A Smidgen of Sky

by Dianna Dorisi Winget

  “Did I say something funny?” Mama asked.

  “No, ma’am.”

  She winked. “Well, whatever it is, it’s nice to see you smile.”

  We climbed into our old Toyota to head for Ben and Ginger’s right after one o’clock. Mama called the car Ol’ Faithful on account of we’d had it forever. As soon as we turned onto Hillman Lane, you could see clear down the skinny gravel road to the last place on the left, where Ben and Ginger lived. It wasn’t much to look at, a one-story house built of rough gray wood, standing in a yard that was half red dirt and half scrappy lawn. But I liked the patch of sunflowers growing near the porch, the way their huge happy faces seemed to follow the sun across the sky. The big shady area beneath the pecan trees was kind of nice, too.

  Ben was tinkering under the hood of his ugly brown Mustang when we pulled into the drive, but as soon as Mama parked the car, he was right there like a hog for his slop. Mama disappeared into his arms. He smiled at me over the top of her head. “Hey, Piper Lee. You come to visit again?”

  “Yessir,” I said, slurring the two words into one. Mama didn’t like when I did that, said it wasn’t respectful. She didn’t take note. Next time I’d make it more smart-alecky. I sighed real loud as they kissed.

  “Ginger’s around back on the trampoline,” Ben said.

  Yahoo for Ginger. “Bye, Mama.”

  She didn’t answer. She was too busy gazing up at Ben as if he were some trophy fish she’d just hooked. I slammed my car door extra hard and wondered when Ben had become more important to her than me.

  Before I’d stomped even halfway around the house, I smelled the sharp stink of fingernail polish. I found Ginger sitting cross-legged in the middle of the trampoline, wearing a pink shirt that said “Pep Rally Angel.”

  Ginger flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Hey, Piper.”

  “How come you’re painting your nails clear?”

  “’Cause the glitter looks the most silvery that way.”

  She picked up a small tube and dusted it over the wet polish. “See?” She waved a shimmering hand toward me. “Want some?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “No.”

  “How come? It’s pretty.”

  “It’s dog ugly.”

  “You’re dog ugly.”

  “At least I don’t wear a size-seven shoe,” I snapped back, but even as I said it, I knew I was mad at Mama and not Ginger.

  Ginger screwed the cap back onto the tube of glitter. I crawled into the shade under the trampoline, yanked a long blade of grass, and stuck it into the side of my mouth.

  “A dog probably peed on that,” Ginger said, peering down.

  “You don’t have a dog.”

  “Neighbor dog, maybe.”

  I heard Mama start up Ol’ Faithful. It roared all the way down Hillman Lane before the silence closed in. Stuck again. “So what do you want to do today?”

  “Swimming sounds good.”

  I perked up a little. “Can we?”

  “Hey, Daddy,” Ginger called. “When you get through with the car, can you take us swimming?”

  His answer drifted back with the breeze. “I s’pose so.”

  Ginger smiled, but right then I remembered I didn’t have my swimming suit with me. “Oh, shoot. My suit’s at home.”

  “I’ll find you some shorts,” she said.

  The thought of wearing Ginger’s stuff made me feel weird, but I did want to go swimming. “Yeah, okay.”

  “But first I have to practice this cheer once more.”

  “You know, by the time you get in high school, the cheers are gonna be different.”

  She bounced to her feet. “So?”

  I covered my ears.

  “Gimme an A. Gimme a B. Gimme a real VIC-TOR-Y.”

  The trampoline stretched down real low by my head. I scrambled out from underneath just in time.

  A few minutes later we trooped upstairs to Ginger’s bedroom. She dug a pair of yellow shorts and a halter top out of her dresser. “These okay?”

  The yellow shorts made me think about my bridesmaid’s dress. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Ginger peeled off her shirt. She had on one of those training bras I’d seen in the J. C. Penney catalog—white, with a tiny butterfly in the middle. “Where’d you get that?”

  “Bought it with my allowance.”

  “Does your daddy know?”

  “Not yet.”

  I studied my nubby fingernails. I wanted to ask more about it without acting too interested. I didn’t have much need for a bra yet. Then again, Ginger didn’t either. I’d ask Mama about getting me one. I scooped up the shorts and halter top and headed for the bathroom.

  An hour later the three of us were on our way to Glen Bay Beach. I’d been there only a few times. Mama and I usually went to the main swimming beach at Shady Hollow. But I liked Glen Bay better—it had the little island.

  Ben parked the truck near a big mass of saltwort on the edge of the shore. I left my shoes in the cab and slid out, loving the gritty feel of sand between my toes. We walked over to about twenty feet from the water and spread out our beach towels.

  Ben pulled his T-shirt over his head and headed for the water. As if on second thought, he turned toward us and took a couple of steps backwards. “Y’all stick right close to shore, you hear?”

  I sifted a little pile of sand onto each corner of my towel in case a gust of wind tried to grab it. Ginger plunked down onto hers. “You still wearing that training bra?” I asked.

  “No, silly. You don’t wear a bra with a swimming suit.”

  My face got hot. “I knew that. I just wondered, is all.”

  “Bet you didn’t know boys’ swim trunks have the underwear built right in.”

  “I guess you figured that out when you bought yourself a pair.”

  She wrinkled her nose at me and stretched out on her towel.

  “Aren’t you gonna swim?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but I have to lie here in the sun and get real hot first or else the water’s too cold.”

  “Don’t be such a weenie. It’s practically lukewarm.”

  I raised a hand to shield my eyes and studied the island. It wasn’t a real island, just a big mound not far from the beach, covered with saltwort and scrub grass. There were five older kids doing crazy jumps and dives off a giant round floatie thing next to the island. I wanted to swim out there, but I wasn’t allowed. Mama said I wasn’t a strong enough swimmer to go much over my head.

  But Mama wasn’t here.

  Ben swam in the opposite direction, his long, powerful strokes gliding him away from us. Ginger was flopped on her back, an arm thrown across her eyes.

  I walked over to the edge of the water and stuck my toes in. My whole body prickled with sudden excitement. I took a deep breath of salty air and squinted out over the Atlantic, clear out to where the brilliant blue of the sky seemed to blend right into the blue of the water. Daddy had crashed into this very ocean, only about fifteen miles from where I stood.

  All at once I didn’t care if Mama thought I wasn’t a strong swimmer or if Ben had said to stick close to shore. With a shiver, I dove in and headed for the island.

  3

  I TOOK OFF swimming hard and furious, feeling all proud of myself. I’d swim out, touch that island, and circle back before anybody even missed me. I kept up a steady pace as long as I could, resisting the urge to look back. After a while, though, my arms started to burn, and I stopped to get my bearings. I couldn’t believe it. The darn island had moved way off to my left. It didn’t look much closer than it had from the beach. I figured I should turn around. I almost wanted to. But for some crazy reason, I kept paddling, glancing up every few seconds to keep a straight course.

  Fear of drowning was about all that kept me going, because by the time I finally reached the island, my arms were so dead that I couldn’t even haul myself out of the water. I grabbed hold of a big bunch of scrub grass and hung on till my heart slowed a bit and I could finally mus
ter the strength to climb into the mess of weeds.

  The kids on the floatie were playing around, making as much ruckus as a bunch of stuck pigs. Nobody said anything to me, but I could tell by their looks that they didn’t figure I had any right to invade their privacy.

  I spotted Ben. He’d looped around and was swimming toward Ginger, who was still stretched out on the beach like a catfish ready to fry. I shivered. A red-haired boy took a flying leap off the floatie, pulling his knees up to his chest in midair. Then one of the girls jumped, too, but she did it real sissylike—feet first, holding her nose. I figured that’s how Ginger would jump.

  Ben was almost back to shore.

  I bit my lip, not sure why swimming out to the island had seemed like such a great idea. I tried to rub some feeling back into my numb arms and took a couple of long, slow breaths. The sun felt so good. If I could only nap for a minute or two, I’d be good as new. But no sooner did I close my eyes than one of the girls said, “Hey, kid, your daddy’s calling you.”

  I raised my head. A girl in a pink bikini balanced on the edge of the floatie. She pointed toward the beach. Ben was treading water halfway between the shore and the island.

  My nose filled with the awful stinging that comes right before tears.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “He’s not my daddy.” Without giving myself another second to think about it, I slipped into the water.

  My arm muscles started to holler right away. I did my best to ignore them and just concentrate on breathing, but the swells spattered droplets into my nose and I sputtered and coughed.

  Don’t be a weenie, I commanded myself. It’s not as far as it looks. But as hard as I kicked and flailed toward shore, it seemed to stay just about as far away. Then my left shoulder cramped, and the blazing pain made me panic.

  I looked for Ben. A big splash of water smacked me in the face. This is it, I thought. I’m gonna disappear right here in the Atlantic, just like Daddy.

  But then there came a new sound—a loud voice, right close to my ear. Ben bobbed beside me. “This way,” he said. “Swim with me.”

  “I can’t,” I gasped. “Can’t.”

  “Course you can.” He took hold of my cramped arm.

  The pain blasted clear down to the tips of my fingers and nearly brought me right up out of the water. It was like being stabbed with a needle.

  Ben towed me several feet before he let go. “Now swim. You’re almost there.”

  Instinct took over. My hands slapped, my feet kicked. And finally, I felt sand under my feet.

  I stopped in chest-deep water, wheezing for air, sure my pounding heart was gonna blow right out of my skin. As soon as I could raise my arms, I rubbed the stinging salt water from my eyes, and the world came back into focus. I felt like laughing—I was so happy to be alive.

  But then I caught a sideways glimpse of Ben towering beside me, his hair dripping and his wide shoulders pumping up and down with each breath.

  Goose bumps sprang up all over me. I knew I needed to say something, but what? Sorry I ignored you? Thanks for saving my life? Please don’t beat me half to death? I don’t remember even thinking the question that did pop out of my mouth. “Are you gonna tell Mama ’bout this?”

  His expression could’ve toasted a marshmallow. He pointed to my towel and said, “Go. Sit.” I slunk out of the water feeling like a whipped pup.

  Ginger’s eyes were huge. “Man, Piper. You’re crazy as a bedbug. You darn near drowned.”

  “Did not,” I said.

  Ginger looked at Ben. “She could’ve. Huh, Daddy?”

  I collapsed onto my towel and wondered if there was any way I could keep him from telling Mama. As if letting Mowgli claw my dress wasn’t bad enough. Now this.

  Nobody spoke for a month of Sundays.

  I tilted my head to drain the last of the water out of my ear.

  About the time my arms started to feel like a part of me again, Ginger stood and stretched. “Okay, I’m gonna go get cooled off now. You coming, Piper?”

  Before I even had a chance to consider, Ben said, “Piper’s gonna sit a spell.”

  Ginger screwed up her face, but for once she kept her mouth shut. She just stood there, wiggling her toes in the sand, then headed for the water.

  Wait, I wanted to call after her. Don’t leave me here alone with your daddy. But that’s just what she did.

  Ben still looked as hot as the pepper sauce Mama liked to sprinkle on her greens.

  I sat up and pulled my knees close to my chest to try to muffle the thumping of my heart. I’d never been all alone with Ben before.

  I studied the sand clumped on my toes and looked at the giant white magnolia on my beach towel, all while I kept a nervous watch on Ben out of the corner of my eye. His hair was brown and full and kicked up a little at the neck. I could tell from his tan exactly how far the sleeves went down on his prison-guard uniform.

  I inched over to the far side of my beach towel, but it didn’t feel nearly far enough. Right about the time I thought I might explode from worry, there it was, high up above: the thin contrail of a jet. A perfect white chalk mark against the indigo sky. “I know what causes those,” I blurted.

  My comment hung in the air like the trail from the plane. I wondered if Ben had even heard me. But after a few seconds his head tilted up to where I was looking. “That right?”

  “Yeah. The air is real cold way up there, at least forty below zero. When the jet burns fuel, it releases water vapor that freezes right away. So the vapor looks like a thin white line.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done your homework.”

  The awful silence started to close in on us again. “Do you like airplanes?” I asked in desperation.

  “I like ’em when they’re on time.”

  “Well—have you ever been to an air show?”

  “Seen a couple over the years.”

  I swallowed, encouraged by the way his voice had lightened a bit. Maybe I could talk him out of being mad at me. “Well, they’re really cool. There’s going to be one round here in a couple weeks. A real big one.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. In Savannah. The Blue Angels are gonna be there. You know, the United States Navy performers who fly the F/A-Eighteen Hornets?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Ask him if he wants to go, I heard Mama whisper in my ear. Ask him now. But I couldn’t get my tongue to form the words.

  I traced one of the magnolia petals on my towel. “Thanks for . . . for helping me out there.”

  Ben turned cool eyes on me. “The ocean’s a mighty thing. You gotta respect it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The end of the jet contrail was flat and gauzy now, kind of like cotton candy.

  “So, um, are you gonna tell Mama about this?”

  He didn’t answer right away; his eyes still followed the jet. Then he leaned back onto his elbows and said, “Keeping secrets doesn’t do much good for a relationship, but I don’t s’pose she’d care if we talked about airplanes behind her back.”

  It took me a second to register his meaning. I should’ve been glad—thankful, even. But it wasn’t really what I’d been expecting. Why would he take my side? A weird tickly feeling in my belly told me to stand guard.

  4

  AS SOON AS Mama left for work the next day, I grabbed my bridesmaid’s dress and hurried across the hall. I’d been hearing the rattle of Miss Claudia’s sewing machine all morning.

  “Come on in,” she called when I knocked.

  I peeked around her door with a smile. “Hey, it’s just me.”

  She grinned. Woolly white hair sprang out from beneath the soft felt cap she wore. “‘Jus’ me’? Well, bless your heart, child. I can’t think of a visitor I’d rather have.”

  She always greeted me as if I were famous, even if she’d seen me earlier in the day. It got a little embarrassing, but it also made me feel special.

  “What are you working on today?” I asked as I padded acros
s the braided rug covering most of her living room floor.

  “Well, now, I’m just finishing up a vest. For my new little great-grandbaby, you know. I told you about him, right?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. You’ve told me all about Jeffrey McAllister the third.”

  She held up a sewing pattern and pointed to the model’s tiny tan-checkered vest. “Don’t you think he’ll look jus’ like a little gentleman in this, all shined and spiffied up?”

  I didn’t think a two-month-old baby could look much like a gentleman no matter what he wore, but I nodded. “That’s real nice, Miss Claudia.”

  She tipped her head to peer over her glasses. “What you got there, Piper Lee? It looks awful pretty.”

  I unfolded the dress and held it up.

  “Well, if that isn’t the most gorgeous thing. That’s for your mama’s wedding, now, isn’t it? I was wondering when you were gonna get over here to . . .” She leaned closer. “My goodness, child. What happened to it?”

  “It was Mowgli. I just laid it on the bed for a minute, and he clawed it.”

  A whistle sliced the air. “Well, my goodness. I bet your mama took a switch to both of you.”

  “Not yet. She doesn’t know. Can you help me fix it before she finds out?”

  “What? You think ol’ Miss Claudia’s gonna help you fool your mama?”

  “I was hoping maybe.”

  Her cheeks pushed way up high, and she chuckled. “Well, we can’t have your mama upset at you, now, can we? You go get yourself some peach cobbler and milk, and I’ll see what I can do with this dress.”

  I let out my breath in a big, noisy puff. “That’d be great.”

  She pushed away from the sewing machine with a groan and shuffled over to her ironing board. She stretched the dress out and leaned over so close, I expected her glasses to slide right off the end of her nose. “My, my. What are we gonna do here?”