Close to Famous (4 page)

“Cool,” I said.

Kitty pounded the mattress. “It's seen better days.”

I flopped on the bed. “This is wonderful!”

“What a place this is.” Mama got out her wallet. “I want to pay you rent and—”

Kitty shook her head. “We're not using it, and we can't bear to get rid of it. Lester's daddy lived in it for eight years. Man was sharp as a tack until the day he died. He keeled over in the kitchen one day and that was it. We keep it as a kind of memorial to him. You just settle in.”

I wished she hadn't mentioned the part about him dying in the kitchen.

“I insist.” Mama tried to press money into Kitty's hand.

But Kitty wouldn't take it. “There was a time when me and Lester were flat-out broke and some folks gave us the room above their garage until we got back on our feet. I'm just passing that on.”

I want to be like that someday.

There was a stuffed fish hanging above the sink. “Lester's daddy was a fisherman,” Kitty explained. “He said you could never catch the smart fish, they were the ones that got away. That was the biggest bass he ever caught. We had it mounted for him on his eighty-fifth birthday. He'd talk to it day and night.”

I thought she said he was sharp as a tack. I looked at the fish and figured if it got caught, that meant it was stupid. It might take some time to get used to cooking with a stupid, dead fish looking on.

Mama said, “I don't know what to say.”

I did. “Thank you!” I gave Kitty a big hug, went outside to the Chevy, and started unloading. A black cat with a white face meowed at my feet.

“Hey, cat.”

I carried two big trash bags into the house. I went back for my box of cooking stuff. The cat was purring near my leg.

“He doesn't come around to just anyone,” Kitty said. “He must sense you're good. Elvis, this here is Foster.”

Elvis
? My heart beat fast as the cat looked at me.

“If you say ‘Hi, Elvis' back you'll have sealed the relationship.”

I gulped. “Hi, Elvis.” Huck used to make me call him Elvis when Mama wasn't around. Elvis the cat twitched his whiskers and crept away.

Is there any place on this earth without an Elvis?

WE STARTED UNPACKING. We didn't have much, but getting it put away gave me a hopeful feeling. Mama and me try not to let belongings be too important. The number one thing I've got isn't pots and pans, it's Daddy's Las Vegas pillowcase with all his things inside. I was looking around the Airstream thinking where I would put it. Not near the fish.

Mama looked around, too. “I can drape a pretty sheet near the bed and you can pull it down when you're sleeping. We can do this place up just like home.”

I was going through the big box where I had put Daddy's pillowcase. I took out my robe, a blanket, and my shooting-star apron. The pillowcase wasn't there. We left so fast, maybe I had shoved it somewhere else. I headed back out to the Chevy. Elvis the cat wanted my attention.

“I don't have time for anything named Elvis. You shoo.”

The back of the Chevy was empty; I looked through the trunk. I looked through the trunk again, and this time I was close to crying, because I couldn't find Daddy's pillowcase anywhere.

“Mama!”

She ran out.

“You've got the pillowcase, right?”

One look at her face said she didn't. We searched the car again. We searched everything in the trailer
again.

It wasn't there!

My most prized possession, with Daddy's dog tags from the army and his papers and the special award he got for getting killed and the letters he sent me and his cuff links from when he and Mama got married and his little flag of Ireland and his donkey key ring that you press and get a
hee-haw
sound.

“You said we had everything!” I shouted.

“I . . . I thought we did.”

“You should have checked!”

“
Baby, I'm sorry
.”

She reached out to me, but I pulled away. Elvis the cat came up, meowing.

“Shut up!” I screamed. “Don't come back!” The stupid cat ran off.

I tucked my knees to my chest and cried like Daddy had died again.

I was in the car with Mama; we were driving into town to pick up some food. My eyes had stopped crying, but my heart hadn't.

“I know you miss your daddy.”

I looked out the window. We'd kept our old answering machine with his voice saying, “You've reached Kevin, Rayka, and Foster. We're out doing something fun, so leave a number and we'll call you back.” I had played that over and over until it broke. Now I can't remember the sound of his voice. I used to sleep in his army shirt. I took excellent care of it. I'd wash it good and hang it outside to dry, until a skunk came along and used it for target practice. Everything I had that he'd touched got taken.

Mama drove by the Church of God FOR SALE. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to buy that place. She turned into the lot for a little grocery. The sign out front had one easy word: FOOD.

This place didn't look like much.

Mama adjusted her sunglasses. “This should be an adventure.”

I'd had enough adventures for one day. We got out of the Chevy and walked inside.

“It ain't over till it's over.” A tall woman said that to the man behind the counter.

“That's for sure, Percy,” the man said.

“We're not giving up without a fight.”

“You're a fighter, Percy.” The man nodded to us.

“Mr. Frank Fish hasn't seen anything yet!”

The man smiled. “I think he knows that.”

“Church of God for sale,” she snarled. “It's a disgrace.” She walked out the door, and then I remembered. She was the lady I'd seen planting flowers outside the church.

“You ladies finding what you need?” the man asked, friendly.

“We are, thank you kindly.”

It was good I came along, because Mama would buy Hamburger Helper and canned chili if I wasn't there to watch her. I had started cooking partly out of self-defense. I found some cheese, a ham steak, ground beef, eggs, milk, butter, chocolate chips, juice, canned tomatoes, pasta, and instant butterscotch pudding, the secret ingredient for my soon-to-be-famous butterscotch muffins.

We headed to the counter.

“New to town?” the man asked.

I checked my watch. “We've been here exactly four hours.”

He chuckled. “Say, that's real new.” He rang up our food. “Staying awhile?”

“Awhile,” Mama said.

“Welcome to Culpepper. I'm Jarvis.”

“Rayka McFee,” Mama said, “and this is my daughter, Foster.”

Just then the door opened and Percy marched back in like she had a storm inside of her. She pointed a finger at Jarvis “And if that real estate woman comes sniffing around, you tell her she's going to have the fight of her sweet life if she tries to sell the church. You tell her that!”

Jarvis said, “Rayka and Foster, meet Perseverance Wilson, the defender of all that's right and true.”

Mama grinned. “You've got a big job, Ms. Wilson.”

Perseverance Wilson smiled bright. “Somebody's got to do it.” Her smile took over most of her face.

I waved hi. I'd never met a defender of all that's right and true before. She sounded like a superhero. She didn't look like one. She was wearing a long orange crinkly skirt, a yellow blouse, and big hoop earrings. She was tall with short hair curled tight around her head. Her skin was darker than Mama's.

“Rayka and Foster are new to town,” Jarvis said.

She looked at Mama's eye bandage. Mama was wearing her megastar sunglasses, but you could still see the gauze. “Don't get many new folks here.”

I was starting to see why.

Perseverance Wilson turned to Jarvis. “You seen Fish around?”

Jarvis smiled. “I imagine he's hiding.”

“When you see him, tell him I'm going to impart a depth of misery to his very soul, and I'll be singing a song of joy when I do it.”

“I'd rather you told him.”

Jarvis shook his head as she left. I knew Mama wouldn't say a peep about this, but me, I have trouble keeping quiet.

“She seems upset,” I began.

“You don't know the half of it.”

Right then a short boy came running into the store waving a sheet of blue paper. “I got Miss Charleena's list and she's low this time; lower than yesterday, even!”

I looked at Mama.

Jarvis read the list, lifted a bag of coffee off the shelf behind him, and put it in a box with a big bottle of mouthwash.

“I'll get the syrup and the frozen waffles,” the boy said and headed down the aisle.

Jarvis called after him. “That special honey she wanted from New Zealand hasn't come in yet.”

The boy turned around. He looked worried.

“I've got another blow for you, Macon. We're out of Ho Hos and Ding Dongs.”

“Miss Charleena's not going to like that!”

“She's going to have to deal with the disappointment until the Hostess truck comes.”

I grabbed Mama's arm.

MAMA PULLED OUT of the FOOD lot as a gray bus with black letters went by. The men inside it didn't look friendly.

“That's the prison bus, Foster.”

I got a creepy feeling. “Those men are headed to jail?”

“The sign said Culpepper Penitentiary.”

It should have said, CRIME DOESN'T PAY. I watched the bus disappear around the corner.

Mama drove down a bumpy street trying to miss the potholes. Little houses and a few trailers were set back from the road. We drove by a closed-up factory with a faded sign.

“Colonel Culpepper's Jams and Jellies,” Mama read. “No Trespassing.”

Mama reads to me a lot. My brain closes up when I open a book. I almost flunked sixth grade because of it. My second-grade teacher told Mama I would grow out of it, but it feels more like it's grown all over me.

Mama turned the Chevy down the dirt road, past the broken fence, around to the back of Kitty and Lester's place, and parked by the Silver Bullet that was gleaming in the late-day light.

The tow truck was gone. Kitty and Lester were probably off rescuing somebody. In front of the door to the Bullet were two outdoor chairs—one green and one blue—and a little table. Those hadn't been there before. Mama smiled at the chairs and opened the door. I carried the groceries inside.

Lester's daddy's stupid, dead fish seemed to be looking at me. “I'm baaaaaack,” I said to it. I put the food away, thinking about the pillowcase. Did I drop it outside the car? Did it get run over? Did Mr. Purvis throw it out when he got the note that we'd left?