“No big deal,” I answer, wishing it were true. “Your mom may have her way anyhow. I may be moving.” Or we may be run out of town. “My uncle could be getting a new job. Someplace else.”
“Leaving Destiny?” She clutches my arm like she’s trying to keep me here forever.
“Nothing’s decided. I’ll be around for Destiny Day.”
“Destiny Day! Almost forgot!” She digs through her knapsack and holds up a dirty, unraveling baseball. “Cool, huh?”
I run my hand over the torn stitching, toss it up and down a couple of times. “Where’d you get this?”
“Behind the Rest Easy, near the toolshed. Proves there were baseball players living there. It’s ancient! Bet it’s been there twenty years.”
“Anabel, a baseball could have been there one year and still look like that.” I stand up and touch the old tackle box, safe inside my knapsack.
“Well, it’s research. Going in our project.” She sticks the ball in her own knapsack, and we walk together into school. With Anabel next to me, I don’t even notice the faces staring out from those class pictures in the hall.
After school, my uncle’s sitting on his bed with his tool chest wide open. A baseball game’s on the radio, like everything’s hunky-dory. But if he hasn’t apologized to Miss Sister, I’m not talking.
“Theo.” Uncle Raymond nods my way, swishes his rag across his ball-peen hammer, then holds it up to the light, checking for specks of dirt. “School all right today?” He tests the hammer against his hand, popping it once or twice, then moves on to a wrench.
I stand in the doorway, arms crossed.
“You hear me, boy?” he says, his narrowing eyes turning mean.
“School was okay,” I mumble.
Just to show him how okay it was, I open a book. He’ll never know it’s a book I haven’t looked at before and don’t need to look at now. Finally, I glance up, asking what we both know needs explaining. “What about Miss Sister? You put that money back and apologize?”
“I spoke to her. We’re squared away.” My uncle lines up screwdrivers in his big tool chest, tallest and fattest first. He pulls out a sharp knife and scrapes gunk off one before adding it to the chest. “You know, Theo,” he says. “You and me gonna stay together, you need to keep out of my business.”
“Not if it gets me in trouble I won’t.”
“Careful how you speak to your elders, boy.” Uncle Raymond’s tapping that sharp knife against his metal tool chest. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Bet you never talked back to your granddaddy like that,” he says.
“Granddaddy never did anything wrong.” All I hear is the sound of my uncle breathing and the knife dropping against the top of the tool chest. I scoot to the far end of my bed.
Uncle Raymond turns, stands up, and smacks both hands against the dresser hard. “Nothing wrong? How ’bout letting his daughter run off to learn how to be a musician? That’s where she learned to carry signs claiming soldiers were nothing but baby killers. Where she and that no-count musician of a husband spit on soldiers, burned the American flag.”
“My mama and daddy?” I stare out my window at the afternoon sun, but cold air has slipped into our room, making me shiver. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“They did it, and worse.” His voice cracks with hatefulness. “And your granddaddy didn’t do a thing. Didn’t tell her she’d better stand up for family. Even if that family was nothing but a army grunt like me.”
I’m shaking too hard to answer.
Uncle Raymond’s words get louder. “See this here?” He picks up his knife. “This was more help than my sister ever was. Stayed with me every day in Vietnam. A good-luck piece. Kept me safe. Knife this sharp can do some damage.”
I push my hand into my pocket to touch my coin.
“Sure didn’t have luck after I came back from that war.” Now he’s almost hollering. “Deserved more respect. So I don’t need no mouthing off from you about what I oughta be doing. I took you in because I had to. You’re supposed to be family. Start acting like it! You hear me?” He holds the knife up and takes a step toward my bed before jamming it back in its sheath. He bangs closed his tool chest and shoves it under the bed, then takes another step toward me.
Pushing my back hard into the wall, I get as far from my uncle as I can in this little room. But I’m mad, too. I say quietly, “I’ll start acting like family when you prove you are my family.”
Uncle Raymond steps closer, poking a dirty fingernail into my forehead, holding it there till it hurts. “I’m all you got, boy. Think about that for a while.” And he storms out the door, leaving me shaking on the bed.
At suppertime, I stay in my room and eat stale saltines left from the chicken noodle soup. Music on the radio lulls me to sleep even before it’s dark out.
When I wake up the next morning, Uncle Raymond’s gone. Or maybe he never came home. What difference does it make? He’s changed me from a perfectly normal kid growing up on a farm with grandparents who loved me a lot. Happily riding the school bus with the same friends every day for most of my life. And now? I’m living in a rooming house with an uncle who wishes I hadn’t been born.
Slamming my books into my knapsack, I leave for school without making up my bed or even putting away my toothbrush and comb.
All the way home that day, I’m humming “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.” Maybe my uncle will be waiting for me at the Rest Easy, and everything’s back to normal. Whatever that is. Maybe he’ll get to know my cool friend who loves baseball. This summer Anabel will teach me to body surf. Me and Uncle Raymond, we’ll go fishing and swimming together.
Well, maybe not swimming. And maybe everything isn’t okay. My stomach tightens up remembering last night.
I round the corner and see Mamie at the mailbox. Again. Holding a piece of fat yellow chalk. “I’m gonna lie down over there now.” She points to the sidewalk. “You want to trace me from head to toe?”
“No, thanks.”
“Wanna hear a joke? What game do baby fish play? Come on, Theo. Guess.”
I don’t need to answer.
“Salmon says!”
I don’t even smile.
“You sure are being mean to me. Did you tell Miss Sister you robbed her money?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I keep walking toward the front porch.
“Lying and stealing,” she hollers. “You are gonna get in big trouble. Miss Sister’ll tan your hide.” Then Mamie and her chalk take off.
Inside, I slip into the dance studio and stash my knapsack under the piano bench. Miss Sister’s not here, but I open her piano and run my fingers fast up and down the keyboard. If I’m going to master her Destiny Day dance recital numbers, I can’t think about my uncle. I can’t think about that pest Mamie or Anabel’s mom. My fingers are flying. The stolen money, leaving Destiny, all my worries pour out with the music. “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” pushes Uncle Raymond clear out of my head.
Miss Sister sways slowly across the polished floor and sits beside me. “Beautiful, Theo! Better than the recording. You’re ready to play at the recital.”
“Maybe. If Uncle Raymond doesn’t haul me out of here before then,” I say quietly.
“Your uncle’s not taking you anywhere. I’ll see to that,” Miss Sister says.
Like that’s that. Easy peasy. “He told me about looking for a new job.”
“Foolishness!” Miss Sister claps her hands together. “Now let’s get back to what’s important. Playing for the recital. You’ll be my first live piano man!” She listens while I hit the fast notes, swaying, her eyes closed, smiling at me.
But something still swirling in my head pushes the music away. “I found something in your attic,” I say, leaning down to open my knapsack. “I took it.”
Her eyebrows go straight up. “Nothing up there but dust, spiderwebs, and faded costumes.”
“This was beside a trunk pushed in the corner.” I pull out the tackle box and show her the photog
raphs, the ticket stubs. “Anabel and I need it for our baseball history project.”
“Glad to hear that girl’s up to something good. She’s usually just figuring out ways to skip out of dance class.” Miss Sister winks.
“I’m sorry I went in your attic without asking. Mr. Dawson at the bait shop told us baseball players could have lived here.” I hold up the lists and the notes from the box. “I’ll give it back.”
“What do I need with that? If you think this was the place, I might even find you some old photos of the Rest Easy.”
“Thanks, Miss Sister,” I say. “We have to explain our project at Destiny Day.”
“My, my. You’re going to be busy. Destiny Day in the morning down at the square. In the afternoon, star musician of our dance recital.” Miss Sister smiles right at me. “Your uncle will be so proud.”
I chew my fingernail, then spit it out. “I’m not telling him about the recital.”
She wrinkles her nose into a frown. “He’ll want to be there. It’s your big day, Theo.”
“Yeah, right.” I grab my knapsack. “Uncle Raymond won’t come,” I say, and I stomp up the stairs, fast and loud.
* * *
It’s way past my bedtime and I’m in my room worrying why there’s no sign of my uncle.
So I’ll clean out our closet.
Dress shirts on one side, work shirts on the other. I’m sorting and organizing, thinking about what to say when he shows up. I’m still mad about the stolen money, but I’m sorry I was disrespectful. I carefully put the Destiny Day Baseball Project folder in my knapsack, ready for tomorrow. Just in case you’re wondering, I’m the star musician of the dance recital. Well, that’s what Miss Sister says. My jeans are perfectly stacked up in a basket. Shorts folded on the bottom shelf. You want to come? What d’ya think, Uncle Raymond? My old jacket’s stuffed way in the back of the closet. It’ll be fun. Miss Sister and I think you should be there.
He’ll just say no.
I pull out that puke-green jacket I hauled to Florida from Kentucky, and I try it on. Still way too small. Before I stash it back in the closet — saving it for just in case like my uncle said — I fiddle with the big ugly buttons on the front. Inside a pocket, something’s stuck in the seam. The scrap of paper from my granddaddy’s desk. I thought I’d lost it! Granddaddy’d saved the grocery list to remember my mom’s handwriting. Just before we left, he gave it to me. Unfolding the little square, I spread it out to read.
Milk, eggs, Cheerios, baking soda.
Chocolate milk for Theo.
Carrots. Dish detergent.
Running my fingers over the words Chocolate milk for Theo, I put it with my important things inside the brown envelope in my top drawer.
Then I turn the radio to our station, real quiet. I climb under my sheets, leaving the light on for my uncle. The Braves are winning, 9–2.
When the clock’s alarm blasts the next morning, I wake up with a crick in my neck and some guy on the radio announcing rain’s coming. I sit straight up and look around. Nobody’s snoring to wake up the dead like usual. Uncle Raymond’s bed’s made up tight, same as every morning. No work boots under the chair.
My uncle didn’t come home again last night. I’m not telling a soul.
I’m out the door and the first one at school, not wanting to think about where he might be. If he’s ever coming back. Whether he’s hurt or sick or mad. Or just plain giving up.
By last period, I wait for the bell to ring, drumming my fingers in time with that shuffle-ball-change thing running through my head. Trying to push worry about Uncle Raymond out.
When Anabel taps me on the shoulder, I jump a mile. “The bell, Theo? Class is over. Meet me outside.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “I need your help figuring out how to cut out of the dance recital. Without my mom finding out.”
I catch up with her under the shady tree at the bus loop. The wind’s picked up. A few fat raindrops are starting.
“Tell Miss Sister I was sick and won’t be well for dance class on Saturday,” Anabel says. “And you heard I’m not getting better anytime soon. Please.”
“Can’t lie to Miss Sister.”
“Well, I’m not going near her dance studio. Come to my house. We can finish our project there,” she says.
“All we have left is gluing a few things and figuring out what we’re saying at Destiny Day. We can do that at school. I need to get home before the storm hits.” I don’t wait for her answer before hurrying to the Rest Easy. Where I’m sure Uncle Raymond will be waiting.
Except he’s not. Not in our room. Not out back cleaning his tools at the water hose. Not talking to Miss Sister on the porch. Nowhere. Not even a note saying he’ll be late from work and for me to eat supper without him.
When the sky opens up and bright flashes of light are followed by thunder so loud my teeth hurt, I wonder if my uncle is safe inside someplace.
* * *
On Friday morning, I sneak down the stairs and hear Miss Sister playing quiet music. I’m still afraid to tell her Uncle Raymond’s gone. I want my life to be what it was before Mrs. Johnson stormed in here accusing me of stealing what my uncle happened to have stashed in our room. Maybe what I want is my life before we ever moved to Destiny, Florida.
Ginger Rogers lifts her head when I slip out the front door. She doesn’t bark. Geez. I’m not even important enough for a dog to notice. I push my way through the heat to school.
In social studies, Anabel and I sit next to each other, showing off our project. When kids stop by to admire our raggedy old baseball, the tackle box, the photos and maps, I almost forget about Uncle Raymond. Nobody’s saying “Hey, Theo, good work,” but they don’t whisper “Theo the thief,” either. By the time the last girl moves back to her desk to line up her colored pencils, I’m finally smiling.
I’m still smiling when Anabel stops pawing through her research notes and asks, “What color Braves T-shirt are you wearing to Destiny Day? Do you think we should match?”
Huh? Braves T-shirt?
“Don’t have one,” I answer.
Her eyes open wide. “You don’t have a Braves T-shirt? What were you thinking we’d wear?”
“Flapper dress?” I joke.
“That’s not funny, Theo. I’m not dancing in the recital. I’m not wearing feathers, tap shoes, or any of that stuff my mom’s at home creating right about now.” Anabel swallows hard and chews on her lip. “They sell T-shirts at that store out on the highway,” she says. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Can your uncle take you?”
I take a deep breath, squirm around in my desk, then lower my voice. “My uncle works most Saturdays,” I say. “We don’t have a car.”
“Really? No car?”
“And my uncle would never buy me a brand-new shirt, especially for a school project.” I try to think of a snappy joke. Nothing’s coming.
Anabel leans over our carefully drawn map of Destiny, studying each street intersection. “Why do you live with your uncle?” she asks, not looking up.
“It’s a long story. Involving grandparents.” I doodle on a piece of scratch paper, showing her it’s no big deal. When really it’s the biggest deal of my entire life. “But I definitely won’t be buying a Braves T-shirt.”
She pastes the map on our poster board and closes her notebook. “You can wear one of mine,” she says, smiling right at me.
As long as Anabel’s T-shirt isn’t pink and sparkly, I’m not too proud to borrow.
The rest of the day’s pretty much a bust. By the time the last bell rings on Friday, we’ve learned everything there is to know in sixth grade at Johnson Junior High. One more day of school. Monday’s mostly parties and picnics to end the year. Tuesday is Destiny Day and the dance recital. Everything happens next week. I hope I’m around to see it.
Uncle Raymond’s still missing.
So when I get home from school, I slip into the Rest Easy’s kitchen, grab three slices of Wonder Bread, and head down the hall toward the st
udio. Inside, Miss Sister’s playing soft music, too busy worrying over her dance recital to notice my uncle’s gone. I touch the door handle, giving it and me a little push. Should I tell Miss Sister he just up and left? And may never come back? Who’ll I live with? Where will I go? I need to find Uncle Raymond!
I race off toward Main Street. At the bus stop, a silver Trailways pulls away — maybe the same bus we rode all the way from Kentucky just three weeks ago. One old guy’s standing on the sidewalk holding his suitcase. Not my uncle.
Before I cross the street, I quickly check the tree for green parrots. None. I peer in the Chat ’n’ Chew’s big glass window. Uncle Raymond’s not there, either. Sinking onto the bench in front of the cafe, I take deep breaths, but the deeper I breathe, the more I worry. And if anybody sees me sitting in the middle of Destiny gasping like a crazy person, I’ll be sent off to loony land for sure. I jam my hand in my pocket and squeeze my good-luck piece. The coin’s not working.
When I take another breath, the smell of water and sunshine slows my heart, bringing back a memory of the day Anabel and I walked to the beach. My uncle would never go there, would he? He’s the one who said one look at the gulf was enough.
But where else can I go? I head for the water, sit on the seawall, and pinch off squares of bread. I toss one to a squawking gull, one bite for me, till it’s finished. Stepping onto the beach, I throw up my arms and yell at the top of my lungs at the gulls swooping, searching for food. The birds take off. My uncle’s still nowhere to be seen, but I feel better.
I might as well head back. Face the music. Tell Miss Sister I’m an orphan. Abandoned. I start toward the wood-planked walk. Wait a minute! Who’s that? Out past the gulls fighting over the last crust of bread? Uncle Raymond. Strolling up the walk like nothing happened, like he didn’t go off and leave me alone and scared at the Rest Easy.
The Way to Stay in Destiny Page 8
