When families from both wings started arriving, Ma had me change into my new clothes, which she’d starched to practically standin’ during one of her breaks. I was not looking forward to being boxed in by buttons and starch, but when Gloria saw me, I changed my mind.
“My, how handsome you look, dear!”
I could feel my cheeks get hot. “Thank you, ma’am.”
The caregivers had to wear their work shirts so folks would know who to ask if they needed help, and since Ma’s shift was extended to overlap with the night crew, there were Purple Shirts all over the place. Some were taking care of the oldies who were not coming to Thanksgiving, and the rest were working the feast.
“Where should I sit, Ma?” I whispered when I found her in the Activities Room. The place was buzzin’ with folks, and it felt like my first day at Thornhill, where everybody but me seemed to know somebody.
Ma looked around, sizing up the place. It was fillin’ in fast, and I could tell she hadn’t thought about where I’d be sitting until just now.
Then, coming up behind us from the East Wing, we heard singin’.
Loud, warbly singin’.
“The hills are alive with the sound of muuuusic…”
We turned around, and sure enough, it was Ruby Hobbs.
“Mother,” a lady beside her was saying, “we’ll sing after dinner, okay?”
“With songs they have sung for a thousand yeeeeears…”
“Mother, shh. We’ll sing after dinner.”
There was a man with them, and trailing behind the three grown-ups were a sour-faced girl and a boy.
A boy I knew from school.
My forehead went poppin’ with sweat, but before I could dive for cover, Isaac Monroe recognized me. His eyes went shifty—like he wanted to duck for cover, too.
Somehow Isaac’s ma picked up on the situation. “Do you two know each other?” she asked.
I was waiting for Isaac to say something, and I guess he was waiting on me, ’cause we were both standin’ there, dumbstruck, when Ruby went and shocked everybody. Not by strippin’, but by smiling right at me and saying, “This is Lincoln.”
The whole Monroe family was staring at me now, and I could see new questions springin’ up in their minds. So I dodged the new ones by answering the old one. “We go to the same school.”
I could see Mrs. Monroe’s mind clicking with connections. “This is your son, Maribelle?” she asked, smiling at Ma.
“He sure is,” Ma said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“It is such a pleasure to meet you,” Mrs. Monroe said, sizing me up from head to oversized shoes. “I see your mother every Tuesday and Friday morning when I visit.” She turned to Ma and smiled. “We’re like old friends by now, aren’t we, Maribelle?”
Ma gave her a smile back, but there was a twitchiness to it. Like her face had been starched to standing but could crumble any minute.
Mrs. Monroe had already turned to herd her kids forward. “This is Isaac,” she said, directin’ the introduction at Ma. “And this is Liza.”
“A pleasure to meet you both,” Ma said, soundin’ mighty proper. Then she saw that Ruby had started to droop, and she waved the family along, saying, “You should probably go find seats. We’re glad you all could make it!”
Mrs. Monroe had only gone a few steps when she turned back and said, “Are you here with other family?”
She was lookin’ straight at me, so I shook my head.
“Why don’t you come sit with us?” She smiled at Ma. “If that’s okay with your mother?”
“That’d be very nice,” Ma said, not even botherin’ to wonder what I thought of it. Not that I knew what I thought of it, but havin’ supper with a bunch of strangers was not my idea of a good time. Even if one of them went to my school.
“Come join us, Lincoln,” Mrs. Monroe said, and Ma pushed me along, whisperin’, “Mind your manners!”
Once we got settled at a table, Isaac’s ma was friendly, but Isaac was just quiet, and Liza was in a dark mood. Then their folks started talking to the folks taking chairs next to them, and the rest of us were left sittin’ around all awkward while Ruby spaced out.
“I can sit someplace else,” I finally said.
“No!” Isaac said, like his voice was tryin’ to stop something from falling.
“How does she know you?” Liza asked, sliding a look my way.
“Ruby?” It came blurting out before I had the good sense to stop it.
Liza looked at me like I’d stung her. “You call her by her first name?”
I started scooting back from the table. “I think I should probably go sit someplace else.”
“Sorry. Not your fault,” she said, stopping my chair. “Being here’s just painful. First I hated Saturdays. Now Thanksgiving, too.”
Isaac leaned across the table, whispering, “It’s not Thanksgiving, and she can’t help it.”
“Like I don’t know that?” Liza said, her words like spit on a skillet. She leaned forward at him now, saying, “How’s your research coming? Still think you’re going to find a cure?”
“Shut up!”
“You shut up!”
“Kids!” their ma hissed across her ma. “Not now! Spend a little time talking to your grandmother.”
“Why? She doesn’t even know who I am!” Liza hissed back, right across Ruby. Then, louder, she said, “Do you, Grandma?”
Mrs. Monroe turned up the volume, too. “Of course you remember Liza and Isaac, right, Mother?”
Ruby gave Mrs. Monroe a quivery smile. “What was that?”
“Your grandchildren! You remember Liza and Isaac, don’t you?”
“I have grandchildren?”
Liza pushed back from the table. “I’m going for a walk.”
“What? No!” her ma cried.
“They’re not even close to serving,” Liza said, and took off toward the East Wing.
Mrs. Monroe gave Isaac a pleading look, so he said, “I’ll find her,” like it was something he was used to being asked to do. He pushed back and looked at me, saying, “Come on.”
Come on? I barely knew him. And I sure didn’t want to chase down a girl who was shooting off attitude.
Best to stay away!
But…if I didn’t follow Isaac, I’d be stuck sittin’ by myself next to Ruby Hobbs, which was bad enough right there, but who knew what she’d do?
I hopped up quick and hurried after Isaac.
We found Liza outside in the dark, mopin’ at the table where Sweet-Pea Alice and Pom-Pom Pam usually hung out with Sir Robert.
“Go away,” Liza growled at us, her breath puffing white in the cold air. But before either of us could say a word, she leaned forward at me and said, “How can she possibly know you and not me?”
“I don’t know,” I said, tiptoeing through a minefield of words. “Maybe because Debbie makes me say my name every afternoon?”
“Debbie?” Her head started quivering. “Who’s Debbie?”
“The one who’s always shoutin’, ‘WHAT IS YOUR NAME?’ ”
Her eyes were squinting now. “Every afternoon? Are you saying you’re here every afternoon? Why haven’t I seen you before?” She turned to her brother. “Have you seen him here before?”
Isaac shook his head.
I looked down and toed a crack in the concrete. “I’m not here weekends,” I said, going with what she’d said earlier about hating Saturdays. “Just during the week.” I peeked up and they were both staring at me now. “I come after school.”
“Why?” Liza said, squinting harder.
Isaac stepped in. “Look, it’s not his fault Grandma knows him. If she sees him every day, he’s become part of her new memory map. Which makes sense since—”
“Stop!” Liza cried. “I don’t care about any ‘memory map’!”
“But it probably explains why she knows him and not us! She sees him over and over—he’s part of her new memory map!”
Liza rolled her eyes.
“Genius here’s looking for a cure. You know that, right?” she said in my direction.
“Knock it off, Liza,” Isaac growled.
“Is that what you research in the media center?” I asked.
He nodded, but he and Liza were still glarin’ at each other.
So I tried smoothin’ things over. “Well, someone’s got to find a cure, right? Why not him?”
Isaac gave me a look that was all parts grateful, but Liza frowned at me like I had beans for brains. “Well, let’s see. For starters…he’s eleven years old!”
“So?” Isaac said.
“So?! It’s a disease, Isaac! It shuts your body down! It kills you!”
“I know that! Stop treating me like I’m a stupid kid. I know a lot more about this than you do! And at least I’m trying to do something about it instead of saying she’d be better off dead, like you do!”
“Well, she would be,” Liza grumbled. “And she’s going to be! I heard the director tell Mom that most people last here about two years. Grandma’s been here a year and a half. She’ll be dead before you’re out of elementary school!”
Isaac’s face freeze-framed, and his eyes kinda glazed over. Not like he was gonna bust out in tears, more like he was doin’ some complex calculations in his mind. Finally he blinked and said, “Maybe if we took some of her DNA and—”
“STOP IT!” Liza yelled. “There’s nothing you can do about it! And I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear any more of your crazy ideas or your technical explanations for why she knows him and not me!”
“Not us,” Isaac said with a frown.
“I know, but I’m older. I’ve known her longer. She saw me every day after school since I was in kindergarten! And before that she saw me the whole day while Mom and Dad were at work! I should be mapped into her brain so deep she could never forget me!” She turned a glassy look on me. “But no. She knows him and not me!”
“She doesn’t know me,” I said. “She’s never said my name before. I was as shocked as you. And I bet if I went in there now, she’d look at me like she’d never seen me before.”
Liza stared at me for a solid minute, then sighed and leaned back in her chair. “How do you take being here every day?”
“It is pretty crazy,” I said.
Liza snorted. “Talk about an understatement.”
“But none of ’em’s my kin, y’know?”
“Your kin?”
I looked away, not wanting to get grilled about what hole I’d crawled out of. “Family. None of ’em’s family.”
A cloud of quiet moved in and hung overhead until Isaac asked, “So your mother’s a caregiver?”
I shrugged. “Every day but Saturdays.”
“I can’t believe you come here every day,” Liza said. “Do your friends know?”
The question felt like a bee sting, and she must’ve seen how uncomfortable it made me, ’cause she snorted and said, “Yeah, people judge. Even when you try to explain, they just don’t get it.”
I thought about the truth in that. How if someone had told me even a little of what I’d seen while spending my afters at Brookside, I’d have laughed or hurled or called them a liar.
But seeing it day after day?
Watching what the Purple Shirts go through?
Having Mrs. White die holdin’ my hand?
I got it, all right.
And I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon.
Isaac checked his watch and said, “We should get back,” but it was probably more the cold than the time that got Liza up and moving. Her teeth were actually chattering when she said, “Good idea.”
Problem was, we were locked out. The door we’d come through had been propped open before but was now closed up tight, and knocking brought nobody to our rescue. Even after pounding, nobody came.
Liza took up worrying between banging on the door. “What if they started serving? Mom’s going to be so mad! Why isn’t anyone in there?”
Through the door window, I could see Droolin’ Stu sittin’ in his corner and Peggy Riggs on a couch talking to air, but other than that, the place looked deserted.
I was itching to punch in the code and let us inside, but I stopped short of doing it. I reminded myself that the only good secret is a kept secret, and this sure didn’t seem like anything worth jeopardizing Ma’s job over.
So after Liza banged again, I said, “Let’s try another door.”
“Fine,” she huffed, and started running away from the East Wing and around the corner toward the back side of the Activities Room.
Isaac and I chased after her and were closing in when all at once she turned around, screaming, “Aaaaaahhhh,” and came flying our way.
“What’s wrong?” Isaac cried, reeling backward.
“Over there!” she screamed, pointing behind her as she tore by. “A zombie! In a wheelchair!”
Our jaws went danglin’.
A zombie in a wheelchair?
Isaac and I watched her go, then cocked eyebrows at each other. Neither of us had to say it, ’cause there are just some things you have to see for yourself.
We weren’t takin’ chances, though. No, sir! We moved like sneak thieves up the walkway, our eyes peeled. “You believe in zombies?” I whispered.
“Nah. You?”
“Nah.”
Then we saw it.
“Aaaah!” we both cried, coming together like magnets.
We watched it sitting there, in a wheelchair between shrubs, white as moonlight, twitching.
“What is it?” Isaac breathed.
It still wasn’t jumping up to get us, so I stepped in closer. “It’s only a mannequin,” I whispered over my shoulder. “They use ’em for training.”
“Why’s it in the bushes? And why’s it moving?”
“Maybe they wanted to hide it from folks ’cause they couldn’t get it to stop twitchin’?”
“Maybe they should just disconnect the circuitry?”
“Maybe they didn’t know how? Or ran out of time?” I shrugged. “They’ve been workin’ hard all day to make everything perfect.”
That seemed to snap loose circuits together in Isaac’s mind. “We have got to get inside.” He looked back the way we’d come and shouted, “Liza!” then took off, saying, “We’re going to be in so much trouble!”
“Come back this way when you find her!” I called after him. “I’ll get someone to let us in!”
“Right!”
Racing to the back door of the Activities Room, I passed by a big window and looked inside. Mr. Freize was talking, and Purple Shirts were lined up on either side of him. Ma was on the very end, looking around.
Looking for me.
I keyed in the code quick, opened the door, and slipped in a rock to keep it from closing again. Then I raced back to find Isaac and Liza. “Over here!” I called when I saw them coming. “They let me in!”
I flicked the rock out of the way without them noticing, and we made our way back to our seats, trying to be as smooth as possible—which wasn’t that smooth, seein’ how the director was making a speech and everyone else was quiet and listening.
Mrs. Monroe rolled her eyes as we settled in, but she seemed more relieved than mad, since the dark look Liza had been wearing before was gone.
After a minute had passed and Isaac knew he was off the hook, he nudged me under the table and mouthed, “Zombie in a wheelchair!”
I did my best to keep from laughing, but it was hard.
I was still grinnin’ like a fool about the zombie in a wheelchair when I heard Mr. Freize say Ma’s name. And right after, the whole room broke out in applause. Big applause. Like my ma was the winner of some important award.
Was I missing something?
A few folks stood up, still clapping, and then more folks stood up. Pretty soon all the families were standing up, clapping. I looked around in wonder, then gave Isaac a little shrug and stood up, too.
When folks started sitting again
, the director laughed and said, “I was going to suggest you give our team a round of applause, but I can see that you already understand what an incredible job they do. So this seems like a good time to remind you that our caregiver Christmas donation box is in the foyer. In the spirit of giving and thanks, remember to give generously!” He picked up a glass and lifted it. “Thank you for coming tonight. Thank you for trusting us with your loved ones. Now please enjoy our Brookside Thanksgiving.”
So all the clapping and cheering wasn’t just for Ma. But it was partly for Ma, which still left me feeling partly stunned. And then Isaac’s ma leaned over and caught my eye. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your mother. She’s an angel, she really is.”
Ma? An angel?
Guess she’d never seen Ma draggin’ home after work. Or been hollered at by her for running late. Or been cuffed for sassing.
I was still wrapping my head around all the standing and clapping and folks thinking Ma was an angel when food started appearing in front of me. First a little plate of salad slid in. Then metal tongs came over my shoulder and left a roll on another little plate. Then a big plate with a turkey slice and mashed potatoes and marshmallow yams and green beans got delivered. It all happened so fast that I was still busy with one thing when the next showed up.
“They are efficient,” Mrs. Monroe said with a smile.
I guess most folks were busy trying to keep up with the deliveries, ’cause there was more clinking of dishes than talking going on. You could even hear the background music. It was the fancy kind, with violins and horns and cellos and stuff.
And I was just thinking how the horns sounded like someone was playing them into a pillow when a voice broke through like reveille, shouting, “Stop that!”
I looked over in time to see Sir Robert fling the water from his glass at Teddy C. Teddy got hit, but not as bad as Pom-Pom Pam, who got a big, wet splat on the side of her hair.
Teddy C looked stunned, but Pam was up like a shot.
Like she was back on the field, cheering again.
The Secret Life of Lincoln Jones Page 14