My One Square Inch of Alaska (9781101602850)

by Short, Sharon

  “We’d better put both jars in the shelter.” He slapped the newspaper. “With commies like this art teacher, we’ll be under attack soon.”

  “Now, Porter, I don’t think anyone is going to seek out and attack Groverton because of the opinions of one art teacher.”

  Daddy shook his head, stood up, stalked off from the table.

  Will pushed his plate back. “Done!” he said. He’d eaten the island of noodles and smashed up the pea and tuna islands. He grabbed his comic and ran from the table.

  “Will, you get back here!” I hollered. I looked at Miss Bettina. “Maybe you could get him to eat more later. Thanks again for watching him for me.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t watch Will tonight. You know I’d normally love to. But I’m going to the meeting with Porter—your Dad—tonight. It’s at my church,” Miss Bettina said. She drove all the way into Dayton to attend the Unitarian church (which Grandma said didn’t count as a real church, but Miss Bettina’s kindness always seemed real to me). I was relieved; maybe they could take Will to whatever the meeting was. But then Miss Bettina added, “An AA meeting. Alcoholics Anonymous.”

  “Well, how wonderful,” I said. “But I don’t see why you have to take him. If he’s not drinking, he should be OK to drive himself—not that being drunk has ever stopped him from driving before.”

  Miss Bettina gasped. I looked away, wishing I could snatch back the hateful words. I hated how I sounded—stiff and mean, just like Grandma—but I couldn’t suddenly feel all happy for Daddy. Well, gee, I wanted to say, what made him finally figure out he needed to stop drinking? All the jobs he couldn’t keep, the nights he didn’t come home, the money he spent, the depressed funks that made him neglect me and Will? What has changed?

  Jimmy.

  I knew Daddy hadn’t quit on his own because of Jimmy. But Jimmy’s presence in my life definitely had an influence on how people treated us. Made Grandma less bitter. Made people treat Daddy a little more kindly at Ace Hardware.

  Miss Bettina gently put a hand on mine, but I didn’t look at her. “I have to go,” Miss Bettina said softly. “I’m Porter’s sponsor. And I never miss a meeting myself, if I can help it.”

  This made me look up and study her for a long moment as her meaning sank in.

  I suddenly realized that as available as she was for us, most Saturday nights she wasn’t.

  Because she was at AA meetings. Because, she was telling me, she was an alcoholic.

  Alcoholic. No one used that term back then, just like no one said cancer. Especially when cancer involved private body parts. The disease was half-whispered, if named at all. Like the breast cancer that had taken my mama.

  Suddenly I remembered, like a photo of the moment sliding before my eyes, Miss Bettina sitting with me on her front porch, telling me how Mama had gone away to get treatment for breast cancer down at a special clinic in Florida. Later, Miss Bettina—not our daddy—had been the one to tell me and Will that our mama had died from that breast cancer and been buried in Florida.

  Alcoholic. I could attach the term to Daddy, to his angry rants alternating with his sullen sorrow. But to Miss Bettina? Sweet, quiet, soft-spoken Miss Bettina, who watched Will for me, who brought us canned goods whenever she had extras, who quietly sold dresses in her shop, who sometimes slipped me an extra quarter or two when she paid me for doing alterations?

  But what did I know of Miss Bettina? Only that she’d been my mama’s best friend. That she’d lived next door to us for as long as I could remember. I realized, though, that I had no idea how she, a single woman, had money for her dress shop, for a house. Why she’d never married.

  I studied her tired, sad face. She wasn’t trying to trick me. She was telling the truth.

  The doorbell rang. I heard Will’s steps galloping down the stairs, the front door being flung open, and then there was Will, rushing into the kitchen. “Oh, Donna,” he said, his voice singsong. Despite his promise from the week before, he made fun of me all the time about Jimmy. “Your boyfriend’s here!”

  Jimmy came into the kitchen right behind Will. He laughed, scooped Will up, rubbing his knuckles across Will’s head. “Yes, I am,” he declared. Jimmy and Will had become fast friends, like Will was his little brother, too.

  Then Jimmy stopped, still holding Will in midair, and stared at Miss Bettina and me. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t—” Miss Bettina said, as I said, “She can’t watch Will—”

  We both stopped. “I need to find someone to watch Will,” I said.

  “I can watch myself!” Will hollered, still writhing in Jimmy’s arms. “Put me down!”

  “Maybe Will could see if he can go over to Tony’s house—” I started.

  Suddenly, Will was making retching sounds. Jimmy quickly put him down. I could tell from Will’s ashen face that he was about to throw up. I hurried him up to the bathroom, held his head while he puked noodles into the toilet. Then I cleaned him up, felt his forehead. No fever.

  “I’m sorry,” Will said, while I tucked him into bed. Even if he didn’t have a fever, I wanted him to rest. “I’ve messed things up.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. But I swallowed over a lump in my throat. “You’ll be fine. You just need to eat better than noodles and Marvel Puffs cereal!”

  “But I’m only three box tops away!” he said. “And the deadline for sending the box tops in is September thirtieth! Just eleven days from now!”

  “Hush,” I said, and went downstairs.

  Miss Bettina and Jimmy were talking quietly when I went into the kitchen. They stopped when I walked in, looking a little guilty. What was that about?

  “He’s fine,” I said. “No fever or other symptoms. I think he just got an upset stomach from running around all day and then not eating well at dinner.”

  “I shouldn’t have roughhoused with him.” Jimmy looked sad. “I’m sorry. I was really looking forward to surprising you.”

  “Well, if all Will has is an upset stomach from a rough day, why not take him with you?” Miss Bettina said. We both stared at her. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know. It’s not so romantic, taking a ten-year-old with you on a date, but isn’t that better than missing it altogether?”

  “Ewww…I’m going on a date with you two?” Will was standing in the kitchen doorway.

  “Will, what are you doing? You should stay in bed—”

  “I was thirsty,” he protested. The little brat. If he was thirsty, he could have gotten water from the bathroom upstairs. He was spying! He looked at Jimmy. “You aren’t going to make out with my sister at the picture show, are you? Then I might really throw up. All over you.”

  I was horrified. “Will!”

  But Jimmy laughed. “I was planning on taking her on a picnic. By the Tangy River. Think you can handle that?”

  Will lit up. “The Tangy River? I know the perfect fishing spot! And if it’s a picnic, well, just this once I could bend the rules and we could take Marvel Puffs. For a treat.”

  I was about to say No, no, no to the whole thing, but Jimmy said, “That sounds like a great idea.”

  Chapter 10

  We went to the Tangy, high on a bluff upriver. Through the trees, we could just make out the smoke from the stacks of Groverton Pulp & Paper, but none of the sulfur smell reached us. The bluff smelled woodsy and earthy. Jimmy had to have driven up and down River Road often to have spotted the place. It was new to me and I’d lived in Groverton my whole life—but then, I’d never had Jimmy’s freedom.

  He wouldn’t let me do a thing to set up the picnic, but he let Will, which made Will strut with importance. I sat in the car, watching Jimmy and Will spread out a classy blue-and-white-striped picnic cloth—no faded, sad ducks and lambs, like the tablecloth on Mama’s old car in the garage. Then Jimmy got a picnic basket out of the trunk, and I followed him back to the cloth, where Will was sprawled. I knew I should feel glad that Will seemed better after getting sick at dinner, but
I wanted Jimmy to myself.

  When Jimmy came to the car, I leaned in close to him and whispered, “I don’t think he’s going to give us much privacy.”

  He smiled. “It will be fine. Trust me.”

  When we got to the picnic cloth, Will sat up. Jimmy sat down next to him, while I sat down across from them. “Think you’re feeling better enough to eat?” Jimmy opened the basket. “I brought grapes, olives, pâté—that’s a liver spread—and good, crusty bread.”

  All exotic food, I thought. Except the grapes. Persimmons…now that was exotic fruit…. I tried to shake the thought from my head. I would not think of Mr. Cahill on this date.

  But I was curious. I knew Jimmy hadn’t gotten the food from the A&P. Or from a tree in his backyard. “Where did you get all of this?” I asked, at the same time Will wrinkled up his nose as Jimmy spread a slice of bread with the pâté, which looked a lot like deviled ham to me.

  “That stuff stinks!” Will said.

  “Will!” But it did. And the olives—which were black, instead of green—smelled briny. Still, Jimmy must have spent a fortune on the food.

  Jimmy laughed. “I went to a grocery in Cincinnati.”

  Will took a crust of bread with pâté and bit into it. He immediately looked like he wanted to spit it out. And like he might be sick again.

  I felt a little sorry for him. “You don’t have to eat, if you don’t want to.”

  He started to look into the basket, but Jimmy snapped it shut. What was he hiding in there that he didn’t want Will to see? “I think I’ll have some grapes. And Marvel Puffs.” Will looked at each of us. “You two want some Marvel Puffs, right?”

  He was getting desperate. As he kept reminding me, the deadline for the postmark for mailing in his ten box tops was September 30, just four days after his eleventh birthday.

  “Of course,” Jimmy said. He opened the basket just enough to slide a hand in and pull out a floral-patterned china plate. Then he poured a big heap of the Marvel Puffs onto the plate.

  Will grinned. “Wow! I bet we finish this box tonight. And then just two box tops more, and I can send off for my deed.” He looked perplexed, suddenly. “I wonder where in Alaska the square inches are? It doesn’t say on the box. But it would say on the deed, right?”

  “Of course,” Jimmy said again. He got out another plate and filled it with olives, grapes, the little container of pâté. He put the bread on the picnic cloth. I realized that he had only brought two plates. “And then you can look it up on a map.”

  Will looked annoyed. “I don’t have a map of Alaska. There isn’t even one at the library! I checked when I did my diorama last year—we had to do this diorama of Ohio, but I chose Alaska because it’s more interesting and I know it’s not a state, not yet, but it will be, even though my stupid teacher says it never will be—”

  “Will!” I gave him a warning look.

  He shot back a defiant glare. “She was stupid. She said it would never be a state—”

  “That does seem kind of stupid,” Jimmy said casually. “Especially since it’s already in my atlas, right there with the U.S. and Canada.”

  Will’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Jimmy nodded. “The atlas is in my glove compartment, if you want to look at it.”

  Will looked at me. “Can I?”

  “May I,” I corrected, immediately hating how school-teachery I must sound. “And, yes.”

  Will grabbed his box of Marvel Puffs and a handful of grapes and ran to the car. He yelled back at us, “Make sure you eat all those Marvel Puffs! It doesn’t count if you don’t!”

  “What doesn’t count?” Jimmy asked.

  “His deed to his one square inch of Alaska,” I said. “His rule is that every last puff has to be eaten, and he can’t ask for help. Other people have to volunteer. Like you just did.”

  Jimmy looked at the plate of puffs and groaned. “We’ll find a way to get rid of them without him knowing,” he said.

  I looked at him, not liking that, but I didn’t say anything. We were finally alone—sort of. I glanced at Jimmy’s car. Will was in the front seat, head bent over the atlas as if it were a treasure map leading to the most amazing thing imag-inable.

  “I’m worried about how disappointed he’ll be if he doesn’t get all ten box tops in time. He’s been getting about one a week, but he needs three, and there’s less than two weeks—”

  “You worry too much,” Jimmy said. I looked back at him. He’d opened the picnic basket and pulled out a bottle and two wineglasses.

  Jimmy smiled at me. “Champagne. It’ll help you worry less.” He looked at the bottle. “Moët and Chandon. My dad’s favorite.”

  A flutter of nervousness was suddenly making my forehead and upper lip tingle. Dad and Miss Bettina were at an AA meeting, and here I was, about to drink with Jimmy. I wasn’t sure if I should feel guilty or amused. What do you feel, Donna? It was the kind of question Mr. Cahill would ask. Answer: I feel like drinking the champagne. Seeing what happens next….

  “Won’t your dad miss it?” I blurted.

  Jimmy laughed as he popped the cork and poured champagne in a glass. “He has plenty more.” He handed the glass to me. I took a sip. I liked how the bubbles felt on my tongue and lip. Jimmy moved closer to me, kissed the back of my neck. I moaned. Then Jimmy nipped my neck a little and I winced.

  We both said, “Sorry,” at the same time.

  “I’m just a little stiff in that spot,” I said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  From stretching in some impossible pose for Mr. Cahill on his chaise longue…. But I couldn’t say that. Not if I wanted to keep Jimmy’s interest. And I did. I very much did.

  “Doing alterations for Miss Bettina,” I said, feeling a little sick turn in my stomach at the lie. “It’s really a lot of close-up work, especially the hemming.”

  Jimmy started rubbing my neck and I gasped, both at the jolt his touch sent through me and at how his hands made my neck start to feel like warm putty.

  “I don’t think she likes me,” he said.

  “Now who worries too much? Of course she likes you. Everyone likes you.” Although, I thought, she was unusually quiet and stiff around him. Why, I wondered, wouldn’t Miss Bettina like Jimmy?

  But then he said, “I brought you here because I wanted to ask you something. Well, three somethings. And I didn’t want to ask with anyone around—”

  I laughed, a little bitterly. “I guess my little brother ruined that.”

  “No, he’s lost in looking at that atlas. Probably mapping out a route to Alaska!”

  I laughed again, but not bitterly this time. I loved how often Jimmy made me laugh. I closed my eyes, nearly moaning again. I loved his touch, too.

  “Would you come to dinner at my house next Friday? That means meeting my parents.”

  I misunderstood and stiffened. “I’ll try not to be too embarrassing, although there’s not much I can do about the fact my father used to be somebody at Groverton, and now—”

  Jimmy stopped rubbing my neck. He twisted around on the cloth so that he was looking at me. He put his hand to my cheek. “Donna. I’m not embarrassed by you. Do all the Lanes have such big chips on their shoulders?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He laughed. “I just hope my parents don’t embarrass me.”

  I frowned at that. He had the most powerful father in town.

  Jimmy shrugged. “They can be…a bit much. But will you come?”

  The next Saturday would be Will’s eleventh birthday party. I had planned to spend the week preparing for that. But I told myself I could finish the yellow dress to wear to dinner the next Friday, still prepare for Will’s birthday party the next day, and, of course, keep up with school and modeling for Mr. Cahill. Not being under Grandma’s critical glare made me feel I could do anything. Everything.

  So I nodded. He looked relieved. “Good. They want to meet you because they know about this next question. Will you go with me
to homecoming?”

  I smiled. “Of course.”

  I’d need a dress, and I knew immediately which of Mama’s I’d remake, one of the last ones left…. My heart started to flip at the idea. Maybe it’s wrong, using that particular dress…it’s definitely risky….

  Jimmy leaned close, his lips nearly brushing mine as he said, “and here’s my third question.” He looked suddenly nervous as he slipped his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a delicate chain on which he’d hung his class ring. “Will you be my girl?”

  Of course I would. It was what I wanted, wasn’t it? What any girl would want?

  I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Why me? When you could have any girl?”

  “Because you see me for who I am. You don’t put me on a pedestal.” He smiled. “And I see you for who you are. You. And I like what I see.”

  After that, of course I said yes. But as he slipped the chain around my neck, his thumb brushing the sore spot where I’d stiffened from posing for Mr. Cahill, something in me fluttered that wasn’t quite giddiness.

  I wasn’t sure what it was. It just felt like…something slipping away.

  A small flock of starlings suddenly rose from the tops of the trees on the bank of the Tangy, their black bodies temporarily dotting the gray smoke puffing up in the distance from Groverton Pulp & Paper. Even farther away, a freight train whistled.

  Be happy, I told myself, as I watched the birds fly away, while Jimmy pulled me to him for a kiss. Now you’re Jimmy’s girl. And everything will be fine….

  Chapter 11

  Will fell asleep studying the Sterry Oil atlas, waking up long enough for Jimmy to tell him he could keep it, and that we’d finished off the Marvel Puffs, so now Will had eight box tops, which made Will happy. He wouldn’t have stayed happy if he’d known that we’d taken the plate of Marvel Puffs down to the Tangy and dumped them for birds to eat. Even as I was thrilled to spot a colony of great blue herons across the river, I felt guilty about dumping the cereal, but Jimmy seemed annoyed—What could it really matter? he asked—and I stopped protesting. After all, I didn’t want to ruin a nearly perfect evening in which I’d eaten exotic food, drunk too much champagne, and become Jimmy’s girl.