I set the washcloth on the nightstand, more afraid of those red dots than I cared to admit. “Would you like a little broth? How about another shot of brandy? Mama said she’d be right back.” I scrambled to my feet. “Maybe I should go and—”
“No!”
I choked back a sob as he fumbled for my hand. His grip was weaker than a kitten’s, so I could have pulled away, but I let him pull me down instead. Love was holding someone’s hand when you wanted to escape.
It only took a minute for my hand to start sweating. After another minute, I realized my knees were tingling, too. Still, I didn’t try to move, just waited with Takuma. His eyes had closed again, and his mouth had fallen open. I watched his chest go up and down until, suddenly, it stopped.
I counted to ten, then peeped, “Takuma?”
He just lay there, dead or dying. It was hard to say for sure.
I squeezed his hand. “Takuma!”
Just before I screamed for Mama, Takuma squeezed mine back. As he drew a soggy breath, I collapsed onto the mattress.
“You can’t do that,” I said. “You can’t leave me like that.”
Takuma managed a weak grin. Only he would smile at a time like this.
“Mama was right,” I mumbled, smashing my face into his quilt. “We should have sent you home when we still had the chance.”
The grin melted off his face.
“You don’t belong here,” I went on as my eyes burned with unshed tears. “You’re too good for us.”
He rolled his tongue around his mouth. “You I belong,” he croaked.
A single tear slipped down my cheek. “That’s a real nice thing to say.”
I expected him to fall asleep again, but he squeezed my hand instead. “Ella Mae—I want—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish before he started coughing again. As I pressed the washcloth to his mouth, I wanted to scream or maybe cry, but I was too tired to do either, so I just sat there watching as he coughed his life away.
Finally, he drifted back into a tense half-sleep. I wiped off the red drool that had dripped onto his chin, then returned the washcloth to the nightstand. Since I couldn’t do much for my hands, I just folded them in front of me.
“Pictures,” he said, surprising me. I thought he’d fallen asleep. “I want—you have—pictures.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll keep ’em.”
He nodded toward the walls. “Hang on?”
I knew what he meant, but what I said was, “I will if you will.”
“Are-ee-got-toe,” he said, grinning.
“Are-ee-got-toe,” I replied, though I couldn’t bring myself to grin. Dying peacefully was one thing, but dying in pain was another. And he was going to die that way twice.
When Takuma drifted off again, I stared down at my hands, which were clasped as if in prayer. I wasn’t saying one out loud, but according to Mrs. Timothy, Jesus could hear the silent prayers we whispered in our hearts. But if my heart was whispering anything, Jesus must not have heard it. The next time I glanced at Takuma, I realized that he’d stopped breathing.
This time, he didn’t start again.
I leaned back instinctively, but he didn’t try to grab me. My hands slid off the mattress and dangled at my sides. I stared at him until I couldn’t stare another second, then took hold of the bedpost and hauled myself back to my feet.
Though I turned away from his still form, I couldn’t bring myself to leave, so I clung to the bedpost and rehearsed the things I’d meant to tell him:
Your fingers look like Daniel’s.
I choked on my first pork link.
I’m really sorry Robby shot you.
Then again, I’m really not.
Maybe that was what my heart had been whispering all along: Please, God, tell Takuma all the things I never did.
31
Mama came in not long after I hauled myself back to my feet. She smoothed the dents left by my elbows, then gently pulled the sheet over his head, ignoring the fresh tears that watered the flowers on her robe.
Daddy came in to retrieve me after she covered Takuma with the sheet. He led me from the room and silently steered me down the stairs. I’d lost all sense of time and place—it was like someone had turned my internal compass off—so I was glad that he was making all of these decisions for me.
In the kitchen, Daddy washed my hands (though he didn’t scrub all the way up to my elbows), then planted me in Daniel’s chair and pulled out Mama’s pot. Oatmeal was the only thing that he knew how to make, but when he set the bowl in front of me, I just sat there staring. I was feeling lots of things, but hungry wasn’t one of them.
“Come on,” Daddy said as he nudged me with his foot. “You know you have to eat.”
“I don’t know anything,” I mumbled as I fiddled with my spoon.
Daddy pursed his lips. “So you’re just going to starve yourself to death?”
As soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew he’d made a mistake, but I didn’t let him take them back.
“Don’t see why not,” I said. “If Takuma can, then so can I.”
He sat down beside me. “Supergirl,” he whispered. He hadn’t called me that since I’d jumped off Uncle George’s barn (and chipped my two front teeth). “He wouldn’t want you to give up.”
I jerked out of his reach. “How would you know what he wanted?”
Instead of answering, he blinked.
His ignorance just made me madder. “I know you hated him. I know you wished he’d never come. You probably thought he was abominable or some other such nonsense.” I dug my fists into my eyes to disguise my angry tears. “But he was just my friend, nothing more and nothing less.”
Daddy’s Adam’s apple bobbed. It looked like he was getting ready to rake me across the coals, but he just sank back in his seat and raked a hand through his dark hair. I lost track of the seconds that ticked off Mama’s Kit-Cat clock before he cleared his throat.
“I didn’t hate him,” Daddy said. “But perhaps I did resent him.”
I scrunched up my nose. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I didn’t understand him,” Daddy said, then sighed. “Or maybe I didn’t understand why you risked so much for him.”
I considered that for a long time. “I think we risked so much because we loved him.”
“And that,” Daddy replied, “is what I didn’t understand.”
I propped my elbows on the table. It was hard to say in words. “Haven’t you ever cared about someone more than you cared about yourself?”
“Of course I have,” he murmured. His voice was thick and scratchy. “I’ve loved you that much and more from the moment I laid eyes on you.”
I lowered my gaze when I felt my cheeks get hot. It landed on the oatmeal, which was still letting off thin trails of steam. The raisins looked especially plump, and Daddy had added lots of sugar, just the way I liked it. Shyly, I retrieved the spoon.
“Thanks for the oatmeal,” I mumbled, but what I really meant was, I love you that much, too.
Daddy must have understood, because he leaped back to his feet. When he started rinsing out the pot, I almost fell out of my chair. I’d never seen Daddy do the dishes before, but then, I’d never heard him say he loved me before, either. Mama said that death changed folks, but I never would have guessed that it could change them for the better.
• • •
After our awful morning, Mama didn’t make me go to school, so I was flipping through the sketchbook when the doorbell dinged again. I returned it to its hiding place underneath the stairs, then went and got the door. I thought it might be Mr. Neeman, the man who ran the mortuary, but it was only Theo.
I folded my arms across my chest. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
Theo scuffed his foot. “I
could ask you the same thing.”
I unfolded my arms, since I was no longer interested in picking fights with Theo. “Mama said I didn’t have to go.”
“Funny, but mine said the same thing.”
Instead of going our separate ways, me and Theo hemmed and hawed, drawing out our conversation. It felt nice to talk again. Finally, he produced a covered plate from behind his back.
“Anyway,” he said, “she wanted me to give you these.”
I recognized the gingersnaps as soon as I took the plate. “Auntie Mildred baked?” I asked. The bottom was still warm.
Theo looked down at his toes. “She got a bag of flour out as soon as we got home last night, and she’s been bakin’ ever since.”
I looked down at mine, too. “Thanks, but Takuma passed away.”
Theo’s eyes bulged. “Takuma what?”
“I said, he passed away.” Under my breath, I added, “Maybe you need to get your ears checked.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “I heard what you—never mind. What I should have said is, ‘I’m sorry.’” He flicked a curl out of his face. “I know how much he meant to you.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled glumly. Somehow, I’d never noticed how much effort it took to stay mad.
“You can keep the cookies,” Theo said. “Gracie told us he likes gingersnaps.”
“He does,” I said, then swallowed. “Or at least he did.”
Theo swallowed, too.
“Do you want to come in?” I asked as I pulled the door open. “I’m sure I could find us some milk.”
Theo held his hands up. “Oh, no, that’s all right.” He sneaked a peek over my shoulder, as if he thought Takuma’s ghost might appear at any minute. “Mama said I couldn’t stay.”
It was probably a lie (and not an especially good one), but I decided to let it go. “Tell Auntie Mildred I said thanks.”
“I will,” Theo replied as he hurried down the walk. “And I hope you like the cookies!”
“I’m sure we will,” I said as my tears splattered the plastic wrap. Under my breath, I added, “And I’m sure he would have, too.”
32
We had the funeral on Monday, at Neeman and Son Mortuary. Mr. Neeman and his son, the younger Mr. Neeman, were quiet, gangly men who smelled like vinegar and sweat, but they were kind men, too. They even cut us a deal on the embalming, since we weren’t Takuma’s next of kin. They said it was called the Good Samaritan’s Discount.
We had the funeral in a room the Mr. Neemans called the chapel (though it was barely bigger than Mrs. Timothy’s classroom). Of course, it didn’t matter how big the chapel was or wasn’t. Mr. Neeman and his son had the only thing I cared about, and that was the simple casket on the right side of the podium.
Mrs. Billings, who’d once attempted to turn me into a pianist, played the upright in the corner while I tried not to squirm. I’d submitted an obituary to the newspaper, but me and Mama didn’t think that anyone was going to show. Still, Daddy had insisted that we not start until four. If this was going to be a proper funeral, then it was going to have a proper start.
When I checked the circle clock, it was only three minutes to four, so I propped my elbow on the armrest and wedged a fist under my chin. I was supposed to give a speech—Mama had called it the eulogy—and though I wasn’t looking forward to getting up in front of everyone, I was looking forward to getting it over with.
Mrs. Billings had just finished the first verse of “God Is Love” when the outer door banged shut behind us. We turned around in unison just in time to see the Clausens materialize in the archway. I couldn’t decide what I found more surprising—that they’d come at all or that they’d only shown up a minute early.
Auntie Mildred sighed. “Well, at least you haven’t started.”
Mama lurched out of her seat. “What are you doin’ here, Mildred?”
“Same thing as you,” she said, bumping Gracie into a pew. “But you’d better close that mouth if you want to keep it clear of flies.”
Mama swallowed, hard. “I really don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything,” she said. “Now, for heaven’s sake, can we sit down and just enjoy the service?”
Mama bit her lip—despite her previous statement, she must have wanted to say something—but instead of saying it, she obediently sat. She hardly ever did what Auntie Mildred told her to, so this was a small miracle in and of itself.
At precisely four o’clock, the younger Mr. Neeman rose, but before he had a chance to shuffle around the podium, the outer door banged shut again. When we turned around this time, Chester appeared in the archway, an off-white dishrag flung hastily over his shoulder.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said to no one in particular. He yanked the dishrag off his shoulder and knotted it between his fists.
Auntie Mildred rolled her eyes. “You’re not late, Mr. Richmond. Does it look like we’ve started?”
Chester turned as red as a maraschino cherry. He didn’t bother to respond, just slipped silently into a pew. No sooner had he sat than Mr. Neeman stood back up, but he only made it halfway up the aisle before the door banged shut again.
Auntie Mildred whipped around. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, this is a funeral, not Ed Sullivan!”
I just sat there smiling as Miss Shepherd, Arty Fletcher, and all four of the Dents shuffled sheepishly into the chapel. The Dents looked vaguely flustered (though that probably had more to do with the boy from the seesaw, who was steadily chewing through the ribbon on his sister’s light blue dress), and I strongly suspected that Arty was skunk-drunk, but I was so happy that they’d come I almost kissed them on the cheeks.
As they spread out around the chapel, the younger Mr. Neeman took his place behind the podium. “Dear friends and—family,” he said, tripping over that last word. He must have just remembered the Good Samaritan’s Discount. “We’re gathered here today in memory of . . .”
Instead of finishing that sentence, Mr. Neeman checked his notes. A part of me was mad that he’d forgotten, but I pushed that part aside. It wouldn’t have mattered to Takuma, so I tried not to let it matter to me, either.
I cleared my throat. “Takuma.” I meant it to sound steady, but it came out as a croak.
Mr. Neeman didn’t seem to notice. “We’re gathered here today in memory of Takuma . . . Higbee.”
I liked the sound of that.
He checked his notes again. “We’ll begin with ‘Abide with Me,’ after which the invocation will be offered by Jedidiah Higbee.”
Mr. Neeman didn’t nod at Mrs. Billings, but she must have been accustomed to his haphazard conducting, because she launched into “Abide with Me” without any ado. The bass notes made my teeth rattle, but I liked her rowdy version (though it explained why Reverend Simms had never asked her to play).
We didn’t have a song leader, but then, we didn’t need one. There were just sixteen of us (well, seventeen with Mrs. Billings). After we finished the song, Daddy gave the opening prayer, but the only words I caught were, “Watch over his spirit as he ascends to Thee . . . again” and “Please bless our Ella Mae.”
No sooner had he said “amen” than my hands began to sweat. Was I supposed to get up now, or would Mr. Neeman introduce me? I was about to leap out of my seat when Mr. Neeman stood back up.
“We’ll now hear from Ella Mae, best friend of the deceased.”
I wiped my hands off on my skirt, then made my way up to the podium. The funeral-goers tracked my progress; I could feel their beady eyes crawling all over my back. I tried to picture them in their unmentionables like Miss Fightmaster had taught us, but they still seemed pretty scary.
The podium came up to my chin, so the younger Mr. Neeman dragged a stepstool out of nowhere. But when I climbed onto the stepstool, the podium came up to my waist. After considering my options, I positioned myself bes
ide the podium. Once I was back on level ground—and within sight of Takuma—my heart stopped hammering.
“Good afternoon,” I said. When I realized they couldn’t hear me, I cleared my throat and tried again: “I mean, GOOD AFTERNOON!”
Chester laughed, actually laughed, but Auntie Mildred looked like she was about to blow a gasket. I could imagine what she’d say: You’re supposed to stand behind it, not off to the side. Still, she didn’t make a fuss, just gritted her teeth and bore it. Maybe Takuma’s death had changed Auntie Mildred, too.
I dug my toe into the carpet. “I didn’t write anything down, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything, but I could talk about Takuma for the next ten years if I wanted to.” When Theo’s eyes bulged, I rolled my eyes. “But I don’t want to, so don’t worry.”
Mama grinned, Theo relaxed, and a tiny smile even tugged at the corner of Uncle George’s mouth. I drew a bracing breath. I could handle this, no doubt about it. After the last couple of weeks, I could handle anything.
“Mr. Neeman’s right,” I said. “Me and Takuma were best friends. But that doesn’t mean I was the only one who loved him.”
I sneaked a peek at Gracie (who blushed becomingly), then another peek at Mama (whose eyes were sparkling with unshed tears). They’d loved him differently, of course, but they’d loved him just the same. Comparing types of love was like comparing orange blossoms—every bloom was special just because it was unique.
“Some of us didn’t love him,” I went on. “Or at least we thought we didn’t. But whether we loved him or not, he affected all of us.”
This time, my gaze darted to Daddy (who looked like he was deep in thought), then to Auntie Mildred (who refused to meet my eyes). But I could tell that she was listening, since she was leaning forward in her seat and looking everywhere but at my face.
“Now, I’m not sayin’ he was perfect—Jesus was the only person who was that—but it could be that Takuma was as close as you could get. I think that’s why he changed us. He was like a mirror that way, reflecting our rights and wrongs back at us.”
The Sound of Life and Everything Page 18