One Day and One Amazing Morning on Orange Street (13 page)

Gently, Leandra covered the bird with a tissue blanket. Maybe Bean would feel too warm, all covered up on a warm
evening, or maybe not warm enough. You usually feel kind of shivery when you're not feeling well. Leandra herself did, anyway. Who knows how a speck of a hummingbird was feeling?

“Uh-huh,” said Big Mom, continuing her phone conversation. “Well, too late now. Hmmm . . . Will do. Uh-huh, for sure! Thanks so much for returning our call, Carlotta.”

“What did she tell you?” Leandra asked, when Big Mom had hung up. “Does it have a chance to live through the night?”

“Of course!” said Big Mom, bending over the dessert bowl. “Well, if we do our parts right, according to Carlotta. Very nice, smart gal. She said we could call her whenever we need to.”

Carlotta was the wild bird expert, and Big Mom made it sound as if they were friends for life. “What are our parts?” Leandra asked.

“First of all, keep it warm. And offer it little drops of water, just as we've been doing . . . But she suggests using the tip of a toothpick instead of the sponge we've been using. It will take as much as it needs. Honey, go get some of your toothpicks from the pantry,” Big Mom said to Little Pop. “And try to calm down that jealous parrot, will you? He's not fooling us
for a minute.” To get attention, Nelson was doing his famous impersonation of a boiling teakettle.

“Check,” said Little Pop. He went across the big room to the Hot Banana cooking section of the apartment.

Leandra's mother came through the door, carrying a plate of brownies.

“How's it going?” she asked. She peeked into Bean's dessert bowl.

“Pretty good. But we'll have to stay up all night,” said Big Mom, selecting a brownie.

“We'll do it in shifts!” said Leandra, happy to stay up all night. She'd always wanted to find out what that was like.

“Carlotta said you probably should have put it back in its nest right away,” said Big Mom.

“But it looked like it needed nursing! Anyway, it's too late now,” said Leandra. She glanced out the window at the darkening sky.

“That's what I told her,” said Big Mom, “but first thing tomorrow, that's what you have to do.”

Leandra didn't answer.

“I repeat,” said Big Mom, “first thing tomorrow morning, that bird goes back to its mother where it belongs!”

Leandra's mother smiled. “It's not a pet, Leandra,” she
said. She pulled Leandra onto her lap. Leandra still fit, but just barely, as she leaned against her mother's big, warm belly.

“And you'll have another baby to care for soon,” said her mother.

“I know, I know,” Leandra said.

“Can't find the toothpicks!” yelled Little Pop from across the room.

“Try the medicine cabinet!” Big Mom yelled back.

Leandra hugged her mother. It was true that she was always telling other people to grow up, but it sure felt good to be babyish occasionally. She felt a sudden kick from inside her mother, like a message from her baby sister.
Go on. Tell them
. Yes, it
was
a good time, Leandra decided, especially now that Little Pop was out of earshot.

“It's the giveths and takeths,” she said.

“What?” asked her mother.

“That's why I've been so grumpy.”

Big Mom leaned over. She put her big hand under Leandra's chin and turned Leandra's head so she was looking right at her. “Listen here,” she said. “The Lord giveth and taketh away; we're born, we die. But one thing has nothing to do with the other. Understand? Nothing at
all! Your grandpop will be here doing push-ups and revving up the battery when that baby arrives.”

“OK. Just thought I'd mention it,” Leandra said, as if those black-magic thoughts hadn't been bothering her at all.

“Here we are!” said Little Pop, returning with the box of toothpicks, another dessert bowl, this one filled with water, and Nelson, perched on top his head. “Nelson just wanted to see if we still loved him. A few peanuts should help, before he goes back into his cage.”

Leandra could feel her heart expand inside her chest. It was a funny feeling, partly relief, and partly love, no doubt about it, even though she'd only known Bean for about four hours. And she could do her part real well, no doubt about
that
, either, for any other babies coming along. She knew that for sure now.

Or she'd known it for about two hundred and forty minutes.

She got off from her mother's lap, and dipped a toothpick into the bowl of water. Bean opened its beak and drank.

That evening there was just enough time for Ali to see her father cry. She had never seen her father cry before.

Adults cried differently than kids did. Their shoulders shook more, heaving up and down. They usually had a tissue on hand, ready to blow their noses in, or in her dad's case, a hanky. Her dad always carried hankies, which had to be laundered every week. Now Ali wondered if he did a lot of crying at the grocery store where he worked. Probably.

“Don't cry, Papa,” she said, throwing her arms around his waist.

Silly, because she was crying, too. Maybe she and Manny shouldn't have told her parents about Edgar's words on
the swing, get their hopes all up. Maybe it had been their imagination? Because Edgar wasn't saying anything now.
Nada!
Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Silent as her heart-shaped stone.

There he was, looking so solemn in his cute blue dinosaur PJs. Boy, did he ever used to love those PJs! “Tyrano-sore-is-rocks!” Edgar used to shout. But all he wanted to do now was hug his mama.

“
Mañana es otro día,”
said Manny.

“We know, we know,” said Mrs. Garcia, shifting Edgar onto her other hip. “The doctor says, be patient, give it time. But—”

And then her shoulders began to heave up and down, too.

Now Ali felt angry. Tomorrow is another day! What's with all this time stuff from everyone? Tomorrow comes, and then another one and another one and another one, and nothing changes!

“Gotta go now, little guy,” Manny said. He patted Mrs. Garcia's shoulder, then bent down to kiss Edgar's cheek.

“Edgar, say, ‘bye-bye,'” said Mrs. Garcia. Edgar looked up at Manny, then buried his head in the crook of his mother's neck.

“
Gracias, gracias, Manuel
,” said Mr. Garcia, wrapping Manny in a bear hug.

“See you, Manny,” Ali said, and hugged him, too.

She went into her bedroom. All her found treasures were spread out on a green plastic garbage bag on the floor beside her little desk. Jar lids, nails and screws, the doll's head, the piece of charred wood, the sock, the heart-shaped stone, and a tennis ball, a broken flowerpot, some buttons. She would never, ever know the true facts about all that past stuff. But it cheered her up, shuffling things around, filling in the holes in the stories on her own.

Still, what was the
purpose
of stories, really?

“If only, if only,” she whispered.

Wouldn't it be great if you had the amazing power to fill in the holes of the
future
, and it could turn out any way you wanted it to? Just like that,
Eureka! Shazaam! Presto!

“Oh, grow up,” Ali said.

Her dad stopped by her open bedroom door. “Come. Come eat,” he said. His eyes were still red. “
Mañana es otro día
.”

“I'm coming, Dad,” she said.

She was going to bury that stone again tomorrow: put it right back where she'd found it.

And there was just enough time for Robert to make magic.

He and his father were at the Wok and Roll, a restaurant in the little strip mall at the end of Orange Street. Every Wednesday evening without fail, they had dinner together, and it was often that restaurant because Robert loved the all-you-can-eat sushi buffet and his dad loved the stir-fry.

They didn't have much to say to each other, lately. “How's school?” his father usually asked. But school was out now, so conversation was kind of slow, and Robert himself didn't know what to talk about. His dad seemed to have a million adult
things on his mind. You could tell by that glazed look in his eyes. Did they used to talk a lot? Before? It was kind of hard to remember.

“Dad—”

His dad was concentrating on the bill, and didn't seem to hear him. He always checked bills carefully, especially now that he was more worried about money.

Robert was ready to wow him with his trick. He hoped that would perk things up.

The trick was called the Rice, Orange, and Checkers Mystery. Some rice was placed under a cover. Some checkers were placed under another cover. An orange was placed under a third cover. The magician waved his hands over the covers, and wonder of wonders,
poof!
When the covers were raised,
the three items had changed places!

True, the online version involved giant-sized colorful checkers, ceramic covers, and a whole orange. The version in Ms. Snoops's
Incredible Magic Tricks for a Rainy Day
involved ordinary checkers, a small chunk of orange, and empty tuna fish cans. There was also a lot of flapping about of white napkins, which the online version didn't require. But so
what? When the trick worked, it was still astonishing. The trouble was, after hours and hours of practice, only Robert and his mother had been astonished so far.

Last week he'd tried to perform the trick for his dad at the same restaurant, and had failed miserably. Robert had brought his backpack containing his checkers and empty tuna fish cans. Then, using his leftover rice from dinner, and a couple of the orange chunks always brought to the table after the meal, he performed the trick. Or, rather, he tried to perform it.

Robert tried and tried, but the Rice, Orange, and Checkers Mystery just didn't work. The rice had stuck to the cans, the oranges stuck to (and stained) the tablecloth, and the checkers had rolled onto the floor.

“Hey, old boy,” his dad said, tousling Robert's hair. His father always called him “old boy” when he did something babyish. “Maybe you need a little more practice.” Then his father apologized to the frowning waiter for his son's mess, as if Robert were a pipsqueak wearing a bib.

The real mystery was why it worked at home for his mother. Robert had written down a list, in order to analyze the situation:

The answer had jumped right out at Robert. The orange! Tonight he would perform the trick for his dad, again, but this time he'd brought his own orange chunk, from one of the special oranges Ms. Snoops had given him. (Of course it could have been the magic of the rice in his mother's casserole, but unfortunately, Robert had gobbled up all the leftovers. And yes, yes, his mother was easily impressed, but the fact was,
the fact was
, the trick had worked!)

He was ready to try again. This time it would be different. He could just feel it.

“Dad?”

Robert's father held up a just-gimme-one-second finger as he signed the credit card receipt, then signaled the waiter that they were done. Robert noticed that there was a stain on his father's shirt collar, the same stain from the Wednesday before.

“OK!” said his dad, putting his pen in the breast pocket of his shirt. “Ready to go?”

“Dad, before we leave—” Robert hurriedly arranged his leftover rice, orange chunk, cans, and napkins on the table.

“Robert, not that trick, again! This is getting silly.”

“I've been practicing and practicing. It won't take long.”

“People are waiting for our table, old boy.”

“Dad,
please
! I need you to watch this!”

He hadn't meant to yell. But all of a sudden the whole place got quiet and everyone was looking at their table. Even the hungry people who were lined up at the door craned their necks to see what was going on.

His face had reached Embarrassment Level Three (beet), for sure.

“Hey, Rob. It's OK,” his father said. He reached out to put his hand on Robert's shoulder. “Don't worry. I'm watching.”

He was. He really was. He was staring right into Robert's
eyes. Actually, now that he had his father's full attention, there was plenty Robert wanted to talk about! Girls, for starters. And laundry: Doesn't his dad wash his shirts anymore, for halibut's sake? And does he think about his son during the week? Is his dad lonely? Lots of stuff.

“Trust me. You are really going to like this,” Robert said.

Checkers-Rice-Orange
.

The napkins flapped. His hands moved. He hardly had to think about it. The whole thing took about one second.

Rice-Orange-Checkers
. There.

Robert looked up. Had his father seen the magic?

“Wow, oh, wow,” said his dad.

And there was just enough time for Ms. Snoops to finish up a scrambled egg sandwich and some sweet ambrosia, brew a tall glass of orange-raspberry-zinger tea, plop some ice cubes into a glass, hunt for her favorite fine-point ballpoint pen, drink her tea (now refreshingly cool), hunt for the pen again, which turned up beneath the papers on her desk, then lose herself in memories of other days and other evenings, long ago.