My heart started beating faster. “What are we doing?”
The doors closed in front of us and I heard Nash exhale as if he had been holding his breath for an hour.
I looked up as I felt the elevator descending. “Was that man in our room?”
Nash nodded. “Yeah, that was definitely our room.”
“Maybe it was room service,” I ventured.
“I kind of doubt it.” He pulled me out onto a new floor as the doors opened.
Nash’s eyes darted up and down the hall.
I was scared. “What does this mean?”
He was still thinking. “It means you’re going to have to wait here.”
“Right here? In the hall?”
“Yeah.” He lowered himself onto one knee, turning me so we were eye to eye. “Listen, I’m going to go back upstairs,” he said, pulling his watch off and handing it to me. “Just wait right here. If the big hand touches the three before I get back go get help downstairs at the front desk.
Now my heart was really beating fast. Big tears swelled in my eyes. “What?”
Nash rubbed his hands on my shoulders, “You’re okay. We’re okay. I just need to go upstairs and check out the room. Okay?”
“Okay.” I looked down at the watch. My hands were shaking.
Nash stood and pushed the elevator button. “Stay right here.” When the doors opened he stepped inside, turned, and just as they were closing gave me a quick wink.
It made me want to cry. What if he didn’t come back? What if someone bad was up there? What if something happened to my mother? Where would I go? Who would take care of me?
Just then the elevator chimed and the doors opened again. Two strangers stepped out. I realized I’d been holding my breath. They stepped around me, walking toward their room. I watched, but they didn’t look like criminals, and pretty soon I turned back to the elevator. My right eye started to twitch. Sweet Jesus. What was going on? I wanted to go wait downstairs. What if something happened to Nash?
In my panic I turned and saw Moochi walking down the hall toward me.
“Thank God you’re here,” I whispered.
He nodded, his ears flopping.
I looked around to make sure no one else was in the hall. “Something’s happened,” I said urgently. “Have you seen my mother?”
Moochi shook his head.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
The elevator dinged behind me. The doors were opening as I turned, and I saw Nash walking toward me.
“Who are you talking to?” he asked.
“Moochi.”
“Oh. Get in.”
I rushed in to the elevator and wrapped my arms around Nash’s waist so that he wouldn’t leave me again. Moochi stood in the hall staring at us. The doors closed.
On the ride up I noticed Nash had a gun stuffed down the front of his pants.
“Is that real?”
His eyes watched the numbers light up. He looked down at his waist, then over at me. “Yeah. It’s real.”
That worried me. As we walked to our room I held out my hand for Nash. The feeling of his big warm hand made me feel better.
Inside our hotel room there was a lamp on in the living room. Passing by the doorway to Nash’s room, I saw my mother lying limply across the bed, one arm dangling over the side. From where I was standing I could see the gnarled purple highway of veins running from her wrist to her elbow.
Nash stepped in front of me, pulling the door closed. “She’s sleeping. Let’s go get something to eat.”
I knew she wasn’t sleeping but didn’t say anything. I’d seen it on the late, late movie.
We rode in the taxi in silence. I stared out the window, watching storefronts and buildings pass. I wanted to move to New York, to live in the big city, to never go home again.
Chapter 5
A week after returning from New York, Nash rented a house for the three of us. My mom and I had been living in a small three-room apartment for as long as I could remember, so a house was huge. She was around for a few days after we moved the boxes in and then disappeared into her bedroom. Moochi and I were thrilled. We had an entire house to explore. There was a basement, an attic, a carport, and lots of empty closets.
Moochi found a jar of pennies under the sink in the basement. We put my money from New York in the jar and then Moochi and I were rich. Under the exposed light bulb hanging from a cord, we talked about our new fortune.
“Look, we have treasure.” I held up my wrist, showing off my bracelet. “Pirate’s treasure.”
We stole bananas and yogurt and peanut butter and bread from the kitchen and took it back to my room for a picnic. Then I sent Moochi to snoop around outside my mother’s door. He came back after I finished my peanut butter sandwich.
“Did you find anything?”
He shook his head.
Nash came home later that day when the sun was setting with a trunk full of paper bags. Being nosey, I walked out into the garage.
“Hey,” he said. “How’s it been going?”
“Good,” I said.
“Help me get all of this inside.” He handed me a bag. “I went to the store and bought you some presents.”
Presents? The word alone ignited me. With lightning speed I dragged brown paper bags bigger than me into the kitchen while Nash brought in the heavy stuff. I thought my mother would come out to see what was going on but her door stayed closed. Nash reached into a bag, pulled something out, and ceremoniously hid it behind his back.
He knelt down in front of me. “Okay, close your eyes.”
I did.
“Now put out your hands.”
I did.
The weight of several items filled my hands. I opened my eyes. There was a stack of books. New tennis shoes. Then he reached for a plastic bag and pulled out a little rabbit fur coat. “I guess you’ll just need to put this on so we can go to the movies.”
My eyes widened so far I felt my scalp tighten. “Is that mine?”
“Yep,” he said, “and so is this.” He pulled a fuzzy pink purse and a Box of Magic out of the bag, and held it up in the air. “Now, go get ready. We’re going to the movies.”
I snatched my coat and purse and tore through the house.
Moochi was sitting on my bed inspecting the fur between his toes.
“Hey,” I belted, breathlessly. “Look what I got.”
His eyes lit up as he reached for the purse. He rubbed it against his cheek.
“And we’re going to the movies. We’re going to see Star Wars.”
Moochi stood up, smoothing his fur.
Down the hall I heard the door to my mother’s bedroom open. Moochi and I ran to my bedroom door, which was still open, and craned our ears as far out as we could. The muffled sound of voices filled the hall but we couldn’t make out any real words. I didn’t care. We were going to the movies.
I was a little worried that Star Wars would be about Civil War stuff and that would bore me to tears because we talked about the Civil War forever in school. It wasn’t. On the way home I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be Han Solo, Obi Wan, or Princess Leia. Moochi wanted to be Chewbacca.
That night Nash made dinner while I ran around the living room with a cardboard tube that was my light saber, attacking the rebel forces behind the couch, practicing to be a Jedi by standing for long periods of time balanced on one foot. Then I ran off down the driveway because the Imperials were in hot pursuit. I came back when I was hungry.
Nash and I watched another movie on the flat box he called a vcr. It was fantastic. Movies in the living room. Mashed potatoes, Salisbury steak, carrots, and a perfect little apple cobbler in its own section of the tray.
After dinner, Nash made me a hot chocolate. “Here,” he said. “take this to your room and drink it. I have to go out.”
I felt my brow furrowing.
“Don’t worry.” He ruffled my hair. “I’ll be back. I just need to take care of some business.”
My face scrunched up.
Nash knelt in front of me, reasoning, “It’s way past your bedtime.”
I forced my bottom lip out as far as it would go.
“Tupelo Honey . . .”
I stomped my foot.
“Okay. We’ll watch more movies tomorrow and we’ll have French toast for breakfast.”
I stumbled in my resolve. “What’s French toast?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.” He steered me off in the direction of my room. “Promise me you won’t leave the house.”
“I promise.”
Moochi and I huddled in the middle of my bed, slurping hot chocolate. The house was perfectly quiet. We listened. Not a sound. It started to give me the creeps.
“What if she’s dead?” I leaned forward, whispering.
Moochi didn’t say anything.
“Let’s go see if she’s okay.”
Slowly and silently we crept over to the door, then tiptoed down the hall. Nash had turned off all the lights and only moonlight from the living room illuminated our path. At the bedroom door, I stopped. My heart started beating faster. I stared at the big metal doorknob, studying the shadows of gray around the grooves carved into it. It was huge. Moochi started scratching.
“Shhh . . . ,” I said.
Finally, taking a deep breath, I reached out, grabbed the doorknob, and turned it slow as molasses. It glided open. Moonlight filled the room. In the middle of the bed, piled under a lump of blankets, was my mother. I couldn’t hear her breathing. With clear determination I walked over to the bed. As my hand moved through the blue light to touch her, she woke up, pushing herself away from me.
“What are you doing in here?” Her voice choked in her throat, gravelly, loud enough to scare me.
“I wanted to . . .”
“Get out of here.” She coughed, covering her mouth. “I’m sick.”
“But Nash is . . .”
“Get out. Don’t come back in here. Do you understand?”
Her voice rose so high it frightened me. Her eyes were wide, funny looking.
“Get out,” she yelled at me.
I began backing away.
“Don’t come in here. Do you understand?”
“No,” I said, feeling my voice quiver.
“Don’t come back in here.” She coughed.
Moochi ran.
I ran, too, slamming the door on my way out.
I leapt up onto my bed so fast I was able to see my own door slamming shut behind me. Moochi’s fur was all bristled up.
“I don’t think she likes us,” I whispered.
We listened for a long time but never heard anything. Eventually, I pulled my Box-o-Magic book out and started reading. It had a bag of magic dust.
Late that night I heard Nash’s car in the garage. I opened my eyes long enough to see the outlines of boxes against clear white moonlight. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up again, Nash was standing over my bed holding a new stuffed rabbit.
“Hey,” he whispered. “How’s it going?”
“Okay,” I said, trying to let my eyes adjust to the light in the hall.
“Come on. You’re going with me.”
“Where?”
“To your Marmalade’s house for a few days.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I know,” he said, giving me a hand up. “Let’s go to the Pancake Hut.”
There weren’t many people eating pancakes at six o’clock in the morning. We sat in a corner booth. I loved syrup. I wanted to put it on everything. After we ordered, I asked, “Why do I have to go to Marmalade’s house now?”
“I’ll tell you later.” He poured himself a cup of coffee.
I was beginning to learn that I’ll tell you later meant I don’t want to talk about it right now.
No one was awake when we parked at the curb in front of Marmalade’s house. Nash helped me out of the car and carried my hatbox. A worried look furrowed his brow. “When does everyone usually wake up around here?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Depends on when they went to bed.”
“Okay.” He knelt down in front of me. “Will you be okay?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll practice being a Jedi Knight.”
He laughed. “Alright. Watch out for the Imperials.”
Chapter 6
We didn’t have a house phone. Nash didn’t believe in them. He said it was too easy for people to listen in. He never bothered to explain who might be listening in, and he made me solemnly swear not to tell anyone at school about our personal business. I agreed because I didn’t really talk to many kids at school anyway. Preston was my only friend, and I figured God had told him all about my family a long time ago. Preston prayed too much not to get some dirt from the Almighty.
Nash sported a tiny black box-like gizmo concealed in his pocket. When the beeper started making noise, Nash got into the car and drove to the nearest convenience store. These newfangled late-night stores figured greatly in our lives. Back and forth we drove. Back and forth. No phone to tap, or crazy ringing when you’re in the bath. Just the constant motion of getting in and out of the car.
Around Thanksgiving my mother told me that we were going to take a vacation. We packed up the car and drove for an eternity through Texas. Moochi and I had to share the backseat with Inca, the new guard dog Nash had brought home.
Nash was convinced banks were going to collapse, that money would become obsolete, that only people who possessed gold, gemstones, hash, and marijuana would ever survive. At least that’s what he said. It was weird but it worked for him. Anyway, that’s how we ended up in Mexico.
In the backseat, reading my library books, I asked, “Where are we?”
Nash glanced up into the rearview mirror. “Texas.”
I took a nap. When I woke up in the backseat wondering how many days had passed, I asked again, “Where are we?”
Nash replied, “Texas.”
I passed out and woke with my stomach growling. “Where are we?”
“Texas,” Nash said, slumped over the steering wheel like an old bull put out to pasture.
“I’m hungry,” I said.
“Well, you’ll just have to wait. It’s three AM,” my mother snapped from the front seat.
Nash bought me dinner at a gas station.
Nash and my mother took turns driving and sleeping. Late the next night we rolled into El Paso. It seemed so lonely. The border was quiet. Dust blew across the highway, pushing tumbleweed.
Nash slowed the car down, and the familiar rumble of the highway diminished. It was dark and late. There were virtually no other cars on the road. I sat up in the backseat, clutching my blanket, and I could see a few cars ahead of us stopped at what looked like tollbooths. Men with rifles and uniforms guarded the booths. Something told me we weren’t going to just toss a few dimes in and go. Outside, the air was warm and quiet on this long stretch of terrain, and whether real or imaginary, the sense of crossing over into an unknown place shimmied up over my skin until I felt cold and clammy.
A man with a rifle asked a lot of questions, checked the papers for Inca, and shone the brightest flashlight I’d ever seen into my eyes no less than half-a-dozen times. As Nash pulled away I saw him glance up in the rearview mirror only once, but I turned around backwards in the seat, watching the border of the only country I’d ever known fade away into a flat, inky darkness.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Border Patrol,” Nash said.
I whispered the name aloud as dusty plains swallowed up our headlights. We sped through the night. In the dark silence I peeled an orange from the snack bag I’d filled up at the last gas station and fell asleep with Inca snoring next to my head.
Drifting into the lull of the road, I remembered an Indian man back at the border pointing, smiling, saying, “Bueno . . . Bueno . . . Si?” I didn’t know what it meant but I liked the sound of it.
“Bueno,” I whispered to Inca, who pricked up an ear and li
cked my face.
The most embarrassing part of the trip began when we got to Mexico City. It was here that my mother and Nash begin to speak what I called “Stupid Foreigner Spanish.” I woke up from my golden sleep to find Inca perched at the car window, his tail fur swishing back and forth over my face. Outside the car, Nash attempted the most inane conversation with a Mexican man I’ve ever heard.
“We’re trying to findo el hotelo.”
The Mexican man stared at him.
“Driving . . . ” Nash pantomimed holding a steering wheel. “Um . . . do you speaka English?”
“No hablo Ingles.” The man shook his head, trying to get away.
“We’re looking,” Nash said, doing his best impersonation of Marcel Marceau, looking out across the great divine space of Mexico City for our hotel.
God, it was so embarrassing . . . and I had to pee. I wanted to tap on the glass and yell to Nash, “Bathroomo retardo.”
Nash was still outside the car pursuing his dream of becoming a street mime when the Mexican man just nodded at him and walked away. I wondered how to say “freak” in Spanish.
Stopping the next woman he passed, Nash desperately blurted out, “Do you speak English?”
She shook her head, moving back into the flow of pedestrians. Buses belched exhaust and cars bleeped like steel insects on the street. From what I gathered in my hungry, sleepy perch in the backseat, apparently no one in this car had given any thought to the fact that everything in Mexico was probably written in Spanish. I wanted to get out of the car and slap Nash but I was too short. Besides, I had to pee.
Even though my years on Earth were barely in the double digits, I understood that Nash spoke the worst Spanish anyone had ever heard. Comprenda? Un minuto while I checka mia translation bookletta. Mexicans must have one hell of a sense of humor. I bet they made jokes about how living too close to the border lowers iq.
It was almost noon from what I could tell. The sun was blazing over the top of the car. Nash looked like he was hallucinating and slowly coming apart. I hadn’t seen him shower in days. In a huff, my mother got out of the car and slammed the door. Inca and I watched her. She was wearing a dance leotard and a wraparound skirt that looked ridiculous but, hey, what the hell. In her big cork platform shoes she clomped over to the first man she saw and asked, “Hotel Zocalo?”
Tupelo Honey Page 4