Hope Girl

by Wendy Dunham

  First Hannah yells, “Can someone pass the bread?”

  “And send the milk this way,” says Nathan.

  Bethany hollers, “And don’t forget the cups.”

  Then Daniel stands up and looks around. “I can’t believe this! Why are we the only ones without meatballs? It’s not fair!”

  While everyone yells and passes things, Myrtle picks up one of her meatballs and gives it to Forrest. No one realizes this but me. I hold my breath.

  Forrest takes the meatball and smiles. Then he looks at Uncle Henry and shouts, “Catch, Dada!” The meatball soars diagonally across the table, hitting Uncle Henry right between his eyebrows.

  The entire dining hall falls silent—except for Myrtle, who’s laughing so hard that milk squirts out her nose.

  Later that afternoon when the little Whippoorwills take naps, I take a walk. I think about going to the birding place, but I don’t want to go alone. I’m not sure where to go, so I kick a stone down Meadowlark Lane and enjoy the warm sun on my shoulders. When I reach the end, I know where to go. I turn onto Main Street and walk a mile or so to Dad’s studio.

  Since everything inside is dusty, I decide to clean. I sweep all the rooms and open the windows.

  After I sweep, I find more cleaning supplies—a bucket, mop, and window cleaner. But there’s no paper towels. I remember helping Gram wash windows when I was little. We used newspapers instead of paper towels because they don’t leave streaks. And since there’s a box of old newspapers by the fireplace, I have everything I need.

  Once the living room windows are clean, the sun shines in, making the whole room glow like a field of golden dandelions.

  Next I wash Dad’s office windows. I’m glad there’s a desk because Dad will need it for his business. I set my supplies on it. That’s when I notice an orange piece of paper tucked under the lamp. I pull it out. It’s Dad’s handwriting.

  M

  691-375-2727

  731 Swift Road South

  Sparrow Harbor, West Virginia

  I realize two things. This address is just fifty miles north of Birdsong, and it can only belong to one person—Maggie, my mom.

  I sit at the desk, pick up the phone, and dial zero. The operator answers, “Good afternoon, may I help you?”

  My heart’s beating so loud I can hardly hear myself talk. “I’d like to make a long distance phone call to 691-375-2727.”

  “One moment please.” Soon a phone rings. A woman answers, “Cassandra residence, Margaret speaking. May I ask who is calling?”

  Words stumble from my mouth, “Mom? This is River.” I wait for a happy shout like “Oh my goodness, I remember!” or “I can’t wait to see you,” or something, but there’s only silence. “Mom?”

  There’s a click and then a dial tone. We must have got cut off.

  I call the operator and she redials. The phone rings once. No one says hello, but I hear breathing. “Mom? Are you there?”

  Click.

  I tell myself it’s okay, then copy her address on a piece of paper and tuck it in my pocket. Now I don’t want to clean. I put the newspapers back by the fireplace and look through the rest of them. Most of them are old, but off to the side is a new one, The Birdsong Times, dated Monday, May 9, 1983. Only two months ago. I read the headline “Birdsong Memorial Hospital Welcomes Rosa Amaranta.” The article goes on to say that she’s a “recipient of numerous awards for excellence in nursing.” There’s a picture of Rosa with a kid who looks sort of weird—it’s hard to tell, but his skin looks almost twisted. He must be her patient. I keep reading: “Rosa Amaranta accepts head nurse position on the intensive care unit, where she’ll begin employment in early June. Rosa states, ‘I’m looking forward to working and living in a small town. After everything Carlos and I have been through over the past year and a half, this is the new start we’ve been hoping for.’ Rosa brings her thirteen-year-old son, Carlos, also shown in the photo, with her.”

  Her son? Rosa never said she had a son. Then off to the side of the article, written in pencil, is another phone number, 816-4723. It’s Dad’s handwriting again. I carry The Birdsong Times to the phone and dial the number.

  A guy answers, “Amaranta’s. This is Carlos.”

  I hang up. It doesn’t make sense. Why would Dad have Rosa’s number?

  14

  S Is for Spine

  At seven o’clock Monday morning, Rosa pulls into the Whippoorwills’ driveway. I hurry and say goodbye to Aunt Elizabeth. “You know I could come to your appointment with you,” she says. “Nathan can watch the little ones.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say. “Rosa will be there.” I smile and give her a hug so she won’t feel bad. She has enough to worry about.

  I run out the door and hop in the passenger’s seat. “Thanks for picking me up, Rosa.”

  “My pleasure,” she says and heads toward Birdsong Memorial Hospital.

  When we arrive, Rosa gives me my uniform. Even with my uneven shoulders and hips, it fits me perfect. I wouldn’t have picked pink, but that’s the color volunteers wear. My name’s even on it. I take one last look in the mirror and smile. I can’t wait to show Mom.

  Next Rosa introduces me to Ms. Ruddy, the activity therapist. She’s in charge of volunteers. I spend the first part of the morning helping her prepare for bingo.

  “Will my grandmother be playing?” I ask.

  Ms. Ruddy looks surprised. “I didn’t realize you had a grandmother on the unit. But, yes, all residents play bingo. It’s part of their rehabilitation experience.”

  After bingo, Rosa comes to get me. “How was your morning?”

  “Incredible.” I say. “I helped Ms. Ruddy with bingo, and Gram and Myrtle played. They’re like best friends now.”

  “Then it sounds like you’ll be back tomorrow?”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Rosa checks her watch. “We have twenty-five minutes before your appointment with Dr. Crane. Just enough time for a bite to eat.”

  Rosa treats me to lunch at the hospital’s cafeteria. I must have been hungry because I’m done when Rosa’s only half finished with her cheeseburger.

  I snitch one of her fries.

  Then with her mouth half full, she says, “Did I ever tell you I have a son?”

  I’m not sure what to say. Do I act surprised like I have no idea? Or do I say I read the article about them and ask what happened?

  Before I have a chance to decide, Rosa checks the time again. “Oh my! We only have three minutes to get to Dr. Crane’s office.”

  Rosa grabs my hand, and we race down the hall to the next building where Dr. Crane’s office is. We get there just as a nurse pokes her head in the waiting room, looks around, and says, “River Starling?”

  I walk toward her, but Rosa doesn’t move. “Rosa, aren’t you coming?”

  “I can,” she says. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to go in.”

  I grab her hand and pull.

  The nurse measures my height: fifty-nine inches. She weighs me: ninety-one pounds. She checks my blood pressure: perfect. My heart rate: perfect. Then she gives me a hospital gown to put on: not perfect.

  She tells me to take everything off except my undergarments and put the gown on so it ties in the back. Rosa steps out of the room, giving me privacy. I finish tying it just as Dr. Crane walks in. Rosa follows behind him.

  “Hello, River,” he says. “I’m Dr. Crane.” He sits on a wheeled stool, scoots behind me, and unties my gown (a heads-up would’ve been nice). “Okay, River, bend forward toward your toes. Let your arms dangle in front.” So I do. “Hmmm,” he says, “looks like you’ve got quite a curve. Okay, stand up.”

  As I retie my gown, I tell Dr. Crane, “Last April my school nurse checked my back, and she said it was fine.”

  Dr. Crane rubs his chin. “Three months… that means you’ve gained a significant curve in a short amount of time.” He raises his eyebrows at Rosa. “Tell you what, River. I’m going to send you down the hall to get an X
-ray. Then we’ll talk.”

  Rosa and I leave for the X-ray department. I try pulling my gown to my knees, but it doesn’t reach. “I feel weird walking down the hall in this stupid gown.”

  Rosa smiles. “I know. Just try thinking of it as a little sundress.”

  Little, I think, is the key word. Not to mention ugly. I better not see anyone.

  The X-ray technician explains everything. Basically all I have to do is stand completely still while she takes pictures with the X-ray machine. She takes one from the front, then the side, and I’m done. I didn’t have to smile (I wouldn’t have, anyway).

  After the X-rays develop, we bring them back to Dr. Crane. Since they’re big, I insist on carrying them (if I see someone, at least I’ve got something to hide behind).

  Dr. Crane slides my X-rays onto a light board. I’ve seen pictures of skeletons before but not my own. It’s weird seeing what you look like beneath your skin.

  Even if Dr. Crane didn’t point it out, I can clearly see how crooked my spine is. It looks like the letter S. And Gram was right—one hip and shoulder is higher than the other. How could I not have noticed?

  Dr. Crane uses a special ruler on the X-rays to measure my curves. When he’s done, he sits on his stool. “River, when will your father be back in town?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Rosa interrupts. “Actually, later this evening.”

  “Hmmm,” he says. “River, go ahead and get dressed. Rosa and I will step outside.” They leave the room, closing the door all but a crack.

  As I yank off the stupid gown and throw my clothes on, I overhear Dr. Crane. “If her spine was straight three months ago, her scoliosis progressed rapidly. Normally at a patient’s first appointment, I don’t suggest bracing. I have them return in a month and reassess the situation. But in River’s case, I wouldn’t wait. I don’t want her curves progressing to the point of needing surgery.” Dr. Crane clears his throat. “I’ll talk with her father tomorrow.”

  They come back as I slip my last sneaker on.

  After my appointment, Rosa drives me to the Whippoorwills’. We’re both quiet. I feel like I should talk and ask about Carlos, but I don’t. My head’s too crowded with stuff to worry about.

  Rosa opens her window, letting hot muggy air blow through the car. “Are you doing okay, River?” she says. When I don’t answer, she turns toward me. “I’m pretty sure if I were in your shoes, I’d feel scared.”

  I stare out the window. “I’m not.”

  “No?” She says, sounding surprised.

  “No,” I say again, feeling guilty for lying. “I’m sure my back isn’t as bad as Dr. Crane thinks. Besides, my dad won’t want me wearing a brace, anyway.”

  Rosa nods. “I’d probably wish that too. But I want you to know Dr. Crane is a good doctor.”

  We drive again without talking.

  Rosa adjusts her mirror. “Did I mention I have a son about your age?”

  “You said you have a son, but that’s all.”

  “His name’s Carlos,” she says. “An amazing kid, and almost fourteen. He’ll probably be in your classes come September.”

  “He’s a year older, so I doubt it. I’ll only be in eighth.”

  “Same as Carlos since he missed a year.”

  “Did that bother him?”

  “Not really,” she says. “He had bigger things to deal with at the time. Now he’s just glad to be in school again.”

  “What happened?”

  Rosa takes a deep breath. “He was severely burned in a scouting accident—it’s a miracle he’s alive. He got trapped in a tent fire and was burnt from head to toe. He spent months in the hospital having surgeries for skin grafts and going through therapy. He had to relearn some of the most basic things like how to walk, get dressed, even feed himself. And because the scars completely changed his appearance, he needed counseling. He doesn’t look like the Carlos we knew… more like a creature from another planet. But under that twisted, blotchy skin is the same Carlos. Unfortunately most people have a hard time looking beneath it.”

  I can’t think of anything to say except, “Maybe I could meet him sometime.”

  Rosa smiles. “I think he’d like that.”

  We reach the Whippoorwills’, and Rosa shuts off her car. She comes in to talk with Uncle Henry and Aunt Elizabeth, but I go right to Billy’s room and flop on his bed. Zoey rubs against me, her way of saying she’s glad to see me.

  I hear Rosa repeat everything Dr. Crane said, so I put Billy’s pillow over my head. I don’t want to hear it again. I close my eyes and fall asleep with Zoey.

  By the time I wake up, it’s completely dark. I must have slept through supper. And the house is quiet, so the Little Whippoorwills must already be in bed. Then I hear voices. It’s hard to tell who it is since they’re whispering. I hold still and listen. Sounds like Uncle Henry, Aunt Elizabeth—and Dad. I jump out of bed and hurry downstairs. I turn into the kitchen, and he’s there with my aunt and uncle and Rosa. Why is she here again?

  I hurry to Dad and wrap my arms around him. “You’re home!”

  He stands and wraps me in a hug. “I couldn’t get back fast enough.”

  Aunt Elizabeth pulls out a chair for me. “I saved your supper,” she says, setting a plate in front of me.

  Dad squeezes my shoulder. “Sounds like you’ve had quite a time. Rosa said you’re volunteering and told me about your doctor’s appointment.”

  “Everything I was going to tell you.” I move the meatloaf and mashed potatoes around my plate, making it look like I ate some. “Anyway,” I tell Dad, “my doctor’s appointment wasn’t a big deal.”

  He raises his eyebrow. “Not from what I hear. In fact, I’m meeting with Dr. Crane tomorrow morning. You’re welcome to come, or you can volunteer as you planned.”

  “I’ll volunteer.”

  He gives me a wink.

  When Rosa leaves, everyone goes to bed. Dad’s exhausted from driving all day, so instead of going back to Gram’s house, he’ll sleep on the couch and I’ll sleep in Billy’s room again.

  I sit on Billy’s bed and write in my diary.

  Monday July 11, 1983

  Dear Diary:

  Today started out good (my first day of volunteering) and ended with something not good (my appointment with Dr. Crane).

  At least I found out more about Carlos. And after hearing what he’s been through, my problems don’t seem so big. Rosa said most people have trouble looking beneath his skin … I don’t want to be like them. Today when I saw my X-ray, I saw beneath mine—it wasn’t hard to do.

  Signed,

  River

  15

  Secrets

  On Tuesday morning, Ms. Ruddy’s already bustling around the activity room. “Good morning, River,” she says. “Just as Mondays are bingo days, Tuesdays are paint-by-number days.” She hands me a box of paint-by-number kits to put around the table. Each kit is different. When the residents arrive, they pick the one they like. Gram tries trading for the only unicorn but gets stuck with a polka-dotted mushroom (and she’s not happy about it).

  I walk around the table helping residents open their paints, read the numbers, and clean any spills.

  Next thing I know, Ms. Ruddy pulls me aside. “Maybe you can talk some sense into that Mrs. Nuthatch—she won’t listen to a word I say. She won’t match her paint to the corresponding number, she’s complaining about the polka-dotted mushroom, and now she’s using her paints to give Myrtle a pedicure. I didn’t expect she’d be so difficult (apparently Ms. Ruddy still hasn’t realized that difficult resident, Mrs. Nuthatch, is my grandmother).

  I walk over to Gram. Sure enough, she’s painting Myrtle’s toenails bright yellow number six, the color meant for the mushroom’s polka-dots. “Gram, what are you doing?”

  “What does it look like, Sugar Pie? I’m giving Myrtle a pedicure. At least it’s therapeutic—a lady needs to feel good about her feet.”

  “But, Gram, that’s not what you�
��re supposed to be doing.”

  “Oh, fiddlesticks, Sugar Pie. Painting a polka-dotted mushroom ain’t therapeutic, and I’m not gonna pretend like it is!”

  Just then Dad pokes his head in the room. When Gram sees him she shouts, “Well, if it ain’t Blue Jay.”

  Ms. Ruddy says to Gram, “Is that man a relative?”

  Gram answers, “Why he’s the son I’ve always dreamt of.”

  Then Dad steps in, shakes Ms. Ruddy’s hand, and tells her, “I’m Jay Whippoorwill, River’s father.”

  Well, Ms. Ruddy’s face turns bright red number twelve (and if I’m not mistaken, it looks as if she’d like to crawl under the activities table and hide), but she turns to me and says, “That means… ”

  I finish her sentence, “Mrs. Nuthatch is my grandmother.”

  Ms. Ruddy covers her mouth. “Oh my!”

  Dad says to her, “May I speak with River for a moment?”

  “Go right ahead, sir.”

  I step outside the activity room with Dad. “River,” he says, “I just met with Dr. Crane. After weighing the options, I agree with his recommendation.”

  My heart sinks. “But, Dad, look what happened with Gram. Everyone thought she was going to die, but she didn’t. So if we wait to see what happens, I won’t need a brace.”

  Dad takes a deep breath. “I wish it were that simple.” He puts his arm around me. “Dr. Crane arranged a brace fitting for you in fifteen minutes. He’d like you in a brace as soon as possible.”

  I want to scream and yell and punch something, but I can’t because it takes all my strength to keep from crying.

  Dad rubs my head. “Tell your grandmother and Ms. Ruddy that you need to leave.”

  All of a sudden without thinking, I scream at him, “You can’t make me get a brace! You hardly know me! Gram raised me, so she should make the decision. And she won’t make me!”

  By this time Gram has wheeled her way over to us. “Everything all right, Sugar Pie?”