by Betsy Byars
Finally Thomas J gave up and said, “Aunt Benson?”
One of her eyes snapped open. The other opened slowly.
“It’s me, Thomas J.”
“Thomas J?”
“Yes’m, the boy that lived with you for so long.”
Her eyes focused on him. “Thomas J,” she said, “Sister’s gone.” Her voice, which had not been steady since 1945, wavered more than usual. She reached out her hand and he took it.
“I know.”
Mr. Mason leaned over Thomas J’s head. He put his hands on Thomas J’s shoulders. “I brought him for the funeral, ma’am. He wanted to pay his respects.”
“Sister and me had always planned a double funeral,” she said. “We always said we was born together, we’d die together. When we broke our hips together, I was sure of it.”
“Well,” Mr. Mason said, “it just looks like you’re going to have to stick around for a while—get the garden back in shape.”
“Unless,” she said, “I can manage to die before—” She broke off and made a feeble attempt to lift her head. “When’s the funeral?”
“Two o’clock, but you—”
“Unless I can manage to die before two o’clock,” she said, lying back on her pillow.
“It’s twelve-fifteen now,” the woman in the next bed said, folding her magazine to read an article about Liz Taylor’s face-lift.
“Then I won’t make it,” the Benson twin said. She closed her eyes.
After the funeral, Mr. Mason remembered to pick up some Kentucky Fried Chicken. “It’ll be a nice surprise,” he said. “We forgot last time, remember? I thought they were going to tar and feather us.”
Thomas J nodded. “Harvey’ll be pleased.” He moved closer to Mr. Mason on the car seat. He felt Mr. Mason’s arm against his. He looked up at Mr. Mason. Suddenly Thomas J felt like somebody out of a book, a fairy tale, who had just stepped into real life and needed to know about it.
He said to Mr. Mason, “Tell me some more about the things that happened to you when you were little.”
Carlie was washing the dishes hard. There were only a few of them so she was giving each her full attention.
Mrs. Mason smiled at her and said, “You don’t have to wash off the flowers too.”
“I can’t help it,” Carlie said. “Harvey’s father makes me so mad. Harvey couldn’t even eat his Kentucky Fried Chicken tonight.”
The thought of sitting across the table from him and seeing him stare at his untasted drumstick made her wash the glasses even harder.
“Hey, if you don’t want your chicken, I’ll take it,” Carlie had said to get a rise out of him. At her house a person would eat anything if he thought someone else wanted it.
But it hadn’t worked with Harvey. Mutely he had handed her the drumstick.
She finished rinsing the glasses and dried her hands. “He just looks so sad sitting there staring out his window, and he’s not pouting or sulking or anything, he’s just sitting there.”
“I know.”
“You know, if they made a target of him—of the way he looks from the back and they set it up on the firing range—well, nobody could shoot it.”
Mrs. Mason took the dishes from the drain and dried them in a slow careful way.
Carlie stared at the sink. “He looks like he’s already been shot.”
“Carlie,” Mrs. Mason said, “do you remember me telling you that I thought you could help Harvey—this was about the second day you were here?”
“I remember.”
“Well, you have helped him.”
Carlie glanced at Mrs. Mason in surprise. “How can anybody think he’s been helped. He’s worse!”
“He’s worse now, at this moment, I know that, but you have helped him, Carlie.”
Carlie shook her head. Her hair fell over her face as she turned away.
“It’s odd about helping people. When I was your age the only person who could help me when I felt bad was my sister Liz. She could always make me laugh. My other sister, Helen, is like me, more serious. Now, I’m not funny at all. I don’t think I’ve ever said a comical thing in my life, and—”
“You’re other things though.”
“Thank you, Carlie.” Mrs. Mason smiled. “Only what I mean is that you are helping Harvey, sometimes by just making him smile or feel better, and I don’t want you to give up.”
Carlie turned to Mrs. Mason. “I never give up on anybody I like,” she said.
19
The next morning Harvey did not get out of bed. Carlie had come in several times to try and cheer him up, but nothing had worked.
Now she came in again. “Hey,” she said, whispering in an excited way, “there’s a big package for you in the hall closet.”
“My birthday’s this Friday,” he said, staring at the upper bunk.
“This Friday? You didn’t tell me that. Now, I’ll have to get you something. What do you want? Name anything under fifteen cents and it’s yours.”
He didn’t answer.
“Hey, I got an idea. Look, why don’t you go ahead and open up your package now. Mrs. Mason won’t care, and it’ll cheer you up.”
“No.”
“Well, then it might cheer me up. I’m beginning to feel lousy too. Want me to open it for you?”
“No.”
“I don’t mean open it all the way, I just mean peek at it. I can slip off the paper so carefully you wouldn’t even know I had opened it. I do this all the time at Christmas.”
“Go ahead if you want to.”
“You mean it? You wouldn’t mind?”
“No.”
“Whoo, I love opening presents. I don’t even care whether they’re mine or not.” She went to the hall closet and slid out the box. “It’s a big one,” she called to Harvey. “The bigger the better, I always say.” She pulled off the ribbon, which was punched into the top of the box. With great care she undid the strips of Scotch tape. She opened the end. When she saw that it was a portable color television set, her breath eased out in one long sigh.
“Oh, wow,” she called to Harvey, “you’re going to really like this.”
Carefully she retaped the paper, punched the bow back in the original hole and slid the box back into the closet. Then she went back to Harvey’s room and leaned against the bed. “Guess what it is?” she said.
“A TV.”
“What?”
“A TV.”
She was startled. She tried to bluff. “What makes you think it’s a TV?”
“I saw my father carrying it in.”
“Well, I’m not saying whether it is or it isn’t,” she said. She was disappointed. She loved to make people guess things. She had been looking forward to a long session with Harvey.
He would say, “Is it something useful?”
She would say, “Yes.”
“Is it different colors?”
“Definitely yes.”
“Does it move?”
“Well, it doesn’t, but something about it does.”
Now the game was ruined. She glanced down and Harvey looked so miserable that she forgave him. She knelt by the bed. “You know, if you really want me to, I’ll go to that farm in Virginia, Harvey, and get your mother.”
“No.”
“But I wouldn’t mind. Really. I could make a hammock or two while I’m there. Bring you one for your birthday.”
“No.”
She got serious. “Look, Harvey, if your mother knew that you had these broken legs and that your father did it, she’d come get you. I know she would, and I—”
“No!”
“Well, I can go if I want to, Harvey, you can’t stop me.”
“No!”
The word was so agonized that Carlie stepped back from the bed. She stayed without speaking for a moment, then she stepped forward. “Oh, look,” she said. “I got some little decals and put them on my fingernails. Did you notice?” She waved her fingers in front of Harvey’s face. He closed his
eyes.
“I saw them.”
“Want me to put some on your toenails?”
“No.”
“Just on your big toenails then. Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.” She yanked down the sheet. “People always look at your legs because they stick out and the decals would be a nice touch. Give them a smile. What would you rather have—flowers or little black poodles?”
“No.”
Carlie bent closer. She looked at his feet. “Hey, wait a minute,” she said. “Did you know that your right toes are redder than your left ones? And they’re all swollen.”
“I don’t care.”
“They look terrible. Doesn’t your leg hurt?”
“No.”
“It does too. I’m getting Mrs. Mason.”
“I’m fine!”
Carlie ran from the room. “Mrs. Mason, come look at Harvey’s toes. I’m no nurse yet, but I know bad-looking toes when I see them, and these are bad-looking toes.”
20
Carlie and Thomas J were sitting on the front steps, waiting for Mrs. Mason and Harvey to get back from the hospital.
“I knew there was something wrong as soon as I saw those toes,” Carlie was saying.
“I didn’t see them, but I knew something was wrong.”
“I hope they just have to give him a shot or some pills. His birthday’s Friday.”
“I don’t know when my birthday is,” Thomas J said.
“Well, mine’s August seventh, and don’t forget it. That’s just three and a half weeks away.”
“I won’t forget.”
“Even if I’m gone, you send me something.”
“I’ll be glad to.”
“And I’ll make you up a birthday. You can have the same day as me if you want—August seventh.”
“All right.” The thought of his own birthday made him smile to himself.
“And how old you want to be? Eight? Nine?”
“Nine sounds good.”
“Nine it is.” She looked up the street. “I wonder what’s keeping them. It’s been two hours. Even I could give a shot in less than two hours and I haven’t even had nurse’s training yet.”
“Maybe he’ll have to stay in the hospital like the Benson twins.” Thomas J’s good feeling about having a birthday and being nine left him.
“Well, if he does, I sure hope they take better care of him. One of them died.”
“I know.”
“When I get to be a nurse, none of my patients are going to die. I’m going to make it real clear—no dying! I’ll get to be like—oh, like a good-luck nurse. People will ask for me—especially real sick people—because they’ll know my Number One Rule. No dying!” She got to her feet. “Here they come—oh, it’s only Mrs. Mason.” She ran to the driveway. “Where’s Harvey?”
“They’re keeping him in the hospital. The leg’s infected.”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s pretty bad, Carlie. And the worst thing is that he just doesn’t seem to care.”
“It’s that father of his. When I get my driver’s license I’m going looking for him.”
“Now, Carlie.”
“Well, Harvey’s been like that ever since his father came for that stinking visit.”
“The man’s got problems, Carlie.”
“Sure the man’s got problems. Everybody’s got problems, only they don’t run over their kid’s legs because of them.” She turned to Thomas J. “We’ll go see him right after supper and cheer him up.”
“I’m not very good at that sort of thing,” Thomas J said, recalling his failure with the Bensons.
“Well, you better get good at it pretty quick. I am not going to have Harvey lying up there in misery with his birthday this Friday. I was planning to bake him a cake.”
“You can still bake the cake and take it to the hospital,” Mrs. Mason said.
“It won’t be the same. A birthday away from home is bad enough, but a birthday in the hospital! Whoo! My birthday’s coming up in three and a half weeks and I better be home for it. I better get a floating opal too.” She started for the kitchen. “And Thomas J’s birthday is the same as mine, isn’t it, Thomas J?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s going to be nine, aren’t you, Thomas J?”
“Yes, nine,” he said firmly. He followed her into the kitchen.
21
Harvey was in a room by himself. He was, as Carlie had known he would be, staring up at the ceiling. When Carlie and Thomas J entered, they bumped into each other. They had known he would look bad, but not that bad.
“Well, look who’s come to visit you!” Carlie said.
Harvey turned his head to them. There was no expression on his face, but his lips were in a straighter line than usual.
“How’re you feeling?” Carlie asked, coming closer.
“All right.”
“Want me to roll up your bed?” she asked. “I love to do that. When I get to be a nurse I’m going to spend all my time rolling people up and down.”
“No thanks.”
“Oh, well, want a drink of water then? Look, Thomas J, they have special straws that bend.”
“The Benson twins had those.”
Carlie shot him a hard look. “Want a drink, Harvey?”
“No.”
“Well, can I have one then? I haven’t got anything catching.”
As she bent to drink, she suddenly straightened. “Hey, I’m going to have a surprise for you on your birthday. I’m not telling what it is, but I’m making it myself.” She paused, waited, then asked, “Want to guess?”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a hint. This thing I’m giving you is very useful and it’s also a thing of great beauty. Go ahead. Try and guess.”
Harvey was silent.
“Ask me questions. Come on. Ask things like ‘What color is it?’”
“What color is it?”
“Ah, the guessing is underway. The colors are black and white and pink and yellow.” She nudged Thomas J and grinned. Thomas J looked so puzzled that she leaned down and whispered, “It’s a chocolate cake with white icing, pink candles and yellow flames. Now don’t give it away.” She stood at the foot of the bed, waiting. Harvey was looking at the ceiling.
“I don’t think he’s going to guess,” Thomas J said.
Carlie said, “Well, if you really don’t want to guess, we’ll just wait and let it be a surprise.” She moved around the bed. “Oh, guess what happened today? This was so stupid. The phone rang and I picked it up and said, ‘Hello,’ and this girl’s voice said, ‘Hi, how are you?’ I said, ‘Oh, I’m fine, how are you?’ And she said, ‘Fine, what you doing?’ I said, ‘Nothing much, how about you?’ She said, ‘Watching TV, only nothing good’s on.’ I said, ‘It never is.’ Then there was a real long pause and she said in a kind of funny voice, ‘You know, I think maybe I’ve got the wrong number. Is this Marcie?’ I said, ‘No, it’s Carlie.’ And we hung up. I should have known nobody in this town would call me. Wasn’t that the stupidest thing. I almost died!”
Harvey didn’t answer.
Thomas J cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Mason’s going to take me fishing.”
“And you too, Harvey, soon as your legs get well,” Carlie said. “Although if it was me and I knew I’d have to go fishing when I got cured, I’d probably just stay on in the hospital.” There was a pause and then Carlie said, “Hey, did I show you my decals?” She held out her hands, then let them drop. “Oh, yeah, I did. Anyway I’m glad you got to see them this afternoon because when I was making peanut-butter-and-mayonnaise sandwiches for me and Thomas J, I dropped some mayonnaise on my nails and the decals melted.” She held out her hands. “It’s probably something in the mayonnaise.”
There was another silence. Carlie was still trying to think of something to say when the nurse put her head in the door. “Visiting hours are over.”
“But we just got here,” Carlie protested.
“Yo
u can come back tomorrow.”
“Just give me five more minutes,” Carlie begged. She could not bear to leave without cheering Harvey up. She looked at him. His face was still turned to the ceiling. She wanted to say something funny. She wanted to make Harvey laugh out loud. “Thomas J,” she said through her teeth. He shrugged helplessly.
Carlie knew she was on her own. She tried to think of something funny that had happened to someone else. Then she could turn it around and say it had happened to her. She did that all the time. But now her mind was blank.
“Well, we better go,” she said. She leaned over the bed. “Listen, everything will be all right,” she said. “I promise it will.” Then she turned to Thomas J and said, “Come on, the nurse’ll be chasing us out of here with hypodermic needles in a minute.”
They walked down the hall and out the front door of the hospital. “Well, Thomas J, you and me are failures at being cheerer-uppers.”
“I always have been,” he said.
“Well, I haven’t. I expected better of myself.” Carlie pulled her shoulders back. “Listen, all night you think of funny things to say and talk about, and I’ll do the same. Tomorrow we’ll be funny enough to go on ‘Hollywood Squares.’”
“I won’t.”
She turned and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Listen, tomorrow we are going to say funny things and I mean it. Right?”
“Right,” Thomas J answered.
22
It was Thursday night and Harvey was worse. Now he wouldn’t even speak to anyone. The nurses had started feeding him through a tube in his arm.
Harvey’s father had come on Wednesday and sat with him for over an hour. He had told the doctors in a loud voice that money was no object. He told them they could spend whatever they had to and he would foot the bill. He said he had just gotten a contract to build an eight-unit town house.
“We’re doing all we can now,” one of the doctors had answered.
Carlie was furious when she heard about it. “You mean they let that rotten bum come in Harvey’s room?”
“It’s his father, Carlie.”
“Whoo, next thing you know they’ll be letting germs and viruses in.”
