Summer Sanctuary (6 page)

I raced around the back of the library to find Dinah perched up in our maple tree. I dumped my backpack at the foot of the tree beside hers and scrambled up beside her. “You're not going to like this,” I said as I wedged myself safely up against the tree trunk.

“What am I not going to like?” Dinah asked. She reached up to the branch above us and was looking down at me curiously.

“The librarian, Mrs. Cleary, just asked me about you,” I told her. My heart was pounding.

“What did you say?” Dinah asked, and swung right down beside me again, almost knocking me off the limb.

“I didn't tell her anything,” I said. “She asked me like three questions at once, and the last one was something like were you new at the church, and I was like ‘yeah' and got out of there. I didn't tell her that you were staying at the church. I think she kind of assumed that your family just moved here and started going to my church.” I was out of breath by the time I got it all out.

“That's definitely not good,” Dinah frowned.

“I know,” I agreed, taking a deep breath. “I'm afraid if she sees us together again, she'll mention it to my mom next time she sees her.”

“So I guess I'm done at the library.” Sadness weighed down Dinah's face. “That reeks!” she shouted at no one in particular. She grabbed a branch above her and shook the limb as hard as she could. The branch we shared bounced up as she pulled down and back down as she pushed up. Leaves and propellers abandoned the tumultuous branches in favor of solid ground. I hung on tight so as not to join them.

“I'm really sorry,” I said. “What do you think we should do?”

Dinah jumped out of the tree, crushing a bunch of the leaves and seeds she just knocked down. “I think I shouldn't be hanging out at the library anymore,” she said. “At least not with you. And not while Mrs. Cleary is around. Any idea when she's not working?”

I thought about it. “Well, she's here every morning when the library opens at 10:00.” I climbed down out of the tree, hanging onto the limb and getting my feet close to the ground before dropping. “I doubt that she stays until it closes at 9:00. I don't really know what
time she leaves, but I can show you where she parks her old blue Buick.”

“That'll work!” Dinah's eyes brightened. “I can watch and see when she leaves. Lead the way!”

D
INNER THAT NIGHT
revolved around Mark's pleas for a pair of Air Jordan Jumpman Jeter baseball training shoes.

“I don't know why I even let him try them on,” Mom was saying to Dad.

“You said it yourself, Mom,” Mark jumped in. “My feet are growing, and I'm going to need a good pair of men's shoes.”

“I was talking about Sunday dress shoes, Mark,” Mom said. “Your feet are still growing, and I can't see spending $100 on a pair of shoes you'll outgrow by the end of the year.”

“I've never spent $100 on a pair of tennis shoes,” Dad said.

“But they're not tennis shoes, Dad,” Mark argued. “Nobody in our family even plays tennis. These are training shoes that I can wear anywhere.” Mark was looking at me and shaking his head, trying to get me to
help him out. “Everywhere except for church on Sunday,” he added.

I rolled my eyes at Mark, looked down at my meat-loaf and then turned to Mom. “May I have the ketchup, please?”

“We can't afford to spend $100 on a pair of shoes.” Dad's face reddened as his voice got louder. “Look around the table. If we all bought a pair of shoes for $100, that would be $600. For $600 every closet in this house should be packed full of shoes!”

“How about $25 for a pair of shoes?” Mark countered.

Dad looked a little surprised, and I could see him letting down his guard. It wasn't like Mark to give up so easy. “Well, now, $25 is more like it, don't you think, Theresa?”

Mom wasn't buying it. “Which shoes did you like for $25?”

“Well, if you think about it, my outgrowing a shoe isn't really a problem,” Mark began. He was trying to sound so reasonable; I could tell he hadn't given up on the Jordan-Jeter shoes yet. He was just regrouping and still hoping to win the war. “When I outgrow the shoes,
Luke will be able to wear them. Matthew may even be able to wear them for a while after I outgrow them.”

That was a low blow!
I glared at Mark. No way was I helping him now. Dad had leaned back in his chair. I could tell he was just going to let Mark chatter on until he ran out of steam. Mom looked at me and winked. Mark forged right on, though. “A quality pair of shoes like these Jumpman Jeters, well, Johnny will be able to wear them, and the new baby on the way, too. That's shoes for at least four, maybe five of us. So that's only $20 or $25 apiece.”

Dad shook his head. “We're not buying a $100 pair of shoes for you, Mark. That's final.”

“What if I earn the money myself?” Mark just couldn't take no for an answer.

“How are you going to do that?” Dad asked.

“Well, you could pay me to …”

Dad interrupted. “Mark, I already told you that it's not going to be my $100 that buys those shoes. Anything that you do for me, you do because you're a part of this family, and we all work together. I don't pay your mom or Matthew for everything they do, and I'm not going to start paying you. We take the money we have, and we use it to buy what we need. You need a
new pair of shoes? We'll get you a new pair of shoes. But nobody needs a $100 pair of shoes. I understand you want them. You need to understand we're not buying them.”

And that was that. I'm not sure Mark had figured it out yet, but he wasn't getting the Jordan Jumpman Jeter shoes.

I waited until after dinner when I was helping Mom clear the table to talk about packing my own lunches from now on. Finally the two of us were alone in the kitchen. “Mom,” I asked, “what time in the morning do you get up and pack our lunches?”

“Oh, I'm usually up at 5:30, and I have the lunches packed by 6:30. Why?” Mom scraped the plates and handed them to me to put in the dishwasher.

“Would it be okay if I started packing my own lunch?” I knew she'd want to know why, and I'd been thinking about that. Sure enough, that was the first thing she asked.

“Why do you want to start packing your own lunch?” Mom really was kind of suspicious about everything.

“I just thought you might appreciate having one less thing to do … with the baby coming and all.” I wasn't
ready for too many questions. “And I know that I need to pack something healthy from each food group. It's not like you keep a lot of junk food around the house, anyway.”

Mom brushed her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. The bigger the baby got, the more tired Mom always looked by the end of the day. I could tell she was ready to sit down and put her feet up during our after-dinner reading hour. “I don't see why not,” she said, mussing my hair like she does with Johnny when she wants to make him laugh. “Guess my first baby's growing up.” Mom smiled, and I was thinking that this might be a good time to go double or nothing.

“I was thinking, too, Mom, that I'm old enough and responsible enough now to have my own library card. I know that you'd have to sign for it and all, but I'd take really good care of it and of the books I check out.”

Mom leaned back against the counter and took a deep breath. “Anything else?” she asked.

“Nope,” I said. I knew I'd won and flashed her my best grin. “I'll bring home the form for you to sign tomorrow.” She put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me toward her. Her belly was getting bigger
every day, but I always felt like an only child again when Mom hugged me.

I
HAD MY
own temporary library card by Wednesday morning, but I could only check out two books at a time until my permanent library card came in the mail. That was fine with me. I was packing my own lunch and sharing it with Dinah underneath our tree every day now. She always had interesting stuff to share. Beef jerky, squashed Twinkies—junk food my mother would never feed us, but that I felt obliged to eat so I wouldn't hurt Dinah's feelings. And the canned fruit was always good.

I couldn't wait to show Dinah my library card. She didn't know it yet, but I got it for her. We were munching on a box of Ritz crackers that had expired last week, when I flashed her my card.

“That's great, Matthew,” she said, tilting her head at me and scrunching up her eyebrows. “I guess I thought you already had a library card.”

“We have a family card,” I said. “And my mom keeps a list of everything we check out for school and to make sure nothing's overdue. Now I can check out things on my own, and my mom won't necessarily know about it or ask me any questions.”

Dinah's eyes lit up. She chugged some water to clear the crackers from her mouth. “So what are you going to check out first?”

“I can only check out two books at first, so I was thinking I could pick one, and you could pick one.” I tried to sound casual about it, but I could tell she was excited.

“That would be great!” Dinah exclaimed. “I can finally practice the stuff I'm reading from that
Blues Harp
book while I'm reading it instead of trying to remember it all for later!” She reached inside her backpack for her notebook and tore out a sheet of paper.

“You'll need to write down the title and author so I can find it,” I told her.

“I'll need to write down more than that,” she chuckled. “I've been hiding the book in a section of old magazines nobody ever reads to make sure no one else finds it and checks it out.”

I was pleased with myself for realizing that she didn't have a library card and wasn't going to draw attention to herself by applying for one. Not that her mother was around to sign for it. I'd been thinking about Dinah's mother a lot. I had tons of questions.

“Dinah, can I ask you a question?” I ventured.

“You just did,” she replied. Her eyes told me that I could ask her another one, but not too much.

“I was just wondering if your mother wouldn't be worried—you know, if she called Jerry's apartment and found out you're not there,” I stammered.

“I've been thinking about that, too,” Dinah confessed. “I wrote her a letter, and I've spent hours digging through the trash outside the post office thinking I might find some stamps, but no luck. I was thinking tonight I'd walk down to the mall and try to collect enough money out of the fountain to buy a stamp. I just have to be extra careful about mall security.”

“I have a whole book of stamps at home,” I told her. “Mom got them for me before my friend Kyle left for the summer so I could write to him whenever I want. Do you want me to mail it for you?” I really wanted to see the address on the envelope so I'd know where her mom was.

“How about if you just bring me a stamp tomorrow?” Dinah suggested.

I nodded and tried not to look disappointed. “I can do that.”

“Do you want to read it?” Dinah asked, taking me completely by surprise.

“Yeah, sure. If that's okay.”

She handed me the letter, but there was no envelope and no address.

Dear Mom,

I miss you, and I hope that you're doing okay. I'm counting the days until July 9. Please don't worry about me. I'm having a good summer. I spend lots of time at the library with my new friend Matthew. He's a couple of years younger than I am, but very smart and very sweet. He's trying to teach me about the speed of light and Einstein's Theory of Relativity.

Do they let you go outside at all? I bet you miss walking barefoot in the grass at the park. I've been doing that every day for you. It makes me feel like you're right here with me. I know you will be soon.

I'll see you at Jerry's at noon on July 9.

Love,

Dinah

XXOOXXOO

P.S. I wrote you this poem:

He is so young

And yet so tall

With perfect shape and form

The sun's his love

The clouds his hope

And he enjoys a storm

There's millions more

That seem like him

Tho different in a way

A blade of grass

That's what he is

The beauty of one day

I read the letter silently and didn't know what to say when I was through. It sounded like her mom was locked up in a mental institution somewhere. No wonder Dinah didn't want to talk about it. Creepy Jerry probably drove her crazy. I wondered what they could do to her to make her sane again by July 9. Surgery
maybe, or electric shocks? Now I really wanted to see that address on the envelope.

“Nice poem,” I said. “I liked your Alpo poem, too. How many poems have you written?”

“I wrote one for you last night,” Dinah replied. She flipped back through her notebook, tore out another page, and handed it to me.

Poor Old Soul

In a dark and dusty corner

Alone and very cold

He sits there feeling useless

All worn out and old

His tongue has never spoken

His eyes have never seen

His sole is worn and weary

He's lost all self-esteem

No one wants him since he's old

What's left for him to do?

His usefulness left long ago

That poor old tennis shoe

“You wrote that for me?” I liked it, but I didn't get it.

“For you and your brother and his $100 shoes,” Dinah said.

I laughed. I forgot I told her about that. Even after Dad had told him definitely not, Mark lay in bed and went on and on about the full-grain leather and the air-soles and the fancy eye-stay system and the plush tongue with its lockdown performance fit. “But it's not just a tennis shoe,” I said, mocking Mark. “It's an Air Jordan Derek Jeter Jumpman—the ultimate baseball training shoe!”