Dottie pulled a bubble-gum-flavored ChapStick out of her pocket. Where’d she gotten that? ChapStick was on the forbidden list, since she could never resist eating it. Now she smeared it over her lips and gave them a satisfied lick.
“That was ye olden days,” she said. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”
“Make me laugh!”
“FYI, I know my way around this neighborhood way better than you do.”
“Do not!”
“Do so!”
“Do not!”
“Do so!”
The men’s heads swiveled back and forth on their turkey necks.
“Fine!” yelled Mo. Her good mood went up in steam. “I’ve had it with you! Go ahead! See if I care! Go to the moon!”
“I wish!”
Dottie marched away. The men leaned forward, regarding Mo with expectant faces. Surely she wouldn’t let such a young, not to mention demented, girl wander off on her own? Embarrassed, Mo turned away, but instead of following her sister, she made straight for the bus shelter.
The floor was littered with cigarette butts, as if there’d been a party, or as if one person had sat waiting way too long. The sun heated the place up, and Mo unzipped her jacket. Scrunched into the corner, she tried counting to a hundred. She was up to eighty-seven when a bus pulled up, brakes hissing. The sign said 18 PARADISE. Pushing open the door, the driver looked down at Mo. It took her a moment to realize what he was waiting for.
“Oh, no,” she cried. “I’m not going anywhere! I’m just taking shelter here.”
“Poor baby,” he said, and pulled the door shut.
Embarrassed all over again, Mo stood up. Even the shelter wasn’t a shelter today. One of the pigeon men lowered his binoculars and waggled his finger at her as she trudged by.
Dottie was not at the Robin’s Egg. Not the Soap Opera, either.
“She hasn’t been in,” said Carmella, her brow creasing like a dusky fan. “Want Homer to help look?”
“It’s okay,” Mo said, aiming for a lighthearted tone. “It’s not the first time I ever hunted for her.”
But a little belt of worry drew itself around her heart. Back on Fox Street, she’d have known exactly where to look, but here? She didn’t know the names of all Dottie’s friends, much less where they lived. She peered down the street, with its jumble of people, doors, and signs. Dottie was barely tall enough to see over the parked cars, and she wasn’t what you’d call an excellent reader. It’d be easy for her to lose her bearings.
Not to mention, after all those years of living on dead-end Fox Street, you couldn’t trust her to look both ways when she crossed a street.
The worry belt tightened another notch. Mo knew she should go home and tell her father. He’d jump in the car and find her. But as clearly as if he stood before her, Mo saw how disappointed and upset he’d look when she told him what she’d done. What was wrong with her? What had happened to the dependable, trustworthy girl she’d been? What in the world had come over her?
A guilty-looking orange cat slunk by. Feeling queasy, Mo blundered up and down the long streets. Once or twice she lost her bearings herself, but one foot kept putting itself in front of the other, till she found herself back by the Robin’s Egg. She’d traveled a circle, or a rectangle, or some shape with no name, and come right back where she’d started. Sisterless.
Think. Mo swallowed hard. Think.
But all she could do was wonder. What should she do? Why were so many things her fault? How had life gotten so messed up and unfair?
Wondering was not thinking. It was only one letter removed from wandering.
The sun slid down the sky, taking all the day’s hopeful warmth with it. A grouchy man shuffled toward her on the sidewalk. He wore large rubber boots with buckles. Fountains of hair spurted from his ears. Al! Al the shoe guy! Mo was overcome with gratitude to recognize someone, even him.
“Al! It’s me! Your neighbor!”
In reply, Al tucked his whiskery chin against his shoulder. A harrumphing sound escaped him, and he pointed over his shoulder.
Close on his rubber heels came Dottie, her head down and her thumb in her mouth. Clutched to her chest was a bag that said PET UNIVERSE.
“There you are!” Mo grabbed her.
Whomp. Dottie’s head drove into Mo’s stomach.
“Are you okay?” Mo asked. Dottie’s head went up and down. “That’s too bad,” Mo told her, “because I have to kill you.”
“I remembered Handsome’s out of crickets.” Dottie sniffled. “I was only trying to be a good pet owner. The guy at Pet Universe is so nice—he said I could pay next time. But when I came out, I got backwarded. I think they moved the door, or something.”
Dottie’s scarf dragged on the ground. Mo wrapped it around her sister’s neck.
“Please don’t strangle me!”
Mo’s heart, half strangled itself, began to beat normally once more. Looking down at her sister, she thought of Carmella, hungering after a sister of her own. Mo held tight to the back of Dottie’s jacket as they walked along.
“Then Al walked by. When he saw me, his eyes made exclamation points. Exclamation points are for, like, ‘Oh, No!’ or ‘Dang!’ He told me follow him.”
Mo scanned the sidewalk, but by now Al had scurried out of sight.
Dottie wiped her runny nose on Mo’s sleeve. “Don’t tell Daddy, okay?”
Mo swallowed. “Don’t worry.”
Back home, Handsome’s skin had shrunk against his toothpick bones, and his eyes goggled from his head. The instant they lifted the cover off his tank, he leaped up onto his rock, desperate as a castaway who’s spied the rescue ship.
“Careful,” said Mo. “He’s fast.”
Dottie dumped in two crickets. Chirp! sang the poor unsuspecting things. Handsome raised his front leg and held it motionless. His magnificent tail waved slowly from side to side. And then, the lunge! Zap! All that was left of the bugs were a few threadlike legs dangling from his jubilant jaw.
“H.W.,” Dottie said softly. “You the man.”
“Mo?” Mr. Wren called down from upstairs. “Where have you two been?”
Mo and Dottie’s eyes locked in silent, sisterly agreement. But to their surprise, Mr. Wren didn’t look angry. He sat in the armchair, shoe off, massaging his toe.
“You okay, Daddy?” Dottie asked.
“A guy once told me all my brains were in my big toe. I sure proved him wrong.”
Mo indulged a sigh. He’d never know that she’d lost Dottie. That relief lasted two heartbeats.
“Mercedes called,” he said next. “But don’t worry.”
Why was it that the second you heard certain phrases, you wanted to do the opposite? Don’t laugh. Don’t tell a soul. Don’t look now.
Don’t worry.
“Don’t worry,” he repeated. “I’ll take you to Fox Street first thing in the morning.”
The Return
Mr. Wren stopped the car on the corner of Fox and Paradise.
“I asked Cornelius if I could help with the move,” he said. Cornelius C. Cunningham was Mercedes’s stepfather’s full name, though Mercedes preferred Three-C. “But he said Da’s leaving most of her stuff behind. I guess that mini-mansion of theirs has everything she needs.”
Mr. Wren rolled down his window and gazed at their old street.
“I’ll keep my appointments,” he said at last. By now Mo had given up asking him about his many appointments. He never told her anything anyway. “I’ll be back early afternoon. That’ll give me time to visit with Da before she goes.”
“Okay.” Mo climbed out of the car. Her father waved, rolled up his window, and pulled out onto Paradise.
Each time Mo had pictured this moment—and she’d lost count of how many times that was—she’d imagined herself running as fast as she could. So fast she was flying, really, an arrow winging straight for the heart of the street.
But now, just like in a dream, the ground got sticky. The best she
could do was plod, past the Tip Top Club, silent this time of day, and the old Kowalski house, a FOR RENT sign stuck to the porch. Across the street, through the Baggotts’ front window, she saw their TV flickering behind the cockeyed blinds. Saturday-morning cartoons.
Where was Pi? He didn’t have any idea she was coming. Their paths could cross at any unexpected moment. Mo’s heart crouched inside her, like someone at a surprise party waiting to jump out and yell.
A taken-apart lawn mower sprawled across Mr. Duong’s porch. Mo inched along to Mrs. Steinbott’s house. Her old neighbor cleaned house from floor to ceiling every Saturday. She shook rugs, scoured tile, attacked bedding—it was like living next door to a battle scene. But this morning no vacuum roared. The rosebushes, swaddled in burlap, looked spooky. Saturdays, Mrs. Steinbott boiled her sponges and hung them on the back line. Mo knew they’d be there, no matter what. Sidling around the far corner of the house, she peeked into the yard. The wash line was empty, except for a sparrow that flew away the instant it saw Mo.
Confused, Mo stumbled back out to the sidewalk. Toot toot! A big silver car pulled up.
“Mo!” The passenger door sprang open. “Maureen Jewel Wren!”
“Merce! Mercedes Jasmine Walcott!”
Mercedes had always been taller than Mo, and she hadn’t quit growing. Since last summer, her long, straight bones had kept at it, and she bounded toward Mo like a golden-skinned gazelle.
A gazelle in a little fake-fur jacket.
They threw their arms around each other, then stepped back.
“You grew your hair!”
“So did you!”
“We’re on Fox Street!”
“Together!”
“In winter!”
“I never even saw you wear a coat before!”
And then, because they were best friends, friends who shared everything from initials to brain waves, they were both struck speechless.
This is the last time.
“Ahem.” Mercedes’s stepfather was tall and handsome, the kind of man who wears hard, shiny shoes on Saturday. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Mo.”
Mo was immediately aware of the ketchup stain on her jacket. Not that he seemed to notice it. Instead, he reached into the car and hefted two big paper bags.
“We just made a Tortilla Feliz run. I believe there’s a burro burrito in here with your name on it. “
Mo’s favorite in all the world.
“Come inside,” said Mercedes. “Everyone’s dying to see you.”
“But wait. Where’s Mrs. Steinbott? Her sponges aren’t out!”
“She joined a garden club, and they left early this morning on a bus trip to some orchid exhibit. We all said good-bye to her last night.”
Mo pictured Mrs. Steinbott on a bus, talking to other old ladies about garden tools and bug poison. It made her smile.
“She promised to come visit us once the baby’s born,” said Three-C. At the mention of the baby, he hooked a finger inside his collar.
There were Da’s metal porch chairs, with the backs shaped like seashells. The splintery porch floor, with the gaps between the boards. Inside, Da’s house looked just the same too, except for the few suitcases and boxes beside the door. Mercedes and her parents had driven in yesterday, collected Da from rehab, and spent last night packing. As it turned out, the Walcott-Cunninghams were closing the house without putting it up for sale. At least not right away. Now that Da had finally agreed to come live with them, they weren’t giving her time for second thoughts. They were hustling her straight down to Cincinnati.
In the hallway Mercedes shrugged off her fake-fur jacket. In her snug-fitting clothes, she looked more than ever like a long-legged gazelle.
A gazelle with a bra.
“That’s a cute sweatshirt,” she told Mo, touching the little embroidered bird.
“Thanks. I got it . . .” But Mo broke off. Saying she’d gotten it from a lost and found would require a long story. She’d have to explain Carmella, and her idea about the world being a revolving door, and nothing ever really being lost. Ideas that made perfect sense when you were sitting in the Soap Opera but seemed strange here in Da’s front hall. For the first time since they’d met, Mo felt shy with Mercedes.
“A friend gave it to me,” Mo said.
“That’s nice.” Mercedes fingered one of her little gold earrings. Earrings! She’d gotten her ears pierced. “My friend gave me these,” she said.
“Did it hurt?” Mo asked.
Mercedes looked confused. “Getting a present?”
“No, having your ears—”
“M and M!” called Three-C from the kitchen. “Your food’s getting cold!”
“He drives me insane!” Mercedes said. “Wait’ll you see how he hovers over Monette. You’d think she was a bomb set to go off any second.”
Mercedes rubbed her nose. She possessed an ultrasensitive sense of smell, like X-ray vision, only in her nose.
“It smells so sad in here,” she said.
Now Mo smelled it too. A heavy blanket of mustiness hung over everything.
“I’m so glad she’s coming with us,” Mercedes said. “We’re going to take the best care of her and . . .” She rubbed her nose again, tormented by the sad smell. “Last night, people kept coming over to say good-bye, one after the other. I’ve never been to a funeral, but that’s what it felt like. I know they meant well, but it was pretty hard on Da.”
Mo nodded. “That’s how it was when we left.”
“In her heart of hearts,” Mercedes said, “she still doesn’t want to come.”
“Girls?” It was Monette’s voice. “Is that my Mo Wren I hear out there?”
“Coming!” Mercedes called back but still didn’t move. “She’ll be happy with us. First she’ll stay in our downstairs bedroom. But soon as she’s strong again, she’ll move upstairs into the guest suite. It has its own bathroom, plus it’s right next door to my room.”
“Your house is really big, isn’t it?”
“Crazy big.” Mercedes fiddled with her earring. “You’re going to come stay with us this summer. You know that, right? Promise. Swear.”
“Girls!” Monette’s voice meant business now.
Da’s dining-room ceiling hadn’t been repaired, so they’d all crowded around the kitchen table. Da wore her good Sunday pants suit and her pearl earrings. Her arm was in a sling. Her face was thin and drawn, and when she saw Mo, her head trembled on its long neck.
“Give me strength. How are you, child?”
“I’m all right, Da. How are you?” She looked so frail, Mo was afraid to hug her.
“I’ve been better.” Her free hand went to her cheek. “Thank heaven you sold your house to Sarah and Tim. They’ve been so good to me—and that baby! She’s so naughty, now and then I slip and call her Dottie. They came over last night to say good-bye, and promise to keep an eye on the house, and . . .”
Her voice trailed off. Everyone looked uncomfortable, till Monette threw out her arms.
“Mo! Give me a hug, my other daughter!”
Monette was tall and slender, just like Mercedes and Da. But when she swiveled away from the table, Mo gasped. Nestled in her lap, beneath her pretty, gauzy shirt, was one big mound of baby. Monette laughed.
“As if you’ve never seen a pregnant mama! You’re the only one here who’s a big sister!” Monette caught Mo’s hand. “Someone’s telling me he wants to meet you.”
Gently she pressed Mo’s hand to her belly. A baby dolphin rolled and dove beneath Mo’s fingers, then all at once grew legs and kicked her.
“It karate’d me!”
“Are we going to have our hands full with this one, or what!” Monette’s voice was too loud and mega bright, a TV-commercial voice. Her eyes slid in Da’s direction. “Good thing I’ve got help on the way!”
Three-C was heaping everyone’s plate with food.
“Eat, Ma,” urged Monette. “You’ve got to gain your weight back.”
Casu
ally, as if he did it every day, Three-C reached over and cut Da’s tortilla into bite-size pieces. Da looked away.
“Oh!” Monette’s hand flew to her belly.
“Are you all right?” Three-C leaped to his feet.
“Just an especially hard kick.”
“Do you want a pillow? Your special tea? Maybe you should lie down.”
Mercedes threw Mo a see-what-I-mean? look. But Mo was having a hard time paying attention to anything besides Da, who hadn’t eaten a bite. Mercedes was right. It wasn’t just kids and lizards who got dragged places they didn’t really want to go.
Now nobody could think of a word to say. Da rested her cheek on her good hand. Elbows on the table! Normally, she’d swat anyone who did it. Three-C, a man accustomed to being in charge of all he surveyed, fiddled helplessly with his napkin. Monette’s cheeriness dimmed like the lights at the Wren House, as if staying bright was just too hard.
“Ma, I know this is tearing you up,” she said. “But we can’t be worrying about you like we have. It’s not only for you—it’s for the whole family’s sake.”
For the whole family’s sake. Mr. Wren had said the same kind of thing over and over, when they moved. Mind reader that she was, Da fixed her gaze on Mo.
“What do you have to say, faithful scout?”
All eyes turned to her. Mo wanted to help, more than anything. But she never lied to Da. What could she say that would be true yet still help? Everybody waited, squished tight and anxious around the little table. They made Mo think of that big green armchair, squeezed into the Wrens’ upstairs hallway. She’d been so sure her heart would break if they left it behind, but taking it had turned out to be a mistake. Sometimes the chair itself looked miserable, with everyone bumping shins and stubbing toes against it. It looked as if it knew it didn’t belong there.
“Nothing worthwhile is easy, right, Da? That’s what you always told us.”
“You always were my star pupil.” Da gave a half smile. “Go on.”
“Leaving’s really hard. But if you really love someplace, it kind of comes along with you, wherever you go. Like the moon. You can’t touch it, but when you look for it, it’s there.”
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