Waiting for Augusta (14 page)

And it was time to go home.

J
ust before knocking on the door, I forced worry and brotherly concern into my expression, which was a big accomplishment considering my current feelings toward the girl who'd kidnapped my father. The farmhouse door opened to a woman in a bathrobe, and for a moment I forgot what I'd planned to say. Green foam rollers covered her head, and her tiny frame was smothered in a fluffy pale blue robe. I couldn't help thinking of Mama, who'd put her hair up like that the night before Daddy's memorial. Except instead of smelling like Mama's gardenia perfume, this woman smelled like butter and cooking spices. I shook off the memory and scent and plunged into my story, hoping I sounded sane but sufficiently desperate.

“Hello, ma'am, I'm Walter, and my sister Wendy just ran in here like some kind of maniac, didn't she?”

“Why, yes. In fact—”

“Anyway,” I cut her off before I could forget my lines,
“our daddy died and she ran away with his urn and I went after her and then she jumped off the train like a darn lunatic and I had to jump off to save her and then she came running here and I came running too and you can't trust a thing she says and we need to get home!” I finished out of breath, proud of what I felt was a solid performance.

“Oh, sweetheart.” With dry, gentle hands, the woman pulled me into a short front hall. “You come on in. I'm Joy Marino. Your sister was just telling me about you poor things.” She stepped aside, revealing a lip-chewing Noni, who stopped her gnawing and rushed toward me.

I flinched, thinking she was about to smack me, but soon felt her arms squeezing me in a firm . . . hug?

“Oh, Walter,” she wailed in a worried voice, “I told you to stay at the campsite and I'd come back for you.”

“What?” I hated to admit it, but her pretend concern was a little stronger than mine.

Her chin lifted off my shoulder. “Mrs. Marino, ma'am, he was sucking his thumb and crying so badly, I didn't think he'd pull it together enough to follow me.”

I pushed her away. “What do you think you're doing?” I spotted Daddy's urn, sitting on the hall table next to a clay peach full of plastic flowers. “See?” I said to Mrs. Marino. “She took it!”

Noni stepped back, and the two of them stood there, looking at me like I'd wet my pants and they felt real bad
for me. They clucked together like two gossipy hens, and it hit me.

“You told her I'm crazy, didn't you?”

Noni shook her head mournfully and reached out to hold Mrs. Marino's hand. “I told you,” she whispered loudly. “Mama says he's not quite right. He's so full of anger.”

“You got that right.” It took all I had not to find a whole pie in Mrs. Marino's kitchen and cram it in Noni's mouth to shut her up.

Knowing that another attempted hug would most likely get her a knee to the stomach, the traitor kept her distance but locked eyes with me. “I told her the truth, Walter. That you stole Daddy's urn and ran away. I could not
believe
it when you hopped on that train, but I had to protect you from yourself.”

“Oh, come here, Walter.” Mrs. Marino nodded, stepping closer to place a hand on my head. “And then you jumped off the train?”

“He did, and I had to follow,” Noni said. “It hurt so much, but it was worth it because he's my brother and I'll take care of him no matter how crazy he is.” She smiled sweetly at my slightly bared teeth.

“Is that where you got that bruise, honey? From falling?”

Noni looked at her elbow. “What?”

“That ugly bruise, dear. You got it from the train?”

“Oh.” She looked at me. “Yeah.”

Mrs. Marino moved her hand from my head to my cheek. “You poor boy. You must be very sad and hurt and lonely.”

I had opened my mouth, but her assessment left me speechless.

Noni's big eyes were still aimed right at me. “I also told Mrs. Marino how heartbroken Mama would be if she knew you'd taken off with Daddy, and it's a good thing that she's over in Oklahoma visiting poor sick, dying Grandma at the Home this week, instead of at our house in Grink. And I told her how our older brother Willy will come pick us up tomorrow.”

“Willy?” I asked.

“He's probably Peter's age,” Noni said to Mrs. Marino, then dared to step closer so she could squeeze my hand. “Mrs. Marino was telling me about her son, who surprised her by applying to an engineering college far away. He got a full scholarship.”

The woman nodded, her eyes turning misty. “We miss him terribly, and it was quite the shock. Mr. Marino and I never went to college. We always thought Peter would become the sixth generation on this farm, not want to put up skyscrapers. It's harder to be proud of something you don't understand, but we can't help being happy for him. He's a good boy.”

“They bought Peter a
used truck
for graduation,
thinking he'd use it around the farm,” Noni said to me, squeezing again. “He didn't need it, so it's just been
sitting out by their barn
.”

Mrs. Marino smiled. “It was just a junker and probably couldn't hit forty miles an hour, but my husband sure was excited to give it to him. He told Peter we'd keep it for a year in case he changed his mind and wanted to come back to us and be a peach farmer like his daddy. I think a piece of him thinks if he leaves it in the same place, Peter will come back to us. I tell you what, though, that thing's an eyesore if you ask me.”

“Mrs. Marino told me the truck still has a full tank and the keys are still right on the seat. Isn't that
so sweet
?” Noni said, then mouthed the word
Augusta
.

“No,” I told her.

Noni frowned. “It's very sweet, if you just keep your mouth shut and
think about it
. Think about it
for me
if you can't for yourself.”

I'd already told Daddy that we weren't going to Augusta, and now Noni wanted us to go there anyway, all so she could look for a sign that she would probably never find? I wasn't biting on that bait. If she wanted to steal a truck, that was her own business.

But I also didn't feel like charging out the door and finding a road so I could start walking back to Hilltop. And the thought of calling Mama and explaining everything
and begging for a ride home suddenly wasn't too appealing. Truth was, I didn't feel like thinking about anything that night. I'd let Noni's story stick for now.

Mrs. Marino turned to Noni and glanced between the two of us. “Hmm. Well, you two must be worn out. Walter, your sister's about to call your brother.” Mrs. Marino was speaking slowly, like she thought maybe I'd hit my head. “Why don't you come in the kitchen and have some peach cobbler made with last year's preserves. Mine's the best in three counties. Then we'll get you tucked into the guest room. Phone's in the family room, honey,” she said to Noni, pointing. “Mr. Marino's in there, watching television. He'll tell you our address and some easy directions from Grink. Now, I have half a mind to call your mama, but I imagine that she's full up on troubles, what with your father and your grandmother.” A bittersweet smile came to her face, and the thin lines beside her eyes bloomed and multiplied. “You know, I ran away from home once when I was sixteen. Mother wouldn't let me get a summer job as a lifeguard over at Chisolm Lake, and I was
so
mad.”

“Did you run away to get the job?” Noni asked.

“No, dear. I made it about half a mile down the road and spent the night with my girlfriend Susie. And oh, did I get an earful the next day. Hope your brother's not too hard on you.”

“Thank you, ma'am. I'll call him right now.”

Within minutes, Noni was sitting next to me at the
kitchen table, shoving cobbler in her face while I rubbed my neck lump. “This is great, ma'am. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. Can I use your bathroom?”

“Down the hall on the left.” When Noni was gone, Mrs. Marino patted my hand. “It's good that your sister brought you both here.”

I didn't say anything. It didn't matter what Mrs. Marino thought. I listened to her chat, holding a noiseless Daddy in my lap, suddenly feeling awfully sad and hurt and lonely, just like she'd said. And more tired than I'd ever been in my life.

I'm not all certain what happened after that, but there was the kitchen, warm with creamed-corn-amber-yellow walls, and a hanging painting of the farmhouse, and a hanging painting of peaches, and counters lined with jarred peaches, and Noni skipping into the room, her swinging arms knocking peaches right off the wall. There was gasping from her and Mrs. Marino, and an apology, and a turned-over frame on the floor with a crack down the middle of its back, and the painted farmhouse saying,
Look what she did
, and the broken frame crying,
What happened?
and a cutting board with a roller on the counter saying,
Shh, it'll be okay
, and there was a wet towel and a whistle from a kettle that sounded like a lonely train and a mug full of something steaming and thick, like the walls were a cow that had been milked and what came out was hot melted butter and honey.

There were long minutes spent at a table filled with
Daddy's silence, and there was me not asking if he was still there because the world had gone distant and I'd gone silent too and I was hurting and because you can't be seen talking to yourself in a stranger's house. There was some dusky talk that faded away. There were towels and a washcloth placed on a closed toilet lid, the door closing, and me washing up. There was a bed and me being pushed into it and told to stay.

There was a woman standing over me and me reaching for her rollers, saying
Mama
.

There was the woman hushing and murmuring words that didn't come out like words, but I knew they meant everything would be okay, maybe because this woman had magic just like Noni and could do spells, like the sleeping spell she was doing on me.

W
hen the curtains parted the next morning, I woke slowly in a soft bed filled with soft sheets, and for a moment I wondered if maybe Mama'd gotten mad, sold all of Daddy's golf equipment, and had gone overboard with the Sears catalog, ordering me a whole new bedroom and maybe a houseful of hats for herself.

There was a sweetroll scent to the air that made blinking awake comfortable until I realized a lady who was not my mama was staring at me expectantly, like I was an abandoned chicken she'd found and nursed back to health, and now she wanted me to get up and lay an egg or two.

“Good morning, Walter,” said Mrs. Marino, the butter and cinnamon wafting off her like it had the night before. “You get up and we'll get you some breakfast. You look like you could use a good meal.” She tapped the top of the backpack on the floor beside me. “I washed a few of your clothes.
Hope you don't mind. Wanted to play mother, I suppose, what with Peter gone.”

First I'd adopted a bus station granny with urn-grabby hands, and now I'd gotten myself a peach farm mama who smelled like she was made out of French toast. I sat up, trying to recall exactly how I'd gotten those new family members and why none of them could replace the one who'd left me. “Hmm?” I said, sitting up.

“I was worried your sister's dress would stain, but I know a few tricks.”

Speaking of tricky
, said the curtains.
Where is that little liar?

You better set her straight today
, the bedside lamp advised.

Or kick her to the road,
suggested the blanket.

“Thank you. Where's . . . Wendy?”

“She's eating. We thought we'd let you sleep in for a bit.”

My head jerked around, searching for a clock and finding none. “What time is it?”

“It's a little past ten. You were up real late, so I thought I'd let you rest.”

A cold splash of guilt swept over me, and I jumped out of bed, bumping a startled Mrs. Marino back toward the door. A little past ten o'clock on the first day of the Masters! My golf ball lump pressed hard against its prison, hissing that we'd missed it, we'd missed the opening, the first shot, Daddy's heroes traveling the holes. How in the world would we get to Augusta? And where exactly were we?

“Where's my daddy?” I asked Mrs. Marino, who stood there looking tongue-tied. “Where is he?” I demanded, looking around the room.

Psst
, said the tall boy in a photograph.
Doesn't matter. You gave up, remember?

“Oh.” Then I did remember. I remembered the fight and the fact that I no longer had a mission.

Mrs. Marino pointed to the edge of my bed, where the urn was lying on its side. “You slept with it. Are you okay, dear?” Her hand went to her chest as she eyed the hallway. “Should I get your sister?”

I pulled myself together and rubbed at my face. Act how Noni was acting last night, I told myself. Nice and sweet. “Oh gosh, ma'am, I'm so sorry. I had the worst nightmare. I don't believe I was quite awake just then.” I shivered my shoulders a little, still fake fearful from the fake nightmare. “Thank you for taking us in, Mrs. Marino. I don't know what I was thinking, running off like that.”

You were trying to bring your daddy everlasting peace
, the photograph reminded me.

But then you gave up
, the ring on Mrs. Marino's hand said.
Not very nice.

The hand left Mrs. Marino's chest and moved to my head. “That's all right, dear. You've had a shock. Your brother will be here soon. You get dressed and come eat, okay?”

“I will, ma'am.”

She closed the door behind her, leaving the room quiet.