A Smidgen of Sky (5 page)

“No. But the library does. Has a bunch of phone books, too, I think.”

She scowled. For a few minutes I'd really had her going, but now she looked more put-out than interested.

“Her last name is Hutchings, right?”

“I don't think so. Daddy said her name was Liman.”

“Okay, hold on.” I scooted back my chair. Mama was perched on the edge of the big recliner, rubbing Ben's neck. He sat on the rug in front of her, his eyes closed while they chatted.

I tiptoed over to the kitchen counter and pulled the phone book from its drawer.

Ginger watched with narrowed eyes. “This isn't gonna work, Piper.”

“Don't know till you try,” I said, borrowing one of Mama's favorite lines.

I sat beside her and opened the book to the white pages. At first we couldn't find anyone with the name of Liman. But then Ginger said maybe it was
L-y
and not
L-i.
Changing the spelling worked. She stopped running her finger down the page and sucked in her breath. “Here's two of them.”

My heart pumped faster. I hadn't expected there to be any. “Yeah? Where?”

“Here. Rebecca M. Lyman and Francis Lyman.” Ginger slumped. “But Mama's name is Tina. These guys aren't her.”

“Oh,” I said. “Maybe they know her. Shoot, they're probably your relatives.”

Ginger and I hunched back over the book, as if staring at the names might answer our questions. She twirled a section of hair around her finger and unrolled it just as fast.

“Maybe the next time your daddy's busy outside, you could try calling these numbers,” I said.

“And say what?”

“Well, you could, um, say something like ‘I'm looking for Tina Lyman and wondered if you might know her.'”

Ginger's eyebrows scrunched. I could tell she wanted to believe me but wouldn't let herself.

“What are you girls whispering about?” Ben called out from the living room.

Ginger jumped so hard, she banged her leg into the table.

We both whirled around just as Mama and Ben walked into the kitchen.

Ben grinned. “Shoot,” he said. “You two look as guilty as Pedro Wooly when I caught him with a fork from the cafeteria.”

Mama giggled.

“Pedro Wooly? Is he a person or a sheep?” I asked, my nerves still on high alert.

“Hard to tell,” Ben said. “Looks a little like both.”

I groped for the front of the phone book and flipped it shut.

Ginger still stared. She looked real guilty, all right.

“So what are you up to?” Mama asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I was just showing Ginger something.”

Mama and Ben exchanged a look.

For once Ginger did the helpful thing. She stood and carried the phone book back to the drawer. I started stacking supper plates and humming “Ode to Billie Joe.”

“Well,” Mama said, “we came to tell you there's a fifties car show going on at the park. We thought we might go stroll around for a bit after you girls get the kitchen done.”

“Oh, okay,” I said. “Be done in a minute.”

 

Charlesburg Park swarmed with folks eating hot dogs and boiled peanuts, oohing and aahing over the old cars. Some of the ladies wore pink poodle skirts or rolled-up jeans and white T-shirts. I thought they looked like weenies, but I liked the '50s music blaring through the park. The cars were okay, too—not as great as airplanes, but still pretty cool, splashed with shiny chrome and shimmering paint.

Soon Ginger started holding her hair up off her neck and complaining she was too hot, but I was glad we'd come. The air smelled of barbecued pork and mowed grass and the fishy scent of the Atlantic.

Ben stopped in front of a sleek silver Mustang. He gave an admiring whistle. “This is how mine's gonna look one day.”

I had my doubts about that. The ugly brown Mustang parked in his yard didn't look anything like this one.

Mama smiled. “In a few more years and with a few more dollars.”

“You know,” Ben said, “if you'd let me take an early retirement, I'd have a lot more time to work on it.”

“I hate to tell you this, guy, but you got another twenty years before you can take early retirement.”

“Well, shoot,” he said. “That's not what I wanted to hear.”

Mama giggled her little-girl laugh, the laugh she saved just for Ben. I couldn't help but notice how happy she seemed, strolling beside him, holding his hand. But it was Daddy's hand she should've been holding, not Ben's.

“Hey, Piper.” Ginger nudged me. “Looky there.” A little kid ambled past with a huge ice cream. It was melting faster than he could eat it, leaving brown ribbons of chocolate streaming down his wrist.

“Want to get some?” Ginger asked.

I nodded.

Ginger hopped up beside Ben. “Hey, Daddy? Can I get some ice cream?”

Ben didn't answer. He was still drooling over the silver Mustang. Ginger darted around in front of him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and stepped right up on his toes.

“Hey,” he said with a fake scowl. “Get off my feet.”

“I need some ice cream.”

“You do, huh? Well, goody for you. Now get off my feet.”

“No, sir. I think I'll stay right here until you give me some money.”

Ben smirked. “Then I guess you got another think coming.” He scooped her up under the arms and dropped her beside him.

“Hey,” she squealed. “No fair.”

My throat burned hot and tight. Mama was into hugs and pats and stuff. But it sure would be fun to have a daddy to roughhouse with.

An old lady in a straw hat watched us from the next row of cars. She wore a dopey smile, as if Ben and Ginger horsing around was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. It reminded me of Miss Claudia's face when she talked about her great-grandbabies.

The old lady looked from Ginger to me, and I could read what she was thinking just as plain as if it were stamped on her wrinkled face. She thought Mama and Ben were married and Ginger and I were their kids.

And for just a second, I wished it were true.

But then I thought of Daddy. I owed it to him to set that old lady straight, to tell her she had it all wrong. That Ginger wasn't my sister and Ben wasn't my daddy. That my daddy had been an Air Force pilot and not just a prison guard.

But of course I didn't say anything. I just glanced down, and it felt as though somebody had jabbed me in the chest with a sharp stick.

Ben reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He pulled out four one-dollar bills. “This is all I've got, so if it costs more than this, you're out of luck.”

He offered two of the bills to Ginger and the other two to me. Ginger grabbed hers.

I squirmed, staring at the money. It would've been okay if Mama had offered it, but I just couldn't take it from Ben. After all, going to buy ice cream was the very last thing Daddy and I had done together. I took a step back. “That's okay. I'm still full from supper.” I fumbled with the hem on my shorts.

“You sure?” Ben asked.

No,
I wanted to say,
I'm not sure about anything.
But I just said, “Yes, sir, I'm sure.”

Ginger wrinkled up her nose. “You don't got a speck of brains, Piper Lee.”

I turned my back on Mama and Ben. Ginger sped off through the crowd toward the ice cream stand and returned a few minutes later with a giant scoop of strawberry swirl. It looked so good, I could hardly stand it. I wanted to grab it and splat it in her face.

“Mmm,” Ben said. “I think I need some of that. Want to share a scoop with me, Heather?”

“I don't know. I'm supposed to be watching my figure.”

“Oh, come on, now,” he said. “That's my job.”

Mama giggled. “You and your sweet talk, Ben Hutchings.” She winked at me as Ben pulled her off toward the ice cream stand. “Be right back, honey.”

I shrugged. Ginger found a shady spot behind an old Chevy to sit. I tried to act interested in the Chevy, but the tears in my eyes made it too blurry to see.

 

I
T TOOK ME
three days of brainstorming to come up with what I named “Operation Finding Tina.” The details took another two days. But by late Sunday night I'd boiled the whole thing down to two simple steps.

Step one: find Tina. Step two: convince Ginger to call her.

Things would just happen natural-like after that. Ginger and Tina would talk, and then Tina would come to visit. She'd realize what she was missing out on, that she never should've left in the first place, that she still loved Ben. The two of them would get back together. Mama and Ben would cancel their wedding.

I grinned into the darkness as Mowgli purred beside me. It was a perfect plan—as slick as spitting watermelon seeds. How come I hadn't thought of it sooner?

The only downside was Mama—she'd be pretty disappointed. But I knew she'd be okay. She'd still have me. And I'd find some way to make her feel better.

“Mama, can I ride my bike to the library?” I asked the next morning.

Mama gave up her struggle to open a plastic bag of Toasty O's and reached for the scissors. “The library? By your lonesome?”

“It's only a couple miles.”

“But you've never done it alone.”

“I can do it, Mama. I'm not a baby, you know.”

“I never said you were. I'm just not comfortable with you riding around downtown by yourself yet.”

I clamped my teeth. Getting to the library was supposed to be the easy part. “How old do I have to be?”

“What's going on? You act like you're all put-out with me.”

“No. I just think I should be able to ride to the dumb library by myself.”

Mama sighed. She tipped the bag of cereal and poured herself a bowl. “Tell you what—tonight after work, we'll swing by the library 'fore we come home. That good enough?”

I dug my nails into my palms. I didn't want to put off Operation Finding Tina for another minute. But if I acted too restless and eager, Mama would get suspicious. “I guess.”

“Great. So what do you and Ginger have planned for this afternoon?”

“Oh, let's see. She'll probably try to talk me into painting my toenails. Then she'll want me to listen to a hundred stupid cheers. And then who knows.”

Mama clucked her tongue. “Oh, Piper Lee.”

“Well, it's true,” I said. “That's the kind of stuff she likes.”

“And have you ever thought about trying to share some of your interests with her? How about taking your scrapbook over and showing it to her?”

“She doesn't care anything about airplanes.”

“You assume that. How do you really know?”

“I just do, Mama.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it's a case of not being able to see the orchard for the fruit trees.” I had absolutely no idea what that meant.

After breakfast I carried my scrapbook to the kitchen table along with a bunch of loose clippings. One of the clippings was about the Aero Flight School in Atlanta. As long as you could pass a physical exam, you could start flying lessons at sixteen years old. In just more than five years I'd be old enough. I mentioned that to Mama as she wiped down the countertops.

“Mmm,” is all she said.

“What's that mean?” I asked.

“It doesn't mean anything, Piper Lee. I just don't want you to get your hopes up too high. I bet flying lessons are real expensive.”

“Thirty-eight dollars an hour for the instructor and about sixty an hour to rent a plane.”

“Oh, Good Friday.”

“It's okay,” I told her. “I'll be old enough to get a job by then. I'll pay for everything myself.”

She stepped over and kissed the top of my head. “Let's worry about it when the time comes. Okay?”

I felt like reaching up and rubbing that kiss away. “Daddy would want me to do it.”

“Your daddy would want you to follow your own dream, not necessarily his.”

She didn't get it. “But Mama, I am. That's what I am doing.”

As we drove to Ben's that afternoon, I tried to decide if I should tell Ginger about Operation Finding Tina or wait until I'd made it to the library. By the time we reached Hillman Lane, I'd decided to wait. As badly as I wanted to blurt it out, I worried she'd ask questions I couldn't answer yet and maybe ruin the whole plan.

We pulled into the driveway, and the roar of the lawn mower greeted us. Ben pushed it around the corner of the house and released the handle. The engine died with an angry sputter.

I gave Mama a quick hug before Ben could reach her. “See ya,” I said. Then I escaped into the house so I didn't have to watch them kiss and carry on as though they hadn't seen each other in a year.

I went over to Ginger's room. Her door was closed.

“Hey,” I said. “Knock, knock.”

No answer. I tapped on the door. “Hey, Ginger?”