Asked For (12 page)

“What are you doing?” she asked as she slipped into the room. The downstairs was quiet now. Pop was done for the night, but it would take awhile before James would be tired enough to sleep. “
That boy”
had to quiet down in his head just like it did in the downstairs.

Carla eased to the side of his bed. She resembled Mama. Even her silhouette spoke of Mama’s lithe grace.

Magdalena put a hand on James’ leg in the dark and squeezed. “Talking about family stuff,” she said.

“About Mama and Pop?” Carla asked, glancing back toward the door.

“Kind of, but more about James.”

They were quiet. The uneasiness that was always there was even worse when they talked about it. No matter how apparent the bad things were, they stayed invisible if no one said them out loud. James wanted to change the subject, talk about anything except what they’d all heard Pop shouting, but he couldn’t think of anything to say beyond the two words that were stuck in his head.

“I saw part of your game today,” Carla whispered.

James groaned. Baseball was not the way to keep the bad things invisible.
That boy
made them obvious enough, but baseball made them inimitable.

“You’re a good player.”

The bad he’d hoped to avoid exploded in his gut. He’d improved enough to be kind of good. He’d worked hard, but still, kind of good hadn’t been good enough. Not good enough for Pop to come to a game, or help him practice, or ever say James played fairly well. For years he’d waited for Pop to come to a game, give him some advice. But he never did. James stole a glance at Magdalena. He envied that hard place in her, the one that didn’t care. The bad stuff hurt because he’d always cared. He wasn’t full of stone like Magdalena was.

“Is he like Pop?” Magdalena asked.

James gaped at the question. He didn’t want Carla to answer. Everyone knew he didn’t play as good as Pop. It wasn’t like Magdalena to be so careless. Maybe she did drink. Maybe Harold and Alex were right. He rolled and wadded her dollar in his fist until it felt hard and tiny, like a miniature baseball.

His sisters stared at one another in the dark. He could see their faces pointed, each at the other, saying something without speaking. Carla’s head began to shake slowly from side to side. Then she turned his way.

“You are different from Pop, James.” Carla’s voice was quiet.

James wanted to fire the wadded dollar bill into the dark across the room. “Of course I’m different, but it’s not a good kind of different.” He shouldn’t yell, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m smaller, I don’t play ball like he did, and I never do anything right!”

Carla’s hand touched his shoulder. It was like Mama, the way she touched him. It quieted him, at least his voice. He was still yelling on the inside, screaming that things would never be right, not the way he wanted them to be.

“You are a good player,” she said. “Even if Pop never says so.” She brought two coins up and held them where he could see them. Then she set them on his blanket and pressed them down with one finger before she let go. “There.”

“What are those?”

“Two tokens for ice cream at Mr. Morgan’s restaurant. He handed them to me downtown this evening. He said he gave the boys on your team one apiece, but you deserved two because you pitched a winning game.” Carla smoothed the blanket around the tokens. She straightened, studied them a moment, then looked at James.

James had seen Mr. Morgan watching the game. He came to lots of them, but James avoided him now. Pop hated him. He had for years, a squabble about his shop, or something the two of them could never resolve. James stared at the tokens, rolling the dollar in his hand.

“It’s not baseball,” Carla said. James glanced up and saw her watching Magdalena as she spoke. “It’s not even how you look. It’s deeper.”

Magdalena stood. “You’re different from Pop. You’re better than him. That’s all.”

James opened his mouth but closed it again. Better? Never. He’d be happy just to be like Pop in baseball, but it wasn’t working.

“Gotta go.” Magdalena laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Where? It’s late.”

“More work.”

“Now? Really?” He could feel her grin in the dark. She liked her world and her schedule. It gave her power.

“Old people keep odd hours. I make myself available to suit them. See you tomorrow.” Magdalena left the room. Carla and James watched her go. They looked at each other after they could no longer hear her creaking down the stairs.

“I wish Magdalena’d be more careful,” Carla said.

“It’s just old people.”

Carla stared at him, the worry lingering on her face. “Yeah,” she said, “just old people.”

He didn’t understand his sisters, not about this, not about him being different, and certainly not about him being better than Pop. “I don’t understand,” he finally said.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Carla bolstered herself. “She’ll be okay. Magdalena has a way of getting by.”

“I mean I don’t understand about me and Pop.”

Carla looked at the door. She twisted her hands the way she did when she was thinking. “That’s how it looks, James, in ways I know you can’t see.” She turned his direction, her face only half lit by the glow from the doorway. “You’re different. You can be better than Pop if you want.”

He stared at his sister, waiting for her to see how ludicrous that sounded. “You’re crazy. You and Magdalena both.”

“Magdalena told me once Pop picks on the things that defy him or scare him. He picks on her for the first reason. He’s not afraid of her like he is of you.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “See you tomorrow.” Carla slipped away from the bed and through the door, closing it softly behind her.

James stared at the tokens, then swiped them off the blanket into his hand. He stuffed them and the dollar beneath his pillow and slid between the sheets. He stared at the door. The glow around its edges began to waver, distort, and move like a luminous snake in the blackness. Wet trickled down the side of his face, leaving a streak of cool in its path. He squeezed his eyes. The snake disappeared, and his lashes felt cool with moisture. He rolled to his stomach and buried his face in his pillow. He would stay this way, forever if he had to, until everything disappeared.

Chapter 13

James 1952

The tokens bumped together in James’ pocket, their sound a dull ping, a reminder that Mr. Morgan thought he was good, good enough for two tokens instead of just one. The tinny noise jangled out its compliment, one he decided he didn’t need, and one he’d decided to return.

James turned down the sidewalk toward Mr. Morgan’s restaurant. He’d slammed the ball harder than ever at practice today. It was his first homerun, an electrifying jolt of wood against ball that still vibrated clear to his teeth.
Hustle it up a little
, the coach had yelled at the outfielders when James’ hit dropped behind them. They saved their best for the games, making it look like James’ homerun didn’t count. But it did count. He’d torn around the bases because it meant everything to him—meant he didn’t need compliments or tokens to spur him on. Not from Pop, and not from Mr. Morgan.

James’ reflection appeared alongside him in Andy’s father’s hardware store window. He paused and glanced at himself, at the James that had hit his first homerun. He straightened and wished he had the long, lanky limbs Pop had. He jabbed his arms to the right and the left. They didn’t react like snakes. If long legs and quick arms were what he needed to be really good, then Pop was right, baseball wasn’t in his blood. He dropped his arms back down to his sides. Something was in James’ blood, though, and that something had sent him around the bases for a score today. He studied his dark hair, his tan skin, his stout build. Magdalena said he was handsome, handsome like Mama was pretty, just neither one of them knew it. He thought that was a funny thing to say. Handsome wasn’t what helped him hit a homerun today.

Andy appeared within James’ reflection. Funny expressions, contorted mouth and eye gyrations, and silly faces blurred James’ image enough it looked like there were two of him, one handsome and fairly sensible, the other not quite as handsome and rarely sensible. James grinned. Andy ran along the inside of the store’s front to the door and popped out onto the sidewalk.

“You looking for me?” He still had his ball clothes on from practice, just like James did, but Andy’s were dirtier because he fell a lot. James thought it was to make everyone laugh, maybe to hide the fact Andy wasn’t a very good player. Or maybe Andy didn’t really care.

“Naw, I was heading home.” He glanced at Mr. Morgan’s restaurant next door and jangled the two tokens in his pocket.

“Whatcha got there?” Andy tipped his head to the side and stared at James’ pocket. “You got money? You never have money.”

James tried not to blush. No one in his family had money except Pop. Harold and Alex made enough to go out on their double dates now and then, but Pop didn’t give them any more than that for wages. He said they were old enough to earn their keep, and they were expected to help at the shop to pay their way. James had given them the dollar Magdalena had given him. He knew they deserved it, and they’d been excited. Magdalena always acted like she didn’t have much for all the work she did, but James knew better. She bought little things for Mama and his sisters, just none of them ever let on.

“It’s just a couple of tokens. I was taking them back to Mr. Morgan to…”

“To get two ice creams?” Andy’s eyes lit up and his tongue ran over his lips. Andy bounced up and down on his toes. Andy was right, except for Magdalena’s dollar he’d given away, James never had money. He pinched the tokens together. He’d never had a thing he could share with his friend.

“You want ice cream?”

“You betcha!” Andy raced to the restaurant’s door and yanked it open. “Come on!”

James hesitated. This wasn’t what he’d intended to do. If he hadn’t jangled the tokens he could have returned them privately, thanked Mr. Morgan, and been on his way. He would have been in and out and no one would ever have known. James had never gone into Mr. Morgan’s restaurant before. They all knew how Pop felt about Mr. Morgan, and only Magdalena dared to go in. Andy opened the door wider, sweeping his arm to usher James in.

James stepped to Andy and dug the tokens out of his pocket. He held them out. “Take these and go have a double. On me. Well, on Mr. Morgan.”

“You aren’t coming in? Don’t you want ice cream?” Andy let the door close.

“I need to get home. You go on.” James jiggled his hand, the coins clinking like dull little bells. “Take them. It’s fine.”

“No, thanks. I’ll wait until you can go with me. It’s more fun that way. And besides, they’re yours. I already used mine.”

James dropped his hand and stuffed the tokens back into his pocket. He looked at his friend and then at the doorway. “Oh, all right. Come on, I’ve got a little time.”

Andy’s long thin arm shot out and yanked the door open again. He stood back and waited for James to walk through first.

“You go ahead,” James said.

Andy darted through the door and held it from the other side for James. James drew in a deep breath and followed him.

Mr. Morgan looked up as the door closed behind James. The light from the front windows highlighted Mr. Morgan’s face. His look of casual welcome changed to surprise when his eyes lit on James. His features became animated with a boyish excitement as he set the glass and the white towel he was drying it with aside. James had never seen him move so quickly. Mr. Morgan nearly ran around the counter as he hurried to meet the boys.

“James, Andy, come in. Come over to the fountain, and I’ll make you both something.” He waved them in the direction he’d come from.

Andy beat Mr. Morgan to the counter. He hopped onto a red stool and was swiveling in circles before either Mr. Morgan or James reached him. James watched his friend spin. It looked like fun and he wanted to do the same, but it wouldn’t be right. He didn’t intend to come in here for fun, and Pop would have something to say if he spotted him.

“Have a seat.” Mr. Morgan nodded toward the stool next to Andy, who was nothing but a blur now. “What can I get for you boys?” he asked from the far side of the counter, wiping his hands on the towel again.

Andy screeched to a halt. “Anything?”

James frowned. Andy surely was in here often enough to have plenty of ice cream. He didn’t know how Andy’s parents could keep him out, with their store being right next door. James laid his glove on the counter and dug the two tokens back out of his pocket. “We want two ice creams.”

Mr. Morgan didn’t answer. He was eyeing James’ glove. He touched the soft leather and looked up. “You like this glove?” he asked.

James watched Mr. Morgan’s fingers trace the smooth leather that had broken in so well. “It’s the best,” he said. “Much better than the old one my brothers handed down to me.” James cupped the tokens in his hand and extended them across the counter. “I have these for our ice cream.”

Mr. Morgan looked at James’ hand. He nodded and took the tokens and stacked them near the register. “It’s the best there is. Your glove, I mean.”

Andy resumed spinning, and Mr. Morgan turned his back to the boys, his hands and arms reaching and dipping and spooning up ice cream like a master. James glanced at the front windows, the tinkle of silverware and glass in the background as Mr. Morgan worked. James would only do this once, only because of Andy.

Mr. Morgan finally turned and presented them with two dishes of ice cream. Three candied mountains were aligned in each bowl, white mounds dripping with a sugary sheen of chocolate lava, forests of fruits and candies sprinkled down their sides. James tried not to let his eyes pop or his mouth drop open like Andy’s had.

“That’s…that’s a token’s worth of ice cream?” James finally asked.

“Yep.” Mr. Morgan scooted the dishes in front of him and Andy. Andy’s finger made a road through the running chocolate as Mr. Morgan handed them spoons. James looked up. Mr. Morgan’s gaze caught him, it was so familiar. It was the same one he’d seen a long time ago, the time Mr. Morgan showed him how to choke up on a bat, the time he said Mama was beautiful.