Hope in the Holler

by Lisa Lewis Tyre

  “Oh, Lord. God forbid you miss that!” She leaned back in her chair and rested her hands on her belly. “If talent was ink, you boys wouldn’t have enough to dot an i. You’re all sorry, every last one of you.”

  “We ain’t that bad.”

  “Son, typhoid ain’t that bad compared to your team. Give it up.”

  Uncle Philson snickered.

  I glanced at Hoyt. His face was cloudy with a chance of hail.

  He glared at me. “Tell her to quit staring with those big cow eyes!” He jutted his chin forward. “Moo! Moo! See how you like it.”

  “Stop your fussing,” Samantha Rose said. “Worry about your own self.”

  Hoyt stood up with a rush and knocked his chair backward. “I’m going out!” He stomped through the kitchen, slamming the door behind.

  “Cheese!” Uncle Philson shouted.

  • • •

  I LAY IN my room thinking about Mama. Even on her old bed, with a blanket that still smelled like her lotion, the not of her was overwhelming.

  A couple of years ago, when Walmart first came to town, she took me to the grand opening. They were giving away prizes to the first one hundred customers, things like a twelve-pack of Coke, and coupons for a free block of cheese. It was fun, but the most exciting thing was when the wind picked up and this huge balloon reading ANDRO WALMART broke loose. Everybody stepped out of line to watch it hang there, knocked back and forth by the winds. That’s how I felt now. Like everything I was tied to was long gone and there was nothing to keep me from being blown into the side of a mountain.

  I couldn’t believe Mama hadn’t told me anything about Conley Hollow. I thought of the graves I’d seen earlier. Did my grandmother even get to see me? I closed my eyes thinking back to everything I’d ever heard Mama say about her family. The small tombstone! The memory came back in a rush.

  One of Mama’s coworkers, Brad, had called to ask her for a date and I’d teased her about it for months. Are you sure you don’t want to go? I’d asked. I can spend the night with Hannah.

  We were snuggled on the couch watching reruns. Nope. I wouldn’t give up a night with you for anything. She tucked the afghan around my lap, suddenly somber. Do you miss having a man around the house?

  I don’t know, I told her. I can’t really miss something I never had, right? But every now and then I think about what it would be like to have a brother or sister.

  She sighed. Well, there’s not much chance of that. But good friends can be like family.

  Did you have any siblings? I asked.

  No, she said. Mama had a baby girl, but she died young, before I was born. I don’t think she ever got over it. Mama’s face turned sad like it always did when anything of the past came up, and we went back to watching the movie.

  Samantha Rose had said she and Mama had a “falling-out.” It must have been huge for Mama to lie her out of existence.

  I heard the door open and sat up. Hoyt stomped in and stood at the end of my bed. His hair fell across one eye and he looked like a greasy redneck pirate. I pulled Mama’s blanket up around my shoulders.

  “You think you’re all that, huh?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “I can tell. I ain’t stupid. You don’t believe all that bull Mama said about wanting to take care of her dead sister’s child, do you? What a joke.”

  I thought of what Gilbert had said. “Why’d she take me in, then?”

  Hoyt smiled. One of his front teeth was crooked and overlapped the other. It gleamed a bluish white in the dark room. “Money, ya dummy. We’ll be getting your Social Security checks soon. You’re worth hundreds of dollars every month.”

  He laughed. “Wavie. It even sounds like the name of a cow.”

  “I’ll tell Mrs. Chipman,” I said.

  “Won’t do any good. The state don’t care as long as they’ve got a place to put you.”

  I’d had about all I could take from my new cousin. “Hoyt?” I whispered. “Why don’t you go play tag with the train?”

  “Moo, moo, little brown cow.” Hoyt stomped out of the room, still laughing. “You’re a cash cow. Maybe we’ll buy you a bell to wear around your neck.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  There’s a trick to crawling inside a window without sounding like a herd of elephants. Gilbert hadn’t mastered it. On Monday morning he fell headfirst onto my bedroom floor.

  Obviously, the concept of privacy hadn’t made it to Conley Hollow. “What are you doing?”

  He had his hand over his eyes. “Are you decent?”

  “Yes,” I whispered. “But get out of here before Samantha Rose finds you.”

  He waved a hand in the air like he was shooing away a fly. “Aw, she snores as loud as that coal train. Takes a lot to wake her. I need a favor. Here.” He handed me a plastic jug.

  “What’s this?”

  “Gran was a little short this month and the water got turned off again. Fill that up so I can wash off.”

  “You want me to fill this up so you can take a bath?”

  “Yeah. Hoyt took the hose inside so I couldn’t use it, but Mr. Vic won’t let me ride the bus if I stink.”

  The last thing I wanted was to be caught with Gilbert in my bedroom, but I had to admit that he did kind of smell. Okay, he a lot smelled.

  “Can’t you go over to Frank and Beans’s house?”

  “Gran won’t let me run up their water bill.”

  “All right,” I said.

  Gilbert grinned big and wide. “If there’s any soap, throw that in, too.”

  The running faucet sounded like a waterfall but I made it back to the bedroom with the jug and a tiny sliver of soap without seeing anybody.

  “I owe you one.”

  “Just go before I get caught,” I whispered.

  Gilbert climbed back out the window and reached for the jug. “I’ll see you down at the road and you can tell me how to repay you.”

  “You don’t have to,” I said, but he was already off and running barefoot down the dirt drive.

  • • •

  THE DOG I called Spotted One met me at the bottom of the porch steps. I stood still to let him get a good whiff of my hand. “Are you going to bite me, or are we going to be friends?” I whispered. He nudged my hand with his cold nose and wagged his tail. “Friends, it is. Sorry. I don’t have anything for you,” I said, rubbing his head. “I’ll have to find where Samantha Rose keeps the dog food.”

  Gilbert was all cleaned up, beaming bright as a police car spotlight. “Hey, Wavie. Meet Convict Holler’s finest.”

  “Convict Holler?” I asked.

  One of the boys, Frank or Beans, studied me with his mouth gaping open. “Don’t you know where you live?”

  “Nobody around here calls it Conley Hollow but the postman,” Gilbert said, “and he’s just obligated by law to say it correctly.”

  “You’re ridiculous, Gilbert.” This came from a girl with dark hair and dark eyes standing on the edge of the group. “Not to mention, your hair needs combing.”

  “Why do people always say ‘not to mention,’ then say it anyway?” Gilbert asked. “I’m trying to introduce Wavie to everybody. Not to mention, Camille, you’re kind of hateful.”

  Camille stared at me, serious. “I heard your mama died.”

  I nodded. “Yes, six days ago.”

  “That’s sad.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” I set my worn backpack down at my feet. It was light. Samantha Rose hadn’t given me any paper, but I had my notepad. It rested in the bottom with the picture of my mom. I considered taking the photo out and showing it to Camille, but there was a part of me that wanted to keep Mama all to myself. Besides, carrying around a picture of your mom was probably lame.

  I rubbed my arms. Spring was coming slowly to Kentucky but the
mornings were still chilly. My winter coat had been too small and too worn to bother packing.

  “What grade are you in?” Camille asked.

  “Sixth,” I said.

  “Me too.”

  “Camille’s supposed to be in fifth grade with me,” Gilbert said, “but she’s gifted and talented. If you don’t believe me, just ask her.”

  Camille smirked. “If you didn’t skip school so much you’d be in sixth grade, too. Maybe not in the GT program, but out of fifth.”

  “Well, excuse me, Your Majesty,” Gilbert said. “You ever thought that I don’t want to be in any Gawky and Troubled classes?”

  “If that’s what GT stood for, you’d be sitting in the front row wearing a President of GT pin.”

  Gilbert ignored her. “We eat lunch at the same time, so you’ll get to see me plenty.”

  “Good,” I said, and I meant it. I’d been dreading the awkward lunchroom ritual of having to find someone to sit with and thinking of things to talk about. With Gilbert I didn’t imagine I’d have too many quiet moments to fill.

  The bus came around the curve and pulled to a stop in front of the group. The driver—Mr. Vic, I assumed—opened the door. “All aboard!”

  I followed Gilbert, and Camille fell in behind us.

  The bus was hushed. Sleepy bobbleheads on scrawny necks craned to get a look at me.

  “Sit here,” Gilbert said. He plunked down next to the window. “Have you thought about it?”

  “What?”

  “You know. What I can do to pay you back!”

  I shook my head. “Not yet.”

  Camille sat in front of us and turned around. Her hair, a dark shiny waterfall, splashed on her shoulders.

  I tucked a strand of mine behind my ear. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d washed my hair: two, maybe three days at least.

  “Why do you need to pay her back?” she asked.

  “None of your beeswax,” Gilbert said.

  “You might as well tell me. The chances of you being able to help her on your own are slim and nada.”

  Gilbert made a face. “I knew as soon as I heard she was a girl you’d stick your nose in.”

  Camille looked down her nose at me. “Do you want to be his friend or mine?”

  I thought of Hannah and the rest of the kids I’d known from the trailer park, now miles away in Andro. Without Mama, I was now ALONE, LONE, ONE. “Both?”

  Gilbert groaned. “And I knew you were gonna say that.”

  “Make him pay you back,” Camille said. “And make it hard. Otherwise he’ll keep asking you to do stuff.”

  Gilbert turned to look at me. “As long as it doesn’t involve broccoli. I hate broccoli.”

  “Why in the world would it involve broccoli?” Camille asked.

  “I just wanted to get that off the table,” Gilbert said. “It’s what we call nonnegoatable.”

  “Nonnegotiable,” Camille corrected.

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  I leaned back against the seat and listened to the kids laughing and talking across the seats. My stomach unknotted a little bit with the thought of having two new friends.

  • • •

  THE PRINCIPAL STOOD greeting students with a handshake or a high five as they came through the door.

  “Time for a lice check,” Gilbert whispered. “That’s Principal Rivers. She’s a hundred years old and got more eyes than a two-headed spider. You can’t get by with anything.”

  Camille rolled her eyes. “You’re such an exaggerator, Gilbert! She’s not a day over sixty and she’s nice. Unless you do something bad like skip school to burn tires.”

  I was about to find out for myself. Principal Rivers motioned me over.

  “Wavie, right? Let’s go to the office and get you situated.” She walked me down the hallway toward her office. A few minutes later, she slid a printed piece of paper across her desk.

  “Your classes are listed here, and there’s a map of the school on the back.” Principal Rivers tapped the desk with the edge of her glasses. “Do you need to see the school counselor?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “All right. But know she’s here if you need to speak to someone.” She put her elbows on the desk and clasped her hands. “I knew your mama, you know.”

  I sat up straighter. “You did? When she went to school here?”

  “That’s right. You remind me of her.” The principal gathered her papers. “If you’re half the student she was, you’ll do fine.”

  Personally, I thought schools put too much stock in grades, but that was probably because I hadn’t made the honor roll in a while. Since Mama was smart, I always figured I took after my dad, He-Who-Shall-Never-Be-Mentioned.

  “I’ll try,” I said.

  Mrs. Rivers opened the door for me. “Great. And the most important thing is to come to class. If you have a problem at home preventing you from getting here, let me know.”

  I nodded and brushed past her. Gilbert was right. I could swear she was checking my head for lice as I went by.

  • • •

  “YOU WANT TO go exploring after school?” Gilbert asked.

  Camille stared at him from across the table. “Who’d want to walk through briars and poison ivy to dig in the dirt, Gilbert?”

  Gilbert slurped his milk. “Lots of people that aren’t you.”

  “Did you have any problems finding your classes?” Camille asked.

  “Not so far,” I said. “The school’s a lot smaller than my last one.” I frowned. “I did get called on a bunch though. Half of my classes were empty.”

  “Mondays are bad,” Camille said. “But it picks up as the week goes on.”

  “By Friday it’ll be packed,” Gilbert said. “That’s when the fine ladies of Farley Methodist Church bring food for the impoverished children.” He clasped his hands together and pretended to cry. “Thank you so much for the Dollar General peanut butter, but could you please get creamy next time?”

  Camille laughed. “I’ll take yours if you don’t want it.”

  “No way. A kid traded me four mac-and-cheese boxes for it last time.”

  “Did Samantha Rose sign you up for the Share-A-Lot program?” Camille asked. “You leave your backpack at the office on Fridays and they fill it up with food so you won’t be hungry over the weekend.”

  “Yes,” I said. “We had it in Andro, too, only the kids called it Shame-A-Lot. Everyone knew why you were going to the office on Friday afternoons.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be embarrassed here,” Gilbert said. “The whole school’s on it.”

  “Nobody needs to be embarrassed, period,” Camille said. “It’s not our fault.”

  I picked up my fork. “She signed me up for free breakfast and lunches, too.”

  “Samantha Rose doesn’t miss a trick,” Gilbert said. “She sure knows the system!”

  I thought about what Hoyt had said. “Boy, does she.”

  “What do you mean?” Camille asked.

  I hesitated, considering how much to tell them. “How long have you guys lived in Convict Holler?”

  “I moved in with Gran in second grade,” Gilbert said. “I lived in the same school district before, so it wasn’t a big deal.”

  I knew better than to ask him why he’d moved in with his grandmother. If you see a kid living away from both his parents, you can bet the history isn’t good.

  “We moved here last year from Texas,” Camille said, “and it’s been just awesome.” She stabbed her chicken nugget hard.

  “Gilbert said your daddy owns a restaurant?”

  She nodded. “La Parrilla. That means The Grill. You can come with me sometime to eat, if you want.”

  “I’m in!” Gilbert said. He tilted his head sideways. “You meant f
ree, right?”

  “Yes, Gilbert, for free.” She smoothed down her hair. “What’s it like living with Samantha Rose? We can hear her yelling at Hoyt all the way down at my house.”

  “I’m still figuring it out.”

  “If she starts in on you, come to my house anytime,” Camille told me. “My mom’s not afraid of her.”

  “Gran neither,” Gilbert said. “I don’t know what it was like where you come from, but around Convict Holler we watch out for each other.”

  I looked around the lunchroom, making up my mind. Nobody was paying attention to us, but I whispered to be sure. “Hoyt told me last night that Samantha Rose only took me in to get my money.”

  “What money?” Camille asked.

  “She’s applied to be my guardian. That means she gets my Social Security checks. Hoyt said it was hundreds of dollars a month.”

  Gilbert whistled.

  “You should tell somebody,” Camille said. “It’s not right for her to steal all your money.”

  “What’s right got to do with Samantha Rose?” Gilbert asked.

  I knew I should be mad, but I couldn’t quite work up the steam. “I have a caseworker, but she’d probably say I haven’t given it a fair chance, and maybe Samantha Rose will only take out my expenses.”

  Gilbert rubbed at a stain on his T-shirt. “Oh, the thing you can count on is her going through your money like a hog through corn. Samantha Rose ain’t likely to get any better with time,” he said. “But you’re her family, so maybe she’ll surprise us.”

  My experience with family was limited to Mama, but Samantha Rose was nothing like her. I hoped Gilbert was right, but I couldn’t stop thinking of the notebook resting in my backpack. Yesterday I’d added more SAMANTHA ROSE words—TREASON, SHAME, SEAR and HARASS.

  It felt like a bad omen.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Frank and Beans jumped off the bus in front of me and raced toward their house. I said goodbye to Gilbert and walked slowly up the dirt road, naming the wildflowers I could pick out among the greenery. Phlox, field mustard, wild ginger. No wonder Mama had loved flowers. She’d been surrounded by them growing up.