by John J. Bonk
“Too late.” Kevin grabbed his backpack too, but his worried face was staring at his sister. “Lex? You sure you don’t want me to—”
“Go ahead. I’m okay.”
He ran to catch up with Kim Ling as Lexi kept cleaning up the mess. She watched as, little by little, Melrose’s fists uncurled and her nostrils stopped flaring, until finally she crumpled into her seat with a thud.
“She didn’t mean anything,” Lexi assured Melrose, dabbing at what was left of the spill with wadded napkins. She could feel all eyes in the food court on them and hot embarrassment tightened her neck. “It’s just her warped, in-your-face personality. And it’s all the time too. But she’s not a bad person.” She eased into her chair, forcing a smile, which withered quickly in Melrose’s steely gaze. “Really.”
“Sorry about that.” Melrose double-palmed her tears away across her dirty face. “It’s just that—I lose it sometimes when people like her start to judge.” She shoved the wet plate away. “I ain’t sayin’ she was totally off. My new stepfather, Frank. He’s a real loser.”
Lexi felt like she should say something, ask a question, since the girl was obviously opening up—but she didn’t want to cross the line and set her off again.
“My ma married him after I begged her not to,” Melrose went on, “so it’s kinda like she picked him over me. Whatever. I hate his freakin’ guts.”
“I totally understand! My dad’s on his honeymoon right now with my new wicked stepmother. Can’t stand the woman.” A something-in-common spark had definitely ignited, but quickly fizzled into another awkward silence. At least now Lexi felt she had her complete attention. “Don’t you ever get scared—if you don’t mind my asking?”
“All the time. There’s a lot of messed up people livin’ on the streets. You don’t know. Druggies, weirdos. It’s brutal.” She blew her nose into a napkin. Lexi handed her another one, which she began shredding into long strips. “If it gets real bad, I hide out over at this church, St. Agnes—it’s about a block from here on Forty-Third just past Lexington—till things cool down.”
“St. Agnes, hmm.” Lexi found her fascinating, this Melrose Merritt—and talking to her alone wasn’t as frightening as she had thought. “So, we’re still on for tomorrow, right? Ten a.m. by the clock?” Melrose nodded, and in a strange burst of enthusiasm, Lexi dug a marker from her backpack, scrawled her cell phone number across a fresh napkin, and slid it across the table. “Call me—you know, if you’re gonna be late or anything.” Giving my number to a runaway. I’ve officially lost my mind.
Melrose stopped shredding and pocketed the number, thanking Lexi with a curious half smile. Lexi half-smiled back.
“So, how long has it been since—?”
“Since I left the Bronx? I dunno, a few—” Suddenly Melrose’s eyes went horror-flick wide and she slid down her seat like a dead body, ending up in a heap under the table. “Don’t turn around,” she warned from below in a raspy whisper.
“Why?” Lexi’s heart sped up. “What?”
“Cop!”
Lexi gave it a five count and nonchalantly glanced through her fingers at the policewoman ordering food at the counter. When she turned back around and peeked under the table, Melrose had vanished.
Later, as Lexi was speed-walking through the main concourse toward the Forty-Second Street exit to meet up with Kim Ling and Kevin, feeling oddly content that Melrose had told her the truth, she happened to notice the listing of Metro-North train stops posted over the ticket counter.
Manitou. Marble Hill. Melrose. Merritt. With two r’s and two t’s.
12
PETTY THEFT AND KILLER TOMATOES
A screaming car alarm woke Lexi with a start the next morning. Dawn’s first glimmer was seeping in through the blinds of her aunt’s living room and Lexi feared she would never be able to fall back asleep. The metal bar on the pull-out couch felt welded onto her ribcage, and her mind was already up and doing mental aerobics. At first, thoughts of the jewel thieves were creeping through her brain; and then she couldn’t stop thinking about Melrose—or whatever her real name was. Why would she lie about it? Then again, why wouldn’t she? The last image of that poor girl crouched under the table, staring up at her with frightened eyes. Too freaky.
Lexi cemented herself into a tight fetal position and began counting sheep—the ones conveniently frolicking in the pastoral scene on Aunt Roz’s toile curtains. She had only seen this done in cartoons but she would try anything to get Melrose out of her mind. She was just starting on the shepherd boys when she noticed a mysterious rainbow appear across Kevin’s sleeping face. Oh, pretty. Look at him all sprawled out on that chaise-lounge thing, dead to the world—turning colors. The rainbow spilled over onto the fish tank that housed Romeo and Juliet, Aunt Roz’s goldfish, turning them a shimmery chartreuse. It must have been the stained-glass suncatcher hanging in the window that created the colorful effect—a big pink rose surrounded by glistening borders of greens … yellows … oranges … reds …
Suddenly Lexi was eight years old again, dressed in her Sunday best and surrounded by the stained-glass windows of Our Lady of Loretto’s.
“Here, cookie, drop this into the poor box while I go light a candle for Grandma Irene.” Lexi’s mom had handed her a dollar bill and closed her wallet with a snap. “Then go grab us two seats near the front of the church, okay?”
Ten o’clock mass had been their favorite because the choir sang, but it was just the two of them that Sunday. Kevin had a gross stomach thing all morning, so Lexi’s dad had decided that the McGill boys had better skip church—that these were special circumstances and “God will understand.”
Lexi and her mom blessed themselves with holy water from the font and headed in opposite directions—her mom toward the rack of glowing votives and Lexi for the poor box. Gabe seemed to be watching her. That was the name she had given the stained-glass angel in the vestibule window, who didn’t look angelic enough to be a Gabriel. He had an especially mischievous smile on his face that day, and the sunlight shining through his amber-red robes danced across the last pew of the church where the “down-on-their-luck Delaneys” usually sat.
The poor box was so loaded, Lexi really had to cram-cram-cram the dollar deep into the slot, all the while thinking of Kaitlyn Delaney, a girl in her third-grade class who always got picked on because of her frayed, musty clothes and flat, meatless sandwiches. She didn’t take free stuff from friends, either, as far as Lexi knew. At least in the form of Lunchables or seedless grapes.
A thunderous organ chord pealed from the balcony and when Lexi’s fingers, still wet with holy water, slipped out of the box, so did a crisp twenty-dollar bill!
“Is a sin still a sin if it’s for a good cause?” Lexi asked her mom when she scooted into the pew next to her, smelling of candle smoke. “Like—taking something that doesn’t belong to you?”
“Stealing is wrong, honey. You know that.”
“But would it still count as a major sin or just a minor one—you know, like a venial?”
“Where do you come up with such questions? And why’re we sitting back here when there’re plenty of seats up front?”
“To see the Delaneys,” Lexi whispered. “I don’t wanna miss the look on Kaitlyn’s face when she opens her hymnal and a twenty-dollar bill drops out.”
Lexi’s mom clasped her hands and bowed her head in prayer. But it quickly popped up again. “Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what did you do?”
It had been so worth it. Kaityln acted like it was some kind of miracle. An act of God. Little did she know, it was an act of Lexi.
After mass, on their way out of church, Lexi’s mom had quickly shoved a handful of bills into the poor box—and with the guiltiest look on her face. But Gabe had seemed very pleased.
Lost in a pinwheel of stained-glass yellows, blues, and greens, Lexi found herself half awake and back in her twelve-year-old skin again, curled up on Aunt Roz’s foldout couch and staring bleary-eyed at the s
uncatcher. A high-pitched wail penetrated the walls of Apartment 5F and woke her up the rest of the way. Miss Carelli, the opera singer across the hall. It has to be. She was doing vocal exercises with musical accompaniment from a rattling drill tearing up the street. Lexi flopped onto her stomach and sandwiched her head in her pillow, which might have worked if she didn’t have to breathe. “Mah-may-mee-mo-mooo” was attacking her in stereo now. It sounded like Aunt Roz had joined Miss Carelli for a duet—just as an ambulance was screaming by. “Okay, New York, you win! I’m up.”
Lexi rolled out of bed and followed the aroma of coffee into the kitchen. Her aunt, in a terry-cloth headband with a pore-cleansing strip plastered across her nose, was leaning up against the refrigerator, holding a steaming cup of coffee.
“Morning, dear.”
“Morning, dear,” Lexi echoed. She tilted her aunt’s cup to her lips and took a sip. “Blech! How could something that smells so fantastic taste so disgusting?”
“I prefer mine black, which is an acquired taste, I suppose—like caviar. Or reality TV. There’s cream and Splenda if you like.”
Lexi scrunched up her nose and yawned.
“Nah-nay-nee-no-neeew …”
“Doesn’t Patrice have a marvelous instrument? I was trying not to sing along in full voice so I wouldn’t wake you kids. I didn’t, did I?”
“Nah, the Big Apple beat you to it. And that brother of mine can sleep through anything.”
“I really shouldn’t be singing along, but with an opera diva living across the hall, it’s like getting free lessons.” Aunt Roz opened the refrigerator and stared into it, humming. “I haven’t done a musical in quite a while, so I need all the help I can get. The role of Amanda Wingfield is no small feat.”
Lexi reached around her aunt and grabbed a carton of milk. “Well, they wouldn’t have picked you if you weren’t the best one, right?”
“Right.” Aunt Roz seemed unconvinced. “A musical version of The Glass Menagerie. Tennessee Williams is probably turning in his grave.” She scooped a bottle of syrup, a container of blueberries, and a tub of margarine into her arms and dropped them onto the counter. “Wait, he’s not still alive, is he?”
Lexi shrugged.
“Well, if he was, this’d kill him.”
“Ha! Good one.” Lexi poured herself a glass of milk and gave it a quick freshness sniff. Her aunt wasn’t the best at checking expiration dates, but it seemed okay.
“How wonderful to be born with a magnificent singing voice like Patrice,” Aunt Roz said, busily making breakfast. “Not that I don’t appreciate my own, but—you know what I mean. It’s like God saying, ‘Here’s a truly incredible gift. This is what you’re supposed to do for the rest of your life. Now, go do me proud.’”
Lexi didn’t think her own voice was all that great, but maybe—with some training … She took a deep breath and in a burst of enthusiasm, joined Miss Carelli on her next “Do-mi-so-mi-doooh!”
“QUIET! YOU CALL THAT SINGING?!”
Lexi froze with an open mouth. The angry voice sounded as if it had come through the vent next to the stove.
“That’s the grouch in Four-F,” Aunt Roz whispered. “Findlay or whatever the heck his name is. What time is it anyway?”
“IT’S SIX FORTY-FIVE IN THE MORNING! I’LL CALL THE COPS!”
“Six forty-five,” Lexi repeated sheepishly.
Miss Carelli had stopped singing too. There was silence except for the ticking chicken clock on the wall with its giant darting eyeballs. Lexi guzzled the rest of her milk, crossing “singing” off her mental checklist of possible talents—one she for sure did not possess.
“Sorry I blew your free lesson. I sound like a constipated macaw.”
“Oh, that old coot’s always complaining about every little thing. How about some waffles? There’re fresh blueberries to top them with.”
“I’m not in a very waffley mood.” Lexi slid into a chair, folding one leg under the other, and plunked her glass down on the table.
“Yeeesh!” Aunt Roz squealed.
Had she set it right on her aunt’s script? “Ooh, sorry!” Lexi moved the glass and quickly blotted the water ring with a corner of the New York Post. She smiled when she realized Aunt Roz hadn’t reacted to the glass at all, but had just ripped off her pore strip.
“I found the perfect opening night dress, Alexandra, on sale at Macy’s. A real stunner, wait till you see. Just clingy enough without making me look too hippy.”
“Oh. Good.”
Resting her groggy head on her palm, Lexi took in her aunt’s collection of show posters and country kitsch covering the walls. There wasn’t a bare spot to rest your eyes in the entire apartment, but it still somehow came across as neat. Organized clutter. And with a definite decorating motif: half theater lobby, half Vermont bed-and-breakfast.
“I’ll pick it up next week.” Aunt Roz loaded the toaster with frozen waffles and glanced over at Lexi. “You have to eat something, hon. How about my famous scrambled eggs à la Roz?”
“That’s okay.” Lexi slid out of her chair and lumbered over to the sink to rinse out her glass. “Not hungry.” She had the odd sensation that someone was staring at her the whole time, just like with Gabe in Our Lady of Loretto—and it wasn’t Aunt Roz or the chicken clock. Nothing else had eyes except a needlepoint of a goose in a bonnet hanging over the counter—and a poster from the Broadway show Les Misérables. Bingo! The stringy-haired, sad-eyed orphan logo was definitely the culprit. That gastronomical feast for Melrose! Or whatever her real name was. How could she forget?
“Oh, you know what, Aunt Roz? I changed my mind!” Now Lexi was wide awake and then some. “I’ll take some waffles to go, please. And you might as well throw in those eggs, too.”
“Well, of course. I thought you weren’t—”
“Plastic containers? D’ya have any?”
“Um, try the cabinet next to the fridge.” Her aunt looked puzzled as Lexi ran around the kitchen, buzzing like a cell phone on vibrate.
“I am so brain-dead in the morning. I totally forgot how famished I get at camp when we’re off doing, you know—camp stuff.” Just like stealing to help the less fortunate, fibbing to loved ones was allowed under extreme circumstances, she decided as she searched through cabinets and drawers, gathering plasticware, duck sauce packets, a bag of double-stuffed Oreos … “Kevin does too, so—”
“What do I do?” Kevin appeared in the doorway in a black Star Trek T-shirt, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Something smells good.”
“Waffles and eggs—come help yourself, sweetheart,” Aunt Roz said, slaving away at the stove now, like a fry cook at a diner. “Unless you want yours to go too.”
“Huh?”
“Have some now and take some for later,” Lexi said to him with big eyes. “You know how you get. How you’re always starving to death in the middle of those long—whatchamacallits—nature hikes.” She crammed a cookie into his questioning mouth and gave his cheeks a little slap. “Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey.”
“There’s bacon?”
He was clueless, but no matter. Aunt Roz went on to prepare a feast worthy of a soccer team and laid it all out on the counter. “Take it all,” she said, practically fainting into a chair with a fresh cup of coffee and a sigh. “I certainly don’t want it getting back to Mark that I starved his children.”
Lexi gave her a grateful peck on the cheek and got busy packing the food.
“I feel just awful that I haven’t been able to spend much time with you kids, you know? What with the play, and camp, and the world exploding around us.” Aunt Roz fluffed the New York Post, licked a finger, and turned the first page with it. “But tomorrow is Saturday and I promise to make it up to you. I have a music rehearsal in the morning—a costume fitting, but then I’m free the rest of the day.” She crumpled down the paper. “What do you guys say we paint the town red? A Day of Family Fun! We can go to the zoo, the park, wherever you like. Are you listening or am I talking to
the wall? How about the planetarium, Kevin? I’ll bet you’d love that.”
He was in the middle of sucking down blueberries but gave an eager nod.
“Then afterward, I’ll whip up a fabulous home-cooked dinner before we head out to Radio City. An old stage manager friend of mine wrangled up four free tickets for the show that’s there now—some dance troupe, I forget. We could take Kimmy!”
“Oh, joy,” Lexi grumbled.
“You don’t sound very excited, Alexandra.”
“No, I am.” Not really. “I’ll tell her today.” Or not.
“You may as well ask her to dinner, too, while you’re at it,” Aunt Roz said, and turned another page. She slowly buried her nose in the newspaper; then jutted the paper out at arm’s length, blinking widely. “What in the world? ‘KILLER TOMATOES THREATEN THE MIDWEST’? This has to be some kind of joke.”
Lexi stopped what she was doing and zoomed over to her aunt to read the headline in question. “What? Where?” She focused in on it. “That’s killer tornadoes!”
It took a second before they all erupted in a fit of laughter. Kevin grabbed two tomatoes off the windowsill and staggered around the kitchen, pretending they were attacking him. He accidentally knocked a huge copper kettle off the radiator, causing Mr. Findlay to yell “QUIET!” again, which made things even funnier.
“Oh, boy, that’s one for the books,” Aunt Roz said as the laughter died down. “I’m blind as a bat without my bifocals. Kevin, be a love and check my nightstand for them? I don’t know where I possibly could’ve—”
Before she could finish her sentence, he did a sock-slide into the living room—then right back.
“What’s bifocals?”
“Eyeglasses. I need them to see both near and far. Don’t get old!”
Kevin disappeared again while Lexi retrieved the kettle, still giggling about the killer tomatoes. She plunked it back on the radiator and perched on the edge nearest her aunt.