In the mirror, my tired eyes looked like Grandma Bramhall’s, small and hidden inside a few piles of skin. My new layers of red were all over the place; one side was curled under my ear like Mrs. Perry’s, and the other side was sticking out in a J. But of all the things that were staring back at me, it was the dress that looked the worst.
So I pulled it off, walked over to the trash and dropped it in there, forever. I put on blue jeans and a white T-shirt, instead. Except for the layers of red and my freckles every second, I might look like a smaller version of Mike.
My dad’s door was wide open and his room was full of sun. Last night, after we finally climbed up our porch stairs, I was so tired it felt like I was walking underwater in Grandma Bramhall’s pool. My dad looked just as tired but said he had some things to take care of before he went to bed. “See you in the morning, Apron,” he said.
But now, downstairs, I didn’t see him anywhere. And I had forty-five minutes to get to the party.
“Dad!” I yelled through the screen door, but the only thing that answered was a seagull and Mr. Orso’s lawn mower somewhere on the other side of his house. And when I stepped outside, I saw my dad’s car was gone. I ran down those stairs and over to Mrs. Weller’s lawn, but her orange love bug wasn’t in her driveway either.
So I ran back up our porch stairs and into the kitchen. My dad hadn’t even left a note. I tried not to, but my skin prickled with it anyway: he was probably with M and the little whatever—his new family, all made up and happy at the hospital. I looked at the clock and pulled out the bus schedule. Another one was coming in seven minutes.
I ran so fast up our dirt road that even the chipmunks couldn’t keep up with me. A few times, I twisted my ankle on some rocks that I hadn’t seen coming, but I didn’t stop, I just put my chin down and pumped my arms and legs faster.
At Route 88, I took a right and kept running. A few seconds later, my hair blew up and the bus flew past me. I waved my hands and screamed at the top of my lungs, but it just kept getting smaller and smaller in front of me. And when I took in another burning breath, I had to slow down.
Until way up ahead at the bus stop, I watched the back lights flash red.
I clenched my teeth and picked up speed again. My lungs felt like they were pulling in glue instead of air. A red pickup truck like the one Mike used to have sped by me and then veered around the bus, which was still waiting at the empty stop. I pumped my arms harder. But just as I got close enough to yell for the bus driver again, the red lights went out and the bus started moving forward again.
I threw my hands up in the air. Then I screamed so loud that even God up there, sitting by his pool, could have heard me. “Stop!”
But it didn’t.
I bent over and tried to catch my breath.
Brakes screeched. When I looked up, the bus had stopped. I started running again.
When I got to it, I stood panting in front of the door, which stayed closed. I knocked on it and finally the bus driver lady noticed me and opened it.
“Hey, Raggedy Annie,” she said. “Are you all right?”
I opened my mouth to say yes and thank you, but nothing came out except air.
“Hey, did I just drive past you back there?”
I nodded. She waved me in. “I didn’t recognize you with your fancy new hairdo.”
When I went to put the money in her meter, my hand stopped above it.
“Forget something?”
“Yes,” I panted. I didn’t have any money. I sighed and looked down toward the back of the bus. Five people were looking back at me, and two people weren’t.
“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,” she whispered.
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for stopping.”
“Don’t thank me, honey,” she said pointing to the front window. “Thank him.” Out there, that red pickup truck had stopped in the middle of the road. It didn’t just look like Mike’s old truck, it was Mike’s old truck, the ORD UCK still on the back. It was tilted down to one side now, with a gray-haired man standing next to it. “I wouldn’t have seen you at all if that guy hadn’t blown a tire.”
I glanced up at the sky. Maybe God had been watching after all. But then the bus driver lady told me to go sit down, so I did.
It wasn’t the same bus. The graffiti was different. But still, I watched the world whiz by and got my breathing back down to normal.
At Scent Appeal, the door was open and the window was fixed. Nothing was written across it now so you could see people inside. Chad’s friends, Marcus and Chris, were there and so were Patty and Trisha. But I had never seen the rest of the people standing around, talking loudly. Most of my flower arrangements were standing tall, though.
“Sorry, love, they’re closed,” a man with bright yellow pants said when I walked in.
“I’m here to see Mike,” I told him quietly and kept going.
It was way too hot. I had to dodge clear plastic cups with tiny umbrellas sticking out of them with every step. It was weird, to think that Mike and Chad had so many friends. When I bumped into one man, he turned around and I saw he was wearing blue eye shadow and red lipstick. “Ooo, honey,” he said pulling his drink up to his shoulder. “Watch the punch.” Then he turned back to another man wearing earrings. Inside the sea of people, there wasn’t one Mike.
When I got to the counter, The Boss was gone. He wasn’t by the cash register either. Or by the sink. I squeezed my way through more people to the apartment door, but it was locked. Then I stood there, hot and dizzy and short. No one had told me about The Boss. No one had told me. I didn’t even get to say good-bye.
I leaned back against the door. After all that running, my legs felt like someone had poured sand into them now. And the more I looked around, the more I wanted to leave.
I squeezed my way up to Marcus or Chris, I couldn’t remember which one was which, standing in a circle of people, laughing. “Excuse me,” I said.
“Oh hey, kid,” whichever one it was said.
“Do you know where Mike is?”
“Yeah,” he said turning to another man, who come to think of it, did look familiar. I couldn’t remember where I knew him from though. “Didn’t Mike say he had to go somewhere?”
“The theater?” the man said. And then I remembered who he was: Judas.
I took a step back, said thanks quietly, and turned away from them.
At the door, I looked back at all those people I didn’t know and thought about how small your heart is but how big of a space it takes up. And how, even though you can’t see it, that heart space grows so quietly across a room or up some stairs into someone else’s living room, that even if you never step foot in it again, the air in there is changed forever.
No one even noticed me leave.
54
Lacrima Christi
Tears of Christ
Outside, the sidewalk was silent compared to the party going on inside. I looked in the window one more time, but still no Mike. So I started walking.
Just when I reached the corner, honks happened and then the Scent Appeal van stopped next to me.
Mike leaned over Toby in the passenger seat. “Hey,” he said. “Where you going?” His hair was loose around his shoulders and even though he looked tired, his eyes were back to being blueberries again. Toby, in a light striped shirt, put his hand up for a high-five.
“Hi,” I said, giving it to him. “You guys weren’t inside, so I was going to the hospital. M’s there. We found her, them,” I said, my voice dropping at the end.
Mike’s face lifted into a question mark. “The baby? She had the baby?”
I nodded.
“Why?” Mike asked.
“That’s what girls do, man,” Toby said, hitting Mike in the shoulder.
“Why now” Mike said ignoring Toby. “I thought you said September.”
“I did.”
“Is everybody okay?”
This time, I knew who he was really talking abo
ut, so I said, “Fifty-fifty.”
Toby lost his smile. “Uh-oh,” he said.
“I’m going to park,” Mike said.
I nodded and listened to voices filter out of the party while Mike backed the Scent Appeal van into its spot. After a moment, he opened the back door and pulled out Toby’s wheelchair, then pushed it around to the passenger side and gently lifted Toby out.
After Mike laid him in his chair, Toby winked at me and wheeled himself into Scent Appeal. But Mike leaned into the van and came out with a manila envelope. Then he walked over to me. “Aren’t you coming in?” he asked.
I shook my red. “No.” I looked away from him, over toward the noise. Mike looked over, too. “A bit much, I know. You sure?”
I nodded. “Mike, what happened to The Boss? He wasn’t in there.”
“Oh,” Mike said. “Someone adopted him, finally.”
“Who?”
“A man, who came in.”
“What was he like? Was he nice?”
“Seemed it,” Mike said, shrugging.
I swallowed and nodded, anything to stop the bees. Mike leaned into me. “Hey. That’s good news, though. It’s what you wanted, right?”
“Right,” I said. Then I glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll come back tomorrow. I’m going to go see if I can help my dad. He needs me.” I stood up straighter and looked at Mike when I said that. He noticed and smiled.
“But Apron,” he said clearing his throat, his smile gone. “I’m leaving tonight.”
The bees swarmed. “No,” I said. “You can’t.”
Mike glanced up at the sky and bit his lip.
“Chad and I had a lot of friends, Apron, but nobody like you,” he said. “You’re different. You’ll see, when you’re all grown up. You’ll see that you’re not like everyone else. You’re the bravest girl I know, Apron.”
I shook my head. “All anyone ever does is leave.”
Mike lifted my chin. “Hey,” he said. “Not everyone’s leaving. Your dad’s not going anywhere and he needs you, remember?”
“No he doesn’t,” I said, whipping my chin off his finger. “He’s got M.”
Mike smiled. “Exactly.” Then he started imitating her, big and panicked. “Oh to be the poopies inside of the diapers, Aprons! Oh that is the crying that needs of the milk!”
And I couldn’t help it, a smile crept up.
“Guess what?” I said. “I think she’s going to have red hair. Like me.”
“You see? She’s the one who really needs you. You’re a big sister now.”
All this time I had been thinking about having a sister, I had never thought about being one.
“Hey,” I said, standing taller. “Do you, maybe, want to come see her?”
He nodded. “I would love to.”
“Really? Let’s go then.” I said it quickly, before he could change his mind.
But he didn’t move. He looked down at me and said, “I can’t, Apron. I can’t go in there, just in case.” I must have looked confused. “You know, germs and stuff.”
Someone yelled Mike’s name and he started to turn his head, then stopped.
“And I should stay here. Someone needs to chaperone those animals.” He lifted his lips up into a smile. “Okay?”
I nodded. He opened his arms and I walked in. “Hey,” he said. “I’ll write you okay? And here.” He dropped his hug and handed me the manila envelope. “You left your book.”
I pulled little pieces of air into my lungs and took it. Mike pointed at it. “Your last week’s pay is in there, too.”
Inside there was some money and The Little Town on the Prairie. I looked up at Mike. “But I don’t get it. How did you know that was going to be his last day?”
Mike sighed. “They say when you go blind, it’s the beginning of the end. Nothing can save you. And Chad refused to be a burden.” Mike shook his head and looked away. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s big stuff. It was better planned, that’s all.”
High tide spilled over my lashes.
Mike wiped both of my wet cheeks with his thumbs. But standing like that, with the sun behind him and his blond hair blowing slightly, even his own mother would have thought he was the real Jesus.
“Mike?” I said looking into his blueberries. “Chad and I decided—” I couldn’t say it.
“What?”
“That you must be related to Jesus.” I said it quickly, but it still sounded dumb. So I shrugged. “But only on your mother’s side. He said your dad’s related to President Reagan.” He blinked at me confused. But then he shook his head and laughed the way he used to, tipping his head back up to the sky. And when he looked down at me again, his eyes were wet. “Chad never could keep a secret.”
“God, I miss him,” Mike said. “And you,” he pulled me into another hard hug. “I am going to miss you, Apron.”
“Me too,” I said. Then he told me again that he would write and I promised I would write him back.
Someone turned the music up inside Scent Appeal and a car driving by stopped. “Hey,” a teenage girl with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth yelled to us. “What is that place?”
“A beauty salon,” Mike said stepping back from me. “For men only.”
“That stinks,” the girl said, driving off.
“It is?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s Toby’s place now.” Mike looked at it proudly. “Fringe Benefits.”
“Maybe my dad will come in.”
Mike laughed. Then a man with a bright yellow crewcut popped his head out the door. “Mike, you coming? We’re waiting to start the toasts.”
“Okay, be right there,” Mike said. He turned back to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to come in, Apron?”
“I’m sure.” I looked down at my envelope. “I should go find my dad.”
“Hey, hold on a minute,” he said turning and running into the party.
I took in a deep breath, and then exhaled my lie. My dad didn’t need me anymore. He and M were probably holding hands, staring down at their perfect purple banana bread baby. I felt a wrong note ping in my heart. In the waiting room, Nurse Silvia told me the same thing that my dad did about hormones talking: how they can be crying one minute, telling my dad to go away, and then happy as a clam the next, begging my dad to come back. But the only kinds of hormones M had were mean ones. Thinking about the rest of my long hot summer with her made my head tingle.
Mike walked back out carrying one of my flower arrangements: orange roses with baby’s breath. “Give these to M,” he said smiling.
I took it from him and said thanks, but didn’t read the tag because I already knew what it said. “Still looks pretty good,” I shrugged, turning the vase around and fluffing the flowers up a bit.
The music turned off behind him.
“Okay,” he said standing up straight and breathing in with his eyes closed. “I can do this.” Then he looked back down, but I knew he wasn’t talking about saying good-bye to me anymore. He was talking about saying good-bye to Chad. And when he stepped up to hug me again, all I could smell were roses.
“See you,” he said squeezing me hard. “Catch you on the rebound.”
“See you,” I said. But I was fresh out of phrases.
We turned away from each other at the same time, the space between us getting longer, until it looked like we hadn’t even been standing together in the first place. But we had, and it was there: another heart layer on top of that sidewalk, changing it forever.
55
Fortuna dies natalis
Happy Birthday
The seventh floor was as quiet as it had been yesterday. There was a different nurse behind the counter now, still gray haired but with a much nicer smile, and that picture of the baby my dad had knocked off looked as wet and happy as the others.
“Excuse me,” I said, putting the roses down on the counter. “Can I please see the Bramhall baby?”
“Who did you say,
honey?” the nurse asked, getting a list and reading through it. “Bramhall.”
“I don’t see any baby by that name here. You sure you have the right hospital?”
I sighed. “Bramhall,” I said, spelling it. “Like the street?”
“No,” she said shaking her head. “What’s the first name? Maybe I have a typo.”
I looked behind her. “I don’t know.”
The nurse picked one eyebrow up and then the phone. She turned away when she started talking, so I did too. There was only one person, a grandmother, sitting in the chairs now, knitting something square. I heard the nurse hang up and saw Nurse Silvia standing in the doorway. She was in a pink dress and her brown wavy hair was in a headband, instead of a bun. “Hi, Apron,” she said holding the door open. Before I could say anything back, she winked at me and waved down low.
The other nurse was busy with some paperwork. I walked quickly over to Nurse Silvia, who took my arm and pulled me in.
We started walking fast.
“Your dad was just here, did you know that?” she whispered.
“Not really,” I said.
We passed by the same shut doors with Delivery on them and stopped at the long window into the nursery. There were still a few glass cribs in the middle of the room, with blankets and tubes coming out everywhere, but others were lined up along the back wall now, no tubes anywhere, empty.
My stomach hit rock bottom and I looked up at Nurse Silvia and her brown lip gloss. Fifty-fifty.
Nurse Silvia tugged my arm. “Look,” she said. “She’s in that one.”
I moved my eyes so fast everything went lopsided for a second.
Then we stood like that, Nurse Silvia and me, smiling.
“Can I see her up close again?” I asked.
Nurse Silvia looked over, surprised. “Did they let you do that before?”
“Yes,” I said. “The doctor did.”
She turned back to the glass for a moment. “Okay,” she said. I thought she was going to tap on the window, but she turned and walked further down the hallway, then disappeared around a corner. I looked back in through the window, at the two nurses in there, both of them bending down into cribs.