I watched Takuma in the side mirror as we jounced up Radley Way. He was leaning on the window, forehead pressed against the glass, and every time we hit a pothole, he closed his eyes and winced.
“Are you all right?” I whispered. He didn’t look all right to me, but telling folks what we really thought wasn’t supposed to be courteous. Why didn’t we make more of an effort to be honest? It probably would have saved us a lot of grief down the road.
Takuma straightened up—he must have realized I was watching—then forced a tired smile. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, but as soon as he thought I wasn’t looking, he sagged back against the window.
I wasn’t convinced, but I didn’t press him, either. Who was I to tell him what he could and couldn’t lie about?
By the time we reached the store, Takuma looked as white as Auntie Mildred’s gloves. I raised my eyebrows as he climbed out of the car, but he didn’t dissolve into tears, just nodded resolutely.
“You don’t have to pretend,” I said. “It’s all right if you’re hurt . . .”
I trailed off when I realized that neither he nor Mama was listening to me. They were both gawking at another car, their eyes as wide as flying saucers. I glanced over my shoulder to see what they were looking at.
It was the Clausens’ Chrysler.
Mama was the first to pick her chin up off the ground. “You won’t say a word,” she hissed as she took hold of my hand. “Not one word, you understand? I don’t care if your auntie punches you in the nose. You will not say one word.”
I didn’t want to say a word; I wanted to say several dozen. I wanted to race into the store and corner her around the Brillo Pads. She’d have no choice but to listen, and I’d have no choice but to tell her that this was Robby’s fault. That he’d murdered Takuma.
Mama squeezed my hand. “I said, do you understand?”
I resisted for a moment, then gritted my teeth and said, “Yes, ma’am.” Under my breath, I added, “Wouldn’t want to knock over Mr. Whitman’s Brillo Pads.”
First, we headed for the pork links, where I loaded up the cart with enough prepackaged sausages to keep St. Jude fed for months. Mama didn’t help, but that was just as well. She’d never been a fan of prepackaged anything.
Next, we headed for dry goods. We would have headed faster if it hadn’t been for Takuma, who was leaning on the cart like an old man on his cane. His breath was coming in wet pants, as if his lungs were full of liquid, and every time he coughed, the cart rattled like a bag of bones. If it hadn’t been half-full of pork links, I would have picked him up and stuck him in the cart, too.
In dry goods, we grabbed a bag of flour and a jar of cardamom (which was Mama’s secret ingredient for making melt-in-your-mouth waffles). Just before we turned the corner, a flash of blond hair caught my eye. I only caught a glimpse, but it was Gracie, no doubt about it. I’d know that blond hair anywhere.
Mama must have seen her, too, because she pressed her lips into a line. But instead of abandoning our cart, she said, “There’s no sense turnin’ back.”
In produce, I scooped up every orange that Mr. Whitman had (since frozen orange juice was for soldiers and folks who didn’t have my impressive arm muscles). I placed them in the cart one orange at a time, careful not to set them where they might roll out.
If Mama noticed the amount of food we were about to purchase, she didn’t mention it, just led us toward the check stand. Takuma plodded after her, pushing the cart ahead of him. I kept an eye out for Auntie Mildred, sweeping one way, then the other, just like Sergeant Friday. That woman was a wily one.
But by the time we reached the check stands, she was still nowhere to be found, and I started to relax. The last few weeks had made me paranoid. She wasn’t really going to confront us in front of God and everyone. I stuck our groceries on the conveyor belt while Mama sagged against the Clark Bars. Takuma leaned against the cart. When he coughed, it bumped her leg.
At least that got her attention. Mama frowned at the conveyor belt. “Do we really need so many pork links?”
I blew a string of hair out of my face as I grappled with the flour. “The last thing you want to do is run out of refreshments.” I decided not to mention that I’d learned that from Auntie Mildred.
Mama didn’t have a chance to answer before Patrick Temple turned his phony grin on us. He was a year older than Gracie, but his cowlick made him seem younger. When his eyes flicked to Takuma, his phony grin faltered, but at least he didn’t sneer.
“Good afternoon!” he said brightly. It sounded like he’d just sucked the air out of a helium balloon. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Looks like they found more than that,” a familiar voice said.
27
I didn’t turn around at first. I didn’t want to draw Auntie Mildred’s attention. Mama would take care of this. That was what mamas were for.
“This is none of your beeswax,” Mama said, “so you might as well just leave us be.”
Auntie Mildred sneered. “Oh, it’s my beeswax,” she said. “When you let that thing attack my daughter—”
“He didn’t attack me,” Gracie said, coming up behind her mama. “The truth is, I kissed him.”
Auntie Mildred’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t box Gracie’s ears, just inched closer to Mama. “That’s some nerve you have, bringing that thing out in public. I have half a mind to drag it to the pound!”
I had to clench my teeth to keep from biting her myself.
Mama held her hands up. “You don’t know what you’re sayin’, so if you’d stop makin’ a scene—”
“You think I’m the one makin’ a scene?” Auntie Mildred waved at Patrick (who was studiously inspecting a hangnail), then at Mr. Whitman’s other customers (who were creeping closer to our check stand when they thought no one was looking). “You’re the one subjectin’ them to that unnatural Jap!”
She would have gotten less attention if she’d fired off a flare. The other customers stopped creeping and simply gawked outright. Theo, who’d been loitering around the frozen foods, turned tail and tried to flee, but before he could escape, the crowd shifted, hemming him in.
“Don’t do that,” Mama said. “Don’t try to place the blame on me. It ain’t anyone’s fault, you understand?” She grabbed Auntie Mildred’s elbow and said those words again: “It ain’t anyone’s fault.”
Gracie grabbed her other elbow. “He isn’t what you think he is. He’s a kind, sweet, gentle boy who—”
“He is no such thing!” Auntie Mildred sputtered as she said it, so she had to wipe her chin off with her sleeve. “And you’re a fool for thinkin’ otherwise.”
Gracie had to wipe her chin off, too, as she yanked her mama’s elbow. “I think we’d better go.”
“I’ll go when I feel like goin’, and I don’t feel like goin’ yet.” Auntie Mildred ripped her elbow out of Gracie’s grip. “I know what you’re doin’, Anna. You think you’re gonna pin this mess on me. All right, then, I admit it. I tried to bring Robby back to life.” She stuck her chin out at Takuma. “But I didn’t decide to keep that miserable thing.”
For a second, maybe more, it was so still that I could hear the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The other customers just stood there gaping in various states of disbelief. Mrs. Leavitt’s nose crinkled, and Chester’s eyes and mouth widened into three perfect Os. Theo looked like the only one who wasn’t in shock, but the crowd had gone so rigid that he couldn’t escape.
I tried to take a step toward the door, but my feet wouldn’t budge. Was I in shock, too? I’d never thought that Auntie Mildred would make such a fuss in public.
When Mama cleared her throat, I expected her to tell the whole world what we knew. But instead of coming clean, she set her sights on Patrick. “How much do I owe you?”
Patrick glanced at the register. “Eight dollars,” he
said, then glanced at it again. “Well, eight dollars and nine cents.”
“Very well,” Mama said as she retrieved her wallet.
Auntie Mildred made a face. “Are you really gonna pay your bill and walk away from me?”
“Thank you, Patrick,” Mama said as she handed him the money. I couldn’t help but notice that her hands were trembling slightly. “I’m sorry for the scene.” As she returned her wallet to her purse, she added, “Yes, Mildred, I am.”
Mama turned to go, but Auntie Mildred grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t you turn your back on me!” she said as she whipped Mama around.
Mama’s elbow bumped the Clark Bars, knocking a few onto the ground. She glanced down at the candy, then back up at her sister, her gaze as piercing as a tiger’s. “You will take your hands off me this instant, or I will take them off for—”
She didn’t have a chance to finish before Auntie Mildred slapped her. It happened so fast that I couldn’t process what I’d seen until the red spot bloomed on Mama’s cheek.
Red-hot rage gripped my heart and made my shoulders quake, but before I had a chance to do much more than shake, Mr. Whitman appeared out of nowhere. The rotten tomatoes on his apron glistened like fresh blood.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m afraid I have to ask you two to take this fight outside.”
For once, I didn’t argue, just grabbed Takuma’s hand and dragged him toward the door. The only way out was around Patrick, who also appeared to be inching toward the exit sign. Mama, on the other hand, hadn’t moved a muscle, probably because her sister was still gripping her wrist.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Gracie, get your mama!”
“I’m trying!” Gracie said.
I knew how I’d make her budge—it involved a swift kick in the fanny—but I couldn’t abandon Takuma. He could barely stand up straight, and it didn’t strike me as a good idea to leave him in the middle of what could easily become a brawl. Chester was weaving toward us, apparently coming to our aid, but before he could find an opening, the crowd shifted again. Guess we were on our own.
We were halfway to the door when Auntie Mildred started wailing. It made me think of how she’d howled like a coyote at the lab, but instead of clawing at a window, she clawed at Mama’s arm. Gracie tried to intervene, but she only succeeded in knocking them off balance. When Auntie Mildred hit the ground, I thought that might be the end of it, but when she clambered to her knees, she was still going strong.
“—gonna get rid of him,” she was saying, “or so help me, I’ll disown you!” At some point in the scuffle, her hat had fallen off. Now it was dangling from her hair like a dead bug from a web, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I won’t speak to you at parties, I won’t invite you to my own, and it’ll be like you’re dead to—”
“Robby killed him!” Mama screamed. “He was lyin’ on the ground, and Robby shot him in cold blood.”
It took me a few seconds to realize what she’d just said, but when it registered, I froze. No one dared to move or even breathe. Even Mr. Lloyd had the good sense not to scoff. The silence was so perfect that I could hear the blood gushing through my ears. Robby had once pressed a seashell to my ear and told me it was the ocean, but even then, I’d known the truth. That gushing sound was blood, the sound of life and everything.
Auntie Mildred sat back on her heels. “You lie,” she mumbled dully, but no one seemed to believe her. I doubted she believed herself.
“He drew a picture,” Mama whispered. “Robby’s face was plain as day, and he had both hands on the gun.”
Auntie Mildred swatted at those words like they were pesky flies. “No, that can’t—you must have shown him—”
“I didn’t show him anything,” Mama interrupted. “But it’s Robby, no doubt about it.”
Auntie Mildred slumped against a rack of the Ladies’ Home Journal. “I don’t—I mean, I can’t—”
“You can,” Mama replied, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. For some reason, they looked even thinner than usual. “You don’t have a choice.”
Auntie Mildred didn’t answer, just kept swatting at those words like she thought that they might sting. The crowd shifted uneasily, but before they could wander off, Takuma made a move.
He could barely stand up straight, but that didn’t prevent him from hobbling around the Clark Bars. He had to hold on to the check stand to keep from falling over, but when he stopped in front of Auntie Mildred, he held out his hand.
For a long time, she just gaped at him. Her expression flickered back and forth between remorse and revulsion, and I swallowed, hard. I didn’t trust Auntie Mildred to make the right decision, but she was the only one who could. Finally, she drew a shaky breath and placed her hand in his.
The crowd gasped in surprise—I probably gasped, too—but Takuma only grunted as he dragged her to her feet. Their toes brushed as they struggled to regain their balance, but Auntie Mildred didn’t shudder, didn’t even pull away.
“Sorry Robby,” he whispered.
She let out a sob, then pressed her face into her hands.
Takuma didn’t wait for Auntie Mildred to stop crying, just sagged against the check stand, obviously out of breath. I was still too stunned to react, but Mama sidled up to him and offered herself as a crutch. He draped an arm around her shoulders, and she slid one around his waist, and then they half staggered, half skidded through the sea of Clark Bars and around a speechless Patrick. As I watched them lumber off, leaning on each other like the two sides of an arch, my heart glowed so fiercely that I thought it might burst.
28
Mama thought we should wait to bake Takuma’s cake, but I wanted to make it as soon as we got home. For some reason, it felt like we were running out of time. Takuma seemed all right while me and Mama mixed the batter and stuck the cake pans in the oven, but he started to cough as soon as the timer buzzed. By the time we got the cake pans to the cooling racks we’d spread out on the table, Takuma was on his hands and knees, a thin line of drool and snot dangling out of his mouth.
“It’s all right,” Mama said, handing him a clean dishrag. “Let’s get you into a chair.”
It didn’t look all right to me, but mamas knew best. She looped one of his arms around her neck, and I looped the other around mine. When we set him down in Daniel’s chair, it didn’t even groan.
Though she might have sounded calm, Mama looked like a whirlwind as she swept around the kitchen. I tried not to bounce as she filled a pot with water and stuck it on a burner, then hacked up her biggest lemon and a chunk of ginger root. She was already going as fast as she could.
Daddy must have wondered why she was hacking up ginger root, because he turned up in the archway as she dumped it in the pot. “What are you making now?” he asked.
“What does it look like?” I replied. Honestly, he asked the dumbest questions.
Daddy managed to ignore me. “Anna, what’s going on?”
“He just has a cough,” she said as she stirred the lemon tea.
Daddy cocked an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like just a cough to me.”
“Well, you’d be more than welcome to go and get a flask of brandy.”
“Aren’t you making lemon tea?”
“Only because we’re out of spirits.”
Daddy threw his arms up. “You said it was just a cough!”
“And you said it didn’t sound like just a cough to you.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Well, I trust your diagnosis.” Under his breath, he added, “I’m not wasting brandy on a cold.”
I stuck both hands on my hips. “I think you meant to say you’re not wastin’ brandy on a Jap.”
Mama threw her hot pads down. “Watch your language, Ella Mae!”
But she didn’t have a chance to locate her bar of Ivory before Takuma coughed again.
He covered his mouth like a good boy, but when he pulled the dishrag back, it was covered with red spots. He’d sprayed the cake pans, too.
I pressed my lips into a line. Throwing up was one thing, but coughing blood was another.
Mama gawked at the dishrag, then blinked and shook her head. “Clean that up,” she told me in her no-nonsense voice. “And don’t forget to wash your hands as soon as you’re finished.”
“Are you happy now?” I asked as I scowled up at Daddy.
Instead of answering, he licked his lips. At least he didn’t look happy.
Mama cleared her throat. “The brandy, Jed?” she pressed.
“Yes, of course,” he mumbled, then bumped into the doorjamb in his haste to get away. The coatrack rattled in the entryway as he retrieved his hat and coat, and then the door slammed shut behind him.
When Mama scurried up the stairs, it was just me and Takuma. I scrubbed his dishrag out with soap and water, then turned my attention to the cake. I took a close look at both layers, turning them this way and that, but in the end, I decided it wasn’t worth the risk. The fact that he’d coughed blood obviously had everyone spooked, so with a heavy heart, I chucked both cakes in the trash.
“Sorry,” he said, cringing.
“It ain’t your fault,” I replied as I attacked the table with another dishrag. “You can’t help bein’ sick.”
“Not sick,” Takuma whispered.
A shiver skittered down my spine, but I pretended not to notice. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Ella Mae,” he said, then waited until I met his gaze. His eyes were red but clear. “Not sick.”
It sounded like he meant it, but I didn’t want him to be right, and besides, how did he know? Daddy was going to get the brandy, and he was going to be fine. But I didn’t have a chance to tell him before Mama reappeared.
The Sound of Life and Everything Page 16