Watermelon Days and Firefly Nights: Heartwarming Scenes from Small Town Life (9 page)

“A little Mexican,” Todd heard his mother mutter to herself. “Will it have brown eyes?”

“Most likely.”

“Brown hair too?”

“I expect so.”

Brown hair, brown eyes. Likely the baby would have brown skin too.

“Mom, we want you to be happy for us.”

“I am. I mean, I will be. But Todd, there’s some things about this that worry me.”

Todd knew from experience that it was best not to argue with his mother. “We’re bringing the baby home on Tuesday the twelfth. Our flight arrives right at noon. How about the three of us swing by and pick you up on our way back to Ella Louise? Folks in town are giving us a big party. It’ll be fun. You can stay with us a few days, get to know your new grandchild.”

Though she was still not convinced, Todd got her to agree.

“Mom’s getting older. More set in her ways,” Todd told Patricia when he hung up. “She’s worried about us getting a baby from way off. Thinks we should get an American baby.”

“You mean a white baby?”

“She didn’t come out and say it, but I think that’s pretty much what she means.”

“Don’t worry. Much as she loves kids, once she sees the baby, she’ll come around.”

“I hope so.”

And when, two weeks later, Todd knocked on his mother’s door, it was clear that she had. “Come in this house! I’ve been looking for you for hours! Where’s Patricia?”

Patricia stood on the steps behind Todd, out of his mother’s line of vision. Todd stepped aside.

“Did you get the baby? There she is! A girl? Let me see her! Oh my goodness, give her to me.” She took the baby from Patricia and gently lifted the blanket from her new granddaughter’s face. “Look.” Tears filled her eyes. “Isn’t she just the prettiest little thing.”

Not taking her eyes off the baby, she directed them inside. “You all come in. Sit down. Patricia, go on in the kitchen and fix you and Todd something to drink. I’m going to sit right here and hold this baby.”

Todd went in to help Patricia. He noticed a box with a California return address sitting on the kitchen table. “What’s this, Mom?” he called to her. “This big box. You order something?” Except for Lillian Vernon, who she considered a long-distance
friend, his mother didn’t trust folks who sold stuff through the mail.

His mother came into the kitchen, still carrying the baby. “That’s my Spanish lessons,” she said.

“You’re studying Spanish?”

“’Course I am. Aren’t you?”

“Uh, no. I’m not.”

“Well, when do you intend to start? You don’t have more than a few months—a year at the most.”

“A few months? A year?” Todd was confused. “What are you talking about? Mom, why would I want to learn Spanish?”

“Son! How else do you intend to be able to talk to your daughter?” she huffed. “Now, I admit, when you first told me you were getting a little Mexican baby . . .”

“Honduran,” Todd interrupted.

She waved him quiet. “I was afraid that I couldn’t do it—that learning a new language would be too hard. Fact is, I didn’t know where to start or how to go about it. You forget, Todd, that I’m an old woman. It’s not so easy for me to learn new things. But then I saw where you could order these Spanish lessons from off of the TV. The lessons came yesterday, and I stayed up till 10:00 last night listening to a tape and filling out my workbook. Not to be bragging or anything, but I’ve learned five Spanish words already. Did you know that
abuela
means grandmother?”

Todd struggled to keep the grin off his face. Careful not to squish the baby, he gathered his mother into his arms. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too. Watch her little head now.”

T
ODD AND
P
ATRICIA’S BABY
,
Alecia, is now ten months. She’s a chubby-cheeked, brown-eyed little darling who’s crazy about her grandma. She kicks her little legs and breaks into a grin whenever she sees her, which is often these days.

“Te amo
,” says Grandma to Alecia.

“Goo,” says Alecia.

“See,” Grandma says to Todd. “She understands.”

Without a doubt.

6

A
NGEL
I
NCOGNITO

F
OUR PAIRS OF SHORTS
.
Two pairs of jeans.

Ten T-shirts. Two long-sleeve shirts.

Flashlight.

Rain poncho.

One pair of athletic shoes. One pair of hiking boots.

Underwear for a week and a half.

Bible. Notebook. Pens.

Sarah Strickland, mother of twelve-year-old twins Kevin and Josh, struggled to fit all of the items printed on the camp-provided “What to Pack” list into her boys’ two suitcases.

Sarah’s sneaky sons, drafted into perching their bony bottoms on the bags while she snapped the latches, watched her doings and silently noted that there was precious little room left for them to squeeze in the contraband that their friends had assured them was essential—important stuff like water balloons, bubble gum, whoopee cushions, and fake vomit.

“There. You’re all set,” their mother said. “We’ll pack your toothbrushes in the morning. I think they’ll fit in the side zipper pocket. Can you guys think of anything else?”

They could not.

Kevin and Josh waited till their mother left the room and they could hear her running her evening bath. Then they rearranged. Taking out a few unnecessary items like half of the underwear and socks, which they hid under Josh’s bed, they were able to shove almost all of the essentials in. Only the fake vomit refused to fit, but that was no problem. Josh could stuff it down his shirt, which was probably a good idea anyway. He didn’t want it to get torn up.

“Wait, Kev, where’s my joke book?” remembered Josh. They’d discussed bringing it and had agreed that the treasured, dog-eared volume of classic bathroom humor would make for some great late-night, laugh-till-you-pass-gas reading.

“It’s packed. I put it in the side pocket of the green bag,” said Kevin.

“Good. Did you zip it up so Mom won’t find it?”

“Yeah. I did.”

Kevin and Josh really wanted to ride the church bus to Camp Road Runner. Some of their friends were doing so, and camp personnel had arranged to meet the bus when it arrived. But their mom, Sarah, who they had begged and cajoled into letting them sign up for their first stay at a ten-day session of church sleep-away camp, insisted on driving them the two hours south.

O
NCE THERE
,
she was not about to let them out near the gate with the other kids. Oh no. Not their mother. She insisted on escorting them to their cabin, meeting their counselor, shaking his hand, and finding out stuff about him. He turned out to be a bearded Christian college junior, a physical education major. Dressed to impress, he was wearing faded army fatigues cut off below the knees, flip-flops, and a yellow T-shirt that read “Follow Me to the Library.”

Sarah did not believe she had ever seen anyone with such hairy feet.

“Pancho Jones.” He gave each of the boys a high five. “Hey, Kev. Yo, Josh. Welcome to Camp Road Runner. Come on in and pick yourselves out a bunk. Nice to meet you, Miz Strickland.”

Sarah wondered how well the camp screened the staff.

Stalling, Sarah decided to help her sons make up their beds. “Mom!” protested Kevin in a desperate whisper. “I don’t need any help. I can put the sheet on by myself!”

Then she proceeded to give Pancho detailed instructions on how to give the boys their vitamins. “One of these twice a day, two of these once a day, and three each of these every other day. Understand?”

Pancho wrote it all down.

Kevin and Josh walked their mom down the hill to the parking area and told her their good-byes at the side of the van, looking around to make sure the guys couldn’t see their mom kiss them.

“Wear deodorant every day, and don’t forget to write!” In their bags, Sarah had packed six stamped envelopes addressed to Ella Louise.

Finally, she was ready to leave. “Bye, boys! Have a great time,” she said through tears.

As soon as she was gone, Kevin and Josh raced back up the hill to where Pancho and their five cabin mates were hanging out. It was pretty quiet inside the cabin. Not much happened the first afternoon of camp, and everyone acted pretty bored. The boys, most of them away from home for the first time like Josh and Kevin, were feeling a wee bit homesick already. They were all either sitting slump-shouldered on the edges of their bunks or lying down, staring at the rafters overhead.

Not Kevin and Josh. Emboldened as always by the presence of each other, they were eager to have fun.

“Pancho, what do we do now?” asked Kevin.

“Can we go swimming?” asked Josh.

“Can we go down to the creek?” asked Kevin.

Hearing the twins’ questions, cabin mates Lindon, James, Rudy, Carl, and Max’s ears all perked up.

“Yeah, Pancho. Can we?”

Pancho looked at his watch. “Guys, I know everybody’s tired of just hanging out here. We’ll get moving really soon. But for now we’ve gotta stay close to our cabin ’cause there’s two more campers coming.” He looked at his list. “Trey Biddles and Ralph Smart. Both of ’em from Oklahoma. Soon as they get here and we get ’em settled in, we’ll do something. Promise. In the meantime, come ’ere.” He led them outside and pointed to a cleared area fifty yards away from the cabin. “See the basket nailed up on that pine tree? Halfway down the hill? Y’all can go down there and shoot some hoops if you want. Just don’t go any farther than that.”

The boys ran down to the hoop and shot around just long enough to begin arguing and raising dust when Kevin stopped play by holding the ball.

“Hey! What’re you doin’?” red-faced Rudy asked.

Kevin motioned toward the cabin. “Looks like the last two guys just got here. Let’s go see.”

“Only one of ’em’s here,” argued Rudy. “That other guy’s too big. He’s gotta be the dad. Come on. Let’s play ball.”

Rudy was proved wrong when Pancho called them to the cabin. They raced each other back.

“Dudes,” Pancho said to the sweaty group, “this is Trey and this is Ralph. They’re our last two campers. Make ’em feel welcome. Tell ’em who you are.”

The boys said nothing. They just stood there, slack-jawed and staring.

“Hey, there,” the first guy said, sticking out his hand. “I’m Ralph.”

This guy was big, as big as a grown-up. Shoot. He
was
a grown-up. Wasn’t this supposed to be a camp for kids?

Then the other guy said, “Hello. I’m Trey. What’s your name?”

He was . . .

He was . . .

Uh . . .

The other guy? The last kid to move into the cabin?

He was mentally handicapped.
Twelve years old, but with Down’s Syndrome. A mentally handicapped kid at Camp Road Runner. They allowed that? Since when?