Vilonia Beebe Takes Charge

by Kristin L. Gray

  Amen.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The screen door banged, and I about jumped out of my skin.

  “Vi?” Daddy called. “Leon and I are headed to the fairgrounds, if you want to hitch a ride.”

  “No thanks, I’m going with AC in a bit.”

  “All right, be sure to check in. And take your raincoat. There’s a chance.”

  I looked outside.

  “Vi? Did you hear me? Take your raincoat.”

  “But . . .”

  “The weather is a great bluffer. E. B.—”

  “E. B. White, Daddy. I know.”

  The door slammed into place behind him. I opened the dining window a smidgen and watched his truck rumble away. A spring breeze rustled the grass while a yellow butterfly danced across blade tips. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Daddy’s barometer was hardly ever wrong, but outside didn’t smell like rain, not one bit. I shut the window with a sigh.

  It was a perfect day, pretty as a painting. And I got to spend it stuck inside a food truck.

  I swiped dust from the computer screen with my elbow and opened Mama’s browser. A quick search took me straight to the Animal Shelter’s home page. One click later, I stared at their official adoption form and thirty detailed questions.

  What is your primary reason for adopting a dog?

  Describe your home. Do you rent or own? Do you have a fence?

  Who will be the primary caregiver of the dog?

  Do you travel?

  How many hours per day will the dog be left alone?

  Do you presently have a dog or any other pets?

  Has a member of your family experienced animal-related allergies?

  Where will the dog sleep?

  Do you feel obedience training makes a dog a better companion?

  “Schnoodles. And I thought Mrs. Crewel’s math tests were long.” I scrolled to the bottom of the questionnaire: You must be eighteen or older to sign this form. Ugh. I put my head down on the table and moaned. I’m half of eighteen. That math I could do.

  “Forget it.” I exited the website and left Mama’s laptop exactly as I’d found it. But I still had half an hour to kill before AC arrived, so I wandered outside to the tree house.

  Other than my bedroom, it was my favorite place to think.

  I climbed up the rope ladder, past the NO TRESPASSING sign Leon had nailed to the trunk years ago. He’d all but stopped coming, saying he was too busy, but I knew what he meant was too old. Whatever. Even Nana had climbed up here once for tea and cookies. If I ever got too old or cool for tree houses, it’d be a sad day.

  The trapdoor swung open with a little shove. I stuck my head through the opening and squinted at the light that spilled through the window. Hauling myself up, I shut the door behind me, safety first, and then turned around to survey the space. Everything was in its proper place, from the pair of beanbags slumped in the corner like gossiping friends to the tub of well-read books beside them. Drawings and photographs pinned to the far wall fluttered whenever the wind blew through. And the shelf of Mason jars holding essentials like jellybeans, trail mix, and Twizzlers brightened up the wooden space. I smiled. It really was a magical place, especially when the twinkle lights worked. Ray Charles would love it up here. I could already envision a jar for doggie treats.

  I grabbed a twist of licorice and walked over to the photo wall.

  There was a picture of Mama and Daddy sitting in Daddy’s boat out on the lake. The sun shone in the background, and Mama, with her polished toes propped on the side, laughed under a big floppy hat.

  That’s the Mama I miss. I tugged on the Twizzler with my teeth. Another photo, a faded one, in a plain black frame made me pause. Nana. I swallowed.

  Nana’s face was smooth, not wrinkled, and she looked thinner than I ever remembered seeing her. Still, something lurked behind her round glasses that I recognized. Fire.

  No, resolve.

  Maybe I was a bit like her. I took another bite.

  Rap, tap, rappity-tap. AC’s secret knock echoed through the fort.

  I lifted the door.

  “Ready to work the festival?” She poked her head through.

  “Sure.” I smiled. “Let me tell Mama.”

  • • •

  I walked through the house, but Mama was nowhere to be found. Her bed was made for the first time since I don’t know when. The TV was off. The kitchen sat clean and empty. I poked my head into the dining room and saw straightaway that while the pile of mail was still there, her computer was gone. She couldn’t have gone far. Her minivan still sat in the garage. Then a sound like angels’ wings drifted inside, and I knew where Mama was. The screened porch.

  I slid the door open and stepped into a mini oasis. Thanks to Daddy and I, most of the plants had survived. I’m sure they missed Mama’s daily watering and talking to. And Nana’s plants probably missed her singing. She had hung Nana’s wind chimes, made from multicolored beads, a silver teapot, and half a dozen hodgepodge teaspoons. I closed my eyes and listened to the jingling. It was almost like Nana was on the porch swing beside me, patting my hand and sipping peach tea.

  “Mama?” I whispered. She tried to hide behind her computer, but I’d already seen the river of tears rolling down her cheeks. “Are you all right?”

  Mama dabbed her eyes with a tissue and closed her laptop. “Yeah, baby. I’m going through some old e-mails.”

  My heart stopped. “Oh. What kind of e-mails?” Don’t say “work,” please don’t say “work.”

  “Oh, you know. People. Friends. Coworkers . . . Nana.” Mama sniffled. “She made the worst typos. But enough of that. What do you need?”

  “I’m headed to the festival a little early with Ava Claire. We wanted to check out some rides before working the truck.” I wound the bottom of my T-shirt around my finger, waiting for my old mama’s “absolutely not without an adult” and the following lecture on the dangers of street carnivals.

  But she simply said, “Sure. Go ahead. Stick together and don’t spend all your money on cotton candy. It’s bad for your teeth.”

  I lit up like a firefly. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, Mama!” I hugged her neck, skipped back to the sliding door, and paused. I couldn’t leave her like this. Turning around, I asked, “You think you’ll come? It’s so nice out. But if you ask Daddy what he thinks, the weather’s always—”

  “Bluffing,” we said in unison.

  Mama smiled for a moment and then laughed a laugh softer than the tinkling wind chimes. I laughed too, surprised. I’d waited two months to hear that sound.

  “Listen up, you,” Mama said, drying her eyes. “Let’s meet by the Ferris wheel when the fireworks start. Now skedaddle. I’ve got some calls to make.” And she shooed me away with her crinkled tissue.

  I didn’t ask twice, I just gave her a confused are-you-sure look. She threw a Mama-knows-best look right back. And my heart flopped like a catfish on dry land. Mama hadn’t given me one of those looks since . . . well, Before.

  I hurried up to my room and grabbed ten bucks from the jelly jar in my closet. I’d just shoved the bill in my back pocket, when what did I spy? My raincoat. I picked it up off the floor. It had big pockets, which would be useful if I won a few things, or one main thing. Like a goldfish. So I tied it around my middle, even though I’d roast like a turkey at Thanksgiving, and flew down the stairs to meet AC.

  “Hey, slowpoke. What took so long?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just Mama.”

  “Why’d you bring your raincoat?”

  “Daddy.”

  AC laughed and grabbed my wrist. “Come on. Let’s ride some rides!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jazz music filled the streets as we neared the fairgrounds. A huge banner announcing Howard County’s 47th Annual CATFISH FESTIVAL stretched above the entrance, and beyond that was a kaleidoscope of colors, sights, and sounds. My skin tingled with excitement.

  The line to get in snaked quickly through roped-off lanes
to the ticket booth. We paid five dollars for the twelve-and-under all-you-can-ride wristband and took off. Giddy, AC dug her fingernails into my wrist. We flew past the little kids’ area of inflatables and bouncy houses to the Mirror Maze. No line. Yeah! We giggled and showed the worker our bands, and she waved us in.

  “Now what?” I asked, stumbling back out into the daylight. “We have time for one more ride.”

  AC frowned. She still wasn’t down with working. But a promise was a promise. Loud music boomed from a gigantic speaker next to us, and we jumped. AC screamed over the blast, “Look, Vi! The Himalaya!”

  She zipped off, and I followed her bobbing ballerina bun through the crowd. We rode frontward, then backward, then frontward again. Bumpity-bump. Bump. With loud, awful music blaring the whole time. Nana would so not have approved.

  “What about the Ferris wheel?” AC asked, out of breath from so much squealing.

  I thought for a moment, thinking of what Mama had said about meeting up. “We should save that for later, when we can see porch lights for miles. Anyway, we’d better check in with Daddy.”

  AC wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  We dodged in and out of the crowds, weaving our way to the back of the fairgrounds, where the food trucks had parked. Tom Sawyer’s cheery yellow trailer stood out like a canary in a coal mine. We waltzed right past the line at the counter and knocked on the window. Already swamped with orders, Leon gave us a quick wave. He twisted his cap around backward and shouted something over his shoulder. Through the glass, I could see Daddy working the fry basket. The smell of catfish and hush puppies frying golden-crisp made my mouth water something fierce.

  “These people won’t know what hit them with fish this good.”

  AC nodded, already holding her stomach.

  “Eye on the prize, AC. You can do this. Breathe through your mouth, not your nose.” I inhaled a big, showy breath of air through my mouth and then let it out real slow. “You can soak up all the Miss Catfish pageantry you want in two hours.”

  AC gave me the stink eye. “You mean one.”

  “Right.”

  “Hi!” Mrs. Willoughby waved us around to the back of the truck. “You gals, come around here, and I’ll fetch you some aprons real quick.”

  I looked at AC. “How can she be so nice to us, seeing that we burned down her chicken coop?”

  AC opened her mouth to reply, but the door flew open.

  “Here you go!” Mrs. W shook out two linen aprons stamped with the Tom Sawyer’s Catfish Hole logo. “Now just slip them over your neck, like so, and tie them in the back. You got it.” She beamed at us like a proud grandma, making me feel worse.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Willoughby,” AC said.

  “Yeah. Thank you,” I added.

  “You two are more than welcome. I appreciate the good help.” She clasped her hands together. “Let’s see now, what to do first.”

  “Uh. Mrs. Willoughby?”

  “Yes, Vilonia?”

  “I’m really sorry about your henhouse.”

  “Honey, your daddy and I’ve talked. It’s mighty responsible of you to speak up, and I appreciate and accept your apology.” She squeezed my shoulder and winked. “I birthed two boys. I know how they can be. Accidents happen, but they still have consequences.”

  I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And I trust you’ve learned a valuable lesson.”

  “If you mean don’t sneak to places I shouldn’t, and never trust boys, then consider me taught.”

  Mrs. Willoughby threw her head back and laughed. “Don’t you worry over it anymore. My hens will think they’ve hit the lottery when their new coop is finished. Now, scoot. We’ve got orders piling up. One of you can take beans and the other coleslaw. There’s not too much space in there, so if you get hot or claustrophobic, come on out and help these boys clear tables. I’ve gotta go now. Have mercy, your daddy can fry the best fish this side of the Mississippi.”

  “Well”—AC turned to me—“I know where I’ll be.”

  I grinned. “You know where to find me, too. If we start now, I’ll still have time to hit the game booths.”

  “And I’ll make my call time.”

  “Deal.” With that, I trotted up the metal step into the food truck.

  • • •

  The first hour blew by. Even AC admitted it wasn’t all that bad, as she got unlimited sweet tea and free bites of banana pudding. Plus, many customers were either friends of ours or she knew them from Neely’s nail salon. I think it helped they wished her well on her performance.

  “So you’re going to play some games?” AC asked, turning her apron in.

  “You know it. But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to watch my best friend dance.” I leaned out the window and blew a strand of hair out of my eyes.

  “You’d better. I’m on after the introductions.” Her hands flew to the top of her head to check the status of her bun.

  “Introductions. Got it.”

  “Toodles.” She spun on her heel and was gone.

  “Break a leg!” I shouted, and slid the window closed.

  The next hour was hopping but steamy hot inside the truck. I gladly turned my apron in and told Daddy I’d catch him later. Leon, who’d worked half the day, had already run off to find his friends.

  I moseyed over to the other side of the park, passing my share of stilt walkers and bubble blowers on the way. Music blared for the Cake Walk. Kids and adults marched around in the circle until the music stopped. Sort of like my heart. Mama had run the Cake Walk for the last three years. But not this year. This year, she couldn’t even manage to bake one cake. The Willoughby twins, obviously on break as well, saw me watching and waved as they marched by on the numbered squares. I waved back, and the music stopped. A number, fifteen, was called, and Rory Willoughby’s hand shot into the air. His brother punched him in the arm, arguing he’d won instead. Either way, the cake was going home with them.

  I turned to go, thinking that any of those cakes would taste like sorrow and sadness compared to Mama’s. I’d made it as far as the bouncy castle when someone shouted, “Vilonia!”

  Rory caught up to me. His hair hung in waves across his forehead, and his shirt matched his clover-green eyes.

  “Nice win on the cake.”

  He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Thanks. Red velvet.”

  “Yum. Mama makes one every Christmas. Where’s Ransom?” I asked, letting a balloon twister pass between us.

  “Trying for the Snickers one. And AC?”

  “Backstage. She’s dancing after the contestants’ introductions. You should watch her.”

  “How about some games first?”

  I smiled.

  We each tried a round of ring toss and lost. Then my stomach growled. I’d been so busy working the food truck, I’d forgotten to actually eat. I needed fuel. I couldn’t bring my A-game to win a fish if I was light-headed. Luckily, our volunteer wristbands allowed us free snow cones. Rory got watermelon sherbet. I choose tiger’s blood, the fiercest flavor I could find.

  We polished them off, and a giant voice boomed, “Step right up. Everyone’s a winner. Here, you in the green tee, this dog’s all yours.” A gigantic plush beagle spun over our heads, suspended from the tent by a wire. “All you gotta do is pop one balloon. It’s easy. See?”

  Rory raised an eyebrow, and I snickered. We stood by and watched as the carnival worker tied off a big pink balloon in his hand and then punctured it with a red dart.

  “Too easy.” I laughed. I kept my money in my pocket for whichever game had Pete’s goldfish. But Rory couldn’t pass up the dare.

  He was given three darts. Two red, one purple. Rory completely missed his first throw—the red dart fell short of the board altogether.

  “Come on, Rory,” I teased. “Ransom could do better blindfolded.”

  His second and third attempts both bounced off balloons. The carnival worker gave him neon sunglasses and a bag of cotton candy a
s a consolation prize.

  As we walked away, he leaned over and said, “Those games are rigged, I promise.”

  “Ugh! You’re probably right.” I pointed to another booth’s wall of stuffed prizes. Huge plush flowers with happy faces smiled down on us, as if they were in on the cruel joke. Ha, you’ll never win one of us. The shelves were crammed with medium bears and giant-size bears. Stuffed toy frogs and brightly colored hats next to the biggest plush cats I’ve ever seen. And then lower, next to the carnival worker, sat the bin of junk toys. Plastic tops, rubber duckies, yo-yos, neon glow necklaces. It was insane. I stepped back to take it all in and noticed the sign overhead. WIN A GOLDFISH! YOU LEAN, YOU LOSE.

  “Goldfish!” I couldn’t believe my luck. I jabbed Rory in the ribs just as a kid in a red cap turned around.

  “Yes!” He held up his prize, one Sunkist goldfish.

  “ ’Kay, Tucker, let’s go,” a bored teen called. And like that, Tucker and his fish disappeared into the crowd.

  Watching him go, something clicked inside my head. I’d seen this Tucker kid before. At the mall. He was the boy who threw the tantrum over the tiger cat.

  Rory licked cotton candy off his fingertips. “Are you going to play or not?”

  I smirked. “Well, if he can win a goldfish, then so can I.”

  The barker began calling, “One throw for three dollars. Three throws for five. You look like you have a good arm, little lady.”

  I rolled my eyes and took a step closer.

  Rory grabbed my arm and whispered, “Remember these games are rigged.”

  Sensing he may lose a customer, the barker talked fast. “Knock over all six, and you win a prize.”

  “I know,” I said, under my breath, “but this is the milk bottle pyramid! I throw strikes like you catch hens.”