A Smidgen of Sky (6 page)

“Go away.”

I let my fist drop to my side. “Do what?”

“You heard me. Just go away.”

I waited, staring at the poster of beagle puppies taped to her door, not sure what to do. If she wouldn't let me in her room, what in the world was I supposed to do all afternoon? Hang out with Ben?

“I don't have anywhere to go away to,” I said.

She didn't answer.

I hesitated a few seconds longer. Then I took a deep breath and opened her door a crack. She lay curled up like a snail shell, her back to me.

“Hey, what's wrong? Are you mad at me or something?”

She flipped over and scowled at me, her eyes red and puffy. “I don't want to find my mama, Piper. She doesn't want anything to do with me.”

I felt as if she'd thrown a bucket of ice water on me. “W-why do you think that? You try to call one of those phone numbers or something?”

She sniffed and rubbed a hand across her eyes. “No. I thought maybe Daddy had her number, but then I found this.” She pulled an envelope from underneath her pillow.

All my senses sprang to full alert. I stepped into the room and closed her door behind me.

“It's a letter that Mama wrote to Daddy before she left us.”

“Where did you get it?”

She sat up. “I found it in Daddy's box.”

“What box?”

“His safety box, where he keeps important stuff like insurance papers and birth certificates and stuff like that. There were a couple other letters, too, from when he and Mama were dating. But this one . . . you can read it if you want.”

I drew back like she'd offered me a handful of poison oak. “That's okay. I better not.”

“No. Go ahead. I don't care.”

I couldn't believe she was willing to share something so personal with me, especially something that wasn't any of my business. “Ginger, I don't think I should.”

She threw the envelope at my feet. “Shut up and read it, Piper Lee.”

I swallowed.

She watched until I bent down and picked up the letter, and then she curled up like a snail again.

I sat on the edge of her bed to read.

 

Dear Ben,

I hope you don't hate me for this. I know you probably will. But I just can't live like this anymore. I thought I was ready to settle down, but I guess I'm not, because each day I feel like I'm going crazy. You don't know what it's like to be stuck at home with a baby every day. She cries so much. It's really, really hard. I didn't want to be a mother yet. Maybe someday, five or ten years down the road, but I can't handle it right now. I don't know how to be a good mother, and I'd rather not be one at all if I can't be a good one. I know Ginger will be fine with you. You're so great with her. You're a terrific dad and a terrific guy, Ben. You deserve a lot better than me. I'm so sorry we didn't wait until we were older. There's still so much I want to do first. Please try to understand.

 

Tina

 

I took my time refolding the letter. I felt a little bad for Ginger. If I hadn't suggested the idea of finding her mama, she probably wouldn't have gone snooping through her daddy's stuff. But I felt a lot worse for myself. Suddenly Operation Finding Tina didn't seem so simple.

“See,” Ginger said. “She didn't love me.”

“It doesn't say that. It just says she wasn't ready to be a mama yet.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn't. Not at all. She wanted to be a good mama. She just didn't know how yet.”

“She thought I was a pain. She didn't want to be stuck at home with me.”

“How old was she, again?”

“Nineteen.”

“Well, that is kind of young.”

“Yeah, well, Daddy was young, too. If he could do it, how come she couldn't?”

“I don't know. Maybe it depends on the person.”

“What I don't get is why she had to be stuck at home every day. Why didn't she just go and do what she wanted and take me with her like other mamas do?” Before I could come up with any kind of answer, she sat up and grabbed the letter from my hand. “Yeah, well, I'm not trying to find her.”

“But it says she'd be ready further down the road. That probably means she's ready now.”

A knock sounded on the door. Ginger crammed the letter and envelope under her pillow.

Ben opened the door and stepped in, and the room seemed to shrink. It was a perfect rerun of the evening when he and Mama had caught us looking at the phone book, only this time he wasn't smiling. My heart started jumping like peas on a hot griddle.

“What's goin' on here? Why are you crying, Ginger?”

“I'm not. Everything's fine, Daddy.”

I focused on all the tiny green flecks of grass clinging to Ben's shoes.

“You girls been fighting again?”

“No, sir,” we said together.

“Well, come on outside. I have a job for you two.”

Ginger and I rolled our eyes at each other as we followed him. What would he think if he knew what was hiding underneath her pillow?

He led us around the side of the house to a wide patch of dug-up earth in the backyard. Eight oily railroad ties lay piled beside it.

“Here's where your mama's garden's gonna be,” he said.

I blinked. Mama always talked about wanting a garden. “Does she know yet?”

“Nope. Just brought in the ties last night. I want to have it done by the time she gets off work tonight so we can surprise her.” It was nice of him to say “we” instead of “I.”

“Anyhow,” Ben said, “there's a million and one pecans that need to be picked up before I can mix in the manure. You kids can work for an hour before the sun makes its way around here.”

Ginger groaned.

Ben brought over a wheelbarrow and parked it near us. “Call me when you get it full and I'll dump it. I'll be around front.”

Ginger waited until he disappeared around the side of the house, and then she slumped against the wheelbarrow.

I knew she was still sad about her mama, so I worked by myself for a while, sifting through nuts and rocks and trying to think of a way to save Operation Finding Tina. But when the wheelbarrow got half-full and Ginger still hadn't picked up a single nut, I started feeling put-out instead of sorry. “You're s'posed to be helping, you know.”

“I don't feel like picking up nuts.”

“Yeah, well, go tell your daddy that.”

“He's gonna be your daddy soon, too.”

I bristled. “No, he's not. I already have a daddy.”

“
Had
a daddy, you mean. Just like I had a mama.”

I aimed low with my next pecan, and it hit Ginger square in the ribs. She hopped up with a yelp.
“He-e-e-y.”

“Whoops. Sorry.”

She rubbed her side. “Sorry, nothing. You did that on purpose.”

“Well, jeez, Ginger. You're sitting against the wheelbarrow. What do you expect?”

She scooped up her own pecan and hurled it so fast that all I had time to do was hunch my shoulders, but it whizzed right past. I smirked. “Thought you didn't feel like picking up nuts.”

“I don't. But I feel like throwing them at you.”

We eyed each other silently. Ginger's eyes were almond—so light they almost didn't have a color.

“No throwing at the head,” I said.

She kicked a pile of dust at me. I closed my eyes to shield them as the air filled with flying pecans. My shin burned as if it'd been shot, followed by my belly a second later. I hopped around on one foot, trying to rub my leg and throw at the same time. I got her in the ribs twice before she ducked down behind the wheelbarrow.

“Get out from there,” I yelled. “I don't have nothing to hide behind.”

She pelted me a few times before I scooped up a whole handful of dirt and nuts and ran around behind the wheelbarrow. She popped up like a jackrabbit and took off.

I gave chase around the yard until I tripped over a railroad tie and landed with a heavy
oomph
right on my stomach. Ginger hurled two pecans at my butt while I tried to catch my breath. I yelped and rolled back to my feet in a hellfire hurry. “You're gonna be dead as a doornail, Ginger!”

She squealed and started running in crazy circles, her big feet kicking up enough dirt to choke a mule. The air turned so thick and brown, I could barely see where to aim. My breath rasped in my chest and I stung all over. I finally reached out my leg and tripped her. Before she could get up, I jumped on her back and twisted her arm up behind her. “Say ‘uncle.'”

“Oww!”

“Say it. Say it now.”

“I'm gonna kill you, Piper.”

“That'll be tough with a broken arm.”

She kept struggling, and I didn't think I'd be able to hold on much longer. But I had the advantage of being on top, and finally she said, “Okay, fine. Uncle, you idiot.”

I rolled off her and collapsed. We lay next to each other, panting for a little while. Then she turned her head and glared at me through a mask of grime. I grinned. “You look like a raccoon,” I said.

“Yeah? You should talk.”

I rubbed my shoulder. “You threw pretty good.”

“Yeah?” She sounded surprised. “So did you.”

“You shouldn't have kept hitting me after I fell.”

“Sorry.”

“Boy, I could drink a river.”

She sat up. “There's Popsicles in the freezer. Want one?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Cherry or grape?” We struggled to our feet. Before I could decide, something caught my eye. I turned and saw Ben leaning up against the side of the house, his arms crossed, looking for all the world as though he wanted to come over and whip us both.

“Oh, shoot,” Ginger muttered. “How long have you been standing there, Daddy?”

“Long enough.”

His voice didn't match the look on his face. He sounded a little like he wanted to laugh. “So, Piper Lee? You figured out how you're gonna explain to your mama why you're covered with bruises tomorrow?”

Ginger snickered.

My eyes were scratchy from grit, and all I wanted to do was wash my face. “I don't know.” I bent down and brushed some of the dirt from my bare legs.

Ben chuckled. “Guys throw punches and girls throw nuts, is that it? You two work out whatever you were fussin' about?”

Ginger and I looked at each other. “Yes, sir,” we answered together.

“Good,” he said. “Now maybe you can get some work done.”

 

G
INGER AND
I finished our Popsicles and then filled the wheelbarrow twice before an old farm truck pulled up with a load of black, crumbly cow poop.

“That's gross,” Ginger said. “I'm not touching it.”

The sun grew hot as blue blazes, but Ben kept on working, heaving railroad ties into place, his T-shirt sticking to him like syrup to a flapjack.

About the time the farm truck left, Ginger whined about having a rock in her shoe and limped off toward the giant oak. She leaned up against the tree, barefoot, picking at one of her toenails. “What did you do?” I asked. “Chip some polish?”

She wrinkled up her nose at me.

Ben smiled.

I guess it was that smile that made me ask, “You want me to spread some of this manure around?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Sure. Rake's over there.”

Ginger lazed around in the shade and watched us till Ben sent her inside to make a pitcher of sweet tea. I kept raking, smoothing the dirt, still thinking about the pecan fight with Ginger. Something was different between us, and I wasn't sure I liked it.

By the time Ol' Faithful roared up that evening, Ben had all the railroad ties in place and I had the soil raked smooth. Ginger and I used the garden hose to rinse off the worst of our dirt while Ben went around front to get Mama.

I heard the car door slam and Mama giggle.

“Here she comes,” Ginger whispered.

Mama shuffled into view, one of Ben's big hands clamped over her eyes as he guided her toward us. “What in the world's goin' on, Ben Hutchings? And what'd you do with the girls?”

“Sold 'em to a slave trader passing on through. Got a hundred bucks a head.” He brought her to a stop right in front of the garden and lowered his hand, nodding to Ginger and me.

“Surprise!” we shouted.

For a split second, confusion flickered across Mama's face, but then she saw what she was supposed to be looking at, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Get out of town. It's a raised bed.”

“For your garden,” Ben said.

Mama turned and threw her arms around him as though she didn't even notice how dirty and sweaty he was. “Have I ever told you what a great guy you are?”

He hugged her back and winked at me over her shoulder. “I can't take all the credit. The girls helped, too.”