Violet blushes and I feel like I’m watching a classic movie without turning on the television.
* * *
WE’RE AT THE courtroom scene in the movie, at the part where Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy drop their pencils, when Arlo’s cell phone rings.
Violet hits pause, but Arlo tells us to go ahead and watch. “This could take a while.”
As he walks out of the room we hear him say, “Hello, Winston.”
Violet mutes the volume, and the three of us lean toward the door to listen.
“I might have to think about your offer,” Arlo says. “I’ll call you back.”
We all straighten our posture and wait for Arlo’s return. A split second later, we hear him say, “I’ve thought about it. I’ll return under these circumstances. You buy a new washing machine. By the way, they’re on sale at Sears this week. The second thing is, you keep Stevie’s garden.”
There’s a long slice of quiet. Then Arlo says, “Why? I might want to grow a tomato or two.” I love how Arlo called it my garden.
When Arlo enters the room, we all try to act innocent and stare at the television. “What did I miss?” he asks.
We watch Spencer Tracy’s mouth moving.
Arlo smirks. “Is this a silent movie?”
Flustered, Violet hits the volume button so hard, it blares and Spencer Tracy’s voice bounces against the walls.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
WINSTON NEVER MENTIONS THE GARDEN, but every morning I water it before leaving for Mrs. Crump’s. And every afternoon, it’s the first place I go. In just a few weeks the plants have thrived and the hollies have started to blossom. Out in the garden, I feel closest to my parents. When Winston drops me off at Mrs. Crump’s house Tuesday, I notice Frida halfway down the street, walking in the direction of the square. I’m glad she’s skipping. I plan to find some things out from Mrs. Crump about Mom.
This morning, Mrs. Crump says we’ll stay at the kitchen table for my lessons. “Just for today,” she says. “My energy has decided to take a vacation.” She has dark circles under her eyes, as if she hasn’t slept in days, but that would be impossible. How could a narcoleptic get insomnia? For now, I get right to the point.
“Why did Winston take Mom out of school?”
Mrs. Crump glances down at the table and wipes a crumb away. She wipes and wipes and wipes. Then she takes in a deep breath, closes her eyes, and falls asleep.
Her head bobs up and down like a float on a fishing line. Any second now, she’ll let out a snore. But I’ve been here for long enough. It’s time for some answers. When her head begins to bob again, I lift my book about Australia and drop it on the table. It lands with a loud thump.
Mrs. Crump’s eyes widen and she blinks. “Where were we now?”
“You were telling me about Mom and why Winston took her out of school.”
She’s still groggy. “The baby. I told you about the baby?”
“A baby? There was a baby?”
She squirms. “Oh, dear. Dear, dear, dear, dear.” She’s awake now.
I scoot my chair around until it’s right next to hers. “You’re just telling me the truth.”
She shakes her head. “This isn’t my place.”
“You have to be honest with me.”
“He hasn’t told you anything about the past?”
“He’s never said a word about Mom, only that she cleaned the hotel rooms sometimes.”
“Your parents never told you?”
“What baby?”
Mrs. Crump rests her hands on both sides of my cheeks and looks me square in the eyes. “Oh, dear child. The baby was you.”
Everything I thought I knew runs through my head in a big wave—New Mexico, the mountains, the farm, my parents. “I was born here? In Little Esther?”
Mrs. Crump nods.
I don’t remember anything about being in this town.
“Your mother never discussed what happened with me. I just knew she was with child. I thought your father was that boy who mowed the grass for the motel—I can’t think of his name—but I was wrong. The last time I saw your mother was right before you were born.”
“But this is such a small town.”
“I lived in Japan for a few years. I was a governess there.” Mrs. Crump takes a deep breath.
I don’t know how to bring us back to Mom and me, so I open my Australia book and try not to wonder what else my parents lied about. But the words seem stuck to the page. There’s only one thing on my mind.
“How about my dad?”
“What do you mean, dear?”
“Where was he when Mom was coming to class here?”
“I don’t have an answer for that. I’m afraid you’ll have to find out the rest of the story from your grandfather.”
Mrs. Crump looks paler than usual, so I don’t push my luck. Besides, she told me what she knows. Now I need to figure out how I can ask Winston.
Just as we’re about to break for lunch, the front door creaks open. A stair squeaks and we hear someone making their way to the second floor. Mrs. Crump’s eyes grow wide. I ease out of the chair, tiptoe across the room, and pick up the phone.
Just as I start to dial 9-1-1, Frida is standing in the doorway. “Here you are.”
Mrs. Crump gestures to the seat next to mine. “How nice of you to join us, dear.”
Frida studies both of our faces. “What did I miss?”
“You should have been here,” I say. Then I hang up the phone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
WINSTON AND I ride home in silence. The jazz station is the only sound in the van. Everything I wanted to say or ask is jumbled so tightly in my head right now that I don’t know where to begin. I feel like my life has been one big lie.
Winston clicks off the radio. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. And all of a sudden I know why I can’t begin to talk about it. I’m not just mad at him. I’m mad at them too.
When we get to the motel, I head out to the garden. I drop my notebooks on the ground and start pulling the weeds with my fingers. It feels good to yank something by the roots.
A few minutes later, the school bus drives into the parking lot, and after Roy steps off he waves. I wave back and he comes over to me. He throws his backpack to the side and starts recklessly pulling grass and weeds in the garden. It’s really sweet that he joined me out here, but I’m afraid he’s going to disturb the marigold seedlings that have barely begun to break ground.
When I stand to stretch, he peers up at me, squinting from the sun. “You wouldn’t want to go to a skating party, would you?” His words come out fast and squeaky. “I mean would you want to go?”
I pause a little too long, but it’s because I can’t believe a guy is asking me out. Roy is asking me out.
“When is it?”
“Thursday night at seven. Dad will drive us over. It’s our end-of-the-year party at Skate Land. A lot better than the Peggy and Pet City parties we had in elementary school.”
“Pet City?”
“Yeah, Peggy is a clown. She’d bring goats and pigs and a donkey to the school.” His voice sounds normal again. “Every year, the teachers would threaten us that they’d cancel the Peggy and Pet City party if we misbehaved. Sometimes I wanted to beg, Please, please cancel it. What’s it gonna take? Do we have to have a food fight in the cafeteria?”
I laugh, but then I look down and realize Roy has pulled a dozen of the marigold seedlings and thrown them into the grass pile. I rescue one and hold it up in front of him.
“Roy, these aren’t weeds.”
“Oops.” He stands and brushes off the front of his jeans. “I’m going to go see what Dad is doing. I think he may want me to build a bridge or something easier than this. Let me know about the skating party.”
When I go inside the apartment, Winston is listening to jazz and re
ading the Dallas Morning News. I decide to get it over with and ask about the party but quickly change my mind. Now that I know why Mom went to Mrs. Crump, I know what Winston’s answer will be.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I TELL ROY that I can’t go. It’s not a full-out lie, because I don’t tell him I haven’t bothered to ask Winston. But it’s a lie just the same. I guess I come by it naturally.
I haven’t asked Winston about when I was a baby here. I’m not afraid. He should be afraid now that I know the truth. Maybe I don’t want him to know that Mom and Dad never told me.
It’s Thursday night, the night of the skating party, and we’re eating takeout from Pete’s Burgers instead of soup. The wall clock seems to click louder with each swing of the pendulum. Outside the kitchen window, I see Roy. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt. Even though I wish he would, he doesn’t turn and look toward our apartment. He’s sitting on the truck’s bumper, staring out at the road. Arlo says, “You ready?”
“Yep.”
They get in the truck and drive away.
I mix my peas into my rice.
Winston clears his throat. “I need to tell you something.”
I look up.
“Paco called today.”
“Paco?”
“He asked about you. I said you were doing fine. Said to tell you that you always had a home in Taos.”
Winston puts his fork down and starts doing that drumming he does with his fingers.
“Did he say anything else?”
His fingers stop. “He sold the farm.”
Winston blurs in front of me and I wish I could rub my eyes and he’d disappear.
“This is good news, Stevie. They paid a little more than full price because there was another potential buyer. You’ll be able to go to any college you want.”
I hide my face with my hands.
“Are you okay?” Winston asks.
“It was my farm. It was … waiting f-for me!”
Winston walks over to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “They’re not there, Stevie.”
I pull away from him and head to my room. Without looking back, I say, “I hate you.” I say it softly, but loud enough so that he’ll hear. Then I close my bedroom door.
Inside my room, I land on my bed and bury my face in the pillow. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I get up, yank down the shade, change into my favorite top, and brush my hair. When I raise the shade halfway, for the first time I notice how the pull dangles at the midway point. It reminds me of one of Dad’s tattoos. The rectangle with wings. Mom’s escape. And tonight it’s my escape too.
Outside, I tuck my hairbrush between the window and the windowsill. Horace is by the pool, smoking a cigarette. He stares at me, and I freeze. Then he looks away and blows his smoke into a zillion rings. At first I think maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe he didn’t see me. But he keeps his head turned, and I realize he probably did notice. My legs move quick, hurrying away from the office to the laundry room where I get on the bike, taking off for the road that leads to town. I don’t stop until I reach Skate Land.
Chapter Thirty
THE MUSIC AND THE RUMBLES of the roller skates can be heard from outside. I straddle the bike and think about turning back to the motel. But I’m tired of being a chicken. I move the kickstand into place. It’s wobbly and won’t hold up the bike. So I lean the bike against a tall mimosa tree, take a big breath, and go inside.
A pretty blond girl standing near Roy laughs at something he says. I almost leave.
Then he turns. A great big grin spreads across his face when he sees me, and he walks in my direction. I’m kind of torn. Happy that he’s moving toward me, but I feel sorry for the girl until a guy wearing a Star Trek T-shirt hands her a soft drink. The way she looks at him, I can tell they’re more than friends.
“Winston changed his mind?” Roy asks.
“I can’t skate,” I tell him. And that is true. Never have tried. Except for one failed attempt at Rollerblades around the park.
Roy leads me over to the shoe station. “What size do you wear?”
“Seven.”
“Size seven,” Roy tells the attendant. Then he asks me, “Where are your socks?”
I look down at my sandals and naked toes. “Oh.”
Roy grins at me.
“A pair of socks, please,” he tells the attendant.
The attendant pulls up a box from under the counter. I stare down at the miscellaneous used socks—polka-dotted, striped, pink, white.
“Don’t worry,” the guy behind the counter says, “they’re clean.”
I pick a white pair and resist the urge to smell them. For some reason, the whole rink smells like stinky sneaker feet.
“Follow me,” Roy says. We walk to a long bench where adults, probably middle-school teachers, are watching the skaters.
Roy leads me to a spot on the bench. “Sit,” he says.
I sit and wait for the next order.
“Aren’t you going to take your shoes off?”
I take off my shoes.
He kneels in front of me and unlaces the skates. Then he slips one onto my right foot and pulls the laces tight. “Shut Up and Dance” begins to play. I remember the one time I tried to Rollerblade in the park. It was awkward, but I was getting the hang of it until Mom yelled, “Don’t fall, Stevie.” I wanted to yell “Shut up!” because hearing her say “Don’t fall” somehow made me think about falling. And that’s exactly what I did. Mom apologized later. “I shouldn’t have said that. That’s how powerful our words are.”
Roy finishes lacing up the left skate. “There!” He stands easily and holds out his hands.
I just stay put.
He dangles his hands in front of me.
Finally I inhale and take hold.
He tugs, pulling me to my feet, and the move unsettles my balance. “Don’t fall, Stevie!” a voice says, and it’s not coming from my head.
I fall. Roy falls too. On top of me.
A few kids near us laugh.
“Way to go, Roy!” Frida stands over us, looking down. She’s with a boy, and she’s wearing a torn leather jacket and eyeliner.
The guy in the Star Trek T-shirt moves in. “Hey, don’t trust Roy. He can’t skate.”
“Roy’s a good guy,” his girlfriend says.
Frida and her guy move away from our new circle.
We get up, Roy to his feet, me crawling to the bench. I feel like a kindergartner.
When I find my old spot, I settle there. My rear is glued to that spot. I’m making sure of it. I try not to, but I glance around searching for Frida. I don’t see her.
Roy skates in a small circle, a few feet away. Then he glides up to me, holding his hands out again. “Come on. Second time’s a charm.”
Daya is singing “Hide Away” now. I’m not so sure about this, but I can almost hear Dad say, Get off your rear and go for it, little girl.
And I do.
This time I feel steady. We move toward the rink and I grab hold of the rail.
“You’ll never learn like that,” Roy says.
He gently coaxes me away and skates backward, leading me. The guy might not be able to tell a dandelion from a marigold, but he can skate. Slowly we begin our first round together. I’ve made a big deal out of nothing. I become braver on the second lap and we move a little quicker. Skating is fun.
“You’ve got good balance,” Roy says.
“I was the balance beam champ of Taos Middle School’s fifth-period P.E. class.”
He laughs. I feel light. I could skate for hours. Then the song is over and I realize I don’t know how to stop. I let go of Roy’s hand and head toward the rail, letting it serve as my emergency brake. The bar hits my stomach, knocking the breath out of me.
“You okay?” Roy asks.
I nod.
“We need to work on stopping.”
Roy’s friends, Pretty Blond Girl and Star Trek Nerd, rush over. “You okay?” they both a
sk.
My face burns. This time, I’d hoped to go unnoticed.
“I’m Allie,” the girl says.
“And this is Doofus,” Roy says, punching Star Trek Nerd in the arm.
“I’m Adam,” he says. “We know, we know. Allie and Adam, how cute.”
“I’m Stevie.” I smile, trying to seem confident, as confident as someone who, in less than twenty minutes, has kissed the floor twice and gotten gut punched pretty good.
“You let us know if this guy is bothering you,” Adam says. And from his tone I can tell he’s teasing. “I have an uncle who can make people disappear and show up in the duck pond years later.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” I tell him.
“Just let me know. I can make a phone call anytime you say.”
We all laugh, and Allie and Adam skate away.
* * *
THE ROOM GROWS DARKER and the disco ball spins. Then the DJ says, “Here’s a classic one for you couples only.”
Stevie Nicks with Fleetwood Mac sings, I took my love and I took it down. Climbed a mountain and I turned around.
Roy grabs my hand. “Come on.”
“Landslide.” Mom and Dad’s song, the one they both loved. I feel a pull at my heart and remember them dancing outside under the cottonwood tree. I must have been five. I’d crawled out of bed and peeked between the drapes in my bedroom. The night was clear and the stars filled it like someone had tossed them across a blue velvet sky. I watched for a while. Then I crawled back into bed and fell asleep.
Our fingers are locked and I can’t tell if it’s my sweat or his that makes my hands feel slippery. All I know is that I’m thankful Roy is guiding me around the floor. Everyone looks blurry—the couples skating by, the flecks of flashing light from the disco ball above us. That song makes all of this seem like a dream.
When the song ends, I tell Roy, “I’d better leave.”
“The party isn’t over.”
“I—I have to leave.”
Roy tilts his head to the side and examines my face. “Winston doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”
Blooming at the Texas Sunrise Motel Page 11
