Where else?
And then one frigid winter day, he met Georgie, who was standing over a heating vent, trying not to cry in its steam. Georgie was almost as big as Shug. He was starting a mustache, for crying out loud. But his eyes were wide, and the way he looked at Matt told him that he’d never have to fight this kid for food. Dang, this kid would probably give his food away.
“That steam is poison,” said Matt.
“Don’t be a jerk,” the kid said. “If that was true, I would have died a long time ago.”
“You’re going to die if you stay out in this cold,” Matt said.
“Maybe,” the kid said. Then he opened his jacket and drew out an orange. He threw it to Matt. “If I’m going to die tonight, you may as well have this.”
I knew it, thought Matt.
Matt went over to the vent and stood with Georgie in the poisonous steam. He peeled the orange and they shared it.
“I know a place,” said Matt—even though he almost didn’t want to tell him, because of that Alley. But it was so cold! “And there’s food. Sort of.”
So they went, and when they walked in together, Matt could tell right away that Shug didn’t like Georgie. And he could tell right away that he was about to get smacked. But when the kid stood between them and Shug backed off, Matt could tell that things were about to change.
And they did.
A little.
Georgie wouldn’t let anyone fight for food anymore. Especially the smaller kids.
Georgie made sure that everyone had a coat and that no one took what wasn’t theirs.
And Georgie slept by the window, and the smallest kids by the far wall—or wherever was warmest.
When Matt told him he had to be careful around Shug, Georgie said Matt was a jerk and shouldn’t worry.
And when Shug was about to smack someone, Georgie was there.
Always.
That spring, Georgie took Matt all over New York City—not for jobs, but just to see New York. He took him to Central Park, to the lions by the New York Public Library, to Rockefeller Center and to Radio City, where they snuck in to see the Rockettes—who were worth what the ushers said to the boys when they were caught. They went to Flushing Meadows and climbed the Unisphere until the guards told them to get the heck out of there! They went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and Georgie told him he was a jerk because he liked the Egyptian stuff a whole lot more than the medieval armor. They went to Lincoln Center, and Georgie told him he was a jerk because Matt couldn’t figure out why someone would like music without any words. They went to the UN and Georgie told Matt he was a jerk because he didn’t know that “UN” stood for “Unified Nations.”
And if Shug was ticked off that Matt had missed a job because he was standing in front of some painting or climbing on the Unisphere or something, Georgie was beside him, and Shug would say what he had to say, but he would never smack Matt.
Georgie.
In the summer when Matt was twelve—they figured—Georgie said he wanted to give him a birthday present. He asked Matt if he’d ever gone anywhere outside the city, and Matt said he hadn’t even thought about it. “You jerk,” said Georgie. So the next day they went to Grand Central Station. They boarded a train for anywhere north. It was easy to keep moving from train car to train car, or to pretend they were with a family, or to hide in the bathrooms—the conductor never said a thing. Maybe he didn’t want to fuss with the trouble it all might bring. Or maybe he’d boarded a train without a ticket once when he was a kid. Anyway, they rode for a couple of hours, and when they got off, it was into a different world. Trees everywhere. They’d never seen so many trees. A river broader than a city block. Broader than two city blocks. Three! The air clean and bright with sunlight. Houses made of wood, painted clean, and people push mowing their lawns and walking with their dogs. Smiling like it was real.
They slept that night in a shed that someone hadn’t even locked. “You can always find a shed when you need it,” Georgie had said. It smelled like Matt imagined deep woods would smell.
And they talked about being cowboys and it always being like this—except there probably weren’t so many trees out West. But wouldn’t it be fine, out under the stars, riding horses, rounding up cattle and roping them, riding during the day, sleeping by the fire at night. The stars. Wouldn’t it be fine?
Neither wanted to go back. Ever. But what else could they do? They’d wait a couple of years, until Matt was older, and then they’d head West. They’d be cowboys. Horses, stars, cattle, sunlight. They’d be cowboys.
Shug didn’t say anything to them when they got back. Just nodded, told them to go to bed, he had a job for Matt tomorrow. Better get some sleep after being out so long.
It was all a little spooky. And it didn’t help that the other boys looked at them like they knew something.
Matt and Georgie slept late, and when they got up, Shug told Matt he should go check out the winos over in Times Square. He handed him the change for the train. “Don’t get caught,” he said. “I’m not going to bail you out if you do. And if you do, you keep quiet, like I told you a hundred times. Remember, I got boys all grown up and serving hard time who would eat you if I told them to.”
He leaned closer to Matt.
“I got boys . . . everywhere.”
Matt nodded. He believed him. And he wouldn’t get caught.
And he didn’t. There were enough winos in Times Square that day to make it worthwhile. One even had four twenties on him. Matt splurged at a hamburger joint, then got on the train. It wasn’t a fantastic haul, but it was better than you’d expect from the winos of Times Square.
When he got back, he saw them again: the Small Guy who scampered, the Big Guy who strolled. They were standing at the end of that Alley, the Big Guy wiping his knife off on the Small Guy’s shirt, then laughing, then combing back his hair. They looked at Matt and separated and walked their own ways—scampering, strolling. And Matt—with a heart that had stopped beating—went into that Alley.
What he saw there, what he saw there, made everything that had ever happened to him Before, and everything that would ever happen to him After.
What he saw there, what he saw there, made Matt kneel down and whisper, “You jerk, you jerk, you jerk.”
Then he went upstairs as if in a dream, as if he could not see to see, as if he could never care about anything ever again. He opened the door as if his hands were not his own. Shug was not there. Matt opened all the drawers in Shug’s desk and threw them to the floor. He opened all the drawers in his dresser and threw them to the floor. He looked in the closet and pulled everything out. He looked under the bed and dragged everything out. Then he walked back to the closet and stepped on a loose floorboard.
That’s where he found what he knew would hurt Shug most. That’s where he found what, if it went missing, might even get Shug taken into the Alley himself. It was in a white pillowcase—all hundreds.
He did not take anything else. He left the building. He walked to Grand Central Station, sweating under the hot summer sun. He knew which train to take and how to get aboard without the conductor seeing.
He headed anywhere north.
Fourteen
By midmorning on her birthday, Meryl Lee was waiting by the poisoned wall with spears, shoulders huddled against the cold, as her mother drove up.
“It’s October nineteenth!” Meryl Lee hollered when the car stopped.
Her mother rolled down the window. “So it must be someone’s birthday,” she said.
“It’s mine!”
It was what they had been saying to each other on Meryl Lee’s birthday since she was four years old.
“Where’s Dad?”
“I’m sorry, Meryl Lee. He wasn’t able to come.”
“He wasn’t able to come?”
“So what shall we do today?” said her mother.
Meryl Lee got in the car and they drove south and Meryl Lee breathed in the smell of her mother’s lily of
the valley perfume. She had not realized how much she missed that smell. Along the way, her mother tried to catch her up on what was happening back home. Jerusalem Avenue was being repaved again. A model Florida condominium had been built a few blocks away and they had painted the cement grass green! Goldman’s Best Bakery had bought the clock repair shop next door to expand, probably because developers were thinking of building an indoor mall nearby, but honestly, no one was happy about the idea.
Meryl Lee listened to her mother’s voice. She listened and listened and listened. She closed her eyes. It was wonderful.
Did Meryl Lee know that Mr. Collins next door was retiring from the school? Her mother had had no idea he was ready for retirement. He looked so young still. And the Caseys were converting their garage into an apartment for their daughter and new son-in-law. And down on the corner, that green house, it was being painted yellow. And the Hoodhoods—
Her mother’s voice went silent for a moment.
“The Hoodhoods are moving farther out on the Island. They’ll put the house up for sale in the spring.”
Meryl Lee tried not to cry.
They were in Portland a little before noon. They drove along the waterfront, got lost twice, went past the same burned-out wharf three times, and finally found a deli in a neighborhood where all the roads were cobblestones and went every which way. The smells of good bread and sweet cakes and honey and cinnamon billowed at the doorway.
They ate chocolate éclairs. The éclairs were fine. Afterward they stood by the harbor and watched the shipping. Fine. It was a perfect October day, with the sky a perfect blue, and the cool breezes perfect, but both of them sort of quiet, as though they were thinking of things they didn’t want to say.
It got colder in the afternoon, and they had watched enough lobster boats. They went back to the car by the deli and her mother gave Meryl Lee her present: a Wedgwood pendant. Meryl Lee fastened it around her neck.
“How does it look?” she said.
“Fine,” her mother said. Then after a minute, “Are you getting to know many of the girls?”
“Some,” Meryl Lee said.
“Are they friendly?”
“Some,” Meryl Lee said.
They drove back to St. Elene’s quietly, and it was almost dusk when they parked beside Newell Chapel. Meryl Lee’s mother said, “Honey, I was hoping to talk with you about something.”
Meryl Lee looked at her. “I miss Holling,” she said.
“I know,” said her mother.
“I miss him every day.”
“We all do,” said her mother.
“No,” said Meryl Lee. “Not like this.”
They held each other until Meryl Lee sat back, feeling the weight of the Blank flat against her. “I never knew how much I would miss him,” she said. Then, after another long time, “I’m sorry. You wanted to tell me something?”
Her mother looked out the car window.
“You know, Meryl Lee, it’s not so important. We’ll talk about it another time. This is your birthday and it’s supposed to be a happy day.” She patted Meryl Lee on the leg. “The pendant looks so lovely on you. Happy birthday. Happy birthday, Meryl Lee.”
She was waving when she drove off past the poison ivy, and Meryl Lee was waving. The car turned out of the main gate, and Meryl Lee thought, What did she want to tell me? And beside her, the Blank hovered. It moved with her across the commons, and to Netley, and then, later, to Evening Meal, where Meryl Lee was more than a little surprised. Actually, a whole lot more than a little surprised.
Because Jennifer was sitting at the table.
Jennifer, who was supposed to be at the Parker House hotel in Boston, and then at the Boston Symphony, and then at the Secret Alden Destination.
But Alden—they learned this between bouts of tears—wonderful Alden, divine kilted Alden, couldn’t come because he had to fly to Stockholm to visit his great-aunt who was dying and entrusting her vault of jewels to his care. Jennifer held her napkin to her eyes and Mrs. Saunders said, “Indeed,” and Jennifer sent her salad back with Bettye and then her soup and then her entrée because how could she possibly, possibly eat halibut fillets when she was distraught, and she knew that Alden couldn’t eat either because he was distraught too, and didn’t anyone understand that?
“I think we do understand,” said Mrs. Saunders.
Then the doors from the lobby opened and Bettye came into the dining hall with yellow roses wrapped in white paper and Ashley called out from her table, “Are those from Alden?” but it wasn’t really a question because Ashley knew they were and some of the girls started to squeal with delight because they knew they were too and wasn’t Alden wonderful, even if he couldn’t come to see Jennifer at St. Elene’s?
Except they were not from Alden.
And they were not for Jennifer.
They were for Meryl Lee. From Mr. and Mrs. Hoodhood. For her birthday.
It got pretty quiet in Greater Hoxne Dining Hall when Bettye walked by Jennifer and laid the yellow roses in front of Meryl Lee.
“How lovely,” said Mrs. Saunders after a moment. “Bettye, can you bring a vase and water, please?”
Bettye turned to find a vase and water as the Blank fell upon Meryl Lee like a granite slab.
Fifteen
1966
The day he ran from Leonidas Shug, Matt made it to the train station in New Haven, Connecticut, where he was discovered by an annoyed conductor who didn’t want any trouble or any paperwork or any official fuss and who did not did not really did not want Matt on his train anymore.
So Matt got off and slept the rest of the night on a high-backed wooden bench in the station.
The next morning he walked to the bus station and decided that this time, he’d better buy the ticket. So he pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and waited in line for the sleepy guy in the ticket booth.
“Where to?” the sleepy guy said.
Matt looked at the possibilities on the DEPARTING TO sign above him.
“New Bedford,” he said.
“Ticket for one?” he said.
“Yes,” said Matt.
“Return?”
“Nope,” said Matt.
The ticket guy looked at him.
“Aren’t you a little young to be traveling by yourself?” he said.
“I’ve been with my aunt,” Matt said. “My parents will be waiting for me at the New Bedford station.”
“Huh,” said the ticket guy.
Matt handed him the hundred.
The ticket guy turned it over, then held it up to the light. “So,” he said, “you carry a lot of these?”
Matt held up the pillowcase. “I got a whole bag of them.”
“Sure you do,” said the ticket guy. He pulled the ticket out of its slot and punched it. Then he leaned forward and handed it to Matt. “Should I think twice before giving you this ticket?” he said.
Matt almost said yes. He almost handed the ticket guy the whole pillowcase. He almost asked to come inside the booth and curl up under the counter like a little kid might—maybe even go to sleep.
He almost did.
“Nope,” said Matt, and he took the ticket and left.
He stayed in the men’s room, standing on a toilet, the door locked, until it was almost time for the bus to pull out. Then he boarded and settled on a seat near the back of the bus, sitting beside a black guy in a suit who hummed “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms” like a lullaby until Matt fell asleep to it, wondering where he had heard that song before, wishing he could remember, thinking it might be important, wishing he knew what it would feel like to be safe and secure from all alarms.
He slept all the way to New Bedford, and woke only when the bus hunched its hulking self to a stop and passengers began to stand up.
And when he woke up, Matt realized right away that he had been leaning against the guy in the suit while he slept.
He sat up. “Sorry,” he said.
“That’s all right,” s
aid the guy. “You meeting someone here?”
Matt nodded.
“No, you’re not,” said the guy.
“My aunt and uncle are . . .”
The guy shook his head. “A young puppy can’t never fool an old dog.” He leaned down close to Matt. “Son, are you in any trouble?”
And because a young puppy can’t never fool an old dog, and because you can’t lie to someone who’s been singing you a lullaby all the way from New Haven to New Bedford, Matt nodded.
That night, Matt stayed in the home of Pastor Darius Malcolm and his wife, Sophia.
“It’s just a tiny house,” said Sophia.
“But there’s plenty of room for you,” said Pastor Darius.
“Yes, there is,” said Sophia, “but the bedroom upstairs is kind of cold.”
“There’s Milly’s quilts put away,” said Pastor Darius. “He could use them.”
“He could,” said Sophia, “but I hope you won’t mind that the bathroom is behind the kitchen and you have to be sure to jiggle the handle once you’re done.”
“He won’t mind,” said Pastor Darius.
“But he’s a boy, Darius, and he needs to run around, and—”
“He won’t mind.”
And Matt, who thought this was the most beautiful home he’d ever been inside, did not mind.
He fell asleep under Milly’s quilts and slept almost a whole day. When he woke up, Pastor Darius and Sophia stuffed him with scrod, and sweet potatoes, and buttered peas, and blueberry buckle with vanilla ice cream. Then he went back to sleep under Milly’s quilts, remembering somehow what it used to mean to be home.
He stayed with Pastor Darius and Sophia Malcolm for the whole summer.
He was the happiest he could remember being.
Pastor Darius was the minister of the Second Baptist Church of New Bedford, Massachusetts, which meant that he preached and prayed and baptized, and Sophia did all the rest. They were, they liked to say, poor as church mice but blessed beyond Solomon in all his glory, and Matt could see that at least the first was true. It didn’t take him long to realize that the scrod dinner he’d had that first night probably took most of the cash they had in the house. He didn’t know how they would ever get by without the casseroles and pies that parishioners brought in—some of which were pretty good. (Not Mrs. Nielson’s Brussels Sprouts Surprise.) Matt would watch the faithful bring their meals while he set up the chairs for Wednesday night prayer meeting, or when he swept the sanctuary of Second Baptist on Saturday afternoons, or when he picked up all the broken crayons in the primary kids’ Sunday school rooms on Mondays.
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