I started thinking about my choices, too. Ricky has never been able to do what other kids do. No birthday parties or school field trips. And what good is someone’s life if he can’t do the one thing he really wants? I have to find a way to break that barricade and give Ricky a ride on the go-cart. Somehow, some way. I just have to.
I spent most of the next morning making my plans and setting them into action. First I dragged the go-cart out front and hid it in the weeds by the side of the road. I needed it in place, in case I could manage to sneak Ricky out that night. I also hid some extra rope. Then I waited through the longest day of my life.
Mama stopped coming out of Ricky’s bedroom, even to use the bathroom. She just went in the same pot she had in there for him. Daddy set her iced tea and sandwiches by the door.
Around nightfall, I snuck out and peeked in Ricky’s window. I could see with one eye through the slit in the curtains. He looked like a dried pepper, all withered up in the blanket. Mama sat with her Bible. Even though it was closed, she was hugging it close and mouthing words—Bible healing words, for sure. The door was blocked by a chest of drawers, and some dirty dishes sat on the floor by it. As I started to back away, something caught my eye—something I was sure Daddy didn’t know about. The window was unlatched! I went around back and sat on the steps, watching Mr. Lunas hobble toward the cornfield with a handful of chicken eggs. More art supplies?
I sat for a long time in the darkness, wanting to plot my next move. But truthfully, I didn’t have a clue what to do. Instead I imagined myself as a doctor, wearing a white coat with a silvery stethoscope around my neck. Nurses and orderlies move out of my way as I march down the sterile white halls of the hospital, on my way to an operating room where Ricky’s waiting. I skillfully replace his gizzard, and then, after he’s recovered, I hand him the key to his very own motor-powered go-cart. One that zooms like a jet. The entire hospital staff applauds.
I don’t know how long I sat there in that dreamy fog, but I nearly jumped out of my skin when Mr. Lunas came up unnoticed and sat down next to me.
I wasn’t sure if it was the darkness or his skin color that made him seem more like a shadow than a man. He looked like a stick with shoes on. And I just knew that if I accidentally touched him, he’d crumble into a little pile right there on the steps. No doubt about it, once I gave Ricky his go-cart ride, my new mission would be to get Mr. Lunas fattened up again.
He rubbed his face with his hands, saying, “I don’t have much time.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that. Maybe he was expected back home . . . wherever that was.
“Neither do I,” I told him, wondering how many breaths Ricky had left. “Daddy says Ricky’s going to die.”
Mr. Lunas let out a sigh that was loud and wholehearted. “What can I tell you, Janine? People die. It’s all a part of living.”
“But he’s too young! And he’s never even had a chance at living.” I was fighting tears and losing the battle. How could Mr. Lunas stay so calm?
“There’s all kinds of living. Even a decade of being with people who love you, no matter where you go or what you do, can be all the living someone needs.”
“Not Ricky,” I argued. “He’s going somewhere. And not just heaven.”
He leaned toward me. “Are you going to do it tonight?”
I shook my head. “Mama’s still awake. I don’t think I can.”
He reached over and patted my knee. “You’ll think of something.”
“I sure hope so.”
He stood up to leave. “Yep. Hope is good.”
It rained the next morning. Not just a shower. Not even a thunderstorm. It was more like a cyclone. The house shook with the wildest gusts Texas could muster. Whirlwinds spun through the yard. Lightning streaked the quilted sky. And I hovered in my room, hoping the go-cart wasn’t taking a beating. Mr. Lunas helped Daddy put the cows in the barn and cover the chicken coop with tarp. Buddy stayed put on the porch. Hailstones pounded the tin roof, and I imagined angry angels, frowning and throwing rocks at us. I wondered if this was the Bible plague Mama had seen in the tea leaves.
The storm knocked out all the electricity, so Daddy turned on a battery-powered radio to check the weather reports. “If you hear something that sounds like a train coming,” he said, “jump in the bathtub and cover up with these blankets. You don’t want to end up in Oz.”
I didn’t figure that was where I’d end up, and that had me worried. But I worried more about Ricky. What would Mama do if she heard a train coming?
I curled up in the cave and waited it out. It raged all day. At three o’clock, we still didn’t have electricity, so I couldn’t even pass the time watching afternoon cartoons. Late that night, the clouds shut off and drifted away, leaving twinkling stars above and gigantic puddles below. Like the lightning that had spiked around us all day, I felt charged up and ready for anything.
I waited until Daddy was snoring deep and loud before sneaking out. The grass was cold, wet and icky. I looked through the slit of the curtains into Ricky’s room. He still laid there, the same as the night before. Mama laid next to him, sleeping, her mouth just slightly open.
I tried to open the window, but the heat and moisture had made the wood swell. The window was jammed. Buddy came around and jumped up on me with muddy paws. I was so aggravated that I pushed him down. “Buddy, if you’re really smarter than people, then why don’t you think of a way to get Ricky out?” He just tilted his head and stared.
I had to get that window open. I tugged again, and this time it slid up a bit. The opening was crooked, but I could slip my hands under it now. Taking my time, I inched it up little by little, one side, then the other. I didn’t need to open it all the way, just enough so I could get in and out with Ricky. I pushed the curtains aside so I could have a better look around the room. All was quiet, hot, and sticky. I managed to slip the window up a little more, and Mama stirred. She rolled onto her side, facing the door. Just another inch, and I was in.
I tiptoed like a robber across the room. When I got to the bed, I moved Mama’s Bible out of the way and gathered Ricky up in my arms. His eyes opened. I froze, afraid he’d say something and wake up Mama. But he smiled at me, then closed his eyes again. I tiptoed back to the window, holding Ricky like a tiny baby. He was as light as a kitten. Getting back out the window was the tricky part. But I did it without spilling my brother or myself on the ground. I took one look back inside. Mama hadn’t moved a hair. I carefully took a few steps away, then ran toward the road, Buddy following.
Ricky bounced in my arms as I reached the weeds where I’d hidden the go-cart. I laid him down in the wet grass and dug the go-cart out. It had survived the storm, although it was plastered with damp weeds. I didn’t care. It still rolled.
Buddy nudged at Ricky, wanting him to play. When Ricky didn’t move, Buddy licked his hand.
I positioned the go-cart on the road at the top of the hill, then went back for Ricky. When I picked him up, he whispered, “Where are we?”
“Look,” I said.
I tilted his head so that he could see the go-cart, and for a brief moment I saw his face light up. “I built it,” he said, his words a real effort.
I set him down on the go-cart and placed the reins in his hands. “Try to hold on, okay?” I took the other piece of rope and tied it around his waist, then tied the ends to the go-cart. It held him up, even though he slumped forward.
“Are you ready?” I asked, wiping away a ribbon of blood that streamed from his nose.
He opened his eyes and looked out, down the hill toward the darkness.
I got behind him and whispered in his ear, “You’re gonna race time, Ricky. You’re gonna zoom. Ready . . . set . . .”
“Wait!”
I looked over to see Mr. Lunas limping toward us. Was he going to stop me or help me? I couldn’t chance it.
“Go!” I gave the go-cart a hard shove and watched as it picked up speed, rolling down the steep road.
Ricky’s head flew back as the go-cart whizzed on. It rushed straight down, and I imagined Ricky smiling all the way. But near the bottom, it veered to the left, running off the road through the gravel and slamming into a barbed-wire fence.
I suddenly felt as cold as the rain puddles. “Ricky!” I ran down the hill, racing toward him and the crashed go-cart. Fear tore at my heart. When I reached him, he was tangled in rope and fence. I picked a couple of barbs from his face and arms, untied him from the go-cart, and carried him to the road.
I sat down, hugging him, my tears spilling on his bloody face. His eyes opened for a moment, and he looked up at me. A small smile crossed his lips and he whispered, “Zoom.” His eyes fluttered, rolled to white, and closed.
I hugged him tighter, rocking back and forth. He wasn’t moving, not even a breath. Buddy whined. I cried. “Don’t die, Ricky. Please . . . don’t die.”
Then two arms reached out to take him from me. Two thin, weak arms, not much bigger than Ricky’s.
“No,” I cried, squeezing Ricky tighter to my chest. “It’s too late.”
Mr. Lunas gazed at me, his eyes quivering. “Maybe not, but I need to hurry.”
He reached again, and this time I handed my dead brother over to him. Mr. Lunas cradled Ricky, wiped some blood away, and whispered, “It’s not your time to go.” What I saw next made me wonder if I was awake or dreaming.
Mr. Lunas held his trembling hand just above Ricky’s face. A small ball of light shone right out of his palm, faint at first, then glowing bright as a lantern. The light poured over Ricky like moonbeams over a field, brilliant and luminous. Buddy threw his head back and howled.
I looked close to see if Mr. Lunas was holding some kind of tiny flashlight, but beyond the blinding light, all I could see was his hand. A moment later, the light dimmed and went out.
Ricky rolled his head over and opened his eyes. He sat up, scratched his nose, looked around, and smiled.
I sat stiff and scared, trying like the dickens to believe what I’d just seen. When my mouth found the words, I finally asked, “Mr. Lunas? Uh—Uh—are you Jesus?”
He grinned, and in a strained voice he answered, “No, sweetheart, I’m not Jesus.”
“Of course he’s not Jesus,” Ricky said, as perky as a pup. “His words aren’t red!”
He and Mr. Lunas both chuckled at that, but I was still too stunned to move.
Ricky hopped up, adjusting his filthy pajamas. “Help me get my go-cart loose from the fence.” He rushed over, tugging and pulling the stuck contraption. Buddy wagged his tail and barked as Ricky got the go-cart untangled. I didn’t help. My mind was too full.
Mr. Lunas managed to stand up, but I imagined that any minute he might topple over like a row of dominoes. He was as weak as water. I wondered if he’d been this wilted to begin with, or if saving Ricky had zapped even more out of him.
Ricky tugged the go-cart behind him as he linked his arm through Mr. Lunas’s to help him get up the hill. I found my feet and stood, then linked my arm on the other side, and together we managed to get Mr. Lunas back up to the house.
Ricky snuck back in the window. He promised to wait until I was safely inside to wake Mama up and show her his new strength. Still being Mr. Lunas’s crutch, I helped him around to the porch.
“I’m not going in,” he said as we got near the steps. “I’ve got to go.”
His words swelled in my heart. “You can’t go now! Not yet. I have a hundred million questions to ask you.”
“I know you do, but it’s impossible for me to stay any longer. I should’ve already been gone.”
“But I don’t understand,” I said, rushing my words. “If you could use your hand like a magic wand, then why didn’t you help Ricky before now? It sure would have saved us a lot of hoo-haw.”
“Life is continually filled with hoo-haw,” he said. “It’s how we deal with it that defines who we are.”
“But it don’t make sense.” Would it ever? “You could’ve shined that healing light on him the first night you came here. Why’d you put us through this?”
He rubbed his forehead, then faced me full-on. “It’s hard to explain. Things come in cycles, like the seasons and the moon. I needed that cycle. Now my time is up.”
He wobbled a little, and I clutched his arm tighter to hold him up.
“You’re too sick to go anywhere,” I said. “You just need to eat something. Let me go in and get you an apple.”
He waved a hand to shush me. “An apple is not what I need.”
“Then what do you need? I’ll get it.”
“I need to go home.”
I didn’t see how he’d get beyond the backyard, much less somewhere up north. “You can go home tomorrow . . . after we celebrate Ricky not dying.”
He shook his head. “I’ve done what I came to do, and I’ve plumb near overstayed.”
What he came to do? To save Ricky? I leaned toward him and glared into his eyes. “Mr. Lunas . . . who are you?”
A grin replaced the grimace on his face. “I’m the soldier who saved your father in the war.”
“And now you came to save my little brother.”
His expression eased and he looked me in the eyes. “Who said it was your brother I came to save?”
I stared at his wilting gray face for a moment, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Then he looked beyond me toward the tall stalks of corn. “Tell your mama and daddy goodbye for me.”
I nodded, still confused and trying to keep my tears at bay.
He tweaked my nose. “And tell Ricky I expect some great things from him.”
“I’ll tell him.” I reached over and wrapped my arms around Mr. Lunas, giving him a hug so tight I might never let go. It was the biggest hug I’d ever given, and yet it didn’t seem like enough. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“No, thank you,” he said, a slight twinkle making a glint in his eyes.
“For what? I didn’t do anything.”
“Oh yes, you did.”
I must have looked as puzzled as I felt.
“Ricky was locked away, and getting past your mother was going to take more strength than I had. You were my only hope. I may have saved Ricky’s life, but you’re the one who actually saved the day.”
Although it was the dead of night, I must’ve been beaming brighter than the sun. I’d saved the day!
Mr. Lunas struggled with a few steps, then turned back one more time. “And by the way, I left you a little something.”
“Really?” I said, truly beaming now. “What is it?”
“Something. Take good care of it.”
“I will,” I said, even though I hadn’t a clue whether that was a promise I could keep.
“You know, Janine, I expect great things from you, too.” He looked up at the sky, then back at me. “I’ll be watching.”
I couldn’t help grinning inside and out. I just knew he was right. I would do great things too . . . one day.
Dark of the Moon
It’d been about a month since Ricky’s recovery. Dr. Littlefield called it a miracle. Mama hugged her Bible and cried. Letting her believe her healing verses had cured Ricky seemed like the best thing to do. And besides, would she have believed me anyway?
Daddy parked right square in the middle of the drive-in movie lot, and Ricky and I stretched out on the hood of the car. With the sun sinking into pink ribbons behind the screen, it was just a matter of minutes before the movie started.
“Hey, knucklehead,” I said, nudging Ricky and nearly making him spill his popcorn. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”
“What?” he answered, shaking the kernels off the side of the box.
“About Mr. Lunas. No one made the connection of him being there when Daddy got saved, and again when you were saved. You’d think they would have figured it out.”
Ricky shrugged. “So?”
“You don’t think Mr. Lunas had anything to do with you getting better?”
He shrugged again. “I don’t know.”
It struck me then that he didn’t know. He didn’t see what I saw, or know what I knew. It was going to be a secret I had to carry around all by myself.
Mama hopped up onto the car hood and bumped her hip against mine. “Scoot your butt over.”
I let out a giggle while Ricky slapped his hand over his mouth. “Mmmmm . . . !” he snickered. “Mama said butt!”
I have to admit, it shocked me, too. This from a woman who got mad if I said words like golly or bullcorn. Butt was downright unforgivable!
“Shush, Ricky,” she said, grinning toward the screen. “I didn’t give you permission to say it.” She was grinning a lot more now.
“Why’d you come out here?” I asked Mama.
She squirmed a little closer. “It’s too hot inside the car. And besides, that loose spring keeps poking my bu . . . behind.”
There was a nice breeze sweeping the movie lot, and it cooled us down even though the hood was still warm from the drive over.
“Hey, Janine, catch!” Ricky tossed a piece of popcorn in the air and I caught it in my mouth. “My turn,” he said, mouth wide.
I held one kernel between my fingers. He didn’t see the others tucked into my palm.
“Hey!” he shouted when they all flew toward his face.
“Stop wasting that popcorn,” Daddy called out. “Money don’t grow on trees.”
Nope, it didn’t. It came from his new job at the warehouse.
About then, Daddy climbed out of the driver’s-side door. “I can’t see a thing. You’re all blocking the windshield.”
He scootched Ricky over, and we were jammed together like sardines.
“Ouch,” Ricky whined. “You’re crushing me.” He crawled onto the car roof and laid down flat on his belly.
I stayed right where I was, in between Mama and Daddy. It felt nice. And we stayed that way all through the movie—from beginning to end.
The nights became moonless and pitch dark again. I sat at my window, listening to the rustling in the cornfield. Was it the wind? Buddy sometimes went into the stalks for a while, but he always came out whining and sad. He’d lay in the dirt by my window and sulk. I’d seen some strange goings-on there this past month. Once I saw a dust devil spiraling up, and for several nights the lightning bugs swarmed with an endless, eerie glow. Tonight I could have sworn I heard the cornfield calling my name. Somehow I wasn’t afraid. I grabbed a flashlight and headed out. I had to see what was going on.
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