Finding Zola

by Mitchell, Marianne;

  “I know lady who makes the jelly,” Zola repeated, “from those ugly cactus.” She pointed out the window.

  I stared across the street. Clumps of gray-green prickly pear cactus filled Gran’s front yard. Stubs of fruit grew along the edges of the cactus pads. Come August they’d ripen, full of blood-red juice.

  “Zola, do you remember talking with my mother? About you coming to stay with me? Mom left this morning for Santa Fe. Remember?”

  She sat there a moment, thinking. Then, as if a light had gone on inside, she nodded. “Yes. Now I remember. You are Crystal.” She reached out and patted my hand. “My mind—it is so forgetful. I don’t know what is happening to me.”

  Suddenly, she looked so small and frail. Her eyes glistened with tears, and worry creased her face. I thought of how often I’d wished I could forget things, especially bad memories. Now I was looking into the face of someone who was very frightened about forgetting.

  “It’s okay, Zola. We all forget sometimes. I’ll help you get your stuff together and we’ll go over to Gran’s house. I’ll call someone to come clean up the water.”

  We went back to her bedroom and she collected a few things in an overnight case. From her closet, she took out a frilly pink dress and held it up.

  “Wednesday I go to dance class.” She flashed me a bright smile, her eyes crinkling with excitement. “I look pretty, no?”

  While Zola packed, I tried to imagine her flitting around on the dance floor. After all, she hadn’t always been an old lady. On her dresser were photos of a younger, more adventurous Zola riding horseback in the mountains, standing on the Great Wall of China, shooting a rifle at a target. I guess she’d had a Before time, too, just like me.

  When we headed out the door, I noticed the empty carport. “How will you get to your dance class?”

  “Taxi come. Always the taxi.” She stomped into the street, looked toward town, and shook her fist. “I sell car when they take away my driving license. Is not right! Why they do that?”

  “So you won’t kill anyone, you old fool!” a man shouted back at her.

  I turned my head and stared at the man in the next driveway. He was dressed in white slacks and a knit top, and had just plunked a bag of clubs into his golf cart. His pure white hair made a striking contrast with his dark, tanned skin. A boy about my age sat waiting in the cart.

  “Oh, go away!” snapped Zola.

  “You should be in a nursing home, where you couldn’t get into trouble!” The man hopped in the cart and pulled into the street, jerking to a stop a few feet from us. “Don’t you go bothering that poor girl with your problems,” he huffed, nodding toward me.

  What a jerk! I thought. He sat there, looking smug and picking on an old lady. I strained to get a look at the boy seated next to him. He wore shorts and a T-shirt, but a blue golf cap hid his face. He kept his head down, as if he didn’t want any part of this little scene. The older man gave a snort and drove off.

  Zola sighed, her shoulders sagging. “He is idiot! Big lawyer idiot!”

  “Ignore him,” I said. “I don’t mind helping you out while I’m here.”

  She placed her hand on my head and stroked it. “You are good girl.”

  “I have an idea. My cousin DJ is coming soon from Tucson. Why don’t we all go out for lunch and get pizza?”

  Her face lit up. “Yes! Is good! But first I fix up house.”

  “Let the maintenance men do that, Zola. We’ll come to pick you up about noon.”

  Zola paused, looking back at her house. “No. Better go at six. I do important job first.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No, no. Something I do by myself.” She gave me a wink and headed back into her house, still carrying her overnight case. She turned at the door and put her finger to her lips. “Is top secret!”

  I tried not to laugh as I headed back across the street. Maybe my first guess about Zola had been right. Maybe she really was a spy.

  Chapter 4

  FIRST I CALLED THE MAINTENANCE OFFICE AND asked them to send someone to clean up the mess at Zola’s house. While I waited for DJ, I started checking Gran’s cupboards and closets, wondering what we could get rid of and what we should keep. It would take a while to sort through it all. Part of me said I should be asking Gran’s permission to do this. The rest of me felt her spirit right next to me saying, “It’s all right, mi amor. These things aren’t mine anymore.”

  Most of Gran’s furniture was old, dumpy stuff she’d had for years. Mom would probably donate the olive green overstuffed chairs and sofa to the Salvation Army. Her heavy bedroom furniture, too. We sure couldn’t move it. There was only one piece in the living room I wanted to keep—her knickknack shelf and all its little treasures. As a kid, while my parents and Gran visited, I used to play for hours with the miniature tea set and the Mexican figurines of turtles, birds, and rabbits.

  When DJ’s turquoise convertible pulled into the carport, nervous doubts about seeing her kicked in. I wondered if she was going to act differently toward me, After Accident and all. I watched as she grabbed a duffel bag from the back seat and headed for the door. She looked great—tan and slim, her movements smooth and sure.

  “¡Hola, chica! Long time no see,” she said, stepping inside. Grinning, she pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head. Her dark hair was slicked back into a tight French braid. She had on a gray Arizona T-shirt that matched her gym shorts, both with red Wildcat logos.

  “Hi. Glad you could come,” I said. As I closed the door, I was relieved to see a panel truck parked in front of Zola’s. Good, I thought. The maintenance men will keep that poor old lady from spending her day mopping floors.

  I glanced down at DJ’s bag. “Is that all you brought?”

  She patted her duffel. “The team travels so much that I’ve learned to pack light. Brought a swimsuit, though. This place has a pool, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah. It’s not far. We’ll walk over there in a while.”

  Her eyes flitted briefly to my chair.

  Uh-oh. Here we go. “I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “How can she talk about walking? Right?”

  “Well, I—”

  “I say ‘go for a walk’ all the time. Sounds better than ‘go for a roll,’ don’t you think?”

  She smiled, giving my chair a friendly nudge. “It must be hard getting around and all.”

  “I manage. Come on, you can put your things in my room. It has twin beds.”

  DJ didn’t seem too put off by my situation, so I began to relax. She was taking things in stride better than most.

  While she unpacked, I brought her up to date on Mom’s trip and my “sitter.” I wanted to prepare her for spending time with someone who I thought was just dancing around the edges of sanity. From what I’d seen already, I wasn’t sure what to expect next from Zola.

  “Does she have Alzheimer’s?” DJ asked.

  “I don’t know, Deej. She seemed okay when she was taking care of Gran. She and Mom talked lots on the phone about how things were going. I’m sure Mom thought it was a good idea to have her come over. But maybe she’s had a stroke or something.”

  “Are you going to call your mom and tell her?”

  “I thought about it. But this show means too much to her. And now that you’re here …” I wouldn’t say it out loud, but I was really glad to have DJ around. At least she had a car.

  “Put your swimsuit on,” I said. “I’ll show you the pool.”

  The afternoon heat was cooking full blast, sending the lizards scurrying down holes and under plants to find some shade. I plopped on a hat and led the way down the driveway. We’d only gone a few steps when I felt DJ grab the handles of my chair.

  “Hey, you don’t have to push. I need the exercise.”

  She let go. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “My legs may not work, but my arms are strong. Watch this!” I tilted my chair back and spun around on the wheels, making DJ jump away.

  “Careful!” />
  “Relax. It’s good practice for getting over thresholds.” I didn’t tell her how much I hated it when someone grabbed the chair and tried to push. People thought they were helping when they did that. But if I didn’t use my arms, I’d be worse off. Because I had to wheel myself around, my arms and shoulders were stronger than most. Being able to move under my own power meant staying in control. No one was going to take that away!

  Next door to Zola’s, a man and a woman were loading boxes into their white van. They nodded hello as we passed.

  “That’s us in a couple of days, loading up Gran’s stuff,” said DJ.

  The pool and cabana were just around the corner. A chainlink fence and oleander hedges separated the pool from the nearby houses. Palm trees fluttered in a hot breeze that reeked of chlorine. The cabana consisted mainly of a covered patio, two bathrooms, and two soda machines tucked into a little alcove. I was surprised no one was swimming on such a hot day.

  DJ rubbed her hands together. “Cannonballs, here I come!” She glanced down at me. “Can you still swim?”

  I hesitated. “I … I don’t really know.”

  By the pool, a huge sign hung on the gate. It read: POOL CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

  “No fair!” cried DJ. “Look at it. Cool, clear water, just begging for someone to jump in and splash around. What gives?”

  “It doesn’t look polluted or anything. Let’s go ask those people loading boxes. Maybe they know why it’s closed.”

  As we walked back, I hid my relief that the pool was closed. Now I wouldn’t have to come up with excuses for not going in. I wouldn’t have to admit how much water scared me.

  They had tried to give me water therapy in rehab, but I panicked every time, so they finally gave up. During the accident, our Jeep had tumbled into a ravine, coming to rest in a small stream. The water had coursed through the wreckage, soaking both Dad and me. It must have been ice cold, but I just felt numb. I remember staring as the current tugged at my jeans. Why couldn’t I feel its pull? My whole lower body seemed disconnected from the rest of me. It wasn’t until later, in the hospital, that I’d heard the verdict. Paralysis. Damaged spinal cord. No cure.

  Nope, swimming pools didn’t tempt me at all. With no way to kick or tread water, what would keep me from sinking right to the bottom?

  The neighbors were still loading their van. The man reminded me of a summer Santa Claus, with his big round belly and red-and-white shorts. A halo of white hair ringed his head, matching a shaggy white mustache.

  “Are you moving?” I asked.

  He looked up, startled, then set down the box. “Heavens, no! We’re heading up to the swap meet in Tucson.”

  I explained who we were.

  He held out a fleshy hand and gave me a gentle handshake. “We wondered who was over there. I’m Ward Tucker.” He turned and waved his wife over. “Susan, come here and meet Emilia’s granddaughters.”

  Susan Tucker stood up from taping a box closed, wiping her hands on a trim waist. Her skin was smooth and tan, making her look years younger than her husband. I’d bet anything she paid some plastic surgeon a bundle of money. She held out her hand to me. “Nice to meet you.”“Hi. I’m Crystal. This is my cousin, DJ. We just came from the pool. How come it’s closed?”

  Mrs. Tucker smoothed back a stray blond curl and arched her eyebrows. “Closed? No wonder it’s been so quiet lately. We usually hear all the splashing and chattering from there. Our rear patio backs up to the pool fence, you know.”

  “It’s all that lawyer’s fault,” Mr. Tucker said, jerking his head up the street.

  “You mean the guy next door to Zola?” I asked.

  “That’s him. Horace Andrews. Horrible Horace, we call him. He causes some kind of ruckus at every homeowners’ meeting. Last week he made a big stink about our insurance rates. Says we need a lifeguard.”

  “He wasn’t very nice to Zola today, either,” I added. Mrs. Tucker shook her head. “That poor lady. Sweet as they come.”

  “Don’t believe everything old Zola tells you, though,” Mr. Tucker said as he hoisted another box into the back of the van. “She’s over eighty, and she gets things mixed up.”

  “So I’ve noticed!”

  DJ eyed the last box on the driveway. “Got any pots and pans for sale there? I could use some for my new apartment.”

  Mr. Tucker shook his head. “Nope. Just a lot of old junk we wanted to get rid of.”

  “When you live in a place as long as we have, you can hardly turn around after a while,” added Mrs. Tucker.

  I glanced over at Gran’s house and sighed. “Yeah. We’ve got a job just like this waiting for us. Come on, Deej. Let’s get started. We can get a lot done before we pick up Zola.”

  Chapter 5

  AT A LITTLE BEFORE SIX, I PUSHED MYSELF OUT of my wheelchair and slid into the front seat of DJ’s car. She folded the chair and wedged it in the back seat, next to some sacks of cans and glass jars we’d packed up to recycle.

  “I’ll go get Zola,” she said.

  As she jogged across the street, I noticed how smoothly she moved. Softball training had given her good strong legs. I ran my hand over my own skinny, dead legs. Stop it, stop it, I told myself. Things could always be worse. DJ acted pretty normal around me, all in all.

  While I waited, I scanned the neighborhood. The townhouses, or casitas, were built so close together that they shared walls and driveways. Gran used to say she liked having people nearby to keep an eye on her. I looked back at Zola’s house. DJ was still standing outside the door. What was taking so long? Maybe Zola wasn’t ready yet. I fanned myself with a road map, wishing she’d hurry. DJ stepped from the door to the front window and peered in. Then she moved to the other windows, tapping on the glass as she did. She came back alone.

  “She’s not there. I knocked. I rang. I even peeked in the windows, in case she hadn’t heard me. Nada.”

  “Could she have misunderstood?”

  “Maybe she forgot all about our dinner date.”

  I stared down the street and frowned. The Tuckers’ van was gone, so we couldn’t ask them if they had seen Zola. “Where would she go?” I wondered. “She doesn’t have a car. And she seemed so excited about going out for pizza.”

  “Let’s go up to the shopping center and look around. We have to stop at the recycle bins anyway. Maybe she walked up to the pizza place by herself.”

  The Copper Valley Shopping Center was only a few blocks away, a couple of streets beyond the neighborhood. It was an easy walk if you didn’t mind the heat. But the idea of Zola trudging along the hot pavement didn’t make much sense. We cruised the parking lot, then pulled into a space outside the Safeway. After dumping the bags in the recycle bins, DJ went into the store.

  While I waited, I watched the entrances to the other shops, checking who came and went. Then I recognized someone coming across the parking lot—Zola’s grouchy neighbor. I waved at him, beckoning him to come closer. He looked puzzled as he approached.

  “We met earlier. I’m looking for your neighbor, Zola. Have you seen her?”

  He peered into the window. “Thought you looked familiar.” He stuck his hand toward me. “Horace Andrews is the name.”

  “I’m Crystal. Umm … have you seen your neighbor?”

  “Not lately. What’s that crazy dame done now?”

  “My cousin and I were supposed to take her out for pizza. But when DJ knocked at her door, she was gone.”

  He sighed and looked at the sky. “That woman! Once, she decided to go for a walk but forgot how to get home. She was wandering down the interstate when the highway patrol picked her up. She was so addled she couldn’t explain where she lived. It took them half a day to sort it out.”

  “Could she have done that this time?”

  “Who knows?” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “She has no business living alone. She should be in a nursing home where someone can keep track of her. I’ll take it up at our next homeowners meeting and—�
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  DJ thumped on the hood. “No luck. I’ll try the drug store.”

  I bit my lip, thinking. “I’m worried about her, Mr. Andrews. She may be a bit confused, and I’d hate to think she was lost out there somewhere.”

  He turned to go. “Don’t worry. She’ll turn up. I’ll keep an eye out for buzzards.”

  As he headed back to his car, I hoped I never had a neighbor like him.

  DJ came back with no news. “C’mon,” she said. “I’m starved. Let’s hit the Pizza Pub. Zola’s probably sitting there, wondering where we are.”

  The smells of garlic and baked bread hit us as soon as we walked in. While DJ went up front to order a pepperoni and sausage pizza, I pushed my chair between the tables and booths, peering at each customer. No Zola.

  Part of me said nothing was wrong. She’d just forgotten about us. But a small voice in my head kept muttering, “Not good! Not good!”

  While we waited for our order, we tossed around ideas.

  “Maybe she got a call from a friend who came to take her out,” suggested DJ.

  “Why would she go? She seemed so happy about going out for dinner.”

  “Maybe she just wandered off, like Mr. Andrews said.”

  I stared out the window. It was seven o’clock, and it was still hot as blazes outside. “That’s even worse. Where could she be? And how long has she been gone?”

  They called our order number. When DJ brought the pizza back, she said, “Look, there’s nothing we can do right now. Let’s see if she turns up in the morning.”

  While we ate, my imagination flashed one question after another. I’d already seen the way Zola got confused. Maybe that was all there was to it. But time was slipping by fast. The desert in the dead of summer was no place to be lost.

  When we got home, the message light was flashing on the answering machine.

  “Zola, you think?” I pushed the play button. Mom’s voice boomed out.

  “Hi, Cryssy. I made it here safe and sound. Sorry I missed you. Hope you and DJ are having fun. I’ll call tomorrow. Sweet dreams!”