Almost Home

by Joan Bauer

  A little boy wearing spaceship pajamas comes out of the house reading a book with a whale on the cover.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  She smiles sadly. “There’s a warrant out for his arrest.”

  The boy focuses on his book.

  I smile. “Send the creature with forty-seven daggers.”

  “In this case, the creature might lose.”

  “Our dad knows how to hide,” the boy says. He shows a picture of a whale diving deep under the water. “Like this.”

  I nod. “My dad knows how to hide, too.”

  “Maybe they know each other.”

  Maybe . . .

  Joonie sits there, thinking. “When’s the last time you saw your dad, Sugar?”

  “At my grandfather’s funeral. He said we were going to be a real family, and then he left town.”

  Joonie pushes back her bangs like nothing I say could shock her.

  “What was the best thing about him, Sugar?”

  I never once thought of that. “I guess the way he made Reba laugh.”

  Joonie crosses her arms across her chest. “Hargrove Merman the Third makes the best pancakes in the world. Right, Chandler?”

  “With blueberries,” the boy adds. “And real maple syrup.”

  Mr. Leeland made gumbo and corn bread. Reba talked about it a lot, but I only had it once.

  I stand up. “I need to go see my mom.”

  “Tell her she’s brave,” Joonie says.

  I smile. “I will.”

  30

  AND I DO.

  Reba puts down her book.

  “Real brave,” I add.

  She starts smiling. “You think so?”

  Me and the Wooz think so.

  “I know so.”

  “You came all the way down here on the bus to tell me that?”

  I put down my green bag. It moves a little.

  She laughs. “You brought company?”

  I make sure the door to her room is closed and then I let Shush out. He sees Reba and his little stump of a tail goes wild.

  “Little one, look at you!” Reba picks him up and rocks him like a baby. Shush licks her face and she’s laughing. “Yes, I know,” she says to him. “I know. It’s wonderful to see you, too.” She takes my hand. “Sugar Mae Cole, you beat all.”

  I grin. I sure try.

  She grins. “I want you to know something, Sugar. I almost called Mr. Leeland, but I didn’t.”

  My mouth feels dry. “Why did you want to call him? He doesn’t help.”

  She sits on the floor with Shush and rubs his tummy. “I’m working with a therapist to understand why.”

  I hope you work real hard, Reba.

  She’s humming to Shush. There’s peace on her face. Shush rolls on his back to get more of his tummy rubbed. Reba laughs—she’s got the best laugh—and rubs him.

  x x x

  Shush’s visit does so much for Reba that in a week she finds herself a part-time job cleaning houses.

  “That’s a very important step,” Dana Wood says.

  Reba keeps stepping out, too. Her medicine is making her feel better.

  She starts exercising a little.

  She’s taking vitamins, and her face looks rosier.

  My face is red, at least that’s what Joonie says. Red from trying to walk Merlin and Shush.

  Thanks to Dante, I have another old dog to walk—Puffypoo. I’m not kidding. And if you think Merlin has issues . . .

  “Puffypoo,” I say, “I’m here to help you.”

  Puffypoo snarls and looks away. I’m not going to take this personally. I bring Shush up on the porch to meet her. “See, here’s your new little friend.” Shush sniffs Puffypoo while she yawns. “And we’re all going to walk together and pray I survive.” I give her leash a tug. “So, come on. Get up.”

  Puffypoo’s owner, Mrs. Hester, is watching this from her rocking chair. “She won’t do much, I told you she won’t do much.”

  I look at Shush. “Anything you could do to help would be good right now.”

  Shush looks at Puffypoo and whines. That gets Puffypoo up.

  “Good dogs!”

  Shush whines some more and Puffypoo starts whining, too. Merlin throws back his head and yelps.

  Mrs. Hester is laughing and rocking. I shriek, “Heel,” and not one of the three dogs pays attention, but it seems that three dogs move better than two dogs. Right now Shush is in the lead.

  Now Merlin is in the lead.

  Now Puffypoo sits down and refuses to go anywhere.

  Shush starts to whine, Merlin yelps, and Puffypoo moves slowly down the street. “I hope they’re paying you enough,” Joonie says.

  Dante is coming toward me with another dog on the leash.

  I shake my head. “Three’s my limit.”

  “It’s more money.”

  “I’ll be dead.”

  Dante smiles. “This is Greg.” The dog looks at me.

  What kind of a name is that?

  Puffypoo trots over to Greg and sniffs his nose, and Greg seems to like that. Then Shush wants in on this and he trots over, but Puffypoo snarls at him, Shush backs off. Merlin yelps.

  “More money,” Dante says, handing me Greg’s leash.

  “Help me.”

  “I work better with plants.”

  x x x

  Reba comes to help me, and Merlin falls in love with her.

  “That dog’s breath,” she says, turning away.

  We head to the park with Merlin in the lead, and as long as Greg goes forward, Puffypoo isn’t far behind. Shush is mostly interested in stopping today. Then Merlin goes left and Greg goes right, causing their leashes to get tangled with another dog, who starts yipping; then Puffypoo almost attacks a puppy, but not quite, because Reba, thinking quick, screams, “Back off from that baby!” Then Greg steals a man’s sandwich, jumping up and tearing it out of the guy’s hand while he’s sitting on a bench; Greg gulps it down as the poor man starts screaming, but Reba knows how to handle these things.

  “I am shocked, sir, that you’ve lost your lunch. Please accept my apology. This is not my dog, he is not trained in the finer things, and I am so sorry that he stole your . . . what was it?”

  “Meatball sub with melted mozzarella and extra peppers,” the man says miserably.

  A few minutes later, Greg pukes it up.

  Reba looks at the puke on the grass and tells Greg, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

  I split the money with her at the end of the walk. “You want to do this tomorrow?”

  Reba sits on Lexie’s steps fanning herself. “I do not.”

  31

  “MY MOTHER USED to say painting a room a fine color is the number one cheapest thing a woman can do to be transformed.”

  Lexie is standing by a sign, COLOR CHANGES EVERY-THING. The wall in front of her has different paint samples. Every color in the world is here.

  “I’m looking for something exciting,” she tells me. “And this isn’t easy because Mac thinks brown is exciting.” Lexie picks up a sheet of yellow colors and holds it to the light. Those look pretty exciting to me, but Lexie shakes her head. “I need bolder.”

  “Purple?” I ask.

  She laughs. “I’d love it. Mac would kill me.” She’s holding different paint sheets up. She gets to orange and stops. “I love this. Tangerine Mist.”

  “Wouldn’t Mac kill you for that?”

  “He’d only think about it. I’m getting a sample. You ever paint a room?”

  “I’ve painted a porch and a door.”

  “Then you’re not an amateur.”

  I’m standing by the blues—there
are so many blues. I had a blue bedroom once. I pick out a paint sample sheet with cobalt blue. I’d love a house where each room is a different bright color. I’d have a cobalt blue hallway. The minute people walk in, they’d feel the electricity.

  “You can take some paint cards if you want,” Lexie tells me. “They’re free.”

  I grab blues, greens, and purples—peacock colors. King Cole gave me a peacock feather once, but I lost it after we got kicked out of our house. He told me a peacock has about two hundred feathers.

  I said, “No wonder they’re so proud.”

  “I’m not sure they’re proud as much as they know what they’ve been given and they’re not ashamed to show it.”

  x x x

  “Here’s what you’ve been given,” I tell Shush.

  He’s hiding under the table. I’m on my knees looking at him.

  “See, you’re cute beyond words, you’re a very good hugger, and even though you had a hard time, you’re still brave. Most of the time.” I put a treat on the floor. “If you want to come over, you can.”

  Shush doesn’t move. He’s much braver around his dog friends.

  I push the treat closer. Shush sniffs the air. “That’s food, and you’ve got to go for it, you know? You can’t just hide under the table. You’ve got people around you who want to help. Not every dog has that.”

  Shush puts his head down and closes his eyes.

  “There’s a peacock in you,” I mention.

  “You know who would have loved this dog?” It’s Lexie, lugging a ladder from the basement. “My girl Tonya. She loved every animal God ever made. She’d bring dead birds in here and try to revive them.”

  I help her with the ladder. We bring it into the little office.

  “Tonya came to us after her father had been arrested. She was thirteen years old; she stayed here for seven months.”

  “I didn’t know kids could stay that long.”

  “Oh, yes. But she ran away; snuck out in the middle of the night. I didn’t see it coming. If I had . . .”

  Lexie hands me a piece of sandpaper, so sad.

  “Everything on this earth was against Tonya. Her dad was in jail; her mom didn’t want her; she hated herself: she was on and off drugs.”

  “We did everything we could.” Mac is standing at the door.

  Lexie shakes her head. “We missed the signs. We could have kept her safe. I just needed to work with her a little longer.”

  Mac shakes his head. “Tonya didn’t want to be safe, babe.”

  “She didn’t know she could be safe, Mac! Why can’t you get that?”

  Shush trots up to Lexie and sits by her feet. He can tell when people are hurting. He whines a little. She bends down, grinning.

  “You’re one special dog, do you know that?”

  Yeah, he knows that. Shush wags his stump of a tail and sticks out his pink tongue.

  Lexie puts her hands on her hips and looks around the room. “We’re going to make a bold statement in here.” She starts covering the furniture with plastic.

  I look at the sandpaper. “What do I do with this?”

  “You rub, honey. You rub out all the imperfections in that wall and get it ready for new life.”

  There are a lot of dents in this wall.

  “Take it one dent at a time,” she says, and I start rubbing.

  I’m on my knees, getting to it.

  I like the feel of sandpaper in my hand.

  I like how it feels to smooth things out.

  It turns out, I’m a good rubber. It’s a natural gift I have. Shush comes over and sniffs the wall.

  “See how quick things get better?” I tell him.

  We rub, and Lexie tells me about when she and her mom and sister had to sleep in their car in the park. “We did it for two months, so I know, Sugar. I know about being on the street. My grades went south and I just about up and died from all the stress. I got a high fever of one hundred and four and I ended up in the ER.” She laughs. “That fever didn’t want to go, either, but it was the best thing that could have happened.”

  Was she kidding? “Why?”

  “I met Dr. Hester. He’d come in to visit me in my hospital room and we’d get to talking. He told me, ‘Lexie, you’ve got the stuff to have a good life.’ I told him he was crazy. He said, ‘I was fourth in my class at Cornell Medical School, and I know what I’m talking about.’ He said I had strengths I didn’t see. I was a good communicator, I was good with people, I had a warm way about me.”

  “You really do,” I tell her.

  “‘I’m betting you’re not going to be a statistic,’” he told me. “‘You know how to survive. Do better than that. Go out there and thrive.’” She goes after a big scratch with the sandpaper.

  “That’s what I want to do,” I say quietly, just in case it sounds dumb. But I feel it so strong, I say it again.

  “I want to do that, too. I want to have a good life!”

  Lexie is standing on a ladder, rubbing. “Now, I don’t have a degree from Cornell, but I’ve got one in street smarts, and I can tell you, Sugar, you’re the finest girl we’ve had through here yet.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  I rub even harder.

  “Don’t put a hole through the wall.”

  I grin. “Sorry.”

  There are dents that need something called Spackle, which is like paste that fills in cracks. Lexie shows me how to put the Spackle in. I smooth it out.

  “When do we paint, Lexie?”

  “Oh, not yet. It’s got to dry.”

  I’m wondering about Tonya—where she is now. So I ask.

  “Well,” Lexie tells me, “she didn’t make it. She overdosed. They found her dead in Pittsburgh two days before her fourteenth birthday.”

  She heads out of the room.

  Man.

  “I’m sorry, Lexie, I shouldn’t have asked, I . . .”

  Lexie turns back and looks at me, fierce. “You just stay off those drugs, you hear me?”

  “I’ve never—”

  She points a finger at me, her eyes fill with pain. “I’m not saying you have, Sugar, but drugs are out there, and they’re looking for kids to destroy. Anybody comes at you with them, you act like they’ve just stuck a king cobra snake in your face. You get me? You run, girl! There’s nothing cute about it, nothing cool about it, all the promises you’ll feel good—it’s all smoke. You’ll never feel worse than you do on drugs. You could end up like Tonya—stone cold dead. You’ve been pretty lucky in this world—most of the kids we get through here have had a much tougher time.”

  32

  LEXIE AND I put tape around the windows and the door, and we take off the electrical covers. I’m feeling grateful to be here, grateful to not be in a deeper mess than I already am.

  “Do we paint now?” I ask.

  “Not yet.”

  We use a vacuum and get up all the dust, we wash the walls with a sponge, we wipe everything down with water.

  Shush is in the kitchen behind a gate, whining. He wants to help.

  “There are things a dog can’t do,” I tell him. He slinks under the table, pouting.

  Lexie shows me how to put caulk between the gaps where the molding meets the walls. I smooth that in with a putty knife. We wait some more. I didn’t know waiting was such a big part of painting.

  “Now,” Lexie says, “we paint.” She opens the paint can to the most wonderful orange color—Tangerine Mist.

  I love painting walls. It’s the best feeling. I’m covering the old and bringing in the new. I’m good with the roller because I’ve got strong arms. Lexie paints the parts around the windows and doors and I roll and fill in with color. I feel like we’re making a tangerine grove right here.


  I feel like the sun is shining right on this room.

  I feel happier than I’ve felt in I don’t know when.

  And when it’s over, I lie down on the floor and look at the glowing orange walls with the white trim and start laughing.

  “I want to paint my whole life over with tangerine,” I tell her.

  Lexie looks around the room grinning and says, “Mac’s going to kill me.”

  “Why’s that?” Mac’s standing at the door with the band. He gulps. “It’s bright.”

  I nod.

  “It’s really . . . orange . . .” Bodie says.

  “Tangerine Mist,” Lexie says. “You said I could pick any color.”

  Margo nods. She likes it. The men cough and walk off.

  “He’ll get used to it,” Lexie whispers to me.

  I’m used to it now! It’s the same room, but entirely new. I’m going to be a girl like that—entirely new.

  I hear the band tuning up. Lexie shakes her head. “You know, we almost stopped playing together.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, some people wanted to try to make it big and others wanted to take it easy, play the gigs that came along.”

  “What did you want?”

  She laughs. “We work hard enough at the landscaping business. I wanted it easy.”

  x x x

  A few hours later, there’s something in this orange room I’ve not seen before—a dollhouse.

  I kneel down to look at it. It’s two stories tall with furniture in every room. There’s even a little bathroom with a sink and tub—no toilet, though.

  I guess dolls don’t have to go.

  “Mac made it for me,” Lexie explains. “Our thirtieth anniversary is coming up in August. I always wanted one of these.”

  I move closer to it. On the first floor, there’s a toy dog lying in front of a fireplace.

  On the top floor, a toy cat sits on a bed. The sign over the front door says HOME SWEET HOME.

  It’s just a big thing to play with—I know that.

  Lots of homes aren’t close to sweet—I know that, too.

  But this little house seems so good and safe.

  There’s a father doll on the porch. The mother is in the living room. There are kid dolls of different skin colors in the bedrooms.