“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to meet his gaze, but he was staring over the top of my head.
“Maybe,” he said, “I could call a locksmith. My name is still on the mailbox. If I tell them I’ve been locked out, maybe they would—”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It would just cause more trouble.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let it go, Hubert. She doesn’t want you here.”
We both stood for a second, Hubert looking like he’d been sucker-punched.
“It’s just, I don’t know what to do now,” he said, in a voice so quiet I could barely hear him. He blinked quickly so that I wouldn’t see his eyes welled up with tears, but it was too late. I saw. “Why is she doing this?” He sighed. “I feel like I’m caught in a bad dream. I just don’t know what to do.”
He didn’t know what to do, but suddenly, I did. I grabbed a box off the top of one of the stacks. “No point in standing around here any longer. Why don’t you come back with me to my house? You can give yourself a few days to sort it out.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
It wasn’t as simple as that, of course. Most things in life are more complicated than you’d anticipate. Like the first time I played a real game of tennis, which was in high school phys ed, embarrassingly enough. I’d seen tennis games before and even batted a ball around on the street with Hubert, but who knew playing an actual game would be so freaking hard? Apparently when I played with Hubert he’d been deliberately hitting the ball right to me, making me think I had this tennis thing down. After the first serve in gym class, I realized that tennis was far harder than I’d thought. It’s a whole other thing when people aren’t trying to make it easy.
And Kelly wasn’t trying to make it easy, believe me. Because the boxes weren’t labeled, Hubert couldn’t just grab his clothes and toiletries and leave the rest for another time. Opening them didn’t help either—the contents were a jumble: underwear mixed with yearbooks, CDs thrown in with belts and ties, a stuffed gecko mushed in between stereo speakers. One box even held an assortment of mustards. Not Kelly’s condiment of choice, apparently.
“It’ll take hours to go through all of them,” I said after we’d rifled through half a dozen boxes. “I think we’re just going to have to move them all to my house.”
“OK,” Hubert said. “If you say so.” A teenage boy came by on a skateboard, narrowly missing a box we’d pulled away from the wall. Hubert paused to give the kid a high-five as he whizzed past. “Zach, my man. How’s it goin’?”
“Pretty good, Mr. Holmes,” the boy called out.
Hubert gestured with a wave of his hand and turned to me. “I’ve told him a million times to call me Hubert, but he won’t do it. Says his mom thinks it’s disrespectful to call a grown-up by their first name.” He leaned against the door as if settling in for a long conversation. “He’s really an exceptional kid. You know how they’re always saying teenagers don’t read anymore? Not Zach—he’s a huge reader. And not just the Harry Potter books either. I’m talking about books you’d never expect a kid to read. Books like—”
“Hubert.” My voice came out more sharply than I intended. “Any thoughts on how we’re going to move this stuff?” Math wasn’t my thing, but even I could see that the square footage of cardboard in this hallway would never fit in Hubert’s VW Beetle and my Honda Civic. Taking several trips was an option, but the thought of shuttling back and forth made me tired.
“Move this stuff?” His forehead furrowed like he was doing long division in his head.
“You know. Like, move it from here to my house? Do you know anyone with a truck? Any really strong friends who owe you a favor?”
He thought for a moment and then smiled as a solution broke through. “Hey! We can call Piper.”
Piper, with her 112-pound body and spaghetti arms, wouldn’t have been my first choice, but as it turned out, Piper and her minivan were just what we needed.
She arrived within twenty minutes of getting Hubert’s call on my cell phone. When she drove up and saw us waiting by the back door, she put the van in reverse and backed over the lawn to meet us halfway.
“I’m not so sure you should have done that,” Hubert said after she climbed out of the driver’s seat. He toed the muddy rut on the grass with the tip of his donated shoe. “Kelly’s dad is kind of fussy about the grounds. He’s not going to be happy when he sees this.”
Piper pointed to the tread marks. “That?” She waved a hand dismissively. “Ach, that’s nothing. That’ll grow back before you know it. Now where are all these boxes? Brandon’s halfway through a nap, and Mike’s watching the game. I don’t have all day.” Some of the larger boxes required both Hubert and me to grab hold of an end and move crab-like down the narrow hallway. Piper, always the diva, put herself in charge of holding the door. By the third trip, I could feel beads of perspiration forming on my forehead. I’d always admired the fact that Hubert had such an extensive library of hardcovers. Now I found myself wishing he were the kind of guy who collected throw pillows or ping-pong balls.
“That’s it. You’re doing great!” Piper said, shifting into cheerleading mode as we passed through the door. “Three trips down, just a few more to go.”
Hubert and I loaded our boxes into the back of the van, which was more spacious than usual since Piper had folded down the seats and emptied it of baby paraphernalia.
“We’ve barely made a dent,” I said to Piper as we went back in. I pointed to a paving stone propped up next to the doorway. “Why don’t you stick that brick in the door and come and help us out?” She grimaced but stuck her foot over the threshold to keep the door from auto-locking, and then she reached down to pick up the brick. I assumed she’d follow us, but when we returned the door was wedged open and she was nowhere in sight.
“Where the hell did she go?” I asked Hubert.
His eyes darted toward the stairwell. “I thought I heard her go upstairs, but I don’t know what she’d be doing up there. Jeez, I hope she’s back by the time we’re done.”
“She better be back sooner than that,” I muttered as I headed outside.
When we returned to the building, Piper was holding the door for a stream of people carrying boxes. Hubert’s boxes. I recognized Mrs. Debrowsky, but there were also two older men I’d never seen before. Zach, minus the skateboard, was behind them, followed by a younger boy. Zach’s brother, judging by the resemblance.
“Where do you want these, Mr. Holmes?” Zach called out.
I turned to see Hubert’s reaction. “You guys are the best!” he said. “Just the best.” An expression of gratitude came over his face. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Me and Avery wanted to help,” the taller man said. “We’re really going to miss you.”
“Yeah,” added Avery, “it won’t be the same without you, that’s for sure. No one can get a Weber grill started like you, Hubert. You’ve got a knack with lighter fluid, like nobody’s business.”
“You’re such a good guy,” Mrs. Debrowsky added. “Always willing to give a hand. We appreciated it.”
Zach’s brother stepped forward. “I didn’t understand about place holders in math at all until you explained it. Now I get it.” The group nodded in unison, as if they’d all had trouble with place holders before Hubert came along.
“Aw man, don’t get me started,” Hubert said. “You guys are going to make me cry.”
Mrs. Debrowsky shifted from foot to foot. “Do you want this in the back of the van? Or what?”
“Oh yeah.” Hubert’s head jerked toward the parking lot. “I’ll show you. Either in the van or Lola’s car or my Beetle.” As they walked away, I could hear him yabbering on in appreciation. “Thanks, Fred. Thanks, Avery. This is great. You guys are unbelievable.”
I glanced at Piper, who leaned against the open door, her arms folded in satisfaction.
“This is your doing?” I asked.
She grinned. “My dad always said to work smarter, not harder.”<
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I had to hand it to Piper—she knew how to work it. In tenth grade she got me an extension on a paper by explaining to the teacher that my grandma was dying. I’d been far too shy and distraught to bring it up myself, and I would probably have accepted the markdown for being late. Senior year she got me a date for the homecoming dance with her boyfriend’s cousin, a guy from another school. Piper knew how to get things done. Always planning, always doing. Meanwhile, I was like a leaf floating down the river to wherever life took me. So far, my strategy wasn’t getting me anywhere. If I let Piper run my life, I’d probably be married now with a kid on the way. If it weren’t for her taste in men—more status than substance—I might consider it.
It was amazing how quickly seven people could empty a hallway. Piper kept her station as door-holder and cheerleader, urging us on at every pass through. I overheard Zach ask Hubert, “Who is that lady?” When Hubert said she was a friend, Zach said, “Dude, she’s really pretty. You should go out with her.” If anyone at Vista View had any loyalty to Kelly, I didn’t see it.
By the time we left, the sky was overcast and the wind had picked up. Ah, spring in Wisconsin.
We pulled out of the parking lot with Piper in the lead, Hubert right behind, and me bringing up the rear. Hubert’s neighbors stood in a row and waved as we went by. I did a parade float wave, and Hubert tapped on his car horn.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When I pulled up in front of my house, Piper and Hubert were already unloading boxes. Halfway home I’d gotten snagged on a red light and was left behind while the two of them sped merrily away. It gave them a bit of a lead, but judging from the number of boxes on the lawn, I took a lot longer than I thought.
“I’m in a big hurry,” Piper yelled as I approached. She was tossing boxes out of the van with the fury of a St. Bernard digging for avalanche victims. “I’ve got to get home pronto. Mike called and Brandon’s up.”
Oh, so that was it. Stop the presses. Alert the media. The baby is awake. God forbid Mike should have to deal with his own kid for once. His hands-off approach to fatherhood didn’t seem to bother Piper—she relished being the only one Brandon wanted—but it annoyed me to no end. Wasn’t parenting supposed to be a two-person job? Did Piper have to give up everything in her life just because she had a baby? When I tried explaining my frustration to my mother, she just laughed and said I’d get my friend back eventually. Babies were a full-time job, she said, as if I didn’t know that. It just seemed to me that Mike could help out more.
Hubert pulled out a box and set it down on a stack adjacent to the curb. Further back, boxes were scattered haphazardly. Piper’s work, no doubt.
“Some of those things might be breakable,” he said after Piper lobbed a smallish carton over her shoulder.
“Piper, chill.” I held up my hand in the universal sign for “Stop wrecking your friend’s stuff.”
“It’s mostly books, I think.” She paused and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “They’ll be fine. If anything gets damaged, just let me know and I’ll pay for it.”
“Sure, just write a check,” I said. “But what if it’s the Waterford crystal that’s been in his family for generations? What then?” The Waterford crystal line was a hypothetical. In all honesty, I doubted Hubert’s family owned any priceless heirlooms. I’d been to his grandmother’s house—she collected ceramic cows, and I was pretty sure none had been passed on yet. Still, it was the point of the thing.
“It’s OK, Lola.” Hubert placed a hand on my shoulder. “She’s doing me a favor. Just let it go.”
Piper gave me a sideways glance complete with eye roll, and then she turned back to the van. As a compromise, she climbed inside and pushed the boxes toward the back for Hubert and me to unload. We moved the rest in silence.
“That’s all she wrote,” Piper sang out when the van was finally empty. She clambered out and slammed the door shut. “You’re good to go. And I am out of here.”
“Thank you so much. I’m really grateful you came on such short notice.” Hubert moved toward her with outstretched arms. His lankiness gave the hug an odd look—like a mother giraffe leaning over to nuzzle her baby. “I really owe you.” He spoke to the top of her head. “If you need anything at all—a ride to the airport, a babysitter, anything—just let me know.”
“Will do.” Piper’s voice was suddenly cheerful. She was good at departures. They moved apart, and she held him at arm’s length. “And you make sure to call me and tell me how you’re doing. I’ll be thinking of you.”
“Thanks. I will.”
She turned to me. “See you later, Lola. Maybe we can do lunch sometime?”
“Sure.” Sometime was a safe bet. We hugged and she drove off, waving as she went.
After Piper’s van turned the corner and was out of sight, Hubert said, “By any chance, do you own one of those moving cart things? What are they called?” He snapped his fingers. “A dolly? Or maybe a wheelbarrow or something?” I shrugged a no, and we both stood a moment and surveyed the box explosion on the lawn. Hand-carrying them into the house would take forever.
Besides my Honda, I didn’t own anything with wheels, but my next-door neighbor made up for my circular shortcomings. Mrs. Cho’s lawn was littered with more axles than you’d find at a NASCAR race: roller skates and bikes and a coaster wagon. While Hubert surveyed the scene, I could tell his own wheels were turning.
“I’m going to ask Ben if they have anything,” Hubert said. “If nothing else, we can borrow that kids’ wagon.”
Normally I wouldn’t have encouraged getting my neighbors involved, but my shoulders ached and I was starting to get a headache. Even if I wanted to object, I didn’t have time—Hubert was knocking on the Chos’ door before I could even have found words. I watched him talk to someone through the screen door. He pointed in my direction, and I waved in case they could see me. Then the door opened and a hand beckoned him in. Oh great. Now that he’d been absorbed into the Cho clan, there was no telling when he’d be back.
I left the boxes and went into my own house to use the bathroom. If Hubert came back and I was still inside, he’d figure it out. He was smart that way.
On the way back through the living room, the blinking light on the answering machine caught my eye. Four messages? Sometimes I went a week and didn’t get a one. We hadn’t been gone that long.
I stopped to push the button and heard, “Good afternoon, Lola. This is Brother Jasper from across the street just calling to tell you there’s been a change in plans. The block party is now on Saturday, May seventh. We had to make it earlier because it’s going to be a fundraiser for a little boy from the church. His name is Derek, and he has leukemia. We hope you can make it then, but even if you can’t, please include Derek in your prayers. I appreciate it. Thanks.”
My first thought was for poor little Derek. Leukemia, what a bite. My second thought was that date was my birthday, which was a fine reason to skip the block party. I would write a nice check for the little guy and be done with it.
Message two revealed my younger sister’s voice: “Lola? This is Mindy. If you’re there, pick up.” Long pause. “Well, I can’t imagine where you’d be on a Saturday afternoon.” Another long pause and a sigh. I pictured her perfectly glossed lips forming an exasperated O. “Look, I was wondering if you’d want to go to the Wonderful World of Weddings at State Fair Park with me and Jessica today. I thought we could check out the bridesmaid dresses and flowers and stuff. I’m going to try your cell. Call me if you get this message in the next fifteen minutes.”
Message three: “Lola, this is Mindy again. Jessica’s here and we’re leaving now for the wedding thing.” I heard her muffled voice through the hand-covered receiver saying something to her maid of honor, Jessica, and then she was back. “I’m thinking because your cell is turned off that you’re probably home and just pulling that antisocial crap you do, so we’re swinging by to pick you up. Wear flat shoes because the hall is enormous and we’ve got a lo
t of ground to cover.” The voice after the beep said she’d called at 12:43.
I winced at the thought of Mindy and Jessica showing up at my door. Frankly, I didn’t want to be involved in the decision-making part of Mindy’s wedding-o-rama. I’d told her to pick whatever bridesmaid dresses she wanted—I didn’t care. She’d asked my opinion on everything from champagne toasts to place cards, and I told her repeatedly that anything she picked out was fine by me, but she refused to believe my apathy was genuine.
I compared the time of the call with my watch. Phew. They would have come and gone by now. Who’d have thought Hubert’s crisis would have saved my day?
Message four: “Um, Lola? This is Drew.” Shoot, I knew where this was going. “I’m really sick.” He cleared his throat, and then his sick voice officially began. “I know you said you need those articles first thing Monday morning, but I’m thinking there’s no way I’ll have them done by then. I probably won’t even be in to work on Monday. Because I feel really terrible.” Big coughing fit. “OK, well if you need anything, you can call. But I might not answer if I’m sleeping. And if you pass by my apartment and my car is gone, that’s because I let my brother borrow it. Since I wouldn’t be using it anyway. Because I’m so sick.” Got it. Not coming in to work on Monday due to fake sickness. But really out of town. “OK then. Bye.”
Drew was one of two staff writers at the parenting magazine where I was the editor. His very existence gave me tension headaches. The other staff member of our little parenting magazine was Mrs. Kinkaid, and yes, she wanted to be called Mrs. Kinkaid. She’d worked for the newspaper in one capacity or another for thirty years, being passed around from department to department, wherever she could do the least damage. When the newspaper created this spin-off parenting tabloid (mostly for additional advertising opportunities), the newly installed editor inherited Mrs. Kinkaid. And when I got the job, the first person I saw when I walked through the door was Mrs. Kinkaid, welcoming me with a platter of brownies and a lot of chatter.
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