Counting by 7s

  A roofer comes and can’t make heads or tails out of the containers with the cuttings.

  To him, it just looks like a big mess that is getting in the way of an area he needs to tar.

  He gets back in touch with the bank, and apparently someone named Chad Dewey says that nothing should be up there.

  So the workers gather all the plants that are growing (or at least trying to form roots), and carry them downstairs, where they are deposited in the Dumpster.

  I come home to the crime scene.

  Today the city picked up the trash.

  I have to piece together the sequence of events, and when I get to the bottom of it, I believe that the plant loss is not just a defeat; it’s a sign.

  I’m not really going to live at the Gardens of Glenwood for much longer.

  Very soon I’m going to be placed in a foster home.

  I’m going to be sent back to school.

  What’s going on here will end.

  For me at least.

  When I go see Dell for counseling the next day, I tell him:

  “I can’t return to the past. Having a garden in the courtyard will not ever be the same as what was in my backyard at home.”

  Dell only nods. And looks sweaty.

  Later I see Dell hand Mai an envelope when he comes over for dinner. And then when I go to bed, I find the note on my pillow. It reads:

  Willow—

  When they find the place for you (and it will be a great place and it will be right for you, I know that) I want you to try to take Cheddar with you. I will call Lenore and say that the cat is a therapy dog.

  Yours in friendship,

  Dell Duke

  He said that the cat was a therapy dog.

  I appreciate his support, but I sincerely hope that he’s not running this show.

  Two days pass and instead of taking the bus home from the nail salon, I go to Southside nursery.

  I find Henry and I explain about the sunflowers and losing my clippings and I ask for advice.

  He has to go into the back because a truck is delivering something.

  I wait.

  There are cartons of ladybugs for sale on the counter and I decide to buy one.

  They are usually burnt orange, but as I peer through the mesh that covers the container, the little bugs moving around in curls of wood look bright red.

  I know what Pattie would say.

  Lucky.

  And she would be right because only a few minutes later Henry comes back in and says he’s going to help me. He’ll stop by after work and take a look at what I’ve got going on.

  I feel relieved.

  Which feels strange.

  I walk back to the Gardens of Glenwood and I try to move in a very careful way because I don’t want to jiggle the ladybugs.

  When I come through the door Quang-ha, who is on the couch as usual, sees the container in my hands and says:

  “Did you bring home food?”

  I say:

  “I brought home insects.”

  But I smile and I don’t even realize it until I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

  I’m surprised.

  I look different when I smile.

  Maybe everyone does.

  I don’t go to the nail salon this morning.

  I stay back to wait for the plant delivery.

  Henry came yesterday and took a look. He said he’d bring me some things.

  But it’s not just the regular nursery van that arrives at 10:07 A.M.

  What pulls up is a large truck. And there is a forklift in the back. A van follows with four workers.

  I go out to the street, and Henry and his cousin Phil are just lowering the lift-gate.

  In the truck I see a big box of timber bamboo. It is being transported on its side. Standing upright, it would be over twenty feet tall.

  There are other plants in the truck:

  Pink stripe phormium.

  A diverse selection of flowering vines (to climb up the metal poles to the second story).

  Ground cover.

  Even a three-year-old cherry tree.

  I am overwhelmed.

  But there isn’t time to express it because there is a lot to be done.

  The four workers cut down the sunflowers.

  This would have been sad except that it isn’t now.

  We decide to hang the long stalks from the second-floor balcony. The large flowers are the size of human heads. The bright yellow petals are now dried and the centers are dark.

  Henry has green twine and I’m in charge of that project while down below, the workers dig a huge hole because this bamboo they brought is serious business.

  While I’m tying the sunflower stalks to the railing, Henry comes to tell me that this is all a gift.

  I try to say thank you, but the words are stuck.

  My mouth is open and I’m suddenly some kind of fish out of water. You can’t see the hook, but it must be in my cheek.

  Or maybe it’s in my heart, because that’s being pulled.

  Henry puts his arm around my shoulder and whispers:

  “You’re welcome.”

  It takes almost four hours to plant all of the stuff.

  But the day is not over.

  As another surprise, Lorenzo from Bakersfield Electric brings a set of solar-powered lights, which at night will send shafts up through the foliage into the starry sky.

  It is all so much more than I hoped for.

  Lorenzo says that the nursery guys called him. He explains about something called the “favor bank.”

  I haven’t heard about this before, but I’m thinking that I have a lot of accounts with people at this point.

  I watch as Lorenzo puts the light fixtures in place, but I can’t stop myself and end up moving them around so that they are just where I think they should be.

  I explain that I like to see space in terms of triangles, and he listens for a while and then laughs.

  When we finish, he gives me his card and says he wants to talk to me about a big lighting job he’s bidding on at the new shopping complex.

  I tell him I’d be glad to look at his design sketches.

  It can be part of my favor bank.

  After he’s gone, I water everything with a hose Henry left for me.

  I’m just finishing when Mai comes down the sidewalk.

  I go out through the gate and she follows me inside, and I wish that Henry and Phil and Lorenzo and the guys had all stayed.

  They deserve to see the look on her face.

  We sit on the stairs and watch as people arrive home.

  Everyone is pretty much stunned.

  I decide not to run my mile, so I’m here when Quang-ha comes in.

  He doesn’t say a single word.

  I wait. He’s still silent as he takes a seat next to me on the stairs.

  More silence.

  Then he turns and says:

  “I don’t want to know how you did it. I want to believe that you’re magic.”

  Maybe because he’s older and a boy, and maybe because he wasn’t really on board with me coming to stay with them, I feel something wash over me when I hear the words.

  I think the feeling is acceptance.

  The three of us are all together on the steps when Dell comes in from the carport.

  I guess he knew something was going to happen. He says that Henry called him. I can’t believe he was able to keep any kind of secret.

  Dell is very, very happy when he sees the plants.

  Mai uses Dell’s cell phone to tell her mom to come home early. She wants her to get a view of this garden in the daylight.

  Pattie makes it to the apartment just as the horizon is going purple.

&nbs
p; There are streaks of color overhead as she looks up into the darkening sky.

  She says:

  “It is no longer wrong to call this place the Gardens of Glenwood.”

  We go upstairs together and I take Cheddar and lie down on my bed.

  I’m exhausted.

  So is Cheddar, I think, but snoozing is his default setting, so I can’t be sure.

  I fall asleep even though I haven’t eaten dinner and it’s barely dark outside. I wake up to the sound of the television and the smell of popcorn.

  Quang-ha appears in the doorway and says:

  “Dell put up the ‘building rep’ sign again in front of the best parking spot.”

  We look right at each other.

  We are laughing, but with our eyes.

  Chapter 54

  Dell got the mail.

  It was always bad news, so sometimes days went by before he bothered to take out his strangely sharp little key and open the metal box by the front gate.

  The mailbox was stuffed.

  As always, there were overdue bills mixed with throwaway flyers printed with cheap black ink that rubbed off onto his fingers.

  But today there was something more.

  He held a letter addressed to Pattie Nguyen in his hands.

  She didn’t get mail here. He read the return address.

  KERN COUNTY DEPARTMENT OF CHILD SERVICES

  And he felt suddenly queasy.

  He was sweating and dizzy.

  Maybe he should just leave.

  He could drive off and never come back.

  If he did, at least the cat would be covered. He couldn’t imagine a world where Willow wouldn’t figure out a place for the furball.

  Dell had delivered the letter to Pattie. And then he’d gone straight down the hall to his room.

  Now he was in bed and his laptop was open. He was staring at the Kern County Child Services website.

  In the state of California, a person could have temporary custody of a ward of the state for a few weeks, or under special circumstances, for several months.

  But after that, the goal was for permanency. The hope was that a guardian would step forward.

  Dell felt his left leg twitch.

  And then it jerked, spontaneously, like he was kicking a soccer ball.

  Ever since he’d started jogging, his limbs seemed to function independently from the rest of his body.

  Now, even lying down, it was as if his feet were trying to step forward.

  Was it possible he could become the guardian of a twelve-year-old?

  Even if he wanted to (and he didn’t really, did he?), he had debt and barely any job security and he’d never even been able to follow through on getting his coffee card stamped correctly at the little place where he sometimes got a morning cup of hot brew.

  But hadn’t things changed?

  Wasn’t he now the building rep for the Gardens of Glenwood?

  Hadn’t he been driving the two Nguyen kids to school every day?

  Plus, he wasn’t just holding down a job; he was possibly getting better at it.

  Wasn’t he the one who supervised the biggest transformation that had ever happened at the apartment building?

  Okay, so maybe he hadn’t supervised, but he was at least a part of it. He did operate the Rototiller.

  Dell shut his laptop.

  But his legs kept twitching.

  No one knew that they had gotten close.

  And now Jairo was the first person Pattie needed to talk to.

  His cell phone rang but he didn’t answer. She knew that if he was driving, he couldn’t pick up.

  But he would. He’d call her back and they would figure out—the two of them—what to do.

  It was December, and the brutal heat that was the only real constant for months had finally broken the week before. It was like someone flipped a switch and changed the season.

  Nights were now suddenly cool, and fans and air conditioners had finally been put away for their four-month-long electronic hibernation.

  Pattie slipped out of her too-tight shoes (her feet seemed to be growing) and stared at the letter from the state of California.

  It was for the custody hearing.

  It had twice been postponed.

  Now it was for real.

  Decisions had to be made.

  She folded the letter in half and promised herself that she’d do the right thing.

  Chapter 55

  As we are climbing into the bunk beds, I explain to Mai that everything is in shock, which happens when a plant is first put down into new soil.

  I know from experience that some things will thrive and others will wither.

  Only time will expose the difference.

  Balance is critical in the natural world.

  I’m still feeling the triumph of the garden the next day when I get the news.

  I don’t like Lenore Cole from Jamison, but in the name of fairness, I admit it would be hard to build a case that she isn’t doing her job.

  She has found a place for me.

  It’s permanent.

  She has come over today to the nail salon to tell me in person. She then asks me if there is anything that I need.

  We’ve been speaking outside in the parking lot, but Pattie must know.

  I have been with them for almost three months.

  It was always temporary.

  Pattie had never met me until the day a hospital supply truck drove through a red light.

  I understand better than anybody how much she’s done for me.

  These are the facts.

  I’m going to be placed in a group foster care home on 7th Street.

  It figures that it wouldn’t be Eighth Street or Ninth Street.

  She says it’s okay for me to cry.

  I tell her that I’m fine.

  I say that I would like to go to the library, and she volunteers to take me.

  I’d like to be around books.

  When Lenore and I are ready to leave, Pattie tells me that Dell will pick me up at the library after work.

  I won’t have to take the bus.

  I say thank you and we go to Lenore’s car.

  I feel numb.

  But I’m moving on.

  That’s how Lenore puts it when we get into her car. Her exact words are:

  “It’s time to move on.”

  It feels like something I might hear in a cafeteria lunch line when I’ve stared too long at a mysterious noodle dish.

  And then Lenore adds:

  “Transitions are important. We want you to spend the morning at Jamison tomorrow and then go to the hearing in the afternoon.”

  So that’s moving on.

  It means this is happening right away.

  This surprises me.

  I thought when she told me, she meant in five days or two weeks.

  Not tomorrow.

  Lenore is a professional and she must have some experience in all of this.

  It might be like ripping off a Band-Aid quickly.

  It doesn’t hurt as much because a large component in pain has to do with anticipation.

  So maybe that’s why she didn’t tell me until now.

  I say good-bye to Lenore and go into the library.

  Once I get inside, I hold my hands right up close to my face.

  I’m breathing too fast. But I’m not crying.

  I’m thinking about Mai and Quang-ha and Pattie and Dell.

  They are taking me away from these people.

  And I don’t think I can live now without them.

  I go straight to my favorite area, which is upstairs in the corner next to the window.

  The light floods this spot.

  I
get a book on astrophysics. I haven’t thought of big-picture concepts in a long time.

  Maybe I’ve been too focused on the smaller things. I’ve had my mind wrapped around specifics.

  Reading about galaxies and cosmic microwaves helps me to breathe more easily.

  I’m putting my place in the universe into perspective.

  I’m stardust.

  I’m golden brown.

  I’m just one small bit in a vast expanse.

  When the time is right, I go sit outside on the steps.

  I think about the Nguyens.

  Will they move out of the Gardens? Will Dell go back to #28? Maybe they can rent another apartment and stay in the complex.

  Mai won’t miss just me; she’s going to really miss the bunk beds and the closet.

  And what about Cheddar?

  If they stay, I can come visit on weekends.

  I could still help with the garden.

  I could walk, or even call Jairo to drive me over in his taxi.

  I could increase my running and plot out a new loop that takes me right by the Gardens of Glenwood.

  Dell suddenly appears.

  I didn’t see him coming. Did he sneak up on me or am I not seeing things now?

  He sits down next to me.

  But he doesn’t say anything.

  Then he puts his head between his knees and starts to cry.

  It sounds like he’s choking to death.

  I’m right next to him, and I do what my mother would have done.

  I put my arm around his shoulder and softly whisper:

  “I’m all right. It’s going to be okay.”

  And that breaks him completely.

  He cries harder.

  He lifts his face and looks at me. I still have my arm encircling his hunched back.

  But I see something in his eyes.

  He looks heartbroken.

  I know the look.

  Chapter 56

  Pattie closed the nail salon early and took the bus home.

  It was cloudy outside and the wind was blowing hard down the valley. There was dust and sand in the air, and when her teeth met she felt the grit.