The Year of Billy Miller (5 page)

Things were changing. The light was different. The trees throughout the neighborhood were turning. Every day it seemed the leaves were more colorful, as if someone had taken a paintbrush to them during the night. There was a cool edge in the air and, lately, an edge to Papa, too.

“Why is Papa so crabby?” Billy asked Mama one Sunday morning in October. They were in the kitchen with Sal, getting breakfast together. Cinnamon muffins were in the oven and a mixing bowl of eggs was on the counter ready to be scrambled. During the week Papa cooked, but on the weekends Mama took over.

“I think he’s having a hard time with his work,” said Mama.

“Is he still waiting for his breakthrough?” asked Billy.

“That’s one way to put it,” said Mama. “Yes.”

“Will his breakthrough come soon?”

“I hope so,” said Mama.

“What’s a breakthrough?” asked Sal.

Mama’s mouth hitched upward into an exaggerated expression that said,
I’m thinking of the best way to explain this.
“Well, he’s waiting for things to click,” she told Sal.

Sal looked at Mama as if she had replied in a foreign language.

Mama said, “He’s waiting for his work to go well.”

“Papa’s got a lot of things that click in the garage,” said Sal.

“Yes, he does,” said Mama.

Billy rolled his eyes and tilted his head toward Mama. Sometimes when Sal misunderstood, he felt superior.

Mama smiled.

The timer rang.

“Muffins!” cried Sal.

“Listen,” said Mama, “I’ll start the eggs. Sal, you can help me. Billy, go to the garage and tell Papa it’s time to eat.”

Billy didn’t want to disturb Papa if he was busy. He entered the garage quietly. He was careful not to knock over Papa’s new acquisitions: dozens of wooden cigar boxes stacked tall near the door. “Papa? Breakfast is ready.”

Papa was sitting on a stool with his back to Billy, staring at his latest creation. Papa twisted, turning his head toward Billy, but remained seated. “What do you think?” asked Papa.

Billy came closer. Papa pulled Billy onto his lap, bouncing him twice, and Billy could tell Papa was making an effort to be cheerful. “I like it,” said Billy. “What is it?”

“Good question,” Papa replied.

Before them stood the broken-down cello Papa had found at the dump. He’d attached four store-mannequin arms to the cello, two on each side.

“It looks like the cello is playing itself,” said Billy.

Papa nodded thoughtfully.

“And it sort of reminds me of a spider,” said Billy.

Papa nodded again. He scratched his beard, then twirled part of it into a point.

“Is it your breakthrough?” asked Billy.

Papa took in a deep breath and loudly sighed it out. “No,” said Papa. “No, no, no.” His voice sounded sharp. He lifted Billy off his lap.

“You could add a monster mask on top,” said Billy, trying to be helpful. “It would be easy to find a good one with Halloween coming up.”

“Whatever,” said Papa, his voice still sharp. He slapped his thighs as he rose from his stool. Then he offered Billy an apologetic smile. “Let’s eat,” he said.

Papa was quiet during breakfast. When they were cleaning up afterward, Billy reminded him, “Don’t forget, Ned’s coming over to work on dioramas.”

Papa had said he’d help Billy and Ned with their habitat projects.

“Would you rather I work with the boys?” Mama asked Papa.

“No,” answered Papa. “I said I would do it.” He watched something out the window before adding unconvincingly, “We’ll have fun.”

“I get to make a dirama, too,” said Sal.

“Di-
o
-rama,” corrected Billy.

“What kind of habitat are you going to make?” asked Mama.

“A cave,” said Billy. “For bats. And Ned’s going to do the sea. He likes sharks.”

“I’ll do the sea, too,” Sal announced. “The Drop Sisters are from there. I’ll get them and tell them!” She dashed out of the kitchen.

“She’s something,” said Mama.

“She’s something,” said Papa.

What, exactly, the something was, Billy couldn’t say.

2

While Mama graded papers in the dining room, the kitchen became a diorama workshop. Mama had found three shoe boxes in her closet that she was willing to give up—one for Billy, one for Ned, and one for Sal. Billy had gotten scissors, crayons, markers, construction paper, tissue paper, tape, and glue from the basement. Papa had thrown together some odds and ends from the garage that he thought might prove useful. Ned had brought two plastic sharks and some seashells from a Florida vacation to use for his diorama. And Sal had asked Papa if she could please, please, please use glitter, which was kept in a secret hiding place out of her reach.

At first, Papa seemed jolly and had good suggestions to offer. He showed Billy how to replicate a cave by crumpling up a piece of gray construction paper, then smoothing it out and gluing it to the inside of the box. Because the paper was crisscrossed with folds and wrinkles, it really gave the shoe box the appearance of worn, silvery rock.

Billy worked diligently. He had a vision in his head of how his diorama should turn out. He wanted to make three or four bats hanging from the top of the cave, and he wanted to make one big bat with its wings spread to look as if it were flying.

Billy cut several bats out of black construction paper. He worked quickly. The sleeping, hanging bats were fairly easy to make. Essentially they were black ovals with tabs on one end. Billy folded the tabs and taped them to the inside top of the shoe box.

He had some difficulty with the flying bat. His hands couldn’t get the scissors and the paper to do exactly what he wanted them to do. After a few failed attempts, Billy grew frustrated. He ripped up yet another lopsided bat and tossed it onto the floor, grunting.

“Hey,” said Papa, “what’s the problem?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

No answer.

“Do you need some help?” asked Papa.

“No,” said Billy. He wanted to do it on his own.

“Okay,” said Papa. “Fine.” The sharpness had returned to his voice.

Billy finally cut out a bat that was acceptable, but he couldn’t figure out how to attach it to the box and also make it appear as if it were flying, suspended in air. “Now will you help me?” Billy asked Papa.

Papa nodded.

Billy explained his idea.

“We can do this,” said Papa. He cut a strip of heavy paper and folded it many times like an accordion. He glued one end of the strip to the bat, and the other to the inside of the box. Papa held the glued ends firmly for what seemed like forever. “You have to be patient with glue,” he said.

At last, Papa angled the shoe box so that the opening faced Billy. “How’s this?” asked Papa.

If Billy looked at the diorama straight on, he couldn’t see how the bat was fastened to the box. It truly looked as if the bat hung in the air.

“That’s good!” said Billy.

“You’re welcome,” said Papa.

“Thank you,” said Billy. He shook the diorama gently and the bat bounced.

“Careful,” warned Papa. “It’s pretty delicate.”

To complete his cave, Billy chose some pebbles from Papa’s assortment of things from the garage and glued them to the bottom of the box. He was proud of what he’d done.

Billy had been so focused on his own diorama, wrapped in a cocoon of concentration, that he hadn’t paid much attention to Ned’s or Sal’s. When he finally checked them out, a sinking feeling took hold of him.

Papa had helped Ned make an ocean from different shades of blue tissue paper, which he’d crinkled and layered. And, because Ned had used real seashells and the store-bought sharks, his diorama looked professional. He’d also made two streaks of blood trailing from the sharks’ mouths with glitter glue—a perfect, gruesome finishing touch.