Raymie Nightingale (7 page)

The three of them were down at the dock.

“So let me get this straight,” said Beverly. “You want me to go into some old lady’s room and take a book about Florence Nightingale out from under her bed.”

“Yes,” said Raymie.

“Because you’re afraid to do it.”

“She screams,” said Raymie. “And it’s a library book. I have to get it back.”

“I want to come, too,” said Louisiana.

“No,” said Beverly and Raymie together.

“But why not?” said Louisiana. “We’re the Three Rancheros! We’re bound to each other through thick and thin.”

“The three who?” asked Raymie.

“Rancheros,” said Louisiana.

“It’s Musketeers,” said Beverly. “It’s the Three Musketeers.”

“No,” said Louisiana. “That’s them. We’re us. And we’re the Rancheros. We’ll rescue each other.”

“I don’t need to be rescued,” said Beverly.

“I want to come with you to the Sparkling Dell,” said Louisiana.

“It’s the Golden Glen,” said Raymie.

“I want to help rescue the Florence Darksong book.”

“Nightingale,” said Raymie and Beverly at the same time.

“And when we’re done doing that, we can go to the Very Friendly Animal Center and rescue Archie.”

“Listen,” said Beverly. “Let me tell you something. There is no Very Friendly Animal Center. That cat is long gone.”

“He’s not long gone,” said Louisiana. “I’ll rescue him and that will be my good deed for the Little Miss Central Florida Tire 1975 contest, and my other good deed will be that I will help you get the book back. Also, I’ll stop stealing canned goods with Granny.”

“You steal canned goods?” said Raymie.

“Tuna fish, mostly,” said Louisiana. “It’s very high in protein.”

“I told you,” said Beverly to Raymie. “I looked at them and I could tell that they were criminals.”

“We’re not criminals,” said Louisiana. “We’re survivors. We’re fighters.”

At this point, there was a long silence. The three of them stared out at Lake Clara. The water glittered and sighed.

“There’s a lady who drowned in this lake,” said Raymie. “Her name was Clara Wingtip.”

“So?” said Beverly.

“She haunts it,” said Raymie. “In my father’s office, there’s a photo of the lake from the air, and you can see Clara Wingtip’s shadow under the water.”

Beverly snorted. “I don’t believe in fairy tales.”

“You can hear her weeping sometimes,” said Raymie. “That’s what they say.”

“Really?” said Louisiana. She rearranged her barrettes and put her hair behind one ear and leaned in toward the lake. “Oh,” she said. “I hear it. I hear the weeping.”

Beverly snorted.

Raymie listened.

She heard weeping, too.

“So, okay,” said Beverly. “You get the book, and you get the cat. But what do I get?”

They were all on their backs on Ida Nee’s dock, staring up at the sky.

“Well, what do you want?” asked Louisiana.

“I don’t want anything,” said Beverly.

“I don’t believe you,” said Louisiana. “Everybody wants something; everybody wishes.”

“I don’t wish. I sabotage.”

“Oh, dear,” said Louisiana.

Raymie said nothing.

She looked up at the impossibly bright sky and remembered how Mrs. Borkowski had told her once that if you were in a hole that was deep enough and if it was daylight and you looked up at the sky from the very deep hole, you could see stars even though it was the middle of the day.

Could that be true?

Raymie didn’t know. Mrs. Borkowski dispensed a lot of questionable information.

“Phhhhtttt,” said Raymie very quietly to herself.

And then she thought about how in fairy tales people got three wishes and none of the wishes ever turned out right. If the wishes came true, they came true in terrible ways. Wishes were dangerous things. That was the idea you got from fairy tales.

Maybe it was smart of Beverly not to wish.

From somewhere behind them, up at Ida Nee’s house, there came a loud screeching noise, which was followed by a bang and then a thump.

“Granny is here,” said Louisiana. She sat up.

“Louisiana!” someone called. “Louisiana Elefante!”

Raymie sat up, too. “Who were the Flying Elefantes?” she asked.

“I told you,” said Louisiana. “They were my parents.”

“But what does it mean? The flying part? What did they do?”

“Well, my goodness,” said Louisiana. “They were trapeze artists, of course.”

“Of course,” said Beverly.

“They flew through the air with the greatest of ease. They were famous. They had personalized luggage.”

“Louisiana Elefantteeeee.”

“Granny’s anxious,” said Louisiana. “I have to go.” She stood up and smoothed down the front of her dress. Her bunny barrettes glowed in the light of the sun. Each barrette looked purposeful, alive, as if it were busy receiving messages from very far away.

Louisiana smiled down at Raymie. It was a beautiful smile. And for a minute, Louisiana almost looked like an angel, with her pink dress and the blue sky lit up behind her and all her barrettes glowing.

“They died,” said Louisiana.

“What?” said Raymie.

“My parents. They died. They aren’t the Flying Elefantes anymore. They’re not anything anymore. They’re at the bottom of the ocean. They were on a ship that sank. Maybe you heard about it?”

“We haven’t heard about it,” said Beverly, who was still on her back on the dock, staring up at the sky. “Why would we know about a ship sinking?”

“Well, anyway. It was long ago and far away. And it was a great tragedy. All the Flying Elefante luggage sank to the bottom of the ocean, and my parents drowned. And that is why I never learned how to swim.”

“
That
makes sense,” said Beverly.

“Now it’s just Granny and me. And Marsha Jean, of course. She wants to capture me and put me in the county home, where they only ever serve you bologna to eat. It’s all very terrifying when you think about it. So I try not to think about it.”

“Louisiannnnnnaa!” shouted her grandmother.

Louisiana bent and picked up her baton. “I’ll see you both tomorrow at the Golden Glen Happy Retirement Home on the corner of Borton Street and Grint Avenue at twelve noon sharp.”

“Okay,” said Raymie.

“It’s not the Golden Glen Happy Retirement Home,” said Beverly. “It’s a nursing home.”

“Good-bye, and long live the Rancheros!” shouted Louisiana as she walked away.

“Do you think her parents were really trapeze artists?” said Raymie to Beverly.

“I don’t care if they were,” said Beverly. “But they weren’t.”

“Oh,” said Raymie.

From up at the house, there came the sound of the Elefante station wagon pulling away. It made a very loud noise, as if it were a broken rocket ship working to escape the earth’s atmosphere.

“I should probably go up there,” said Raymie. “My mother will be here soon.”

“Where’s your father?”

“What?” said Raymie.

“Your father. Did he come back home?” asked Beverly. The bruise on her face suddenly looked darker, meaner.

“No,” said Raymie.

“I didn’t think so,” said Beverly.

Raymie felt her soul shrink. The sky didn’t look as blue. She decided that she didn’t believe at all what Mrs. Borkowski said about daylight stars and deep holes. Her mother was right. Mrs. Borkowski was as crazy as a loon.

Probably.

Phhhhtttt.

“Look,” said Beverly. “Don’t get all upset. That’s just how things go. People leave and they don’t come back. Somebody has to tell you the truth.” She stood up and stretched, and then she bent down and picked up her baton. “But, listen, don’t worry — we’ll go and get your stupid library book from underneath the old lady’s bed, because that’s an easy thing to get back. That’s no problem at all.”

Beverly threw the baton up in the air once, twice, three times. Each time, she caught it without even looking.

“See you tomorrow, then,” said Beverly Tapinski.

And she walked away.

They met at the Golden Glen at noon the next day, which was Saturday and not a baton-twirling day.

Louisiana got there first.

Raymie could see her standing on the corner from half a block away. She sparkled. She was wearing an orange dress with silver sequins at the hem and gold sequins sprinkled around its gauzy sleeves. She had added more barrettes to her hair. All the barrettes were pink and had bunnies on them. Who knew that there were so many bunny barrettes in the world?

“I am wearing some extra good-luck bunny barrettes today,” said Louisiana.

“You look nice,” said Raymie.

“Do you think that orange and pink go together, or is that only in my imagination?”

Raymie didn’t get a chance to answer this question because Beverly arrived. She looked angry. The bruise on her face had gone from black to a sickly looking green.

“So?” said Beverly as she approached them.

Raymie wasn’t sure what this question was in reference to, but she didn’t take it as a good sign. She went and rang the bell before Beverly could change her mind about helping.

The intercom crackled. Martha said, “It’s a golden day at the Golden Glen. How may I assist you?”

Raymie heard Beverly snort.

“How may I assist you?” asked Martha again.

“Martha?” said Raymie. “It’s me, um, Raymie. Raymie Clarke. I visited Isabelle a couple of days ago, and I was going to do a good deed?” A wave of dizziness washed over Raymie. She remembered the letter of complaint she had written for Isabelle. Would Martha know that she was the one who had written it? Would she hold it against her? Would she understand that Raymie had just been trying to do a good deed? Why was everything so complicated? Why were good deeds such murky things?

“Oh, Raymie, yes,” said Martha’s crackly voice. “Of course, of course. Isabelle will be delighted to see you again.”

Raymie didn’t think that this was necessarily true.

“We’re here, too!” shouted Louisiana into the intercom. “We’re the Three Rancheros, and we’re going to —”

Beverly put her hand over Louisiana’s mouth.

The door buzzed, and Raymie pulled it open. Beverly took her hand off Louisiana’s mouth, and the three of them walked into the Golden Glen, where Martha was standing, like before, behind the counter at the end of the hallway, smiling.

Raymie was glad to see her.

She thought that when you died, if there was someone waiting to greet you in heaven, then that person would probably, hopefully, look like Martha — smiling, forgiving, golden, and with a blue, fuzzy sweater draped over her shoulders.

“Oh,” said Martha. “You brought friends.”

“We’re the Three Rancheros!” said Louisiana. “We’re here to right a wrong.”

“Please, please —” said Beverly.

“What a lovely dress,” said Martha to Louisiana.

“Thank you,” said Louisiana. She twirled around so that her sleeves floated out and the sequins sparkled. “My granny made it. She makes all my dresses. She used to make the costumes for my parents, who were the Flying Elefantes.”

“Isn’t that interesting?” said Martha. “And I wonder what happened to your face,” she said, turning to Beverly.

“It’s just a bruise,” said Beverly in an extremely polite voice. “From a fight. I’m okay.”

“Well, then,” said Martha. “As long as you are okay. If the three of you would like to come with me.” She took Louisiana’s hand. “We will go upstairs and see who would like a good deed done today. Visitors are always welcome here at the Golden Glen.”

Beverly rolled her eyes at Raymie, but she turned and followed Martha and Louisiana up the stairs.

Raymie walked behind Beverly. Right at the bottom of the stairs, right before she started to climb, Raymie was struck with a sudden, piercing moment of disbelief. How had she, Raymie Clarke, gotten here? At the Golden Glen? Walking behind Martha and Louisiana and Beverly — people she hadn’t even known until a few days ago?

Raymie looked down at the steps. Each step was lined with a dark strip, to stop people from slipping.

“We’re all baton twirlers,” she heard Louisiana say to Martha. “And we’re all going to compete in the Little Miss Central Florida Tire 1975 contest.”

“Fascinating,” said Martha.