The Sound of Life and Everything (20 page)

30

By the time I made it back upstairs, Takuma's eyes
were open. They weren't sparkling anymore, but at least they smiled when they saw me. Mr. Higginbottom's mind had gone before he'd passed away, which must have been especially hard on the folks who'd cared about him most. At least when our eyes met, Takuma still smiled.

That made Mama turn around. When she spotted me, she smiled, too, and dragged herself out of the chair that she'd placed next to the bed. I couldn't decide whether the creaking was the chair or Mama's bones.

“He wants to see you,” Mama said as she retrieved the bowl on Daniel's dresser.

I grabbed her hand. “You're not leavin'.”

“Just for a minute,” Mama said, cradling the bowl against her chest. The broth trembled like an upset pond every time she drew a breath. “I need to warm up some more broth and get another shot of brandy. The alcohol's been wearing off for the last couple of hours.”

“Mama, wait,” I said, tightening my grip on her hand. I wasn't afraid of many things, but I was afraid of sitting in that chair, alone. Of watching Takuma die.

Mama seemed to understand. “You'll be all right,” she whispered, easing her hand out of my grip. “I promise not to take too long.”

I bit my lip and nodded bravely. If Takuma could stare death in the face, then maybe I could sit here with him while Mama warmed up some more broth.

As soon as Mama left, Takuma reached for me. “Ella Mae,” he croaked.

I sat down in Mama's seat and took his outstretched hand. When he tried to tug me closer, I knelt down by the bed. The mattress dipped beneath my elbows as if they weighed more than Takuma and his patchwork quilt combined.

As I stared at our clasped hands, I noticed a smear of blood on his knuckles, but I didn't pull away. Yesterday, we'd been so careful about cleaning up his blood, but today, we knew the truth: whatever had come for Takuma had come for him alone.

“You knew what was happening,” I whispered. “So why didn't you tell us?”

“Orange blossom fall,” he said.

“What does that even mean?” I asked.

He opened his mouth to answer, but a cough came out instead. I handed him the washcloth Mama must have left behind, but he was too weak to pick it up, so I pressed it to his mouth for him. When he finally stopped coughing, I pulled the washcloth back. Fresh spots dotted the terry cloth, bright red on dingy white.

“Thank you,” he replied, sinking back against his pillow.

I set the washcloth on the nightstand, more afraid of those red dots than I cared to admit. “Would you like a little broth? How about another shot of brandy? Mama said she'd be right back.” I scrambled to my feet. “Maybe I should go and—”

“No!”

I choked back a sob as he fumbled for my hand. His grip was weaker than a kitten's, so I could have pulled away, but I let him pull me down instead. Love was holding someone's hand when you wanted to escape.

It only took a minute for my hand to start sweating. After another minute, I realized my knees were tingling, too. Still, I didn't try to move, just waited with Takuma. His eyes had closed again, and his mouth had fallen open. I watched his chest go up and down until, suddenly, it stopped.

I counted to ten, then peeped, “Takuma?”

He just lay there, dead or dying. It was hard to say for sure.

I squeezed his hand. “Takuma!”

Just before I screamed for Mama, Takuma squeezed mine back. As he drew a soggy breath, I collapsed onto the mattress.

“You can't do that,” I said. “You can't leave me like that.”

Takuma managed a weak grin. Only he would smile at a time like this.

“Mama was right,” I mumbled, smashing my face into his quilt. “We should have sent you home when we still had the chance.”

The grin melted off his face.

“You don't belong here,” I went on as my eyes burned with unshed tears. “You're too good for us.”

He rolled his tongue around his mouth. “You I belong,” he croaked.

A single tear slipped down my cheek. “That's a real nice thing to say.”

I expected him to fall asleep again, but he squeezed my hand instead. “Ella Mae—I want—”

He didn't have a chance to finish before he started coughing again. As I pressed the washcloth to his mouth, I wanted to scream or maybe cry, but I was too tired to do either, so I just sat there watching as he coughed his life away.

Finally, he drifted back into a tense half-sleep. I wiped off the red drool that had dripped onto his chin, then returned the washcloth to the nightstand. Since I couldn't do much for my hands, I just folded them in front of me.

“Pictures,” he said, surprising me. I thought he'd fallen asleep. “I want—you have—pictures.”

“All right,” I said. “I'll keep 'em.”

He nodded toward the walls. “Hang on?”

I knew what he meant, but what I said was, “I will if you will.”

“Are-ee-got-toe,” he said, grinning.

“Are-ee-got-toe,” I replied, though I couldn't bring myself to grin. Dying peacefully was one thing, but dying in pain was another. And he was going to die that way
twice.

When Takuma drifted off again, I stared down at my hands, which were clasped as if in prayer. I wasn't saying one out loud, but according to Mrs. Timothy, Jesus could hear the silent prayers we whispered in our hearts. But if my heart was whispering anything, Jesus must not have heard it. The next time I glanced at Takuma, I realized that he'd stopped breathing.

This time, he didn't start again.

I leaned back instinctively, but he didn't try to grab me. My hands slid off the mattress and dangled at my sides. I stared at him until I couldn't stare another second, then took hold of the bedpost and hauled myself back to my feet.

Though I turned away from his still form, I couldn't bring myself to leave, so I clung to the bedpost and rehearsed the things I'd meant to tell him:

Your fingers look like Daniel's.

I choked on my first pork link.

I'm really sorry Robby shot you.

Then again, I'm really not.

Maybe that was what my heart had been whispering all along:
Please, God, tell Takuma all the things I never did.

31

Mama came in not long after I hauled myself back
to my feet. She smoothed the dents left by my elbows, then gently pulled the sheet over his head, ignoring the fresh tears that watered the flowers on her robe.

Daddy came in to retrieve me after she covered Takuma with the sheet. He led me from the room and silently steered me down the stairs. I'd lost all sense of time and place—it was like someone had turned my internal compass off—so I was glad that he was making all of these decisions for me.

In the kitchen, Daddy washed my hands (though he didn't scrub all the way up to my elbows), then planted me in Daniel's chair and pulled out Mama's pot. Oatmeal was the only thing that he knew how to make, but when he set the bowl in front of me, I just sat there staring. I was feeling lots of things, but hungry wasn't one of them.

“Come on,” Daddy said as he nudged me with his foot. “You know you have to eat.”

“I don't know anything,” I mumbled as I fiddled with my spoon.

Daddy pursed his lips. “So you're just going to starve yourself to death?”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew he'd made a mistake, but I didn't let him take them back.

“Don't see why not,” I said. “If Takuma can, then so can I.”

He sat down beside me. “Supergirl,” he whispered. He hadn't called me that since I'd jumped off Uncle George's barn (and chipped my two front teeth). “He wouldn't want you to give up.”

I jerked out of his reach. “How would you know what he wanted?”

Instead of answering, he blinked.

His ignorance just made me madder. “I know you hated him. I know you wished he'd never come. You probably thought he was abominable or some other such nonsense.” I dug my fists into my eyes to disguise my angry tears. “But he was just my friend, nothing more and nothing less.”

Daddy's Adam's apple bobbed. It looked like he was getting ready to rake me across the coals, but he just sank back in his seat and raked a hand through his dark hair. I lost track of the seconds that ticked off Mama's Kit-Cat clock before he cleared his throat.

“I didn't hate him,” Daddy said. “But perhaps I did resent him.”

I scrunched up my nose. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I didn't understand him,” Daddy said, then sighed. “Or maybe I didn't understand why you risked so much for him.”

I considered that for a long time. “I think we risked so much because we loved him.”

“And that,” Daddy replied, “is what I didn't understand.”

I propped my elbows on the table. It was hard to say in words. “Haven't you ever cared about someone more than you cared about yourself?”

“Of course I have,” he murmured. His voice was thick and scratchy. “I've loved you that much and more from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

I lowered my gaze when I felt my cheeks get hot. It landed on the oatmeal, which was still letting off thin trails of steam. The raisins looked especially plump, and Daddy had added lots of sugar, just the way I liked it. Shyly, I retrieved the spoon.

“Thanks for the oatmeal,” I mumbled, but what I really meant was,
I love you that much, too.

Daddy must have understood, because he leaped back to his feet. When he started rinsing out the pot, I almost fell out of my chair. I'd never seen Daddy do the dishes before, but then, I'd never heard him say he loved me before, either. Mama said that death changed folks, but I never would have guessed that it could change them for the better.

• • •

After our awful morning, Mama didn't make me go to school, so I was flipping through the sketchbook when the doorbell dinged again. I returned it to its hiding place underneath the stairs, then went and got the door. I thought it might be Mr. Neeman, the man who ran the mortuary, but it was only Theo.

I folded my arms across my chest. “Aren't you supposed to be in school?”

Theo scuffed his foot. “I could ask you the same thing.”

I unfolded my arms, since I was no longer interested in picking fights with Theo. “Mama said I didn't have to go.”

“Funny, but mine said the same thing.”

Instead of going our separate ways, me and Theo hemmed and hawed, drawing out our conversation. It felt nice to talk again. Finally, he produced a covered plate from behind his back.

“Anyway,” he said, “she wanted me to give you these.”

I recognized the gingersnaps as soon as I took the plate. “Auntie Mildred
baked
?” I asked. The bottom was still warm.

Theo looked down at his toes. “She got a bag of flour out as soon as we got home last night, and she's been bakin' ever since.”

I looked down at mine, too. “Thanks, but Takuma passed away.”

Theo's eyes bulged. “Takuma
what
?”

“I said, he passed away.” Under my breath, I added, “Maybe you need to get your ears checked.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “I heard what you—never mind. What I should have said is, ‘I'm sorry.'” He flicked a curl out of his face. “I know how much he meant to you.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled glumly. Somehow, I'd never noticed how much effort it took to stay mad.

“You can keep the cookies,” Theo said. “Gracie told us he likes gingersnaps.”

“He does,” I said, then swallowed. “Or at least he did.”

Theo swallowed, too.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked as I pulled the door open. “I'm sure I could find us some milk.”

Theo held his hands up. “Oh, no, that's all right.” He sneaked a peek over my shoulder, as if he thought Takuma's ghost might appear at any minute. “Mama said I couldn't stay.”

It was probably a lie (and not an especially good one), but I decided to let it go. “Tell Auntie Mildred I said thanks.”

“I will,” Theo replied as he hurried down the walk. “And I hope you like the cookies!”

“I'm sure we will,” I said as my tears splattered the plastic wrap. Under my breath, I added, “And I'm sure he would have, too.”