Man in the Moon (7 page)

“We don’t have any money, and . . . well . . . it looks like we might have to pay for a funeral real soon.”

Those words crashed into me, making my Popsicle drop out of my hand and onto my lap. “No.” I shook my head. “You’re going to get a job. Ricky’s going to get better. He’s even going to build his go-cart. I’m going to help him. He already has the lumber!”

Daddy crossed his arms on the steering wheel and leaned his head on it. “I might be using that lumber to build a coffin.” His voice cracked and hitched, and a puddle of tears came pouring out of his eyes. I was tongue-tied, not knowing what to say or do. I realized then that daddies cry too.

The tears that had been dammed up inside me broke loose, and I squalled along with him. “He’s gonna get better, Daddy. I promise.” It was all I could think to say, even though I knew it was a sin to break a promise.

Daddy wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve and sat up. He tossed the rest of his Popsicle out the window and cleared his throat. “I just wanted you to know how things were.” He started the engine and backed out of the 7-Eleven parking lot. The lively lit store got smaller and smaller, and soon we were back on the road to the middle of nowhere—home.

I cried myself to sleep that night and dreamed that Mr. Lunas was building a coffin in the backyard. I woke up to the sound of movement outside the window. It was Buddy. He was laying in the dirt beside the house. “Good boy,” I said, patting on the window screen.

He looked up in the dark, his brown eyes drooping. Everyone was sad, even Buddy. I thought about dogs being smarter than humans and figured he must know about Ricky too. I flinched when I caught a glimpse of Mr. Lunas leaning against a tree not too far from my window. He looked more like a rail propped against it, and I wondered if his gizzard was in backwards too. I don’t think he saw me, because he was too busy staring off at a half-moon, barely risen in the sky.

I went to Ricky’s bedroom and put my ear to the door. It was quiet. I wanted to peek in. I hadn’t seen him in two days, and I missed him something fierce. I needed to see him sitting up, laughing and joking. I turned the knob in slow motion and opened the door without making the least bit of noise. The minute I stuck my head in, the hot air clutched me like a fist. The room smelled of blood and vomit. I had to back away quick and catch my breath. Then it hit me: Ricky was alone. All alone. Where was Mama?

I stuck my head in again, and this time I wasn’t so quiet about it. I walked over to the bed and looked down. Ricky was just a glob of jelly, piled on top of the sheets. His pajamas were soaked from sweat, and his skin was as slick and white as one of my porcelain dolls.

When I sat down next to him, he opened his eyes. His lids fluttered; then a teeny crease of a smile appeared. “You came to see me.”

“I wanted to come sooner, but you know Mama.”

I thought he nodded, but it was hard to tell. He had no strength at all.

“Janine,” he said, his voice sounding like an old man’s. “Looks like I’m going to die.”

“That’s bullcorn! Stop that dumb talk.”

“It’s okay,” he continued. “I’m not scared. Probably ’cause I’m too tired to be scared. Everything hurts. Even when I talk.”

“Then don’t talk. Problem is, you just don’t feel good right now.” I tried to sound courageous, hoping it would rub off on him. “You’ll feel great in a day or two. Then you’ll build your go-cart and go sailing down the hill.”

His eyes rolled over dark. “Yeah. I really wanted to ride that go-cart.”

“You will,” I said. I tried to put as much meaning behind it as I could, but another minute in this stinking hot room, I thought even I might die.

He laid there, quiet, then strained to raise his head and look at me. “I’ll miss you something awful.”

Those words opened the floodgates again. Tears poured out of me like rain from the sky. “I’ll miss you too . . . even more.”

I hugged him close, his body clammy and cool, even in that heat. I could feel his heart beating against me, and I prayed it wouldn’t stop. I just held him tight, not caring if Mama came in and caught me. Not caring if she gave me the switching of my life. Not caring about anything but holding my little brother next to me. And no matter what, I wasn’t ever going to let him go.

Phase Eight—Waning Crescent

W
hen I woke up the next morning the house felt empty, and so did I. My eyes were just puffy pink bubbles from crying the night before. They ached and burned, and I rubbed them hard with my fists. I heard the rooster crow, then Daddy snore, and I looked out the window at the smears of cotton-candy clouds. It was a lot earlier than my usual wake-up time. Mr. Lunas was curled up on a lawn chair out back. He was shrinking each day and starting to look more like the old scarecrow he’d been that first evening I met him. But why? Why had he stopped eating? Maybe later I’d take some buttered toast out to him for breakfast. His withering got me to thinking about Ricky . . . Ricky! That empty feeling inside me began to fill up.

It started with a trembling in my hands, then it moved to my arms, then my shoulders. It sprouted through my body like a wild dewberry vine. Before I knew it, I was ready to scream. But instead, I dug in my closet and pulled out my old tennis shoes. I hadn’t worn shoes since the last day of school, and it seemed my feet had grown some. I tugged them on anyway. The volcano kept rising inside me as I went outside. The morning air hung soft as a thistle, and there were some patches of dew on the ground. I didn’t care. Buddy came up, thinking I would feed him. I didn’t. Instead, I ran.

My feet were the only thing in control as I raced past Mr. Lunas and the cornfield. Buddy ran too. I glided by the barn and through the pasture, jumping rocks, bull nettles, and cow patties. I circled the old flatbed truck, scaring a small green snake that slithered under one of the rusty tire rims. The volcano had erupted, and nothing could stop it. My legs burned, but I kept running. There was a stitch in my side and I gasped for air, but I kept going. I had to run. I couldn’t stop. I needed to burn off everything that had swollen inside me during this long, hot summer vacation.

I imagined Ricky running beside me, grinning and yelling, “Race ya!” And I wouldn’t’ve said a word about letting him win. I came back around the barn and ran straight for the old shade tree. Buddy dashed in front, almost tripping me. We stopped and panted, gasping for breath. I hugged the tree just to hold myself up. When I wiped the sweat from my eyes, I saw something that really made that volcano sizzle. Lying there in the shade, like pieces of a puzzle, were lumber, nails, bolts, and buggy wheels. All laid out like a go-cart.

I had never understood how Ricky had imagined that go-cart before. But seeing it now, pieced together on the ground, it made perfect sense. At that moment, I knew what I had to do.

I tried to sneak back into the house for a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk, but when I went into the kitchen, there sat Mama and Mr. Lunas. Mama looked like an old rag that had been wrung out and left in the sun to dry. Her face had new lines and shadows that hadn’t been there before. Mr. Lunas didn’t look much better. The whole room was a box of gloom. I couldn’t tell whether or not Mama had apologized to Mr. Lunas for those nasty things she’d said about him, but being a good Christian woman, I was guessing she’d done the right thing. I didn’t see Daddy anywhere and figured he must be sitting with Ricky.

“Where’ve you been?” she asked me, her voice a raspy whisper.

“Playing with Buddy.” Oops! I wished I’d made up a different lie. Mama probably thought I was the worst sister in the whole world. My brother’s laying in his bed, dying of Backward-Gizzard Disease, and now she’d think I was out playing instead of grieving.

“Did you feed him?” she asked.

“I’ll do it,” Mr. Lunas said. He scooted away from the table and hobbled to the sink. His pants were bagging again and his belt was pulled so tight, the end of it hung down in front. He bent over and opened the cabinet where Mama kept the dog food. I couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever manage to straighten himself back up. But he did . . . s-l-o-w-l-y.

I hurried over and closed the cabinet door for him. He gave me a wink as he walked away, dog food in hand. I got my favorite cereal and bowl. When I finally sat at the table, Mama gave me the look of doom.

“How’s Ricky?” I managed to ask.

“Not much different than last night when you were in his room.”

My face burned from fear. I had to say something fast. I couldn’t think of anything that didn’t involve spreading germs, so I decided to tell the truth. “I couldn’t help it, Mama. I missed him.”

Mama hung her head and sobbed. “I don’t guess it’s gonna make much difference now anyway. He should be in a hospital where the air is sterile and clean, not this old run-down house with holes in the roof and cracks in the—”

I think she was crying, but her eyes were dry. She surely must have run out of tears by now. I finished my breakfast and stood up to clear the dishes. “I’ll be out by the old shade tree.”

She just kept her head resting on her hand and never said a word.

Buddy joined me out there, his tongue and tail both wagging away. I patted his head, then circled the layout of the go-cart. I could see how it was meant to be put together, but I didn’t know squat about nuts and bolts. I did know how to pound a hammer, though, so that’s exactly what I did.

I nailed the long board to the thick shorter ones just the way Ricky had placed them. I hammered hard, missing a few times and putting round dents in the wood. Even though the shade tree was a good distance from the house, I couldn’t help worrying that Daddy might come out and fuss about the noise disturbing Ricky. I didn’t want to get caught.

When I first tried hammering the nail into the end board, it bent right in half. It took me five minutes and most of my strength to tug it out. My second try got it in straight as a pencil. I stood back to see how it looked. Not as even as I’d have liked, but it should work. I tilted my head, thinking the boards looked a lot like a giant letter “I.” I squatted down again, ready to tackle the wheels. That’s when the screen door slammed and Daddy came stomping down the back steps, flinging his arms like a wild man and screaming at the top of his lungs. “He’s my son too! Remember? He’s my son, too!”

Daddy ran toward one of the lawn chairs and kicked it hard. It flew up into the air, then landed with a bang, bending the aluminum arm on one side. Some dirty words flew out of his mouth as he picked up the warped lawn chair and bashed it against the chicken coop. The chickens squawked and fluttered like crazy, their feathers flying all over the place.

I suddenly got scared that he’d come over and destroy what little work I’d done on the go-cart, so I headed him off, just walking up like nothing was going on, crossing my arms when I got close to him. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Your danged mama, that’s what’s wrong! The woman’s gone plain nuts. All I did was tell her to take a nice bubble bath and have a nap. That I’d look out for Ricky today. She went plumb crazy. Told me that I wasn’t going to keep her away from her little boy, then she shoved me clean out of the room. When I thought she’d calmed down I tried to go back in, but she’d moved the dresser in front of the door to keep me out. This business has made her plain loco!” He kicked the ground, stirring up dirt.

“Can’t we just take Ricky to the hospital like Mama wants?”

Daddy laughed like I’d told the funniest joke he’d ever heard, but he looked like he might cry at the same time. “I wish it was that simple, Janine. We ain’t got money for a hospital. We ain’t got insurance. And the charity hospital, why, they’d just let him die.” Daddy looked down at the ground and whispered, “He can do that here.”

I felt my blood draining at those words and I ran up, wrapping myself around Daddy’s waist. I held tight. “He ain’t gonna die, Daddy. He ain’t!”

He hugged me close, but even his strong arms couldn’t shelter me from that awful word. I hated that word! Maybe Ricky wouldn’t die if people would just stop talking about it. I buried my face in Daddy’s shirt, which smelled like a mixture of Tide detergent, Old Spice, and sweat. I clung to him and that smell, remembering how he could always make things better when I was sad. He loosened my grip.

“We’ve got to be strong for Mama,” he said, looking straight down at me. “If she’s acting like this now . . . well . . . no telling what she’ll be like when the worst comes.”

I felt like butter that had been left out in the sun. I walked away without saying another word. I went straight to the living room and crawled into the cave. Curling up, I thought about the world and how unfair it was. The way the grown-ups were talking, finishing that go-cart would just be a big waste of time. But the more I thought about it, the more important it became. I was going to do what I had to for Ricky. And I knew I had to do it quick.

I raced back outside to the shade tree, where I hammered and worked for a whole hour. And when I finished, I had something that resembled a go-cart, even if it was still just a big old letter “I” with wheels.

“That’s a mighty fine piece of transportation you’ve got there,” a voice said from behind me. I turned to see Mr. Lunas standing there with a tiny sliver of a grin, his body not much bigger than a wisp of smoke.

“It would have been better if Ricky had built it. I don’t even know if it will roll.”

Mr. Lunas got down on his haunches and inspected my work. I swear I could hear his bones creak. “How are you going to steer it?”

I was so busy putting it together, I hadn’t stopped to think of that. “I don’t know.”

He took off his hat and scratched his head. “I suspect if Ricky were making this, he’d loosen this front nail and steer this thing with his feet.” He sat down on the back board and propped his feet up on each side of the front board. “See? You could push with your right foot to go left, and your left foot to go right.”

It made sense to me. When he stood up, I grabbed the hammer and started jerking that nail out. Mr. Lunas cleared his throat, making a gruff, brittle sound. “Also,” he went on, “since you already have a hole there from the nail, I bet you can put that large bolt in it and hold it on with that nut. But not too tight. It has to swivel, remember?”

Mr. Lunas was right. The bolt went in snug, but I worked the board back and forth, loosening it up enough to move with ease.

“And I think the same thing would go with those wheels too,” he said. “Why not get those tight nails out of there and use those screws instead? You already have the holes to fit them.”

Mr. Lunas guided me. I did all the work, and he did all the advising. He showed me what wrenches and screwdrivers to use. Another hour later, I sat down on the go-cart, imagining what it would be like to sail down the hill out front. I held my arms out to my sides as though I could feel the wind hitting my face.

“You’re going to fall off if you ride like that,” Mr. Lunas said, rubbing his chin.

He had a point. “What can I hold on to?”

He nodded toward some rope laying under the tree. “I think Ricky meant to use that. Tie each end on that front board, one on the left, one on the right. Tie it close to the main chassis. You can hold on to it like the reins on a horse.”

I tied the rope tight, burning my hands with its coarse hairs. I tugged as hard as I could to make sure it didn’t come loose. Then I sat on it again, feet up, reins in my hands. I swiveled the front board left and right to make sure it worked. It wasn’t easy in the dirt, but on the open road, it would steer just fine. Hot dang, I’d built a go-cart!