The Sound of Life and Everything (13 page)

Takuma must have rated somewhere below murderers and thieves at the First Baptist Church.

“Then I guess we'll just be lookin' for another place of worship,” Mama said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Come on, Takuma. Let's go.”

She didn't wait for Reverend Simms to reply or Takuma to follow, just dipped her head and whirled around, last year's Easter dress billowing majestically around her ankles. The crowd followed her progress as she marched across the parking lot, but when she climbed into the Studebaker and slammed the door shut on her heels, their eyes flicked back to us. We were still just standing there slouching.

I slid my small hand into Daddy's. It only seemed small when it was nestled in his.

Daddy stared at our hands, then, finally, sighed. “My apologies, Reverend.” He glanced up at the clouds. “Looks like we'd better get inside.”

The reverend nodded curtly, then shook Daddy's other hand. Daddy tugged me toward the door, but I tugged the other way.

“We can't leave Mama,” I said.

Daddy squinted at the Studebaker. “I don't think your mother is planning to come in.”

I glanced over my shoulder. I couldn't make out Mama's face, but I could see her arms. They were twisted like a pretzel with too many knots. I drew a shaky breath, suddenly sick to my stomach. I'd never had to choose between my parents before. It was like choosing between my right hand and my left.

Daddy squeezed my hand. “Well, Ella Mae, what's it going to be?”

Indecision made me itch as I looked at Takuma, who was looking back at me with an empty expression. He'd said his first sentence last night (
I like eat pork links
), but if someone asked for his opinion on waffles or orange juice, he wouldn't know how to respond. And if I stayed with Daddy, who would he climb trees with?

“It's gonna be Mama,” I whispered.

Daddy drew a shuddering breath as he handed me the keys. “Well, then, you'd better go.”

I fell back to the Studebaker on Takuma's arm (or maybe he fell back on mine). Chester refused to meet my gaze, and the Clausens pretended not to know us. Auntie Mildred let me bore a hole through the side of her head, and Uncle George studied the tulips like they were the most interesting things he'd ever seen. And maybe they were. He'd always been a simple man, less prone to shenanigans than the woman he'd married. It really was a wonder that they'd ended up together.

Just before we reached the car, Gracie made her way out of the crowd. “I'm sorry, Ella Mae,” she said, though she said it to Takuma.

If she was looking for my mercy, she was going to be disappointed. “You don't have to stay, you know.”

She thought about that for a moment, then awkwardly lowered her gaze. She didn't retreat, but she didn't come with us, either.

Mama had already slid into the driver's seat by the time we reached the car. As I climbed into the front, I handed her the keys, which she jammed into the slot. Our tires spit gravel as we roared away, but as we fishtailed onto Robinson, I caught one last glimpse of Daddy. He was still just standing there, not smiling, as a steady stream of churchgoers trudged up the church steps and disappeared into the chapel.

18

I expected Mama to head home, but when we
dead-ended into Finch Street, she took a left instead, roaring north toward who knew where like the Devil himself was on her tailpipe.

“I take it we're not goin' home,” I said as St. Jude shriveled to a speck in the side mirror. It wasn't quite a question, but it might as well have been.

Mama shook her head. “I take it we're not.”

“Then where are we goin'?” I asked.

“To a land of hopes and fears.”

I was never going to get half of the things that Mama said.

At least this drive featured cows as well as orange groves and clumps of sage, but we were traveling so fast that the landscape blurred together, streaks of green and black smearing into one another. I'd gotten used to Mama's driving, but from the way that he was swaying, I could tell Takuma needed a break.

“Do we really have to go so fast? Takuma looks like he might hurl.”

“Sorry,” Mama said as she let up on the gas. “I just don't want to lose my nerve.”

“Lose your nerve to
what
?” I asked.

Mama hesitated. “Buy Takuma some new clothes.”

For the most part, Mama had left my Sunday schooling to Mrs. Timothy, but there was this one time she decided to teach me the Ten Commandments. As she'd hung the laundry on the line, she'd rehearsed the rhymes with me: “Commandment number one, love the Father and the Son. Commandment number two, don't make statues of your shoes. Commandment number three, don't treat Jesus like a tree.”

The rhymes didn't explain what the commandments actually were, but they were just catchy enough that I could remember them. When Mama reached the end, I'd asked her which one was her favorite. Auntie Mildred would have said that all of them were her favorites, but Mama had taken the time to consider her answer. Finally, she'd said, “Commandment number four, enter through the chapel door.” When I asked her why, she'd said, “Because I like the Sabbath day. It gives me a reason to put my feet up now and then.”

So when Mama pulled up to the Broadway in the middle of Los Angeles, I knew right away that something was horribly wrong. By Mama's own admission, there was nothing more important than honoring the Sabbath day, and shopping at the Broadway had to be against the rules.

Mama dropped the keys into her purse. “Well, there's no sense dillydallyin'.”

I craned my neck to see the awnings, which were the color of spun gold, and the rows of shiny windows, seven or eight in all. “Are you sure about this?” I asked. I broke commandments all the time, but Mama's record was still clean.

Mama glanced up at the awnings, then closed her mouth and opened the door. “As sure as I ever am,” she mumbled as she climbed out of the car.

Reluctantly, I opened mine. The clouds were thinner here, so tricky shafts of sunshine were sneaking through the cracks and bathing the Broadway in celestial light. But I didn't take it as a sign; I took it as a warning.

I eased the door shut on my heels so as not to draw undue attention. These city slickers didn't know us, but I still felt conspicuous. Would lightning bolts rain down from heaven as soon as we entered the store, or did God work in more mysterious ways?

Me and Mama tiptoed toward the door as timidly as church mice. When she looked one way, I looked the other, and when she looked that way, I looked back. Once we were certain we wouldn't be spotted, we grabbed Takuma's hand and bolted through the door.

The air inside the Broadway wasn't too warm or too cold. Soft music emanated from somewhere high above our heads, and sparkling walkways beckoned to far-off destinations like Stationery, Men's Accessories, and Women's Fragrances. It was like we'd died and landed somewhere between heaven and H-E-double-toothpicks.

“What
is
this place?” I asked.

“A trap,” Mama said, but instead of turning tail and fleeing, she hauled us into the store.

We took a few wrong turns—they should have just called it a half floor instead of a mezzanine—but at last, we found Men's Clothing. I grabbed a pair of pants and was in the process of stuffing them under my skirt when Mama grabbed my wrist.

“Stop that,” Mama said, returning the pants to their shelf. “We're gonna do this right, not skulk around in corners like a bunch of common thieves.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “If we're gonna do this right, then why'd we come on a Sunday?”

Mama's cheeks reddened, and for a second, I thought she was on the verge of confessing. But then she straightened up. “Because we did, so quit your whinin'.”

I felt my cheeks redden, too. Even though these folks didn't know me from Eve, I still felt funny standing out in the open, where God and everyone could see. I was trying to burrow into a rack of briefcases—why I'd gone for the briefcases instead of the silk ties was a mystery—when a deep voice said, “Excuse me.”

Me and Mama flinched (though she wasn't the one up to her ears in leather).

If the man thought we looked guilty, he managed not to show it. “Can I help you find something?”

“Yes, sir,” Mama said as she straightened back up. “We're just lookin' for a pair of pants. I'm afraid Takuma's”—she gestured in his direction—“are a few inches too short.”

The man, whose name tag read
CLEVELAND
, did a double take when he noticed Takuma. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gave Takuma a once-over. I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, but Mama cut me off.

“If you'll point us in the right direction,” she said, “I'm sure that we can manage.”

Cleveland fixed his tie. “Most of our pants are in the back.” He motioned toward a distant corner. “But if you don't mind my company, I'll be happy to walk you over.”

Cleveland took off like a jackrabbit, and we had no choice but to follow. Daddy prided himself on his navigational skills (especially in department stores), but he would have been no match for Cleveland. A prize-winning greyhound probably would have fallen behind.

“Sportswear's over there,” he said once he finally stopped. He didn't even look winded. “But I assume you're in the market for something more formal?”

He said it like he'd guessed we usually went to church on Sundays, though it didn't seem like he was judging us. Maybe I could forgive him for eyeballing Takuma like he was from outer space.

“Oh, well,” Mama said, “I'm sure he's gonna need more than one. If this pair doesn't fit, the rest probably won't, either.”

“Well, in that case,” Cleveland said, “let me grab some possibilities.”

He then proceeded to show us every pair of pants in the whole store, and Mama proceeded to purchase all but the pink plaid. Next, Cleveland rolled out shirts, then socks, then boxers or briefs (though I averted my gaze for that last one). By the time Cleveland announced that his shift was almost over, Mama had spent more than a hundred and thirty-eight dollars.

I plopped my chin into my hands while she wrote out the check. “You think Daddy's gonna mind?”

“If he does,” Mama replied, “I'll tell him I was makin' the most of my one day of sin.”

Mama ripped the check out with authority. I thought her hands trembled slightly as she passed it to Cleveland, but her blue eyes were determined.

“Thank you, Mrs. Higbee,” Cleveland said as he slid the check into the register, then offered her his hand. “It's been a pleasure doing business.”

Mama shook it weakly, then eased a shirt box off the counter and tucked it under her arm. It had taken Cleveland fifteen minutes to box up our purchases, and that had been with
LINDY
's help. The stack of white boxes was three or four feet across and at least that many high.

“Here,” Cleveland said as he rolled out a dolly. Without waiting for permission, he started stacking boxes with the speed of one of Santa's elves.

I just stood there gaping as the stack kept getting higher. Takuma pitched in where he could, but it looked like his leg was bothering him, so he kept taking breaks. By the time that they were done, they'd loaded up two dollies (though I couldn't have said where the other had come from).

Cleveland dusted off his hands. “Can I help you out with that?”

Mama didn't have a chance to answer before Takuma grabbed one dolly and I grabbed the other. It was like we'd planned it.

“No, sir,” Mama said. “It looks like we can manage.”

“Very well,” Cleveland replied. “I hope you have a great day!”

“You too,” Mama mumbled, but she didn't sound like she meant it.

I saluted Cleveland, then scurried after Mama, dragging my dolly behind me. My initial concerns about the Broadway had evaporated, so I wanted to look at everything on our way out of the store, from the cowboy boots to the pearl necklaces to the bright yellow lemon puffs. But every time I lagged behind, Mama clucked her tongue, and Takuma bumped my dolly.

After bumping my dolly for what was probably the twelfth time, Takuma asked, “Ella Mae?”

That made me and Mama stop. Takuma didn't usually try to get our attention. He preferred to bide his time until we spoke to him.

He motioned to our dollies. “Race?”

It took me a few seconds to figure out what he meant, but once I got it, I grinned. “Only if you want to
lose
!”

I didn't wait for him to answer, just took off like a firework on the Fourth of July. But my lead was short-lived, since he'd already closed the gap by the time we reached the purses. I expected Mama to intrude, maybe even ground us for having too much fun while we were sinning, but she only hurried to keep up.

I was still a few feet ahead when I spied the front door. Putting on a fresh burst of speed, I barreled around the final turn, determined to reach the front door first. But I only made it a few steps before something crashed behind me.

I ground to a halt, losing control of my dolly. As it careened into a mannequin, the boxes fell at its feet. I didn't take the time to restack them, just scrambled back for Takuma.

I found him lying in a heap at the edge of the walkway, one leg twisted awkwardly underneath him. It didn't look broken (or at least
badly
broken), but from the way that he was wincing, I could tell he was in pain. Daniel had made the same face when he fell off the tire swing and brutally twisted his right ankle. He hadn't needed a cast, but he'd been laid up for weeks.

“What happened?” I asked as I crouched down beside him.

“Trip,” Takuma said, then added with a grimace, “Hurt.”

“What hurts?” I replied. It was hard to know where to begin.

A single tear leaked out his eye. “Everything,” he said.

I crinkled my forehead. That didn't sound like just a sprain. Luckily, Mama showed up before I had to do anything drastic (like cut off his legs).

“What happened?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “He just fell.”

Mama pressed her lips into a line as she looked him up and down. I'd gotten used to strangers and mean folks looking at him like that, but not Mama. Never Mama. I wanted to ask her what she'd seen, why her eyes looked so worried, but I knew better than to bother her when she was deep in thought. Finally, she asked, “Can you stand?”

He gritted his teeth and nodded.

“Then let's get you up.”

It wasn't a pretty sight, but between Mama and the dolly, we managed to get him back on his feet. I tried to offer my assistance, but there wasn't much that I could do. Takuma outweighed me by quite a few Mother Lodes.

Mama blew a string of hair out of her face. “Will you pick up these boxes while I get Takuma to the car?”

“Of course,” was all I said. Now wasn't the time to be disagreeable.

“Thank you,” Mama said, then led Takuma away.

Just before they turned the corner, Takuma turned back. “Are-ee-got-toe,” he murmured, and even though his cheeks were pale and his leg couldn't take much weight, he managed a weak smile.