But Mom wasn’t any closer to coming home than before.
I was sick of being grounded all the time.
I was sick of telling God I was sorry and asking for forgiveness.
I was terrible hungry for a hamburger.
And my legs were itching me like crazy because the hair was growing back all prickly, just like Jillian said. Dad was right about one thing; it was a nice day for killing pigs all right.
Two weeks to go still. That seemed like forever.
Dear God,
I’ve had a lousy day. I don’t even want to go into it.
All this praying is supposed to help me understand your will, but there are more and more things that I don’t understand one bit. My book is ruined! Dad’s all mad at me again, my friends are gone, and nothing is going right.
Please, God, make my mom well again. Please let her come home. I’m really trying my best, God.
I hope you don’t mind me saying it, but sometimes I think you’re lying down on the job, God.
Amen.
First thing in the morning before he left for work, Dad got me started painting the garage. He showed me how to stir the paint, how to take the right amount and not too much on my brush or roller, and how to work in a wide band from one side of the scaffold to the other, starting at the top. The top of where I was working anyways, since Dad wouldn’t let me go all the way up to the top of the house.
“Think you can handle it? Without starting a third world war, that is.” He was still pretty steamed yet about yesterday.
“I can handle it,” I muttered.
“Good. Because I’m late for work.” He filled the paint tray for me and set the can of paint on the ground. “Where are the rags?”
“On the porch.”
“Do you think you could get me one, or is that too much to ask?” he grumbled, turning and looking for a place to set the paint tray.
Jumping Jehoshaphat. If what he wanted was for me to hand him a rag, then that’s what he should’ve asked for. I jumped off the scaffold to grab one.
It wasn’t my fault I didn’t see Tom-cat sneaking up behind me. It wasn’t my fault he got spooked when I jumped, and scooted off. And it wasn’t my fault Tommy scooted right under Dad’s feet, at the same time Dad turned to set the paint tray down on the scaffold.
And for sure it wasn’t my fault that Dad’s foot came down right on Tommy’s tail. One thing about Dad, he’s no lightweight. Poor Tom let out a howl loud enough to wake the dead.
Dad tried to dodge Tommy, but that was sort of hard to do with a wet paintbrush in one hand and a full paint tray in the other. He dropped the tray on the scaffold platform and sidestepped, cursing under his breath.
Only problem was, Tommy dodged in the same direction. Dad’s other foot came down on his paw. Tommy let loose another howl. Dad jumped straight up and Tommy darted out from under.
Everything might have been okay still, if Dad hadn’t tried to kick him as he streaked away.
“Scram!” he snarled.
“Don’t hurt him!” I yelled. But there was no chance of that. Tommy was gone.
For a split second, Dad didn’t have any feet on the ground at all. His arms flew back as he tried to get his balance. One hand hit the paint tray, which was sticking off the edge of the scaffold. The tray flipped up and over. Paint launched itself straight at him. I could see that Dad was going to go down and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. He almost saved himself; one hand found a corner of the porch landing. Only then his hand slipped and he crashed onto the steps, landing hard on his wrist. Dad groaned, tilted, and then rolled the rest of the way down.
On the first roll he banged his shin. On the next roll he scraped his back, then he bounced hard on his keister before landing on the sidewalk.
Uy uy uy. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe even. And for sure I didn’t so much as think about laughing.
Dad let loose a sizzling stream of Plautdietsch that didn’t need any translating.
“Isaak! Schauntboa!” Grandma stood on the sidewalk, horrified.
Dad got to his feet, which wasn’t easy because he wasn’t moving too well and was holding his wrist. I tried to help him but he brushed me off. He didn’t say a word, just stood there with his eyes blazing, first at Grandma, then at me. I could practically see the steam coming off him. Grandma harumphed, turned on her heel, and deserted me.
Dad looked at me. His mouth moved, but no words came out.
Finally, he spluttered, “Don’t hurt him?” Then he turned and limped inside.
Tommy didn’t show himself at all for the rest of the day. He knew from where the wind blew.
So did I. I painted all day, not just in the morning. I never stopped working to go for a swim even. The first coat on the garage was done before supper.
Probably, I thought, it was a good idea if I wasn’t around when Dad came home. I grabbed something to eat and went for a bike ride. Only there was nowhere for me to go. Jillian and Sadie weren’t home yet.
For a while I practiced riding with no hands. On my first try a truck forced me to the side of the road, practically into the curb. I hadn’t even gone a block. On the next try I wasn’t sitting right and couldn’t get my balance at all. I tried a third time. I never saw the hole in the pavement until it was too late. J grabbed on to save myself, just before my tires hit the hole with such a jolt I bit my tongue yet on top of it all.
Three strikes. I was out. It was a stupid game anyways.
At home, Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, his back to the door, eating supper with one hand. His other arm was in a sling, the wrist wrapped tightly.
I wanted to ask if he was all right. I wanted to say I was sorry, even if I wasn’t sure for what, exactly.
“I’m going to bed,” I mumbled, and went up to my room to read.
After a while, Dad took off. Probably he was going to visit Mom. I crept downstairs and put out a can of tuna for Tommy, so he’d know we didn’t mean to scare him. For once Beth never made a fuss about wasting good tuna on an alley cat. She told me Dad had sprained his wrist.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “He’ll get over it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Next year maybe.”
It didn’t hardly cool off at all that night. The house was stuffy and hot. Way too hot to sleep, that’s for sure. I kicked off my blankets and the sheet and lay there suffocating and listening to the night and hoping I might hear a couple of cats going at it because then at least I’d know Tommy was back and defending his turf.
Only I guess it was too hot even for stray cats to bother fighting.
Dear God,
Thank you for not letting Dad or Tommy get too badly hurt this morning.
I’m sorry for what happened, even though it wasn’t really my fault. It was an accident. How come Dad has to get so mad when it was just an accident?
Sometimes, he’s the one who makes me mad.
Please help Dad cool off and stop being so grumpy all the time.
And please take care of Mom. Help her get well again. We all need her here at home. That’s an understatement.
Amen.
They wouldn’t let me see my mom today.
I didn’t tell anyone I was going to visit. I didn’t know myself until I went. One minute I was starting to paint a second coat on the garage, and thinking about how this morning Dad was talking to me in one-word sentences still. Then I got to wondering about Mom.
I hadn’t gone to see her for a couple of days. At breakfast this morning Dad hadn’t said how she was doing. I wondered if maybe I should go check if she was all right. Then my chest got tight and my heart started going a mile a minute and then, out of the blue, for no good reason, I felt like crying some more.
Holy Moses. These days it was like I’d turned on a fountain and couldn’t shut it off again. The next minute I’d dumped my paintbrush in the thinner, shoved the lid on the paint can, and was racing over to Eden on my bike.
When I got th
ere it was almost nine o’clock. The front doors were locked, but a nurse at the reception desk buzzed me in.
She wouldn’t let me see Mom. I was too early for visiting hours, she said. “Your mother had a treatment this morning. She’s resting. You mustn’t disturb her.”
She didn’t tell me what kind of treatment, and I didn’t have the guts to ask. She probably wouldn’t have told me. It was probably one of those things no one would tell me because I was supposed to be too young to understand.
The nurse looked at me over top of her glasses like grown-ups do when you’re bugging them. “You can come back during regular visiting hours this afternoon.”
I turned to leave. Only when I shoved on the door it wouldn’t open. I shoved again, then I tried yanking it open. I shoved and yanked and shoved and yanked and still the stupid door wouldn’t budge. I was starting to get pretty mad over everything.
“Take it easy, young lady. I haven’t unlocked the doors yet this morning,” the nurse said. She took her time walking over to punch some numbers into a little box on the wall beside the door.
The damn doors were locked from the inside, too!
They wouldn’t let me see my mom. She was locked in like a prisoner! Right away I started thinking of ways to rescue her. Which even if I knew was pretty stupid, I couldn’t help thinking. I couldn’t help thinking that God didn’t seem to be in any hurry to answer my prayers. I stood in the warm sunshine, but I didn’t feel one bit warm. I was shivering like crazy.
One thing for sure, I wasn’t leaving until I knew Mom was okay. What would Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys do? I wondered. They’d sneak into the building somehow.
I strolled around the back of Mom’s wing, trying to look casual, but all the time I was counting windows until I found the one I thought was her room. The curtains were drawn tight. Even when I shoved in between the shrubs to press my face to the glass I couldn’t find a crack to see through.
Anyways, the windows in her room weren’t like regular windows that opened. The bottom part was one big pane of glass. On top of that was a smaller section that opened. Too high to reach. Too small to climb through. And right now it was shut tight.
Fuy. Mom should have fresh air. Someone should make sure she had fresh air at least.
“Hey kid.”
Jumping Jehoshaphat. My heart catapulted me out of the bushes and back onto the sidewalk. Now what? An orderly stood by the open door at the end of the wing, watching me. He lit a smoke and tossed the match in the shrub bed. “Can I help you?”
“No thanks.” I strolled past him and around the corner, then started to run.
Talk about a weak-kneed, yellow-bellied, gutless wonder. Schvack aus en tubbdook, I could hear Dad saying. Weak like a dishrag. Would Nancy Drew give up at the first sign of trouble? No way, I told myself. Don H be such a dishrag.
Instead of riding away I circled around behind the grounds, riding along the floodway. I left my bike tucked under a tree and snuck back to peek around the corner. The orderly was gone.
If people came out here to smoke, I thought, then maybe…
Before I could think too much about it, I ran across the lawn and pulled on the door. Sure enough, it was unlocked. I slipped inside. It was that easy.
My bare feet never made a sound as I tiptoed down the hall. Beth would throw a fit if she knew I didn’t even have any shoes on. Then I had to laugh at myself for thinking like that, because no shoes would be the least of my problems if I was caught.
Lots of the doors I passed were open. But either the rooms were empty, or else the people inside never took any notice of me. A few doors were closed, like Mom’s. There it was.
This detective stuff was a cinch. Holding my breath, I pushed open the door, just a crack. The room was dim, but not really dark. Even with the curtains drawn tight some light got through. It was stuffy, though. I could feel the stuffiness leaking out, smothering me.
“Mom?” I whispered. Screwing up my courage I pushed the door open a bit more, just enough to slip inside. I gently shut the door behind me. For a while I stood there, watching and listening to Mom’s deep, slow breathing. Why was she sleeping in the middle of the morning? Should I wake her up?
“Mom?” I repeated, quietly. No answer. Probably I should let her sleep, I decided. She’d had a treatment, the nurse had said. I didn’t know what that meant, but it was a good bet that whatever it was made her tired. Now that I knew she was all right–sort of anyways–I could leave.
Only first I’d open her window. I crept on tiptoe across the room, quietly picked up the chair from beside her bed, and set it down by the window. Standing on the chair, I pushed the curtain back just enough to reach the latch.
The breath of fresh air was warm already, but it tasted delicious. I let the curtain fall again. It moved a little bit with the breeze.
Before leaving, I leaned over Mom, studying her face. Whatever they were doing didn’t look like it had made a difference. She looked tired, the same as always. “See you later, Mom,” I whispered.
I slipped out the door, turning to close it, being ever so careful not to wake Mom. The door clicked shut about half a second before my arm was practically yanked out of its socket.
“What do you think you’re doing in here!” The nurse’s voice was hushed, but she was plenty mad. Funny thing was, she sounded far away all of sudden behind this crazy ringing in my ears.
This nurse wasn’t the same one at the front desk. Whoever she was, she had a grip like King Kong. She hauled me out of the patient’s wing, past reception, and right to an office nearby, never shutting up once. I didn’t hear a word she said though. I wondered when the ringing in my ears had started.
“Dr. Shroeder?” She knocked on the open office door. “Sorry to disturb you, but I found this youngster sneaking into patients’ rooms. Should I call the police?”
Finally my tongue came unglued. “I wasn’t sneaking into people’s rooms!” I shook off the nurse’s hand.
“No, no.” The doctor got up and walked around his desk. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” His voice echoed. He loomed over me, smiling this great big fake smile. “I’m sure the young lady has an explanation.”
Young lady. Who was he kidding? I put my arms behind my back, hiding the streaks of paint I hadn’t stopped to wash off. There wasn’t much I could do about my bare feet. Besides, he didn’t remember me even. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or mad about that.
The front desk nurse decided to put in her two cents worth. She stuck her head in the door. “I told her she wasn’t allowed to visit her mother this morning. I don’t know how she got back in.”
I wasn’t about to tell them. I shook my head, slapping it against my hand to try and clear the ringing in my ears, like I did when there was water in them after swimming. Probably I looked like a nutcase.
Dr. Shroeder raised his eyebrows. “Her mother?” He still hadn’t figured it out.
“That’s Esther Redekop’s daughter,” the nurse said.
“Ahh.” Now he remembered. “It’s Elsie, right? What’s going on, Elsie?”
Something inside me snapped, like a great big elastic band that was pulled so tight it couldn’t be pulled any more so it just–snapped.
“You’ve got no right keeping my mother here. She’s not crazy, you know!” My voice sounded strange.
“No one said she was crazy.”
“She doesn’t belong here! If you think she belongs here, then you’re the crazy ones!”
Halfway through the ringing in my ears stopped and I knew I’d been shouting. I swallowed. I didn’t see any good reason to stick around to hear what they had to say. It wouldn’t make a diff, anyways. I ducked around the nurse and tore out the door, running like the wind all the way around the building to get my bike.
I cut through a few back alleys and across the school yard yet, too, just to make sure I wasn’t being followed. Then I had to laugh at myself. This was Hopefield. They’d probably be waiting a
t my back door when I got home, ready to take me away.
Huge, billowing clouds towered over the town. A thunderstorm was on its way, at least I hoped so. Rain would be a relief.
“Where did you disappear to?” Beth asked when I walked in the kitchen.
I was puffing pretty hard still from racing all the way home. I needed a drink. “Riding my bike,” I said, heading for the fridge. That was the truth. One thing I’d figured out was that it was easier to lie if I stuck as close to the truth as possible. Now I just had to distract Beth from digging any deeper.
“Have you seen Tommy? He wasn’t around this morning.” I poured myself some Kool-Aid and started gulping it down.
“No, I haven’t seen that disgusting furball. Thank goodness for small miracles.” Beth was tearing lettuce for a salad. A plate of tuna sandwiches was sitting on the table.
I hoped nothing bad had happened to Tommy–that Dad had scared him away for good or he’d met his match in an alley fight or been hit by a car or something. A horrible feeling squeezed at my gut as I sat down and put a sandwich on my plate, staring at it. I couldn’t eat it like that; I’d have to scrape out the tuna.
I just didn’t know what to do. Not about Tommy, or Mom.
“Wash up at least.”
It was useless talking to Beth. I shoved back from the table and went to wash my hands.
“Satisfied?” I shoved my freshly scrubbed hands in Beth’s face as I pushed by her.
“Philistine,” Beth muttered.
At supper that evening Dad said he’d got a call from Eden about me. “Did you really tell Dr. Shroeder that Mom shouldn’t be there?”
“Well she shouldn’t.”
Dad sighed. He adjusted the sling around his arm, wincing. “You don’t know what the doctors are doing for Mom. You can’t just walk in there any time you please.”
Almost Eden Page 9
