“AC, I’m—”
“No, you wouldn’t. Because I’ve been there for you. I worked the food truck, even though I hate fish. And!” she sputtered, waving her hands at all of the dog posters plastered on my wall. “You’ve been so obsessed with this precious pet campaign of yours that you don’t even care about anyone other than Ray Charles!” AC’s voice shook, and I knew from experience she was near tears. “Really, Vilonia? Best friends don’t—”
“STOP it. Just stop!” I sank onto my bed and buried my face in my hands. “You knew the Great Pet Campaign was bigger than me and Ray Charles.” My voice became a whisper. “It was about helping Mama get better after my nana died, remember?”
AC didn’t speak.
I took a shaky breath and studied the colorful threads woven into my rug. I wanted all of this to be over, to go away. I wanted things to return to when Nana was still with us. Then AC and I would be fine, and Mama would be happy. Happy writing. Happy cooking. Happy driving Leon and I around town. But going back wasn’t an option.
Moving forward was.
“Listen,” I said with a sniffle. “I’m sorry I didn’t watch your dance. I know it was important to you. I messed up. I told you I’d be there, then I wasn’t.”
Ava Claire crossed her arms, and I continued, “There will be other dogs, though none as perfect as Ray Charles.” I gave her an uncertain smile. “But there’s only one you. I hope you’ll still be my friend.”
Ava Claire sat down beside me.
“Friend for life.” She hugged me. Her sequins poked into my skin, and I imagined hugging a porcupine. “We will find another dog. And you weren’t the only one missing tonight,” she added, rubbing the goose bumps away on her arms.
I frowned and walked back to my dresser. “The general?”
“Yep.” She slipped out of her wet tutu.
“You know, like I do, he would have done anything to see you dance.” I dug through my drawers and pulled out two sets of pajamas.
“Well, anything wasn’t enough.” Her chin quivered, from either disappointment or the cold, or a bit of both. “But maybe he can see me in two weeks.”
I handed her my striped pajamas and kept the mismatched set for myself. “What’s in two weeks?”
“Since the pageant was called due to weather, the director said they’d likely reschedule. It’s the first time in festival history we didn’t crown a queen.” She held up the pajama top to make sure it’d fit. “The Yankees, really?”
“What? They’re the warmest ones I have.” I poked my head through my clean shirt.
“I’m sorry I got mad. If only I’d known when I didn’t see you in the audience that I wouldn’t even finish my dance.” She giggled. “You should have heard the contestants squeal when their hair and makeup got wet.”
I laughed. “You do look like a droopy dewdrop.”
She smirked. “I was going for soggy snowflake.”
By the time we came back downstairs, the tea was ready and butterflies had assembled in my stomach. The company had grown by one (that Miss Bettina, always after the scoop), and everyone had gathered around to hear about my night. Great.
Leon perched himself on the sofa next to his soon-to-be teammates, who had, from the looks of it, raided Daddy’s closet for old sweatshirts and scarfed down a box of Little Debbies like it was their last meal on earth, not a post-race snack. Normally I’d be annoyed they ate them all, but I was too nervous at the moment to eat.
Mama handed me a warm mug while I tried to get comfy in my favorite chair. Behind me, Neely and Miss Bettina debated whether acrylic nails or Shellac lasted the longest. Across the room, on the piano bench, Mr. Reyes whispered something that made Miss Sogbottom laugh. Are they flirting ? I glanced at AC, who confirmed my hunch by wriggling her eyebrows behind her own steaming mug.
“Okay, Tadpole,” Daddy began, “now that you’re settled, why don’t you tell us why you ran off and about gave your mama here a heart attack.” He hooked a protective arm around her waist.
“Yes, inquiring minds want to know.” Mama sipped her tea.
I drew a big breath. “Pugs.”
“Pugs?” Mama asked.
“It’s complicated.” I looked at Nana’s portrait hanging by the piano and remembered her words. You’re a fighter, Vi. You can do this. So I gripped my tea with trembling fingers and asked, “Where should I start?”
“Start at the beginning, hon. It’s usually the best place.” Miss Bettina gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“Start from your heart,” Mama said.
So I did. I started at the beginning, from my heart. I covered Nana’s passing, Mama’s Infinite Sadness, and how rescuing Eleanor Roostevelt had led me to the FEELING BLUE? poster at the vet. Which in turn fueled the Great Pet Campaign even more, because dog ownership eases most any heartache. If that’s not in Winn-Dixie, it should be.
“Mama and Daddy, I’m sorry I ran. I know we had a plan to meet, but when I got to the shelter’s booth, and Miss Sogbottom told me the dog I’d seen was no longer available, I felt so sad I bolted.”
Tears ran down Mama’s cheeks. Miss Bettina passed her a box of tissues and then plucked one for herself.
“I can’t believe you planned all of this to help me.” Mama dabbed at her eyes.
“Oh, there’s more,” I told her.
And by the time our tea was either gone or cold, I’d spilled everything. Tea and sympathy does that to a person, so Nana said.
I spilled how I’d tried to be responsible. I’d done laundry and dishes and had written obits for Mama so she’d stay gainfully employed. (I paused a second for Mama to blow her nose.) I talked about how I’d brought Max home to prove just how responsible I was, and then I choked up when I talked about losing him. Mr. Reyes smiled. I longed to ask him about the rumor, which number Max my Max really was, but decided to save that question for another rainy day. Of course I said I’d wanted to give Max the most memorable send-off ever, never dreaming I’d burn down my friends’ henhouse. I told of catching chickens after dark on a rooftop and how hard I’d worked at the food truck and then afterward to win Mr. Reyes a new fish. And then I glanced over at Miss Sogbottom and plumb lost it.
Mama came over and squeezed my hand. “We knew you wanted a dog. We just didn’t know the length you were willing to go to get one.”
“I haven’t heard a story this heartwarming since . . .” Miss Bettina pulled a pad of paper from her handbag and began jotting notes. “Do you have any cookies?”
Then it was Mama’s turn to spill. Remember how I’d found that folder in the pantry next to the Little Debbies? It turned out Mama had seen Miss Bettina’s e-mail about the Lafferty obituary. In fact, that’s why she was working on the porch. She had just sat down with her computer when a message appeared thanking her for a job well done. Never mind Mama hadn’t written a single word. After a few e-mails and one awkward phone call to the paper, Mama knew someone had been writing obits on her behalf. . . .
“So when Miss Bettina mentioned my new obits had more punch and personality, and I knew I hadn’t written anything in ages, I got suspicious.” Mama’s eyebrow arched, and she motioned with her teacup to her boss.
“Your mama wanted to know who was writing them, then, if not me,” Miss Bettina added. “We couldn’t imagine who else could write with such zest. Subscribers have flooded our in-boxes with compliments.”
Mama set her cup down and nodded. “That’s when she reminded me she’d been leaving the materials with you, my capable almost-ten-year-old, and everything snapped into place.”
“Aha! I knew it.” Leon bolted upright on the sofa. “I knew you’d been sneaking Mom’s computer.”
“I’d never been prouder of you or so mad at myself,” Daddy spoke up. “I could hardly believe it when your mama called to tell me. I should have noticed you were juggling too much, but I didn’t. Instead, I harped on the few things that fell through the cracks. You’ve done good, Tadpole.”
Mama nodded. “So, Vilonia baby, yes, you’re a handful, but you’ve also held this family together in more ways than one.” Mama’s voice broke. She paused a moment to collect herself, then said, “Daddy and I have talked.”
I swallowed. Usually when they talked about me, it spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
Mama smiled. “Vilonia, your daddy and I have watched you take care of skunks, hens, and a fish. And in light of recent events—”
“Yes?” I winced.
“We agree that you are the most responsible fourth grader we know. And if anyone deserves a dog, you do.”
“Really?” I jumped up. It was a good thing my teacup was near empty, or I’d have sloshed it all over Miss Bettina’s pants.
Daddy grinned as big as day and wrapped his arm around Mama. “Your mama here drove to the shelter and paid the adoption fee this afternoon.”
I gasped. “That was you?”
Mama nodded. “I had a little help.” She pointed to Miss Sogbottom, who leaned forward in her seat like she was about to share a big, fat secret. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you at the festival, Vilonia. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“Surprise?” I clasped my hands together in front of my chest to contain my leaping heart. “Do you mean Ray Charles is going to be mine?”
Mama and Daddy exchanged looks. “Now, sweetie,” Mama began, “I don’t know who Ray Charles is, but Miss Sogbottom showed me the sweetest pup named Izzy who has the cutest little sweetheart nose . . .”
“Hold on,” I said, and flew up the stairs to HQ. I grabbed my very own copy of Winn-Dixie and returned to the living room, waving the flyer that’d doubled as a bookmark. “You mean him?”
Now Mama gasped. “Why . . . that’s him all right. Where in the world did you get this?”
“It IS Ray Charles! I knew it.” I jumped up and tackle-hugged them both. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! This is better than cake.” Happy tears brimmed in my eyes. “Can I see him?”
Daddy scratched his beard and looked to Miss Sogbottom. “Hazel, what’s the timeline on that?”
Miss Sogbottom cleared her throat. “Well. You’re welcome to visit first thing tomorrow. We need to observe you interacting with the puppy before we can make it official, though I don’t anticipate any trouble.”
“Trouble from me? Never.” The whole room laughed.
“Well, I guess we Beebes got a dog,” Daddy said, putting his arm around me and raising his other in a toast. “To Vilonia and Ray Charles.”
“To Vilonia,” said Mr. Reyes.
“To Vilonia,” said Miss Sogbottom and Miss Bettina.
“To Vilonia,” echoed Neely and AC and the entire middle- school track team, counting Leon, who rolled his eyes so high they about stuck.
“To family,” said Mama. “But first, how did you choose the name Ray Charles?”
“Easy,” I said, lifting my teacup high. “Nana.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next day was Sunday, and I could hardly wait for church to let out. Not because I was anticipating Daddy’s tacos, which were kiss-the-cook delicious. I was anxiously waiting for the Animal Shelter to open. But first I promised Ava Claire celebratory manicures at Neely’s salon.
Mama dropped me off at the door. She couldn’t stay, as she had to get home and bake a sour cream pound cake to drop by the newspaper, her way of thanking Miss Bettina for tolerating my shenanigans and for giving her an extra two weeks to ease back into work. I told her to not push herself too hard. She promised she wouldn’t and would sneak in a nap while the cake cooled. Maybe her new medicine was helping.
“Make a sign warning Leon to keep his grubby mitts off,” I said through the car window.
“Oh, don’t you worry. I may not have baked in a while, but I haven’t forgotten how to post mild threats.” She gripped the gearshift to move the car into reverse, then stopped. “Your daddy will be by soon to pick you up. Love you, Vi.”
“I love you, too, Mama.”
I waved, and the minivan sped away.
Inside, Neely and Ava Claire were all ready for me.
“Welcome, Vilonia! My next client won’t be here for half an hour, so you girls are free to play. I’ve got to go to the back and straighten some inventory.”
“Sure. Thanks, Mrs. Nutter.”
Ava Claire waved me over to the wall of nail polish. “Pick out a polish.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Who knew there were one zillion shades of red? I’m not so sure about this.”
AC laughed. “I guess it can be overwhelming. Neely did buy these new decals. You should take a look.”
“Maybe so.” I flipped through the sheets of stickers. Every color, print, or pattern imaginable had been shrunk, turned into tiny stickers, and then sold as “nail art.” There were zebra stripes, checks, flags, butterflies, flowers, letters, sports themes, and even one sheet with decals of bitty glazed donuts. In the end, I chose the paw prints.
Not that I ever doubted her, but AC can give a mean manicure. My nails had never looked so shiny in their almost ten years. I had just finished telling her that Mama was going home to bake a pound cake, when the door chimed.
“Neely! Your next appointment is here,” AC called to the back of the salon without looking up. “I have to clean up this dab of polish . . . right here.” She rolled my pinky to the side and squeezed a little tighter.
I glanced up at the waiting client and blinked. Twice. His desert fatigues and army cap seemed out of place in a funky nail salon. He winked at me as he set his duffel down like it was made of air.
My jaw dropped.
“Yeah. I was wondering where I could get a decent pedicure. These boots are killing my—”
“Dad!” AC flew out of her seat, smudging my pinky paw print, but what did I care? The general was home! I ran over and flung my arms around them both. Hearing commotion, Neely hustled to the front, screamed with joy, and burst into happy tears. I slipped away, unnoticed, out the back door. They needed to enjoy their moment as a family.
AC had waited a long time for General Nutter to come home. Almost as long as I’d been hoping for a dog, and that’s saying something. I sprinted around the building to the bench out front, where I parked my backside and waited for my own daddy with a song in my heart. That’s the thing with hope: If you keep hoping long enough, and hard enough, even with life’s disappointments, something good will happen. Today was proof.
• • •
“Vilonia, you sitting here drumming your fingers on the side of the car isn’t going to make the time tick away any faster.”
“I know.” I sighed. “I can’t wait to see him!”
Daddy smiled. “Same here, kiddo. Same here.”
We heard the jangle of keys, and the door opened. Miss Sogbottom’s cheery face appeared, and she waved us in. She must have come from church as well. Her heels click-clacked across the tile floor.
“I usually volunteer on Saturdays, but since I know your family so well, I told my boss I’d come in this afternoon.” She leaned over to me and whispered, “Anyway, I wanted to see Ray Charles again for myself. I think he’s even stronger.”
“I bet.” My eyes shone. “He’s a fighter. I knew the moment I saw him.”
She led us around the counter to the back of the office, where the kennels were. An older dog, a shepherd of some sort, barked once. There were a few kennels with cats. One dachshund with floppy ears looked at us and then closed his eyes.
It didn’t take but a few seconds for me to find Ray Charles. He was snoozing and adorable. I let out a tiny squeal. He opened his eyes, stretched his front legs, and yawned.
“He’s so cute.”
“He really is,” said Daddy.
“Would you like to hold him?” Miss Sogbottom asked, unlocking his door.
“May I?”
She laughed, flashing rows of beautiful teeth. “He’s yours!”
She picked him up, still groggy, and placed him into my arms. He felt as warm
and fuzzy as a fleece blanket. My heart about burst from happiness. Then a line from Winn-Dixie popped into my head. And all of a sudden, I felt happy. I had a dog. I had a job. I had Miss Franny Block for a friend. Yep. India Opal and I weren’t too far off. I now had a dog. I’d had a job. And I counted AC, the Willoughbys, and Miss Sogbottom as friends.
I held Ray Charles as long as I could, planting a little kiss on his forehead when I had to put him back. Since he was a newborn, he had to stay five more weeks until he was ready to come home.
“I hate to leave him,” I said, handing him back to Miss Sogbottom.
“I know, but we’ll take great care of him and get him ready to come home soon.” She smiled. “And you are welcome to visit any time you wish.”
“I’ll bring some of Mama’s cake.” I stood on my tiptoes and whispered into her ear, “I still owe you for Max.”
Miss Sogbottom grinned. “You’re on.”
“Well, get ready,” I said. “Because I’ll be by every day.”
“She means it too,” Daddy added.
“That’s not a problem.” Miss Sogbottom laughed again. “We’ll see you soon, Vilonia.”
“You better believe it!”
• • •
I could smell Mama’s sour cream pound cake cooling on the windowsill before we’d reached our door.
“Boy howdy, did I miss your mama’s baking.” Daddy rubbed his belly and breathed in whiffs of vanilla and cinnamon.
“You and me both. And lucky for us, Mama baked two cakes.” I pointed to the sticky note on the counter specifying which cake was “ours” and which was “do not touch, or else.”
I knew Mama missed being in the kitchen too. It was her happy place, after all, and it’d been too many days (fifty-one, to be exact) since Mama had been really and truly happy.
Boy howdy, had I missed her. Period. Together, we cooked dinner in Nana’s cast-iron skillet—grilled cheeses slathered with mayo—while jazz music played over the radio. I scrubbed dishes afterward just so we could visit, and it didn’t even seem like a chore. We talked about all the things we loved, and missed, about Nana. Mama told me how living with the Infinite Sadness was plain exhausting, how she didn’t even feel like herself, and I filled her in on the general’s homecoming and how his combat boots were killing his feet. She set her dish towel down, mid-dry. Looking over at me, all misty-eyed, she whispered, “You know, Vilonia? I’ll always miss Nana, that won’t change, no matter how much time marches on. I still feel lost without her, but maybe I’m finding my way home too.”
Vilonia Beebe Takes Charge Page 13