Downstairs, the front door banged shut, then came the thump of Ruth’s tossed backpack onto the floor. Nellie crawled back into the closet and pulled up the linoleum. She’d just destroy both letters and pray that’d be the end of it. But no, that was fear. This was no time for panic. She had to stay calm. She had to get tough. She needed to think. She dropped the linoleum and shoved the shoes back in. She’d learned her lesson. Never again would she interfere in someone else’s life. Certain things had to follow their own course. Their own destiny.
Chapter 19
“IT’S JUST BEEN OUR BEST YEAR. GARDENING, I MEAN,” MISS Humboldt added, filling the doorway and breathing hard. The walk over had winded her. She had to get right back, she said, when Nellie’s mother invited her in. Sweat dripped down the sides of her face. She kept shaking the neck of her muumuu and puffing air into it.
Nellie’s mother was admiring the two sturdy trug baskets overflowing with zucchini, summer squash, bell peppers, radishes, cucumbers, pole beans, and tomatoes so richly red they didn’t look real. “Look at the size of this eggplant,” she marveled, then held it to her cheek. “And still warm from the sun.” She was touched and deeply grateful.
With no extra money for back-to-school expenses, Nellie’s mother had done something she’d vowed would never happen in this family. She had gotten a credit card. Finally! Never had Nellie been so proud as the moment in the shoe department at JCPenney when her mother opened her thin red wallet, and from one of three slots, the other two containing paltry library card and driver’s license, she removed that sleek plastic ticket to treasure. MasterCard. Its slow, reluctant passage from her mother’s hand to the clerk’s came with a swell of triumphant music. Or maybe it was just the soaring of Nellie’s heart, because now, finally, they were like everyone else. Whatever their necessities or desires, they could now be satisfied on a whim, at the drop of a hat—just hop in the car and get it, no more living according to the stingy dictates of the checking account balance. Nellie had spent the last few days poring over catalogs, earmarking pages, circling item numbers, and roaming the aisles of Walgreens’ breathless with the possibility of it all. She had new faith in her parents.
Her mother offered Miss Humboldt a cup of coffee. It was Sunday morning and she’d just made a fresh pot. But Miss Humboldt couldn’t stay. She had to get right back. It was Tenley. His nerves. But at least he was back on his medication. She was hoping and praying he’d stay on it this time.
“Same as always,” she said when Nellie’s mother asked how she was doing. She said she was looking forward to the cooler weather. “The summers are just getting too hard what with the yard work and the gardens, and … all the other things …” Her voice trailed off.
“I know,” her mother agreed. “And this year with so many hours at the salon I’ve barely kept up with the weeding. In fact, that’s on today’s list, right, Nell?”
“Right.” Nellie nodded. First time she’d heard of it, but she knew that bright, burbly lilt was trying to fill dead air.
“And trimming the front shrubs,” her mother went on, peering at her now as she fretted about forsythia gone wild and low-hanging tree limbs. “Everything’s getting so overgrown. And all of a sudden there’s all this bittersweet everywhere I look. And you know how—”
“Sandy?”
“Yes? What? What is it, Louisa?”
Miss Humboldt’s face was buried in her hands. Her great shoulders trembled.
“Nellie,” her mother said, “go … just … go somewhere … please.”
So she darted around the corner.
This was just the worst thing she’d ever had to do, Miss Humboldt was saying. Even as a child Tenley had been single-minded, obsessive, paranoid—call it what you will—but she’d always known how to handle him, which usually consisted of hearing him out, letting him have his say, however unreasonable or angry it might be, and often was. And for years he’d listened and let her talk him down. But not anymore. Not since that terrible night, being attacked in his own yard, and then, to confirm his worst fears, the slaughter of that poor young woman right next door, here, in this very house.
“Slaughter?” her mother said. “You mean killed. Murdered.”
Same difference, Nellie thought, “But that’s how Tenley sees it. And now he thinks there’s more to come. He’s afraid!” Miss Humboldt cried. “He’s absolutely terrified!”
“But they’ve got him, the man, the person that did it. He’s in jail.”
“I know, and I keep telling Tenley, but he won’t listen. And now … now he’s got a gun,” she said with a gasp.
“Oh, my God,” her mother said. “Have you called the police?”
“Well, no. I can’t. It’s perfectly legal. I mean, he filled out all the paperwork. He’s got his permit.”
“But that doesn’t mean he should have a gun. Especially when he’s so … so troubled.”
“I know. I know! And I keep thinking I’ll just take it, that’s what I’ll do, I’ll hide it, but he’s got this holster. He wears it. Night and day! Even when he goes to bed. But I’m working on it. I watch him. Every minute. All the time, believe me. He goes into the bathroom and I tiptoe around the corner, and I wait. I listen and I wait for him to come out. I just feel so … furtive.”
Nellie knew the feeling well, cheekbone hard against the door frame.
“Where is he now?”
“Asleep, thank goodness. But not for long. He never is.”
“Are you afraid, Louisa? Afraid he’ll hurt you?”
“Me? No! Oh no! It’s your family, the children. When they’re in the tree house. I’m afraid one of these times Tenley’s going to … to startle. That’s why, that’s why I’m here. To ask you to get rid of it. Please. Ever since it’s gone up, it’s just been one thing after another.”
“But it’s just a tree house,” her mother said in a faltering voice. “The children … they play there … Henry built it … he’s worked so hard on it … I can’t imagine making him take it down. And I know that was a terrible thing, the night when that boy, the things he said, and then throwing all those candy bars at your brother … of course he was upset, but the children, Henry and Nellie, they didn’t do it. They—”
“It’s the tree house. The fact of it. And I don’t think we should have to be subjected to it anymore.” Miss Humboldt’s tone grew shrill. “Especially Tenley, not right now, not when he’s so fragile. And as much as I hate saying it, Sandy, it is an eyesore.”
There was a moment’s silence. “I don’t know what to say.” Her mother sounded hurt.
Say you’re as nutty as your brother, and that’s your problem, not ours, Nellie telepathically urged.
“He says if you don’t take it down, then he’s calling the building inspector.”
“Louisa!”
“I’m sorry, but I have to be loyal.”
“Well, here then,” her mother said, handing back the produce-laden baskets. “I don’t want them.”
IN A WAY, Max had written back. He wasn’t allowed to send her a letter, but in his to Charlie, he said how much he’d enjoyed hearing all about Nellie and her family. He told Charlie that he appreciated the time she was spending with Boone. He really missed Boone and even dreamed of him. Sometimes the dreams seemed so real he’d try not to wake up from them. It almost felt like being with him again, the two of them tramping through the woods or out in the boat, floating down the river, even watching the doodlebugs make circles on the water. He said to thank Nellie for the picture of Boone. He’d hung it up.
“Just that. The last line,” Charlie said, when she asked if Max had said anything about the trial.
The last line read, “Can you please get my money in the box? I need some for a shirt and tie for court. Can you give it to my lawyer? Thanks.”
“Did you? Did you give it to him?” she asked.
Charlie shrugged. “Don’t know what he’s talking about.”
“In that trunk, the metal box, you told
me there was money. You said you took it so the cops wouldn’t.”
Charlie grunted in his struggle to get comfortable in his recliner. His chest was bare and surprisingly bony. The mere touch of cloth against the shingles was unbearable. “I told you the cops took it, that’s what they do.”
“No. You said you did so they wouldn’t take—”
“Go on, get outta here. I don’t wanna hear anymore!”
“That’s not right, and you know it’s not. What’s he gonna wear, his jail stuff?”
He sat up and pointed his taloned, yellow finger at her. “I don’t give a—” He caught himself. “It’s not my problem, okay? He did what he did and now he can damn well pay for it, goddammit, bringing all this shit down on me. I got enough problems. And tell your mother, next time, send some other kid. I’ve had it with you and your mouth.”
“But he didn’t do it. I know he didn’t!”
“Oh, you do, huh?”
“Yes. I do.”
“How?”
“Because. I do.”
They stared at each other. A grin twitched at the damp corners of his mouth.
“I know some things.” Maybe Charlie did, too, she thought. Between them maybe they could help Max. She spoke slowly. “Things nobody else does.”
“Yeah? Like what?” His shrewd eyes narrowed as if to haggle over the price of some scrap metal she’d brought him.
She folded her arms. She had to be sure she could trust him. An entire family’s fate was at stake. Her father’s admonition had taken deep root in her conscience, its burden heavier with each new day. But what about Max? nagged the constant voice in her head. Wasn’t his future just as important? Last week the district attorney’s office had called her father. They wanted to talk to her. It was becoming harder and harder to pretend none of this was happening. Or that it didn’t involve her.
“Like, about her,” she said. “Dolly Bedelia.”
“What?” He snickered. “What d’ya know, little miss smart-ass, that nobody else does?”
If he hadn’t looked at her like that, leering almost, if he hadn’t called her that name, she would’ve told him, right then and there. And it would’ve been over. For once and for all.
“Never mind,” she said.
IN ORDER TO avoid Jessica, Nellie’d been taking a completely different route home from school, even though it meant walking alone. As much as she missed Krissie, who lived near Jessica, at least she wouldn’t be constantly reminded of the pain she was about to cause, not just to Jessica but her entire family. She tried to tell herself that in some ways Jessica deserved whatever the fallout would be. She’d always been mean, but usually to others, though Nellie’d long ago given up making excuses for her. She was probably the most selfish person she knew, though again, not with Nellie. And as she guiltily realized, Jessica’s generosity had been their surest bond since they’d been little, sharing her toys, her television, and for a time, buying Nellie whatever she wanted—candy; magazines; water balloons; magic tricks; once, even a new backpack instead of Ruth’s shabby hand-me-down—until Nellie’s mother put a stop to it. As much as Nellie wanted to be strong, Jessica had always cultivated her weaknesses. And she’d resented her for it. Until the day last spring when she discovered Major Fairbairn’s manual.
She’d read it so often that now whenever she summoned the major’s words, the voice in her head was clipped and British:
There will be some who will be shocked by the methods advocated here. To them I say, “In war you cannot afford the luxury of squeamishness.… We’ve got to be tough to win, and we’ve got to be ruthless—tougher and more ruthless than our enemies.”
Every civilian, man or woman, who ever walks a deserted road at midnight, or goes in fear of his life in the dark places of a city, should acquaint himself with these methods. Once mastered, they will instill the courage and self-reliance that come with the sure knowledge that you are the master of any dangerous situation with which you may have to cope … once closed with your enemy, give every ounce of effort you can muster, and victory will be yours.
As she marched along, she wasn’t sure who her enemy was, but she couldn’t let it be herself.
Bucky had just caught up. He was smoking. She walked faster.
“Hey, what’s the big rush?” he said, easily keeping pace. She was weighed down by a backpack sagging with books while his hung flat and empty on his back.
“Your smoke—it’s corroding my lungs.”
“Jesus,” he said, taking a last drag before flicking the butt into the gutter.
He was complaining about his gym teacher. Mr. Feldman had caught him sneaking out of class, so he told Bucky to run five laps around the track. Bucky had refused. He said he had a heart murmur.
“So he goes, ‘Well if you do, nobody told me!’ The asshole. ‘Well,’ I go, ‘I just did, didn’t I?’ So he goes, ‘Sorry, Bucko, that’s just not good enough.’ ‘Jesus Christ,’ I go. ‘What d’ya want, a fucking X-ray?’ which totally pisses him off, so he gives me a week of fucking dentention. Jesus Christ!”
“Watch your mouth, okay, Bucky?”
His hand flew to his mouth. “Are you fucking serious?” he laughed.
With that, she turned and stepped off the curb, right into the passing traffic. Horns blared and brakes screeched, but she didn’t care. Courage. As long as she was the master of any dangerous situation, no harm could come to her.
“What’re you tryna do?” bellowed the driver of a red plumbing van.
The right thing, she knew as she reached the other side.
Blinders, that was the trick. Ignore all threats. Forge ahead. Sweat poured down her sides and her heart was pounding, but with elation, not fear.
“That was smart.” Bucky had crossed and was walking beside her.
“Shut up.”
“How come you hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate you. I hate the stuff you do, that’s all.”
“Kinda the same thing, don’t you think?”
She didn’t answer. Their sneakers made sticky plat-plat sounds over the recently hot-topped sidewalk.
“I do have a heart murmur, you know.” He coughed and patted his chest.
“So does 10 percent of the population.”
“Who told you that?”
“I read. You should try it sometime.”
“Yeah, you don’t have TV, right? That’s what Jessica said. Your family, they’re like—” He wiggled his fingers. “—out there.”
Her first impulse was to shove him off the sidewalk.
“But that’s okay. Hey! I’m a freak. I like freaks. Long as they don’t think they’re better than me.”
“See ya,” she said stopping in front of her father’s store.
“I’ll come with you. I need some nails.” He held out his arms. “For the crucifixion.”
“It’s not open.” She stood in the doorway, blocking him.
“Yeah, what’s that all about? Jessica said your father’s stalking them. They see his name and they won’t answer the phone.” His grin was like Charlie’s, hungry and snide.
“Jessica ever tell you about her father?”
“No, what?”
“He’s … an asshole!” she blurted, shaken by how close she’d come.
“Hey, watch your pretty mouth,” Bucky whispered, holding her arm and pulling her against him. Just as his mouth touched hers, she drove her “knee quickly upwards into [her] opponent’s testicles.”
“Fuck!” he moaned, doubled over as she ran up the street, best she could, under her shifting burden of books, praying her father hadn’t seen anything, or worse, that Bucky wasn’t staggering into the store begging for help.
Chapter 20
NELLIE’S FATHER HAD TAKEN HENRY’S SIDE. HER MOTHER wanted the tree house torn down immediately. Calling it an eyesore had been Miss Humboldt’s master stroke. It had become another reminder of Sandy Peck’s connection not just to the junkyard but to all things unseemly. She
now despised it as much as the Humboldts did. The tree house would stay, Benjamin declared. It in no way endangered the Humboldts or impinged on their property. Henry’s hard work was not going to be in vain just because they found it aesthetically displeasing. Part of her father’s stubborn stand came from his own frustration. Everything had stalled, not just selling the store but getting his life’s work published. Luminosity Press had finally written back. They would publish the history, but in three volumes because of its length, at a cost to her father that was three times higher than their initial “guesstimate.”
It was early evening and her father was out in the yard with Lazlo. They were sitting in the pale blue Adirondack chairs Lazlo had brought with him. He had moved in last week after painting the apartment in parrot greens and mango tones. At that point, her mother would have agreed to fuchsia, black—any color—as long as there was rent money coming in. Lazlo had refinished the hardwood floors himself. His plan had been to retile the bathroom, but two days after his move, the new manager at the restaurant fired him. Her mother was shaken, but Lazlo was philosophical, even buoyed by his misfortune. It was karma. Now he could devote himself to his art. Not to worry, he assured her mother, he could live on his savings, for a year anyway. And even better, he could help with the jewelry parties. In fact, they could be partners. She wanted a partner about as much as she wanted an unemployed tenant but couldn’t tell him that, so, for now, the jewelry business would be on hold.
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