“Thank you, Mrs. Higbee,” Cleveland said as he slid the check into the register, then offered her his hand. “It’s been a pleasure doing business.”
Mama shook it weakly, then eased a shirt box off the counter and tucked it under her arm. It had taken Cleveland fifteen minutes to box up our purchases, and that had been with LINDY’s help. The stack of white boxes was three or four feet across and at least that many high.
“Here,” Cleveland said as he rolled out a dolly. Without waiting for permission, he started stacking boxes with the speed of one of Santa’s elves.
I just stood there gaping as the stack kept getting higher. Takuma pitched in where he could, but it looked like his leg was bothering him, so he kept taking breaks. By the time that they were done, they’d loaded up two dollies (though I couldn’t have said where the other had come from).
Cleveland dusted off his hands. “Can I help you out with that?”
Mama didn’t have a chance to answer before Takuma grabbed one dolly and I grabbed the other. It was like we’d planned it.
“No, sir,” Mama said. “It looks like we can manage.”
“Very well,” Cleveland replied. “I hope you have a great day!”
“You too,” Mama mumbled, but she didn’t sound like she meant it.
I saluted Cleveland, then scurried after Mama, dragging my dolly behind me. My initial concerns about the Broadway had evaporated, so I wanted to look at everything on our way out of the store, from the cowboy boots to the pearl necklaces to the bright yellow lemon puffs. But every time I lagged behind, Mama clucked her tongue, and Takuma bumped my dolly.
After bumping my dolly for what was probably the twelfth time, Takuma asked, “Ella Mae?”
That made me and Mama stop. Takuma didn’t usually try to get our attention. He preferred to bide his time until we spoke to him.
He motioned to our dollies. “Race?”
It took me a few seconds to figure out what he meant, but once I got it, I grinned. “Only if you want to lose!”
I didn’t wait for him to answer, just took off like a firework on the Fourth of July. But my lead was short-lived, since he’d already closed the gap by the time we reached the purses. I expected Mama to intrude, maybe even ground us for having too much fun while we were sinning, but she only hurried to keep up.
I was still a few feet ahead when I spied the front door. Putting on a fresh burst of speed, I barreled around the final turn, determined to reach the front door first. But I only made it a few steps before something crashed behind me.
I ground to a halt, losing control of my dolly. As it careened into a mannequin, the boxes fell at its feet. I didn’t take the time to restack them, just scrambled back for Takuma.
I found him lying in a heap at the edge of the walkway, one leg twisted awkwardly underneath him. It didn’t look broken (or at least badly broken), but from the way that he was wincing, I could tell he was in pain. Daniel had made the same face when he fell off the tire swing and brutally twisted his right ankle. He hadn’t needed a cast, but he’d been laid up for weeks.
“What happened?” I asked as I crouched down beside him.
“Trip,” Takuma said, then added with a grimace, “Hurt.”
“What hurts?” I replied. It was hard to know where to begin.
A single tear leaked out his eye. “Everything,” he said.
I crinkled my forehead. That didn’t sound like just a sprain. Luckily, Mama showed up before I had to do anything drastic (like cut off his legs).
“What happened?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “He just fell.”
Mama pressed her lips into a line as she looked him up and down. I’d gotten used to strangers and mean folks looking at him like that, but not Mama. Never Mama. I wanted to ask her what she’d seen, why her eyes looked so worried, but I knew better than to bother her when she was deep in thought. Finally, she asked, “Can you stand?”
He gritted his teeth and nodded.
“Then let’s get you up.”
It wasn’t a pretty sight, but between Mama and the dolly, we managed to get him back on his feet. I tried to offer my assistance, but there wasn’t much that I could do. Takuma outweighed me by quite a few Mother Lodes.
Mama blew a string of hair out of her face. “Will you pick up these boxes while I get Takuma to the car?”
“Of course,” was all I said. Now wasn’t the time to be disagreeable.
“Thank you,” Mama said, then led Takuma away.
Just before they turned the corner, Takuma turned back. “Are-ee-got-toe,” he murmured, and even though his cheeks were pale and his leg couldn’t take much weight, he managed a weak smile.
There was that word again. “Does that mean ‘thank you’?” I asked.
He nodded, still smiling.
“Well, I’ll be,” I said as I sat back on my heels. I’d heard of old dogs and new tricks, but what about new dogs and old ones? I’d thought I was the teacher and Takuma was the student, but apparently, there were a few things that he could teach me, too.
19
Mama called the lab first thing Monday morning. Luckily, Miss Kendall was able to squeeze us in that afternoon. Mama tried to ship me off to school, promising that she’d take care of it, but I flatly refused. If anyone was going to take care of Takuma, it was going to be me.
It was weird to be back in Dr. Franks’s lair. It had only been a week and a few days, but it felt like a lot longer. When we broke Takuma out, I hadn’t thought we’d come back. And yet here we were, smack-dab where we’d started. My hands curled into fists.
If Mama felt intimidated, she did a good job of not showing it. She didn’t say a word to the first secretary, just flashed her driver’s license and steered us toward the silver door. She didn’t say a word to the next secretary, either, or the one after that. In fact, she didn’t say anything until we ran into Dr. Franks, literally. He was carrying a stack of folders, so he didn’t see us coming. The folders tumbled to the floor on impact.
“Mrs. Higbee!” Dr Franks said, like he was happy to see her.
But Mama wasn’t fooled. “Oh, don’t act so surprised. I set up an appointment with Miss Kendall.”
“Yes, Imogene did mention that you’d be dropping by. I’m just surprised you followed through.”
While they chatted like old friends (or maybe sworn enemies), me and Takuma grabbed the folders. I couldn’t have cared less about Dr. Franks’s files, but I didn’t want Takuma to pick them up alone.
Dr. Franks fluttered his arms like an anxious mother hen. “Oh, subject oh-one-eight, you really don’t have to do—”
“Takuma,” I cut in. “His name’s Takuma, not ‘subject.’”
Dr. Franks opened his mouth to answer, but before he could put me in my place, Takuma tried to stand back up. His leg gave out beneath him, and he crashed back to the floor.
“Takuma!” I said at the same time Dr. Franks asked, “How long has this been going on?”
“Just a few days,” Mama said as she gave Takuma a hand.
I looped Takuma’s arm through mine. “Maybe he hurt his knee when he fell yesterday.”
Dr. Franks pursed his lips. “Perhaps,” was all he said, but it sounded like, I doubt it.
We dropped Takuma off outside a dressing room, then made our way upstairs. The long, skinny room felt bigger than it had the time before, but then, it was also emptier.
While we waited for Takuma to change out of his clothes, Mama cleared her throat. “It was wrong of me to drag you to the Broadway yesterday.” Even though she whispered it, her voice echoed in the empty room. “I wasn’t mad at Jesus, but I’m afraid I took it out on Him.”
“Who were you mad at, then?” I asked.
“No one,” Mama said. “I was just mad at life, I guess.”
I didn’t have a chance to ask
her what she meant before a door opened in the gym and Takuma reappeared. He looked especially vulnerable in that old teal robe, but the assistants didn’t seem to notice. They herded him out into the open, oblivious to his shivers or the way he grimaced with each step.
Dr. Franks pushed a nearby button, and the intercom crackled to life. “Go ahead,” he said, though he already sounded defeated.
Takuma didn’t wait for more instructions, just lumbered toward the balance beam. Each step was so off balance that he looked like he was walking on the side of a hill. Wincing, I looked away. I couldn’t bear to wait and see if he took another spill.
“What’s wrong?” Mama demanded.
“What isn’t?” Dr. Franks replied. “It’s a neurodegenerative condition.”
“Yes,” Mama said, huffing, “but what does that mean?”
He refused to meet her gaze. “It means his motor neurons are failing.”
“His motor what?” I asked.
Dr. Franks’s shoulders slumped. “It means his brain is losing control.” It sounded like his dog had died.
As if on cue, Takuma tripped over the balance beam. The assistants rushed to help him, but I still felt helpless. He needed me and Mama, not those stiff, unfeeling folks who hid behind their masks. He needed his family.
“Well, there must be something we can do,” I said.
Dr. Franks shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid the damage is already done.”
Mama’s eyes narrowed. “There’s something you’re not tellin’ us.” She leaned toward Dr. Franks. “What’s really goin’ on?”
“Nothing!” he replied as he shrank away from her. “It’s just—well, I’m afraid—”
“Don’t get your knickers in a bunch.” She folded her arms across her waist. “We can’t force you to tell us. But if you think we haven’t noticed you have something to hide—or something more to hide—then you’re sadly mistaken.”
I expected Dr. Franks to argue, but he just looked away.
“Just tell me this,” she said. “Is he gonna end up like President Roosevelt?”
President Roosevelt had died only a few months after Daniel, so I hadn’t known him well. But when it came out after his death that he’d spent years in a wheelchair, it had made the evening news. Apparently, he hadn’t wanted us to think of him as crippled, but it was hard not to think of him that way. Suddenly, it was hard not to think of Takuma that way, too.
“No, Mrs. Higbee,” Dr. Franks said. “If his symptoms progress predictably, he won’t end up in a wheelchair for any length of time.”
Mama eyed him like she thought he was one of Auntie Mildred’s riddles, but Dr. Franks lowered his gaze, refusing to be solved.
20
Dr. Franks might have been convinced that Takuma’s motor things were failing, but Mama refused to take his finding as anything but a somewhat educated guess. We’d spent so long training his mind that we’d neglected the rest of him. He didn’t need a wheelchair; he just needed some exercise.
The next day, Mama incorporated a daily workout into his schedule. I volunteered to be his trainer, since I was handy with a stopwatch (or at least I would have been if I’d ever handled one), but when I mentioned this to Mama, she just offered me her old straw hat. Apparently, these weren’t going to be those kinds of workouts.
I tried to change her mind, but Mama’s decision was binding. A baby had to crawl before it could learn to walk, and Takuma had to walk before he could learn to run. Grudgingly, I took the hat and dragged him out the door.
We walked in silence for a while, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Takuma’s leg was doing better—he hadn’t fallen once all day—and the air was getting warmer. It smelled like the orange blossoms were just starting to bloom.
I drew a deep breath through my nose, then blew it back out through my mouth. “Do you like oranges?” I asked.
His forehead wrinkled. “Oranges?”
I made a ball out of my hands. “You know, those orange fruits?” But as soon as I said it, I knew he wouldn’t understand. I thought about it for a second, then pretended to peel the ball. “You have to peel ’em if you want to get to the segments inside, and the juice runs down your hands, and you have to lick it off.”
The peeling must have struck a chord, because he smiled and said, “Orange-ee.”
“Orange-ee,” I said, trying out the unfamiliar word. “You know, that makes me think—”
I broke off when I realized he was no longer beside me. He was on his hands and knees, clutching the back of his leg.
I squatted down beside him. “Is it your motor things?” I whispered. I didn’t want it to be, but it was time to face the facts.
Takuma didn’t answer, but whether that was because he didn’t know or couldn’t speak, I couldn’t decide.
I thought about stroking his hair, then immediately thought better of it. According to Dr. Franks, Takuma’s motor things were in his brain, and I didn’t want to mess them up. “Is there something I can do?” I asked. I didn’t like this helpless feeling.
Takuma grabbed a fence post and tried to drag himself back to his feet, but he didn’t have the strength. When he pulled his hand away, I noticed a sliver in his thumb. I tried to grab his wrist, but he cradled it against his chest.
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.
“No, you’re not,” I said as I wedged my shoulder in his armpit. If Samson could destroy a temple just by tugging on two pillars, I could certainly do this. But when I tried to stand back up, I just didn’t have the leverage.
This was the worst pickle I’d ever been in (and I’d been in quite a few). Takuma couldn’t walk, and I couldn’t pick him up. I probably could have left him while I went and got Mama, but with folks like Mr. Lloyd and Mrs. Leavitt on the loose, that didn’t strike me as a good idea.
The growl of an incoming Chevrolet presented a possible solution. I tried to catch the driver’s eye by waving both arms over my head, but the numbskull sped right past us without even slowing down. I muttered hexes on his kin as I watched his tailgate shrink to the size of a postage stamp, but it didn’t make a difference. He still disappeared in a hazy cloud of dust.
We were still just standing there wheezing when another car turned onto Radley. This time, I locked eyes with the driver, who happened to be Mr. Jaeger. He wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I’d take what we could get. It wasn’t like he was going to murder us in broad daylight; he obviously took more care than that. But when I waved him over, he just kept right on going. He didn’t even have the decency to avert his gaze.
I chucked a rock at his tailpipe, but he was already long gone. And we were still stranded.
Takuma rolled onto his side. He couldn’t even sit up straight. “Leave me,” he croaked miserably.
“I’m not leavin’ you,” I said, propping my elbows on my knees. “Heaven only knows who might come along.”
As if on cue, a pair of bicycles rounded the corner. I whirled around to meet them, hoping against hope that it was Gracie and one of her many beaus.
But it was Walter. And Theo.
Walter grated to a stop, spitting gravel at our shoes. “Well, well, well,” he said as he leaned over his handlebars. “Look what the rat dragged in.”
I stepped between him and Takuma. “Leave us be,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “This ain’t any of your beeswax.”
Theo shuddered to a stop a foot or two behind Walter. He only watched us for a moment, though, before he pedaled off, racing back the way he’d come. I’d long suspected that Theo was a coward, but now I knew for sure. I wanted to spit at his tires, but that seemed like a waste of spit.
Walter popped his knuckles. “On the contrary,” he said, nodding toward the Olsens’ fence, “destruction of private property is everyone’s business.”
“We’re not destroyin
’ it,” I said, though it was sagging beneath our weight. But the way I saw it, fences were meant to be leaned on. “As soon as he works out this charley horse, we’ll be on our way.”
It was a bluff, of course—Takuma didn’t have a charley horse any more than I had a black eye—but Walter wasn’t privy to that piece of information. Hopefully, he’d take the bait and leave.
Unfortunately, he didn’t.
“Well, it serves him right,” he said as he spit in our direction. “My uncle Mitch lost his right arm to those dirty, stinking Japs. The doctors had to cut it off when he came back from Okinawa.”
I lowered my gaze. “I’m sure he’s sorry about your uncle.” Takuma had never taken pleasure in another person’s pain.
Walter batted that away. “Of course, the reverend thinks that he’s not even a Jap.” He kicked Takuma in the shin. “You hear that, dirty butcher? The reverend thinks you’re nothing!”
Takuma bit his lip, probably to keep from crying out, but I could tell that he was hurting. White-hot anger zigzagged across my field of vision, and my hands balled into fists. It was like that day on the playground, but this time, Mrs. Temple wouldn’t be able to intervene.
I struck as swiftly as a lightning bolt, upending Walter and his bicycle in a single move. He whacked himself between the legs, but I showed him no mercy. While he curled up in a ball, I smashed his face into the dirt, then seized a juicy-looking clod and shoved it in his mouth.
“Do you taste that?” I demanded. “It tastes like your filthy words.”
Takuma yelled my name, but I pretended not to hear. He was probably going to tell me to leave Walter alone, and I was having too much fun.
I waved another clod in Walter’s face. “Do you think you’ve had enough?”
Walter half said, half choked something that I couldn’t decipher.
I smiled wickedly. “I didn’t think so, either.”
But I didn’t have a chance to shove it in his mouth before another bicycle trundled up and a familiar voice said, “Ella Mae!”
Instead of answering, I dug my knees into Walter’s back. Gracie might have been my cousin, but she wasn’t my mama. She couldn’t tell me what to do.
The Sound of Life and Everything Page 12
