I didn’t care about being rude. I wanted to kick Reverend Reece in the shin and make him take his prayer back.
“It’s hot in this truck,” Betsy said. “Let’s sit on the back steps to eat. There’s fried chicken, ham biscuits, potato salad, the works.”
My stomach growled because I hadn’t eaten very much since the accident. “What’s for dessert?”
Betsy grinned and counted them off on her fingers. “Coconut pie, pecan pie, egg custard, strawberry shortcake, pound cake, German chocolate cake, and Jell-O salad.”
I followed Betsy to the steps, but no way was I going any farther. I didn’t want to be called a “poor, poor thing,” and hear everybody whispering about my family.
“No problem,” Betsy said. “I’ll get the food.”
I ate a chicken leg, a couple of bites of macaroni, and then pushed the plate away.
“You didn’t eat very much,” Betsy said.
I sipped sweet tea, hoping the sick feeling in my stomach would pass. “I can’t eat, and I’m not sleeping so good either.” I looked off toward the cemetery. Six generations of the Willis family were buried out there.
Betsy looked off toward the cemetery too. “Sarah, there’s something I need to tell you.” The cup shook in her hand. “Jason Shore, the boy who was driving, he’s my sister’s boyfriend. He was in the service this morning.”
My hands clenched into fists. “He hurt my sister. Why would he come here?”
“Reverend Reece invited him. Jason feels guilty. He can’t eat or sleep either. Reverend Reece thought it might help if he apologized to your family.”
I shook my head. “It’s not like he broke my doll, or cheated off my test paper.” My voice got louder. “Do you know what I saw yesterday? My sister can’t talk or even open her eyes! I wish he were the one in the hospital and Robin was here with me.” I scrambled to my feet.
“Where are you going?” Betsy asked.
“Out to the tombstones.”
“Want me to go with you?”
I shook my head. “No, not this time.”
I hurried out to my family’s plot. I had been there many times before with Granny to put flowers on the graves. There were tombstones of all sizes. The small ones were usually for children. Granny had told me that before vaccinations were common, lots of kids died from diseases like diphtheria. I leaned back against my great-uncle John’s monument, remembering the day of his funeral. He had been so old, eighty-five, arthritic and gray. Granny said death had eased his suffering. I thought the funeral of a child would be different than Uncle John’s, even sadder. And if it were Robin, I would miss her for the rest of my life. I needed to talk to Ruby Lee about it. Ruby knew about dying, and unlike most grown-ups, she wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth.
If you ask me, Sunday afternoons are the most boring time of the week. Granny dozed in the recliner, and Grandpa napped underneath the maple trees. I stretched across my bed and tried reading Heidi Grows Up, but after five pages, the words blurred together.
I threw the book down on the bed and opened my journal. I read through a bedtime story that I had been writing for Robin. I had never finished it, and now it might be too late.
On a blank page, I wrote the words that I was too ashamed to say out loud. Robin’s accident is my fault. I yanked the page out and tore it into a thousand pieces. Better to use pig Latin. Obin’sray accidentway asway ymay aultfay. I wrote it over and over, like the time our teacher made the class write sentences for being too noisy. I didn’t stop until my fingers cramped.
I left a note for Granny on the kitchen table. Gone to Ruby’s house. Be back soon. Love, Sarah.
I climbed on my bike and followed the path deep in the woods until I came to a small white house. Instead of planting grass, Miss Irene had turned her front yard into a flower garden. Ruby was rocking on the front-porch swing.
“You thirsty?” she asked.
I put the kickstand down on my bike. “Yep. It’s hot as blazes.”
We rocked on the porch swing, sipping sweet tea. “Where’s Miss Irene?” I asked.
“Napping,” Ruby answered. “Ain’t that what most grown-ups do on Sunday afternoons? Seems like a waste of a perfectly good day to me.”
“That’s what I think too. Where’s your uncle Clarence?”
“He’s gone fishing.” Ruby grinned. “I wouldn’t wanna be Clarence when he gets back here. He skipped church. You know how Ma Rene feels about that.”
Miss Irene might have kowtowed to white people, but she was the boss in her own family.
“What have you been doing since church?” Ruby asked.
“I tried to read, but I couldn’t make sense of the words.”
Ruby nodded like she got what I was talking about. “I was that way after my daddy was killed in Vietnam. Had to repeat fourth grade because of it.”
“I remember that. It’s why I’m here. I’m afraid Robin will, you know …”
“Die,” said Ruby Lee.
I took a deep breath and let it out. “That’s what I’m most afraid of.”
Ruby chewed on her lip. “If she dies, you’ll be sad for a long time, but then one day you’ll eat some chocolate cake and it’ll taste good again, or you’ll laugh at The Beverly Hillbillies. Somehow you’ll start feeling better, even if you don’t want to.”
“But there’s no way to be as happy as before. Is there?”
Ruby shook her head. “Nope, don’t see how. I still miss my daddy every day. Some stuff can’t be fixed.”
I didn’t feel like going back to the farm. I turned my bike in the direction of Moccasin Gap, pedaling hard up the steep hill. Sweat dripped down my back and under my arms. I rode by a deep gulley that folks had used as a junkyard. It was filled with hubcaps, a wringer washing machine, even an old car. Shady Creek had a perfectly good junkyard. I thought more people should use it. Granny said littering folks hadn’t been raised right.
About a mile from home, a truck pulled up behind me. Its engine breathed down my neck. Gravel crackled. It reminded me of Robin’s accident. I stayed close to the edge of the road and kept pedaling. Then the horn blared.
I looked over my shoulder, and my bike veered off the road. Screaming like a wild animal, I headed down the ravine. The bike picked up speed, and I flew over the handlebars.
“Sarah, Sarah Beth?” Mr. Fletcher yelled. “Child, are you breathing?”
I was too stunned to answer him.
Mr. Fletcher scrambled down the bank. I was ashamed of running off the road and scratching up my bicycle. He knelt down and put his hand on my back. “Sarah, can you hear me?”
I nodded yes.
“That’s good,” Mr. Fletcher said. “What hurts? Can you move your arms and legs?”
I could, but not without wincing. “My elbows hurt.” Then I flexed my knees. “Ohhh, my knees hurt too.”
“Bet so. Your kneecaps are scraped raw.”
Mr. Fletcher took off his cap and twisted it in his hands. “Should I take you to the emergency room?”
“Nooo,” I wailed. “I don’t need an emergency room. I need to go home!”
Granny filled the sink with warm, soapy water. She cleaned my knees with a soft washcloth, then dabbed Merthiolate on them.
“Ah, that burns!” I squirmed on the toilet seat, as the medicine turned my knees an orangey red.
Granny blew cool air on them to stop the burning. While she was applying the bandages, Granny said, “Sarah Beth, what happened? Hiram said he tooted his horn to make sure you didn’t pull out in front of him, and the next thing he knew, you were flying over the handlebars.”
I shuddered. “The horn scared me.” What I didn’t say was that I had been afraid the truck would hit me, the same way the car had hit Robin.
That night I had trouble getting to sleep, and when I finally did, the bad dreams started. The black car sped down the street. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. When I ran toward Robin, the car hit both of us. I was falling, fal
ling, falling, and then the car turned into a casket.
Granny switched on the light and hurried over to my bed. “Wake up, pumpkin. It’s only a bad dream.”
My heart raced. Though I wasn’t sure if God was listening, I bowed my head and asked him to help me. I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.
I spent the next morning in front of the television, not really watching the shows, but glad for the noise.
Granny called to me from the kitchen. “Get your recipe box. I’m gonna teach you to make stewed potatoes.”
While I peeled potatoes, Granny fried out fatback meat on the stove. “We have to keep busy,” she said. “That’ll make the waiting easier.”
Keeping busy helped, but nothing could make waiting easy.
Next Granny had me use the cutting board and slice the potatoes into chunks. “Now drop them in the pot and cover them with water,” she said. “Once they cook up nice and soft, we’ll add thickening to them.”
I flexed my sore knees. “What’s thickening?”
“That’s when you mix flour with a little water and form a paste,” Granny said. “Then you add some milk. Thickening makes potatoes and corn creamier.”
I wrote the recipe for the potatoes on a card and put it in my box.
Granny opened a new sack of flour and refilled the bin. “Sarah, go ahead and make some biscuits. They’ll be good with the potatoes.”
In a large bowl, I mixed flour, lard, and buttermilk. I found my rhythm working the dough and started humming one of Ruby’s songs. Just as I was placing the last biscuit into the long, greased pan, the telephone clanged.
Granny hobbled toward the den to answer the phone. A sick feeling washed over me, and I was afraid to move.
“What?” Granny said.
I grabbed the counter to brace for bad news.
“Does Charlie know? When did it happen?”
My stomach churned, and puke rose up in my throat.
“Sarah, come quick,” Granny yelled. “Your mama needs to talk to you.”
I stumbled to the telephone, and my legs gave out. Sinking into the green armchair, I put the receiver to my ear. “Mama, Mama, what’s wrong?”
“Sarah, I didn’t mean to scare you. Robin’s awake!”
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“How … how did it happen?”
“I was reading a Billy and Blaze book to her, and when I got to the part about Billy getting a pony for his birthday, she opened her eyes! It was as simple as that.” Some of the excitement left Mama’s voice. “The doctors are examining her now.”
The change in Mama’s tone made me cautious. “Why are they examining her?”
The silence on the other end of the line lengthened. “They’re checking for brain damage,” Mama said. “But there’s no need to borrow trouble. She’s awake. Let’s focus on that.”
But I couldn’t just focus on that. Brain damage could be almost as bad as dying! I handed the phone back to Granny. I ran out the back door and climbed my favorite oak tree. I found the spot where three branches met and cuddled up there. Tears nearly blinded me. There was only one thing left to do. I would become such a perfect big sister that I would make up for the accident. I started keeping a list inside my head. I’d read to Robin, tell her stories, play with her, and protect her from bullies. Maybe if I was absolutely perfect, it would make up for what happened. Maybe nobody would ever have to know the real truth.
Later that afternoon, Dad showed up for a visit. “Now that Robin’s doing a little better, I wanted to see my other best girl. It’s been a tough week for all of us.”
He gave me a little smile, and that eased the sick feeling in my stomach.
“Sit, sit,” Granny said. “How about a plate of stewed potatoes and some hot biscuits? Sarah’s turning into a first-rate cook.”
“That sure sounds good,” Dad said. “I haven’t had much of an appetite, but now that Robin’s awake, I’m nearly starved.”
“How is she?” I asked.
“Pretty good,” Dad said. “She doesn’t seem to remember the accident at all, but she knows her name, told the doctor she’s six years old and that her favorite TV show is Gunsmoke.”
If Robin didn’t remember the accident, then she couldn’t tell about me not paying attention. But why couldn’t she remember? That bothered me a whole lot.
Dad attacked his potatoes like he’d been through one of Pharaoh’s famines in the Bible. He even wiped his plate clean with a biscuit. “How about seconds?” he asked.
Granny refilled his plate, and he shoveled that down too.
I waited until Dad had pushed his chair back from the table. “How about Robin’s leg?” I asked.
Dad’s shoulders slumped.
Answer me, I thought. Just tell me the truth.
Instead, he looked up at Granny. “Maybe I should take Sarah Beth for a walk.”
I followed Dad on the rocky path toward the tobacco barns. He had his head down and his hands jammed into his pockets. “Hey, daddy long legs,” I called. Robin and me had nicknamed him cause he walked too fast for us to keep up.
He slowed down. “Sorry. I do my best thinking when I’m moving.”
Finally, Dad stopped in front of Uncle John’s house. It had been empty ever since he died. Dad sat down on the porch steps. He motioned for me to sit down too. “Nobody knows for sure about Robin’s leg. The doctors say it’s a blessing that she’s so young. Young bones heal better than old ones.”
“That’s good news,” I said.
Dad nodded. “But here’s the tough part. She’s gonna be in the hospital for several weeks and, when she gets out, she’ll be coming home in a body cast. Do you know what that means?”
I shook my head.
“Robin will be flat on her back. One of us will have to feed her. She’ll have to use a bedpan. She’ll be about as helpless as a newborn baby.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. “Robin likes to run and jump and climb.”
“I know,” Dad said. “That’s why this will be a hard summer for her.” He raked his hands through his Elvis Presley hair. “Once her cast comes off, she’ll have to go back to the hospital for physical therapy. She’ll probably walk with crutches for a while. Maybe even have a brace and special shoes.”
I didn’t say it out loud, but I worried other kids would make fun of a brace and special shoes. Thinking about that made me want to hit somebody.
“We’re gonna be faced with a lot of medical bills,” Dad said. “That’s why your mama and I think we need to sell our house in town.”
“Are you kidding?”
Dad shook his head no.
I couldn’t believe what he had just said. “But it’s our home. Where would we live?”
“Here,” Dad said, gesturing toward the rundown house. “We have a mortgage in town, but Grandpa inherited this place. He’s willing to let us live here for free.”
I didn’t want to move to the farm. I didn’t want to be the new kid in school and live far away from the library and the town pool. I didn’t want to give up my lavender library. “Do we have to?” I asked.
“I don’t see any other way,” Dad said. “Sarah Beth, I’m as sorry as I can be about all of this.”
That made two of us.
Granny was waiting for me in the kitchen. “How did the talk with your daddy go?”
I shrugged.
“I know moving will be hard,” Granny said.
I didn’t want to talk about moving. I wanted to pretend it wouldn’t happen. I pointed to the mixer, box of cocoa, and other stuff lined up on the counter. “What are you making?”
Granny smiled. “I thought I’d teach you to make a chocolate pound cake. We can take it to the hospital and pay Robin a visit. What do you think about having a little party to celebrate her waking up?”
For the first time all day, I smiled too.
Grandpa circled the parking lot, but there were no empty spots near the hospital entrance.
&nbs
p; “Please hurry up!” I begged.
“Just be patient a little longer,” Grandpa said. “You know I have to park near the front door so your granny won’t have far to walk.”
We made a second loop around the lot, and finally on the third time found a parking space.
As soon as Grandpa turned off the ignition, I scrambled out of the truck and raced through the parking lot.
“Slow down,” Granny called. “You’re walking too fast for my bad leg.”
I tapped my foot on the pavement until they caught up.
Once inside, Granny stopped by the front desk to check the room number. Now that Robin was awake, the doctors had moved her to the third floor.
The elevator moved slow, slower than molasses stuck to the jar and only coming out in a trickle. When it finally stopped on the third floor, I pushed past the pokey nurses and headed down the hall.
“Be careful with the cake,” Granny ordered.
I stood outside Robin’s door with my heart slamming against my chest. It bothered me that she couldn’t remember the accident. I had to see for myself that being in a coma hadn’t changed her. That she still remembered me.
After all my hurrying, I couldn’t make myself knock on the door. Granny did it for me.
Mama answered. “Come in! We’ve been waiting for you.”
I handed the cake box to her and shot past the pile of stuffed animals and balloons straight over to Robin. Her bandaged leg still hung from a sling. The rails around her bed were like the bars on a jail cell.
Mama said in a matter-of-fact voice, “Being in traction will stretch Robin’s muscles and tendons to help her heal.”
“Can I hug her?” I wanted to be sure it was okay.
Robin held up her arms and I bent down. I closed my eyes and felt her soft skin. I took a deep breath, sucking in the smells of soap and baby lotion.
I would probably have hugged her forever, but she started to squirm. “Did you see all my presents?”
Her room looked like a Western toy store. It was filled with cowboy stuff, horse books, puzzles, stuffed horses, model horses, a wooden stable, even a pair of chaps.
Ruby Lee and Me Page 3