Skies Like These (5 page)

Jade reached out and started gently unwinding the stem. “I'm sorry, Roy. That's got to be tough. Did your mom work at the store, too, or does she have another job?”

“She helped out when she could, especially these past few months.”

“What about her poetry? Does she ever sell it?”

“Not really. The worst part is when you hear
why
we lost the business. This snake named Kip Farley moved into town last year and opened one of those ugly big-box home improvement stores four stoplights down from our place. And get this—it's called the Hammer and Nail. What kind of lame name is that?”

“Not terrible for a hardware store, actually.”

“It's not a
store
, it's part of a heartless chain. Besides, whose side are you on?”

“Yours,” Jade said.

“Good, because I think if we got another shot at it, you know, fought harder this time, we might be able to keep things going. People were blinded by the flashy signs and opening-day sales, but soon they'll see the service they get from my dad is worth more than a stupid bag of free popcorn or a ten-percent-off-gravel coupon. If we could get our hands on some cash, we could reopen the store and be back in the game.”

“Couldn't your dad take out a loan?”

“He's done that already but the misers at the bank have cut him off. My parents used up most of their savings keeping it open these past six months. Now they're broke as a twenty-year-old mare. But that's all right, I've got a plan.” He stood up and lifted his plaid shirttail, exposing a pistol shoved into his belt.

“Where'd you get that?” Jade asked in shock.

Roy pulled the pistol out of his waistband and tried to do a fancy trick of swinging it on his thumb, but the gun slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.

“Holy lizards, Roy!” Jade shouted. “You'll kill us both.”

Roy reached down and picked the gun up. “Nah,” he said. “It looks real, but it's only pretend.” He ran his fingers along the grooved handle. “My parents gave it to me for Christmas. It's a replica of a genuine Colt .45 Amnesty revolver. Exactly like the one Butch carried.” He put it back into the waist of his jeans. “It has all the beauty of a real Colt, but it's hollow on the inside.”

“It doesn't seem right for a kid to walk around with a pistol, real or not,” Jade said.

Roy pointed down to the pavement and leaned in to Jade. “This here is the real West—wild as it gets. You stepped into cowboy territory when you got off that plane. Besides, I'm just having fun. I would never really harm anyone.”

“I get it,” Jade said. “So what's your big plan?”

“We're going to pull a Butch Cassidy.” Roy kept his voice low and steady but Jade could hear the excitement pulsing right below the surface.

“
We
? Who is
we
?”

“You and me. Just like Butch and Sundance.”

“Who is Sundance?”

Roy let out a moan and flung his arms to the side. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, I remember,” Jade said, thinking back to the
Wikipedia
article she had read. “The Sundance Kid was Butch's sidekick.”

“And guess where he was from, originally?”

Jade hadn't a clue.

“Pennsylvania.”

“You're lying,” Jade said.

“I am not. He wasn't from Philly like you are, but he was born in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania, with the name Harry Longabaugh. When he was fifteen, he hopped a wagon train to Wyoming, hooked up with Butch, and the rest is history. You can't tell me that it isn't more than just a coincidence … having you come here from Pennsylvania.”

“It is just a coincidence, Roy.”

“Well, it's perfect for my plan.”

“What brilliant plan will get us the kind of money you need?”

“It's not for me, it's for my parents.”

“Fess up,” Jade said.

A smile played on Roy's lips. His eyes danced. His left boot started tapping on the asphalt.

“Come on, Roy, spit it out.”

Roy nodded, hooked his gaze on Jade, and said, “You and me are gonna rob a bank.”

 

7

“Jade! What a surprise,” Mrs. Parker said as Jade and Roy came up the steps. She swung the door open as if the people at Publishers Clearing House had landed on her front porch. “Wonderful to see you!”

Jade stepped inside. Velvety jazz music and the scent of sweet, warm yeast poured out from the kitchen. Jade's stomach grumbled, a reminder that she hadn't eaten more than a few bites of Aunt Elise's disastrous meals since she'd arrived the day before.

“I promised her some of your cinnamon rolls,” Roy said, “as payment for helping me wash Elise's dogs.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Parker said. “You absolutely must try one hot from the oven.”

Jade wasn't about to argue. She followed Roy and Mrs. Parker into the kitchen, where the luscious smell tripled in strength and mingled with hints of cinnamon and butter.

“Where's Dad?” Roy asked.

“He's finishing up at Angelo's today. I'm sure he'd appreciate a helping hand if you two are free.” Mrs. Parker placed rolls onto two plates and set them on the table. “You can take some for Angelo and Tilly, too.”

Jade looked down at her plate. Buttery, moist cinnamon swirled through the roll and white frosting eased down the sides.

“Eat up, Kid,” Roy said with a wink. It was his way of reminding Jade of his plan to rob a bank. His ridiculous, ludicrous plan.

“I told you I'm not doing it, Roy. And neither are you.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Mrs. Parker was flitting and floating around the kitchen, swaying to the music pouring out from a corner iPod station. Her yellow skirt billowed with each turn of her hips.

“We're talking about the adventures we're going to have this summer,” Roy said.

“Ah,” Mrs. Parker said, “‘the tragical To-be.'” She swiveled and bobbed to the beat.

“That's from Thomas Hardy's poem ‘Embarcation,'” Roy said, like it was common knowledge.

“The beginning of an unknown,” Mrs. Parker added. “The precipice of adventure.”

“Precipice.” Jade let the word roll over her tongue and scrape the roof of her mouth. “What's the definition?”

“It means a very steep cliff or falling-off point,” Mrs. Parker said.

“That's not what we were talking about at all.” Jade looked at Roy pointedly.

“We'll see,” Roy said.

Jade pushed the side of her fork down to cut the cinnamon roll, uncovering more of the glass plate underneath. It was uneven and slightly less than round, but the cobalt-blue color was stunning. “This is a gorgeous plate, Mrs. Parker.”

“Do you like it?” She placed a glass of milk down in front of Jade. The glass was twisted and somewhat misshapen but the color was that easy green of early spring leaves. “William made these pieces.”

Jade turned to Roy. “Your dad made these?”

“You should have Roy show you his workshop out in the garage,” Mrs. Parker continued. “It's a jumble of ingenuity out there.”

“Jumble of ingenuity,” Jade said. “That's a great phrase.” She took a swig of milk and set the glass down. “One time my parents took me to a glass exhibit in Philly and, as pretty as those pieces were, they weren't this beautiful. How would you describe these colors? Vibrant? Vivid? Luminous?”

“You two and your words,” Roy said through a mouthful of dough. “What he should
really
do is sell his kiln so we can reopen the hardware store.”

“Now, Roy, don't get started on that again.” Mrs. Parker quit her flitting and stood with her hands on her narrow hips. “Your father is allowed some joy in this life.”

“The store brought him joy,” Roy said. “Helping people all day long.”

“That's true,” Mrs. Parker said, “but you can't expect him to walk away from his glasswork. ‘Art is heart,'” she quoted.

“Who wrote that?” Jade asked.

Mrs. Parker stood up straight. “Me.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “I'm not asking him to stop forever. Just until we can get on top of things.”

“How many cinnamon rolls did he promise you?” Mrs. Parker asked Jade, clearly anxious to change the subject.

“We didn't talk numbers.”

“Will half a dozen do?”

“Oh yes, thank you,” Jade said. Six of the oversize, gooey rolls would nicely supplement Aunt Elise's cooking.

“I'll throw in one more for good measure.” Mrs. Parker put the rolls into a plastic bag and tied it closed with a strip of pink ribbon. Then she was back to twirling. Sunlight cut through the mini-blinds, laying horizontal lines of light across the tile floor, and she danced across those lines like she was playing a piano with her toes.

 

8

After finishing their second cinnamon rolls, Jade and Roy headed off to help Roy's dad. Mrs. Parker sent more rolls with them on a sunshine-yellow glass plate. “Tell Angelo and Tilly I said hello,” she said.

As Jade walked, she enjoyed the simple beauty of the wide, breezy fields and stark mountain ranges of Wyoming. It was unassuming and comfortable like her soft leather sandals.

When they turned the corner at the stop sign, Jade saw Mr. Parker immediately. He was removing plywood sheets from the side of a new wheelchair ramp going from the driveway up to the front door of a bright pink house. A brawny man with a long white beard, shaggy mustache, and broad shoulders sat in a rocker on the porch. He didn't look like someone who would live in a pink house. As soon as Mr. Parker saw Roy and Jade, he stopped working and came over. “I could almost smell Brenda's cinnamon rolls from all the way around the corner. Your timing is impeccable.”

“I love your glasswork,” Jade said. “This yellow is so cheerful.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Mr. Parker said. “It's all about getting the right frit.”

“What's frit?” Jade asked.

Roy answered, “It's a special colored powder you roll the clear glass in as you form it. And the good stuff is…” He let out a whistle that must have meant
pretty expensive.

“You can also start with colored rods,” Mr. Parker offered. “That costs less.”

“Sometimes it's worth getting the good stuff,” the bearded man said from his rocking chair. His voice was like rocks tumbling down a mountainside—sharp and choppy and broken. “When you're as good as William is.” Then he launched into a coughing fit. When he finished, his rocker was swaying and he was wiping a hand down his beard. “Sorry about that,” the man said.

Roy leaned into Jade. “That's his black-lung disease,” he whispered. Then, in a regular voice, he said, “Angelo was a coal miner over in Campbell County.”

“Worked the mines for thirty-seven years,” Angelo said. He rolled his rocking chair forward and dipped his head. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I'm Jade.”

“I know,” Angelo said, rolling back in his chair. “Roy has done nothing but talk about your visit. Jade Landers, age twelve, city girl from Philadelphia, and partner in crime for the summer.”

“He's kidding,” Jade assured him. “There won't be any actual crime going on.” Her voice was tight.

Angelo laughed at that, which started another coughing fit.

“We came to help with the ramp,” Roy said to his dad.

Mr. Parker swung an arm out wide. “I'm just finishing up. Isn't it a beauty?”

“Let's give it a whirl,” Angelo said. Then he called, “Tilly!” His voice cracked in the middle of the word.

An old woman came to the door. She was weatherworn, sienna brown, and had gray curls springing out from every direction on her head. She wore a pink housedress, pink flip-flops, and had bubblegum-pink nail polish on her fingers and toes. Jade suddenly understood the house color.

“You must be Elise's niece,” Tilly said. “Welcome to Wellington.”

“Thanks,” Jade said, shaking her hand.

“Can you bring out that blasted wheelchair?” Angelo asked.

Tilly went back inside and came out with the chair. She positioned it right next to Angelo's rocker.

Tilly settled her husband in, jumped behind the chair, and started pushing it forward.

“Stop that!” Angelo waved a hand behind his head. “I can do it myself.”

“Having to use this thing has been so difficult for Angelo,” Tilly explained apologetically. “It's hard for him to be slowed down.”

“Quit talking about me like I'm not even here,” Angelo grumped. “I'm right here!”

Tilly put her pink-polished fingernails on his shoulder. “Cantankerous old goat.”

Angelo smiled at that.

Mr. Parker pulled out the last two-by-four from the side of the ramp. “I think it's ready for an inaugural run.”

Angelo maneuvered across the porch and onto the ramp. With one solid push, he went sailing down, arms raised up high like he was on the Coney Island Cyclone.

Both Tilly and Mr. Parker went running after him, grabbing his wheelchair as it spun out onto the driveway.

“You'll kill yourself doing that!” Tilly said. “Crazy fool.”

Angelo looked back at the ramp. “Yep,” he said. “It'll do fine.”

 

9

Jade found her aunt sitting on the front steps the following morning. Cotton-ball thunderheads galloped across the sky, casting dark, round shadows on the land. Astro led the band of dogs onto the porch as the first fat raindrops pattered into the red, dusty earth.

“There wasn't a cloud in the sky yesterday,” Jade said.

“Weather is moody out here.”

“Will this be like the storm we hit coming home from the airport?”

Aunt Elise leaned out from under the porch and peered up at the clouds. “Nope,” she said. “This is the kind that likes to puff around making a lot of noise, but looks worse than it is.”