Egg-Drop Blues (7 page)

My mother wasn't home when we got home, which was strange. She's not that crazy about her job. She'll usually turn down overtime on a Friday.

Jury wandered in about twenty minutes after I got home.

"Where's Mama?" he asked.

"It's not my day to watch her."

"Ha-ha, you slay me. Now answer the question."

"I don't know, okay?"

He actually grabbed the remote, which I had
picked up when I heard him coming up the steps, out of my hand and changed the channel.

"Uh, excuse me!"

"I just want to check something out."

"On the news?"

He sat down on the sofa, crowding out my feet, which were there first.

"Yeah, on the news. I heard that some TV cameras were filming some of the Einstein Rally groups."

"Which ones? Don't tell me, the question bowl?"

"Surprisingly enough, it was the dramatic interpretation group."

"Who told you?"

"Angela. Angela was hot. She said if any honor comes to Faber out of this thing, it'll be her group that brings it, not some stupid bunch of fourth- and fifth-graders acting out the murder of Julius Caesar."

"She's probably right," I said.

"I know. It's disgusting, isn't it."

I nodded and we sat in silence waiting to see if the kids from Faber would show up on the news. During the last five minutes there was a quick shot of the dramatic group and then a longer closeup of a little red-haired girl from the fifth grade. Everybody thinks this kid is really
cute, but she reminds me of that movie with the redheaded doll that killed people. The biggest part of the spot was a closeup interview with Ms. Hennessey. The way the announcer was grinning all over himself made me see Hennessey differently. He was acting like she was cute or something.

Our mother was coming through the doorway with an armful of groceries; Jury didn't move.

"Here, let
me
help you with those, Mama."

"Aren't we lucky to have him around, Mama?"

"Listen, I'm going to tell the two of you right now, I don't have the patience for any stupid stuff tonight—okay?" She flopped down on the spot I vacated. I put the bags away.

"Okay, now both of you come give me a hug and tell me how the science test went today," she said as she kicked off her shoes.

I think the rally took on another level of importance when I learned that our mother was late on Friday because, in addition to stopping by the grocery store, she had put in two hours of overtime for the woman who was working for her on the Saturday of the Einstein Rally—next Saturday. Mama usually has to work one Saturday per month.

"I've already told Ms. Hennessey that I'll drive a carload over in the van," she explained.

"Wouldn't that be a vanload?" Jury said.

"Don't push me, Brother," she warned, but I could see she was kidding him.

I'll never understand why so much of Jury's foolishness walks when it comes to adults.

"Too bad your daddy chose this weekend to come up."

"He'd probably change it if we ask," I said. Jury gave me the look.

"You mean you haven't asked him?"

"We didn't want to bother him; it's no big deal," Jury said.

"Maybe not to you, but we care about these things."

Jury told me later that he was afraid asking Daddy would just add to the pressure.

"I thought you said it was no big deal?"

"It isn't, but you know how they get. They'll turn it into a big deal."

Well, to me it was already big. In seven days, the knot in the pit of my stomach that I was beginning to feel every time I climbed the ladder to the roof would be a thing of the past.

My father tries to be a part of whatever is going on with us. Sometimes we don't tell him about something happening during the week because we don't want him to face the two-hour drive at night. During soccer season at least three of our games are on weekdays, but we don't mention them. He hates to miss one of our games, but with them being in the fall when it gets dark earlier, we just don't tell him so we don't have to worry.

Everybody on our team, the Warriors, knows when one of our parents is missing because the
sideline volume is cut by half. Both of them are very competitive and they make excellent cheerleaders.

The kids on the question bowl team were getting together over at Tommy's to practice. Even though Jury's name is on the list as an alternate, he hasn't said anything about going over there. But for that matter, he hasn't made any of their daily after-late-math practices either.

"Are you going over to Tommy's?" I asked after dinner.

"Naw, I'm sick and tired of hearing about the Einstein Rally. I'll be glad when it's over."

Finally we agreed on something!

Our father called early Saturday morning. I'm a hard sleeper and I didn't hear Mama's call to come to the phone. But I heard some of Jury's end of the conversation. It seems to bother him that I can sleep so good. He could have taken the telephone just about anywhere upstairs—it has a super-long cord—but he chose to sit on the edge of his bed, speaking as loud as he would on the pom-pom tackle field.

"Okay, Daddy, we'll be ready ... Okay, bye," I heard him say.

"Ready for what?" I asked.

Jury jumped, like I startled him. He turned around.

"We need to get a bell for you to wear around your neck."

"What?" It wasn't even nine and he was already saying strange things.

"Like the cat."

"What cat?"

"Never mind. Daddy's going to be here in about a half hour; he's taking us to breakfast."

"Mama too?"

"No, just us. He said there's something he wants to talk to us about."

"Did he give any hints?"

"Not a one. But he sounded up."

As Jury was talking, he was moving toward the bathroom. I think he thought I was going to race him for the shower. He could have saved his energy; I was still sleepy. He went in the bathroom and I leaned back on my pillow. I wasn't hungry; it was definitely one of those rare days I'd choose sleep over food.

I looked at the bedroom paint job we did last summer. I could see one or two spots where the paint was uneven, but for the most part, I was proud of it. My mother decided she wanted the whole house painted. She was going to call my
uncles, Daddy's brothers, but we talked her into paying us to do it. My uncle Jerry did come over and show us how to tape up the wood trimming and brought us some tarps to protect the carpet. It turned out to be easy and kind of fun. Even Jury had to admit it was easy.

"We're setting a dangerous precedent," he kept saying. "Precedent" was one of our fifth-grade spelling words. Our teacher used the phrase "dangerous precedent" in one of the sentences she said during the test, and Jury had been using the phrase ever since.

"Why do you keep saying that?" I finally asked.

"If we let her know we can do this, she's going to expect more out of us."

"So?"

"This year she pays us, next year we do it because we should be 'committed to our house looking good.'" The 'committed to the house looking good' phrase was one my mother always used when she told us to clean up. I knew Jury was right, but what could we do about it? Actually, I agreed with her; I do want the house to look good.

She paid us three hundred dollars. We were able to spend fifty dollars apiece on whatever we wanted, but we had to put the rest in the bank for our Disney World trip this summer.

Jury can take some of the fastest showers—my mother always asks me if I've used soap, but she asks Jury if he ever uses water.

"I betcha Daddy's getting ready to move back up here."

"I doubt it," I said.

"What do you think this is about?"

"I don't know, but isn't it supposed to be my job to worry about stuff?"

"I'm not worried; I just don't like surprises."

I waited to see what he was taking out of the closet to wear before I went in to take my shower. I hate it when I decide to wear something and it turns out to be the same thing Jury is wearing—surprisingly, it happens pretty often. I was safe; he was wearing his signature outfit, a black T-shirt and black overalls. He wears it so often it's a wonder there's any dye left in that combination.

My father was already at our house by the time I got out of the shower. Nobody knocked on the door or came to get me, so I guess waiting was no big deal. I was surprised when I came downstairs and found his girfriend sitting next to him on the sofa. They were drinking coffee with my mother and all of them were laughing about something Jury had said.

I tried my hardest to remember the girlfriend's
name. Didn't it have something to do with a flower? Rose, Iris, Lilac—is that a name? Maybe it wasn't a flower, maybe it was a fruit ... no; banana wasn't a name!

"Here he is. Judge, you remember Lilly, don't you?"

I tried to answer like Jury would. "Yes, I remember Lilly." I walked toward her with my hand out. I noticed the raised eyebrow my mother gave my father. Jury laughed.

Breakfast out wasn't a unique idea this Saturday. The lines were out the door at the first two places we tried, so we ended up at the Smorgasbord at the mall. It's actually one of my favorite places to eat because you can get what you want, but most people don't think about it unless they're already in the mall. There was even a line there, but only about fifteen people were ahead of us.

My father and Lilly were beginning to make me sick. It was bad enough that she sat so close to him in the car that, from behind, he looked like a two-headed man. But she held his hand in line and kept looking at him like he was saying something fascinating, something that would save the world. Most of the time he wasn't even talking. Dad wasn't making matters any better; at one point I saw him kiss her on the neck and then, when it was time for us to move up a little,
he kind of "pushed" her forward by patting her on the behind. I know he didn't know I saw it, but I did and I wanted to scream, "Now cut that out!" I know she just turned thirty, but doesn't he know how old
he
is? As usual, Jury seemed to be completely self-absorbed. He seemed to be more interested in what I was putting on my plate than the fact that Lilly and our dad waited until the last possible moment, when they reached the trays and stuff, to let go of each other's hands.

At least he waited until we were all sitting before he made his big announcement. Jury put his tray down and then said he was going to get some milk.

"I'll wait until you get back to say what I'm going to say," Daddy said, as a way to get Jury to hurry.

"Duh."

Lilly thought that was hilarious.

"Don't laugh at him. I told him to stop saying that last time I was up." But our dad had that grin on his face as he said it. Once again Jury was getting away with something.

He came back, put his milk down, and then sat. "Okay, let's hear it."

"Thank you for your permission." Dad reached over and took Lilly's hand again.

Jeez.

"As you both know, Lilly and I have been seeing each other for ... what?" He looked at her.

"Over a year," she said.

"That's right, over a year. A couple of days ago, I asked Lilly to be my wife and she agreed."

I looked at Jury and he looked at me like he was confused or maybe he missed some of what Daddy was saying. Maybe he was still thinking Daddy had come to make an announcement about moving back up here.

"It's not ... I mean you two don't..." He looked at me. "Help me, Judge."

I would have helped Jury, but I didn't know what he was trying to say. We all just stared at him.

"Okay, I'll just say it."

But he didn't just say anything. He took a drink of milk. He made it look good like in a commercial. I was tempted to go get some too, but I wanted to hear what he was going to say, exactly how deep he planned to put his foot in his mouth.

"Should we expect an addition to our family soon?" he finally blurted out.

Our father looked at me like he wanted me to explain. I shrugged.

"Jury, son, that's what marriage is, the addition of a wife or husband to one's family." Lilly giggled.

"Daddy, I'm asking is she expecting?"

I could almost see the little wheels turning in my father's head, rolling around over the word "expecting." Expecting, now what does that mean?

"You're asking me if Lilly is pregnant?"

At first he looked pleased with himself for figuring out his number-one-son's riddle, but almost immediately behind that came an angry expression. Jury didn't make matters any better by saying what he said next.

"Duh. I mean yes. That is what I was asking."

This time Lilly's giggle was a little nervous-sounding.

"Well, just for future reference, that's not the proper question to ask when somebody announces his or her engagement. You tell the man congratulations and you wish the woman a happy life or you tell her she'll be a beautiful bride or something like that."

I would have pointed out that his thinking could possibly be politically incorrect. Our mother is trying to raise us not to be chauvinistic, which my father calls a bunch of garbage, but it didn't seem like the time to bring it up.

"And no, Lilly is not pregnant. We're getting
married because we want to spend the rest of our lives together."

If love could make a person fly, Lilly would have flown out the restaurant when my daddy said that.

I couldn't cope. I forced myself to think about the Einstein Rally. What was I going to wear next weekend?

"Well, say something, Judge," Daddy said.

"Okay. Congratulations, Daddy, and Lilly, you're going to be a beautiful bride."

She'd have to be a beautiful bride—she looked like a younger, slimmer version of my mother. I've heard my grandmother Jenkins talking on the telephone to her friends and she'll describe somebody as, "a pretty brown-skinned girl like my daughter-in-law Ilean." Skin shades are a big deal in my father's family, but I haven't figured out why yet. I wonder if Grandma will still call my mother her daughter-in-law after Daddy remarries?