She took us to the kitchen and started handing me all sorts of cleaning stuff — rags and towels and glass cleaner. Then she gave me a few garbage bags.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you, Fionnula.”
I sighed. Grandma Lucy was the only person that called me by my full first name. Except, of course, for substitute teachers who saw my name as “Fionnula” on the roll sheet. It always made the other kids in my class laugh.
I’d been named after my great-grandma, Grandma Lucy’s mama, whose parents had moved here from Ireland. I’d never met Great-Grandma Fionnula, but Mama said she was the best person she knew. Too bad she didn’t have a better name.
“Nola” wasn’t so bad, really, but Grandma Lucy would never call me that. No matter how hard Mama and I tried to get her to stop calling me by my full name, she just kept on. She said it was disrespectful to “cheapen” a good Irish name like that. After a while, we’d stopped arguing with her.
“Come on. No use dillydallying around,” she said. “Might as well get started.”
We followed Grandma Lucy back outside and out to the garage, which wasn’t connected to the house like most people’s garages are. It was set off to the side with a gravel path leading up to the big door. Grandma Lucy pulled out a pair of keys and walked around to the side entrance. A second later she was in the garage, hollering for Mama to help her.
When the big door was finally pushed up and open, all I could do was stare. There was no car in the garage — Grandma Lucy didn’t drive anymore — but there was all sorts of other stuff. Boxes and more boxes. Folded lawn chairs set against the back wall. A dusty workbench covered in rusty tools. There was junk everywhere.
I swallowed and looked down at the cleaning supplies in my hands. Grandma Lucy hadn’t been lying; I sure did have my work cut out for me.
“Well,” Mama said, stepping out of the garage and wiping her hands on her jeans. “I oughta get going. I’m gonna sit down today and try to make a wedding budget.” She kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll pick you up in a few hours.”
“Don’t forget I gotta get my bike out of the car,” I said.
“Your bike?” Grandma Lucy screeched. “Why in the lord’s name did you bring your bike here, Fionnula? I’m paying you to work, not ride around the sidewalks.”
“I thought it might come in handy if we ran out of cleaning supplies,” I said. I could hear my voice shaking. Get used to it, I told myself. This is as nice as she gets.
I put my bike on the front porch as Mama said her good-byes. I watched her drive away, wishing, for a second, that I was going with her. But then I remembered why I was here. If I could get away for just a few minutes, I might be able to spot Mr. Swift’s car. Or even see him in town.
I was here for the boys.
Grandma Lucy didn’t stay out in the garage with me. She just pointed at the boxes and said, “Go through those. Take out the trash.” Then she pointed at the lawn chairs. “Clean those.” Then she turned to the workbench. And I saw a flash of something on her face. I don’t know what it was, exactly, but when she spoke next, her voice was a little softer. “Don’t touch those,” she said, gesturing to the tools. “Now get to work.”
I breathed a sigh of relief when she’d gone. I’d much rather be out here cleaning this mess up on my own than with her. I found an old battery-powered radio on a shelf in the back corner, and it still worked. So I tuned it to Outlaw 104 and sang along while I started to clean.
I did the lawn chairs first, scrubbing them down with the rags and some soap. They were rusty and stiff, and I was sure they’d been left out in the rain a few times too many. But I got them as clean as I could. Then I moved on to the boxes. I was curious to know what I’d find in there.
The first box was mostly garbage. Old receipts, broken TV remotes, a cracked blender. I filled up the first garbage bag real fast. The second box, though, was a little more interesting. There was some trash, of course, but most of it was stuff I knew Grandma Lucy would never want to get rid of.
There were old, beat-up stuffed animals with missing eyes and torn ears that must have been Mama’s when she was little. There was a golden sash that said, in big black letters, Miss Besser County 1959. I did some math in my head and realized that was the year Grandma Lucy turned sixteen. Then, at the very bottom, I found a dusty photo album, stuffed full of pictures. I unfolded one of the lawn chairs, got comfortable, and started to flip through the pages.
A lot of the pictures were in black-and-white, and I didn’t recognize the people in them. But a few had names and dates scribbled on the back. I found a photo of my great-grandma Fionnula from 1931. I found a picture of Grandma Lucy in an old-fashioned pink dress, wearing the sash I’d just found. Her hair was pulled up and she was smiling. I didn’t hardly recognize her — she was beautiful. How had I never known she was a beauty queen?
The picture that really caught my attention, though, was one of the last in the album. In it, Grandma Lucy, orange-red hair down around her shoulders, was standing next to a man with glasses and freckles. They were both flashing big white smiles at the camera. And Grandma Lucy was holding a baby — Mama.
I stared at the man in the picture. My grandpa. I’d never met him. He passed away when Mama was in high school. She said Grandma Lucy hadn’t been the same after that. I studied him closely. Mama looked like him. Which I guess I did, too, since I looked like her. And there was something real nice about his smile. You couldn’t tell a whole lot from a picture, but he seemed kind, friendly … and really, really happy.
Grandma Lucy looked happy, too. It was hard to believe the cranky old woman who yelled all the time was the same smiling girl in these pictures.
I heard a car heading down the road and looked up so I could watch it pass by.
It was a silver Saturn.
I let out a squeak and jumped to my feet, dropping the photo album back into the box where I’d found it. I ran to the front porch to grab my bike, yelling through the screen door to Grandma Lucy that I was heading to the store to get some more trash bags. Then I pedaled as fast as I could, chasing after Mr. Swift’s car.
I’d already lost sight of him by the time I got down the road, but I was pretty sure he’d been headed toward the center of Bunker. They called it “downtown,” but there wasn’t a whole lot there. A Walmart, a couple of little stores, and two tiny little restaurants. Not much, but enough to get people from my town heading over here every weekend to do their shopping. I’d been in this part of Bunker with Mama enough times that I knew my way around.
I rode past the hardware store and the empty playground, pedaling a little slower so I could look around for the Saturn. I was about to give up when I spotted it in the parking lot of the Country Kitchen, a little restaurant just down the street. I sped up. A woman with curly red hair, wearing a pink uniform, was climbing into the passenger’s seat. I pedaled hard, trying to reach the car.
But I was too late. Once the woman was inside, the car pulled out of the lot and sped off. For a second I thought about following again, but I knew I’d never be able to keep up, and who knew where they were headed now? Instead, I decided to use my detective skills to get answers.
I left my bike in front of the restaurant and walked inside. There weren’t many people in the booths, and I spotted only one waitress. She was standing behind the front counter, dressed in the same pink dress and white apron as the woman I’d just seen get into Mr. Swift’s car. This woman was older, though, probably close to Grandma Lucy’s age, only her hair was long and light blond with dark gray roots.
I smiled at her, and she smiled back. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”
“I’m supposed to deliver something for one of the waitresses here.” I was scrambling to come up with a story. “My aunt, actually. But I just saw her leaving the parking lot.”
“What are you delivering?” the woman behind the counter asked. Her name tag was smudged, but I thought it said Elmira. “You can probably leave it he
re. I’ll make sure your aunt gets it tomorrow.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said. “But you don’t gotta do that. I was hoping to visit with her, you know? But Mama didn’t know what time my aunt got off work, so I guess I just missed her.”
“I guess you did,” maybe-Elmira said. I couldn’t tell if she was buying my story or not.
“Any chance you could tell me where she lives?” I asked.
“You don’t know where your own aunt lives?” She narrowed her eyes at me.
Uh-oh, I thought. “Uh, well, you see, I don’t live in Bunker. I’m visiting my grandma for the day. I know where my aunt lives, but I’ve never ridden my bike there. Could you tell me how to get there from here?”
She laughed. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what you’re after, but you ain’t getting it from me. You haven’t even said your aunt’s name.”
“Uh …”
“Go on,” maybe-Elmira said, gesturing toward the door. “Either order some food or get on out of here.”
I left the Country Kitchen with my shoulders slumped and my stomach aching. Maybe-Elmira hadn’t yelled, but getting caught in a lie made me feel like I was in trouble. I hopped on my bike and hurried out of the parking lot as fast as I could.
I was almost back to Grandma Lucy’s before I remembered the garbage bags I was supposed to be picking up and had to double-back. When I finally reached the house, Grandma Lucy was sitting on the front porch drinking lemonade.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
“Got a little lost,” I lied.
I took my time cleaning for the next hour or so, going slow on purpose. Then I told Grandma Lucy that this was a two-day job, and I’d have to come back next week to finish.
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m not paying you ’til it’s all done.”
That was all right by me. I wasn’t really here for the money. I just needed more time to track down Mr. Swift. At least now I had something to work with.
My earliest memory is mostly just a snapshot.
I was about three. I know because I was holding Rufus, the floppy stuffed dog Mamaw and Papaw gave me for my third birthday, and his left ear hadn’t been ripped off yet (that happened only a few months after I got him, according to Mama). Canaan and Brian were playing in my bedroom. Kevin wasn’t born yet.
I remember sitting in my closet, hugging Rufus to my chest. Grandma Lucy was in the living room. She must’ve been talking to Mama. I don’t remember seeing her, but I could hear her. I could always hear her. Her voice was loud, angry — smashing through the wall like a wrecking ball.
I don’t remember what she was saying or why she was yelling. All I know is that I’d somehow ended up sitting in my closet, hiding, only for some reason I’d left the door open.
The boys stared at me for a minute, then they each stood up, walked to the closet, and sat down. One boy on each side of me. I don’t think they said a word. If they did, I don’t recall. As far as I can remember, they just sat on the floor with me while Grandma Lucy hollered in the next room.
Even back then, I felt safe with the boys. They could tell when I was upset, when I needed them.
Who knows how long we actually sat in that closet. The memory is only about three seconds long. But I’ve thought about it a million times over the years. One little memory. One tiny moment. But I think that’s really where our friendship began.
I nearly tripped over Kevin on my way out the door Thursday morning. He was sitting on the top step, just waiting for me.
“You don’t knock no more, either?” I asked.
He lifted one shoulder, then let it drop.
“Well, I can’t play right now,” I told him. “I’ve got to go walk Mrs. Santos’s dog and water Miss Shirley’s flowers.”
He hopped to his feet and looked up at me, hands shoved in his pockets.
“You wanna help?” I guessed.
He nodded.
“Fine by me.” I locked the front door and jumped down the steps. “It’ll be nice to have some company, I suppose.”
I didn’t tell him I’d been looking for Mr. Swift. I didn’t wanna say anything until I actually found him. Or maybe I’d never say nothing. Maybe I’d just convince him to come home and let him surprise the boys. They’d never have to know I was a part of it.
Kevin was glued to my side all day. I didn’t mind, of course, but sometimes, whenever I wasn’t talking, I’d just sorta look at him and feel my heart break. It was hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, everything was different. Kevin didn’t even feel like Kevin anymore.
“You coming over?” I asked him once I’d finished with Miss Shirley’s garden.
He nodded.
We walked back down the street, toward the duplex. We passed Mr. Briggs’s house. He waved to us when we walked by.
“Afternoon, kids,” he said.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Briggs,” I called back. Kevin waved.
Back at my house, we sat on the living room floor and played Chutes and Ladders while we waited for Mama to get home. I’d brought Kevin a notebook and a blue marker, too, so he could write out anything he might want to say. Which wasn’t much, actually.
“Hey, kiddos,” Richard said when he and Mama walked through the door that night. “Who’s winning?”
“Kevin,” I grumbled.
“Nice job, Kevster,” Richard said.
Kevin smiled, and that made me feel a little less grouchy about losing.
“You should let your mama know if you’re staying for dinner,” I told him.
He reached for the marker and scribbled on the paper I’d given him. Then he passed it to me. In messy handwriting, it said:
“Well, you should tell Brian, then,” I said.
I stared down at the paper. “What do you mean you don’t know where Brian is? He ain’t at home?”
It didn’t make much sense to me. Brian hadn’t been home since last week? It was hard to believe he’d been away from home that long. Especially when he seemed to be the one keeping an eye on Canaan and Kevin. I didn’t say anything like that, though. I just nodded and we finished our game.
Later that night, after dinner, Kevin and me were sitting out on the front steps. It was getting around time for him to go home, but I could tell he was stalling — or “procrastinating,” as Richard would remind me to say. My notebook and marker were in his lap, and after a few minutes of listening to the crickets chirp, I finally asked something I’d been wondering for weeks.
“Kevin … how come you don’t talk no more?”
He picked up the marker, like he was going to write, but then it just hovered in the air. After a long pause, he sighed and shook his head. He handed me the notebook and the marker before giving me a quick hug. Then, with a tiny wave, he got to his feet and walked home.
* * *
Felicia asked me to spend the night at her house on Friday. I packed my sleeping bag, toothbrush, and pajamas in an old pink backpack and walked across the street just before suppertime. Mrs. Hooper had a plate of steak and a baked potato already waiting on the table for me.
After we ate, me and Felicia watched movies in her living room while we played MASH — a game that tells your future and whether or not you’ll end up living in a mansion, apartment, shack, or house. When I first learned the game in fourth grade, I took my results very seriously. It wasn’t just a game — it was as good as gospel. Obviously, since then I’d figured out that the results were different every time, which meant they couldn’t really be true. It was still fun, though.
“Okay,” Felicia said, picking up the sheet of paper we’d used for her turn. “So I’m gonna live in a house. I’m gonna have three kids. My wedding dress will be green.” She made a face — the same one she got whenever she had to scoop after JW on a walk. “And I’m gonna marry Canaan…. Not too bad.”
“Nope,” I mumbled. So I knew it was a dumb game, but I was a little jealous. Partly because I always thought I’d be the one marrying Canaan, and right
now we weren’t even talking. And partly because, in the game I’d just played, I’d ended up living in a shack married to Teddy Ryan.
“All right, girls,” Mrs. Hooper said. “You don’t have to go to sleep, but it’s time to get pajamas on and go to Felicia’s room.”
Felicia whined a little, but she ended up falling asleep real quick. It couldn’t have been five minutes after her pajamas were on that she started snoring.
I wasn’t tired, though. Not yet. I sat on Felicia’s windowsill, the notepad we’d used to play MASH in my lap. I was using the light from the streetlamp outside to draw pictures. I was working on a sketch of JW, who was curled up, asleep at the foot of Felicia’s bed. It was turning out to be a pretty good drawing and I thought Felicia would probably like it. Maybe she’d tack it to her wall, put it up behind the little wooden statue Mr. Briggs had given her, which I’d seen sitting on her dresser.
I’d just started on JW’s tail when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. There were three people outside, standing on the corner. I couldn’t see their faces, just their silhouettes. I pressed my face to the window, trying to see what they were doing, but as far as I could tell, they were just standing. Talking, maybe.
A second later, they moved, all of them turning to walk up the street. When they passed under the streetlight, I got a quick look at their faces.
Andy Kirk and Peter Miller — the biggest bullies in the neighborhood — and they were with Canaan.
For a minute, I just stared — confused. Canaan hated Andy and Peter. They used to sneak into the backyard and tip over our swing set. They were the boys who picked on the younger kids. The boys who pulled up the flowers in Miss Shirley’s garden just for the sake of meanness. Why was he with them?
I decided I was gonna find out.
I climbed off the windowsill and tiptoed across the room to my shoes. JW woke up, sniffed, and turned his dark eyes toward me. I put a finger to my lips and said, “Shhh.” Then I felt silly because of course a dog wouldn’t understand what that meant.
The Swift Boys & Me Page 7
