by Joan Bauer
“What did you do?”
“At first we let it almost destroy the band, and then we fired him.”
Is he telling me to fire my father?
He guzzles his root beer. “What I’m trying to say is it’s all right to feel the way you’re feeling. If you weren’t upset, I’d be worried about you. Your dad, for whatever reason, hasn’t really shown you he can be trusted, so why would you trust him?”
Maybe I should be taking notes.
“I would hope,” Mac says, “you wouldn’t trust him until you had some decent proof he’d changed. From what I can see, your dad loves you. I don’t think he loves himself too much. I think he likes easy solutions and might never change. But he loves you. I’d go to the mat on that one.”
Shush sniffs the air and leans his head against my chest. I needed that. I rub his good, soft fur.
“I don’t usually talk this much,” Mac says. “But you’re such a fine girl, you listen to me. You’ve had your share of adults acting badly, but don’t give up on us all. It’s safe here. You read me?”
“I read you.” I look down. “I’m glad you still have the band.”
Lexie smiles. “We stopped playing for a year, but we were miserable without our music. We’re just starting up again. . . .”
There’s a knock on the door. I’m not getting it.
“Hey!” It’s Dante’s voice. “You want to show me where you want that little tree?”
x x x
“Are you guys going to help or watch me work?”
“Watch,” Joonie says.
Dante takes a bag of dirt and lugs it to the trash. Then he lifts a baby tree out of the back of the truck and starts digging a hole.
“How did you learn so much about plants?” I ask him.
“Mac taught me. This little tree here? It can’t survive on its own. The wind will knock it down. So we’ve got to give it support to grow while it’s young.”
“We need to make this part of parent education on Ziddo,” Joonie says.
Dante laughs and puts two posts in the ground, one on either side of the hole. He puts water in the hole and special tree food, then he puts the baby tree in so gently. He fills the hole up, pats it down, and uses wire to connect the little tree to the posts.
“This way, it should make it through winter,” he says.
I’m thinking the posts in my life are Mac and Lexie.
“You’re in a good place,” Dante tells me. He clips some yellow flowers, hands them to me, and digs another hole.
“Hmmmm . . .” Joonie says.
Shush is sniffing the flowers.
I’ve never had a guy give me flowers. I look at Joonie and mouth, What should I do?”
She leans over. “Say thank you and put them in water.”
36
I NEED THOSE strong posts to hold me up. The wind here is blowing hard. It feels like winter is coming in the middle of August.
Mr. Leeland and Reba are looking for an apartment. He keeps saying, “We’re going to be a real family.”
I tell him, “No sir. The state of Illinois wants me here.”
“Well,” he says, “we’ll see about that nonsense. I’ve got me a lawyer who’s going to rattle some cages.”
I run upstairs to the pink room and lock the door. I shove a chair in front of it.
I’m not leaving this place!
I get out my pen and write,
Dear State of Illinois,
I want to thank you for having rules that protect kids, and I hope you’re superserious about making sure they work. I didn’t like that group home I got stuck in when I first came to town. But it was sure better than being on the street, so I’m grateful.
I just want you to know that if Mr. Robert E. Leeland has his lawyer show up and tells you that he wants me to start living with him, you have my permission to start laughing and say, “Suck eggs!” or whatever you think might be appropriate.
Just so you know, I’m not leaving the place where you put me because on the second try, you got it right.
Keep up the good work. I’m counting on you.
Yours very truly,
Sugar Mae Cole
x x x
Five days after Mr. Leeland showed up in Chicago, he left.
Left Reba with all her big dreams of being loved.
“In Cinderella,” she says, “the prince doesn’t leave town. I guess I keep wanting the fairy tale.”
I never liked that story much—I never trusted that prince.
I take her by the hand. “Come on. There’s a place I’ve been wanting to take you.”
x x x
The sun is shining through the windows and it seems like the sweetest place on earth. Mildred is complaining about her throbbing veins, but that doesn’t matter. Reba looks at the candy and the people and sits down, grinning.
I knew she’d love it.
I buy her two kinds of chocolate and a coffee with steamed milk. I bring them over to the table as Reba studies the place.
“They could do so much more in this room, you know.”
I put the coffee down. “Like what?”
“Potted plants, tablecloths.” She points outside. “And they could use that porch.”
She leans back in her chair. “I’d paint that wall rose and the other wall yellow.” She takes a bite of the chocolate and grins. “But I wouldn’t change this—not one whit.”
It didn’t make sense, and I didn’t think she’d have the courage to do it, but two days later Reba walked into the Sweet Spot with her makeup just so and her pink shirt and white pants and told Sharon, the owner, “I believe in the power of sweetness. I would love to work here.”
She came back grinning and I knew she got the job.
“They can do a lot more with sweetness, in my opinion,” Reba says, “and I only gave them a few pointers to get started, like, please, for heaven’s sake, use that porch you have for customers. People will talk about things on a porch they’d never discuss inside. It just opens you up. I told her, you should have hanging pots with flowers everywhere, and you should have those walls painted a fresh color.”
“Great ideas.” Helen passes the salad to me.
We are sitting at Joonie’s kitchen table having pizza and salad to celebrate Reba’s new job. Helen’s idea.
“And then, of course, there’s Mildred.” Reba sighs. “She is a tired, old soul.”
“She’s mean,” Chandler says.
“She is,” Reba agrees, “but there’s always a reason for that. You just don’t know another person’s miseries.”
And Reba is telling how Mildred looked her up and down “like I was something the cat dragged in, but I didn’t take it personally. I just smiled at her, and when she told me about her daughter-in-law, well, I told her, ‘She’s lucky to have a hardworking woman like you as a role model.’”
Helen laughs. “What did Mildred say?”
Reba’s chuckling. “Well, she was stunned to silence.”
It feels so good sitting in this little kitchen at the lime green table eating pizza and soggy salad. Shush and Butterbutt are at opposite ends of the room staring at each other. We help clean up, then Reba, who normally stays up much later than she should, says, “I’ve got a mighty big day tomorrow. I best be going.”
Shush and I walk Reba to the bus stop. She has to take two buses to get back to the shelter. Shush stops every few feet because of the street noise. Reba bends down and rubs him under the chin.
“You just keep taking steps forward, little one.”
Shush walks forward a little.
I take her hand. I want to encourage her. “I’m proud of you, Reba.”
She gives me the longest hug. “We’re almost hom
e, Sugar Mae Cole.”
I’m not sure about that, but I keep my mouth shut.
“I’ve still got lots to work on,” Reba says as the bus pulls up. Shush is shaking from the noise. Reba turns to me. Her eyes look sad. “Do you like it at Lexie’s?” She shakes her head. “I already know the answer.”
She climbs on the bus. Shush and I watch it go.
Almost.
It’s a big word for me.
I feel it everywhere.
Almost home.
Almost happy.
Almost changed.
Almost, but not quite.
Not yet.
Soon, maybe.
I’m hoping hard for that.
37
THE PHONE AT Lexie’s rings at 8:25 a.m.
I hear her say, “Well, no she’s not. No, she doesn’t live here. Just a minute, Sharon. I’ll ask her daughter.”
I run into the kitchen.
“Sugar, did your mom know she was supposed to be at work at 7:30?”
“She knew,” I whisper.
Lexie’s back on the phone. “She’s just delayed, Sharon. She doesn’t have a phone. Yes, I know. I’m sorry . . . of course I will.”
She hangs up. “Now I’m calling the shelter and we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”
Reba doesn’t get up that well sometimes . . .
Or she didn’t make it back.
Nobody is answering the phone at the shelter.
My mind is going crazy.
“Maybe something happened,” I say.
Lexie shakes her head. “I’ll try again.”
I pick up Shush and go into the tangerine room. I bury my face in his good fur. I’m getting a stomachache from worry. I look at the dollhouse. The mother doll is in the kitchen. It’s so perfect, it’s irritating.
It’s her first day of work.
Couldn’t we just get a break on her first day?
I take the father doll and throw him across the room.
Then I see Lexie standing in the doorway.
I run to get the father doll. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I—”
“I’ve thought of doing that myself,” she tells me.
I gulp. “Did you talk to the shelter?”
“Something is wrong with their phone. I can’t get through.”
I feel this fear sitting on my chest. Something bad has happened to Reba. I know!
Just then, Shush starts going crazy running around the room. He jumps up at the window, whining.
“What is it, boy?”
He’s pawing at the window.
“Do you have to go? You have to go out the back. Come on.”
But Shush won’t move.
I try to pick him up but he jumps away.
“What’s with you?”
He’s whining louder. I pick Shush up and take him out back, but he won’t go in the backyard. He runs through the kitchen to the front door.
And now he does something he’s never done before.
He barks!
I’m not kidding.
Shush barks again!
“What is it?” I shout.
Lexie throws the front door open.
And there is Reba, sitting on the porch with her face in her hands.
Shush runs to her, barking. She touches his chin. “Are you barking for me?”
“What happened?” I shout.
Reba shakes her head.
“The bus was late and then the next bus broke down and I asked a woman if I could use her phone and she said no and I didn’t have change to make a phone call, and I walked here in these shoes . . .”
She takes them off; she’s got bleeding blisters on her feet.
“Oh, Reba!”
“I tried to get there.”
Lexie bends down. “Yes, you did. I’m calling Sharon right now.”
“The whole world has a phone,” Reba whispers. “Except me.”
“Lots of people don’t have phones, honey.” Lexie puts her hand on Reba’s shoulder. “Don’t let this bad morning stop you. You’ve got so much to build on.”
Reba grabs Lexie’s hand. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”
I look at Reba and she looks at me. I sit down next to her.
Lexie’s saying she’s going to call Sharon, but I don’t think she should do that. Reba should call for herself.
I take Reba’s hand. “You remember that time I came home from school crying because I didn’t get into the school play?”
“I remember.”
“You remember what you told me?”
She touches the little silver bell necklace, and it’s like she gets some kind of power from it. She sits up straight and goes all-out Southern. “Why yes I do. I told you to not worry about one bad audition, but ask for another one.”
“And I got the role of the lead armadillo.”
“I was so proud of you on that stage. Lord, I was bursting.” She smiles brave like only a Southern woman can.
Let me tell you about my mother.
She gets kicked around a lot, but she gets up, too.
She’s King Cole’s daughter, and that’s close to being royalty.
“Well,” she says to Shush, “if you can bark, I can, too.”
She straightens her shoulders and gets herself up.
She calls Sharon and asks for another chance.
She slaps bandages on her blisters.
She brushes herself off and marches off to the Sweet Spot. Actually, she’s limping, so Helen drives her.
Shush and I stay back in the kitchen.
“You barked,” I mention to him. “You sounded totally ferocious. Am I going to have to change your name?”
Shush looks at me.
“I guess you’ve been holding it in for a long time, huh?”
Shush puts his paw on my arm and sighs.
x x x
“I’ve got a big question to ask you, Dana.”
Dana Wood sits back in her ugly brown chair and smiles like she’s used to big questions.
“Do you think Reba is going to get all better?”
She doesn’t look down or take a sip of coffee to think or any of that. She looks at me straight on. “I think your mother loves you very—”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She holds up her hand. “Let me finish. That kind of love can be transforming. Do you understand?”
“It can help her change.”
“That’s right.”
“She wants to change real bad.”
“And that can be like a key that unlocks a door.”
I understand about locked-up things. I’ve got another big question. “What if Mr. Leeland comes back again?”
“When people want to make big changes in their lives, they need to understand what’s healthy for them and what isn’t.”
“You’re talking to Reba about this, right?”
Dana Wood smiles. “I can’t tell you what we talk about, Sugar. That’s confidential.”
“But you’re covering the big change stuff, right? I mean, you’re not missing any major life points, because sometimes with Reba, you’ve got to really ram it home for her to get it.”
Dana Wood leans back in her chair. “I’m going to ask you to trust me on this, Sugar.”
Trust isn’t a natural gift that I’ve got.
I trust you.
I mean, I think I do.
I want to, but I’m not sure I can.
Inside my heart I wonder if I can trust anyone really.
I trust you.
Sort of.
Maybe I don’t kno
w you well enough to trust you.
Maybe I shouldn’t even try.
But I will . . .
Try, that is.
At least, I think I will.
When I was little
I thought trust was just a word.
But it’s more than that.
It’s a promise.
Do you promise I can trust you?
If you do, then maybe I can.
I promise I will try.
38
WHEN I GO to pick up Merlin for his walk, he doesn’t want to get up from the porch. Shush tries to nudge him, Puffypoo and Greg whine in his face, but this old dog just sniffs and lies there. Mr. Cockburn sits next to him, so sad, patting him, then Merlin closes his eyes and stops breathing.
Mr. Cockburn breathes deep and closes his eyes. “You did good, old friend.”
I don’t know what to say.
Shush and Puffypoo get quiet. Greg throws back his head and yelps.
Mr. Cockburn’s face is all red. Finally, he says, “I’m going to call the vet to come get him. Will you sit with Merlin?” He gets up slow and walks into the house.
I’ve never sat with a dead dog before. I want to say something good to seal the moment. A fly lands on Merlin’s nose and stays there.
“Well, Merlin, you’re going to the last roundup.” I heard a cowboy announce that in a Western. “You’re the first dog I ever made money on and don’t think I’m not grateful. We had some pretty good walks—slow, but decent, and except for that time when you scared the soup out of Laney Diver’s cat, you’ve been a good dog. Going after that cat, I guess those were the days, huh?” I feel my eyes getting moist. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I loved you, boy.”
Merlin doesn’t respond, for obvious reasons. Mr. Cockburn comes back out. His eyes are wet.
“You’re a good girl, Sugar.”
He hands me a twenty-dollar bill, which is more than I ever made in a day while Merlin was alive. I feel funny taking the money, but I get over that.
“Thanks for letting me share this life-and-death moment with you, Mr. Cockburn.”
