Shadows Gray (17 page)

“Don’t call yourself that!” I stop walking abruptly and grab at Emme’s arm sharply. “You know that’s never mattered to me and it wouldn’t matter to Joe.  I can’t believe you never told me.”

“Oh, Sonnet, of course it would matter.”  Her eyes look flat and expressionless now as she looks at me.  “It’s better this way.  And I don’t have to stop loving him any less, or be around him any less.  It really is better.  Come on, there’s that lovely toy shop, let’s go in!”

In an instant, the fire in her eyes is back and she is like a little girl as she pulls my elbow and practically drags me across the street to Ramone’s Toys and Trinkets.  She claps in glee at the train set that decorates their front window and pushes open the door merrily.  A bell tinkles from over our heads and like magic; a man appears at our side as though he has been conjured by eager shoppers.  And Emme certainly is eager; she spends an almost obscene amount of money as she picks out huge lollipops, a stuffed bear, a set of blocks, a walkie-talkie that she says will give Joe and Bea endless entertainment, books and board games, and finally the train set in the window.  At one point, I open my mouth to remind her that if he gets attached to all of this and then they leave what then?  But I cannot say it; I cannot remind Emme of the realities of her little Lost boy.  It isn’t as though she doesn’t know the unfairness of it all… is it?

Chapter Fifteen

We walk back from our shopping exhibition laden down with bags and boxes and boxes in bags.  Emme is fresh faced and excited for her purchases as we make our way back to the coffee shop and I can’t help but cheer up a bit; Emme’s childlike exuberance is contagious.  The wind has whipped itself up into a bit of frenzy however and my fingertips feel frozen to the plastic handles of the shopping bags in no time. We still have a couple of blocks to go.

“Let’s play Best and Worst in order to keep my lips from frostbite,” I suggest, heaving my bags up and over my shoulders like Saint Nicholas.  Best and Worst is a game just about every Lost child has played at one time or another: the best places and eras you can imagine waking up in and the worst.

“Mmm,” Emme wrinkles her button nose the way she always does when she’s thinking. “Best:
Cancun, right now.  Worst: the Black Death.”

“Best: discovering
America.  Worst:  Marie Antoinette’s court.”

“Best:  the abolition of slavery.  Worst: on board the Titanic.”

“Best:  the nativity in Bethlehem.  Worst: the Trail of Tears.”

“Best: the Wright brother’s airplane. Worst: 
Vietnam in the sixties.” 

“Best: you know that scene in every Robin Hood movie?  Where they’re gnawing on gigantic turkey legs?  That.  Worst: the depression.”

“Yeah, I’ve had those turkey legs and they weren’t that great,” Emme answers. “It was like gnawing on shoe leather not poultry.”

“Please tell me you didn’t actually meet Robin Hood!”  I stop in my tracks.

Emme laughs. “Pretty sure he’s a fictional character, genius.  Did meet a lot of friars back then though and maidens in long frocks.  And castles aren’t nearly as romantic as they look, let me tell you.  Bloody cold and full of rats.” 

“Alright then.  Best: Elvis Presley’s tour bus.  Worst: Marilyn Manson’s tour bus.”

Emme laughs again.  “We’re here.  Ugh.  What are the odds of you taking all this stuff back to your place to hide?”  She manages to balance a box beneath her chin and free her left hand to open the door to the coffee shop.  Wedging my knee in the opening, we both somehow get inside without dropping anything.

“Pretty good as long as Israel comes to get me.  I’m not going to walk it all home, that’s for sure.”  I wonder if he’ll be up for picking me up.  I spent most of my shift shopping but it is still daylight.  Sometimes he abandons me to walk the sunlit streets and fend for myself when it isn’t an evening shift I’ve worked.  Plus, I don’t think he’s completely forgiven me for stealing the Blue Beast.

“Can I talk you into wrapping it all, too?”  Emme pleads, her eyes sparkling.

“Sure, as long as I can write Love, Auntie Sonnet on all of them,” I agree. “And your Bambi eyes don’t work on me, so shove off.  I’ll see you later.  Come by tonight; I’m sure Prue has something we can stick some candles on for Joe.  Bring him and Bea, we’ll have a party.”

“Perfect.  Thanks, Sonnet.  You’re a good friend.”

“I’m your only friend.  See you later.”

After Emme is gone I line up all her packages in a row in the front counter that faces the street.  There are bar stools that swivel and look out into traffic.  It’s the favorite place for little kids to sit and spin in circles while their moms and dads drink coffee, and I sit and spin now as I wait for what I hope will be the massive rectangle of blue that is my ride home.

********************

“Thanks for the ride,” I tell Israel meekly, as I climb in the passenger seat.  All of Emme’s gifts are piled up in the back.

“You’re welcome.  Who are all these for then?”

“Joe,” I want to tell him that Bea isn’t Joe’s mother, but it isn’t my secret to tell. “They’re coming over later. Do we still have ice cream?”

“We should have since Matthias isn’t around to eat it in the middle of the night.” Matthias was a bit of an ice cream fiend.

“How was your day?” I ask, again meekly.  I still feel guilty over the theft of his car and for our conversation concerning medicine back in the kitchen.

“Busy,” Israel answers, stopping for a red light. “You?”

“Fine.”

“How was the rest of your night last night?  With, what was his name, Larry?”

“Luke.  It was fine.  Nice actually.  Well, until the end.  I think he thinks I’m nuts for chasing after Rose, plus when he brought me home the cops were bringing in Dad.”

“Well, I’m sure he isn’t much of a loss.”

“You didn’t like him?”

“Well, he’s not my type but I guess if he’s yours…”

“I don’t even have a type!”  I feel my face flushing.  Israel’s smiling which means he was egging me on.  “Well, he doesn’t much like you either.  He said you look like something I won in a raffle.”

“What does that mean?” he scowls. “He looks like the cover of a hunting and fishing catalogue.”

“What does that mean?” I can’t help but laugh.  “I don’t think he hunts or fishes!”

“You know,” his scowl deepens. “All flannel and scruffy and stuff.”

“Well, you’re all scrubs and scruffy and stuff.” I reach over and scrape my knuckles against his five o’clock shadow.  Normally Israel is shaved and smooth; you can always tell when he’s working too much by the length of his prickly facial hair. Instead of laughing with me, he bats my hand away like a fly.

“We’re home,” he says gruffly and almost runs over the curb as he parks.  He leaves me to carry in all the packages myself.  I wish he had tried to open the door for me just so I could plow him down flat the way I did Luke; only with
Israel I’d do it on purpose.

********************

Prue takes it literally when I ask her to put candles in whatever she can find and put together at the last minute.  By dinner time there is a fish casserole (with candles in it), a pepperoni calzone (with candles in it), chicken fried rice (with candles), chocolate pudding (candles), a bowl of potato chips (candles), and an entire loaf of raisin bread (candles).  Where she got all the candles I’ll never know, but I just hope the same cranky policeman doesn’t show up tonight along with a fire marshal.  Since it’s an official party now, we are all looking our best and even Dad is looking bright eyed and put together.  I haven’t spoken much to him since the police incident.  His baby face and clear, fresh skin never show a trace of his nights.  His bowtie is straight and triangular and he’s wearing his favorite argyle cardigan.  He really does look like a college professor, and not like a tipsy pickpocket. 

Prue is wearing her best apron, the one she wears for special occasions.  She likes it so much I have even caught her wearing it over her nightgown.  She’d never admit it, but I think she wants to bring it with her when we travel next.

Israel has gone to shower and says he won’t be able to stay for the party.  I am wearing my plaid skirt and horses T-shirt in honor of Emme.  She will absolutely hate it but Joe will approve.

When the doorbell rings I pull it open with panache, expecting to see the birthday boy on the other side.  Instead I see Luke. I drop my arms in a flash from the ridiculous pose they had struck a mere second before.

“Oh,” I say. “You’re you.”

“I am?”

“Yes.  I wasn’t expecting you.  Sorry.”  I want to say ‘what’s up?’ in a casual tone, but I can’t bring myself to say such a modern slang expression in anything that passes for casual.

“Can I come in?”  He looks a little bit awkward, like he’s regretting coming or perhaps like he doesn’t want to be here at all.  Trust it to me to make a man feel awkward within seconds of arriving at my door.

“Of course.”  To make up for my lack of graciousness, I open the door wider and smile at him. A real smile, full of what I hope is warmth and good cheer.  Well, actually I hope it’s full of beauty and mysterious charm, but warmth and good cheer is more realistic.  Whatever my smile is full of it seems to have the desired effect and Luke relaxes his shoulders immediately and comes into our party. I forget to ask him why he’s here but instead get him a glass of ice water and an empty plate, which if I know him at all, he will have piled high with Prue’s cooking in no time.

The next time the doorbell rings it really is Joe and Emme and Bea and we all yell “Surprise!” and Joe is delighted and bounces like a kangaroo through the living room. He is awestruck by the sight of all the gifts (wrapped by me, all with borrowed wrapping paper from Gladys.  Most of it is pink and very feminine but he doesn’t notice).  Emme says he can open them and he starts tearing through them at lightning speed.  He is happy enough with the bear and the lollipops and the books but he is enthralled and enamored with the train set.  Within minutes he has Luke sprawled out on the carpet with him, putting it together.

“Such a lot of presents for a little fellow,” sniffs Prue.  “He’ll hardly be able to play with all that, now will he?”

“Aw, that’s what big sisters are for,” says Emme, not missing a beat.  Her voice doesn’t waver and she sounds as happy as ever – nothing in her voice or demeanor suggests anything but a proud older sister looking on as her little brother grows up.  I steal a glance at Bea and she is every bit the actress as well; adopting the part of mother when she should be grandmother.  Bea is the one who says no when Joe asks for more chips and the one who reminds him to chew with his mouth closed.

Israel comes downstairs and says hello to Bea and Emme, his car keys in hand.  He has taken to keeping them on him at all times now, I’ve noticed.  He tousles Joe’s curly red hair in greeting and stiffly nods at Luke, who still sits on the floor amidst a complete train wreck, literally. Luke twitches his right arm as though he is about to offer his hand, thinks better of it, and nods back.

“Sonnet, is there another plate?”
Israel asks me.

“I thought you had to work?”

“I changed my mind.  I can’t miss this, right, Sport?” he swings Joe up by his knees and dangles him like a pendulum.

“Right!” Joe squeals in delight, from upside down.

“Right,” I mutter. “Sure. One plate, coming right up.”  I get his plate and since his hands are still full of brand new seven year old boy, I go ahead and fill it with the foods I know he likes.  Since I’m still a little on the outs with Israel it would make sense that I’d fill it with the opposite of his favorites but it’s like my waitress/barista instincts kick in before I can help myself.  I bring him his plate of Prue’s delicacies and then I find myself being held captive against my will as Emme combs out and braids my hair.

“Not too elaborate,” I instruct as she yanks a section of hair and the comb gets caught.  I wince.  “This isn’t Regency England anymore, it’s the twenty first century and a pony tail will do just fine, thanks.”

“A piece of clay doesn’t tell the potter what to make it into,” Emme points out, although it’s hard to hear what she’s saying as her mouth is full of pins.

“I don’t even know what that means. Ouch!”

Since my head is being forced to stay in one agonizing position and not move, I can stare straight ahead and see the whole group.  It feels strange, with so many missing, as though if I squint enough or turn my head quickly enough I could just get a glimpse of Harry sitting next to Matthias on the couch, remote control in his wrinkled hands.  Or if I just concentrate maybe I could catch a blur out of my peripheral vision that would be Meli walking briskly by on her way to the kitchen.  But our group now, small though it is, still fills our living space and it’s still a loving, flawed, strange little family of sorts.  Bea is talking with my father, who is sipping from a mug, and Luke is unwrapping a lollipop for Joe. Prue is almost asleep on the recliner; she jerks herself awake every couple of minutes when her eyelids begin to droop closed.  Israel is putting in the batteries for the new walkie-talkie.  It’s started raining heavily outside; though the darkness of evening has fallen and there is almost nothing to be seen behind our drapes and blinds and the poorly lit street.  You don’t have to see the drops to know they are big and falling fast and in sheets.  If I tune out the noise inside my house, I fancy I can even hear the splashing sound they make as the hit the porch.  It’s not a night to be outside and with a start, I think of Rose.  If she is out there in that abandoned old house, she’s cold and wet and has to be miserable.  I had meant to go back out there today but between work and shopping with Emme and then planning Joe’s impromptu birthday gathering and now the early nightfall of autumn, my chance is lost.