Calli

by Jessica Anderson

  “Come on in,” Mom says now that he’s calmed down and Sassy has too. “We have some cookies for you.”

  “Chocolate chip?” he asks.

  “Even better—oatmeal raisin,” Mom says.

  Michelle and I glance at each other, almost as if we’re both hoping he’ll agree. Thankfully he doesn’t argue the point. Now me? I might’ve at his age.

  I’m not hungry, but I grab a cookie when we gather in the kitchen.

  Michelle quickly says good-bye after telling Liz she’ll check on him soon. I hold my breath in case Lemond throws a fit. Instead he dunks his cookie into a glass of milk Mom has poured for him. He’ll probably need to soak his cookie because he’s missing both front teeth. I hadn’t noticed when he smiled earlier.

  “Good job with the trick,” Mom whispers to me when I bring my plate to the sink.

  Mom and Liz help Lemond unpack the trash bag that contains a few of his things and tuck him into bed. Liz gets choked up because this is how she carried her things around back in the day too.

  “Good night, Lemond,” I tell him.

  “Can you read me a story?” he asks me. “My sister used to read to me every night before bed.”

  “Sure,” I say. Mom and Liz linger in the doorway for a moment, watching us.

  Lemond pulls a tattered copy of The Little Engine That Could from the nightstand and hands it to me. I open the cover, careful not to rip any pages out. Just as I’m about to read, Lemond interrupts me.

  “Wait! Elissa let me hold the book.”

  I hand it to him.

  “I can read it myself. Want to hear?” I actually want to go back to my room, but I can’t tell him no. Not on his first night here. I know I’d be scared out of my mind.

  “Sure.” Lemond moves in closer to me. His body is warm. He flips the page open and I listen as he chugs, puffs, and ding-dongs his way through the book.

  “I miss her,” he says, right after shouting out, “He did it!” The Little Engine’s success couldn’t have been a surprise since Lemond knows the story by heart. “I don’t see her much anymore. One of Mama’s boyfriends was mean to her. She lives with her daddy now. I never met my daddy.”

  “Me neither,” I say, trying to take in everything else he’s revealed. His family situation sounds awful. I’m not sure how to respond, but Lemond keeps right on talking.

  “I used to get mad at Elissa because she called me Lemonhead. She made fun of me a lot.”

  “It happens, even with people you’re close to.”

  “You don’t have any brothers or sisters?”

  “No, but I’ve been a foster sister before. Sassy is a dog sister and I have a best friend that’s like one too. Not a dog, but a sister, you know?” This just comes out of my mouth, but it feels natural to say, even though my friendship with Delia isn’t what it used to be.

  Lemond wraps his arms around the book. “Which lady is your mama?”

  “They both are,” I say but then explain how Mom is my biological mother. I’m not sure how complicated our conversation will get, but he doesn’t ask any more questions.

  He leans against me and rests his arm on mine. His hand feels hot against my chilly skin. “Will you tell me a story? Elissa made up stories while Mom was away. She told me a lot of stories.”

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Please?” Lemond says.

  I’m afraid to breathe or twitch a muscle because I don’t want him to move. I want him to stay calm, relaxed. “There was once a naughty rabbit named Peter who went into a farmer’s garden. He didn’t listen to instructions and ate the vegetables, and ended up getting caught, and became ill. But he made it home safely to his mother.”

  Lemond looks up at me with sad eyes. Why did I tell him that story?

  He doesn’t seem as upset as I feel. Lemond smiles at me and asks, “Can you tell me a story about a boy now?”

  “Okay. Let me think for a minute.” I think through a number of story possibilities and go with something original. “So there was a boy and his real name was Redmond, but everyone called him Redhots.”

  “To make fun of his name?”

  “Yes,” I say, “and he had a case of chicken pox so bad it looked like his face was covered with the candy called Red Hots. Ever seen those red cinnamon dots before?”

  Lemond shakes his head. “That’s nasty. Did Redhots go to the doctor?”

  “Yes.” I pause and wonder if Mom and Liz are overhearing this ridiculous story. “So what do you think happened?”

  Lemond’s eyes grow large with ideas. “What if he scratched at one of his spots and it made magic?”

  “Great idea,” I say, still afraid to move even though my back, shoulders, and arms are cramping. “What do you think happened when he scratched the chicken pox spot on his nose?”

  “He learned how to fly!”

  “And the spot on his forehead?”

  “He could see through walls!”

  We continue with the story until Redmond discovers he can also breathe fire like a dragon and fight like a ninja. When pirates invade the doctor’s office, Redmond saves the day.

  We’re going to see pirates tomorrow, but I don’t tell Lemond. He’s looking sleepy and I don’t want to wire him up.

  “How does the story end?” Lemond yawns and shifts his weight. I have the sensation of pins and needles as blood rushes back into my arm.

  “The doctor was so happy to be saved that he healed Redmond’s chicken pox, but guess what?”

  “What? He got to keep all of his powers?”

  “Sure, but his friends still called him Redhots.”

  Lemond laughs and hugs me so tight it almost knocks the wind out of me. “I love you,” he says.

  What am I supposed to tell him? How can Lemond say he loves me when he doesn’t know me? I’m not his family.

  I haven’t earned that right yet.

  Being family means being there for a person through the good times and the bad. I just met him today.

  “Thank you,” I manage to say. My voice isn’t steady.

  I help him into bed and turn the night-light on. “Good night,” I say after tucking him in.

  “Night.”

  Tears flow down my cheeks as I walk away from his room. Cherish’s old room.

  CONTRABAND DAYS

  Saturday, May 10

  LEMOND HAS CHOCOLATE SMEARED on his chin. Mom made him chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. I ate one of her oat bars instead, even though she said she’d make me some pancakes too.

  “Can I have some coffee?” Lemond asks, bringing his dish to the sink. “Pretty please?”

  I almost laugh. A coffee-crazed kindergartner?

  “Why don’t we get you some chocolate milk instead?” Mom asks. I never got chocolate milk growing up. Just plain old milk.

  “But Aunty Bernadette didn’t care if I drank coffee. She made it for me with sugar and milk.” Lemond clasps his hands together as if Mom might give in if he begs. Liz stays out of it. She took the day off of work to hang out with us.

  “Well, I would like to know if you would like chocolate milk. We have water or orange juice if you prefer.”

  I stare at Mom. She’s not frowning anymore, and her skin is especially clear.

  “I can make you some tea,” Liz says. Lemond gives in.

  There’s a light knock at the door, and I jump up to answer it.

  Dub has an eye patch hanging around his neck like a necklace and a skull and crossbones pirate hat.

  After Sassy calms down, Dub walks into the living room. He gives me a friendly hug instead of a girlfriendlike embrace, and then walks up to Mom and Liz and shakes their hands. He even shakes Lemond’s hand too.

  “Is this your boyfriend, Calli?” Lemond asks.

  I look over at Dub and he grins. “Yes,” I say, grinning even wider than my boyfriend.

  Lemond reaches for Dub’s eye patch. “Cool,” he says. “What’s that for?”

  “The festival t
oday. You excited to go?”

  “We’re going to a festival?” Lemond’s face lights up as if Dub had told him today was Christmas and he was going to receive a heaping pile of gifts. “I’ve never been to a festival before!”

  Mom fills him in on a few details about Contraband Days, and then Dub takes off his patch and hands it to Lemond. “You can wear it, bro. There’s even a costume contest.”

  “Yeah!” Lemond jumps up and down yelling, “I want to be in the contest! I want to be in the contest!”

  “Sure thing.” Liz sets the tea she made for him on the table, but he doesn’t drink any of it. He practically bounces around the kitchen the way Sassy used to do when she was little.

  Once Lemond calms down, Dub and I help him get ready for the costume contest in his room. I start by wiping the chocolate off his chin.

  I grab a pair of red pajamas Mom bought for Lemond the other day. “Can I use these for Lemond’s costume?” I ask Mom.

  Fortunately Mom doesn’t mind since they weren’t expensive and she bought him a couple of pairs.

  I cut the pajama bottoms ragged. Dub helps Lemond put on a white shirt. I hold up the red pajama shirt next to Lemond to crudely measure. When I cut the shirt into a vest, the scissors create jagged, uneven lines. It doesn’t exactly look like a vest, but it will do. We tie some leftover material around his forehead for a headband.

  “Awesome!” Lemond says after he changes into his pirate gear and looks in a mirror. “This is better than Halloween.”

  Dub and I bust up. He’s a sad-looking pirate.

  “I have an idea,” Lemond says, wiggling his finger at me so I’ll get closer. His whispering tickles my ear.

  I’m not sure why, but I agree to his request and grab Mom’s lipstick from the bathroom. Dub raises his eyebrows, and I fill him in on the story of Redhots.

  I watch as Lemond taps the lipstick against his cheek. It looks like he has some weird form of acne instead of chicken pox.

  “Do you think this is how the real Redhots looked?”

  “If you think so, then yeah. Let’s finish getting ready.”

  Lemond tugs on his headband. “But what about your dots?”

  “Mine? That’s not how it goes in the story. There is no sidekick, right?”

  “There should be one. Pretty please?”

  Imagine what people from school will say if they see me all dotted up.

  What’s wrong with Calli now?

  Why would she come here looking like this?

  What does Dub see in her?

  Forget them.

  Besides, if Mom can deal with rashes all of the time, I can deal with having a few lipstick dots on my face that I can wash off at the end of the day. “Okay. Why don’t you put the dots on for me?”

  Lemond’s small hand grasps the tube of coral-colored lipstick, and I close my eyes.

  Dub doesn’t talk me out of it.

  The lipstick feels firm and cool as Lemond daubs it against my skin.

  “You look cute,” Dub says after Lemond finishes. He even lets Lemond dot his face.

  Mom and Liz are quite surprised when we reveal the pirate and our spotted makeover.

  “Let’s get you registered for the children’s pirate costume contest,” Mom tells Lemond after we get to the Lake Charles Civic Center. The festival is packed with people and plenty of stands. It smells like a combination of beer, cotton candy, and fried junk.

  “Why is everyone staring at us?” Lemond asks.

  Not often do you see three spotted young people with two women together. Right as I’m about to explain this, Liz comes up with a better response. “Because you’re the best-looking pirate they’ve ever seen.”

  Lemond beams.

  “What funny pirates,” the registration lady says when we walk up. She eyes us like we’re a group of freaks while Mom registers Lemond. “You’ll have a chance to say something when you’re up on stage,” she tells Lemond. Then she turns to Mom and Liz and says, “They’re really cute when they talk.” She makes it sound like he’s a puppy, not a little boy.

  The contest is still a couple of hours away. Dub suggests funnel cake and I half expect Mom to say, “Calli had a healthy breakfast so she can splurge on something extra fattening.” Instead she unzips her purse and digs for her wallet as we walk the fairgrounds. We stop for a while and listen to a band playing on the Malibu Rum stage. When the drummer beats rhythms on the drum my whole body feels it.

  “I’m hot.” Lemond tugs at his headband again. It’s damp with sweat. He lifts up the patch, smearing a dot. Mine are probably all smeared too.

  Dub orders two funnel cakes to be split between us—one powdered-sugared plain and one topped with strawberries and cream.

  When he tries to pay, Mom slips the girl at the register money instead.

  “Thanks,” Dub says, “but I want you to have this.” He holds out a twenty dollar bill. Mom doesn’t take it. Liz looks over at me and winks. I can tell she’s impressed.

  Lemond grabs fistfuls of the strawberry, goopy funnel cake and dribbles some down his chin and the front of his shirt. He eats with such gusto that I wonder if he’s ever had anything like it before. Dub laughs, sprinkling powdered sugar on his shirt. I eat a couple of sweet, crunchy bites and so does Liz. Mom doesn’t dare eat any.

  Finally an announcer says it’s time for the young buccaneers to make their way to the stage.

  “Don’t forget to put your patch on,” I remind Lemond. He immediately covers his eye and trips on the stairs. Oops.

  Dub forms his hand like a hook and Lemond does the same. “Rrr!” he says.

  “Good luck,” Liz tells him as the kids make their way onto the kids stage.

  I keep my eyes focused on the stage as Lemond parades around. There are two blond twins dressed in green pirate gear who look like professional buccaneers. But Lemond stands taller than them all with his dots and pitiful outfit.

  When the host of the competition comes around with a microphone, most of the pirates are too shy to talk. But when the host puts the microphone in front of Lemond, he says, “Rrr, matey.” His “matey” sounds more like “mighty.”

  Everyone in the audience laughs. I notice how Mom and Liz squeeze hands and exchange smiles. I wish we would’ve remembered the camera.

  “You’re all winners,” the host says loudly into the microphone after giving each kid a chance to talk. A few of the pirates cheer, including Lemond. “But the title of best-dressed buccaneer goes to Luke and Ian.” The twins.

  Lemond’s still cheering.

  “You did great,” Mom says when he gets off the stage.

  Lemond flashes his toothless grin. “Did you hear that? We’re all winners!”

  “It’s true.” Liz high-fives him.

  When she and Mom take him to the bathroom, I finally have some alone time with Dub. He pulls me into his arms right as a zydeco band starts jamming, the accordion filling the air with rhythm and energy.

  Folks near the stage start dancing. Dub rocks me to the beat. “I love you, Calli,” he says over the loud music.

  Legend has it that a mean pirate named Jean Lafitte (French, no doubt) buried treasure in a bayou here in Lake Charles. Nobody has ever found it, but I feel like I have when I tell Dub that I love him too.

  INTERVENTION II

  Sunday, May 11

  “WATCH ME, CALLI!” Lemond yells as he attempts another cartwheel in our backyard.

  This time he manages a sort of somersault on the thick green grass. I clap my hands. “Good job!”

  Lemond gets right back up and tries again. Earlier this morning he said our house was the first place he’d ever seen in person that had a “real live backyard,” and he wanted me to play Olympics with him. Lemond tried to sucker me into jumping around, but there is a limit to the things I’m willing to do.

  Sassy was interested in being chased at first, but she fell asleep on the stoop when the excitement of Lemond’s acrobatics wore off. She pops up now when Liz s
lides the door open. It makes a grinding noise, and I’m sure Liz will be giving it a dose of WD-40 soon. “Calli! Delia is on the phone, and she says she needs to talk to you right this minute.”

  Right this minute? This could be good or it could be bad. Did John, aka Hot Chick-fil-A Guy, finally call her? Since I’ve been so busy with Lemond, I almost forgot about giving John her number. Almost.

  Liz takes my place outside, and Lemond practically somersaults into me as I make my way inside to answer the phone.

  “Delia?”

  She doesn’t bother with a greeting. “Intervention today? I can pick you up about one.”

  “I’ll have to check with Mom and Liz, but count me in unless they say no.”

  We don’t say anything else before she hangs up. Good or bad, we need to talk.

  Mom and Liz don’t say no, especially since I have a ride, but Lemond has an issue with me leaving. “Can I go to the mall with you? Pretty please?” he asks as we finish lunch. Mom made him more pancakes while the rest of us ate spinach salads.

  Lemond sticks his finger into the maple syrup and attempts to draw a happy face. “My sister always let me go shopping with her.”

  “Calli needs some alone time with her friends,” Mom says, which is a relief because I don’t want to tell him no or to disappoint him, especially since we’re off to a pretty decent start.

  When Lemond turns his attention back to drawing in the maple syrup, I look at Mom and mouth the words, “Thank you.”

  “Of course,” she whispers.

  Lemond frowns and then licks the sticky syrup off his hands. “Fine then, but can we make a book later, Calli?”

  “Sure. You can illustrate it.”

  Lemond starts telling Mom all about Redhots and the stories we’ve made up. He talks so much that all Mom gets a chance to say is, “Uh-huh. Really?”

  A horn honks. French maid! Delia’s here twenty minutes early. I’m not ready. I don’t even have makeup on. I throw my hair into a ponytail and quickly say good-bye before trekking out to the driveway.