Diamonds in the Shadow (13 page)

Mattu could not get the concept that he could slice onions and celery only on the cutting board and not on the granite counter. “Then what is this surface for?” he asked.

“It's just for resting things on,” explained Jared, and even to Jared, this sounded pretty stupid.

Alake did nothing.

“Alake, help set the table,” said Mopsy, who loved setting the table, another example of her maddening tendencies. What kind of person loved setting a table? A three-year-old person, maybe. But here was Mopsy, excitedly folding napkins. “Do what I do, Alake,” she cried. “See how the forks go on the left?”

“Peel the potatoes,” Mom ordered Jared.

“Mom, if you have to do that much work to get food, skip it and boil noodles instead.”

“It's a teaching moment,” said his mother. “Show Mattu how.”

Two potatoes later and Jared just wanted to show the Amabo family how to move out.

Time was slipping away.

Thirty-one days were left.

Victor was driven to his first day of work. Although his paperwork stated he had computer expertise, Victor had never seen a computer. The company wanted to be generous and found him a job in maintenance instead.

Victor had not come to America to vacuum carpets.

The first day of having Alake at school had been fun for Mopsy. But Alake did not improve. Mopsy's friends drifted away. At home, she got no help from her mom or dad. The Finches had turned into a weird, complex family of eight, with Dad always at work or a meeting about Brady Wall and Mom being Teacher of the Year for Celestine and Andre.

The medical committee was working on fake hands for
Andre. Mopsy hoped the Amabos would be in their own apartment before Andre got hooks. Then Andre showed her a photograph. His future hand looked more like a plastic glove for doing dishes, one less worry for Mopsy.

Celestine started her job cleaning bathrooms at the motel. Mom worried because Celestine didn't know the difference between toilet cleansers and champagne. But the manager shrugged. “Our training program allows for that. She'll be fine.”

On her first day, Celestine learned to fold the end of the toilet paper roll into a V. Jared and Mopsy laughed hysterically. “Normal people don't fold, Celestine,” said Mopsy. “You have just acquired an utterly useless skill.”

“That's what the girls told me.”

“What girls?”

“The ones I work with,” said Celestine. “They speak little English; instead, mostly Spanish, which I can't understand. But Bob says in one month, I might very well be the one in charge, because I can talk to the guests. I have to work on my accent. Tonight when we watch TV, I will repeat out loud everything they say.”

Mopsy giggled. “Better pick a nice channel.”

The doorbell rang. The Amabos fell apart again, and even though it was just Kirk Crick, they did not calm down. They had no problems, they assured him. Everything was perfect, the Finches were the best family on earth. “You never need to come again,” said Celestine firmly.

“No complaint brought me here,” said Kirk Crick. “I'm just saying hi. And even if you don't need me, Kara or Drew might.”

Andre and Celestine vanished into their bedroom. Mattu fled upstairs, claiming to have homework. Even Alake disappeared.

Mopsy didn't think Mom or Dad needed Kirk Crick, but certainly Alake did. But Before Mopsy could list Alake's problems, her mother said, “Celestine's job is not fulfilling. There's no intellectual satisfaction in cleaning a bathroom. Celestine is so sharp. I'm hunting down employment that will satisfy her inner—”

“Stop,” said Kirk Crick. “Celestine Amabo has never heard of job satisfaction. All she wants are walls to keep her family safe from murder, and food on the table. Let her handle her own life.”

Mom listed the million things she was doing for the Africans and the million more she had planned. Kirk Crick, far from being impressed and wanting Mom to take over the world, said, “Back off, Kara. Celestine and Andre have to manage on their own as soon as we find them an apartment. You are encouraging them to cling.”

This was Mopsy's cue. “Alake isn't even clinging,” she said to Kirk Crick. “If I didn't make Alake eat, she'd starve to death as if she were still in Africa. There's something wrong here.”

But Kirk Crick didn't stop talking, let alone listen. He acted as if he got a salary to yell at Mom for being a good person. By the time he left, Mom was trying not to cry.

How could Mopsy add to Mom's worries by pointing out all that was wrong with Alake
?

Alake was Mopsy's responsibility.

Sharing the bedroom was not as bad as Jared had anticipated, although Mattu liked to count things—say, the number of shoes, boots, sneakers, sandals and socks Jared owned, and comment, “You have many possessions.”

Like it was Jared's problem that Africa was dirt poor and people had to go barefoot.

What
was
his problem was that the bedroom had begun to smell.

Jared himself had smelly feet; he was used to smelly. But this was a different kind of smelly. Jared sniffed around, trying to locate the source.

A day later the room had gone beyond smelly into foul.

“What's rotting in here, Mattu?” he demanded. “Don't look innocent. I didn't stink up the room.”

Trapped, Mattu knelt in front of the long, shallow closet Jared had partly cleared out to give Mattu space. From the dusty back of the closet, Mattu drew out a dinner plate piled with the previous week's chicken and rice. There was no plastic wrap over the food.

“You can eat all you want, Mattu,” said Jared finally. “But you can't store food in the closet. You have to store it in the refrigerator. That stuff is garbage now.”

It was not garbage to Mattu. He did not surrender his plate.

“So here's the deal,” said Jared, taking control of the plate. “We don't tell Mom you're hoarding rotting food in the closet. She'd go nuts that we might get rats or bugs.”

“I have not noticed rats or bugs,” admitted Mattu. “But of course they are here, eating their share.”

“Don't say that around Mom!” yelled Jared. “I'm throwing this away, Mattu. You get hungry, you raid the refrigerator like a normal person.”

The next day was unseasonably warm. Mom took everybody into the village to have post office lessons, ATM lessons, library lessons and coffee shop lessons.

“Not me,” said Jared. Throwing away rotted dinner had filled his whole charity slot. He was done with teaching refugees.

“I need you,” said his mother, and her voice shook.

Mom never needed anybody. She was the toughest person he knew, tougher than Dad. Then he thought, She doesn't have Dad right now.

Jared was suddenly afraid. Suddenly aware that Dad wasn't ever home anymore. The house was so busy and chaotic that Jared had barely noticed how his own father was missing. Mom was carrying the whole refugee thing.

Mom drove down into the village and parallel parked, an art Jared yearned to conquer. He decided to ask Dad about driving lessons—dropping hints about how they needed Dad at home.

Or maybe not. Because what if Dad had reached his limit? What if he just couldn't stand any more of Mopsy dancing and
Jared moaning and Mom volunteering and Brady Wall stealing and crowds of Africans in need? What if Dad stayed away?

When they wrapped up at the post office, Mopsy wanted to show off the ocean. Jared would have driven to the town beach, a few miles away, where there was soft sand and picnic tables. Instead, Mopsy led them down a narrow lane between the antiques shop and the real estate office. All around were marinas, shuttered for the winter, hundreds of boats sitting up on props, shrink-wrapped in brilliant blue plastic. Even to Jared's eye, it was eerie.

Sticking out into the bay was a man-made breakwater—huge rocks dumped to make a wall about a hundred yards long. The rocks were very uneven, and at some point the top of the wall had been cemented over so that people who wanted to fish or walk out and admire the view had a better chance of staying upright. But salt water and New England winters were not kind to cement. By midwinter, the cement had rotted through and the rocks were icy and dangerous.

“In summer I like to swim off the far end,” said Mopsy, trotting forward. “It's deep. Thirty or forty feet.”

Alake refused to get anywhere near the water, never mind walk out on the wall. Mattu stuck his hand in the water. He gasped. “How can you swim in something that cold?”

“You swim in summer,” said Jared. “It gets warmer.” Actually, the water never got warm, just less cold.

Halfway out, Mopsy took a fall. Jared heard her knee whack the stones. She gave the kind of whimper that meant she wanted to sob but was trying to be silent and brave. She limped back. One
plus—the Amabos were never going to get anywhere near the water again. They galloped back to the car.

When Mom started the engine, Andre watched longingly. He would never drive. Probably in Africa he hadn't given that a thought, but in America, where you vaulted into and out of the car every five minutes, Andre must have been painfully aware of what he would never do.

“The Nelsons are going to donate their old Honda,” Mom announced. “Isn't that great? After you get your license, Celestine, you can drive yourself to work and pick the kids up at school and go to the mall on your own.”

“I don't want to drive!”

“Nonsense. The grocery store is miles away. Your motel is even farther. We've got volunteer drivers, but they can't keep it up forever.”

“No! I can't do it! I can't learn to drive. It's too much.”

She
had
had to learn a million things already. Maybe learning to drive was too much for Celestine, at least this month.

“I know! I know!” cried Mopsy, clapping. “Mattu can be the driver instead!”

Andre and Celestine stared at Mattu as if they had not previously been acquainted.

“That is brilliant,” said Mom. “Mattu—ready for a lesson?”

Jared came to a boil. If some refugee from Africa got to learn how to drive and was even given a free car, while he, Jared—forced to share a stinking room with him!—
didn't
get to drive…

I hate these people. I want them to leave and I want my father home.