The Secret Life of Lincoln Jones

  Only she wasn’t cheering.

  She was flinging mashed potatoes, shouting, “You ruined my hair!”

  I’m pretty sure she was aiming at Sir Robert, but her throwing arm was probably not in practice, ’cause she missed by a mile and hit Alice instead.

  Alice didn’t waste time calling her sweet pea. She broke into language so nasty she’d have been suspended from school for life. And with her words came food, flingin’ through the air. Potatoes. Rolls. Green beans. Yams. She threw everything she could scoop up but still couldn’t seem to hit Pam. She hit everyone around but Pam.

  Then the volcano erupted. The oldies who’d been hit started hurling food and insults.

  “Take that, you wrinkled prune!”

  “Who you callin’ wrinkled?”

  “You, you ugly, shriveled pile of wrinkles!”

  “If I’m a prune, you’re a…a big, fat cauliflower!”

  “Prunes?” Debbie Rucker called. “I love prunes! Can I have some?”

  But while Debbie was asking for prunes, the rest of the room was going nuts.

  “Stop stealin’ my food!”

  “It’s my food!”

  “I need seconds! Someone bring me seconds!”

  “He means ammo! Don’t bring him anything!”

  And all the while, food was flying.

  “Who did that?” someone screamed. “Who hit me? You?”

  “No! It was her!”

  “Liar! I’ll sue!”

  “I’ll sue you for calling me a liar!”

  “Prunes!” Debbie shouted. “I want prunes!”

  Mashed potatoes thumped against my head. Isaac saw and said, “This is crazy!”

  I peeled the mush out of my hair. “Reminds me of ridin’ the school bus.”

  “Yeah, right?” Isaac laughed.

  “You ride the bus?” I asked, still peelin’ out mush.

  “The thirty-three. Hate it.”

  “I’m on the twenty-seven. Hate it worse!”

  Ruby had been quiet until then, but she perked up now and started ripping at her blouse, singing at the top of her lungs, “Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down!”

  “Mother!” Mrs. Monroe cried. “What are you doing?”

  Buttons were poppin’ all over the place. “Medicine go down…”

  “Mother!”

  “Medicine go down!”

  “Mother, stop that!”

  “Just a spoonful of sugar—”

  “MOTHER!”

  While Mrs. Monroe tried putting Ruby’s clothes back together, Sir Robert—who was wiping food off his face with his neck scarf—shouted, “You’re as yellow as Jell-O!” at Teddy C.

  “Jell-O?” Debbie hollered. “I want Jell-O!”

  Food stopped flying.

  There was a murmur of “Is there Jell-O?” and then the place went quiet.

  All the oldies looked around.

  “Can we have Jell-O?” Debbie asked.

  All eyes turned to the director. His suit was spotted with potatoes. His face was twisted in terror.

  “Sure,” Gloria said, taking charge. “I think we have some in the kitchen.” She gave a stern look around the tables. “But you have to behave. If you can’t behave, you can’t have Jell-O. Do we have a deal?”

  All the oldies nodded.

  The families let out huge sighs of relief.

  And just like that, the food fight was over.

  Ma got off work even later than expected. “Lord,” she said, collapsin’ into a window seat on the bus ride home. “I am worn clear down to the bone.”

  She settled in, with her bag on her lap and a care package of leftovers at her feet. The director had forced monster-sized helpings of food on any of the day-shifters who’d stayed late to clean up. They were packed in plastic containers and put inside big cloth bags.

  I wasn’t sure what-all was in ours.

  I was praying there was no zombie turkey.

  Ma might have been worn clear down to the bone, but her mouth sure wasn’t actin’ like it. The minute she sat down, it started flappin’ away, forgettin’ all about her fancy g’s.

  “All that work we did makin’ sure everything was perfect?” she moaned. “Why’d we bother? It was like bein’ in a room with two-year-olds.” She gave a little snort. “That’s what everyone says, right? They become children again. They squall and cry and demand and fight. And I’ve seen ’em swipe food, or spit it back out, but Lord, an actual food fight? And the families just sat there.”

  “It was pretty crazy,” I offered.

  “Yes,” she said, turning to face me square-on. “Yes, it was. There is no other word to describe it. You can say it again.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “It’s okay. Say it again.”

  “Crazy?”

  “Yes. That is the one and only word for tonight. Crazy.”

  I laughed. “And here I was tryin’ to quit sayin’ it.”

  She laughed, too, then heaved a big sigh and went quiet. I just sat watching the wheels turn in her head, until finally what she was thinking began slipping out. “Today was hard the whole way around.” She slid a look my way. “Except for one thing.”

  I thought back, trying to figure what that might be. It had been a long one, that’s for sure, from Mrs. White dying to cleaning up after a food fight.

  “You and Isaac,” she said, saving me from recalling the details.

  “Me and Isaac?”

  “Mm-hmm. It was so nice to see you playin’ with someone.”

  “We weren’t playin’.”

  “Maybe I was readin’ those happy cheeks wrong?”

  “What happy cheeks?”

  “The ones you were wearing when you came sneakin’ in from whatever mischief you two were up to outside.”

  I tried to wipe the uh-oh from my face.

  She laughed, and for all the weight of tired I knew she was carrying right then, that laugh lifted her like an invisible balloon. “Doesn’t matter, and I don’t care. I just liked seein’ the two of you havin’ a good time.”

  “I thought you might be mad about us comin’ in when the director was talking.”

  She gave me a sweet smile. “He was just doin’ the introductions. It was a good part to miss.”

  “It got you a standing ovation, though. That was nice, right?”

  “Yes, it was,” she said. And after a minute, she added, “It’s nice to be appreciated.”

  I could see her driftin’ off in her mind again, and when she came back, she said, “I wish there was a way folks could know what it’s like without actually livin’ through it.”

  “You mean bein’…havin’…”

  “Alzheimer’s. Dementia. It’s hard. It’s hard any way you look at it. For them, for the families, for us.” She let out a heavy sigh. “You try to give folks dignity to the end, but you lose your own along the way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She gave me a never-mind shake of the head.

  “Ma?”

  She tested me with a good, long stare, then said, “I change diapers, Lincoln. Big, messy diapers. It’s not in a world anywhere near glamorous.”

  “You do a lot more than change diapers!” It came out a whisper.

  This time her smile was small and sad. “I know, but none of it erases the diaper changin’, now does it?”

  I kept on whisperin’. “Isaac’s ma said she thinks you’re an angel.”

  “That’s nice….” Her voice trailed off, and I could see her mind leapfroggin’ from one tired place to another.

  “Ma?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What are you thinkin’?”

  “Oh, just that Isaac’s ma’s an interior designer.”

  “A what?”

  “She styles folks’ homes.”

  “How do you style a home? What does that mean? And why you thinkin’ about that?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “But…what does it h
ave to do with her callin’ you an angel?”

  She turned to me, and her face seemed so…pained.

  “Ma? What’s wrong?”

  She stayed quiet, and her eyes were holding mine like she was waiting for me to say something.

  “Ma?” I said again. “Tell me.”

  Her head wobbled again as her eyes broke away.

  Then she leaned against the window and stayed that way for the rest of the ride home.

  The second time I woke up the next day, it was from knowing what I should have said to Ma on the bus.

  It rang through my head like a shot in the woods.

  I wanted to race downstairs and call her from the pay phone, but she’d made me promise something when she’d woken me up earlier. “You can stay here today,” she’d whispered, “if you swear you won’t go downstairs.”

  “Huh?” It was dark and cold in the apartment. It felt like the middle of the night.

  “I have to catch the bus. Now swear it, unless you want me draggin’ you along.”

  She was leavin’ for work? How could it be time to leave already? My whole body felt sore from the day before. Sore and tired. Like I needed to sleep for days.

  “Swear,” she whispered louder. “Swear or get your shoes on this instant.”

  “I swear,” I said, and I meant it.

  All two words of it.

  Then I went back to sleep and stayed that way for another four hours, which is when I woke up with the shot of knowledge ringing through my head.

  I stumbled to the kitchen sink for a drink of water, and after slurpin’ upside down at the faucet, I found a note on the table. A note outlining things I was to do and not do.

  Nowhere on the Don’t list was sleep all day, so I fell back into bed, thinking that at least I wasn’t breaking any rules. And then I just lay there, wishing I could go downstairs and call Ma.

  I needed to tell her what I should have said on the bus.

  After frettin’ about it for a while, I decided I’d write her a note. I’d get the words just right and hand them to her when she got home. But try as I might, I couldn’t get the words even close to right. I went through page after page trying, but it kept coming out wrong. How could I write whole stories but not a little note?

  Finally I gave it a rest and tended to the list Ma had made. I wiped down the counter, swept the floors, scrubbed the toilet, cleaned the mirror, and picked up around the place.

  Then I ate a peanut butter sandwich and got caught up in thinkin’ about Ma.

  Why was I so bad at saying this?

  Maybe I was using too many words.

  Maybe I should make her a list instead.

  Yeah, a list!

  So I got busy with that, only to discover it made what I was trying to say doubly dorky.

  So I ripped it up, too, and went back to Ma’s list.

  Fix Carol Graves a plate and take it to her popped out at me. I figured chances were slim to none that Carol Graves would answer the door, so I didn’t get fancy fixin’ the plate. I just shoveled some Brookside Thanksgiving leftovers on and took it over.

  I knocked on the door, bang, bang, bang, holding the plate away so no flakes of paint landed in the food.

  I waited, then put my ear up to the door, wondering if I’d get a peek at One-Eyed Jack. Just the thought made my heart speed up. Made me remember—One-Eyed Jack might be telepathic!

  So I tried again, bang, bang, bang, and this time when I listened, I could hear coughing. A slow, grinding kind of cough. Like someone tryin’ to turn over a motor when the battery’s about dead.

  I knocked again and was fixin’ to call out, “Just deliverin’ Thanksgiving supper!” but changed my mind as the words were set to launch. “Delivery from Shop-Wise Grocers!” I called. “Need you to sign!”

  It came out sounding all leprechaun-y, too.

  My ear told me the coughing was getting closer. Very slowly closer. I also heard, “Coming,” but it was feeble as could be. Nothing admiral-y about it.

  When the door finally opened, Mrs. Graves was panting hard and didn’t even seem to care that she’d been tricked. I was expecting to have to do some fancy talking, or even stick my foot in to keep the door from slamming in my face, but she took one look at me and started shufflin’ back the way she’d come, still coughing.

  “I brought you a Thanksgiving meal,” I said, following her to her sunny spot by the window. The Mirror Cats were coming out to see me, mewing like they wanted the food themselves. I looked around for Jack but didn’t see him. “You want me to heat it up?” I asked.

  She was in her seat now, coughing away. I waited for an answer, but I think it was too hard for her to cough and nod.

  There were lots of cups and mugs on the coffee table near her, and thinking that one might have something she could drink to help with the coughing, I checked them over and saw mold floating inside them.

  I raced to the kitchen and fetched some fresh water from the tap. When I delivered it to her, she was too shaky to hold the cup herself, so I held it up for her and let her sip until she pushed it away.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, though it was pretty easy to see she wasn’t.

  She nodded. “Take Jack home with you.”

  Her voice was so little I could barely hear her, and I was sure I’d heard her wrong. “Ma’am?”

  “Jack. Take him home. The others will kill him.”

  Kill him?

  The Mirror Cats were right there beside us, meowing and flicking their tails, but I still didn’t see Jack.

  “Where is he?”

  “Hiding. Promise me you’ll take him.”

  I nodded. “Are they hungry?” I asked, watching the Mirror Cats.

  “They have food.”

  “How about you?” I took in all the dishes beside her. Most were scary gross with mold. “I’ll heat up the food I brought.”

  She nodded like she barely cared and closed her eyes.

  I went to the kitchen, keeping my eyes peeled for Jack. “Here, kitty,” I called, but that just brought the Mirror Cats closer, mewing at my feet.

  I took the plate I’d brought, put it inside the microwave that was buried in the corner of her counter, and set the timer at only one minute. I’d learned from Gloria that oldies like their food warm, but barely. If you heat it so you think it’s just right, they’ll scream that their mouth is on fire.

  Or spit it back at you.

  While the microwave was going, I checked the cat zone and found that the food-and-water tower was knocked over. The Mirror Cats were right there, crying, so I set the tower up and got it working again. “There you go,” I told them, and when they pounced in to eat, I took up calling for Jack. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

  I couldn’t find him anywhere, so I went back to the microwave, and as I was pulling out the plate, I felt him standing alongside me.

  He wasn’t touching me, I just knew he was there.

  “Hey, fella,” I said, stooping down with a piece of turkey in my hand. He had claw marks scabbed across his muzzle and some newer blood on his side. “Here you go, boy,” I said, tearing off little pieces of turkey and placing them on the floor.

  When he’d finished, I took him and the plate over to Mrs. Graves, along with a cup of juice. She was sound asleep, and every breath she took gurgled. Her lips were cracked and her eyes looked crusted. It was like she was drowning and drying out, all at the same time.

  “Ma’am?” I said, sitting in a chair beside her. “You need to eat something.” When she didn’t answer, I nudged her. “Ma’am? Please. At least have some juice.”

  “Just leave it,” she whispered. “I’ll be fine.”

  I watched her falling back to sleep and nudged her again. “Ma’am? I think I should get you to the hospital.”

  “No,” she gurgled. “Just leave me here in the sun. It’s what I want.” She opened her eyes to see Jack sitting on my lap. “But take him with you. He deserves someone like you. Take anything you need. There??
?s food.”

  “Can you try to eat?” I begged. “Just a bite or two?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe in a little while.” She closed her eyes, and the wrinkles on her face smoothed away. “Come back then.”

  She was falling asleep again, so I stood and said, “I will.”

  Then I tucked a blanket over her and leaned in, whispering, “Sweet dreams.”

  By the time Ma came home from work, I had a lot of explaining to do. There was a litter box in the bathroom, kibble in the kitchen, and a one-eyed cat roaming around.

  Ma took it all in as she unloaded from work. “Lincoln Jones, you have a lot of explaining to do.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know.”

  “So…?”

  There was one thing I wanted to clear up right off the bat. “I did not go downstairs. Everything’s from next door.”

  “And…?”

  “And I only went next door ’cause it was on your list.”

  “And…?”

  “And before I tell you about that, there’s something else I want to tell you.”

  She was sitting now, at the table that I’d set for dinner, with the chair turned out to face me. Her arms were movin’ into the crisscross position that meant she was holdin’ back from sayin’ what she was thinking. “Well…?” she demanded.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t say it on the bus last night. And I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out how to say it on paper. I tried, and I tried hard, but it just sounded stupid.”

  “Lincoln, what are you getting at?”

  And that’s when the jumble of words came tumbling out. “You get up in the dark and don’t come home ’til after dark. You work all day at makin’ other folks comfortable and dignified, which leaves you tired to the bone and feelin’ undignified. And I know the reason you work so hard isn’t just to give oldies dignity. It’s ’cause of me. ’Cause you want me to have a life where I’m safe and don’t have to hide under the bed. And if that means changin’ big ol’ messy diapers, that’s what you’re willing to do.”

  Ma’s eyes were startin’ to run, so I took in a deep breath and got to what I was really wanting to say. “What I should have said last night was that I’m proud of you. I think you’re a wonder. I wouldn’t trade you for anyone’s ma. Not anyone’s!” Her eyes were spillin’ over now, so while she was reaching for a napkin to dry her face, I finished up quick. “And I don’t want to live someplace that’s been styled. I like it here. It’s styled just fine the way it is.”