Looking at Glory Joey remembered her doll. It was sitting all alone on the rock looking out across the lake with those unblinking eyes. Those serene eyes—it was like the doll had known all along he would make it. Thinking of the doll and how much it had meant to him to find it by the lake, Joey felt a wave of love for Glory. He stepped forward to give her a hug.
“Eww,” she said, darting back into the TV room. “You’re all wet.”
Joey looked down at the puddle that was forming around him. Fair enough, he thought.
Story still stood there staring dubiously at him. Joey made as if to give him a hug. Story screamed in delight and darted after Glory.
Upstairs Joey studied the ripped corner of the map. His mother had given it back to him. He was glad the paper was so thick, almost like cloth. Otherwise it wouldn’t have survived the soaking it had taken. The Home Heart was more precious to him than anything he owned. He laid it on his desk under a book to flatten it as it dried.
He peeled off his wet clothes, dried himself with an old t-shirt, and pulled on dry clothes. He sighed with pleasure when he finished dressing. Sitting on his bed he looked out the weeping willow window. He could see the branch Henrietta and he sat on—was it last night?
A sudden intuition saddened Joey. He was never going to see Henrietta again. Her job here was done.
“No!” he said in disappointment. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.” After a moment he added more softly, “I didn’t get to say thank you.”
A feeling of depression and unfairness threatened his joy. He leaned forward and put his face in his hands. Betraying his disappointment an almost playful thought came into his head. “Why not say it now?”
Joey closed his eyes. He smiled. Yes, why not, he thought.
“Thank you, Henrietta.” He spoke the words as if she were there. “Thank you.” Tingles spread across his chest and arms.
Joey found a bowl of Cream of Wheat sitting at his spot at the kitchen table. A bag of gummy bears and brown sugar sat next to it. Mrs. Johanaby sat in her bathrobe wearing a towel around her head like a turban. She was reading from a sheaf of papers.
“Thanks, Mom,” Joey said, sitting down.
Mrs. Johanaby looked up and smiled her too big smile. Joey drank it in like sunshine.
“I stayed up all night writing this,” she said.
“Is it a paper for your class?” Joey asked.
“No, it’s a story about one Joey Johanaby, my son,” she said. She looked at him almost shyly. “After yesterday at the pond . . .” Her voice wavered and her hand went to her mouth.
Joey squirmed in his seat. He didn’t like seeing his mom vulnerable.
“It’s okay, M—” he started to say.
“NO, it’s not,” she said. Taking a big breath she blurted out, “Joey, I forgot to come back for you yesterday!” She put her hands over her face this time. Tears dripped off her palms. When she lowered her hands her eyes were red and swollen. “There, I said it. I actually said it.” Her voice wavered. Joey heard a hint of relief in it.
“What kind of mother forgets one of her own children?” She was looking at Joey, but she wasn’t asking him the question. “Every time I look at you for the rest of my life I will relive that moment.”
She looked at him now and Joey could see it in her eyes—she was reliving that moment of horror.
That moment had stayed with Joey, too. She had pulled Glory from the pond and left him. He was aware that this was wrong, but he hadn’t dwelt on it. The guilt he felt about abandoning the twins, and then his hesitation to jump in to save Glory made Joey feel like his Mom had a right to punish him. Joey started to understand that maybe this wasn’t true.
Joey sensed the power he held over his mother. The fact that she forgot him would be a fact for eternity. For the rest of her life he could bring it up whenever he wanted. This idea appeared in Joey’s mind for only a moment. He let it go like a child lets go of a balloon to watch it float away in the sky.
His mother had made a mistake. Beezer had been there to save her from the consequences of her mistake. Captain Call had made a mistake. Joey had been there to help soften the consequences of his mistake. Since his father’s death, Joey thought of his whole life as a mistake. Beezer and Henrietta showed up to help correct this thinking. Mrs. Johanaby needed his help now.
Joey slipped out of his chair. He went to Mrs. Johanaby and put a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t respond. Joey reached under her hands to her chin. He gently turned her face toward his and looked into her tired, brown eyes.
“Mom,” he said. “I know you love me.” In guilt she tried to turn her head back to her hands. Joey wouldn’t let her. “When you look at me the rest of your life, all you should see is a son who loves you more than anything in the world.”
Mrs. Johanaby broke down in a storm of emotion that washed over Joey like the pouring rain. She hugged him and kissed him and then hugged him more.
After a time she let him loose. “I wrote this for you,” she said. She handed him the sheaf of papers. “Excuse me.” She got up and left the kitchen.
Joey felt a little dizzy from emotion, or hunger, maybe both. He set the papers in his spot at the table. He dropped gummy bears into his cereal followed by brown sugar. He was going to read while he ate. When he put the first spoonful of hot cereal in his mouth he couldn’t stop eating until he scraped his bowl clean.
“Oh, that’s good,” he said.
His hunger satisfied Joey picked up the papers and started to read. It was a story of sorts. At first he thought it was about his mother. Then he thought it was about him. Finally he realized it was their story.
He read about his birth and the first time she held him. She was only eighteen. Being a mother terrified her. He read of diaper changes and throw-up. He felt her disappointment when he said “Dad” before “Mom.” There was her hysteria when they couldn’t find him one afternoon. Finally they had found him in the car where he had been playing and fallen asleep. She wrote of the only time she had ever spanked him. She felt so bad that she never did it again. She had remembered her first day of school when she took him to kindergarten. She was overwhelmed when the twins were born. She knew he felt left out, but didn’t know what to do.
Joey smiled broadly as he read about these first years. Mrs. Johanaby had told him some of these stories before. On paper they became more real. His mother became more sharply defined in his mind. His smile left as he read on.
Her husband and best friend in the universe got sick and died. There was no going on after that, except for the kids. She wrote of fear and loneliness in a way that nearly broke Joey’s heart. She wrote of how much she depended on Joey—so much that she almost forgot he was only twelve-years-old. She described her feelings of horror at the pond when she realized what she had done. She wrote that if she had lost her husband and Joey she couldn’t go on. Even if he forgave her she would always be guilty of what she had forgotten at the pond.
“Not guilty, Mom,” he mumbled. “Not guilty.”
She finished by professing her love and promising before God she would never forget again.
Mrs. Johanaby was still “Mom” to Joey, but after reading her story there was much more Molly to her.
“Molly,” he said out loud. “Molly.” He thought it was a pretty name.
Story and Glory came running into the kitchen.
“Not fair,” Story said. “You got gummy bears.”
“I get gummy bears, too,” said Glory, grabbing the bag.
“You get four,” Joey said, sensing that winning a battle by giving up some would be easier than giving up none.
“You’re not the boss of—”
“You get four,” Joey interrupted, looking into her eyes and raising an eyebrow.
Glory, annoyed, frowned. Then she giggled and said, “Okay.”
Not letting Story get his own she gave him four, took four for herself, and then led the way out of the room. Facing down Glory wasn’t as noble
as facing down pirates, but he liked the way it felt.
It rained for the next two days. They were all stuck in the house fighting cabin fever. Joey often thought he heard chimes through the sound of the rain on the windows. It was always just his imagination. Joey wanted to discuss his adventures with Beezer. He looked out of his window at the garage hoping to see colorful, glowing bubbles rising through the roof. Beezer’s windows remained dark. He never showed up at their door. Joey read, drew pictures, and played Uno Poker with Glory and Story for chocolate coins. The poker games ended when they ate the last of the winnings. Chocolate smudges remained on the cards.
The third morning the sky was clear with sunshine imminent. Joey, Glory and Story went outside after breakfast to introduce themselves to nature again. They immediately started a game of puddle jumping. This quickly turned into puddle splashing and mudslinging.
Joey escaped by going to the garage. He wanted to see if Beezer was around. As he slid the door open he smiled at the smell of oil and old engines. He felt he was returning after a long absence. Feeling none of his usual fears of the dark and oily interior he went straight to Beezer’s door. He knocked and the door swung open. It hadn’t been shut all the way. Joey stared in dismay. The room was empty. There were no trains or swords. There were no models or kites. The room was empty. Beezer was gone.
Joey stood trying to control a feeling of despair. Henrietta and Beezer were gone. It left a hole in Joey’s heart right next to his father’s.
“Why do people have to leave?” he said. He could almost taste his disappointment.
Joey stepped into the empty room. Bright sunlight streamed through the three back windows. Dust floated in the sunbeams. Even in its emptiness there was something lovely about the room. When he turned around to leave, he saw it—the rocket that had hung so long in the tree. It was leaning against the wall behind the door. He stared at it a long time without moving. Beezer hadn’t left it by accident. Joey took comfort in its presence as if it were Beezer himself. A small envelope was taped to it. Stepping over he took out a folded piece of paper. Opening it he read:
Nobody leaves forever.
Joey stared at this sentence and smiled. It meant so many things. There was another line written further down the paper.
If you ever need me. Use the rocket!
As Joey thought about what that might mean he heard chimes. They were more distinct than he had ever heard them before. His first thought was of Henrietta. There was something different about these chimes. They actually sounded like they came from this world.
Joey ran out of the garage and looked toward the house. Glory and Story, dripping with mud, stood under the weeping willow near the house. They were staring up through the limbs.
“Have those always been there?” Glory asked, as Joey approached.
“We would have heard’em before,” said Story. “But I’ve never looked up there before.”
High above, tied to the limb Joey and Henrietta had sat on, were a set a chimes. Joey knew for a fact they hadn’t been there before. Their appearance brought brightness to his heart. Only Henrietta would have left such a gift in such a place.
Glory gasped. “Is that my doll?”
Joey looked again. A doll sat leaning against the trunk on the same limb the chimes were tied to.
“Would you look at that,” Joey said. Was it the same doll he had left at the lake? It didn’t look like it.
Glory ran to the tree. She couldn’t reach the lowest limb. Looking at Joey and asked, “Can you get it?”
“Yes, I can.” Joey started up the tree while Glory and Story hopped and twirled in excitement below.
“Careful!” Glory ordered. “Don’t knock the doll off.”
As he got closer he caught his breath at the beauty of the chimes. Hanging from a polished circle of dark wood were eight narrow tubes that tinkled happily. Between each tube hung tiny decorative figurines. There were two sailing ships, four colorful birds, and two pine trees. A smaller circle of wood hung in the middle of the tubes to knock the tubes and make them ring when the wind blew. Hanging underneath the knocker was a likeness of Beezer’s coke bottle glasses. This made Joey laugh.
“What’s so funny?” called Glory.
“Nothing,” Joey answered.
The chimes hung on the limb not too far from the house. They were near his attic window. He would be able to hear them in his room. It would be like Henrietta was always with him.
“I love you, Henrietta,” he said.
Joey stopped and stared as he approached the doll. He carefully picked it up and sat on the limb to study it. Was this the doll he left beside the lake? He wasn’t certain. The wild hair had been tamed into curls like Henrietta’s. Instead of a little white slip of a dress the doll now wore a hoop skirt with beautiful detail. Little, dainty boots were on its feet with real laces. It was lovely.
The eyes gave it away. They were blue and looked at him with a serenity that spoke of cool mountain air and the scent of pines.
“You clean up better than I do,” Joey said.
“Hurry! Bring it down.” Glory called.
Joey put the doll up to his nose and breathed in. He smelled plastic, fake hair, a hint of Glory . . . and lilacs.
It was hard climbing down the tree with the doll in one hand. “You could have put the doll lower down,” Joey said with a grin.
Glory’s mouth fell open when Joey showed her the doll. She moved to grab it, but Joey, held it away.
“Uh uh. Mud!”
Glory looked at herself and groaned with impatience.
“Ohhhh!” she said. “Did you do this?”
“Henrietta did,” Joey said.
“Henrietta? The ghost?”
Again she reached to touch. Joey held it away.
“I won’t touch it. I promise. You think I want to get her dirty?” Joey brought the doll forward. Glory traced the dolls body with her finger without actually touching her.
“How do you know Henrietta did this?” she asked. Joey noticed Glory didn’t question Henrietta’s existence.
“Because it looks just like her,” he said.
“You’ve seen her?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s a good story,” Joey said. “Maybe I’ll tell it to you out here under the tree tonight.”
Glory looked at him, a spark of excitement in her eyes. “Story! Joey’s going to tell us about Henrietta tonight.”
“Alright!” Story called. He had tired of the doll and was floating sticks in a puddle.
Glory looked serious. “I gave her to you,” she said, not asking the question that was on her mind
“She’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received,” said Joey.
Glory nodded. She knew that.
After what was an agonizing pause for Glory, he continued. “But I don’t know how to take care of such a fine doll. Would you take care of her for me?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Glory said jumping in a circle. “Henrietta,” she said, again bringing her hand lovingly close to the doll without touching her. “That’s her name. Oh, I’ve just got to hold her,” she squealed. “You hold her until I get cleaned up,” she ordered. The screen door slammed as she went through. In a moment she stuck her head back out.
“Nicely!” she yelled. She saw Joey holding the doll in the crook of his arm like an infant. “Okay, that’s weird,” she yelled and disappeared inside.
At lunch over grilled cheese sandwiches Mrs. Johanaby read a note Beezer had left them. She had found it on the kitchen counter.
Dear Johanabys. It may be a while before you see me again. I have some friends who need my help. They live quite a ways from here and I don’t know how long I will be gone. Mrs. Johanaby, you are a fine woman and mother. With Joey’s help you and your family are going to be just fine. I’ll be in touch. God bless you.
Beezer
“Ohhh,” Story whined. “Beezer was so much fun.” Story was thinking of treasure chests and golden chocolate coins.
>
Joey watched Mrs. Johanaby read the letter again to herself. She looked at him when she finished. “He sounds pretty confident that we’ll be fine,” she said.
“Sometimes you just know things without knowing how you know, you know?” Joey said.
“I’ll have to puzzle that one out,” Mrs. Johanaby said with a smile.
That night Joey kept his promise. With Mrs. Johanaby’s permission they got to stay up later than usual. She even gave Joey permission to build a fire using a garbage can lid as a fire pit. He used his new-found flint and steel skills to build the fire. Glory and Story were impressed.
As the stars came out, Joey started his tale. He wondered if they would make fun of his story. They didn’t. They listened almost reverently accepting every detail of his story as the truth.
“I knew Beezer was magic,” Story said when he heard about the magic bubbles. “How else could he turn gold into chocolate?”
Glory was sad when she heard Joey’s version of how Henrietta had died. She almost cried when she understood how bad Colonel Horsebaum felt about what happened.
“Poor Colonel Horsebaum,” she said. “Henrietta forgave him, didn’t she?”
“Yes,” Joey said, knowing that Henrietta wouldn’t have been able to help him if she hadn’t.
Glory and Story covered their faces with their hands at the parts about the pirates and the eagle. They clapped when Henrietta appeared to Joey in the forest. They were “wowed” by his life jacket and dive to the map.
“They’re gone now, aren’t they,” Glory said. She seemed to sense it, like Joey did.
“Gone is the wrong word,” Joey said, thoughtfully. “‘Gone’ is for that ice cream you ate last week or for that dollar you spent at the dollar store for that squirt gun that broke the next day. ‘Gone’ is never for people, especially people you love. They are never ‘gone.’ They are just somewhere else at the moment.”
“Dad,” said Story, quietly.
“Yes, Dad’s not gone,” Joey said. “I know that now.”
Joey and the Magic Map Page 23
