Staying back from the steep bank Joey searched near the pond. He found nothing. The doll must have gone in with her. Joey was tempted to leave it at that. He had done his duty. As he turned to leave Joey felt bad. He realized he wanted to do more than his duty. He wanted to find the doll for his sister.
It occurred to him that the doll might have fallen onto the muddy bank on the slope to the water. To find out he would have to go to the edge of that steep, slippery, slope and look. The thought of getting that close to the pond turned his stomach. A breeze brought a stronger whiff of the sick, musty pond smell to his nose. The memory of the green water closing over his head flashed in his brain. Joey closed his eyes to get a hold of himself. He had to at least look.
Getting down on all fours he crawled to the edge of the bank. There it was, sitting just over the edge. It was face down and pressed into the mud as if Glory had slid over it on her way into the water.
As he reached down to retrieve the doll he glanced at the water—green, still, and deadly. The taste of it rose in his mouth. Grabbing the doll he backed away quickly.
On his way home Joey wiped mud from the doll’s face. He used his fingernail to clean its eyes and lips. The dreadlocks were slimy. The doll stank of swamp.
When he walked into the kitchen he found Beezer and Story playing poker with Uno cards and the chocolate golden coins.
“You’re bluffing,” Story said. “I’ll call you a liar and raise you a hundred.” Story threw a handful of coins on a big pile in the middle of the table.
“Beat this,” Beezer said. “Three green twos, a red seven, a blue three, and . . .” he paused for dramatic effect “Draw Four!”
“Ha! TWO Draw Fours AND a Draw two.”
“You cheat!” Beezer bellowed. Story chortled deviously as he reached out with both arms and pulled the pile of coins into his already large stash.
Beezer glanced at Joey and the doll as Joey passed. He gave a satisfied nod. Joey took the doll to the bathroom and put it under running water. The body cleaned up easily, but he couldn’t get the slimy mud out of the dreadlocks. Joey took out the rubber bands so he could get water through her hair more easily. He hoped Glory wouldn’t mind. Using hand soap he washed her hair and dried it with a towel. Joey tried to wash the slime stains out of the thin fabric the doll had for a dress, but couldn’t.
“Sorry, girl,” he said to the doll. “My laundry skills aren’t too good.”
The doll’s hair kinked and stuck out in clumps, but at least it was clean. He took a comb breaking it as he forced it through the doll’s hair. If the doll were a real girl Joey figured she would take one look in the mirror and shoot herself. Joey glanced in the mirror. He paused at the sight of himself combing the hair of his sister’s doll. He almost didn’t recognize the boy in the mirror.
Taking the doll to Glory’s room he laid it carefully against the pillow in the middle of the other dolls.
“Take care of her,” he said to the other dolls. “She nearly died today.”
Downstairs he found Story asleep on the couch in front of the T.V. It was playing The Emperor’s New Groove, a family favorite. A breeze came through the open window and made the curtains dance around Story’s feet. The gold coins filled a small box that had “Kraft Macaroni and Cheese” printed on the side. He found Beezer in the kitchen wearing the frilly apron. He had peeled potatoes and was cutting them up into a pot of boiling water.
“Cheesy potato soup,” Beezer said without turning around. “You’ll like it so much I’ll have to teach your mother how to make it.”
Joey moved to stand near Beezer. It had been a very eventful day. Fatigue and sadness caught up with him.
“What do you think is taking them so long?” Joey asked.
Beezer was cutting cheddar cheese into cubes. “Hospitals can be very busy places.”
“What if Glory . . .” Joey began to say.
“You know she’s going to be all right,” Beezer interrupted. “When given the gift of faith, don’t just throw it away.”
When talking with Beezer earlier that day he had felt that Glory was going to be okay. Was that the “faith” Beezer spoke of?
“You don’t look so good,” Beezer said.
“I don’t feel so good,” Joey answered.
“Your sister is going to be okay. I’m making you my cheesy potato soup. Story is rich. You should be feeling great.”
For once Beezer was wrong.
“I almost killed my sister today.” Joey blurted it out. How could he “feel great?” He could barely hold back the tears.
Beezer didn’t say anything. He stirred the melting cheese into the soup. After an agonizing twenty seconds he said, “Funny thing is, when I got to the pond I found you saving her life.”
Beezer didn’t understand. Joey couldn’t hold his secret inside him. “If I hadn’t run away she wouldn’t have fallen in in the first place.”
“So you ran off?” Beezer said. He glanced at Joey as if seeing him for the first time. Joey couldn’t meet his eyes. Beezer sipped a spoonful of soup. “Mmmm,” he said.
Beezer lowered the heat, wiped his hands on his apron, and turned to Joey. “Can you be so sure that if you had been there she wouldn’t have fallen in?”
Joey thought about this. No, he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t have full control over Glory on the best of days. But that wasn’t the point.
“I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to be doing when she fell in,” he said.
“I won’t argue with that,” Beezer said, offering no consolation.
There was more to Joey’s confession. He had a hard time getting it out. “An . . . and then I was too afraid to jump in.” Tears slipped from his eyes. He let them roll off his chin.
“So why did I find you in the pond giving your life for your sister?” As he said this Beezer turned and poured a can of evaporated milk into the soup.
Joey didn’t answer. It’s true, he had jumped in. What Beezer didn’t know was that he wouldn’t have jumped in if the voice in his head hadn’t made him jump. He would have stood there and let Glory die. Joey heard the gurgle she made before she slipped under the last time. Joey closed his eyes and cringed at the memory. He wanted to explain all this to Beezer, but he couldn’t find the words.
Beezer turned and looked down at Joey. His big eyes were serious. “Did anyone push you in, or did you slip in, too?”
“No,” Joey said. His voice came out raspy. “I jumped in.”
Beezer turned to look at Joey. “So you were afraid to jump in, but you jumped in anyway? You know what that’s called?”
Joey shook his head.
“That’s called courage.” He said this gently, proudly. Turning back to the stove he stirred the soup.
Joey heard the muffled sound of crunching gravel and a truck engine. He ran to the front door to see Mrs. Johanaby getting out. His heart skipped a beat. Where was Glory?
Mrs. Johanaby walked to the passenger side, opened the door and lifted Glory out in her arms. Joey watched as she brought Glory up the steps. Glory was awake. Their eyes met as they passed. She looked tired and pale, but was very much alive. Mrs. Johanaby took her straight upstairs and put her to bed.
Joey was setting the table when Mrs. Johanaby came in. She looked pale and tired too.
“The soup is ready,” Beezer said. “Sit down and have a bowl.”
Mrs. Johanaby looked around the kitchen and slowly took in what Beezer had been doing.
“Oh,” she said, looking awkward. She sat down next to a bowl full of steaming potato soup. For an instant Joey caught a glimpse of Mrs. Johanaby as a little girl doing as her mother asked.
As Joey and Mrs. Johanaby ate Beezer cleaned up the counter and then walked to the back door.
“Aren’t you going to have some soup?” asked Mrs. Johanaby.
“Nope,” said Beezer. “I just made enough for you. My dinner is waiting back at the cottage.”
It was then Mrs. Johanaby noticed that Story
wasn’t there with them. “Where . . . ?” she began.
“He’s asleep in the TV room, Mom,” Joey said.
“He’s probably out for the night,” Beezer added. “He found a fortune today. That tends to wear a kid out. Well, g’night.” He went out the screen door into the dusk.
“A fortune?” Mrs. Johanaby asked. She asked it tiredly like she didn’t have enough energy to hear the answer. She took a sip of soup.
“It was a game.” Joey offered.
Mrs. Johanaby looked at Joey not really comprehending. Then looking down at her bowl said, “This soup is really good.”
“He says he’ll teach you the recipe if you like.”
Mrs. Johanaby looked up and managed a weak smile. “Would you like?” she asked.
The question made Joey feel good. For the first time since she had walked in the door she was actually present with him.
“How’s Glory?” Joey asked more casually than he felt.
Mrs. Johanaby took her time with a spoonful of soup before answering. “She’s going to be fine,” she said.
“You were gone so long.”
Mrs. Johanaby put her spoon down and rubbed her temples as if the memory gave her a headache.
“It was a madhouse at the emergency room. A nurse looked her over briefly. Then we sat for two hours before a doctor saw her.”
Mrs. Johanaby’s voice wavered with emotion. “She was coughing and I was so scared. Finally when the doctor did see her he thought it might be good to keep her for observation overnight in the hospital.” Mrs. Johanaby stopped and covered her face with her hands.
“But you brought her home,” Joey said.
Mrs. Johanaby removed her hands and said rather fiercely, “Because when he found out we didn’t have insurance he suddenly decided she was going to be fine!”
They sat in silence and stared at each other. Joey looked down at the last potato in his bowl. “Is she?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, I think she is. She just needs a good rest.” Mrs. Johanaby spoke as if trying to convince herself. She went on, stress edging her voice, “It’s best she came home. I don’t know how we’ll even pay for the emergency room visit.”
Joey’s heart ached at his mother’s distress. It ached all the more because he knew his actions had caused it.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“No! Don’t you be sorry for anything. You are a good boy and a good son. I shouldn’t be telling you all my problems. I’m the sorry one.”
“Mom?” Joey said.
“I’m sorry your father died,” Mrs. Johanaby went on. “I’m sorry I don’t have more job skills so you don’t have to babysit. I’m sorry . . .”
“Mom?” Joey spoke a little louder.
“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, Joey,” she said. She put her spoon down and wiped tears from her eyes, and then tried to go on. “This afternoon, Joey, at the pond. I . . . I didn’t . . . Oh, I’m so sorry.” She put her hands to her face and sobbed.
Joey felt his heart breaking. He had seen his mother like this once before. It was at Mr. Johanaby’s funeral. She hadn’t cried about his death until the memorial. As the speakers brought all the memories to the surface her grief overflowed. It looked to Joey like she was suffering that same kind of grief all over again. This time it was his fault.
Joey knew what his mom was going to say. She was thinking of how she had forgotten him in the pond after pulling Glory out.
“Mom!” Joey said. He almost shouted the word to get her attention. Her sobbing continued, but she looked at him. “It’s okay. Really it is.”
Now Joey began to cry. “I deserved it, Mom.”
Mrs. Johanaby reacted as if shocked by an electric current. Her sobs stopped suddenly. “What are you talking about?” Her voice was cold and wary. “Deserved what?” she asked.
“Mom,” he said. He stopped while trying to gain courage to say the words. “Mom, I wasn’t there when Glory fell in.” Joey’s voice broke as he sobbed some more.
“You weren’t there?” Mrs. Johanaby echoed.
“Glory made me mad this morning and I ran away. I abandoned them.”
Joey suddenly felt afraid as he saw understanding growing in his mother’s eyes. He shouldn’t have told her. What would come next would be too much. He covered his face with his hands.
“You left them alone?” There was bewilderment in her voice with a hint of anger at the edge. “Joey? You left them alone?” The pitch of her voice was rising. “How could you!”
The question ran like a spear through his heart. How could he? He had betrayed his mother, his brother and sister. He was something worse than a coward. What was the word for that?
Joey felt desperate from shame. He would say anything to make his Mom love him again.
“So you see, Mom, it’s okay. At the pond this afternoon, when you . . .”
Like his mother Joey couldn’t say the words.
“What’s okay?” Mrs. Johanaby sounded hysterical. “That your sister almost drowned because you weren’t there?”
“NO, Mom. That’s not what I meant. That’s not wh . . .”
In his guilt his tongue tripped over the words.
“I was bad. I was wrong.” Joey’s sobs made his words come out slurred and broken. “That’s why what happened after, what happened with . . . with you is okay.”
The weight of the silence that followed crushed the sobs out of him. Joey looked up to see Mrs. Johanaby staring at him with her mouth open, a look of horror on her face. Of all the times Joey had made his mother angry he had never seen her reach this point. He felt fear like a person would feel just before the firing squad pulls the trigger, just before you are caught doing something awful.
“Mom,” he whispered.
“NO, JOEY! NO!” Mrs. Johanaby screamed. She pounded the table with each “no.” “Nothing today is okay. It’s NOT okay that you ran away. It’s NOT okay that your sister almost drowned. And it’s definitely not . . . it’s certainly . . . it’s terribly . . .” Mrs. Johanaby struggled for words. She gave up and repeated, “NO, Joey. NO!”
Joey understood. The truth was a horrible monster. He would never be able to hide or outrun it. No, Joey was not okay. No, Joey was not brave. No, Joey was not loyal. No, Joey did not deserve his mother’s love. No, Joey did not deserve to be saved.
With a wail of despair Joey ran from the kitchen leaving his chair lying on its side on the floor. In the hallway he ran directly into Story who, half asleep, was nonetheless carrying his box of golden coins. Coins hit the roof before landing with Story on the floor. Joey bolted for the stairs. Behind him he heard Story waking up enough to cry. He heard the desperate tone in Mrs. Johanaby’s voice as she called his name.
When he ran past Glory’s room he thought he heard a little voice call his name. Not slowing down he ran to the attic stairs slamming the door behind him. He was halfway up the stairs before he turned back and locked the door. He wanted to be alone.
The moon was full. Soft light streamed in his windows brightening the room. He threw himself on his bed and buried his face in his pillow. Something hard and irregular was in the way. It was a doll; the same doll Glory had dropped at the pond. The doll was not welcome. He blindly launched the doll across the room. He had meant it to hit the wall. Instead it flew out the window into the branches of the weeping willow. He put his face in his pillow and cried himself to sleep.
Chapter 10
Long after Joey had fallen asleep movement disturbed the stillness of the night. Something gentle, soft, entered Joey’s window. A breath of damp, night air brushed Joey’s cheek. Joey was so exhausted he could have slept through a thunder storm. But in this almost imperceptible movement of air someone called Joey’s name. Pulled unwilling from a deep sleep Joey rolled over and sat up. Groggily, he looked for whoever had spoken to him. There was no one there. Someone had whispered in his ear and awoken him. He was certain. A faint scent of lilacs lingered in the room.
“Who�
��s there?” Joey said. The presence, or the memory of the presence, brought no fear.
In response Joey heard the sound of wind chimes. They were soft and faraway. Joey held his breath. The chimes sounded like crystal goblets tapped by a silver spoon. The sound was beautiful to the ear and the heart. Joey could have sat there forever listening.
The chimes stopped suddenly as if someone had turned off a radio.
“No,” Joey said in alarm. Silence filled the space the chimes had taken. Joey went to the window hoping to hear the chimes again. He needed to hear them again. There was something soothing and healing in their sound.
The full moon was in the western sky casting long shadows on the ground. The night air was warm and sweet. Joey took a deep breath. He picked out the scents of grass, trees, lilacs, and faintly, the sour smell of the distant pond.
The smell of the pond brought back the memory of his sister and the near tragedy that day.
The doll!
He had accidentally thrown the doll out this window before he went to sleep. He couldn’t see it in the shadows below. How had the doll gotten in his room anyway? He had left it on Glory’s pillow. Had Glory brought it up? That didn’t seem likely. When he saw her she had looked too weak to walk.
Unable to understand how it arrived on his pillow Joey wondered why it was there. That scraggly doll was Glory’s favorite. Joey knew that. She would never give that doll to someone she liked let alone someone she hated, like Joey. Giving the doll away would be a sacrifice for her.
A thought came to Joey quietly, clearly, like the sound of the chimes. The doll was Glory’s way of telling him “thank you?” The idea moved him deeply. This feeling was immediately pushed aside by guilt. He had almost let her drown. He physically shuddered with shame at the memory. She didn’t know or she wouldn’t be sacrificing something so important to her.
Another realization slipped into his mind. His mother had not known he had abandoned his brother and sister. She had not known Glory and Story were by themselves when Glory fell into the pond. Glory hadn’t told her. Why?
Joey and the Magic Map Page 13
