, seemed a little loose. But at least it worked.

  Cool.

  For a moment, he wondered if his dad would approve of him having a skateboard. Probably. It wasn’t as big as a bike.

  Ooh. Wow. That was weird.

  Thoughts of the brand-new bicycle he’d always wanted made him remember the prayer he and Analisa had shared earlier today.

  Well, this definitely wasn’t a bike.

  But it was red and had wheels. It was also kind of magical how it had just appeared on the very same day they’d asked for a bike.

  Maybe God didn’t like crossing parents. Maybe He wouldn’t give a kid something a kid wasn’t allowed to ride. Maybe He’d decided to give Trevor something his dad would approve of instead.

  How cool was that?

  Trevor would take the skateboard home and hide it under the bed until it was safe to bring it out. And then he’d take it to the park each day and practice until he learned how to ride it like the guys in the skateboard magazines at the grocery store.

  A grin tugged at his lips. This was the best thing that had happened to him in a long, long time.

  Maybe God was looking out for him after all.

  On Wednesday morning, after his appointment with Doc Eldridge and a stop at the drugstore to fill a new prescription to control his cholesterol, Walter drove to the park. Along the way, he passed a kid trying to ride a skateboard while keeping one foot practically tethered to the ground.

  No, not just any kid. The kid. The one who hung out at the park.

  Maybe someone had gotten him a birthday gift or something. That was nice, although Walter hoped the youngster didn’t break his neck.

  What was he doing? He shouldn’t be riding along the sidewalk on a busy street. Not until he learned how to balance on the blasted thing.

  For a moment, Walter thought about pulling over and talking to the boy, but he made it a point not to stick his nose in other folks’ business.

  Besides, what did he know about kids? His own stepsons had pretty much disowned him, and he couldn’t say as he blamed them.

  He pulled into the parking lot, next to the car Hilda and Analisa were climbing out of. His lips twisted in a crooked grin at the thought of the blond pixie writing letters to God.

  It was kind of cute, if you asked him.

  “Good morning.” His voice held a friendly tone and boomed as though he was outgoing and had a habit of greeting everyone he ran into. In reality, Walter had always been shy—except when he drank.

  Funny thing, though. The other day, after talking to Claire, who hadn’t shined him on like most people did, his confidence level had risen.

  “Good morning,” Hilda said.

  “Ought to be a nice day,” he added.

  She glanced around, as if she hadn’t realized the sky was such a pretty shade of blue and the ocean breeze would make it pleasant today.

  The sun glistened off strands of silver and platinum in her hair. She’d be an attractive woman if she smiled more. But then again, maybe—like him—she didn’t have much to be happy about these days.

  “I asked God to find you a friend,” the little girl told him. “One who knows how to play chest.”

  “You did?” The fact she’d mispronounced the name of the game didn’t faze him, and he’d be darned if he’d correct her. He supposed he ought to thank her. As far as he knew, nobody had ever prayed on his behalf before. Except maybe Margie when she’d been alive. “I appreciate that, young lady.”

  “You’re welcome.” She blessed him with a grin that turned his heart to mush, then looked at her nanny. “Can I run ahead to the playground? Please?”

  “Sure. Go ahead. But don’t you try to jump out of the swing. If something happens and you get hurt, your uncle will tell us we can’t come back to the park.”

  The little cutie pie dashed off, leaving Walter and Hilda to bring up the rear. It was his cue to go his own way, but he didn’t. “How’s that arthritis?”

  “Not too bad today.”

  “I don’t know about you,” he quipped, “but I used to be a kid not so long ago. And all these aches and pains are for the birds.”

  Hilda actually grinned, which took years off her face. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  They walked toward the shaded table near the playground, where she and the girl usually sat. Rather than part ways and move on, Walter stuck around for a moment. Maybe she’d flash him another one of those rare smiles.

  “Mind if I sit here for a minute or two?” he asked.

  “No. Go ahead.”

  They didn’t speak right away, which wasn’t surprising. Right now, they seemed to be two strangers treading on shaky ground.

  He finally asked, “How long have you been a nanny?”

  “Nearly thirty years. I married just out of high school, but when my husband Frank died, I had to figure out a way to support myself. And since I always liked children and we’d never had any of our own…” She dropped the subject, which made him think she was still dealing with either the loss or the disappointment. Maybe both.

  “Ever remarry?”

  “No.”

  That was too bad. The so-called Golden Years were merely gilded without loved ones or friends, and Walter
suspected she was nearly as lonely and miserable as he was.

  “How about you?” she asked. “Are you married?”

  “I was once. She was a pretty gal named Margie, a single mother with two little boys.” Hilda didn’t ask for details, but Walter rarely had a chance to reminisce out loud. “She was a waitress, and I used to eat most of my meals at that little coffee shop where she worked, just so I could see her.”

  In fact, when the two of them started dating, he’d curtailed his drinking and settled down, hoping to be the kind of man she and her two sons deserved. And at least while she’d been alive, he’d been able to lay aside his demons and become a family man—for the most part, anyway.

  “She was a good woman,” he added. “A fine wife and mother. And she made me a better man.”

  “How did you lose her?”

  “She had a heart attack.” It had been completely unexpected.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” She’d been on life support for a while, and he’d stuck by her side at the hospital, hoping and praying God would spare her.

  But He hadn’t.

  Her death had been devastating, and before long, Walter had fallen back into his old lifestyle, resulting in a blur of bars, booze, and brawls.

  “Did you two have any children?”

  “Just her boys. None of our own. I don’t see much of them anymore.”

  “That’s too bad. Families ought to stick together.”

  “Yeah. And stepdads shouldn’t drink themselves to death, either.”

  Walter usually kept to himself and never shared personal thoughts and pain like that, so why had he now? He wanted to reel in the words, to smother the confession.

  But Hilda didn’t seem to be judging him for being either a drunk or a blabbermouth, so he added, “I’ve been sober three years now.”

  The tone of his voice, still strong and steady, belied his shaky confidence about staying on the wagon.

  “Do the kids know about your sobriety?” Hilda asked.

  “No.” He doubted that it would make a difference. He’d been a mean drunk for too many years.

  In fact, time and again, he’d been a real embarrassment to the boys and later to their families. But he wouldn’t tell Hilda that. Nor would he admit that Tyler and Blake had become so disgusted with him and tired of his behavior that they’d both shut him out of their lives.