The Girl with More Than One Heart

by Geringer Bass, Laura;

  “Where’s Mom?” I asked.

  “She called me before I left the house. She said I didn’t need to pick her up.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” said Grandpa Ben. “She’ll be here.”

  “There’s Rebecca,” said Aaron. I whirled around. Peter had walked in with Rebecca, Petra, and Sarah M., flanked by Sarah M.’s parents. His blue eyes scanned the room. I hid behind Grandpa Ben.

  Sarah M. had her hair drawn back in a high ponytail that showed she had three beauty marks on her neck, perfectly placed like stars in a constellation. She was wearing leggings and a white zippered jacket. Peter smiled at me and waved. My hand rose automatically, then dropped to my side. Aaron galloped over to Rebecca. Peter gave Aaron a high five. I turned my back on him.

  “Better find myself a chair,” said Grandpa Ben. “I’m too old to park on those pillows.”

  “The chairs are over there, Grandpa,” I said.

  “Let’s save a seat for your mother,” he said, following my lead to the area farthest from Peter.

  Didi appeared onstage and clapped her hands for attention. She had braided her hair into a vertical wand, pointing straight up. Strings of colorful beads kept it stiff all the way to the top, where the ends splayed out. It made her head look like the bulging root of a palm tree. “Welcome parents, grandparents, siblings, and guests,” said Didi. “The children have worked hard, and we want to give them each enough time to show you what they’ve done. So please, hold your applause until the end when they take their bows.” She raised her arm in the air to signal the start of the show. Grandpa Ben looked toward the door.

  “She’s not coming,” I whispered.

  “She’s here,” he said. I turned.

  Mom came in through the back door, her face flushed, her blouse rumpled. Her black sweater dragged to one side. Her hair stuck out in clumps. She tiptoed in noisily, clutching a dozen red roses. I tried to catch her eye.

  This mother wasn’t the one who had waited up for me last night. This was the other mother—the one who didn’t get out of bed, the one who shut herself in her room all day and never left the house, the one Tina and Reena had seen after the funeral. The crazy one.

  She sat down in an empty seat near the exit, supporting the flowers between her knees. I sat up tall, then half stood. I signaled Mom to come sit with me. That’s when I saw them. Mom’s blue satin bedroom slippers. They poked out from beneath her skirt, gleaming like two mad eyes.

  HOME

  Aaron swelled to twice his size onstage. He milked laughs, pretending to swoon with love for his statues, especially his masterpiece—the one played by Petra. He knelt before her, clasping his hands together with a ridiculous grin on his face, praying to Aphrodite to bring her to life. He sang the solo Rebecca had written for him without a hitch:

  I love my statues.

  Hello, everybody, hello.

  I love my statues.

  They don’t think I’m slow.

  They love their sculptor—

  Can’t you see?

  That I love them

  And they love me.

  Grandpa Ben leaned over with tears in his eyes and whispered, “Look at that! He’s a natural.”

  When Rebecca in her Aphrodite costume came dancing in, Aaron pretended to be knocked out cold by her beauty. She was dressed in gauzy ruffles, with a golden heart glued to her chest. Rolling back and forth, Aaron did a backward somersault before stretching out flat on his back in a mock coma.

  It brought the house down. The audience cheered, breaking Didi’s rule. Aaron didn’t bat an eye or crack a smile or come out of character for one second. He lay stiff as a board playing dead, his face so pale it looked blue.

  I snuck a look back at Mom. She had gone rigid, sitting up tall and staring at my corpse-like brother. She held one hand over her heart. She met my eyes with a tragic look and began to weep, trying to muffle the rasping sound with her hand. I prayed the general noise would cover Mom’s. I saw Sarah M. nudge Peter.

  Mom covered her face with her hands. Sarah M.’s mother and some of the other parents were staring now. Mom was making a spectacle of herself. Not here, not here, I prayed. Grandpa Ben half rose from his seat.

  “Does she think he’s dead? What should we do?” I whispered.

  Crouching and clutching her flowers in front of her, Mom backed out of the room like a soldier retreating from the line of fire. With an agonized glance over her shoulder at me, she fled. Grandpa Ben sat back down and put a hand on my knee. “Let her go. For now,” he said.

  Let go, said my Dad heart.

  “She’s crazy!” I whispered, trembling.

  “She knows he’s okay,” said Grandpa Ben, patting me on the back as if I had the hiccups. “It’s just seeing him look dead that made her cry. She’ll be back, you’ll see.”

  I was sick of Grandpa Ben pretending everything was okay. I crossed my arms over my chest and hunched myself into a ball, slumping down as far as I could in my seat. My belly hurt.

  “She won’t. You know she won’t,” I said.

  I watched all the mothers and fathers rush up to their children as soon as the show was over. Some of the parents hugged Didi.

  “Where is she?” Aaron demanded. His chin jutted out. His voice was pinched.

  “She had to go home,” said Grandpa Ben.

  “Why?”

  “She got frightened when you got knocked out,” I said.

  “That’s dumb. I was acting,” he said.

  “I know, Aaron.”

  His face crumpled. He fell into a heap on the floor.

  “She missed the whole thing!” he cried. He held his stomach as if someone had punched him. Then, rolling back and forth, he started to cry. Rebecca and Petra watched.

  I saw Peter shouldering his way toward us. “Hey, man,” he said to Aaron when he got close. “Take it easy. You were great. You rocked.”

  Aaron reached up and ripped the golden papier-mâché heart off of Rebecca’s goddess costume. He smashed it, then smashed it again, staring straight ahead as if no one else was there.

  “Don’t!” said Rebecca.

  “Don’t!” Petra echoed, hiding behind Rebecca as if Aaron were a dog that might bite her. “That’s Rebecca’s heart.”

  “Aaron, you were so good up there. Don’t spoil it,” I begged. Aaron smashed the heart into painted shards of dried glue and newsprint.

  “Bad boy,” said Petra from her place of safety behind her friend. Peter chose that moment to hand Rebecca a bouquet of lilacs.

  “Mom has flowers for you, too, Aaron,” I said, not looking at Peter. “At home. Let’s go home.”

  The word hung in the air. Home. Was that where our crazy mother lived? Was it somewhere we would find when we moved? Or was it what we used to have when Dad was alive and would never have again?

  “Home, home, home,” Aaron echoed, and instead of Rebecca’s golden heart, he began to hit his head on the floor, his hands flapping, his legs thrashing. Sarah M. and her parents came toward us. Clumsily, Grandpa Ben knelt down and supported Aaron’s head in his large hands. Aaron looked at him wild-eyed, as if he didn’t recognize him. He let out a piercing scream. Didi ran over.

  Aaron kicked Grandpa Ben’s leg. I watched Grandpa’s face turn white. His hands, still protecting Aaron’s head, shook. He looked like he might fall over. I grabbed Grandpa Ben’s arm. Aaron sat up, still wailing. I led Grandpa Ben to a chair. Gratefully, he sank into it. “I have to sit this dance out,” he gasped. What was it like to be old and to know that your daughter was crazy and that your grandson was crazy, too? I thought of my wish in the park the other day. It had come true. Grandpa Ben was finally seeing Aaron at his worst.

  I left Grandpa Ben and ran back to Aaron. He had moved into a full-scale Rock Face tantrum. Didi hovered over him, trying to get his attention. Her voice had turned steely. Sarah M.’s parents and the others stood about, watching. Petra cowered.

  “Let’s go,” sai
d Sarah M. to her sister. Petra shook her head, pressing close to Rebecca.

  “Rebecca, you come, too,” said Sarah M. “It’s time to go.” Was Peter going to walk off with Sarah M.? Sarah tugged on Peter’s hand. “Let’s go,” she repeated. “My parents are taking us all to lunch.”

  “You kicked Grandpa,” I said to Aaron. “You hurt him. You can’t kick Grandpa. You have to stop now. Aaron, do you hear me? You have to stop.”

  Aaron’s eyes widened. He quieted and stared at me. He was panting. “I hurt Grandpa?” he asked. He looked around, taking in the circle of spectators, and reddened.

  “You kicked him. You hurt him. He’s over there. Get up and say you’re sorry,” I said.

  Aaron blinked. He stayed on the floor.

  “Move!” I said. My voice didn’t sound like mine. It sounded like Dad in the storm Before Aaron. It sounded like Dad when he saved Aaron from getting run over on the way to school. It sounded like Dad when he pushed me out of hiding that day I asked Mom if she would ever go outside again. It sounded like Dad when I wanted to hide from Tina in the bathroom and he told me to be my own. It sounded like my Dad heart.

  Slowly, Aaron stood up and walked over to Grandpa Ben, head hanging low.

  Grandpa Ben’s lips were white, his face drained of color. He lifted Aaron’s chin with one finger. “I’m sorry, Grandpa,” said Aaron tearfully. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  Grandpa Ben nodded. “I’ll live,” he said. “Just don’t do it again. And say you’re sorry to Rebecca.”

  Aaron turned to Rebecca. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

  “Rebecca,” said Peter. “Say goodbye to Petra. We’ll walk Aaron home with Briana.”

  “You’re not coming with us?” asked Sarah M. “My parents made a reservation at Buster’s.”

  Peter looked at me. I shrugged, keeping my face blank. If he went with Sarah M. now, I would never forgive him. Ever. “Thanks, go ahead,” he said. “I’ll stay awhile.”

  Sarah M. grabbed Petra’s hand, glaring at Peter. “Why?” she asked. “The freak show is over.” Stiffly, she walked away.

  Peter touched my shoulder. He put one arm around me and gave me an awkward half hug. I pulled away and met Peter’s blue eyes for the first time that morning.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  MAN of the HOUSE

  Grandpa Ben walked slowly home with Aaron on one side and Rebecca on the other. They each held one of Grandpa’s hands and took careful steps. Grandpa Ben was limping. Peter and I trailed behind.

  I tried to feel bad for Grandpa Ben. I couldn’t. Now he sees. Now he knows, I thought. He couldn’t go on pretending Aaron was such a sweetheart.

  “We’re caterpillars,” said Aaron.

  “We’re inchworms,” said Rebecca.

  “We’re slowpokes,” said Grandpa Ben gruffly, “but you’ll be slowpokes, too, when you’re my age.”

  I let them get far ahead. If Grandpa Ben was going to try to save the day by telling Aaron some story, like about the Golden Navel, I didn’t want to hear it. Peter had his arm around me as we walked. We bumped against each other, weaving down the street. Peter was so tall he had to slump a little, and I had to stretch up as if there were books balanced on my head.

  We crossed the wide street by the school and headed uptown, past the sandwich shop, past the newsstand. Had Peter come with me because he felt sorry for me or because he liked me better than Sarah M.?

  “Do you think our family is a freak show?” I asked.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it. “I think every family is a freak show,” he said, “once you see it up close.” Was he defending Sarah M.?

  “I thought you hated secrets,” I said. “You never told me you were going to Reena’s party.”

  He blushed. “I’m sorry. It was a bust.”

  Grandpa Ben crossed the street and turned into the entrance to the park up ahead. Aaron and Rebecca were skipping now, hand in hand. The path through the park would get them home faster. I was in no hurry to get home. I breathed in the earthy smell of fallen leaves, piled on both sides of the street. I listened to Peter breathe. What if I stretched up just a little farther and brushed his cheek with mine . . . and kissed him?

  “You’ve been to Reena’s house,” he said. I nodded. We were passing the candy store, but neither of us suggested stopping. “She’s not allowed to mess anything up. I feel sorry for her. At the party, we had to keep everything super neat. It was weird.”

  Why did he feel sorry for Reena? Reena’s mother wasn’t crazy. Reena’s mother didn’t sleep and cry all the time. Reena’s mother didn’t wear blue slippers to Parents’ Day.

  I had hoped that by doing everything right, by following Mom’s rules, all her instructions, I would get my real mother back. On the night of Reena’s party, I thought maybe my real mom had returned. I had made a mistake. My real mother was never coming back. I was left with this crazy one in her place. Don’t leave home if you have a crazy mother. I wouldn’t leave. I wouldn’t move. Mom could move. “She can move, I don’t care,” I blurted out.

  “Who, Reena?” asked Peter, confused.

  We were passing the blood bank now. I walked faster, glad I didn’t live on that creepy block in the row of redbrick buildings with ugly black fire escapes, all cramped together. My own block was much nicer. Suppose Mom decided to move to the blood bank block? “She can move and leave us,” I said, charging forward. “Aaron and I don’t need her. We’re all alone now. It’s not like she really takes care of us.”

  “Your mother?” asked Peter, speeding up, too.

  “I wish if one of my parents had to die, it had been her,” I rushed on, ignoring Peter’s confusion. “It’s like she’s playing dead.” I stopped. We were almost home now.

  “I don’t think she’s playing,” said Peter softly.

  There were two entrances to my apartment, one from the street and one through a little garden with a weeping willow tree and flowers. I chose the garden. We stopped and stood under the tree. Its leaves had turned yellow and had fallen on the tiny patch of grass beneath it. I couldn’t remember a time when that willow hadn’t been there.

  I dragged my foot back and forth through the fallen leaves, raising a damp smell of rot. A worm wriggled out from under my heel, escaping into the weeds.

  “In Egypt,” I said, “there’s a City of the Dead.”

  “You mean the pyramids?” asked Peter. “The mummies?”

  “No, it’s a graveyard. In Cairo. Wives live there with their dead husbands for forty days. I read about it.”

  “What happens after that?” Peter asked.

  “They go home.”

  Peter studied me. “What if they don’t?”

  “That’s the thing. Some wives stay. Their families move in. Parents. Grandparents. Babies. There’s electricity and running water. Weird, right?”

  It had almost been ninety days since my father died. Maybe Mom would wake up soon and be my old mom again, the Clothespin Angel Mom. Maybe not.

  “You’re lucky you’re moving,” said Peter.

  “Yeah, I’m so lucky,” I said bitterly.

  “No, really,” said Peter. “Sometimes . . .” He hesitated. “Sometimes I think I’m living in the City of the Dead with my mom.” His voice sounded thick. “Even though my dad didn’t die.” He looked away.

  It dawned on me then that Peter’s mother hadn’t come to Parents’ Day to see Rebecca be a goddess. Peter had never expected her to be there. His dad had left so long ago, I thought Peter was used to it. He was the man of the house. He had been the man of the house since third grade.

  Shyly, I touched Peter’s hand.

  He pulled away, leaping up the single step to my front door.

  BLUE SEA

  “Dear Aaron,” read Grandpa Ben, “the daisies are for you. Bravo, sweetheart. I love you, Mom.” The note was propped up on the kitchen table between a vase full of Mom’s roses and a flowerpot decorated with butterfly stickers full
of frosted cookies shaped like daisies on sticks. Mom must have started baking after I went to sleep last night. Maybe she had stayed up all night.

  “Doesn’t she want to come out and have cookies with us?” asked Aaron.

  Grandpa Ben shook his head. “She’s resting,” he said. “The cookies are all for you,” I said. “And Rebecca,” I added.

  Aaron grinned and rubbed his belly like a cartoon character, but his eyes gave him away. In spite of the grin, he looked sad.

  Grandpa Ben swayed on his feet. He rested his hand on the refrigerator door. He rubbed his leg. It was Grandpa who needed to rest. Not Mom.

  “Why don’t you go home, Grandpa?” I said. “We’ll be okay.”

  Grandpa Ben kissed me on the cheek. “You’re a good sister,” he said. “The best.”

  Now he understood. I had gotten my wish. He had seen Aaron at his worst. “Tell Mom that,” I said.

  “She knows, honey. Believe me, she knows. You’re a good girl. What would we do without you?”

  I wasn’t that good. He didn’t know about my wish. It was my fault his leg hurt.

  Grandpa Ben gave Aaron a bear hug. “Congratulations, Aaron,” he said. “You’re a star!”

  He patted Rebecca on the head and shook Peter’s hand. He fumbled with the lock on the front door for what seemed like forever, as if he had forgotten how locks worked. Finally, he let himself out.

  Aaron and Rebecca helped themselves to cookies. Peter scooped up two and offered me one. I shook my head. I hated Mom’s cookies. I wanted to crush every carefully baked doughy petal into dust.

  I looked toward the door of Mom’s room. It was shut tight. I wanted to kick it down.

  Just outside Mom’s door, a few steps from where I stood, sat the blue satin bedroom slippers, side by side. In the late-afternoon light slanting in from the kitchen window, they looked bleached, as if years had passed in a flash and they were still there, in the same place, faded with time. Nothing was going to change. Mom would be trapped forever in a pool of sorrow, sinking deeper and deeper into her sad brown eye. And I would be trapped with her.