A Tinfoil Sky

by Cyndi Sand-Eveland

  The judge scanned the papers in front of him for a moment. Everyone sat, all waiting silently as the judge asked Cecily to stand. Then – even though she heard his words – Mel tried hard not to hear the judge’s harsh comments for her mother. The judge spoke about Cecily being a poor role model to her daughter, the history of shoplifting. He spoke about the drug and alcohol abuse and about the risks of Mel and Cecily’s lifestyle, and then he said that Cecily would be in jail for thirty days. Ms. Jeffery had mentioned in the car ride over to the courthouse that there was a chance that the sentence would be less than thirty days, or even – because of Mel – none at all. But she’d also prepared Mel for the worst, even if she hadn’t said “worst-case scenario.” But now, Cecily would be going to jail, and Mel would be staying on with Gladys.

  “Ms. Tulley,” the judge said, this time directly to Cecily, “are there any plans to enroll Melody in school in Riverview this September?”

  Cecily didn’t really answer the question. Instead she said, “Mel’s been going to school.”

  For the most part, that was true. Mel had been in seventh grade for much of the year. It was only when they moved in with Craig, whose apartment was an hour’s bus ride from school, that Cecily had decided it would be easier to just start at a new school in September – after all, there were only a couple of months left in the year.

  “Yes, Ms. Tulley,” the judge said to Cecily, “I don’t doubt you have been schooling your daughter. But the education she receives “standing six” for you while you shoplift, or the education that your daughter is receiving on the corner of Olive and Fifth, is not the education she needs to get into college.”

  College. Mel moved the word around and around the inner workings of her mind. She’d never thought about college.

  “So, Ms. Tulley, have you given any thought as to who will be able to care for your daughter in your absence?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Cecily said, tapping the table in front of her. “My mother, Gladys Tulley.”

  “Is she present in the court?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Gladys Tulley, will you come forward, please?” The judge’s eyes passed quickly from Cecily to Gladys.

  It was as though Mel was awakened from a deep sleep when her grandmother shuffled past her. Startled, Mel started to rise.

  “Just sit still, child,” Gladys grunted under her breath. Mel sat, and the heavy scent of mothballs, oozing from Gladys’s suit, draped itself across her lap as Gladys pushed past Mel’s knees.

  Mel watched as Gladys pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin. She noticed how Gladys’s thick, long tweed skirt was slightly twisted; the zipper at the waist and the open pleat at the hem were off to one side. This made the skirt, which was wide enough to accommodate someone with much broader hips, bulge and fold. Gladys passed through the same flakes of sun as she walked to the same place Mel had stood. They reflected light in Gladys’s graying hair, then tumbled down her coat and skirt, and past the nylon stockings, which were pooling in rings just above Gladys’s narrow ankles. The bits of light fell past her black shoes and onto the floor. Gladys then removed a white handkerchief from her coat pocket and wiped the sweat that dripped from her hairline and pasted her unruly gray hair to her forehead. Mel was lost in watching.

  “Miss,” the woman next to Mel whispered. “They’re talking to you.”

  Mel immediately stood. “Yes, Your Honor?”

  “Miss Tulley, do you understand that your grandmother will be taking care of you for the duration of your mother’s incarceration, and if need be for the duration of her probation? Your grandmother will provide you with a safe place to live, sufficient food, and proper supervision. At the end of that time, if your mother is able to secure proper housing, I expect you’ll be able to live with her.”

  Mel nodded. It was going to be the worst-case scenario.

  “Miss Tulley, are you willing to live with your grandmother?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “One final question,” the judge said as he looked directly at Mel. “Is there anything you need?”

  Need. For as long as Mel could remember, there had always been things she needed. But it didn’t seem to her that these were the things the judge was asking about. Perhaps it was the words important and college, dancing around in her head, that led Mel to think of the place most important to her – the library. What came to mind were the other people she would see there – kids her age and younger, all thumbing through their choices of books from tens of thousands if not a million different titles. Their parents suggesting books, and the young girls brushing aside their mothers’ suggestions. Then watching them all do what had become impossible for her. They would take their selections up to the circulation desk, sign them out, and take them home. After the other kids were gone, Mel would walk up and down the aisles of books, softly suggesting the ones they left behind. “How about this one?” Or she would whisper, “This looks like a good book.” She thought about the teenage boy she saw regularly at the library – Sleeping Beauty. Like her, he didn’t ever seem to check out any books.

  “Miss,” the judge repeated. “Is there anything you need?”

  Mel looked directly at the judge’s bench. “A library card, Your Honor.” It was a ticket into a world she had longed for, a ticket back to the best times she could remember.

  “A library card?” The judge smiled as he repeated the words.

  Gladys said, “Oh, for crying out …” And she heard the collective chuckle of the other people in the courtroom. Once again, the dry patch of skin on her calf began to sting, but not so much. Mostly, she felt the excited pounding of her heart in her chest.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Mel said, “a library card.”

  “I believe I just might be able to help you with that. Should I assume that you know the location of the downtown library?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Mel’s back began to tingle.

  The judge then listened to Cecily’s lawyer as he addressed the bench. “But who’ll be responsible for the books when they go missing, Your Honor? I certainly hope it will not be my client, who will be in incarcerated, or my client’s mother, who lives on a very modest income.”

  “I’m sure I can count on Miss Tulley to return the books on time. Yes, Miss Tulley?” The judge looked back to Mel and gave a slight smile.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Then we will adjourn.”

  Cecily’s lawyer stood, then Cecily, and the two of them started to walk quickly from the courtroom. Mel watched as they came closer; she waited for Cecily to look at her, but Gladys stood up just as Cecily passed by, blocking Mel’s view. Mel began to fear that they would take Cecily away before she had a chance to say good-bye. She tried to squeeze past Gladys. Gladys immediately wrapped her gnarled fingers tightly around Mel’s slender arm and held her there until most of the people in the courthouse had left. Then Gladys briskly led Mel toward the exit, and it seemed as though they were going to march directly past Cecily, who was standing just outside the door, smoking.

  “I’d say I’ve just about heard it all … a library card … my lord …” Gladys didn’t quite finish her sentence, interrupted perhaps by the furrowed brow of the lawyer facing them.

  Mel stopped and resisted Gladys’s pull to keep moving when they reached the door. She lifted her free hand, reached across her body, and was about to remove Gladys’s grip from her arm. But before she could, Gladys let go of her.

  “I’m so sorry, Mel. I never meant for this to happen,” Cecily said as she leaned into Mel, blowing the exhaled cigarette smoke over Mel’s head and shoulders. It was their little ritual, Cecily’s way of surrounding her with a white light of protection. Mel didn’t like the smell of smoke, but it did, in its own weird way, make her feel safe.

  “I’ll write to you,” Cecily whispered.

  Mel nodded.

  “And we’ll find a place just as soon as I’m back,” Cecily added. She said it as th
ough she was going on a trip somewhere. “I promise.”

  Mel bit hard on her top lip; Cecily often made promises. Silent tears flowed full force from Mel’s eyes, spilling down her cheeks into the small crevasses of her mouth. Cecily’s lawyer reached into his coat and gave Mel a piece of tissue, and then he fumbled around in his pocket, patting it as though he was looking for something.

  Ms. Jeffery came by. “It might not be the full thirty days,” she told Gladys. “Good behavior and all …”

  “The bus will be here any minute,” Gladys said as though she hadn’t heard Ms. Jeffery’s comment.

  Cecily’s lawyer took a step toward Gladys and whispered that it would be good to give Cecily a few more minutes with Mel.

  Cecily wrapped her arm around Mel’s shoulders, squeezing her tighter than Mel could ever remember being hugged. As she kissed the top of Mel’s head, Mel leaned into her. Cecily finally released the squeeze, letting her hand gently slide down off Mel’s shoulder, down her arm, past her elbow and wrist, and finally to Mel’s fingertips. Cecily glanced in the direction of the lawyer as though she was making sure that he wasn’t watching, and she discretely slid two bills, rolled like little cigarillos, into Mel’s hand. Mel knew what was happening; she could feel the smooth bills as they unfurled into her fingertips. Cecily glanced back in the direction of her lawyer.

  “Quick!” Cecily whispered.

  Mel tucked her hand into her pocket, knowing that wherever the money had come from, it wasn’t rightfully Cecily’s – nor was it rightfully hers.

  “It’s time for them to go,” Cecily’s lawyer said, turning from Gladys toward Cecily.

  “White light,” Cecily said as once again she blew smoke over Mel’s head and shoulders.

  “You too,” Mel answered as she turned to follow Gladys.

  The first time she looked back, Cecily was in the same place, watching her leave. The second time, Cecily’s head was down and her lawyer was still going through his jacket pocket. The third time, Cecily was gone.

  Mel’s thoughts went back to last December and the day at Sunset Food Market. Cecily was caught stealing a bag of mini Swiss cheese rounds, three cans of smoked oysters, and a half-dozen mandarin oranges. When the young store clerk left the office to get the manager, Mel couldn’t believe what she was seeing when Cecily snapped up one of the cans of oysters from the desk and quickly slipped it into Mel’s pocket.

  When the store manager had come into the office, he had said without even looking at Cecily that they were all the same, all looking for a free ride. If Mel’s pocket hadn’t been home to a can of stolen oysters, she might have defended herself. But instead, it took all she had not to set it back on the table and run.

  She thought about all this as she and Gladys walked to the bus stop. She wished that Ms. Jeffery was driving them home. Once at the bus stop, Mel sat down on one end of the bench. Gladys, on the other hand, was grumbling. She removed her hat and undid her coat – all the while complaining about the sun being too bright, the day being too hot, and her shoes being too tight.

  It was all going by Mel until Gladys blurted out in exasperation, “For crying out loud, a library card!”

  Yes, Mel thought, a library card. She began making a mental list of all the books she’d seen over the last week that she wanted to check out.

  —

  “Wake up!” Gladys said. “The bus is here.”

  Mel wanted to say that she wasn’t asleep, that she was thinking, but she didn’t. Gladys, once again, took hold of her arm. The whole exercise was a combination of being leaned on and hoisted up into the bus.

  “She rides for free,” Gladys said, jerking her head toward the fare schedule.

  The sign clearly read “Children nine and under free.” Gladys then poured the contents of a rumpled envelope into the coin slot and continued down the narrow aisle. The driver gave her a doubting nod, and Mel felt her face flush.

  “Here,” Gladys said, pointing to the seat next to the back exit. “Sit down.” Everything about the way Gladys spoke told Mel that Gladys was angry.

  Mel was grateful to have the window seat. The view would keep her from thinking about the grumbling in her empty stomach. If today was the first day, then there were twenty-nine more days, but if the judge counted the two days Cecily had already been in jail, then today was twenty-seven, tomorrow would be twenty-six, and maybe with good behavior …

  Mel knew that staying at Gladys’s wasn’t going to be anything to look forward to. Nothing Gladys said or did made Mel think that she was welcome or that this could be her home – even if it was just for a month. Gladys was cold, and Mel wondered about Gladys’s anger toward Cecily, about how it was connected to Tux dying and the jewelry box and everything else that had happened, and if there were any answers stored in all the little boxes that lined the walls and encircled the room of the apartment. And if now, with Mel there, Gladys had reason to set that anger loose.

  Mel’s family wasn’t like the families she read about in books, the stories that had fueled the thoughts she’d carried up the stairs that first day she and Cecily arrived back in Riverview. That day, there had been hopes of baked cookies, warm hugs, and kind words. But those dreams had tumbled down the stairs, and Mel had no intention of picking them up again – ever.

  Gladys showed no sign of making dinner when they arrived back at the tiny apartment. Rather, she sat down in the kitchen, and turned on the TV. Mel sat on the sagging couch and looked at the deadbolts on the door, the tinfoil on all the windows, the stacks of dusty, yellowing newspapers tightly tied with string that were piled next to a box of flattened Red Label milk cans and neatly folded orange pekoe tea boxes.

  She slipped her hand into her pocket, brought out the two twenty-dollar bills, and then promptly put them back. When she walked into the kitchen, Gladys seemed oblivious to her presence. With the tinfoil on the windows, blocking the afternoon sun that might have shone in Gladys’s apartment, and with only the small fluorescent light flickering on the stove, the tiny apartment was in perpetual dusk.

  Mel looked at the white metal enamel cupboard that was strangely positioned in front of a door that led off the kitchen, as though the room didn’t exist. What is with that room? she thought.

  With a deep breath, Mel garnered the courage to be heard over the TV, and, almost shouting, she asked, “Is it okay if I go for a walk?”

  “Where?” Gladys barked back.

  “Just down the street.”

  “There isn’t anything but trouble for you to get into on this street,” Gladys said.

  “I was just –”

  “You can pick me up two cans of milk at Frohberger’s. But I tell you, girl, if you try pulling one of your mother’s stunts, I’ll let them toss you in that cell with her and throw away the keys.”

  Ignoring this, Mel asked, “Is it Red Label milk that you want?”

  “Yes, and I know exactly how much it is, so don’t try pulling any fast ones on me.” Gladys set three dollars on the table and turned back to the TV.

  Going to Frohberger’s would give Mel the opportunity to change one of the twenties into coins and bills so that she had bus money. It would also satisfy her growing curiosity about Mr. Frohberger, her grandfather, and the store.

  12

  Frohberger’s

  The Frohberger’s sign hung out from the long, narrow building on the corner of Maple and Thirty-Seventh. A bright red wrought-iron bike rack sat empty under an enormous oak tree shading curved concrete steps. Inside, the long, wide planks of wood floor were smooth and inviting. There was a barrel of damp sawdust next to the door. An old man was sprinkling scoops full of the sawdust onto the floor and then sweeping it up. Single lightbulbs in metal shades hung from the high ceiling, illuminating the extra-wide aisle that separated one row of shelves from the other. As Mel took in the sights of the store, the old man finished sweeping and then shuffled to a place behind the counter next to an elaborate cash register. The store was what Mel imagine
d a store would have looked like a hundred years ago. The smell was sweet, and, as Mel breathed in the cool air, the corners of her mouth lifted, and she smiled. She wondered if the old guy was Mr. Frohberger.

  The floorboards gave long creaks as Mel made her way past the sparsely stocked shelves. There were two or three of most things. She’d already passed the cans of Red Label, but she kept walking. She made a mental list of the products she liked: cereal (four kinds), macaroni and cheese, chocolate chip cookies, gingersnaps, ketchup, mustard, relish, canned ravioli, chicken noodle soup, pork and beans, salsa, corn chips, barbecue chips, instant rice.

  At the end of the aisle there was a small cooler with four jugs of milk, three packages of cheese slices, and two cartons of eggs. Next to it was a freezer. It was difficult to see exactly what was hidden under all the white ice that grew around the edges.

  At the back of the store hung floor-length black velvet curtains. They were the kind of curtains used in theaters. Mel wanted to peek behind them, but she didn’t. What Cecily had told her about Tux’s Saturday Magic Matinees must have been true. She let her fingers run down a fold of velvet, but not for long. Mel felt the shopkeeper’s eyes on her back, and it was an uncomfortable feeling she was all too familiar with.

  She made an about-turn, picked up the cans of Red Label on her way to the front, and set them next to the newspapers on the counter. Mel noticed the collection of four-leaf clovers pressed under the thick glass. There were seven of them – Cecily’s lucky number. There wasn’t much behind the counter: chocolate bars, small packets of pain relievers, lottery tickets, gum, ballpoint pens, a few plastic tubs of penny candies, and assorted bags of chips. An old cardboard display, hanging slightly lopsided on the wall, held a few last pairs of cheap sunglasses.