A Sliver of Sun (9 page)

The
us
caught my attention. “You have brothers and sisters?”

“Four brothers. They’re all in high school though.”

I gave a low whistle. Four! I could barely deal with one. At least it explained why Ramsay’s clothes were too big. They must all be hand-me-downs. “Do y’all get along?”

He shrugged. “No. Well … sometimes.”

“Why don’t you ride the bus?”

“We live way back. Mom would have to drive us like three miles to catch the bus.”

“Way back where?”

He shifted around to sit cross-legged. “Just way back off the main road, over near where the tracks end.”

I snorted. “Only thing past the tracks is Shady Hollow.”

Ramsay didn’t answer, but his red face gave him away.

“Oh,” I said. Anybody from those parts might as well admit to being a hillbilly. People called it Bum Jungle on account of that’s where all the bums riding the rails were forced to get off. I figured Ramsay’s family must be awful poor.

“What’s your daddy do for work?” I asked, changing the subject to make up for embarrassing him so bad. But my question only made him fidget worse.

“He don’t live with us right now.”

“Why not?”

I expected him to say his mama and daddy were divorced. But he didn’t say anything at all for a long while, just stared hard at his copy of
Mockingbird.
I knew the polite thing would be to shut up and quit pestering him, but I was too curious. “Why not?” I repeated.

Ramsay squirmed some more. He took a nervous glance toward Mrs. Holloway, who sat at her desk grading papers. “Cause,” he whispered, “he’s in prison.”

My head jerked back. “Prison! What for?”

“He got in trouble for selling drugs when I was a little kid. But he’s only got one more year to serve, and then he’s comin’ home.”

“Oh.” I could hear the fret and bother in Ramsay’s voice, and I felt bad I’d pushed him to tell me. I figured it must be a real shameful thing to admit your daddy was a prisoner. “Is he here, at the state pen?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Cause that’s where my step dad works. He’s a guard.”

A bright, eager look came into Ramsay’s eyes. “Really? Do you think he knows my dad?”
“I dunno. Don’t you get to visit?”

“Mom goes sometimes, but she won’t take us kids much. Dad usually writes me every couple weeks, but I haven’t got a letter in a month. I’m getttin’ real worried about him.”

“You think he might be sick or something?”

“Maybe. Why else would he quit writing? Would you ask your step-dad about him?”

I kept my eyes fixed on
Mockingbird,
but my mind started spinning like a kite outta control. Ben didn’t talk much about work—he didn’t really talk to
me
about anything. But maybe he would if he had a reason. Maybe I could ask him about Ramsay’s daddy. The idea sent a prickle of anticipation racing up my neck. “What’s his name?”

“Joseph Tate.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try.”

“Piper Lee and Ramsay,” Mrs. Holloway said. “Less chatting, more reading, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

Ramsay gave me a quick smile before he ducked his head. “It’s still your turn,” he whispered. “And thanks, Piper Lee.”

I nodded and started to read. I forgot all about watching Angela and Ginger till group reading was nearly over. And when I did finally glance their way again, Angela caught my eye and made a goofy face. She seemed like more of a big clown than anything. I couldn’t figure why she’d be so mean to Ginger. Maybe Ginger was making a big fuss over nothing—Lord knows she was a weenie about plenty of other stuff.

That afternoon on the bus I asked her if Angela had done anything else mean to her, but she just shrugged and wouldn’t say. So I pretty much forgot about it and turned my attention to finding a way to ask Ben about Ramsay’s daddy.

It didn’t sound too hard, least not when I told Ramsay I’d try. But the more I thought about it, the more I started to fret. Maybe Ben didn’t talk about work ’cause he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe he didn’t even know a Joseph Tate. Or if he did, maybe he’d just tell me to mind my own business. Maybe he’d even get mad at me for asking.

After I sweated bullets over it for the better part of two weeks, Ramsay caught me after school Friday and begged me to finally ask, just sure somethin’ bad had happened to his daddy, and I felt real guilty for making him wait. I promised to ask over the weekend and have an answer for him on Monday.

By the time I climbed on the bus that afternoon, Ginger was already in our seat, curled up with her face against the window.

“Hey,” I said, “that’s my spot.”

She gave a little jump like I’d startled her, and turned just enough for me to see her face was all scrunched up.

I slid in beside her. “You always want the outside. What’s goin’ on?”

She gave me the usual shrug, but then her shoulders started twitching and tears poured down her cheeks.

The fat, curious face of Bobby Jenson stared over from the seat across the aisle. I scowled at him until he turned away with a pouty look. Then I propped my backpack up to block his view. “Hey,” I said to Ginger, “everybody’s gonna start staring. What are you fussin’ about?”

She turned my way with a sniffle and raised the sleeve of her T-shirt a couple inches. I gawked at the ugly raised welt just below her shoulder. “Boy howdy, that’s a good one. Where’d you get it?”

“From Angela,” she whispered. “She pinched me.”

I couldn’t believe that big a mark could come from a pinch, but I held my thumb up next to it and saw that the mark was just a little wider. “I didn’t know she was still buggin’ you. What happened?”

Ginger let her sleeve drop back into place and brushed at her eyes. “I s-spent all last week thinkin’ how to tell Angela she has to do her own s-stupid book report. So today I just flat out told her that it’s s’posed to be a two person assignment, and that she had to read the book too.”

I nodded. “Good for you. That’s what I would’ve said.”

“I was even g-gonna offer to help her write it if she wanted, but before I got the chance she … she just pinched me hard as she could. And she told me that I was as stupid as the book, and that if she w-wanted to she could flush my head in the toilet in the girl’s bathroom.”

I’m not sure if my mouth fell open, but it sure felt like it did. “Are you kidding? I would’ve punched her right in the nose.”

“No you wouldn’t, Piper Lee. You just think so.”

I snorted. “Wanna bet?”

“You don’t know what she’s r-really like.”

“Why she’s picking so bad on you?”

“Cause I laughed at her that day, ‘member? When I told her that Huckleberry Finn was a movie. She’s hated me ever since. Plus, she’s too stinkin’ lazy to do her own work.”

I recalled the furious look I’d seen her give Ginger that day. “You gotta tell somebody.”

She covered her face. “I can’t. She really
will
flush my head.”

“Well … you gotta do somethin.”

“I am. I’m gonna do the s-stupid book report for her, then she’ll leave me alone.”

My hands curled into fists. “No, you’re not! Wouldn’t be right.”

Ginger’s watery eyes opened wide with panic, and she looked all around like she was scared somebody had heard me. “Shush, Piper Lee. You’ll make things worse than they all ready are.”

I glanced around. The only kid not making enough noise of their own to cover our conversation was Bobby Jenson, and he was busy playing with his iPod. “But you can’t let her buffalo you like that. It’ll just make her do it more. You gotta at least tell the teacher.”

“No! And you promised not to tell either, ‘member? You even said Scout’s honor.”

“But why? Why not tell somebody that can help?”

Ginger let out a long, trembly breath. “Cause Piper Lee, don’t you get it? No matter whether I tell Mrs. Holloway or anybody else, it’s gonna get back to Angela. We gotta keep it secret.”

Secret!

That word was so loaded with bad memories, just the sound of it made me fall back against my seat. Only a few months back, I’d been keeping plenty of secrets—when I’d tried to stop Mama from marrying Ben, and when I’d convinced Ginger to look for her own mama, and when I’d got tangled up with a stranger on the Internet. And when all those secrets finally came to light, they’d made Mama cry, and angered Ben, and disappointed Ginger, and knotted my insides like a bowl of spaghetti.

“Keepin’ secrets never turned out too well for me,” I said.

Ginger stared at me, her eyes all big and worried, and it made me feel like I was being squeezed through a tiny hole. “Fine then,” she said, “it’ll be
my
secret. All you gotta do is keep quiet about it.”

I wasn’t real sure that keeping
quiet
about a secret was any different than actually keeping one. But with the way Ginger was looking at me, I didn’t figure I had much choice.

By the time we got off the bus, what I wanted most was to see Mama. I’d already been full of worry over asking Ben about Ramsay’s daddy. Now I was full of worry over Ginger too. I didn’t want to tell Mama about any of it, I just wanted to see her, maybe have her give me a hug. My heart seized up when I saw the empty spot next to Ben’s truck. “She’s not home,” I mumbled.

Ginger shrugged her backpack higher. “Said she was gonna work late tonight, ‘member? The Black-Eyed Pea is serving dinner to that big business group.”

“Oh … yeah,” I said. “That’s right.”

Ginger gave her eyes a final rub. “It don’t look like I’ve been crying, does it?”

“No.”

“Okay, good.” She tipped her head up and sniffed the air. “What’s that smell? Daddy must be cooking something.”

I sniffed too. “I dunno. Smells a little like pork sausage.”

“Makes me hungry, whatever it is.”

We traipsed across the yard and through the screen door. Mowgli lay on the kitchen floor twitching his tail, and I gave his head a gentle rub as I passed by. Ben stood in front of a big pot of something on the stove, a wooden spoon in his hand. He turned and gave us a wink. “Hey, howdy.”

Ginger dropped her backpack on the floor. “Hey, Daddy. Whatcha making? It smells real good in here.”

“Chili.”

“Yum. You haven’t done that in a long while.”

“Yeah, well, I figured it’d be a good time since your mama’s not here to complain about the mess.”

I glanced around the kitchen.
Mess
was too pretty a word for it. The sink overflowed with dishes, and the counter was strewn with remnants of chili peppers, tomatoes and onions.

He saw me looking and smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll have it cleaned up by the time she gets home.”

“Did she say what time that might be?” I asked.

“No, but I’d reckon by eight or so.”

Ginger skipped over to look in the pot. “You didn’t make it real spicy, did you? I don’t like it too hot.”

“Course I made it spicy,” he said. “That’s the way chili’s s’posed to be.” He dropped an arm around Ginger’s shoulders, and she gave a yelp.

Ben jerked his hand back with a start. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

He cocked an eyebrow, and for a second I expected him to ask more questions. But he started stirring the chili instead. I set my backpack down and went over to his other side. He seemed to be in a pretty good mood. Was it the right time to ask about Ramsay’s daddy? I’d come close to asking a few other times, but something always stopped me. This time was no different. All I did was stand on tiptoe and peer at the simmering jumble of beans and sauce and meat.

“How’s it look?” he asked.

I glanced up, surprised to see he’d ask the question of me. “Uh … good. Are we having it for supper?”

“Might as well. We’re on our own tonight. So, was school all right?”

Ginger cut me a sharp look. “Yes, sir,” she said.

“Got any homework?”

“Just some reading, and half a page of math.”

“Then you best have your snack and get to it.”

I stepped back from the stove, disappointed I’d chickened out once again. I grabbed an apple from the refrigerator and a few caramels from the candy dish. Then I quietly edged away while Ginger and Ben still had their backs turned.

I went outside to the trampoline, climbed up and stretched out flat on my back. The trampoline was the perfect place for just laying and looking and thinking. A hot breeze blew from the east, carrying the salty, fishy smell of the Atlantic, and a puffy cloud scooted past like it was in a real hurry to get some place. I tried to decide if it looked more like a duck or a Volkswagen Bug. I thought it would be so cool to be a cloud—up there flying free, nothing to fret about, just letting the wind push you along wherever it wanted.

I closed my eyes and tried to let the wind push away my worry about Ramsay. I started thinking about Ginger and Angela instead. I figured maybe Angela was one of those bullies the teachers talked about. There was an anti-bullying poster in the lunchroom, and we’d watched a movie about it in third grade. I’d never given it much thought before, but something about Angela picking on Ginger really irked me.

Sure, I picked on her sometimes too. But that was different—there was always a good reason behind it. Besides, Ginger gave it right back to me, so it was an equal thing. But Angela didn’t have any reason I could see—other than bein’ too dang lazy to do her own homework.

I wondered if she’d picked on anybody back in Arizona. Maybe that’s how things worked there. But this wasn’t any Yankee state, this was Georgia. And I figured it was high time she learned the difference.

“P
iper Lee!”

I didn’t realize I’d dozed off ‘til Ben’s holler startled me awake. I sat up to see him on the porch, and for a bleary few seconds I figured he must be calling me in to do homework. But then he headed across the yard like he meant business, and a shiver zinged up my spine. How many times had he called me? I scrambled over to the edge of the trampoline, trying to shake off the groggy feeling.

It wasn’t till he was practically in front of me that I realized Ginger was behind him. She stopped a few feet back, looking white as a Shasta daisy, her eyes big and wild.