A Drop of Hope

by Keith Calabrese

  “I don’t know what to do. My parents don’t, either. The teachers … Everyone’s trying but nothing’s working. Seth is miserable. He cries a lot. He tries to hide it, but I hear him in his room,” she said, fighting back tears herself. “And I wish I knew how to help.”

  Once back outside with Ryan, Ernest told him about Paige Barnett and her little brother.

  “That settles it,” Ryan said adamantly.

  “Absolutely,” Ernest concurred wholeheartedly.

  “That’s the last time we go in that well.”

  “I completely agr—wait. No.”

  “We have no right to be hearing this stuff.”

  “We can help. We have a responsibility to help.”

  “We can’t help. And we have a responsibility to mind our own stinking business.”

  Ernest wanted to disagree, but there was a part of Paige’s wish he hadn’t shared with Ryan. Paige had proposed a deal, a bargain.

  “Mr. Earle told us about the legend,” Paige had said. “About how Ezekiel Thompkins offered his life in exchange for his grandson’s. So, I figure that’s how it must work; wishes cost, right? Well, I’m pretty smart. Maybe not Lizzy MacComber smart, but I get good grades and all that. So, I’m thinking I can give some of my smarts to my little brother, to help him. To even things out a bit. That sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

  It was an honest bargain. Whether she believed the well had the power to pull it off or not, Ernest could hear in Paige’s voice that she had meant what she said. She’d do anything to help her little brother.

  That really stuck with Ernest, but it also kind of proved Ryan’s point. Ernest did feel wrong listening to Paige like that.

  All the more reason, he decided, to make it mean something.

  “Tomorrow I’m going into my grandfather’s attic,” Ernest announced with renewed gumption. “You’ll see—it’ll be just like what happened with Winston and Tommy.”

  “Sounds great. You do that.”

  Ernest nodded, overlooking Ryan’s sarcasm. “So I’ll just tell my mom I’m coming home with you after school?”

  “Tell your mom whatever you—what? No.”

  “C’mon.”

  “No. You cannot come home with me.”

  “But—”

  “Listen, I’m done babysitting you, all right?”

  Ernest stopped, stung. “O-okay,” he said quietly.

  “Look, don’t—all right, whatever,” Ryan said with an irritated groan. “You can walk home with me, but that’s it. I have things I have to do.” Tomorrow was Thursday, grocery day with Mrs. Haemmerle.

  Ernest brightened. “That’s fine. I’ll search the attic while you’re doing your things. We can meet up later. It’s perfect.”

  “Yeah,” Ryan said. “Perfect.”

  ERNEST RETURNS TO THE ATTIC

  Ernest walked home with Ryan the following day. Though he had driven through the South Side dozens of times when Grandpa Eddie was still alive, walking through Ryan’s neighborhood now felt different, like he was someplace new and unfamiliar.

  As Ernest had suspected, Ryan didn’t seem any more excited about Ernest’s plan than he had the day before. He didn’t talk much along the way, and his antsy pace told Ernest to “come on and get this over with already.”

  When they got to Grandpa Eddie’s house, Ryan stopped at the curb. “You have a way inside?”

  Ernest nodded. Grandpa Eddie had kept a spare house key hidden under a rock in the back garden.

  “All right, then,” Ryan said, and walked across the street, leaving Ernest to it.

  Ernest keyed his way in through the back door. As he stepped inside he felt like he was burgling the old house. It felt kind of cool—that is, until he got to the attic. The farther he made his way in between the dusty piles of boxes and stacks of luggage, the more he started to suspect that he really knew very little about his grandfather. He and Grandpa Eddie had been close; at least, Ernest had thought so. But there was so much stuff in this attic, and he had no idea what any of it really meant.

  Like the art set. At the time, Ernest hadn’t thought that much about what a sixty-year-old art set, brand-new and in perfect condition, was doing on a rocking chair with all those other old, unopened toys. It didn’t make any sense, though. Who would buy a bunch of toys and then just stick them all in an attic for more than half a century?

  What Ernest did know was that Grandpa Eddie wanted him up here, that he was meant to find these toys. He went through the pile, taking all the items off the seat of the rocking chair and laying them out slowly, carefully. There were five in all:

  A box of Colorforms

  A sock monkey

  A Flash Gordon click ray pistol

  A handmade quilt

  A fire extinguisher

  The last two weren’t toys. The quilt, however, was something you could give to a child. Maybe that was it—they were gifts. But gifts for who?

  Or, perhaps just as importantly, gifts for when?

  And that still didn’t explain the old-timey fire extinguisher. No matter how he looked at it, Ernest couldn’t see how it fit in with the others.

  He glanced around the room. If only some sign would come to him, some inspiration like he’d gotten with the art set, then he’d know what to do next. So far, however, he was getting nothing. Last time, he didn’t really have a chance to think about it. He saw the art set and knew he had to take it with him.

  This time nothing jumped out at him. He tried to use reason. He thought about Paige Barnett and her wish. She wanted her little brother to read, but none of these toys would help with that. There weren’t any books in the pile, nothing that had any educational application that Ernest could think of.

  He opened the box of old Colorforms. Inside was a series of small vinyl pieces, different sizes and shapes that pressed on and peeled off a laminated play board. A nice enough toy, but Ernest didn’t see how it could help. Still, the box had been stacked under the art set, with the fire extinguisher and ray gun behind and the quilt draped over the back. It stood to reason that it would be next in line; everything else was clearly behind it. He grabbed the Colorforms box and left the attic before he could second-guess himself.

  THE NEW NEIGHBOR BOY

  When they got back from the supermarket, Ryan brought the groceries into the house and stacked them in the cupboards. Then Mrs. Haemmerle sent him out to the front porch while she put together a tray of shortbread cookies and some lemonade.

  It was a ritual of sorts. After groceries they’d sit together on her front porch and drink the lemonade. Sometimes they’d talk a bit. For an old lady, she stayed pretty current on TV and movies and music.

  Today, though, they were both kind of quiet. That was fine, too. Sometimes just sitting was nice.

  Then Mrs. Haemmerle leaned forward in her chair and started looking across the street. “Huh,” she said, squinting into the sun a bit. “Looks like a family has moved into Eddie Wilmette’s old house.” She pointed discreetly across the street.

  “What?” Ryan garbled, almost spitting out a mouthful of lemonade.

  “There’s a boy watching us from across the front yard.” She screwed up her face. “Strange. I didn’t even know they put the house on the market.”

  It took Ryan a moment to piece it together. He’d forgotten all about Ernest, who was now standing motionless in the middle of his grandfather’s front lawn like a confused garden gnome.

  “No, Mrs. Haemmerle, that’s not—”

  “I’ll get another glass,” she said, already rising from her chair. “Go invite that boy over for some lemonade, Ryan. We can welcome him to the neighborhood.”

  “But he’s not new,” Ryan started. It was no use. Mrs. Haemmerle could be surprisingly spry at times and was already back inside the house.

  Ryan walked across the street. “What are you doing?” he asked when he got closer to Ernest.

  Ernest shrugged, a bit sheepish. “I don’t know. I finished in the atti
c and …”

  Ryan was getting so he could tell when Ernest had another shoe to drop. “And what?” he growled with a tired sigh.

  “When I told my mom I was coming home with you, she said to call from your house when I wanted her to come get me.”

  “Come on.” Ryan started walking back across the street.

  “Are we going back to your house now?”

  “No,” Ryan said. “First you have to have some lemonade. And meet the neighbors.”

  A FAMILIAR FACE

  Ernest followed Ryan to the house across the street. The old lady Ryan was drinking lemonade with before had come back out with a fresh glass and was pouring when Ernest and Ryan reached the porch.

  When the old lady saw Ernest, her face suddenly drained of color; she looked like she’d just seen a ghost.

  “Mrs. Haemmerle,” Ryan said, not noticing how shook up the old lady was. “This is Ernest Wilmette. Mr. Wilmette’s grandson. He’s in my class at school.”

  The color returned to Mrs. Haemmerle’s face, but she still kept staring at Ernest. Then she shook it off and laughed at herself. “I’m so sorry. Ernest, is it? Please forgive me for staring. But, my word, you look just like him.”

  ROLLO, REVEALED

  The boys sat on the porch while Mrs. Haemmerle hurried inside to find something. Ryan looked at Ernest quizzically.

  “What?” Ernest said defensively. “I didn’t do anything.”

  Mrs. Haemmerle returned with an old photo album, flipping through the pages as she sat down. “Aha,” she said as she took a really old photo out of the album and handed it to Ernest.

  It was black and white and very brittle. Three kids, two boys and a girl in the middle, were eating ice cream on some porch steps. The first boy looked older, maybe fourteen, while the other boy and the girl were younger, maybe nine or ten.

  “Holy—what?” Ryan said, peering over Ernest’s shoulder. “That’s you!”

  The younger boy was a dead ringer for Ernest, no doubt about it. No wonder Mrs. Haemmerle nearly lost it.

  “That’s me in the middle,” she said, leaning over and nodding her head. “Your grandfather is the older boy on the left. That picture was taken on those steps, right over there,” she said, pointing to Grandpa Eddie’s porch.

  Ernest looked over at the house, then back at the picture. “Then who is this?” he said, pointing to his doppelganger.

  Mrs. Haemmerle smiled sadly. “That’s Robert,” she said. Saying the name made her eyes tear up. “He was your great-uncle. Or he would’ve been. He died a month after that picture was taken.”

  Ernest couldn’t believe it. No one had told him about any of this before. “Grandpa Eddie had a brother?”

  Mrs. Haemmerle nodded. “Oh, yes. Robert was the sweetest boy I ever …” She trailed off, fighting tears now.

  “How … how did he die?” Ryan asked quietly.

  Mrs. Haemmerle collected herself. “He had what they called an oversized heart. It’s the kind of condition that’s very treatable today, but back then … Anyway, one day, his heart just got too big. He went to sleep and never woke up.”

  Ernest looked at the image again. Knowing now, it was easy to see Grandpa Eddie and Mrs. Haemmerle in the picture. As for Robert, all Ernest saw was himself. It just didn’t seem real.

  He numbly handed the photo back to Mrs. Haemmerle. She held it up to the light for one last, close look before putting it away in the album. As she did, Ernest glimpsed some writing on the back of the picture.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Haemmerle?” Ernest said, holding out his hand. “May I take another look?”

  “Oh, certainly, dear.” She handed it to him. He flipped it over to read the back.

  Rollo …

  “You called him Rollo?”

  Mrs. Haemmerle chuckled. “I called him Robert. Everyone else called him Rollo. Your grandfather gave him that nickname. He was a very plump baby.”

  THE MOMS

  Ryan brought Ernest back to his house. If Ryan’s mom was surprised that he’d brought home the boss’s son, she didn’t show it. Ernest called his mom, who said she’d be over in twenty minutes.

  Ryan felt self-conscious having Ernest in his home. He knew Ernest’s house—everyone did. It was the nicest house in town. He kept waiting for Ernest to give himself away, to make some kind of face, however subtly, that showed he was looking down on Ryan and his family and how they lived.

  But Ernest never did. In fact, Ernest spent the twenty minutes chatting with Ryan’s mom.

  Mrs. Wilmette arrived and Ryan’s mom invited her inside. Ryan expected Mrs. Wilmette to defer, to snatch up Ernest and whisk him back to the North Side, pronto. But she didn’t. She came right in, and before Ryan knew it the two women were sitting at the kitchen table drinking iced tea.

  Mrs. Wilmette went right for Declan. Ryan watched as his little brother immediately got applesauce all over Mrs. Wilmette’s cashmere sweater. He waited for the conversation to turn awkward and terse, to hear words like expensive and dry cleaning and grubby little hands, but Mrs. Wilmette could not have cared less about the stains. Declan could’ve puked in her face and she probably would have laughed it off.

  The two moms quickly fell into easy conversation. After about five minutes, Ryan led Ernest into the den.

  “Your mom’s cool,” Ryan said.

  Ernest nodded. “She loves kids,” he said. “She wanted a big family, but there were complications with me. And now she can’t have any more.”

  Ryan was taken aback by Ernest’s bluntness.

  “Shocking, I know,” Ernest said, as if reading Ryan’s mind. “Me and complications.”

  Ryan looked at him. He thought about joking back, but it didn’t seem right. “So, did you find something in the attic?”

  “I think so,” Ernest said, brightening. “We’ll see.”

  FLYING BLIND WITH COLORFORMS

  The next day, Ernest brought the Colorforms set to school in his backpack. He still had no idea how colored vinyl shapes were going to help a little boy learn to read, but he refused to entertain the thought that they would aid in the discovery of Bigfoot. Then again, he never could have imagined the impact an art set would have had on Tommy Bricks and Winston Patil. All day long, he tried to figure out what he should do with them, but nothing seemed right.

  By the end of the day the Colorforms were still in his backpack. On the plus side, the box was light and made of soft cardboard, so it was easy for Ernest to forget it was even there.

  After school, Ryan had to babysit his little brother, so Ernest just went home. When he got to the house, his mom had left him a note saying she’d gone out and could he return some library books for her. The books were on the kitchen counter next to the note. Ernest dumped his schoolbooks out of his backpack and replaced them with the library books.

  On the way to the library, Ernest started thinking about the picture Mrs. Haemmerle had shown him yesterday. Ordinarily, the overwhelming resemblance between him and Rollo would be a lot to take in, but it was nothing compared to finding out that he’d had an uncle he’d never even known about.

  Ernest looked just like Rollo. How could that have never come up? Not once? How could Grandpa Eddie have kept that from him all these years?

  It made Ernest angry, the more he thought about it.

  But more than angry, it made him feel alone.

  OOPS

  Despite himself, Ryan was warming up to Ernest. But the kid was a lot to take. So when Ryan’s mom had asked him to come home early from school to watch Declan, he was actually excited to just walk home by himself without having to worry about Ernest or Tommy or anyone else bothering him.

  “Hey, Ryan.” Lizzy hurried to catch up with him. “Haven’t seen you around much lately.”

  Ryan deflated. “Oh, hey, Lizzy.” He used to like talking to Lizzy, but ever since that weird thing with the magazines, he wasn’t sure what her deal was anymore.

  “Wanna walk home together?”

/>   “I guess.”

  Lizzy winced. “You guess?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

  She stopped walking. “Don’t do me any favors, Hardy.”

  Like this. Exactly like this.

  “What are you—I’m not …”

  “I guess,” Lizzy said, making her voice sound thick and stupid.

  Ryan said, “Why are you being such a jerk?”

  “Why are you so stuck-up all the time?”

  “I’m not stuck-up—”

  “Every time I try to talk to you, you look at me like I’m some three-headed alien.”

  “I do not. I just don’t want to talk about girls in magazines.”

  Lizzy’s eyes teared up a little. “Fine! Forget it,” she shouted, and then started walking quickly ahead of him. Ryan felt bad, then frustrated. It’s just like with Ernest, he thought. They push so hard, then when you finally push back, you’re the one who’s a jerk.

  “I just can’t win,” Ryan muttered to himself. “Lizzy!” he called after her. “Lizzy, stop!”

  She didn’t stop.

  “You are pretty!” he yelled. He said it before he even thought it. The words just jumped out of his mouth.

  Lizzy stopped immediately. She turned around. “What did you say?”

  “I said, you are pretty. And I don’t get why you think you’re not.”

  DROP BOX

  Out in front of the library was a brick book-deposit box a little bigger than a trash can, with a huge rolling door you pulled down from the top. Ernest yanked the handle with one hand and grabbed the books from his backpack with the other.

  There’s a special moment that everyone experiences from time to time. A brief instant when you realize, too late to stop it, that you’re in the process of making a really stupid mistake. Like when you accidentally let a door lock behind you, or knock your toothbrush off the edge of the sink and into the toilet.

  Ernest experienced one of those special moments as he closed the rolling door on the book-deposit box and realized that in addition to his mother’s library books, he’d dropped the Colorforms set inside as well.