by Shutta Crum
Robert, brave? I’d never thought about him that way before. I’d always liked how Robert didn’t let things get him all twisted up inside. But I hadn’t thought about that as Robert’s way of being brave. Maybe Lester was right.
I hugged him and left for home, pushing my bike across the road.
fourteen
SATURDAY MORNING I GOT up early, before Mama, grabbed a cold biscuit from yesterday’s dinner, and headed out. I walked over to Robert and Baby’s, jumping over the bright blue chicory flowers along the side of the road. Over my shoulder I could see some fog lying sleepily above the river. I might have been the only one up in all of Baylor.
I’d had a hard time falling to sleep the night before. I kept waking up with a tightness in my throat. But I did decide something; sometimes you do have to grab onto a problem and wrestle it to the ground. Sometimes there just isn’t any escaping it. Lester had convinced me. If Robert and Miss Woodruff could be brave and try to change things, so could I.
First, I had to find out what happened when Robert got home yesterday. Then I had to knuckle down and figure out how to get the money for his glasses.
I crept up onto the Ketchums’ front porch and over to the window above Robert and Baby’s bed. I crouched down and raised myself just enough to peek over the windowsill. It looked like everybody was still abed. “Robert,” I whispered. Nothing happened. “Rob-bert,” I said a little louder and lightly tapped my fingers on the windowpane.
Suddenly, a pale face popped up. It was Baby Blue, with his thumb in his mouth. I pressed my face to the window and pointed over to Robert. The next thing I knew, Baby Blue was pushing open the front door. He was dressed only in his underpants.
“Baby,” I whispered, “did Robert get into trouble yesterday?”
Baby shook his head. Then he took his thumb out of his mouth and with a big smile said, “Police car came to our house yesterday!”
I knelt down and hugged him. “I know. But you’re sure? Robert didn’t get into trouble?”
Again Baby shook his head.
“Good!”
Then Baby said, “I’m going to school, too, Jessie.”
“You are?”
“Yup. Mama and the nice lady said so.”
“They did? Was this just yesterday, Baby? After the police car?”
“Yup,” Baby said again, nodding his head up and down.
“That’s great!” I jumped off the porch and did a cartwheel on the dirt.
Baby followed me as I headed to the clubhouse, which was back behind the Ketchums’ coal pile. Once inside, I sat down and put my feet up on the cooler. Baby put his feet up, too. It was cool and quiet there in the early morning.
I looked at all the bright smiling faces around me: Elizabeth Taylor, Danny Kaye, Elvis, Lucille Ball, Debbie Reynolds, the Beatles, Bob Hope, and now Johnny Cash. I couldn’t keep from smiling myself. This was great. Baby was getting into Head Start, after all.
I got out the logbook and put Johnny Cash’s name in it and the date. I flipped through the book. “See, Baby. Our collection is really growing. Someday, when we hit one hundred, we’ll celebrate!”
“I can count to one hundred,” Baby said.
“You can?”
“Yup,” he said. And then he did.
So we played school for a while. We went through all the ABCs, and even got out one of Robert’s library books and read a little. I’d never heard Baby Blue talk so much at one time.
After a while he slid off his chair. “I’m hungry,” he said, and slipped out the door. I figured it was about breakfast time and was thinking about heading home myself when Robert showed up.
“Hey,” he said, stepping through the door. “Baby said you were out here.”
“Yeah. I wanted to put Johnny Cash in the logbook.” I picked the logbook up to show him the new entry.
Robert took the logbook, held it up close, and smiled as he studied it. Then he closed it and said, “So . . . thanks for . . . well, for coming to the Howling Kitty yesterday.”
“What happened after you got home? All Baby said was that he was going to go to school.”
“Well,” said Robert, “Officer Boyd drove me and Daddy home. Miss Woodruff was on the porch with Mama and Mr. Ritchey, the social worker. When we got out of the police car, Mr. Ritchey turned all red, like he was gonna explode. But Miss Woodruff, she just stepped right up to Daddy and slapped those school papers into his hands and handed him a pen. Officer Boyd stayed while Mama and Daddy went inside and talked. After a good while Mama came back out with everything signed, I guess, and handed it all back to Miss Woodruff.”
“You never got a whipping for going into the Howling Kitty?” I asked.
“Nope. Officer Boyd took Daddy around to the back of the house where I think he did a lot of talking and Daddy did a lot of listening. I did hear him say Daddy wasn’t to go back for the truck until he was . . . better. After that”—Robert shrugged—“Daddy went into the house and fell asleep. He slept for the rest of the day and he’s still in bed.”
“That’s good,” I said.
Robert pulled an envelope out of his back pocket. “Here. I got something for you. Adam came around later looking for you when he couldn’t find you at your house or the Gas and Go.”
“I was at Lester’s yesterday after the raffle.” I didn’t say anything about stopping by Robert’s house first. “But if it’s about the raffle, forget it. We won a consolation prize—five dollars’ worth of feed and seed. Fat lot of good that’ll do either of us, unless your mama wants to use it for her garden.”
He handed me the envelope. “Here. Open it.”
I opened it, and inside was five dollars. “What!”
“Adam said his Uncle Joe wanted the feed and seed, so he swapped him five dollars for the gift certificate. So now his uncle can get his seed, and we’ve got five dollars!” Robert was smiling.
I couldn’t help jumping and shouting, “Whoopee! Yes, sir! Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” I danced around the clubhouse, then went over and kissed Elvis, making Robert laugh. “This is great. It may still be enough for a date for my mama, what do you think?”
And then, while I stood there with that money in my hand, it hit me. “How do we know whose it is?” I asked. “Adam put in for both our mamas. Who should get the prize?”
Robert scratched the top of one bare foot with the bottom of the other one and said, “It doesn’t matter. You paid for the raffle tickets, your mama should be the winner.”
“No,” I said firmly. “We should share it, or”—I caught the early morning sun glinting off Robert’s old glasses—“we’ll save it and put it toward something important we both want.” I knew exactly what that was going to be.
Robert was going to argue with me. But then a shadow blocked the sunlight from the clubhouse door, and Doyle stumbled in.
Uh-oh! Why was he up so early? Was he just hung over or had he been drinking already? I slid the envelope with the money in it into my back pocket.
“Where’s that five dollars?” he demanded, without a “Howdy” or a “Good morning.”
“It’s . . . it’s . . .” Robert seemed surprised. He backed up by one of the clubhouse walls. “It’s . . .”
“It’s my money!” I shouted, wondering how Doyle knew about it. “It’s mine and I’m keeping it.”
“Shut your mouth, girl,” Doyle said. “I know what’s what. I heard Adam out on the porch yesterday. He said he didn’t rightly know which one of you had won it. So I figured it was just as likely my boy’s, and I’d get it bright and early this morning and put it to good use.”
“It’s mine. I asked Adam to enter for us, and I paid for the raffle tickets all by myself,” I said. “You aren’t getting it.”
Doyle looked at me like thunder was writ clear across his face. Suddenly, he turned, took two steps across the clubhouse, and struck out with his open hand, slapping Robert up alongside his head so hard his glasses went flying. It would have knocked him right ove
r, but he fell against the wall.
“Haven’t I warned you about playing with girls all the time!” Doyle shouted and started to raise his hand again. “Here’s another one for yesterday, too. It’s time you learnt some respect.”
“Stop that!” I screamed. “Stop it! I’m gonna go tell Beryl Ann!”
“You,” Doyle growled, lowering his hand and turning back to me. “This ain’t your business. This ain’t your property. You get out of here before I throw you out myself. Then we’ll see how many tales you’ll be carrying.”
I ran to the door and spun around. “You lay a hand on me and I’ll scratch your eyes out,” I spat back at him. Then I leaped out the door and ran and never stopped until I got home.
fifteen
I PUSHED THE KITCHEN DOOR open hard with both hands, feeling sure that my heart was going to bust wide open before I got inside. I went sliding across the slippery linoleum floor and landed—thump!—right on my fanny by the kitchen table. I looked up, and who was sitting there but Mama and Grandma. Grandma held a nail-polish brush, poised dead in midair. They were both looking bug-eyed around the end of the table and down at me. Somehow I hadn’t even noticed Grandma’s Thunderbird in the driveway.
“You OK, sweetie?” Mama asked.
I was shaking so much I couldn’t talk at first. And it took me an awfully long time to get up off the floor. When I finally got on my feet, I put my hands down on the table and leaned over to catch my breath. “Doyle . . . Doyle just knocked Robert clear across the clubhouse. And he tried to take our money.”
Mama pushed back her chair—hard. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?” she demanded.
“No, no.” I shook my head. “Robert’s glasses came flying off. And he wanted our money.”
“What money?” Grandma asked.
I slipped my hand into my back pocket, pulled out the envelope with the five dollars in it, and slapped it down on the tabletop. Grandma put the nailbrush back in the red polish and opened the envelope.
“Robert and I won the consolation prize in the Rotary raffle,” I said. “Adam brought it over yesterday. We’re gonna save it for something special.”
“You won this fair and square?” Grandma asked.
“Of course,” I said. What’d she think, I’d stolen it?
Mama pushed her chair all the way out, went to the door, and slipped on her flip-flops. “I’m going over to see Beryl Ann,” she said.
“Doyle’s there,” I warned her. “I don’t know if he’s drunk or not.”
“I’m not afraid of Doyle,” Mama said. “You stay here with your grandmother. I don’t want you following me.”
I glanced at Grandma. I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t rather be tagging along with Mama, even if Doyle was there, than staying here by myself with Grandma. She had returned to touching up her bright red fingernail polish. On the table in front of her was a cup of coffee and a brown paper shopping bag. I also noticed that she’d dyed her hair again, this time really dark, almost black. It made the white puffiness of her face stand out even more. And except for the sunglasses perched up on top of her head, she reminded me a bit of one of those half-dead zombies in the movies. It suddenly came to me that Grandma must work at looking so strange. She wasn’t even that old for a grandma, considering Mama had only just turned twenty when she had me.
“OK,” I whispered, and slipped into Mama’s chair across the kitchen table from Grandma. I heard the door slam as Mama left.
Grandma kept her head bent, polishing her nails for a long time. I put my two hands palms down on the table and kind of drummed the tabletop a little with my thumbs, waiting. I knew Grandma would say something to me sooner or later. She was humming to herself as she fussed with her nails.
“Your hands could use some sprucing up, too,” she finally said.
I looked at my hands. They were pretty grimy, and the nails were caked with dirt. “I was in a hurry this morning,” I said.
“That so?” she answered, and cocked one eyebrow at me. “A girl should be more careful with her toilette. You never know who you might run into during the day.”
“My what?” I asked.
“Twa-let,” she pronounced slowly. “It’s French. It means everything you do to get yourself cleaned up of a morning: washing, getting dressed, brushing your teeth.”
“We don’t speak French around here,” I answered her. “Besides, who am I gonna run into except Robert or Baby Blue anyhow?”
“You never know,” Grandma said. “Life is full of surprises. See, I’ve even got a surprise for you, here in this bag.” She pushed the paper sack across the table toward me and started blowing on her nails. Then she stopped and studied me. “Maybe you’d better wash your hands before you open it,” she said.
Grandma had won that round. Though it really wasn’t fair because she knew I’d want to see what was in the bag. I dragged myself over to the kitchen sink, washed my hands, and quickly dried them off on a towel. “Better?” I asked, flipping them over to show her both sides.
Grandma just snorted out her nose and watched me while I pulled the sack closer and opened it.
sixteen
I LOOKED AT THE white cotton contraption with elastic crisscrossing every which way through metal hooks and pulleys and a little pink bow dead center and could hardly believe it. I was not, absolutely not, positively not, going to get trussed up in a girl harness.
I don’t remember everything I said to Grandma, but finally I yelled, “It isn’t any of your business. So there!” And then I glared at her and crossed my arms. I’d had just about all of this pushy old woman I could take.
She yelled right back, “It is my business, and you’d better get used to it! So there!” She folded her arms, too.
Suddenly, I noticed Mama standing in the doorway. And she did the strangest thing. She looked from me to Grandma and started laughing. I’d never seen my mama laugh so hard. In fact, she started to slide down toward the floor.
I glared at her. “Mother!” What was wrong with her?
“Mirabelle!” demanded Grandma indignantly.
“I’m . . . sorry,” she gasped. “It’s just that . . .” and then she broke off into more peals of laughter. I could tell she was trying to get control. She said, “It’s just that . . . I’m sorry.” And then she started up all over again. She held her side and, finally, bent over with tears in her eyes from laughing so hard, she said, “I think I might pee my pants. Oh!” She struggled to get into a chair. Then she put her head down and laughed so hard she shook the table.
I stamped my foot. “Mama!”
“Well, I don’t see what’s so funny,” Grandma snapped. “Please enlighten us.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Mama said, hiccupping and wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. “It’s just that . . . you two just . . . two peas in a pod. Just alike, you two . . . two peas . . .”
I couldn’t believe what Mama was saying. Us? Just alike? Grandma and me? Grandma and I were . . . well, we were as different as cats and dogs. Anybody could see that.
“Ridiculous!” Grandma said as she crossed her legs and turned her back to us. For once, I completely agreed with her. I stomped off down the hall. When I got to my bedroom, I slammed my door—extra hard.
After a while I stopped pacing back and forth across my room and quietly opened the door a crack. I could hear Mama and Grandma in the kitchen, their voices low. What were they talking about? And what had happened with Mama at the Ketchums’?
I hadn’t had anything to eat except the cold biscuit, and I was starving. So I took a deep breath, left my bedroom, and walked calmly into the kitchen. I went over to the cupboard to get out the cereal without giving Mama or Grandma a direct look. In the middle of the table lay that thing Grandma had brought me. I didn’t look at it, either.
I could tell they were watching me. I opened the fridge and poured some milk over my Puffed Wheat. I put a piece of bread in the toaster and sat down at the end of the table, between them, to
eat my breakfast. No one said a word.
When I looked up from my cereal, I could see a smile twitching at the corners of Mama’s mouth.
I cleared my throat and asked her, “So what happened when you went to see Beryl Ann?”
“Well,” Mama began, “I was just going up their drive when I met Doyle heading out. He wasn’t too happy to see me. He told me I wasn’t welcome, and you weren’t welcome at his house anymore.”
“Oh, nol” I dropped my spoon. “What about Robert and Baby Blue? They’re my best friends! I just—”
“Hush,” Mama interrupted me, raising her palm up like she was directing traffic. “It’ll be all right; that’s just Doyle talking. I’ve got a feeling he isn’t going to be around for a while—he was taking his things with him. He had his shotgun and a paper sack full of clothes under his arm. So I waited a bit and then went on up to the house to see Beryl Ann. It seems she told him to get out and not to come back until he’d done something about his drinking.”
“You mean they’re gonna get a divorce?” I gasped. I was amazed. Folks around here didn’t get divorced, except Grandma, of course.
“I didn’t say that,” Mama said sharply. “And don’t go talking about this to anyone else. Beryl Ann just said that she told Doyle she didn’t want to set eyes on him again unless he was sober and getting help to stay that way And he isn’t to raise a hand to Robert or Baby either, or go near them, or she’ll call the police.”
“About time,” Grandma chimed in. “Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.”
“Mama!” objected my mother.
And what about Baby, I wondered. For some reason, he loved his daddy. It used to be that if Doyle was sober and up and around, Baby followed him everywhere. Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening much these days. And Robert? I didn’t know what to think about Robert and his father. Yesterday Doyle had reached out and grabbed onto Robert like a drowning man. But today he’d gone and slapped Robert across the clubhouse.