Al Capone Shines My Shoes (15 page)

Theresa’s mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. Her chin juts forward with the force of this news. “Daddy’s never been drunk in his whole life,” she declares.

Jimmy shrugs. “Somebody lied, that’s all. Somebody’s out to get them.”

“But why? Why would anyone be out to get Daddy?” Theresa asks as I head out the door and up the stairs as fast as I can.

“Mom.” I slam into our apartment. My mom is washing the windows, wearing a pair of my dad’s old pants that are too short for her.

She takes one look at me. “You heard.”

“Dad wouldn’t drink when he’s working.”

“Of course not.”

“Somebody just made this up to get him in trouble?”

“Looks that way. But your dad told me I should simmer down about it. He thinks it was a mistake and it will all get straightened out in due time. I’ll tell you one thing. The warden would be a fool to lose your daddy.”

“Was it Trixle?”

My mom shakes her head, her lips a cold line. “Darby likes to stir the pot, but I don’t think he’d out and out lie.”

“Yeah, me either,” I agree.

“One thing’s for sure. We have to be extra careful until this whole mess works itself out. If you’re on probation and you have any trouble, any at all . . . you’re gone. No second chances.”

“And with Natalie coming home on Friday . . .”

“That’s right, and that big shindig this weekend too.”

“I’ll be careful,” I assure her.

She takes my chin in her hand. “I know you will be. Six months we lived here with Natalie, we never once had a problem with the warden or Darby either. I suppose I got you to thank for that, Moose.” She smiles at me.

I twist my chin gently away from her. My mom doesn’t know everything about that time . . . she doesn’t know about Nat’s friendship with 105, for one thing.

“You know, Moose, Mrs. Mattaman and I were talking. . . .” She pushes the scarf she wears when she cleans away from her eyes. “How are things going with you and the warden’s daughter?”

My mom doesn’t refer to Piper by name anymore. I’m not sure why.

“You two have a little spat?” my mother asks.

“You could call it that.”

My mom folds her cleaning cloth carefully in half and in half again. “You have a little spat, then this thing happens . . . what a coincidence.”

“Piper wouldn’t do this.”

“I hope you’re right.” My mother pronounces
right
with a hiccup in the middle—ri-ight—as if she’s not convinced.

“She have any reason to be mad at Jimmy or Theresa?” she asks.

“She’s mad at Theresa. But Mom, Piper’s always mad at someone. That’s just the way she is.”

“Things are tough at her house right now with a new baby on the way and her momma feeling poorly. You mind your p’s and q’s around that girl, you hear me? She’s pretty as they come, I’ll give you that, but she’s more trouble than stirring up a hornet’s nest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

“Will you help me empty the pan?” She opens the icebox and takes out the pan filled with melted ice water. Together we walk to the sink, trying to keep the water from splashing.

When we’ve dumped the water, she takes her rag and gives the pan a good scrub. “Everybody’s always telling me how lucky I am to have you. Did you really get Bea Trixle a rose?”

“I guess.”

“Did you now?” She directs a smile at her work. “Don’t imagine Darby appreciated that any too much.”

“I had an extra.”

“A twelve-year-old boy with an extra rose?”

“It’s hard to explain, Mom.”

“I’ll bet it is.” She works her cloth into the corner. “Annie’s mom says you’re interested in needlepoint too?” She looks at me sideways. I roll my eyes.

She smiles her sly smile. “Apparently I’m not giving you the right kind of chores. I wish I’d known. I got some mending needs doing. You interested?”

“Cut it out, Mom,” I tell her.

She laughs. “I got a son can do no wrong. Guess I can’t complain about that, now can I?”

20.

WELKUM HOM NADALEE

 

 

 

 

Nat and my parents are supposed to be on the 4:00 ferry. Theresa, Jimmy, and I are all down waiting for her. Theresa has made a sign.
Welkum hom Nadalee,
it says in pencil with glued-on buttons. My mom got a store-bought lemon cake and I borrowed some of Jimmy’s fly harness thread and made Natalie a bracelet.

“Scout be over this weekend?” Jimmy asks as we watch a large fishing boat scoot across the calm water, making a perfect wake, two white lines in the blue.

“Nope.”

“You going to Scout’s?” Jimmy freezes, waiting for my answer.

“Nope,” I say.

Jimmy’s head dips down. I don’t see him smile, but his dimple is showing. “You should see how many flies I have now. Maybe fifty thousand.”

“Fifty thousand flies? No kidding?” I ask, scratching my leg, which is driving me crazy. I hope the hives aren’t coming back.

Jimmy nods. “They move around so much it’s hard to count. Think Natalie could do it.”

“If anyone can count fifty thousand flies, it’s Natalie.”

Jim’s brown eyes are full of excitement. “That’s what I figured.”

“You find out any more about who got our dads on probation?” I ask.

“My mom thinks it’s Piper,” Jimmy says.

“Everybody thinks it’s Piper,” Theresa chimes in.

“Piper wouldn’t do anything that bad.”

Theresa and Jimmy look at each other.

“You got to go talk to her,” Jimmy says.

“Why me? You’re the one who told her about the secret crawlspace.”

Jimmy scoffs. “From what I heard, you didn’t seem to mind too much.”

I look at Theresa. “You weren’t going to tell anyone, remember?”

“Jimmy isn’t anyone,” Theresa informs me.

Jimmy snorts. “Thanks, Theresa,” he says.

“Oh look, Natalie’s coming!” Theresa points at the ferry, which is headed toward us, a flock of birds flying above it.

The boat is streaming across the water. The sun is shining through the clouds, making the wake sparkle. My dad is handsome in his officer’s uniform. My mom is wearing her good green coat. Nat is sitting with her head down like she’s reading. From a distance they look normal.

“Your dad talk to the warden?” Jimmy asks as Mr. Mattaman, who is acting buck sergeant, jumps on the dock. He still has the same duties when he’s on probation; they just check on him all the time, like he’s a junior officer again.

“I dunno, but he’s not worried. He thinks it was only a mistake.”

Jimmy shakes his head. “You’re just like your dad, you know that?” he snips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as my father carries Natalie’s suitcase with
Natalie Flanagan
written on all sides. He’s kidding around with her, pretending to drop her suitcase in the bay. My mother doesn’t like this. I can tell by the way her hands are on her hips that she’s bawling him out.

Natalie says something to my dad that makes him laugh all the more. He hands her back her suitcase.

“Hey kids.” Mr. Mattaman comes up behind us.

Trixle is up in the guard tower. Natalie and my dad come across the gangplank. Natalie is not looking down at her feet like she usually does. She’s focused out to the left, her shoulders slumped as she toe-walks across the gangplank. Nat has just crossed through the metal detector when it buzzes loud as an air raid siren.

My mother’s back gets stiff as a wheel rod. Her face looks feverish. She stares at Natalie.

Nat’s completely quiet—almost like she doesn’t hear. She digs her chin in her collarbone.

“Cam,” Trixle bellows through the bullhorn from the guard tower. “Mattaman will need to search the suitcase.” I know Trixle is itching to do it himself, but he’s not allowed to leave the guard tower.

My dad waves to Trixle. “Of course,” he says, but when he tries to take Nat’s suitcase from her, she won’t let go. Probably afraid he’ll drop it in the bay.

My mom whispers to her.

“Must have some metal buttons in that button box of hers,” my dad tells Mr. Mattaman.

Riv Mattaman smiles kindly. He whispers something in Natalie’s other ear. Natalie doesn’t look back at him, but I can tell by the angle of her head that she’s listening.

When he’s finished, her shoulders relax down an inch or two. She hands Mr. Mattaman the suitcase and my mother smiles big enough to cover three or four faces.

I can’t help feeling proud of Natalie. First she didn’t scream when the snitch box went off and now she hands over her suitcase without a problem. I know she knows her buttons are in there. But still, she lets go.

Mr. Mattaman seems to be explaining something to her. She cocks her head as if she’s thinking about this, nods, and then plunks herself down on the wooden dock right where she is. He kneels on one leg, clicks open the suitcase, and he and Natalie lean over to look inside.

Mr. Mattaman puts his hand on Nat’s button box. He is clearly asking her if it’s okay for him to look inside. My father and Mr. Mattaman confer. Mr. Mattaman nods and holds the button box out to Natalie. Natalie picks out a half dozen buttons, and Mr. Mattaman waves the all-clear to Trixle in the guard tower.

“We’re all set here, Darby. A handful of metal buttons is all.” He leans down to help Natalie buckle her suitcase shut.

My father rubs his hands together. “All righty then, back in business, Nat.”

“Natalie is coming home,” Nat says. A tiny smile flashes across her face, bright as a falling star.

“Yes, you are, sweet pea,” my dad says. “Yes, you are.”

21.

SHINY BUTTONS

 

 

 

 

At home Nat wants no part of Mom or Dad. She heads straight for her closet, opens the door, and counts the dresses and blouses hanging there. She skims her hand over the bedcovers. She puts her fingers inside the folds as if she is measuring the depth of each one. She runs her hand, fingers splayed out, along the wall to see if every bump in the plaster is still there. She turns the doorknob and opens and closes, opens and closes the door. She moves on to the bathroom, running her hand along the wall until it hits the towel.

When she’s done she comes out to the living room and sits on the couch, her hands deep underneath her legs as if she is protecting them. For a second, she looks right at me, which is spooky, like having a teddy bear all your life and one day you see his eyes move. Then she’s back to her solid focus on the floor.

“Natalie, it’s so nice to have you back,” my mom says, her voice choking. But Natalie does not look up. It’s as if holding her hands beneath her legs requires all her concentration. “Do you want to unpack your suitcase?”

“Yoo-hoo, Helen! Cam! Yoo-hoo.” Mrs. Caconi knocks on the door. “It’s your turn.”

“Our turn for what?” my mom whispers to my dad.

“Her new icebox. Got one that runs on DC. We have to go see it,” my father explains.

“Doesn’t she know Nat’s here?” my mother asks.

“We have all weekend with Natalie. Moose will keep an eye on her. Mrs. Caconi doesn’t have much in her life these days,” my dad whispers to my mom.

“Yoo-hoo.” Mrs. Caconi is huffing and puffing from her climb up the stairs. “You’ll never guess what Bea said.”

Mrs. Caconi is standing in our living room. She is big, like her limbs were blown up with a bicycle pump. She has on her good blue flowered apron—the one she wears for entertaining—and her face glows with pride.

“She said she thinks mine is even larger than the warden’s. Can you imagine? Of course I didn’t get out my measuring tape, but you see what you think.”

“Moose, you keep an eye on Natalie while we run down to Mrs. Caconi’s. Maybe you and Theresa can help her unpack,” my father says before he and my mom follow Mrs. Caconi outside.

Inside Nat’s room we watch her go through her buttons, organizing them just how she likes them.

“You’re going to go talk to Piper, right?” Jimmy asks.

“I already said I would,” I say, trying hard not to sound as annoyed as I feel.

Theresa and Nat sit cross-legged on the floor. Nat unpacks her yellow dress, the special one, which now has seven of Sadie’s “good day” buttons sewn neatly in a square on the front.

“Is Mom going to sew buttons on that one when you have a good day here?” I ask. My mom’s not much of a seamstress, but she could probably manage a button.

“No Mom. Sadie,” Natalie says firmly as she takes out her socks and puts them in her drawer. They make a peculiar thump when she drops them, like they are made of metal.

“You think she’ll tell you the truth?” Jimmy is still focused on Piper.

“Hey, wait a minute! What was that?” I jump up and paw through Nat’s drawer. My hand snags something hard. I pick up a sock sagging like it’s full of stones.

Inside is an enormous metal screw—maybe eight inches long and a good one inch wide with a washer on it.

“What is
that
?” Theresa asks.

“Bottom drawer,” Natalie says.

“That was in her suitcase? Let me see.” Jimmy takes the big screw from me. He turns the thing over in his hand, twists the washer up, twists it down. “This is for . . . It’s used to . . . push things . . . force ’em . . . apart. Uh-oh!” Jimmy’s mouth drops open, like someone poked him hard in the ribs. “I know what this is . . . They use it to push the bars apart. It’s a bar spreader,” he says.

“What bars?” Theresa asks.

Jimmy leans in to whisper the answer in my ear.

Theresa gives him a swift sock in the arm. “No secrets or I’m telling!”

Jimmy pulls at his glasses. “The prison bars, Theresa, so they can escape,” he explains.

Theresa’s mouth drops open. “You’re lying. That’s a big fib, Jimmy Mattaman.”