The secretary beamed at our approach. “What can I do for you?” she asked as we scurried across the shiny tiles. She wasn’t the same secretary who’d been here the week before.
Auntie Mildred licked her lips. “We’re here to talk to Dr. Franks.”
The secretary consulted her appointment book. “Oh, you must be Mrs. Higbee.”
“Actually, I’m Mrs. Clausen.”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Clausen. I have your name right here.” The secretary bit her lip. “Now, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m going to need to see ID.”
Mama produced her driver’s license while Auntie Mildred fumbled for her water bill. I caught a glimpse of the postmark as she passed it to the secretary, but neither of them seemed to notice it was more than a month old. I kept that tidbit to myself. If Auntie Mildred’s ID was no good, they might not let us past the guards, and I might never solve the mystery of the Japanese man.
We only made it past four checkpoints before Dr. Franks appeared. His lab coat looked as if he’d slept in it, but he was grinning like an idiot. I definitely wouldn’t be grinning if I had to try to sleep in this awful, freezing place.
“Mrs. Higbee,” he said, “you came!”
Mama’s eyes narrowed. “Did you think we wouldn’t?”
Dr. Franks lowered his gaze. “I suppose I had my doubts. But I do think you’ll appreciate what we’ve accomplished.” He directed us into a nearby elevator. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”
Auntie Mildred hurried aboard, eager to meet the breakthrough, but I lingered on the threshold, suddenly nervous. Something about the way that he’d lowered his eyes had made my stomach clench. What if this so-called accomplishment had nothing to do with Robby? What if we’d come all this way so Dr. Franks could show us his earwax collection?
The door tried to close on Auntie Mildred’s heels, but Dr. Franks stopped it. “Were you planning to join us?”
Mama took my hand. “Courage, sweetness,” she whispered as we stepped into the elevator.
The room he took us to was unlike any of the others we’d been in so far. For one thing, it was long, with two rows of theater seats that faced a large window, and for another, it was crammed. Two gray-colored folks were standing closest to the door. Their eyes and cheeks were sunken, as if they hadn’t slept in weeks. A frantic-looking mama with a pack of squabbling kids was standing next to them, and farther down, an old man with a leathery face couldn’t seem to stop frowning. There were other folks, too, but those four stood out. They looked like they needed a hug.
“Who are they?” I asked as Auntie Mildred elbowed around them.
“The other families, of course.” Dr. Franks motioned toward the window. “They’re here to see the demonstration.”
Mama’s forehead wrinkled. “But why are they interested in Robby?”
Dr. Franks leaned toward her. “Come again?”
“I said, why are they interested in Robby?”
Instead of waiting to hear his answer, I dove into the crowd behind Auntie Mildred. The other families had cleared a path, and it still hadn’t filled in. They must have been wary of her pointy elbows.
“Where is he?” she mumbled.
I pressed my nose against the window. It looked down on a gym with a balance beam, monkey bars, and a set of mini hurdles. Several dozen assistants were fluttering around the subjects, whose teal robes and bare feet made them easy to spot. It seemed like Dr. Franks could have at least found them some socks. There were few things I hated more than cold feet.
Auntie Mildred bent this way and that as she inspected the subjects. “Where is he? I can’t see him.”
But I could see the Japanese man. His teal robe and bare feet couldn’t hide his black hair. Someone had tried to tame it, but it still stuck out every which way. They’d tucked him into a corner, obviously apart from the rest, who were sitting in hard plastic chairs (or, in some cases, slouching).
Auntie Mildred trembled. “He isn’t here,” she whispered, then shouted it again: “Anna, he isn’t here!”
The other families, who’d been chatting quietly, snapped to attention. Their eyes settled on Auntie Mildred (whose eyes were filling with tears).
Dr. Franks perked up. “Who isn’t?”
“Who do you think?” Mama asked.
When Dr. Franks didn’t answer, I rolled my eyes. “They’re talkin’ about Robby,” I said.
Dr. Franks’s forehead crinkled. “Why would he be?” he asked. He seemed genuinely confused.
“Because you found him,” I replied. “You said you had a breakthrough.”
“We did have a breakthrough,” he said, “but we have not found Robert Clausen.”
I swallowed, hard. I’d suspected as much, but it was still hard to hear. Mama’s hands clenched into fists, though she managed not to swing them. Auntie Mildred didn’t react—on the outside, at least. I could only imagine what was going on under that pale pink hat.
“My apologies,” he went on after clearing his throat. When we just stood there, stunned, he pressed a nearby button, and an intercom crackled to life. “You can go ahead, Jackson.”
As Dr. Franks’s words reverberated around the gym, the assistants leaped to their feet. They grabbed the subjects—by their hands or their armpits, whichever was more convenient—and dragged them from their seats. As I watched the subjects shuffle from one spot to another, I matched them to their families. The gray-colored man was probably the gray-colored people’s son, and the girl with the frown had to belong to the old man. None of the subjects looked like the frantic-looking mama, but I decided she went with the tall man by the door. He was still just sitting there drooling, but she hadn’t stopped staring the whole time we’d been here.
By contrast, the Japanese man belonged to no one. The assistants mostly ignored him, but he seemed fine on his own. He walked effortlessly to the balance beam and traversed it with ease. I’d tried my hand at walking plenty of fence rails in my day, but I always fell off. The Japanese man, on the other hand, didn’t so much as bobble.
“You see?” Dr. Franks asked. “He’s a breakthrough, a real breakthrough!”
I couldn’t decide if he was a breakthrough or not, but he did look more stable than the other subjects, who were in various states of not-standing. When the Japanese man reached the end, he hopped off like a sparrow, then looked around to see if anyone had noticed. But the assistants were so busy getting drooled on—or worse—that none of them had.
The Japanese man eyed the others with something like curiosity. I couldn’t say I blamed him. They were acting like a pack of overgrown toddlers, but instead of running for cover (like I would have, no doubt), the Japanese man turned around.
Dr. Franks tensed. “What’s he doing?”
It hit me as soon as he reached another subject, a short, stocky woman who was on her hands and knees. “He wants to help,” I whispered.
Sure enough, the Japanese man took one look at the woman, then extended a hand.
Before she could decide if she wanted to take it, Dr. Franks pounced on the intercom. “Keep him moving, Jackson! He must complete the whole course if we want to be able to make a full analysis.”
“Are you talking about the Jap?” someone asked. “How’d he get here, anyway? And why’s he not crawling like Maisie?”
Before Dr. Franks had a chance to answer, Auntie Mildred exploded. “He’s an imposter!” she screamed. “And he was supposed to be mine!”
She thumped on the window, then crumpled into a ball. A growl started rumbling in her chest, then steadily built into a howl. It reminded me of the coyotes that roamed the hills during the night. When she dragged her nails along the glass, leaving inch-long scratches, the other families shifted back. I would have done the same if she hadn’t been my flesh and blood.
It seemed like I should say something, since I wa
s closer than Mama, but the sound she was making didn’t promote conversation. I was about to chicken out when I remembered the Japanese man. If he could hold out a hand to a perfect stranger, then I could comfort my own auntie. Tentatively, I patted her shoulder, but as soon as I made contact, she yelped like a hurt dog and knocked my hand away. When it hit the window, it echoed like a gong—or a gunshot.
I was too stunned to do much more than stare, but Dr. Franks pounced on another button. “Imogene, I need backup! I repeat, I need backup!”
It only took a minute for the men in black suits to show up. While the other families crouched down and tried to make themselves less noticeable, the men dragged Auntie Mildred away from the window, then uncapped a needle and jammed it into her arm. It only took a second for Auntie Mildred’s eyes to roll back in her head.
Mama’s eyes hardened. “What have you done?” she demanded as they towed Auntie Mildred away. Her heels dragged on the tiles, leaving long black skid marks that would probably take days to scrub off.
I just stared at the spot where Auntie Mildred had fallen, trying to ignore the rising tide of nausea that was taking over my stomach. She’d never been my favorite relative, but watching those men jab her had rearranged my loyalties.
Dr. Franks held up his hands. “It was just a precaution,” he said as he shrank away from Mama. “She was a danger to herself and others.”
“She might have been a danger to that window, but she wasn’t a danger to you.” Mama tightened her grip on her purse. “You’ll take me to her this instant, and then we’re gonna leave.”
Dr. Franks swallowed. “Very well.”
When Mama seized my hand, I didn’t even protest, just let her drag me out the door. The other families watched us go without saying a word. One man clenched his fists, but the frantic-looking mama waved him off. She must have refereed plenty of fights.
Auntie Mildred had ended up down the hall in a room that looked like it had once been a closet. They’d taken out most of the shelves and replaced them with a metal table and two spindly chairs. By the time we arrived in the doorway, she was already coming to.
Mama breezed past the man silently guarding the door. I couldn’t resist stepping on his giant black shoe, but the man didn’t budge.
Mama knelt down by the chair they’d stuck Auntie Mildred in. “How are you feelin’?” Mama asked.
Auntie Mildred clutched her forehead. “Like someone cracked me with a shovel.”
Mama pursed her lips. “Do you think you can stand?”
Auntie Mildred gripped the table and dragged herself back to her feet. She bobbled like a newborn calf, but somehow, she didn’t fall. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the Japanese man downstairs.
“Well, then,” Mama said, “we’ll just be on our way.”
Dr. Franks fiddled with his sleeve. “A thousand apologies, Mrs. Clausen. What a terrible misunderstanding.”
Auntie Mildred shrugged. You didn’t bring Robby back, her thin shoulders seemed to say, so I don’t care anymore.
Once we were safely in the elevator, I tugged on Mama’s hand. “I take it we’re not comin’ back?”
“Oh, we’re comin’ back,” Mama said, patting Auntie Mildred’s hand. “Someone’s got to teach that man that he can’t treat folks like cattle.” Under her breath, she added, “Not even Japanese ones.”
7
Dr. Franks wasn’t the only one who treated folks like cattle. Miss Fightmaster, my teacher, was fond of teaching boring lessons, then jabbing people with her ruler if they dared to interrupt.
I really didn’t like that ruler, but when she stuffed our heads with fractions and more useless mumbo jumbo, I couldn’t help but misbehave. At least Monday morning’s lesson looked more promising than most. She scratched it on the board as soon as we walked through the door: “How the Mighty Oak Tree Grows from a Single Acorn.”
“It might not look like it,” she said as she handed out acorns (and hammers), “but this tiny seed is one of God’s greatest creations. Add a little water and sunlight, and it will grow into a giant.”
I held up my acorn. “Sounds like oak trees are a lot like people.”
“Ella Mae, don’t hold that acorn right in front of your nose! You’ll make yourself go cross-eyed!” She whacked my desk with her ruler. “And you must raise your hand if you want my attention.”
Grudgingly, I lowered my acorn, then stuck my hand in the air.
She let me stew for five whole seconds. “Yes, Ella Mae?”
I held up my acorn. “Sounds like oak trees are a lot like people.”
This time, she ignored my deliberate attempt to make myself go cross-eyed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, you know how we come from eggs.”
Behind me, someone laughed. “We’re not chickens, Ella Mae!” It sounded suspiciously like Walter.
“I never said we were chickens.” I flipped a braid over my shoulder. “I was just talkin’ to this scientist, and he said that people—”
“Where did you meet a scientist, on a funny farm?”
Red-hot shame crept up my neck and set my ears on fire, but before I could whip around and introduce Walter to my fist, Miss Fightmaster intervened.
“Why don’t we move on?” she asked, though it sounded less like a suggestion and more like a command.
“But I have a question,” I said.
Miss Fightmaster smoothed her eyebrows. “All right, then, let’s have it.”
“Do these acorns have DNA?”
Now, I wasn’t above dragging out a conversation to waste time, but in the case of these acorns, I genuinely wanted to know.
Miss Fightmaster pressed her lips into a line. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that term.”
“I’m not familiar with it, either,” I said, “but I think it stands for deoxyribo-something-or-other. Dr. Franks said it’s in everything, which is what made me wonder if it’s in these acorns, too.”
Her nostrils shriveled into slits. “There will be no more talk of scientists.” She jabbed me with her ruler. “And there will be no more talk of DNA, either.”
Miss Fightmaster continued, but I was no longer listening. How did these acorns know how to grow into oak trees? Why didn’t they ever grow into beech trees instead?
“I think these little acorns must have DNA,” I said. “God probably invented it to keep everything straight.”
This time, Miss Fightmaster’s entire face shriveled. She swept my acorn onto the floor and ground it to dust with her heel. “This class will not abide any more of your outbursts!” She aimed her ruler at the door. “Go to the office this instant!”
Slowly, very slowly, I dragged myself out of my desk. It wasn’t that I’d never been to the office before; I was just disappointed I hadn’t gotten to use my hammer.
I didn’t even glance at Robby’s trophy or Daniel’s prize-winning sketches on my way to the office. Robby was the only quarterback who’d led our team to a state championship, and Daniel’s artwork was so good that they’d put it on display. Normally, I liked looking at these friendly reminders, but today, they just emphasized that Robby and Daniel were dead.
I’d barely trudged through the door when Gracie burst to her feet. It took all my willpower not to turn right around. If I’d remembered that Monday was Gracie’s day in the office, I might have made more of an effort to stay on Miss Fightmaster’s good side.
“Where’s Miss Shepherd?” I asked. She was the real secretary. Gracie was just a lowly student aide.
She waved my question away. “What happened this time, Ella Mae?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Really. I just asked a question.”
“You never just ask a question.”
I shrugged. She had a point.
Gracie bit her lip. “So what happened?”
“Oh,
Miss Fightmaster was just sayin’ something silly about acorns, and I simply asked if they had DNA.”
“What’s DNA?” Gracie asked.
“Deoxyribo-something-or-other.”
I expected Gracie to gasp or at least press me for details, but she only sat there smiling, like I had meat loaf for brains. So Auntie Mildred hadn’t told them. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised.
• • •
Gracie wasn’t authorized to administer judgment, so we had to wait for Mr. Lloyd (who was holed up in his office, doing whatever principals did when they weren’t tormenting their students). The sunburst clock struck noon before he finally came out, but since the lunch bell had just rung, he only took one look at me before he waved me out the door.
I dashed out of the office, eager to catch back up to Theo. Since our mamas packed our lunches, we always headed to the playground as soon as the bell rang (and since I often got sent to the office, he was used to bringing mine).
“We spent the morning dissecting acorns,” he said, swinging his lunch box exuberantly. “Walter smashed his to smithereens as soon as Miss Fightmaster turned her back, but I pried off my cupule—that’s the little cap thing on top—without damaging the inside.”
I tightened my grip on my lunch pail. “It figures.” I’d asked for a lunch box the same as Theo’s, but Mama had decided the lunch pail still worked fine.
“You can’t let her bait you,” he said as he pulled open the door. “If you just kept your mouth shut, she wouldn’t know you exist.”
“Is that your goal in life, to fade into the background?”
“Yes,” Theo said. “At least as far as Miss Fightmaster’s concerned.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic. I raised a hand to shield my eyes as I led the way across the blacktop. For once, the sun had burned off the clouds that drifted ashore every night, so the playground almost sparkled. It was a sight to see.
We didn’t waste any words as we unpacked our lunches and made our usual trades: one of Mama’s snickerdoodles for Auntie Mildred’s store-bought pudding and a handful of green grapes for one or two Keebler crackers. Other folks might have liked having scores of fair-weather friends, but I just needed Theo, and he just needed me.
The Sound of Life and Everything Page 4