“Tell you what,” Richard said. “Why don’t we split the work? I take care of mowing if you’ll pull the weeds and pick up all the sticks.”
“And you’ll pay me?”
“Of course.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You know my rates, don’t you? I don’t work for cheap.”
He laughed. “I figured. I’d say there’s about an hour of work out there. I’ll give you ten bucks for it.”
I nodded. “Fair enough.” And we shook on it.
After I got dressed, I headed outside to get started. It was the most humid day we’d had all summer. My hair puffed up right away, and I could already feel sweat collecting on my neck and under my bangs. Five steps out the door, and I was already wondering if the ten dollars was worth it.
I headed to the backyard first, since that’s where most of the twigs and sticks were. At first I didn’t even notice him sitting there. Not until I heard a sniff. A loud one. The kinda sniff you only hear from someone who’s got a bad cold or who’s been crying. That’s when I looked over and saw him, sitting on the ground next to the swing set, picking at the grass with his fingertips.
“Brian?”
He didn’t look up, so I couldn’t see his face. But his voice was cracked and wet when he said, “Hey, Nola.”
His hair was dirty. Oily and tangled like he hadn’t bothered to wash or brush it in days. There was a red stain near the collar of his white T-shirt. He looked a real mess.
I sat down in the grass, facing him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Where are your brothers?”
“Inside.”
“Brian.” I reached out and put my hand over his so he’d stop picking at the grass. There were dozens of broken blades on his bare knees. “Come on. You can talk to me.”
“Talking won’t help anything,” he said.
“Is it about your daddy?” I asked. “I know he’s not back yet. I’m real sorry, Brian.”
“Screw him,” Brian snarled.
It made me nervous, hearing Brian talk like that. He was always so calm and quiet. The quietest of the Swift brothers, hands down. He was the one who broke up the fights. I’d seen him tired, I’d seen him annoyed, I’d seen him sad. But I’d never seen Brian angry.
And even now, it didn’t last long. He sighed and sniffed again, and just like that, the anger had switched back to sadness.
“What can I do to help?” I asked. “Just tell me. I’ll help with anything I can.”
“I can’t … I can’t do this,” he said. Finally, he looked up at me. His glasses were tilted to the side a little, and his face was all puffy and red. “I can’t keep doing everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was bad enough when they fought all the time, but now Dad’s gone and all Mama does is sleep and cry and I gotta do everything,” he said. “I do the grocery shopping and the cleaning and the cooking — and I don’t even know how to do all that stuff, really. It’s too much. I can’t keep it up. I can’t …” His words were swallowed up by sudden, gasping sobs.
I’d never seen a boy his age cry. Boys Kevin’s age, sure, but not teenage boys. And especially not like this, where he was crying so hard I thought he might choke or throw up. I squeezed his hand, but I didn’t bother saying a word. He wouldn’t have been able to hear me over his own gasps.
He quieted a couple minutes later, but there were still tears running down his face.
“I can help,” I said. “I can cook a couple things — mostly things in the microwave — and Mama taught me how to make an omelet a few weeks ago. And I’m not terrible at cleaning.”
He let out a long breath. “Thanks,” he said. “But I think I just … I need to get out of here for a while.”
His hand slipped out from under mine when he stood up. I stood up, too. “Where you going?”
“I don’t know. To a friend’s house or something. I just need a break.”
I followed him to the side of the duplex, where the boys’ bikes were. His was the biggest. Black and blue and with handle brakes. He dusted off the seat and started to roll the bike around to the front yard.
“Brian,” I called after him. He looked back. “If you need anything, I’m right next door. Same goes for the other boys. Me and Canaan ain’t speaking right now, but I’d still help him if he needed me to.”
“Thanks, Nola,” he said.
I didn’t watch him ride away. I didn’t like watching the boys leave while I was still standing there. It seemed to be happening too much lately. So instead I headed to the backyard before he could pedal away.
Richard’s guess was about right. I spent an hour pulling weeds and getting the yard ready for him to mow — putting away all the things we’d left in the yard, like Mrs. Swift’s lawn chair. It had been out there since the last day of school. The day Mr. Swift left. It was dirty and still wet from a summer storm a few nights earlier. I folded it up and leaned it against their side of the duplex, right next to the bikes.
I thought about Brian all day. About the horrible, hurting sounds he made when he cried. Like everything inside of him hurt so bad he couldn’t even breathe. I tried to think of ways I could help him. Of ways I could get Mama to help without the boys taking it as charity.
That was the real tricky thing. There were a lot of people bad off where we lived. Most people didn’t make too much money. But you couldn’t just hand them the things they needed, especially if they didn’t ask you to. Mama said that made people feel ashamed. It hurt their pride to take charity. I never really understood it. I thought everything would be easier if people just said what they needed and let others help if they could.
I didn’t want to make the boys feel worse, though. It was one thing for me to offer to make them omelets. It was another to get Mama to do their laundry or help buy their groceries. Not that she could afford that, either.
Later that evening, while Mama was cooking dinner, I sat in my room with a pad of colored construction paper in my lap and a pack of markers next to me. I was making a birthday card for Richard, who was turning thirty-five in a few days. Normally I would have just gotten a card from the rack at the drugstore, but Mama said Richard liked my homemade cards better. She said they meant more. I didn’t mind making one. I liked to draw, so it was kinda fun.
I’d just finished writing Richard’s name in bubble letters on a piece of green paper when I noticed something out the window. I looked up and stared through the glass, out into the backyard. Kevin was sitting on the swings, pushing himself back and forth with one foot on the ground. He was alone, and I wondered if Brian had gotten home yet.
“Nola!” Mama called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Coming.” I put my art supplies aside and slid off my bed. I’d already decided what I was gonna do before I even got to the kitchen. “Just a second,” I told Mama. “I’ll be right back.”
“All right. Well, hurry it up before your food gets cold.”
I walked out the front door and headed around to the backyard. I took a deep breath and put a big old smile on my face. “Kevin!” I hollered in a happy, cheerful voice. “Hey, I was hoping to find you out here.”
He looked up, but he didn’t say nothing. I wondered if that meant he still wasn’t speaking at all.
“Mama made way too much for dinner,” I said. It was only a little lie. Mama always made a little too much for dinner. Just maybe not way too much. “You wanna come over and eat with us? We ain’t got room in the fridge for any more leftovers.”
He hesitated a second, but then he slid off his swing and walked over to me. He still didn’t say anything. Not a word. Not a sound.
“All right,” I said. “Come on.”
Kevin ate with us that night, but no matter how much Mama and I talked to him, he kept silent. He’d shake his head or nod, but that was it. And most of the time, he just looked sad. His big eyes drooped, and he was almost always looking down. It broke my heart. And I
could see it was breaking Mama’s, too, though she didn’t say a word about Mr. or Mrs. Swift.
After dinner, Kevin helped me wash the dishes. Then we watched TV together right up until Mama said he oughta get home because it was close to bedtime. I watched him walk back to his side of the duplex through the living room window. At a distance, it looked like Kevin, the little boy I’d grown up with, and for a second, I could pretend nothing had changed.
But it had.
It all changed that night I saw Mr. Swift pull out of the driveway. And the only way everything would go back to normal was if Mr. Swift came back.
Just then, I knew what I had to do.
It was raining the day Mama told me she wanted me to meet Richard. She said it like it was no big deal while she was getting ready for work one morning. “Oh, Nola Baby, that man I’ve been seeing — Richard — he’s coming over for dinner tonight. He’s excited to meet you.”
I smiled because that was what I was supposed to do — because that was the polite thing. And I said I was looking forward to meeting him. I said he sounded real nice. I said fried chicken and mashed potatoes sounded great for dinner.
But the minute Mama’s car was out of the driveway and down the road, I ran over to the Swifts’ house, still wearing my purple pajamas and a pair of old flip-flops that were a size or two too small. There was a good summer storm going, and by the time Brian answered the door, I was soaked and shaking.
“Is Canaan here?”
Brian shook his head as he stepped aside to let me in. “He and Kevin are at the doctor.”
“Are they all right?”
“Yeah. Just getting a checkup. Why are you in your pajamas? And why don’t you have an umbrella?”
I kicked off my flip-flops so I wouldn’t get the carpet all wet, but my hair and clothes were still dripping, so it didn’t do much good. “I wanted to talk to Canaan real bad, so I just ran out of the house. How long do you think he’ll be gone?”
“They just left, so probably quite a while.”
“Oh.” I wrapped my arms around myself and looked down at my feet, feeling silly and sad all at once.
“You can talk to me, though, if you want. I don’t mind.”
“Really?”
Brian was eleven then, and he seemed so much older than Canaan and me. He never minded if we tagged along, but I always wondered if I was bothering him. I wondered that about almost everybody, though. Except Canaan, of course.
“Sure. Come on in. I’ll get you a towel.”
I dried off a little, then I spread the towel out on the couch so I wouldn’t get the cushion wet when I sat down. “Mama wants me to meet her boyfriend,” I told Brian. “His name’s Richard and he’s coming over for dinner tonight.”
“You don’t seem too happy about it.”
“I’m nervous. What do I say to him? What if he doesn’t like me?”
“Why wouldn’t he like you?” Brian asked.
“I … I don’t know. I don’t know how to act around him. I don’t know anybody else whose mamas have boyfriends. They all just have daddies, and I’ve never had one of them, neither. I don’t know what to do. What am I supposed to do?”
I didn’t realize I’d started to cry until Brian reached out and touched my arm. “It’s okay. Calm down. You don’t gotta do anything.”
“Why does she have to have a boyfriend, anyway? I like things the way they are — just her and me.”
“She’s not going nowhere, Nola,” he said. “Even if she’s got a boyfriend, she’s still gonna be around.”
“I don’t know. I don’t like it.”
“You don’t gotta like it,” he said. “But you know, you ain’t met him yet. You might like him. And I know he’ll like you. Everybody does. Maybe don’t think about it like losing your mom — look at it like getting a new person. Ain’t it better to have two people who love you than one?”
“Well, I guess so.”
“It’ll be okay,” he said, giving me a hug even though I was still wet from the rain. “I promise.”
That was the day I realized just how smart Brian was. He always knew the right thing to say. He always thought about things I didn’t. I thought he could solve every problem. I thought he could make everything better.
I thought Brian had all the answers.
When Canaan and I were in fifth grade, we were obsessed with detective and spy movies. We liked to try and solve crimes around the subdivision. Like who stole Mrs. Hooper’s garden gnome or who wasn’t scooping after their dog and leaving poop on the sidewalk. We were pretty good at it, too. We never solved any mysteries or anything, but we found out a lot of stuff about people, that was for sure.
And if I’d learned anything from all that detective work, it was that Edna, the manager at Rocky’s, was the person to talk to when you needed to know anything about anybody. She knew it all.
So late Monday afternoon I rode my bike up to Rocky’s, hoping I might find out something about where Mr. Swift had gone.
“Nola!” Edna exclaimed when I walked through the door, bells jingling overhead. “Long time no see. Where you been, sweetheart?”
“Working, mostly,” I said. “Trying to save up some money.”
“Well, I’ve sure missed you in here. And the boys. Where’s Canaan? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you come in here without him.”
“They’re, uh, they’re at home,” I said.
Edna nodded knowingly. “I hear they’re going through a tough time. My prayers are with them. But I’m glad you came in. What can I get you today?”
I ordered an orange milkshake and waited by the counter, chatting with Edna while she made it for me. It wasn’t too busy, so she didn’t mind talking to me. I told her all about my different jobs and Felicia’s birthday party. I just jabbered on while I tried to think of a way to ask her what I really wanted to.
Luckily, she brought it up on her own.
“So how are the boys doing with all this?” she asked in a low, secret voice. “Really.”
I took a long slurp on my straw before answering. “Not too good,” I said. “They’re real upset about their daddy.”
“Bless their hearts,” Edna said. “And their poor mama, too.”
“I know.” I took a deep breath, knowing this was my chance to ask the question. The whole reason I’d come here. “Where do you think Mr. Swift might have gone?”
“Who knows?” Edna said. “Although, I did see his car in Bunker the other day when I went to Walmart. At least it looked like his car.”
“Really? Just over in Bunker?” I asked.
“Mmhm. Out on the highway. No idea where he was headed to, but I could’ve sworn it was him.”
“If he’s just over in Bunker, why hasn’t he come to see the boys?” I didn’t even mean to ask it out loud. It was just the first question that came to mind. Somehow, I figured Mr. Swift had gone somewhere far away. Like Siberia. Or Tennessee. Not Bunker, a city about fifteen minutes away.
Edna didn’t answer. She picked up a rag and started wiping off the counter. But there was something dark in her eyes. Either sad or mad, I don’t know. But it made her look even more like a ghost than usual.
Not long after, customers started heading into Rocky’s, picking up dinner on their way home from work. I said good-bye to Edna and rode my bike back home. As soon as I got inside, I went straight for the phone.
I’d just punched in a few numbers when the front door opened and Mama came in with a couple bags of groceries. “Hey, Nola Baby,” she said. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” I said, pressing the phone to my ear as it started to ring.
“Who are you calling?” Mama asked.
“Grandma Lucy.”
Mama’s face scrunched up, and I knew she was thinking, Why on earth would you do that? I didn’t have time to answer, though, because Grandma Lucy had already picked up the phone on her end.
“Hello? Who is it?”
My stomach rumbled, the way
it always did when I talked to Grandma Lucy. She was the crankiest person I’d ever met. And the loudest. She yelled all day long, and at everybody.
“Hi, Grandma Lucy,” I said. “It’s me…. It’s Nola.”
“What do you want? I can’t talk long. I’m about to sit down to eat.”
“Oh, okay. I just wanted to know if you had any, uh, work I could do for you? Like help with your garden or cleaning the house? Something I could help with?”
“Work?” Grandma Lucy asked. “What are you looking for work for?”
“I’m trying to save up some money,” I told her. “For the circus.”
“So you want me to pay you?” she asked.
“Um, yeah. If you want … I wasn’t trying to be rude or nothing. I’m sorry.”
She sighed. “The garage needs to be cleaned out. You can come help with that this weekend. I’m sure I can give you a little money.”
“Okay. Thank you, Grandma Lucy. I appreciate it.”
“All right. Good-bye, then.”
“Bye.”
Mama was in the kitchen putting groceries away when I hung up the phone. She looked over at me, one eyebrow raised. “You must really be desperate for work,” she said, “if you’re willing to ask your grandmother.”
I shrugged. The truth was, I hated asking Grandma Lucy for a job. Mostly because it meant I’d have to spend an afternoon with her. But I had a reason. She lived in Bunker, and that meant I might get a chance to hunt down Mr. Swift. Spending time with Grandma Lucy was a price I was willing to pay to get the boys back to the way they were.
“Where’s Richard?” I asked Mama.
“He said he was busy tonight,” she said. “But he wants to take me out tomorrow night. To a nice restaurant. I don’t know what the occasion is, though. I keep worrying I’m forgetting our anniversary or something. But that’s not for a few weeks yet.”
“That sounds fun,” I said. “Are you gonna wear a dress and everything?”
“I suppose so. Maybe my blue one … Hmmm.” She finished with the groceries, then turned to look at me. “By the way, I know you’re too old for a babysitter, but since I’m going to be out late tomorrow night, I asked Mrs. Hooper from across the street to come check in on you.”