by Lisa Wingate
One of the girls from the apartments where the Mexicans partied at night walked by carrying a baby. She didn’t look more than about fifteen, but I’d figured out that baby was hers. She had a husband or a boyfriend, and I was pretty sure they were straight out of Mexico. He’d go across the street every day and hang around the parking lot waiting for the contracting vans to come by and offer straight-cash jobs. Rusty didn’t like it when people hired parking-lot help. He said the illegals worked so cheap, they made it hard on everybody else. I didn’t mind the Mexicans so much. On weekend nights, when they were partying down there, it sounded like they were having fun, and they always waved at us and stuff, and they never locked their kids out all day.
The Mexican girl looked surprised to see us on my steps. She didn’t say anything, just gave us a curious look, her eyes big and dark and her long black hair swinging from side to side across her hips as she passed. She was pretty. It seemed like a girl that pretty wouldn’t have to come across the border and live in a crappy apartment. She could of been a movie star someplace.
As soon as the next-door kids finished their sandwiches, they lit out like rabbits. When I picked up the bag, I figured out why. Someone must of stuffed the extra sandwich in their pants, because the sack was empty. Quick as we got to the land of plenty, Opal and me were back to nothing.
Brats. I didn’t say it, because I didn’t want Opal to know those kids did a mean thing while she was being so nice to them. I grabbed my book from inside, and Opal and me headed out. By the time we’d walked a couple blocks down the street, I’d cooled off a little. Maybe those kids needed an extra sandwich more than Opal and me did, and besides, I had promised the sandwich lady that I’d give food to the kids. I’d ended up keeping the promise, even if part of me didn’t want to. Mama would be happy.
At the little white church across from the Book Basket, the gardener guy was pushing a lady in a wheelchair down the sidewalk. She was telling him what to do with the flower beds, I guessed, because she’d point and he’d nod. I’d seen him there before, working in the memory garden or trimming the bushes by the door. He always waved at me, but the first few times I acted like I didn’t see him. He was, like, really big, and you could tell by the way he moved around that his elevator didn’t go all the way to the top. He was stuck somewhere around halfway up, like a big ol’ kid. We had a few like him in my school back home. I never thought much about how they’d be when they got to be old, like forty or something.
While Opal and me walked closer, he left the wheelchair lady in the shade. The pastor dude came out of the church to talk to her, and the big guy went to work by the pole sign out front. He waved when he saw Opal and me, and I waved back at him. Today, he was digging some plants out of the flower bed and putting them in plastic pots he had in a box.
“Hi-eee!” he said, and sat back on his heels, and smiled at us. He picked a flower and held it out to see if Opal would come get it. I knew she wouldn’t. She stopped on the sidewalk and looked at him.
“She’s afraid of people,” I explained. “She doesn’t …”
Opal took a little step toward him, then she stretched as far as she could, anchoring herself on my arm like she was trying to reach over a big pool of water. Her fingers opened and closed. She couldn’t get to the flower, but she wanted it.
“Here,” I said, then pulled her back and took the flower for her. “Thanks,” I told the dude, and he ducked his head and did a kind of honk-honk laugh that was funny.
I put the flower in Opal’s hand. She rubbed it against her nose and said, “Mmmm,” and the man honked again.
“Say thanks, Opal.” I waited for Opal not to say anything, and then we crossed over to the Book Basket. All the way there, she kept looking back at the man, and just before we walked in, she turned and waved at him.
In the Book Basket, MJ was behind the counter with an African-looking twisty turban on her head. She was wearing a long loose shirt with giraffes around the neck and down the front, and about eighteen strings of wooden beads. There was never any telling, any day you went in, what she’d have on. One day she’d be dressed like a black Mother Goose, because she’d been to some school reading to the kids, and the next in a fluffy dress like Cinderella’s fairy godmother, and the next a pioneer suit, like she’d just come off a wagon train. Today she looked like the ambassador from Zimbabwe or someplace.
Like usual, she was typing on her computer behind the desk. It was an old one—so old the screen was all green print. “Well, hello there!” she said. “You haven’t been by in a couple days. I was beginning to wonder about you.” MJ always sounded real proper. She talked like she was reading a storybook, even when she was just shooting the breeze.
“Been busy.” Before Opal and Kiki came, I’d gone in the Book Basket, like, every day the doors were open, and sometimes more than once. I could trade books and kill time hanging out between the cases, looking at pictures and reading. MJ didn’t seem to mind, and it beat sitting home alone in the apartment.
You could get lost in MJ’s store. It had rows and rows of book-cases. The shelves were stacked so full they sagged in the middle, which was probably why your first book was free, and then after that you could come in and trade for another anytime you wanted. I was smart about it. I picked out a really big, fancy first book. On my next trade, it was worth two regular books, so I came out pretty good on the deal. I had credit for an extra book anytime I wanted it, but mostly I just got one at a time because then I could go back to the store more often.
I couldn’t figure out how MJ made any money in her store, but when the shop was closed, she went around and told stories at schools, so I figured she made a living that way. She was fun to talk to, and it seemed like she knew just about everybody that came in. One time, the little gangbangers even wandered through, and she knew all three of them. She told them they needed to bring their old books by and trade them off. She asked about their families and school and stuff, and they hung around a while talking to her. I stayed back in the bookshelves where they couldn’t see me.
MJ homed in on Opal right away. “Who have we here? A new customer?”
“This is Opal,” I told her, and MJ said Opal was cute, and I was proud in a strange way, like Opal was mine or something. I told her Opal was my cousin. “She likes books,” I said. “I thought she could, like, use my credit and get one.”
“No way,” MJ answered, and I was disappointed. Then MJ smiled and said, “First-time customers get a free book of their own. That’s the deal. Let’s see what we have for little girls who like books.” She held her arm out over the counter, and Opal moved from my hand to hers, and they headed toward the front window, where the picture books were. I went back to my section and picked out Black Beauty and a book about a kid who finds a magic door in his cellar and ends up in a secret world. With Opal in the apartment, I figured two books might be a good idea.
“Black Beauty again?” MJ asked, when I came up to the counter to cash out. “Didn’t you just read that?”
I watched her ring up my trades. Black Beauty was hardback, so I thought she might tell me it was too much. “My mama and me used to read it.” It was a second before I clued in that I’d bloopered. “I mean, we still will, again, but she’s been sick. That’s all. I don’t need for someone to read to me anymore anyway.”
“Well, of course not.” MJ smiled and handed the books across the counter, her eyebrows slanting upward into her funny African hat. “And here’s Opal’s first book.” Leaning far over the counter, she stretched a picture book down to Opal. Billy and Blaze. I figured Opal picked it because it had horse pictures in it.
MJ leaned on the counter with both elbows. “What else can I do for you girls today?”
“Nothin’,” I said, but I was hoping she’d tell a story. MJ knew great stories from all over the world. “You been somewhere telling stories today?” I squinted one eye at the turban on her head.
She laughed, her teeth a wide white line between
her dark lips. “I have. It’s World Heritage month, so I’ve been to the festival downtown. I’ve been sharing stories from Africa.”
“Cool.” I hovered there a minute, because that was usually all it took to get MJ going.
She pretended to think, and then sure enough she started into a story. “I’ll tell you a folktale from Ghana. I learned this from Ifeoma, a nurse who lives nearby. She came to this country from Africa, and as soon as she has enough money, she’ll return to Africa to bring her son here.”
“Cool,” I said. “I bet he misses his mom, being way over there.” I knew just how that boy must feel, only my mom was even farther away than Africa.
“I’m sure he does.” MJ swirled her hands over the counter, then spread them out, like she was drawing a picture to start the Africa story. “Once, a large frog and a small frog were hopping along the road. They came to a little village, and the large frog said, ‘Let’s go into the village. There is a market on the street, and we will have an easy meal of all the bugs there.’
“The small frog wasn’t certain this was a wise idea. ‘There are many dangers in the market,’ he told his companion. ‘What if we should be trampled by people, or run over by a cart, or captured by some child and put into a box?’
“ ‘Pah!’ said the large frog. ‘You worry too much. Come along. We’ll have an easy meal.’
“The small frog, being small, was afraid to have his friend leave him, so they hopped along to the market, and straightaway found a crate with flies buzzing around. ‘Let’s hop up there and eat some delicious flies,’ said the large frog, and so they did. But the crate was very tall and they could not see that it lacked a solid top. When they jumped onto it, they fell straight into a large pot of cream, and try as they might, they could not get out of the pot.”
MJ made the motions of the frogs swimming.
Opal said, “Uh-oh,” and tried to crawl up my leg.
I picked Opal up so she could see better when MJ went on with the frog story. “ ‘Oh!’ said the large frog. ‘Whatever shall we do now? You should have warned me of this. You said we may become trampled, or run over, or put into a box, but you said nothing of falling into a bucket of cream! Now we are trapped.’
“The small frog did not answer. He only continued to swim round and round in the cream.
“ ‘Oh, this is the end of my life! There is no escape from here! All is lost!’ cried the large frog. He stopped swimming and refused to continue, even when the small frog pleaded with him not to give up.
“Straightaway, he sank to the bottom and died.” MJ made a sad face with a big frown, and Opal caught a breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
“But the small frog swam and swam,” MJ went on. “For a long time, he beat the cream with his feet, even though his legs burned from the effort, and his heart pounded so hard against his chest. Finally, many hours later, the cream became a ball of butter. And do you know what the little frog did?” MJ’s eyebrows went up into the turban, and she waited for me to think it through.
“Uh-uh,” I answered. “Doesn’t seem like it’d be too good to be stuck in a bucket of butter, either.”
Opal nodded like she agreed with me.
MJ’s lips lifted into a smile, and she raised a finger like she always did when she was about to give you the real point. “Ah, but you see, he was a very smart and strong little frog. He climbed right onto that ball of butter and jumped out of the pot, and he did not stop again until he was safely home.”
MJ leaned across the counter, touched the end of Opal’s nose, and winked at me, her eyes twinkling. “So, you see, it is not always important to be the largest frog. Sometimes it is the small but determined one who churns the butter and hops out of the pot.”
“That’s a good story,” I said, and Opal nodded. “I guess Opal and me better go now.” Even though I liked her stories, I was always careful not to hang around at the counter talking to MJ too long. She was the kind of person who got in people’s business, I could tell. Rusty and me didn’t need anybody getting into our business, no matter how nice she was.
“Thanks,” I said, and we headed out the door. Opal held her book and her flower against her chest so tight you couldn’t of got a toothpick between her and her new stuff. My feet were tired, so I decided to skip the Just-a-Buck store and head home. It wasn’t till we were halfway there that I thought about Opal having on one sandal and one tennis shoe. MJ might of wondered why the adults in our house would let her go out like that. I’d have to look again later and see if there were more shoes anywhere in Kiki’s stuff.
We took our time walking back past the white church. The flowers were all done, and the big guy was gone, and so was the wheelchair lady. The pastor dude waved at us, and I waved back. After that, we stopped at the storm ditch to look at some tadpoles. They were living in a little puddle of water where the dirt and the cement came together. I caught a couple and poured them into Opal’s hands and let her see how some of them had legs and some didn’t yet. She stayed with the water dripping on her dress for a long time, just watching the little pool between her fingers. I guess no one had ever showed her a tadpole before.
Rusty’s truck was out front when we got home. I grabbed Opal up and hurried the last little ways, because I was afraid something was wrong. It was two hours past lunchtime.
When I walked in, Rusty was pacing by the bathroom door. Kiki must of been inside.
“What are you doing here?” If he kept sneaking off from work, he was gonna get himself fired.
“Geez, where’ve you been?” He lifted his hands and let them smack to his sides. “Kiki was worried about her kid.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. I had to go to the bookstore, so I took her with me. It’s not like her mama’s gonna watch her.”
Rusty checked the bathroom door and then the wall clock, then he gave me a tired look. “Give Kiki a break, okay? She’s in pretty rough shape. The pain pills knock her out.”
Yeah, I’ve heard, I thought, but I didn’t want to get into another argument about Kiki, because it wouldn’t do any good, and besides, Opal was right there. She sat down in her favorite corner of the sofa and opened her book.
“Why are you here?” I asked Rusty again. “It’s way past lunch break.”
He yanked off his cap, rubbed his forehead, and then put his cap back on. “Kiki needed a ride to work again.” Turning toward the door, he hollered, “Come on, Kiki. We’ve gotta go!”
“You came all the way home for that?” I asked. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“She couldn’t get a ride, all right?” He sneered at me like Mr. Snothead big brother. I hated it when he did that.
“Tell her to walk.” I sounded like a snothead, too, but I didn’t care. Rusty needed to catch a clue about Kiki.
“She can’t walk that far. She can barely make it through her shift at work.” He checked the bathroom door again. “Come on, Kiki! I’ve gotta get back.”
“Is she ever gonna give us any money? We don’t have enough to feed her and her kid, too.” On the sofa, Opal looked up from her book, and I was sorry I said it.
“She just needs a few more days, maybe a week, before she’s paid off what she owes her manager.” Rusty paced to the bathroom door and back.
“A week?” I hollered, and in the corner of my eye I saw Opal pop her thumb into her mouth and try to disappear between the sofa cushions.
“It’ll be all right, Sal.” Rusty dug in his pocket for his keys as the bathroom door unlocked. “See ya later on, okay? We’ll go to Wal-Mart.”
Kiki dragged herself from the bathroom, pushing off the door frame and looking out-of-it. She swayed on her feet as she stood by the sofa, leaned down face-to-face with Opal, and slurred out the words, “You okay, ba-by? Mama was wor … worried.”
Opal bobbed her head slowly up and down.
Kiki kissed her on the forehead and left a big crooked smudge of red lipstick, then swayed upright again and blinked at me with the shiner e
ye half open. “Take care my ba-by,” she said, as she pulled a pair of massive, red-rimmed sunglasses off her head and put them on to hide the shiner. Staggering back and forth on her high heels, she crossed the room. “Be good, shhhh-sugar.”
I wasn’t sure which one of us was Sugar, but when Rusty pulled the door shut behind the two of them, I made up my mind right then and there, if Rusty wasn’t gonna do something, I’d have to. Kiki needed to find someone else to leech off of before we all starved to death, or Rusty got caught sneaking away from the construction site and lost his job.
Kiki had to go.
When I turned around, Opal was all wrapped up in a ball with her arms strung around her legs. Her big lemur eyes were peeking out at me from behind her little bony knees, and then another question went through my mind.
If I get rid of Kiki, what do I do about Opal?
Chapter 9
SandraKaye
My cell started ringing just as the neighborhood filled with the sounds of kids coming home from school. Up to my elbows in paint, I didn’t bother to answer. When the phone rang a second time, I stripped off my gloves and grabbed it from my purse.
Jake’s phone, the ID said, and my heart jumped. I’d answered by saying, “Jake … Jake, is that you?” before I realized it couldn’t be. When Jake had disappeared the night after Poppy’s memorial service, he’d taken almost nothing with him. As far as we could tell after searching his room, everything he’d chosen was tucked into the small backpack he used for his books at college. The cell phone, his high school class ring, the treasured Randall pocketknife Poppy had given him, and his house keys had all been placed on the desk in his room, as if he were turning them in.
His debit card had been used just three times—once to pay for an airport shuttle, once to buy a plane ticket to Guatemala, and once to withdraw the remaining eight hundred dollars of the money he’d earned working at a kids’ camp over the summer. The two thousand Rob had just deposited for college expenses was left behind, as was the debit card, which we found in his car at the airport, locked inside with the keys.