Mrs. Levine broke off, laughing. “Am I embarrassing you, darling? Come on in, Jack. I’ll make hot chocolate and we can get to know each other.”
Kate’s kitchen had a black-and-white–checkered floor, red chairs around a small, chrome-legged table, and shiny white cupboards. It was much bigger and brighter than the kitchen at my house. It was also much messier. Dirty dishes were stacked by the sink, pots covered the stove top, and a half-played Monopoly game took up most of the table. “Just push everything over,” Mrs. Levine said. “Clear some space for yourselves. Careful with the game though—I have hotels on Mayfair and Park Lane.”
“Go ahead and jiggle it,” Kate said. “Swipe me some money while you’re at it. My mother is merciless.” She got mugs out of the cupboard while Mrs. Levine put a saucepan of milk on the stove.
“Only way I can get my daughter to drink her milk,” Mrs. Levine said. She didn’t sound like she minded though.
I slid the Monopoly board over, clearing a patch of smooth yellow tabletop. Kate put the mugs beside the stove, rummaged in the cupboard and handed a tin of Carnation hot chocolate to her mother. I stood there watching them both and feeling awkward.
“So, Jack.” Mrs. Levine stirred the milk slowly with a wooden spoon and looked at me. “Kate was telling me your mother’s been having a hard time.”
She made it sound so ordinary somehow. “Yes, Mrs. Levine. That’s right. For a while now.” I put my hands into my pockets and quickly took them out again. Dad said it was bad manners to stand with your hands in your pockets.
Mrs. Levine stopped stirring and turned to face me, leaning back against the stove. “Kate told me about your little sister. I’m so sorry about your loss, Jack.”
“Thank you.”
Kate pulled out one of the red vinyl chairs, sat down and motioned for me to sit beside her. I sat down gratefully. She winked at me.
Mrs. Levine tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. “So tell me about your mom. What’s she like?”
“Now, you mean?” I shrugged. “Most days she doesn’t even get out of bed.”
“I mean before all this. Underneath it, Jack. What is she really like?”
I looked up at the ceiling. “Um, she used to laugh a lot. I used to like making her laugh. And she liked music. Dancing. Cooking. Sometimes she and Dad played bridge with the Millers.” I chewed on my lip. “She liked singing.”
“Oh, I love singing,” Mrs. Levine said. “So does Kate. She plays recorder too—you should hear her.”
“Mom! Jack doesn’t care about that.”
“No, that’s okay—I mean, that’s great…”
Mrs. Levine smiled at me before turning back to the saucepan. “Oops, I’m going to burn the milk. It’s sticking to the bottom of the pan.” She stirred ferociously, still talking. She talked every bit as fast as Kate. “So, Jack, has your mom seen a doctor?”
“Yes. He gave her some medicine.”
“Hmm. Has it helped?”
I frowned. Dad wouldn’t be happy if he knew I was talking about this, but there was something about Mrs. Levine that made talking feel easier than it had in a long time. “I don’t think so,” I said honestly. “Back in the beginning, after Annie died, she cried a lot, but that kind of made sense, you know? And she still talked to me. But now…” I shrugged. “Dad says she’s sad, but she doesn’t seem sad exactly. More…I don’t know—like she’s given up. Like she’s not feeling much of anything. She sleeps all the time.”
“Hmm,” Mrs. Levine said again. “Does she talk to anyone?”
I shook my head. “My aunt came and stayed for a few weeks last fall, but things are worse now, really. And Mrs. Miller used to visit her sometimes, but she hasn’t been over for a while. I don’t think Mom really wants to see her anyway.”
“She should talk to someone,” Mrs. Levine said. “Where do you live?”
“335 Church Street,” I said.
“Hmm.” Mrs. Levine had a look on her face that reminded me of Kate.
“Dad wants her to see the doctor again, but she doesn’t want to.”
“Doctors,” Mrs. Levine muttered, stirring so vigorously that milk sloshed onto the stove. “Sometimes I think they’re overrated.”
Kate giggled. “My dad’s a doctor.”
“Really? He is?” I didn’t know why, but I was surprised.
“Not that kind though. He doesn’t talk to people or anything. He’s an X-ray doctor.”
“Radiologist,” Mrs. Levine said.
“Oh. Right. I wish my mom had the kind of problem that would show up on an X-ray, you know? A broken leg, say, or a dislocated shoulder.” I broke off, realizing how that sounded. “I mean, not that I want my mother to break her leg…”
“I knew what you meant,” Mrs. Levine said. She dumped a big scoopful of hot-chocolate powder into the milk and stirred. “Those kinds of problems are a lot easier to fix, aren’t they?”
I nodded. “It doesn’t seem like anyone knows how to help my mom.”
“Sometimes you can’t,” Mrs. Levine said. “Sometimes all you can do is keep on loving someone anyway, and make sure they know it.”
I looked down at the table, blinking, unable to speak. My throat was closed up so tight it hurt.
“Maybe I’ll pay her a visit. You think she’d mind?” She filled two mugs and carried them over to the table. “I’ll let you add your own sugar. Don’t go wild.”
“Oh, I won’t. I mean, it’s already sweet enough.”
She grinned at me as she put the sugar bowl on the table. “It’s not you I was worrying about.”
Kate wrinkled her nose. “I have a sweet tooth.”
Mrs. Levine changed the record, putting on a Perry Como album I recognized from home. Kate and I sipped our hot chocolate in silence. I ran one finger around the rim of my mug and licked the chocolate off my fingertip. Kate and her mom were great, and it was nice of Mrs. Levine to say she’d pay Mom a visit, but I couldn’t really see how that would help. Not if Dad and the doctors couldn’t.
Perry Como was singing “Till the End of Time” and my eyes were stinging. I swallowed hard. “This is my mom’s favorite song,” I said. “It was the first song she and my dad danced to.”
“That is so romantic,” Kate said. “Isn’t it, Mom?”
“It is.” Mrs. Levine sat down opposite me and started singing along. “Till the end of time…long as stars are in the blue…” Her eyes were half closed and her mouth was wide open; she sang loudly, as if she was on stage. It was kind of weird, since we were just sitting in her kitchen, but I had to admit she was good. She sounded like a real singer.
“Mom…” Kate pleaded.
“I don’t mind,” I said quickly. “I wish I could sing like that.”
Mrs. Levine broke off in midsentence. “Of course you can.”
I shook my head, laughing, then yelped out loud. Kate had grabbed my knee so hard that I practically fell out of my chair. “Ow! What are you doing!?” I pulled away, glaring at her.
“I just had the best idea.” Kate’s eyes were wide, her cheeks pink.
“What?”
“You. You learn to sing that song for your mom. I bet she’d love that. Way more than seeing you eat seventeen sausages. Definitely more than you slapping your friend’s face for three days.” Kate’s words spilled out like cars piling up in a freeway accident. She talked so fast she was hard to understand. “Don’t you think so, Mom? If it was you, wouldn’t you love that?”
Mrs. Levine frowned. “Jack slapped his friend for three days? What are you talking about, Kate?”
I shook my head. “Uh, no. Thanks, Kate, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s better than good, Jack. It is a truly great idea.” She turned to her mom. “It is, isn’t it?”
“I really can’t sing,” I said. “I think I’m tone deaf.”
Mrs. Levine actually made a noise that was almost a snort. “I doubt that.”
“I didn’t really slap anyone,” I said. “I mean, I did, but he agreed to it. We were trying to break a record.” I didn’t want her to think I went around hitting people.
“Hmm.”
“To cheer my mom up, you know? It used to make her laugh.”
Mrs. Levine nodded. Her eyes were like Kate’s: dark brown, with long, thick lashes. “Would you like more hot chocolate, Jack?”
“No, thank you.”
“What about me?” Kate protested.
“Enough,” Mrs. Levine said. “I saw how much extra sugar went into that mug. More like syrup than milk.”
Kate sighed. “Jack?”
“Yes?”
“It really is a good idea. Don’t you think?” She put her hands on the table, palms down, and leaned closer to me. “Picture this, okay? Your mom is lying in bed, maybe half-asleep, and she hears something. Music! Someone’s put a record on, she thinks. Then she realizes it’s her favorite song. She listens more closely. Yes, definitely her song…She can hear those words she loves. Till the end of time, blah blah blah, whatever the words are.” Kate’s eyes opened wide, like she was actually living this whole scene in her imagination. “But wait! That isn’t Perry Como’s voice! She sits up, curious. Who can it be? She swings her legs over the side of her bed, stands up shakily, opens her bedroom door—”
“Okay, Kate. I think we’ve got the picture.” Mrs. Levine gave Kate a warning look.
Kate ignored her. “She walks down the hallway, following the music. And there, in the living room, she sees her own son. Her son, who loves her so much—”
I cleared my throat. “Only one problem, Kate. I really can’t sing. I mean, I’m even worse at singing than I am at baseball.”
“Everyone can sing,” Mrs. Levine said serenely. “And Kate, you could play your recorder. You’ve been neglecting your practice lately.”
Kate wrinkled her nose. “So boring, practicing. Anyway, I think it would be better if it was just Jack.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Jack isn’t doing it at all,” I said. “Jack can’t sing.”
There was a long silence. I could feel both Kate’s and Mrs. Levine’s eyes on me. My ears were on fire. I cleared my throat. “I should get home,” I said. “Mrs. Levine, thank you for the hot chocolate.”
“You’re very welcome, Jack. It was good to finally meet you. Kate’s been talking about nothing else.”
“Mom.” Kate’s cheeks were pink.
“Sorry, darling. Jack, do come and see us again.”
I stood up. “Thank you.”
“Don’t let my daughter boss you into doing anything you don’t want to do,” she said. “Her enthusiasm gets the better of her at times, but we do both understand how hard a time this must be for you all.”
“Yes.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Thank you, Mrs. Levine.”
She smiled and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I used to teach singing,” she said. “And Jack? I meant what I said: everyone can sing.”
Fifteen
Mom was up when I got home. She was in the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator.
“Hi, Mom,” I said.
She turned and looked at me. “Jack. How was school?”
“Fine. It’s nice that you’re up.”
“I thought I should make dinner,” she said. “But I don’t know what.”
“I can make spaghetti,” I offered.
She gave me a tired smile and sat down at the kitchen table. “Thanks, Jack. This medicine the doctor’s given me…I feel like sleeping all the time.”
“Maybe you should stop taking it,” I said. “If it’s not helping.”
“Maybe.” She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing the tangles. “I’m sorry I’m being so useless.”
“Don’t say that.” I pulled a box of spaghetti from the cupboard and filled a saucepan with water. The kitchen clock ticked loudly. “Mom? Would you like me to put a record on? Some music?”
She shook her head. “I don’t care.”
“Perry Como, maybe? Or Frank Sinatra?”
“Whatever you like, Jack.” She stood up. “I think I’m going to lie down for a few minutes. I’ve got a bit of a headache.”
“Oh,” I said. “Okay.”
“Thanks for cooking,” she said. Her eyes were suddenly shiny.
“I don’t mind,” I said. “I like doing it.”
Mom turned away quickly, but not before I saw a tear escape from the corner of her eye.
I heard her bedroom door close and pictured her crawling back into the mound of covers on her bed. I didn’t understand. All of us were sad about Annie, but it had been almost a year since she had died. You couldn’t go on forever being sad all the time. Lately there were whole days that I didn’t even think about Annie. Sometimes I felt bad about that, like maybe I was forgetting about her, but I couldn’t help it. Anyway, it was better than just staying in bed all the time.
Mom seemed like she had gotten lost in something that was way beyond sadness. Like something inside her had broken. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and dumped the spaghetti into the saucepan even though the water wasn’t boiling yet.
Singing. Sometimes, when I was little, Mom and I would sing together. She’d put on a record and we’d dance around the living room. This was when I was maybe six or seven, before I started thinking about whether or not I could sing, before I decided I was too old to dance with my mother. Even Allan used to love it. Mom would take each of us by the hand and swing us around, and grab us and tickle us and we’d escape, giggling…I shoved the memory away. It was so hard to connect those pictures in my mind with the person Mom had become.
I thought about what Mrs. Levine had asked—What is she really like? Underneath it all?—and realized it had been a long time since I’d thought about who Mom used to be. Was that other version of Mom still there, buried somewhere deep inside? And if she was, would I ever see her again?
Mrs. Levine and Kate had been kind, but I didn’t see how they could really help. Kate’s idea about me singing seemed kind of crazy. I wasn’t even sure my mom would get out of bed if she heard me singing. Maybe she’d just pull the blankets over her head and go back to sleep. Even if she did get up, what would that accomplish? It wouldn’t fix whatever was broken inside her.
On Tuesday I walked to school alone again. Allan didn’t show up until lunchtime. We were all sitting at the long table in the lunchroom when he walked in. He hesitated, looking at the empty seat beside me and sucking on his bottom lip. He held his orange lunch box in one hand, his matching thermos in the other. Everyone brought their lunch in brown paper bags except Allan. There was something so goofy about him standing there with his shirt buttoned up right to the collar, his hair freshly combed. He looked a bit lost, and before I could reconsider, I gestured to him to join me.
“Dentist appointment,” he muttered to me as he slipped into the seat beside mine. “That’s why I’m late.”
I didn’t say anything. I hadn’t decided if I was talking to him again or not.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “About what I said.”
I couldn’t even remember exactly what he had said, but I could remember my reply. “Me too,” I said. “Sorry I told you to go to hell.”
He nodded. “It’s okay. Sometimes I say stuff that comes out wrong. I probably sounded like a jerk.” His mouth was slightly open and he was tapping his lower lip over and over again with one finger. “Still frozen,” he said, seeing me looking at him. “From the dentist.” He motioned toward his lunch, sitting on the table in front of him. “I can’t even eat. The dentist said I might
bite my cheek or something.”
I studied my sandwich, pushed it aside and pulled two Oreo cookies out of my lunch bag. “So, I met this girl—” I started to say.
“You? You met a girl?”
I shook my head. “Not like that. She’s—her name’s Kate.”
“What do you mean, you met a girl? Where did you meet her?”
I didn’t want to tell him about my tree house. “Out walking. She just moved here.”
“Huh. Really.” Allan looked a bit offended. “You never told me.”
“Well, now I’m telling you, okay?”
“Huh,” he said again.
“Don’t get all—huffy.”
“I’m not huffy.”
“Yes, you are. You’re sulking.”
Allan eyed my cookies. “Can I have one of those?”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to eat.”
“I’ll be careful.”
I slid one toward him. “I’m going to her place after school.”
His face fell. “Oh. I thought maybe…” He broke off. “Never mind.”
I hesitated, not really sure I wanted to share Kate, but Allan looked so disappointed. “You want to come?” I asked. “She wouldn’t mind.”
“Okay,” Allan said. “As long as you don’t make me do anything crazy. No more records.” He popped the whole cookie in his mouth and chewed slowly. The frozen side of his mouth didn’t move much. He looked like he might start drooling.
“No records,” I promised. It seemed like everyone I knew was tired of my record attempts. I still thought it’d be cool to be the best at something, but at the same time, it was kind of a relief to give up trying.
On our way to Kate’s, I filled him in, telling him about her inviting me over to meet her mother. “She and her mom had this crazy idea. To help my mom feel better, you know? She thinks…” I laughed. “She thinks I should sing to her. One of those old songs she likes, you know?”
To my surprise, Allan looked thoughtful.
“I know it’s crazy,” I said quickly. “I mean, it wouldn’t change anything.”
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