Chasing Lilacs (9 page)

“Maybe you have. Not me.”

“What’s gotten into you? I, for one, would prefer to play basketball than hang around here.”

“You go on ahead. I’ll catch up later.”

“What’s wrong? Are you afraid I’ll get mad if you flirt with Cly?”

“No, I’m not afraid you’ll get mad.” I told her I didn’t feel like playing basketball, but that she should go on and have
fun. I didn’t tell her about the pounding in my chest when I saw Cly pop out the door. Or about that business with Daddy.

Tuwana pranced off.

“Say, Willy, what would you think about me writing an article about you and the grocery business for my newspaper?”

He puffed out his chest. “That would be quite an honor. Give me a couple minutes to finish this inventory.”

I picked up a Big Chief tablet from aisle two for taking notes and went to the cash register.

Willy took the change I’d plunked on the counter and said, “Now, what was it you wanted to know?”

I went straight home when I got through interviewing Willy. Our own vegetable and fruit cocktail cans, the cocoa tin, boxes
of macaroni, practically everything from our cupboard covered the kitchen counter. Mama stood on a chair emptying the top
shelf.

“Cleaning out the cabinets, Mama?”

“Yes… no, but it’s got to be in here somewhere. Did you and Daddy move things around?” Her eyebrows puckered together.

“Nope, though they might have jumbled up when we hunted for the ranch beans or the canned tuna.”

“It’s Patch. I haven’t seen him since we got home. Went to the back door and yelled for him. I thought if I put some Alpo
out, he might come.” She stood on tiptoe, reaching as far back as she could. “The problem is I can’t find any of his food.”

“Mama, are you okay?”

“Certainly. Never better.” She stepped off the chair and rummaged through all the things on the counter, checking each label.

My stomach went queasy. She looked okay. Lots of energy.
But, Patch?

“Mama, are you talking about our terrier, Patch?”

“Good heavens, what other Patch would I be talking about? How many dogs named Patch do you know?”

“Uh, none. There could never be another Patch.”

“Well, he’s out of food. Would you run down to Willy’s and get some?”

“Mama.” I touched my fingers lightly on her arm. “Don’t you remember Patch got hit by the school bus when I was in third grade?
He followed me out of the house, and when…” I took a deep breath. “When the bus started rolling, he got under the tire. How
could you forget that?” A lump formed in my throat.

“Well, that explains it then.” Her face went blank and smooth as if a rag had washed over it.

“How could you forget about Patch?”

“I didn’t forget about him. I wouldn’t be looking for his food if I had forgotten him, now would I?”

“That’s not what I mean.” I didn’t know what I meant, but then I couldn’t explain what had just happened either. I moved over
to the chair and said, “Here, Mama, let’s put things back.”

Why hadn’t I stayed home with her? Her first day back and all. How could I have run off like that?

Mama handed me the cans to put back and laughed in her regular way when I told her about my interview with Willy. He’d come
from Minnesota to open up the store here at Graham Camp. His cousins had a farm near here, and when he and his wife had come
to visit they liked it.

“Graham Camp is a nice place,” Mama said. “Your daddy and I have always thought it was a wonderful place for you to grow up.”

When a knock came on the door, Mama went to answer it, her steps light and springy.

“Yes?”

I expected it would be Tuwana, but…

“You must be Sam’s mom. I’m Cly MacLemore, Norm and Eva’s nephew.”

“How nice to meet you. Come in, young man.”

I stepped into the front room, my stomach heaving triple somersaults.

“Hi, Sam.” Cly took off his baseball cap, and underneath it he had a new flattop haircut.

“Nice hair.”

“Yeah, got Slim to do that.”

“Slim?” Mama asked, looking Cly over.

“Yeah, old man Wallace, across the street from my uncle. He’s pretty hip for an old guy. Which is one reason I came over.
He’s been teaching me the finer points of backgammon. Whips me every time. And, well, bein’ Sam’s such a brain and all, I
thought maybe she could learn too so I’d have someone to practice on.”

Was this the same Cly? What kind of magic did Mama have that he just opened up his mouth so whole paragraphs poured out? Just
like with Tuwana and me.

“Slim gets home about five,” Cly said. “You could come after supper for a lesson.” He gripped his cap in both hands, bending
the bill back and forth, standing on one foot and then shifting his weight to the other.

“How nice.” Mama apparently didn’t know about Daddy forbidding me to see Cly. I swiped my sweaty palms on my shorts.

“Tell me, Cly, where are you from?” Mama said.

“LA mostly.”

“California? Oh my, you’re a long way from home. What do your parents do?”

“Dad’s in construction.” The way he kept folding the bill back and forth, I figured a permanent crease had formed. It was
nice of Mama to ask Cly all those questions even though I’d already told her all about him in my letters.

“I’m sure they miss you. I know I sure missed my Sammie while I was away.” For a minute I thought she might run right into
a spiel about Marilyn Monroe and the layered lady, but she just tilted her mouth into a grin and said to me, “I think I’ll
take a bath before your dad gets home. You two can chat.”

“Wanna sit down?” Alone with Cly for the second time, I got the same butterfly-wing-flapping I’d felt that night on the sidewalk.

“That’s okay, I oughta get going. See if old Norm’s got anything for me to do.”

“You’re doing okay with your uncle then?”

“I’m trying. He ain’t the easiest fellow to please, but Aunt Eva’s a bossin’ cook.”

“About tonight. I don’t think…” I could hear Mama’s bathwater running.

“Your mom seemed cool with it.”

“It’s not that…. Well, it sort of is. I need to stay home with Mama, with her just getting back and all.”

“Jeepers, she ain’t a baby.”

“Look, Cly, I like you. Honest, I do. It’s just that…” A spider no bigger than a grain of rice shinnied up an invisible thread
near the ceiling. I watched it instead of looking at Cly. “It would be easier if you just sat down.” I pointed to Daddy’s
chair.

He sat down, and I perched on the edge of the couch.

“Well, you see, it’s like this. Tuwana’s crazy about you. I’m sure you’ve noticed the way she goes into orbit the minute you’re
around. She’s been my best friend since first grade, and if I hang around you, she gets upset.”

“Tu-tu? She’s a show-off. Everybody thinks so. So Miss Paper Shaker decides who you can and can’t be friends with?”

“No, we have lots of different friends at school, but here at Graham Camp, we’ve just always stuck together.”

“Well, then, we’ll invite Tu-tu along to Slim’s.”

Tuwana visiting Mr. Wallace? Not in my lifetime. I checked on the spider.

“Another thing. Daddy says I can’t hang around you.”
There. I said it.
I waited, watching Cly’s face. He scrunched his eyebrows together, and then his jaw tightened.

“And what reason did your old man give?”

“Don’t call him that. I don’t like it. I’m trying to be as honest as I can. It’s because of your uncle.”

Cly straightened up, surprised, I could tell.

“Norm?”

“Yes, it’s like I tried to tell you the other night. People say you had problems at your old school, skipping or something.
Your uncle told Daddy about it, and Daddy said I couldn’t be around you.”

Cly’s breath hissed out through his teeth. “Norm’s always having a cow about something. It’s bad enough getting shipped to
Nowheresville. But you and me. Well… I thought we were pretty tight, you know? Guess I was wrong.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to think of something, anything to say.

Cly stood up and walked to the door. I heard the bathtub draining and the back door slam at the same time. Daddy breezed in,
bringing the scent of petroleum on his work clothes.

Everything swirled together. The plant smells mixed with Mama’s lilac soap from the bathroom. Cly standing with his cap in
his hand.

Cly twisted the front doorknob and said, “I was just leaving, Mr. Tucker.”

My insides felt scrambled.

A
T SUPPER MAMA CHATTERED
nonstop while we ate salmon patties and macaroni and cheese.

“I thought the MacLemores’ nephew was nice. Very polite.” Mama waved her fork around while she talked.

“First impressions ain’t always what they appear. Norm’s not much of a specimen himself. Reckon the nephew’s made from the
same cloth. I’ll have another salmon patty, sugar.” Daddy held out his plate to Mama.

“I don’t know. You seemed to think I was all right the first time we met.” She gave Daddy a wink.

“Different deal entirely. It’s Sis here we got to concern ourselves with.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Mama reached over and touched me on the arm. “Sammie, you’ve got all the time in the world for boys.”

“He just wanted to teach me backgammon. It’s not that big a deal.” And that wasn’t the point. Daddy didn’t trust me to pick
my own friends. My stomach churned, but before I had time to think about it, Mama skipped off in a whole other direction.

“I’ve been thinking….” Mama took a sip of iced tea. “We ought to get another dog. A puppy. I’ve missed our Patch, haven’t
you?”

“What made you think of old Patch?” Daddy’s fork stopped in midair.

“Nothing, really. Just thinking.”

The macaroni in my mouth swelled up with my chewing. I concentrated on working it around. Would she tell Daddy she hadn’t
even remembered Patch died?

“Maybe we’ll look into it after our vacation. What do you think, Sis? Would you like a new mutt?”

“I guess.” I managed to swallow as I considered it. “Yeah, I think I would.”

Mama made an O with her mouth. “What vacation? When did you decide this?”

“Today. A spot came open on the vacation list for next week. Since you’re doing better, I thought we’d go to Red River for
a few days. Rent a cabin, do some fishing…”

“Oh, Daddy, that’d be great!” Getting off the subject of Cly and Patch suited me fine. “Don’t bother with the dishes, Mama.
I’ll do them.”

“That’s my girl.” Daddy slipped his arm around Mama’s waist. In the front room I heard them rustling the map and planning
the trip. Every once in a while Mama laughed, and I imagined them cuddled on the couch with Mama’s head resting on Daddy’s
shoulder.

A puppy? Small dog or big? Fuzzy or slick-haired? The only image that came to mind was Patch, squashed flat under the bus.

I took my sweet time drying the dishes and putting them away. Just as I finished, Mama said, “I think a nice bubble bath would
feel good.”

Four whole hours had passed since her last one.

“Half cocker and half fence-jumper,” the scruffy boy at the roadside filling station said as he showed us the cardboard box
full of puppies. “Pa says we gotta get rid of ’em or he’ll shoot ’em.” The
boy’s brown eyes pleaded with us as Mama and I looked them over.

“Glad to help you out,” Daddy said when Mama and I both started to pick up the same black ball of fluff.

“That’n’s a female.” The boy pointed to Crayola lettering on the side of the box. “Free. They’s all free.”

“We’ll take her.” Daddy handed the boy two one-dollar bills.

We named her Scarlett, what else? Glossy black fur and shiny, button eyes. Getting her was the best part of the whole vacation.

Not that we didn’t have a good time. Daddy fished while Mama and I picked wildflowers. One night we drove over to Taos for
the Indian dances, and I loved the
bum-bum-bum
of the drums as I watched the twirling, high-stepping natives in their war paint. Daddy kept his arms tight around Mama,
whose hair swirled around her head like the flames of the dancers’ campfire.

Mama seemed like a whole different person from the Mama I’d known since Sylvia died. Happy-go-lucky. Laughing with me. Whispering
secrets. But other things popped up too, just out of the blue.

“Remember when I dressed up like an Indian princess for Halloween?” I said to Mama the morning after the Taos trip.

She nodded and smiled, but her eyes looked like the glass eyes in my old Betsy McCall doll. I could tell she had no idea what
I was talking about. Instead she pointed to a clump of wild daisies. “Oh look, what is that?” A green dragonfly with wiry-veined
wings buzzed up and down.

One night, after frying the rainbow trout Daddy caught, we sat on the cracker-box porch in front of our cabin. Fireflies blinked
in the bushes. Mama sat on the step with her knees tucked up close to her chin.

“Grandma Grace loves rainbow trout. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could take her a mess of them? Just the thing to cheer her up.”

Daddy, who’d been whittling on a cedar stick, quit whittling. The sound of the creek tumbled in our ears, and we sat there,
not answering, not knowing exactly what she meant.

After an eternity, Daddy said, “Nothing beats a skillet full of fresh trout.”

“They do smell up the place though,” Mama said. She stood up and stretched. “Think I’ll go soak in the tub before bedtime.”
She went inside, leaving Daddy and me alone.

“Daddy, have you noticed how Mama forgets stuff?” I kept my eyes straight ahead, watching for fireflies, and afraid to look
Daddy in the face.

“She’s doing all right, seems to me.”

“Yeah, mostly. It’s just every once in a while, she says things. Like Grandma Grace just now. She’s been dead for ages.”

“To be expected, I suppose. Temporary, the doctors said.”

“You
knew
she would be like this?” My chest felt as if I’d been stabbed. “She’s my mother. Don’t you think you should have told me?”
Maybe there were other things I needed to be on the lookout for.

Daddy didn’t answer, just sat there and whittled in the moonlight, the soft scrape of his knife against the stick in his hand.