The Mighty Miss Malone (11 page)

The truck made that grindy, gracky sound when Mr. Steel Lung shifted gears and slowed down to turn the corner on Fifth. Then they were gone.

Mother said, “Go back to bed, sweetheart.”

I walked upstairs and got in bed to finish my last good night of sleep for a long, long time.

We were in the kitchen working on supper. Even if Father showed up now there wouldn’t be time to clean and cook the perch, so we started making our regular Sunday meal, just in case.

Mother had said that perch would make a fine Monday meal. I shouldn’t’ve said anything, but I told her I had a bad feeling about Father not being home.

“I wouldn’t worry, sweetheart. Your father can take care of himself.” She rolled her eyes. “He is from Flint, after all. He’ll be home soon. Let’s give him another hour or two. Then, if it’ll make you feel better, we’ll walk over to the Hendersons’.”

I watched her very close, trying to see if she really wasn’t worried or was just trying to keep me from getting scared. There weren’t any 1-1-1 lines showing and the way she cut
the onions and hummed I knew she wasn’t pretending, so I relaxed.

I still couldn’t keep my eyes from looking at the clock: 5:41.

Five minutes later the knock came.

I slammed my knife down and ran to the front door, ready to give Father I-don’t-know-what for making us worry like this.

Well, for making
me
worry.

A second before I got to the door I thought, Wait, why would Father knock? I opened the door.

“Good evening, Deza, is your father here?”

My stomach started slowly folding. “No, Mrs. Henderson, he’s not home yet, Mother’s in the—”

Mother was behind me, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “Helen! Come in, what’s wrong?”

Mrs. Henderson said, “Hello, Margaret, Roscoe’s not home? Did Steve come by here?” Steve is Mr. Steel Lung’s real name.

A look flashed in Mother’s eyes. “No, what time were you expecting him?”

“He said they wouldn’t be out past noon, that’s when the fish quit biting.”

Mother and Mrs. Henderson sat on the couch. I was frozen in the doorway.

Mother said, “What about Hank and Carlos, did you—”

“Yes, yes. Hank’s kids hadn’t seen him and Carlos’s wife hadn’t heard anything either.”

Mother leaned back on the couch. “Oh, dear. Deza, go take the pot off the stove.”

The screen door slammed behind me and Mother didn’t even notice.

Mrs. Henderson said, “Peg, do you know anyone with a car? I’ve got a little money for gas and I know where Steve parks when he goes fishing, we could see if his truck is still there.”

Mother said, “I can see if Mr. Rhymes is home. Deza! What did I tell you? Turn off the stove and wait here for Jimmie. Don’t tell him anything, he’d go out looking on his own and that’s all we need, two Malone men wandering around.”

She squeezed my cheek, leaving the damp smell of onions and soap on my face.

Mother’s voice was scaring me to death. It was far too calm. I ran to turn off the stove. By the time I got back they were gone.

I picked the dish towel off the floor where Mother had dropped it. She had been twisting it so hard that it was like a piece of soft blue and pink and white rope.

I unwound the towel and snapped it a couple of times before I hung it back next to the stove. I took the kitchen clock with me and sat on the porch, hoping Mr. Steel Lung would drop Father off and we’d all laugh about how scared we were. I’d point at the clock and say to Father, “Do you have any idea how late it is?”

About a hundred hours later, at six-fifty, a car stopped in front of our house and the back door came open. Mother ran from the car. “Any word from your father?”

“No, Mother.”

“Is Jimmie home yet?”

“No.”

“We won’t be long.” She got back in the car.

Mr. Rhymes’s car turned left onto Fifth Street and disappeared.

Mother always says, “A watched pot never boils,” and I can tell you that a watched clock never moves. A million hours later, at eight o’clock and starting to get dark, Mr. Rhymes’s car turned back onto our street.

I ran off the porch and prayed, “Let Mother be giving Father a good piece of her mind for worrying us like this!”

The back door of the car opened. Mother stepped out and said something to Mr. Rhymes.

Not only did Father
not
get out of the car, but Mother saw me standing on the sidewalk, leaned her head back into the automobile and wiped at her eyes. She’d been crying!

My legs gave out and I fell on my knees.

Hot tears started boiling out of my eyes, but I couldn’t make a sound.

Mother had me in her arms in a second.

If she started any sentence with “Deza, I’m sorry …” I’d die right on the spot.

But she just held me.

I heard Mr. Rhymes get out of his car. He walked up to us. “Peg, if you need anything send your boy and I can be here in no time.”

Mother said, “Thank you, John, thank you very much.” She squeezed my arms hard. “Deza, you have to listen to me.”

Her eyes were bloodshot and the lines between them were at 1-1-1-1-1.

“Oh, Mother, I’m ready. Tell me what happened.”

“We don’t know yet. The truck was still parked by the lake. We figure they got lost, a huge fog bank came in while they were out there. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“He’s not …”

“No, Deza, they’re just missing. We made a report at the police station. We have to be patient and wait. The police said six other fishermen have gone missing in the fog. This has happened before, it’s not as bad as it might seem.”

She wiped at my tears and kissed my cheek.

The onion-and-soap smell was gone.

“Deza, think how worried Jimmie will be if he sees you crying like this. You’ve got to pull yourself together.”

Pull yourself together. This was the second time in three days I’d been told that.

As Mother wrapped her arms around me and led me into the house I wondered if my second brain was starting to get smarter and trickier because instead of thinking about where Father was and if he was safe or if he was hurt or if he was scared, like my first brain would, all I was thinking about was how perfect words can be.

Mrs. Needham and Mother had both told me, “Deza, you have to pull yourself together.”

And as I sat on the couch wrapped in Mother’s arms, I felt big hunks falling off of me and thumping to the ground. This must be how a tree feels in autumn when it watches the leaves that have been covering it all summer start to be blown away.

It must feel this hopeless and lonely.

I knew I really had to reach out and pick up the fallen pieces and pull them back.

Mother said, “Let’s not tell Jimmie anything until we know more, Deza. Can you manage?”

“You know how Jimmie can read me, I’ll just stay away from him, it won’t be long, will it?”

“Deza, you know I can’t tell you that. We’ll have to endure.”

“Can I sleep with you until Father comes home?”

Mother hugged me tighter. “You read my mind, I was going to ask if you would.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Please, Miss Malone, thank
you
.”

Mother had pulled herself together.

She sniffled and said, “But there are two conditions. First, you’ve got to promise to tell me all about Mrs. Needham again and again and again, I’ll never get tired of hearing that!”

“OK.”

“And second, you cannot wear those patent leather shoes to bed, my shins would look like ground beef the way you toss and turn.”

I thought I knew what it meant to be really scared. I thought Jimmie had given me enough practice so that nothing would ever bother me. When we were younger he’d sneak up on me and go “Boo!” or would jump out showing his teeth and growling, anything to try to make me cry. Mother explained that he was a boy and couldn’t help himself.

Then one day it didn’t work anymore. I figured all the scaredness in me had got used up.

I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my whole life.

There is nothing more terrifying than waking up and not being sure where you are and hearing your mother scream from a long way off. If there is, I don’t want to know.

I jumped out of bed and flew down the stairs.

Mother was on the floor, halfway in the front door, being held by our neighbor Mrs. Kenworthy and howling.

I froze.

Mrs. Kenworthy said, “Peg, they don’t know for sure. Mr. Rhymes is outside.” She looked up, saw me and said, “Oh, Deza. Peg, Deza is here.”

Mother took a huge breath, stood up, wiped her eyes and told me, “Sweetheart, I’m going to have to go out for a minute, don’t wake Jimmie.”

She ran past me to go get dressed.

Mrs. Kenworthy said, “Hello, Deza, how are …” She stopped and walked to where I was standing. She ran her hand over my head.

“Is Father …”

She said, “No, no. We don’t know anything yet. Mr. Rhymes is carrying us to the hospital.”

“The hospital? That’s good, right? He’s just hurt? That’s not a funeral place or anything, right?”

She said, “It’s not good news, but it’s not bad news either. We simply have to wait.”

Mother was back. “I won’t leave you and Jimmie alone for long.” She kissed my cheek and ran out, letting the screen door slam.

I walked to Jimmie’s bedroom door and tapped. If he was awake he’d sing for me. I tapped again, then opened the door. He had pulled his pillow tight over his head.

I sat on the floor next to his bed and waited.

I would have found a more comfortable place if I’d’ve known how long it would be before we heard what happened to my poor father.

I was back in the porch chair when Mr. Rhymes’s car stopped in front of our house.

I ran out to the street. The car door opened and I stopped breathing. Grandma Sutphen, Mother’s mother, got out of the car. Then I saw it was
Mother
, looking like she’d got fifty years older at the hospital.

She thanked Mr. Rhymes, smiled at me and said, “Come inside, Deza. Get Jimmie up.”

I wanted to ask what happened, but she would’ve told me if there was bad news, wouldn’t she? But why did she want to talk to me and Jimmie together? That’s what you do if you’re about to say something so horrid you can’t bear to say it twice.

I ran to Jimmie’s room. “Come quick, Mother wants to talk to us.”

“Tell her I just need a couple more—”

I snatched the covers off. “Get up now!”

“OK, OK, sis.”

“Hurry up!”

I sat next to Mother on the couch. It was a good sign that instead of hugging me she just smiled. A sad and puny smile, but it was a smile.

Jimmie came in rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Mother patted the couch next to her. “Sit here, dear.”

Jimmie didn’t move. “What’s wrong?”

I said, “Please Jimmie, it’s about Father.”

He sat next to Mother. “What?”

Mother told him about the fishing trip and how Father hadn’t come home yet. Then, “Mrs. Kenworthy came by earlier and told me they’d found two Negro men.”