How High the Moon (39 page)

I went to the window and pressed my cheek to the glass so I could see if Ma’s car was in front of our house. I could see a brown fender, so I knew she was home. At the Jacksons’ house, every window was black, and I wondered if Johnny would come home by the time I turned sixteen in case I still wanted him to be my boyfriend. Then I looked straight ahead, at the Frys’ bay window. I got the daylights scared out of me because there he was, Charlie Fry, looking like a ghost as a passing car’s lights lit his face.

It wasn’t like Charlie to be up in the middle of the night, so as soon as I got my breath back, I pointed toward our front yards, even though I knew it was a long shot that Charlie would figure out that that meant “meet me there.” Then I ditched out of my room on bare feet.

Poochie’s head was flopped out of his doghouse, and it lifted when I closed our door, even if I barely shut it. His eyes glowed like the devil’s as he watched me go down the back steps. “Don’t you even dare,” I whispered, hoping Teddy was right when he said that dogs can hear lots better than people. Maybe they could, because Poochie put his head back down as I zipped between our houses.

I went right to the bay window, the ground so cold I had to keep my feet dancing, and I looked up for Charlie.

“I’m right here,” Charlie said. He was standing in the grass, wearing pajamas that looked Mrs.-Fry-old, rolled at the ankles.

“Geez, Charlie. You’re going to give me a heart attack yet.”

“Well, you pointed for me to come out,” he reminded me.

“You’re sharpening up, Charlie.”

Charlie’s front steps were colder than the ground. “Grandma G said you get piles if you sit on cold cement,” he said.

“What’s piles?”

“That’s what I was asking you,” Charlie said.

I told him I didn’t know, and that I had other things on my mind.

“Charlie,” I said. “My ma isn’t staying in Mill Town.”

“I already know that,” Charlie said.

I cocked my head to look at him. “You do?”

“Yeah. I heard Grandma G and Miss Tuckle talking about it.”

“They talked about it in front of you?”

“No. I was in the bathtub. Miss Tuckle must have asked where I was, because Grandma G said, ‘Oh, he won’t hear us. You can’t hear a thing from in there.’

“And Grandma G said, ‘Can you believe it, April? That she’d make that poor child decide?’ She said Teddy was
livered
, and that she didn’t know what he’d do if you got caught up in all the promises your ma was making. Then Grandma G said that Teddy’s scared she’ll take you, then drop you off God knows where when she gets tired of dragging a kid along.”

“She wouldn’t do that!” I said.

Charlie shrugged. “She dropped you off here, didn’t she?”

Something dropped in my stomach when Charlie said that. Something as big and hard as a scooter.

We sat there, me not saying anything. Just shivering. Then Charlie said, “Miss Tuckle told Grandma G not to worry, though, because she was going to help Teddy see that that didn’t happen. Then they just talked about your leaned porch and stuff, so I started washing so I could get out of the tub. I was already wrinkled.”

Charlie and I sat awhile longer, quietly, me staring at nothing, just thinking.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

If your ma wasn’t dead, and your dad wasn’t in the clink, and you had to choose which one to live with because you could only live with one, who would you choose?”

“You,” he said, stopping me right in my tracks.

I blinked because my eyes were watering, then I said, “You’re a good friend, Charlie Fry,” and I gave him a hug.

Charlie went back inside because he was yawning big enough to swallow his head, but I wasn’t ready, even if I was shivering. I looked over at the Jacksons’ house, which was dark and quiet for a change, and I thought of Johnny leaving, and Ma, when she left, and the folks back in Peoria… I thought of how most people leave, even when you love them and want them to stay. And as I headed back to my house, I thought about how if I went with Ma, I was going to be leaving Teddy thinking the same thing.

I went inside through the back door, standing still in the kitchen. I looked over at the metal table next to the pantry where Teddy and my last Scrabble board sat. We’d started that game so many days ago I couldn’t remember whose turn it would be next. I flipped my letters around and plucked three
U
’s off my windowsill thing and exchanged them for letters worth something. Then I took
gluck
off the board and spelled something else, my fingers wide awake, even if the rest of me felt like it was sleeping.

I slept so late
that even Ma was awake, having a cigarette and coffee at the kitchen table, squinting because the sun was spilling bright over the tablecloth. Teddy was leaning over her shoulder saying something, but he stopped talking when I came into the room. I glanced up at the clock, scared for a minute that I was late.

“You have plenty of time. It’s not even noon yet,” Teddy said, giving me one of those let’s-stay-calm smiles.

“But I’m going early. At three o’clock—Brenda said I could. Even if I’m not working today, I know she’ll need my help. The doors open at six for the refreshments, then the show starts at seven.”

“Just sit down and relax, Teaspoon,” Teddy said, even though he wasn’t sitting. Ma was, but she went from sitting to standing, puffing smoke rings that blew apart before they hardly left her lips, and chewing on her fingernails like
she
had a gala coming up.

Teddy made me eat some eggs and toast, even if I didn’t want any. Then Ma made me a bubble bath and told me to soak in it. I could hear her in the kitchen while I soaked. I suppose it was like what I heard Mrs. Jackson say before one of our Christmas programs when Jolene had to read part of the Nativity story—having your kid on stage was harder on the moms than the kids.

Ma did my hair so that my curls were tight and pretty, not bunched and frazzled, and she put my white barrettes in so folks
could see my eyes. She helped me pick out my nicest dress, too, even though I told her it didn’t matter because I had my dress for the show, because she said I had to look nice when I got there, too.

“What did you do to your shoes?” she asked me while clasping my charm bracelet, right before I headed out the door.

“Fixed them up so the scuffs wouldn’t show so much,” I said.

Ma was about to say something—probably compliment me for making them so stage-sparkly—but Teddy jumped in and said I’d better hurry along.

I was on the porch when the door opened and Ma called, “Wait!” I stopped and she opened the screen. She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t step all the way outside. She just stared at me, her lips doing that quivering thing lips do when you’re trying not to cry. “What is it, Ma?” I asked.

Teddy came up behind her, and Ma shook her head. “I just wanted to take another look at you before you headed off for your big debut. That’s all.”

“Okay, but I don’t want to be late, so could you look quick?” I spun in a circle, even if I was wearing an old dress, so she could see all of me.

Ma was smiling and crying when I got done with my spin. “Do you know how proud I am of you?” she asked. “Teddy’s done a fine job raising you these past years. You’re…” She stopped and took a deep breath.

“Respectable?” I asked hopefully, when Ma couldn’t seem to find the words she was looking for.

Ma laughed, tears glossing her eyelashes. “Yes,” she said.

I grinned. “Good. Because I’ve been working hard on that one,” I said, then I jumped down the steps and grabbed my scooter.

The Starlight was beehive-busy when I got there. Helpers and people I’d never seen before were running from one side of the theater to the other, and everybody was shouting to each other. I spotted
Mrs. Bloom. She was standing back by the concession stands with two men in white jackets, yelling at the delivery guy who was carrying two big pots of flowers into the theater. “No, no. All flowers are to be left in the foyer!”

I figured wherever Mrs. Bloom was bellyaching, Brenda couldn’t be far off, so I headed toward her. When Mrs. Bloom saw me, she called me to her. “Hurry,” she snapped, even though I was whizzing up the aisle fast enough to win a race at the end-of-the-school-year picnic. “Show these gentlemen to the conference room,” she said, nodding to the guys in white jackets when I got closer. “Bring down as many tables as you’ll need,” she told them.

I led the way, but when we got to the nosebleed seats, and I was sure Mrs. Bloom wouldn’t hear me, I turned around. I looked at their white jackets. “You guys aren’t doctors, are you?”

“No,” one of them said. “Caterers.”

“Good,” I said. “Or Charlie would have had a cow.”

While the guys folded table legs and argued about how many they could carry down at once, I went to the projector room windows to look out, thinking it would be easier to spot Brenda from up high. And I was right. She was on the stage talking to Jay, who was all gussied up like he was an usher or something.

I zipped out of there fast, knowing that if I got behind the guys as they lugged tables down, I’d have to find her all over again.

When I got to the stage, she was trying to make Jay’s bow tie stay in place because it seemed to want to spin like a pinwheel.

I don’t know what kind of mood Brenda was in, but it was a strange one. One I’d never seen before, and couldn’t have described to Charlie if I’d tried. “Hi, Brenda,” I said, as I stepped onto the stage, which was gleaming like it had been saved pristine for tonight. “I came a little early to give you a hand. I know I’m off the clock—I’m just being a nice Little Sister. I already helped your ma some.”

“Then you can help by holding this,” she said, handing me her purse, then twisting Jay’s bow tie one last time. When she finished, she looked out on the theater, above the heads of the people
hurrying like ants. “At this point, Teaspoon, there’s nothing left to be done.” She started walking away, moving floaty like that white dandelion fluff when you blow it.

I followed her. “There must be something we should be doing, by the looks of things,” I said. “It’s a real mess here.”

Brenda kept walking. “Hey, Brenda,” I said, looking up at the new curtain that was rolled far above my head. “Did Johnny bring the moons before he left?” Just saying his name made me miss him all over again.

Brenda turned. “Mel dropped them off,” she said.

“Is he going to run the pulley to change them between acts, then?” I asked.

“Maybe. Or someone else will.”

Suddenly Brenda stopped, looking down at herself. “My purse,” she said.

“Here.” I handed it back to her and Brenda opened it quick, swishing her hand around inside, like maybe she was afraid she’d lost her wallet. But it wasn’t her wallet she pulled out and squeezed in her hand as she sighed with relief. It was that bottle of medicine for pain. She tucked it back in her purse. “I should lock this in the safe so I don’t have to keep track of it,” she said.

Some Little Sisters had showed up by the time we locked Brenda’s purse away. A few started running up and down the aisles, and some were hovering around the tables in the back where the guys in the white jackets were shaking out tablecloths and setting out silver platters.

“Brenda!” Mrs. Bloom shouted from over near the dome lights. She had Anne Huxley and Melissa Jakes by the arms. “We can’t have the Little Sisters running all over getting in the way. Why are they here before their Big Sisters anyway? They were supposed to come together.” Mrs. Bloom blew out some mad, then took a big breath. “Herd them up and take them in the back. Start dressing them at five. Is makeup here yet?”

I figured Mrs. Bloom meant the ladies who were doing makeup, not the makeup itself, since she’d brought a big box of the stuff to the Starlight in the first place, so I piped up, “They’re coming at five.”

Mrs. Bloom handed Brenda Anne and Melissa’s wrists and said, “I’ve given Uriah orders to see that the volunteers delegated to assist our main acts are in place by five, too. Check and make sure they’re outside the dressing room doors then, Brenda, since you’ll be down that way. I’m going home to have my hair done and to dress. I’ll trust you to keep things in control here.”

“See my new bracelet, Brenda?” I said as we headed down the hall, five Little Sisters skipping behind us, chattering about how scared they were. “It’s a charm one.” I twirled the chain around so she could see the engraved star. “Teddy said it’s so I can remember every big singing event I have in my career.”

Brenda stopped, her eyebrows bunching like Teddy’s did when he got worried. She told the other Little Sisters to go inside the dressing room and not touch anything, then she took both my hands in hers and squatted down beside me. “Teaspoon,” she said. “When you look back on this night, remember the good things, okay? That you were a star on the stage of the Starlight Theater, and that you shined. Remember it as a happy day, okay? For you, for Teddy, your Ma, Charlie…”

“And you, too?”

Brenda’s eyes got watery, but she was smiling as she squeezed my hands, giving them a little shake each time she said
Yes. Yes
. “You remember that it was a very good night for me, too.”

The Little Sisters—me included—ran around the dressing room even if we weren’t supposed to. At least until Miss Gaylor stepped in the room and told us to knock it off in so many words. When the Big Sisters got there, Brenda handed them each an identical
little blue box with a thank-you card taped to the bottom, while Mindy hopped beside me because she’d seen Mimi Hines in the hallway. Tina’s and Julie’s gifts came in a striped box, and after they opened them, they gave Brenda a hug. “It was so nice of you to write us such sweet notes and give us such extravagant gifts,” Tina said, waving the little gift card, a thin gold chain dangling from her hand.

“It’s just a little something to say thank you for being Big Sisters,” Brenda said. “And for tolerating me the past couple of months. Mother bought the same necklaces for all the Big Sisters, but I wanted to give my best friends something special.”