Mom excused herself from the table, saying she'd lost her appetite. I started feeding Bill, but it wasn't easy. Even Bill didn't like Mom's hamburger casserole, and he's easy to please.
“So, Zack, what do you know about this Nanny and Gram- pop thing?”
“Well, I think your mom's feeling snowed under taking care of two kids—”
“I take care of Bill. And myself.”
“But you'll have to go back to school in the fall, and—”
“Forget it. They won't get him. I'm going to fight this thing. You'll see.”
I got up and took Bill out of his high chair. Just as I stormed out of the room, Zack said, “Hey. G.I. Joe.”
“What?” I yelled, spinning around.
“Before you break out the big artillery, you might try talking to them.”
“Talking?”
“Yeah. Talking. Tell them how you feel about the kid. And tell your mom, while you're at it. Didn't you ever try talking to people when you had a problem? I mean, your grandparents are people, right? They'll listen.”
I could feel a little sarcastic smile bend my mouth around. “I can see you never met Nanny and Grampop.”
Just as I left the room I saw him take a second helping of hamburger casserole. It takes a special kind of brave or an extra kind of stupid to do that.
Kiki was over, pretty much against her will, when Nanny and Grampop got in. And the lights were back on, because Zack was just brave or just stupid enough to think Mom wouldn't mind.
Nanny split my ears with that little squeal of hers. “Loretta! Look what a beautiful woman you are!” Kiki rolled her eyes at me.
Nanny will never call her Kiki. Never. Not until she dies. Not even if there's an afterlife. Kiki's birth certificate says Loretta, and Nanny is not big on change.
I just smiled as I watched Kiki get crushed. Even though I knew I was next. Nanny had this special hugging style, unless you were smart and you saw her coming. She always got one arm around behind your neck, and the next thing you knew she had you in a headlock that would bring Hulk Hogan to his knees.
Then she came at me. “Cynthia!” Too late to duck. My face was pressed against all that perfect hair, which never once moved. I had a theory that Nanny's hair was removable, like Zack's motorcycle helmet. That she took it off and put it on the bedside table to sleep, and that she was like a conehead underneath. Nobody's real hair could be that tall, or that perfect, or that unmovable, or that red. It wasn't natural.
Meanwhile, Grampop did what he always did, hung back by the door. He always looked like he was ready for a fast getaway. Grampop only had one eyebrow but it was a doozy, running all the way across his face, knitted together like wiry gray wool in the middle, over his nose, which was also quite a show.
I said, “Nanny, I need to talk to you.”
She said, “Of course, dear. We'll talk all weekend.”
“No, I mean really, Nanny, it's important. It can't wait.”
“Of course, honey, we'll get caught up on everything.”
Then Nanny pulled Mom off into the kitchen and told her Zack was way too young for her, loud enough for everybody to hear.
Zack just offered to help Grampop bring in the bags. I slipped out the back door and up into my tree. The patio door was open, and I could hear most of what was said, because everybody was shouting to be heard over everybody else.
I heard Nanny say, “What on earth happened to Cynthia? She was so anxious to visit, now she's gone.”
Gone. Yeah. I wish.
Nanny never sleeps. She goes to bed early, but then she's up rattling around all night. She says the older you get the less sleep you need. But I didn't sleep half the night, either, so that made me feel old. I had something scared in my stomach.
I got up and sat at the kitchen table with Nanny, and she made me a cup of tea the way she used to when I was little, with sugar and milk. I liked that.
I said, “Are you taking Bill away?”
“Your mom thinks it's a good idea. She doesn't feel she can take care of him.”
“I take care of Bill. And myself. And her.”
“Well, that's too much for a girl your age.”
“You can't take him, Nanny. You can't.” I wanted to say why not. I wanted to say, He's all I've got. But it would've been so humiliating to cry in front of her.
I just kept stirring my tea, listening to the little clink-clink of the spoon on the cup. When other people do things like that it drives me crazy. Drumming fingers. Jiggling legs. I'd kill over less. She never answered, so I knew it was all decided.
I said, “It's not Bill's fault. She just thinks it's Bill's and my fault that her boyfriends don't stay. Because one idiot boyfriend told her that, and she was dumb enough to believe it. And lay off Zack, what do you care how old he is?” I was getting off the point but the detour felt good.
“Why, Cynthia, I—”
“Listen to me. Listen, Nanny. You never listen.” She looked hurt. I never thought I could hurt Nanny, but then I felt bad that I had. I thought she was as unmovable as her hairdo. “Mom doesn't do anything around here. Zack just got the lights back on because Mom went shopping with the money to pay bills. She doesn't take care of me or Bill at all. She barely takes care of herself. It's pathetic. And she drinks way too much.” Then I thought about Zack sitting on the steps popping beer-can tops, so I said, “Not that there's anything wrong with drinking. You just have to know when to stop. And she doesn't. At all. And another thing. Do you have any idea how many boyfriends she's had through here since last time you came?”
I could hear her breathing so clearly, big pull in, big sigh. “Well, if that's true, dear, it's all the more reason that Bill should be with us.”
“What about me? I have to live with her.”
“You're older, dear, and you don't have Bill's special needs.”
“Nanny, you can't take Bill. You can't. Please. You have to help me. You have to talk to her. We all have to talk to her about taking some responsibility.”
Nanny drank every bit of her tea without saying a word and put our cups in the sink. “No need to embarrass her in front of everybody. I'll talk to her privately in the morning.”
In the morning the house was way too quiet. I found Nanny in the kitchen.
“Did you talk to Mom?”
“She's going to try. But it's all the more important that Bill come with us.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Okay, I thought. Okay. Then Bill and I are leaving tonight.
I taught Bill how to hitchhike. We stood by the side of Highway 101 together, my big duffel bag lying in the dirt. I stuck my thumb out and he held his stuffed elephant in one hand and stuck his thumb out with the other. I had Harvey's knife in my front jeans pocket, to make me feel not so helpless.
I think it was about two in the morning. I'd never been out at two in the morning, so that was weird. Don't bad things happen when it's that late?
After a while we got a ride from a man in a big Lincoln, with uniforms hanging all neat and pressed on hangers in the back. He said he was a guard at the state prison, and he was going almost as far as Los Angeles, all but ninety miles of the way. He drove really fast. He'd get about an inch from the car in front and say it made him so mad when they went too slow that he wanted to bang right through them.
All of a sudden I got to feeling all helpless again, like something bad could happen, and then how would I take care of Bill? It was my job now, more than ever.
Then Bill started to cry, because he knew I was scared.
I said, “I think he has to go to the bathroom.” Even though I knew he didn't. I just wanted to get out of that car.
The man stopped at a gas station, and we went around the back, where the bathrooms were, and over the little fence and down into a deep, brushy gully where we stayed until the man stopped calling and drove away.
L.A. was a good, big place to get lost, but I'd heard st
ories about it, too.
We hitched back toward town. I thought we'd stay at Kiki's for the night and then make a better plan.
The first car that came by was the sheriff's. I started walking the other way. I tried to slip down an off-ramp, but Bill didn't walk too fast, so I picked him up and tried to hurry without looking like I was running. I didn't look behind me until I saw his flashing lights. He was pulling us over. How can you pull someone over who doesn't have a car? But I stopped, because I figured I'd better.
That's when I realized the duffel bag went south without us, but just as well. It only made us look more like runaways.
He rolled down his window. “Evening, young lady.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Little late for you to be out. Who's your friend here?”
“This is my son.”
“Do tell.”
“Yes, sir, I'm older than I look, nineteen, and my son and I are trying to get home.”
“Well, jump in the car and I'll take you there.”
Bill and I got in the back. I was thinking about whether I was under arrest, and would it be a bad idea to ask. The sheriff leaned over the seat. He wasn't too old, and he had wavy black hair and a fluffy mustache. I kind of liked his eyes, though right at that moment I'd have been happy never to see them again.
“Got any I.D.?”
“I.D.? Uh. No, sir.”
“Don't tell me you forgot your driver's license?”
“Driver's license?”
“Nineteen-year-old girl like you must have a license.”
“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I forgot it. Like you said.”
He leaned farther over the seat and he smelled like Old Spice aftershave. “Did you know it's against the law to run away from home?” My stomach got all iced and tingly. I didn't answer, even when I tried. “But let's give you the benefit of the doubt. You're on your way home, like you say. Where might that be?”
I gave him our address and he drove us home.
He walked up to the door with us and knocked, even though I tried everything I could think of to talk him out of it. The sun was up now, barely, and my mom came to the door in that ratty tan robe, with her hair all squished and little pillow lines in her face, and I was embarrassed for the sheriff to see her that way.
“These little strays belong to you?”
Mom's eyes got wide. “Did she do something wrong, officer?”
“Just headed out of town is all.”
“Well, thank you very much for bringing her home. I'll take care of this.”
He smiled at me before he left, and I was so convinced that he was an okay guy that I gave him a dirty look, like to say, Yeah. Thanks a lot.
It was almost five; it would be light soon. Nanny and Grampop would be up packing to go. Packing Bill. I had a talk with myself. I said, what kind of momma lion are you? You scared of a little old sheriff?
Truth is, I don't think I was scared, really. Because I don't think I really cared what happened. I mean, if Bill was going to be gone, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
It was more like I couldn't really move. I don't know quite how to say this. Like I was a sailing ship and all of a sudden the wind stopped blowing. And all I could do was drift around on all that glassy water. Or maybe that sounds too nice. Maybe it was more like one of those awful dreams where you have to run to save your life, but you can't run. You just can't. Your arms and legs turn to lead, and that's it. Sitting duck.
Whatever it was, next thing I knew, it was morning. And we still weren't gone.
Nanny puttered around Bill's room, packing his clothes and a few toys. She almost left his elephant in the bottom of the crib. See, this is why they couldn't take him. How could Bill live with someone who didn't know the elephant was the very most important?
“I take care of Bill,” I kept saying. If I'd said more, I'd have cried.
“Well, now you can have a childhood and not worry.” I kept trying to think of something to do. Wrestle her down or something. Instead I kept taking Bill's clothes out of the suitcase and putting them away again. Nanny would give me a look, then take the things out and put them back in the suitcase. I'd grab them again and put them back in Bill's dresser drawer.
“Stop that, Cynthia,” Nanny said.
But I wouldn't stop. I was getting more and more upset. I was starting to throw things into drawers instead of just setting them down. I warned her. I warned her I wasn't letting them take Bill away.
She grabbed my arm, and I pulled it away so hard and so fast, I almost pulled her right over. So I guess it looked almost like I was trying to hit her or something, but I was only taking my arm back.
Then I saw Grampop standing in the doorway, and he yelled at me. He yelled, “Cynthia, you get out of this house if you can't behave!”
Something about that and about getting arrested, it made me feel tired and little, like no one was home inside, like nothing would do any good. Everything in the world was bigger than me. I never won and I felt like I never would. I went up to my tree house and cried where nobody could see.
After a while I heard Grampop calling, telling me to come say goodbye. At first I wasn't going to do it. I didn't want to see Bill's face in that car when they drove away. But then, when I heard the car start up, I climbed down and ran after them.
Grampop stopped the car, and Nanny got out and said, “There you are, Cynthia. We almost didn't get to say goodbye.”
Bill was in his car seat in the back, half turned around to look at me, and he was talking. I could see his lips move, but I couldn't hear him, but I knew he was saying “Thynnie,” because that's the only word Bill knew how to say. And I started to cry, right in front of everybody.
“Take me,” I said. “I want to get out of here, too.”
Nanny hugged me too hard and said somebody had to stay and help my mom, and I should be a big girl about it.
I said, “I want to live with you and Bill. Please?”
She got that look on her face, like when I hurt her feelings, and said it'd been hard enough to talk Grampop into taking Bill.
Then she kissed me on the cheek and drove away, and all the way down the driveway Bill's lips were still moving.
That night I couldn't get to sleep. My stomach was all twisty and full of needles. I tried to think what people do when they feel this bad. There had to be some way to make it stop. Even for a little while. I knew what my mom would do. She always drank at times like this. I would have tried anything to feel better by then. I'd thought about trying it lots of times before, but back then I didn't, because who would've taken care of Bill?
I borrowed a beer from the refrigerator and took it into bed with me. It tasted really nasty. I thought, how can anybody drink this junk? But by the time I was half done, things got a little fuzzy inside, which was good. Then I could see why Mom liked the stuff. I still felt bad, but in a muddy way. And the needles in my stomach were gone.
I finished the beer and lay there whistling a little tune. I don't remember which one. Just that nobody sang it back to me.
It was only me, whistling in the dark.
CHAPTER 3
Kid Trees
At first I hung out in the tree house by myself. I was in no mood for Richie and Snake. Then, even when I let them come up, I was still in no mood for them. They came up and hung blankets around the tree house to make it like a tent. For more privacy, you know? But that turned out to be too much of a good thing, because Snake, who was fourteen, started getting big ideas. I guess we'd made it too private a space.
All of a sudden he got this weird look on his face and said, “We could be doing it, you know. We're old enough.”
Right in front of Richie, he said that. I couldn't believe it. I didn't know if he meant with each other or in general. But it was pretty much a “no” either way.
I said, “I've heard all about that. Nobody is old enough as far as I'm concerned.”
He gave me this look like I was a big baby or some
thing.
Even if I'd wanted to do it, which I didn't, I don't think Snake would have been the guy. He looked too much like a bulldog. He had this flattop that he thought was cool, and he was kind of chunky. As he squatted in that tree house, ragging on me about it, this little beam of light came through a hole in the blanket right over his head and made him look like he was wearing a halo, which just didn't fit.
Then he said, “Your mom and that Zack guy are doing it.” He looked kind of weird and eager, like it was something he'd been dying to talk about.
I said, “Well, I'm not really so sure.” I was, of course—I mean, it was pretty obvious—but I just didn't feel like going on about it.
Then Richie, the little squirt, the one who couldn't even keep his own nose clean, he said, “Your mom does it with everybody.”
So I decked him.
I spun around and slammed him one, only not the way I wish. I wanted a nice roundhouse punch, but really I'd never thrown a punch in my life. I just gave him a shot to the nose with my elbow. It wasn't pretty but it worked. He stumbled backwards with blood squirting out of his nose, hit one of the hanging blankets, and took it down with him. All the way down he kept swinging his arms like he could get his balance, like there was still time not to fall.
I remember the sound he made when he landed.
I guess I was supposed to feel sorry about what I did, but I didn't feel much of anything. I looked at him lying down there and felt like he deserved it. I knew if I'd had it to do over, I'd have done it just like that again. Maybe thrown a cleaner punch. Some things are pretty much worth what you have to pay for them. Sometimes it's just worth it.
Snake came up into the tree house the next day. I'd been hanging out up there by myself since the whole Richie thing went down. This time I was in no mood for anybody, but I let Snake come up because I wanted to hear what was happening.
Snake had a big knot of bruise on the side of his head. I think he must've gotten in fights a lot, because it seemed like he had bruises most of the time. I never saw him fight, but then lots of things happen with people when you're not around to see.
The Year of My Miraculous Reappearance Page 2