Close to Famous (24 page)

I picked out enough of it to get the concept. I was probably the most loved kid in the world.

“I NEED TO tell you something.” Macon and I were walking back from FOOD. “You know the movies I took of Duke and of your mama singing?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel so stupid. They didn't come out. All I got was a couple of knees, and everything was fuzzy. I forgot to turn the sound on.”

“It was a pretty crazy time,” I reminded him.

“But that could have been my big breakthrough as a director! ”

“I've had plenty of cakes that didn't turn out.”

“I need to practice more,” he groaned.

A yellow car pulled up.

My heart stopped.

I dropped the bag of groceries as Huck jumped out dressed like Elvis.

My mouth got dry as he swaggered over. “Now, you don't look happy to see me.”

I took a step back.

“I'm happy to see you, girl. You've always been my Foster child.”

“I'm not your Foster child!”

“Don't go getting huffy.”

And right then, all the fears of Elvis I'd had, all the dreams about getting carried back to Memphis, all the nightmares of Huck hurting us, didn't matter. I'd baked cupcakes for an escaped convict and lived to tell about it. I wasn't going to let an Elvis impersonator scare me.

“I've come to see your mama,” he said.

“She doesn't want to see you.”

He smoothed his sideburns. “I know that's not true.”

“That's your problem,” I told him.

“You're acting downright hostile to me, girl.”

“Glad you noticed, Huck.”

“I think,” Macon said, “that she doesn't want you bothering her anymore.”

Huck looked at Macon like a snake looks at a mouse. “Little boy, don't you talk to me like that!”

Macon took out his camera phone and held it up. “I'm Macon Dillard. I make documentary films.”

“Turn on the volume,” I whispered, and Macon did.

Huck stepped forward. “You listen to the King!”

“You're not the king here or anywhere,” I told him. “Get away from me and get away from my mama!”

He didn't budge, but I didn't either.

“Put that thing down,” he said to Macon.

“No, sir.”

“I said put that down!”

“Get away from us!” I shouted. “And get away from my mama! ” I shouted it again. “You hear me, Huck?
Get away from us and get away from my mama!”

I kept shouting it. Macon joined in, too, while holding up his camera.

And that's when the sheriff drove up. He got out of the car like sheriffs do in the movies. “What's going on here? ”

Huck looked real nervous.

“You bothering these kids?”

“Yes!” Macon and I shouted together.

“Let me see some ID, sir.”

Huck fumbled in his wallet. “I know the girl and her mama, and I just came to pay them a call.” He handed his license over.

The sheriff looked at the old yellow Cadillac with his Elvis decal and the notes going over the hood. “That your car?”

Huck nodded.

“Well, to begin with your license is expired. Let's see what else we can find.” The sheriff looked at me and Macon. “You be on your way now. I got this under control.”

We went to Fish Hardware and showed Mama Macon's movie. It was tilted and it jumped around a lot, but you could still get the idea. Then on her lunch break, Mama went over to the emergency care office where the nurse took the photo of her bruised eye when we first got to town.

“I want to press charges against the man who hit me,” Mama told the nurse. “How do I do that?”

The nurse called the sheriff's office. “They've got him in custody, Mrs. McFee.”

There was something strong in Mama now. What was inside of her was coming out for all the world to see.

“Tonight we're going to celebrate an organization whose sole purpose is helping people.” Miss Charleena said this, standing on a little stage.

All the people of Culpepper applauded.

Miss Charleena smiled at Mama, who was smoothing down her sparkly top. “And to help us do that, I am delighted to welcome one of our own to this stage. Put on your seat belts, folks, and let's hear it for Rayka McFee!”

Rocking music started playing as Mama walked to the mic looking gorgeous. I was sitting with Garland, Macon, and Amy, moving to the beat. Mama sang low and strong.

 

She was wailing; people were nodding.

“Sing it,” Angry Wayne shouted.

Sing it, Mama. Sing it
out.

And she did about the big wheels that keep on turning. I looked over at Amy, whose mouth hung open. Garland said to me, “Your mama rocks.”

Oh yeah.

It was like she was made for a stage, the way she stood there and sang. She sang show tunes, she sang blues.

“
Summertime,
” she sang out low and full
, “and the living is easy.”

I closed my eyes. Mama was singing from the part of her that had been held back for so long. I knew where the power in her voice came from—all the times she didn't give up, all the times she sang backup and let somebody else be the star, all the times she belted out songs in the shower and in the car. It came from that long year when she had nodules on her throat and she couldn't sing. It came from loving and losing Daddy. It came from loving me.

She sang “Foster's Song” pure and clear like a bird.

 

Amy leaned forward. “I want to learn that.”

Song after song—she brought us up stomping and clapping and down to a place where everyone could feel the hurt. And she was up again . . .

I watched her, and as I did I knew she couldn't go back to just singing backup after this. Mama closed her eyes and sang a song she'd written not long after Daddy died. She hadn't sung it for close to forever.

 

She sang it low, she sang it high. And people started singing it with her. Amy's voice rang out so pretty. I grinned at her. “You're good!”

Flowers were swaying in the wind like they had a song inside them. Mama's voice touches every living thing.

She got a standing ovation at the end. It didn't seem like people were ever going to stop applauding, but after a while, they did.

My part was coming up. It was time to eat.

I could have brought more cupcakes. There was a long line waiting to buy food.

“Step up, folks,” Garland said. “We've got all of Foster's specialties in one place. Any kind of cupcake you've ever dreamed of, butterscotch muffins, cherry brownies. It doesn't get any better than this!”

“You can come on by any morning and have these at my restaurant,” Angry Wayne shouted.

It was the ultimate bake sale. Jim Bob the tarantula crawled under the food table. Only a few people screamed. People were eating, smiling, getting crumbs on each other, and laughing.

Everyone was saying, “Your mama should make a record, your mama's the best singer we've ever heard.” Mama was surrounded by people. She was talking to a man who gave her a business card. They talked some more and Mama was nodding and smiling and the man was, too.

Then a gray cloud showed up. “Well, my dear, you must be awfully proud of your mother.” It was Mrs. Dupree, the principal, and she had another lady with her.

I looked down. “I'm real proud.”

“I wanted to introduce you to Mrs. Vick. She's our reading specialist.”

Garland cleared his throat. Macon elbowed me. I said, “Nice to meet you, ma'am.”

She was eating one of my red velvet cupcakes. “I have never had a cupcake like this, and that's saying something. My family is in the restaurant business.”

“You're kidding.”

“I grew up in the kitchen,” Mrs. Vick said happily.

“You know how to run a restaurant?”

“I do.”

I wasn't sure this was the right thing to say. “Then how come you're not doing it?”

“I run one in the summer for my family on Mackinaw Island. I just got back.”

Clay walked by, burping. “Child's gifted.”

“I can see that.” Mrs. Vick finished the cupcake.

I had a feeling cupcakes were going to play a big role in my education. I might do an entire show on how to impress a new teacher. Kids need to know the survival tools that are at their fingertips.

Macon stood next to me. “I need to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest.”

“What?”

He looked down. “I want to know if you like Garland.”

I tried not to blush. “He's . . . nice.”

“Lots of people are nice, Foster. You know what I mean.”

I stood there.

Macon looked up at me. “Do I have to spell this out?”

“I'm not that great at spelling.”

He sputtered. “Are you, you know,
in like
with him?”

“In like?”

“Don't be difficult.”

I looked over at Garland, who was grinning at me. I looked down, smiling, too.

“I knew it!” Macon said.

“I like him, Macon, but you're my best friend.”