The Summer Kitchen (13 page)

“You’re welcome.” I had the fleeting thought that Poppy would be glad for someone to take the flowerpots from the rubbish pile. He and Aunt Ruth would have been against putting them there in the first place.
Waste not, want not.

“He’s potting . . . for the church . . . sale. He tends the . . . flowers.” The woman in the wheelchair, Teddy’s mother, formed each word carefully, so that they dragged like a record playing a bit too slow. Her face drooped on one side, like my stepfather’s after he’d suffered a stroke. “We live . . . on Blue . . . Sky . . . Hill.” Perhaps she’d said that to let me know digging through rubbish piles wasn’t her normal occupation. Even though Blue Sky Hill was not far from Poppy’s, the stately homes there were a world away from the little houses on Poppy’s street. When Teddy’s sister had come by our yard sale looking for him, I’d been surprised to learn that he lived on the hill.
He’s a ways from home,
I’d said to her, and she’d looked worried.

“Gon’ sell some plant,” Teddy muttered, then headed off to begin his salvage project. Grabbing a box off the top of the pile, he set some empty flowerpots inside, then dug deeper, commenting enthusiastically about the junk we’d dumped on the curb.

The nurse introduced both herself and the woman in the wheelchair, Hanna Beth, as we watched Teddy sort and comment. “We walked down from the church,” she said. “It’s such a nice day.”

“Paint-ting?” Hanna Beth nodded at my spattered sweat suit.

“Oh, just a little.” I realized I was probably a mess.

“Sell-ing . . . your house?” She helped define the words by indicating the real estate sign.

“It was my great-uncle’s house.”

“Oh.” Her quick brown eyes took in Poppy’s place. “A Sears . . . house. I grew up in a . . . Sears house . . . not way . . .” Pausing, she shook her head and pressed her lips together with determination. “Not far . . . a-way there.”

I tried to make sense of what she’d said. “A Sears house. . . . You know, I think this was a Sears Catalog house. I’d forgotten all about that, but I recall Aunt Ruth talking about Poppy ordering the house, and a railcar delivering it in pieces.”

“Yes!” Hanna Beth smiled. “I remem-ber, too. In pieces. Like puz-zles.”

Memories of Poppy and Aunt Ruth proudly talking about the building of the house filled my mind. I hadn’t thought about that in years. “They used the boards from the crating to frame up a summer kitchen out back.”

Nearby, the trash pile shifted, and Teddy made a discovery. “Ohhh! Sho-bel, and got hoe. Broke hoe.” He dragged out a shovel head and a hoe with a partial handle, then held them up. “I gone take them to Pas-ter Al church, ’kay, Mama? Take the sho-bel and the hoe.”

Hanna Beth smiled indulgently, then explained, “Ted-eee loves . . . the church . . . gardens.”

“I’ve seen him there,” I offered. “He must do a good job. The plants have been beautiful lately. A lot better than these, I’m afraid.” Frowning over my shoulder, I took in the sadly overgrown flower beds around Poppy’s house. Aunt Ruth would have been mortified.

Teddy straightened, his gaze slipping past me toward the little pink house. “You gotta cut them rose. Ant-tigue rose, gotta cut new wood, and thinnin’ iris, and di-antis takin’ the deadhead off. . . .”

I looked at the scraggly rosebushes along the porch, musing over what the house used to be and what it was now. “My aunt and uncle always kept the gardens in such beautiful shape.” Impulsively, I turned back to Hanna Beth and the nurse. “Would Teddy be interested in cleaning up the flower beds here? I’d pay him.”

“Ho-kay,” Teddy replied, then dropped the junk pile and started toward the flower beds.

His enthusiasm made the three of us laugh. “Oh, I didn’t mean right this minute. I’ll be here painting for a few days yet.”

Hanna Beth smiled and called Teddy back to her chair. “To morrrrow,” she said. “Mary can . . . bring him around ten.”

“Wonderful!” I agreed.

The nurse checked her watch and suggested that they should be heading home for lunch and medication. Teddy rescued his box from the rubbish pile and set it in his mother’s lap.

“I gone come to-morro, lady.” He waved as Mary turned the wheelchair, and they proceeded back toward the white church. Taking the handles from the nurse, Teddy made a motor sound and popped a wheelie. “She a nice lady,” he said. “She gimme some pots. Good pots. I gone clean the flowers’ beds.”

Chapter 8

Cass

Opal and me sat on our apartment steps and watched while that lady drove away. For once, the kids next door weren’t around. They were probably still hiding behind the other building in the storm ditch.

I opened the bag, and sure enough, it was sandwiches in red plastic wrap. I counted them. Ten altogether. That lady must of used a whole loaf of bread. The bag even smelled like peanut butter and strawberries, which made the back of my mouth water.

“Mmmm,” Opal said, looking into the bag. Sucking hard on her thumb, she rolled her eyes up at me and watched to see what I would say.

“You want one?” Mama would of had a heart attack about me eating sandwiches dropped off by some lady I didn’t know from Adam.

Don’t take candy from strangers
probably included sandwiches, too. Last year, in the sixth grade in Mrs. Dobbs’s class, a guy from the Montana Highway Patrol came and gave a slide show about all the ways people made drugs look like candy, so little kids’d try it. Then you got hooked, and that was that. You were dealin’ Jolly Ranchers, and next thing you were on the billboard about your brain on meth. We laughed when he said that, and he laughed, too, but then his face went straight and he said, “I know that sounds funny, but there’s a serious point here. It’s just that easy. You think you’re playing around, and before you realize it, you’re into something you can’t get out of.”

His look passed over me, and it seemed to stop, and we froze that way for a second. After the talk was over, while everyone was walking around the tables looking at pictures of meth people and slices of drug brains, I almost went over to him. I thought about telling him that one time when the door wasn’t shut all the way, I saw dirty pictures on creepy Roger’s computer, and I was afraid my mama would have to go in the hospital again pretty soon, and I didn’t want to be at creepy Roger’s when she did.

You’re into something you can’t get out of,
I thought, and I left it be. I was afraid I’d make trouble for Mama, and she had enough to worry about already. Once she went to the hospital, I started going and watching Rusty’s football practice after school, instead of riding the bus home. Rusty was good at football. Too bad he didn’t end up getting to be in school for his senior year. Mama would of hated that, too.

I looked in the bag again, and it smelled so good. Really, why would some lady come over here to bring us poison sandwiches? She had a nice car, and she didn’t seem psycho or anything. She had paint on her clothes, which fit with the story about working on some house on Red Bird.

Opal was still watching me, her eyes blinking real slow, the long lashes going up and down like paper fans.

“Oh, all right.” I took out a sandwich, and unwrapped it, and gave it to her, then got one for myself. They were pretty good, a little bit soggy, though. Mama always put peanut butter on both pieces of bread, so the jelly wouldn’t soak in and make it gushy. Peanut butter was an impermeable barrier. I learned that in science class. Mrs. Dobbs always had neat examples.

She came to Mama’s funeral and sat in the third row, right behind Rusty and me and creepy Roger. After the service, she got me off to the side and said, “Cass, I want you to know I’m here for you. If there’s anything . . . well . . . anything you need, or if you want someone to talk to.”

I looked over, and creepy Roger was headed our way.

“Okay, Mrs. Dobbs,” I said, and she hugged me so tight I thought she was trying to get the truth out of me by osmosis. Sometimes I wondered what she probably thought when I didn’t show up for school the Monday after Mama’s funeral. . . .

Halfway through the sandwiches, me and Opal got thirsty, so we went inside for a drink. The bedroom door was still shut, of course. I was quiet with the cabinets and the glasses while I got water for Opal and me. I wasn’t sure why, except I didn’t want to see Kiki.

When I tried to give Opal her glass, she wanted “Mmmm-ik,” so I poured out some of the water and stirred in the last of the ice cream from the leftover milkshake in the freezer.

“There you go. Milk,” I said, and set it in front of her. It didn’t look very good, but she drank it anyway.

After we were finished with the first sandwiches, we halved another. Opal didn’t really eat hers, so I wrapped it back up for later. I ate all of mine, when normally I would have saved some for later, but when you’ve got ten sandwiches in a bag, it seems all right to eat one and a half. Opal and me could take the money we were gonna spend on lunch and do laundry with it. Once Kiki finally cleared out this afternoon, I’d sort through their stuff and get Opal’s. If Opal was gonna be hanging on my leg all the time, she needed to not smell like her clothes had been peed in.

After I cleaned the dishes and put them away, I stared into the paper bag for a minute. “Looks like supper to me,” I said to Opal. “The lady wanted the sandwiches to go to hungry kids. Here we are.”

Opal pulled her feet up under her and stood in the chair, so she could see into the bag, too. “Unt nudder namich,” she said.

“You can’t have another one right now,” I told her. “You didn’t finish your last half.” I rolled the bag shut because, really, it didn’t smell so good anymore.

Opal made a pouty lip and sat down in her chair.

“We should go on to the Book Basket.” With everything that’d happened that morning, I’d almost forgot we were headed to the store. “Let’s go get some new books, okay?”

“ ’Kay!” Opal quit pouting right away. I picked up the bag and looked around for a place to put it where Kiki wouldn’t see it. Kiki could find her own food, was the way I looked at it.

I heard the kids next door, and for about a half a second, I felt bad. They banged on their window, and the baby cried in the apartment, and their mama hollered at them to quit making a racket or she was gonna come out there and give them somethin’ to cry about. Then there was a man’s voice with hers, and the baby just kept on fussing. If Rusty’d been home, he would of pounded on the wall to make her take care of the baby.

The sandwich bag felt heavy in my arm. The jelly’d soaked through and made a little round spot on the palm of my hand. It made me think of the stained-glass window in Mama’s church—big hands with little red circles in the middle and water cupped in the fingers. I sat there and looked at it the day of Mama’s funeral, because I didn’t want to see the casket. Mama shouldn’t of had a plain brown casket. She didn’t like brown. She liked bright colors. . . .

The red on the window hands was too bright. It didn’t look like blood, but of course, I knew the story—you can’t go to Sunday school, even some of the time, without knowing the story—but with the light coming through from behind, the red spots in the hands looked perfect, and round, and pretty.

I always thought the story of Jesus’s bloody hands was sad when they told it on Easter, but the day of Mama’s funeral, I looked at the window and thought Jesus had strawberry jelly on his hands. Something sweet, and good.

I wasn’t afraid for Mama to go to heaven anymore.

I just kept thinking about those hands touching her, leaving a perfect round stain on her pretty white robe. The preacher said there wasn’t any sickness in heaven, and I thought how awesome it would be for Mama not to be sick.

Now, looking down at the spot on my hand, I thought of the Jesus window and Mama. She wouldn’t like it that I was hunting a place to hide those sandwiches. Neither would Jesus, actually.
You get back what you give, Cass Sally Blue,
Mama always said.
You just remember that.
There was a little selfish streak in me she said needed work.

I headed out of the kitchen, and Opal got off her chair and followed me. When I opened the door, light flooded into the room, and for the first time in a long time I felt like Mama was right there beside me in her white robe and angel wings.

The kids’d given up banging on their door and they were sitting on the steps, drawing on the cement with chalky rocks from the storm ditch. The littlest one had tears all over his face and snot running down his chin. He looked over at us, and that stuff was hanging like a couple of big green gummy worms. They jiggled in the sun while his chin trembled.

Gross.

I turned around and went back in the house and grabbed a stack of leftover McDonald’s napkins, then headed out again. Opal choochooed along, holding a handful of my shorts like she thought I was gonna leave her behind.

The kids watched me when I came out. They always did that. For just a second, I wanted to do what I usually did and pretend I didn’t see them. It was their lazy, stinking mom’s job to take care of them, not mine. I already had one rugrat hanging on my shorts, and I still wasn’t even sure how that happened.

“I’ve got some sandwiches. Ya’ll want one?” Maybe they’d say no, and I could put the sandwiches back inside, and me and Opal could go on to the Book Basket.

The oldest girl, who went to elementary school once in a while when her mom woke her up and got her dressed, sneered sideways at me like she figured I was pulling her leg. “What kind?”

You little brat,
I thought.
Never mind, then. Just hang out over there and see what kind of sandwiches your mom gives you.

“Nub-bubber-nelly-nam-ich,” Opal answered, and the girl from next door gave her a snotty look.

“Where’d
she
come from?”

“She’s my cousin.”

“She don’ look like you cousin.”

“Well, she is.” The last thing I needed was for anyone to tell sweaty Charlie we had some stripper and her kid living in our apartment. “Do you want a sandwich or not, because we’ve got stuff to do.”