Ricky hugged his legs and laid his head on his knees. “Maybe I’ll find an old lawn mower motor to put on it.”
“Or maybe you can sprinkle moondust on it and sail across the sky,” a voice said from across the living room.
Ricky and I both peeked through the piano bench. There was Mr. Lunas, sitting in a chair by the front door. He looked smaller perching there, his head resting on his hand.
“You’re dreaming,” Ricky said as he curled back into a ball to pout.
“And so are you,” Mr. Lunas replied. He got up from the chair and slowly crept across the room. His walk was starting to look weak, like when we’d first met him. As he went by the piano, he bent down and smiled. “But it’s good to dream, Ricky. It’s good.”
I watched him shuffle by, wondering what he dreamed about. Did old folks still have dreams?
“It’s more than a dream,” Ricky whispered to me. “It’s my only chance. I can either rot in this house or I can zoom out of here.”
I didn’t whisper anything back. Mostly because I thought he was dreaming too. And he wasn’t the only one rotting in this house. We were all starting to smell overripe.
We didn’t stay in the cave that afternoon, and we didn’t play in Ricky’s room, either. I spent the afternoon listening to records and laying on the bed, reading Mr. Popper’s Penguins. Here I sat, in Texas, the oven of America, while Mr. Popper had a wild time with his flapping friends from the Antarctic. I looked up for a minute to rest my eyes and saw Mr. Lunas coming out of the chicken coop. He had an ear of corn in one hand and an egg in the other. Maybe that was why he wasn’t eating anymore. Maybe he was sneaking off somewhere and making his own corn fritters. Naw . . . that was bullcorn. Why would he do that? Unless he was worried about us not having enough food. I watched him lay the corn and the egg down next to the coffee can, then shoo Buddy away from them. He had one of Mama’s towels from the kitchen, and he used it to cover them up.
I decided to play Nancy Drew and see if I could solve the mystery of Mr. Lunas. I hurried outside before he could wander off.
“Whatcha got?” I asked him, pointing at the things hidden under the towel.
“Art supplies,” he answered.
Why did I know he’d make a puzzle out of it? Maybe I should have stayed in my room after all. But like Nancy Drew, I pressed on. “Are you going to paint a picture?”
Buddy rolled the egg out with his snout, and Mr. Lunas rolled it right back. “Well, I’m not exactly Michelangelo,” he said, covering the corn and the egg with the towel again.
“Michelangelo? Who’s he?”
“An artist.”
I looked at the hidden objects again, wondering what Nancy Drew would ask next. “Hmmm . . . did he use corn and eggs to paint his pictures?”
Mr. Lunas tilted his head at me. “He used his imagination.”
“But using your imagination is only painting pictures in your head.”
“Yes!” he said, sounding like I’d discovered gold. “Isn’t that where all pictures start?”
Why did every conversation with him have to be a riddle? “Mr. Lunas, you’re teasing me.”
He ruffled my hair with his hand. “I am, aren’t I?”
“Well, aren’t you going to give me a straight answer?”
He grinned a mile-wide grin. “But that wouldn’t be teasing then, would it?”
“Mr. Lunas!”
He tilted his old gray head again. “I’ve given you nothing but straight answers, Janine. In time you’ll know how to line them up.”
He shuffled away, Buddy hard on his heels. Why was this so much easier for Nancy Drew?
I was trying to cool off on the back porch when Daddy’s Chevy puttered in. He stopped to pet Buddy, then walked up the driveway with his hand behind his back.
I couldn’t help smiling. “What’re you hiding?”
Daddy smiled right back. “Something for my special girl.”
I jumped at his sleeve and tried to wrestle his arm around to the front.
“Not for you, silly thing. It’s for your mother.”
I dropped my arms and backed away. What a mean trick! As he went inside, I saw a bunch of daisies in his fist, all tied up in a big yellow bow.
In all my life, I’d never seen Daddy bring Mama flowers. Not on her birthday, or Mother’s Day, or even their anniversary. Daddy liked to buy her chocolates instead. Something must be up!
I rushed in after him, letting the screen door slam. Mama was getting the dinner plates down. Daddy popped the flowers out from behind him and stretched his hand out, grinning hard. Mama just stood there, looking like she’d never seen flowers before.
“What’re those for?”
“I might have a job!” he said, the words shooting out like a bottle rocket.
“Really?” Mama clapped her hands together. She rushed forward and threw her arms around Daddy’s neck, almost crushing the daisies. She giggled real silly as she took out a jar to use as a vase. “Where at?” she asked.
“Red Johnson is building a new warehouse for his moving business. It’s almost complete. Now he’s hiring folks to run it. I won’t find out for sure until next week, but I might end up as manager.”
Mama still hung on to that cabinet door, her eyes fixed on Daddy. “Why next week?”
“His cousin George may be moving here from Amarillo. If he does, Red will give the manager position to him.”
Mama slammed the cabinet door. “Red’s one of your closest friends. Surely he’ll give you the job.”
“But George is his cousin. And anyway, he probably won’t take it. His wife grew up in Amarillo and says she ain’t moving to save her life.”
Mama let out a sigh. “Well, let’s keep our fingers crossed that she wears the pants in the family.”
Daddy laughed and went over to give her another hug. “Don’t worry, Adele. Everything will work out.”
Ricky walked in, dragging his feet. Mama and Daddy looked at him real strange, like he had four heads and scales. “What’s wrong, baby?” Mama said, rushing over to feel his forehead.
Ricky swooned, and blood started dripping from his nose. Daddy picked him up and rushed into the living room. He gently laid Ricky down on the couch. Mama came in with a towel and a glass of water. “I’ll bet you’re just too hot,” she said, wiping his nose and tilting the glass to his mouth. He barely drank. It looked like his throat didn’t know how to swallow. “Go put him to bed,” Mama said.
As Daddy scooped him up again, Ricky looked toward me with droopy, glassy eyes. His mouth opened a little, and with some effort, he whispered, “Janine.”
Phase Seven—Last Quarter
Ricky dangled like a puppet as Daddy laid him down on the bed. He could barely keep his eyes open, and his breathing was hard and rough. No wonder. His room was so hot, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of it. Even I had trouble taking a breath. If only Mama would turn on a fan.
“I’ll drive down to the pay phone and call the doctor,” Daddy said, fishing his keys out of his pants pocket.
Mama didn’t say a word, but the look in her eyes pleaded “Hurry.” She brushed the hair off Ricky’s forehead. It was so thick with sweat, she had to pick some of it loose with her fingers. “Go get me a wet washrag, Janine.”
I didn’t waste a second. I ran to the bathroom and grabbed one of the blue washcloths. Ricky liked blue. I didn’t wring it out very well, and it dripped all the way back to his room. I thought Mama would lay it on his forehead, but she put the washrag on his mouth instead, pushing a little of it inside. She smiled down at him. “Maybe this will keep you from being so thirsty.” She squeezed the rag a little so water could drip into his mouth. “It’s just like when you were a baby. I used to fill a washrag with butter and sugar. You’d suck all that sweet cream out and lay there with that rag in your mouth until you fell asleep.”
Until he was five years old, Ricky would lay on the couch, sucking on a washcloth and watching cartoons. I never u
nderstood then why he’d want an old washrag in his mouth. And I couldn’t stand here and watch it now, either.
I went out on the back porch, where the air smelled as sweet as a melon. The sun was low in the sky. I stood there, looking out at the pasture, hearing the cows crying to be milked. The chickens squawked and fluttered, and then I saw Mr. Lunas coming out of the chicken coop. He was holding two eggs and heading toward the cornfield. Buddy followed. I ran out to him.
“Ricky’s real sick.”
“What?” Mr. Lunas said, placing the eggs in the same coffee can he’d used to make moon water.
“He’s real sick. Real, real sick! Daddy went to call the doctor.”
He gazed at me, a pained look on his face. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I hope so,” I egged. “You said you were in the medical corps in the service—”
He held up his hand to stop me before more words came spilling out my mouth.
“That was a long time ago. And even then I only did some patching up . . . like your mother did for your foot.”
“Can you try?” I was working to keep my voice steady, but he had to hear how scared I was.
“Let’s see how he is in a couple of days, okay?”
A couple of days! Why not now?
He crouched down and covered the coffee can with the towel. I’ve never seen anyone put so much effort into such a tiny task. Then I got a good look at him. In just a few days’ time, Mr. Lunas looked like he’d lost a hundred pounds. His face was shadowed and wrinkled, and he moved with about as much power as a snail. A snail in pain.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
He gave me a half grin. “Just my rheumatism,” he said.
Feeling awkward, I reached down and rubbed Buddy’s neck. “I better get back in case they need me.” I couldn’t imagine why they’d need me, but just in case.
I hurried back, slipping into the kitchen. The house felt like a tomb. So did the air. Everything was dead quiet, except for the rumbling in my stomach. It reminded me that we’d skipped dinner. I plopped some chicken and dumplings on a plate and sat down all alone. With my stomach in jitters, all I wanted was a few bites. I didn’t even get those down before Daddy came busting through the back door. I ran down the hall to hear what had happened.
“Dr. Littlefield said to give Ricky an extra dose of the medicine, and that he’ll be out in the morning to look him over,” Daddy said.
Mama shushed him and pointed to Ricky. I had to look twice to make sure he was just sleeping. His face was the color of the ashes in Daddy’s barbecue pit, but the dark circles under his eyes were more like the charcoal. I imagined that this was just what a dead person looked like, but I shooed that thought away quick! Not Ricky. He might be a little pain in the butt, but he was still my baby brother. Those bites of chicken and dumpling threatened to come up. Guilt overtook my fear, and I got to thinking that maybe my life wouldn’t be so great if Ricky were gone.
Mama sat down next to him, mumbling. I knew it was more of those healing passages from the Bible. I guess she knew one for every ailment there was. I went back to the kitchen and that wasted plate of chicken and dumplings. And the hope that Mama’s Bible verses would serve as the extra dose of medicine Ricky needed.
The next morning I heard voices drifting down the hall. I peeked in to see Mama, Daddy, Mr. Lunas, and Dr. Littlefield sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.
Dr. Littlefield’s face was as stern as a statue. “I’m telling you, Adele, there’s no guarantee that surgery would help. Now, let’s just keep him on this medicine and see how he does. We’ve had these close calls before.”
Mama’s eyes were red from tears. “We’ve tried every medicine there is! He still has the cough, and the nosebleeds, and some days I think a breeze is going to come along and blow him away. He never gains an ounce. And his heart . . .” She sobbed into her hands. “I can’t lose my baby! I just can’t!”
Daddy put his arm around Mama, but she pushed him away. I couldn’t help looking at the jar of daisies on top of the icebox. They were the only cheerful thing in the room. I kept thinking that the doctor had to be right. The medicine would work. Ricky would be okay.
Mr. Lunas excused himself from the table and headed toward Ricky’s room. “Where are you going?” Mama yelled, glaring at him like she had the first evening he came out of the cornfield.
“I thought I’d just look in on him.”
Mama’s red eyes turned scarlet and lit with fire. “Stay out! I don’t want nobody disturbing him.”
“Calm down,” Daddy said, nearly whispering.
“Calm down! My baby’s lying in that room, barely alive, and you’re telling me to calm down? Like you’ve got room to talk. You’re the reason we’re in this mess in the first place. Maybe if you had a job we could afford some decent health care. And what about him?” She pointed an angry finger at Mr. Lunas. “How do we know he didn’t bring in some foreign germ? Not to mention him being an extra mouth to feed?”
That wasn’t rightly true anymore. I hadn’t seen Mr. Lunas eat anything in days.
Mr. Lunas held up a hand and turned toward the back door. “I’ll just step out for a while.”
I couldn’t help being embarrassed. Even in an emergency, it’s plumb wrong to say hateful things like that to a person’s face. Especially a harmless old man like Mr. Lunas. But I’m sure he knew that Mama was just feeling helpless and talking out the top of her head.
I’d had enough and went back to my room while Dr. Littlefield and Daddy were trying to get Mama under control. I locked myself away, not really sure what to do. I couldn’t play my records because Mama would surely have a fit about the noise. I didn’t have Ricky to play with, and Buddy just hung around Mr. Lunas these days. He’d stopped being our dog weeks ago. I laid on the bed and stared at the wallpaper. I stared hard. So hard, I looked right past it. I looked at a time in the future when I was grown up, living in Hollywood with a mansion and servants. I’d pick up the phone and call Italy or France. “Yes, this is Janine calling from Hollywood. Would you please send over your best doctors? The ones that specialize in gizzards.” Then Ricky would be cured, and I would give him a part in my next movie. Or even better, I’d grow up to be a doctor myself. Girls can be doctors. I know because I’ve seen Dr. Joyce Brothers on TV. And I wouldn’t just cure Ricky, I’d cure everyone I touched. Life would be perfect.
I laid around, dozing and daydreaming most of the morning. When I went back into the kitchen, it was empty. I made a peanut butter sandwich and ducked into the cave to eat it. It wasn’t the same, without Ricky. I closed my eyes and prayed. It’d be a real long time before I grew up to become a doctor, and Ricky needed help now. There had to be something I could do.
Mama wouldn’t let anyone in Ricky’s room. She fussed that folks being in there would just upset him. She was the only one allowed, and she stayed there all the time. She only came out to go to the bathroom or wet a rag. Daddy made soup, but Mama wouldn’t allow him in with it. She took the bowl from him at the door and closed it.
“He’s my son, too,” Daddy said as the door shut in his face. He sat at the table, his head in his hands. I sat down next to him. He rubbed his face so hard I thought he’d rub it right off. When he looked at me, his eyebrows were bushy and wild. A gentle smile crept across his face, which, under the circumstances, didn’t seem natural. Then he said, “Hey, pumpkin. You want a Popsicle?”
At first I wasn’t sure what he meant. There were no Popsicles in the freezer. He stood up, and I heard his car keys jingling in his hand.
“Okay!”
It’d been a while since I’d sat in the front seat of Daddy’s car. The vinyl had a giant rip in it that curled up, and it scratched my leg. I tried to adjust the stuffing inside to cover it, but it wasn’t working. I finally ignored it, just happy to be going somewhere at last.
Daddy backed out of the driveway, the Chevy’s tires crunching on the gravel. The old car sputtered for a m
inute; then, with a jolt, it picked up speed, and we sailed down the road. I stuck my head out the window to feel the wind on my face. It cooled my cheeks and whistled in my ears. The radio was set to the hillbilly station, but Daddy patted my knee and said, “You can change the channel if you want.”
I slowly turned the knob, listening to broken voices and crackling static. I stopped when I heard Chubby Checker inviting me to do “The Twist.”
Going to the 7-Eleven was like going to another town. It’s the closest store to our house, but it still took about twenty minutes to get there. I didn’t mind. After being stuck at home all summer, this was like going on vacation.
Daddy paid for two Popsicles, and we sat in the car, licking the red juice that melted down the sides. A group of kids sat on the ground out front, drinking sodas and laughing. They all looked a few years older than me, but I couldn’t help wishing I had a crowd of friends like that to hang out with at the 7-Eleven. One boy was even chugging a beer, though he didn’t look nearly old enough to have it. I figured he must be a show-off, since they were all cheering him on. I could only hear small chunks of their conversations, but it was enough to know that their summer didn’t involve sick brothers and strange houseguests. And their laughter made me plumb jealous.
Daddy was awful quiet. I could tell he was itching to say something, so I decided to break the silence and get him started. “This is good.” I slid the whole Popsicle in my mouth, chilling my tongue.
He didn’t even look at me. He just gazed at his Popsicle and nodded his head. “Janine, I wanted you to know that things aren’t going too good right now.”
Like I didn’t already know that! But I didn’t let on that I did. “Why?” I asked, thinking he’d talk about Ricky being so sick.
“We don’t have any money, and . . . well . . . it looks like we might have to pay for a funeral real soon.”
Those words crashed into me, making my Popsicle drop out of my hand and onto my lap. “No.” I shook my head. “You’re going to get a job. Ricky’s going to get better. He’s even going to build his go-cart. I’m going to help him. He already has the lumber!”
Man in the Moon Page 5