Sun & Spoon (6 page)

For some reason, Spoon's ears perked up. Pa was talking.

“This may sound strange,” Pa told Kay and Scott, “but on the nights I can't sleep, I've taken to playing solitaire with Martha's deck of cards—those old sun cards she loved. It's been a kind of solace to me.”

Moving several inches closer, Spoon strained to hear.

“The other night I couldn't sleep,” said Pa, “so I got out of bed, went to the dining room, and opened the drawer of the breakfront, as usual, only to discover that the cards weren't there.

“I've only played at the dining-room table, and I've only kept the cards in the breakfront. That was Friday night—I stayed up until three o'clock looking for them. I've looked everywhere. I spent yesterday looking. Because I've been so scattered lately, I keep returning to the drawer and opening it, hoping I just hadn't seen them and they'd been there all along. I must have opened that damned drawer a hundred times in the last two days. That's why I was late this morning; I was looking again.”

Spoon's heart seized up, and then his heartbeat quickened. The deck of cards in his pocket felt as heavy as a rock.

“I suppose it's a silly thing anyway,” Spoon heard Pa say. And then he thought his mother said, “It's not silly at all.” And then he thought his father said, “I'm sure they'll turn up.” And then he thought they began to talk about the weather again. But he couldn't be sure; his hearing had blurred.

A sharp crash of thunder shook the house.

Joanie shrieked with delight.

“I'll go shut the windows,” Spoon said as a way of distancing himself from everyone. As he turned to go back inside the house, he noticed one cloud in particular. It was knotted and huge and it resembled an eye.

Pa's eye.

And it was watching him.

And it knew everything.

S
POON
WONDERED IF
the rain would ever stop. It poured and poured, let up for a while, then poured again. The rain sounded like hundreds of thousands of pebbles falling onto the roof. Periodically water sluiced down the windows so hard and fast you could barely see out of them. “We're in a car wash!” Joanie shouted, running from one window to the next.

Normally Spoon would have been excited, too. He loved stormy days. But his mind was stuck on one thing—the deck of cards. He couldn't bear to keep the cards in his pocket any longer, especially with Pa right there. He stashed them in his top dresser drawer until he decided what to do.

Out on the porch, a vague panicky feeling had gripped Spoon in the pit of his stomach. As the afternoon passed and Pa's words played over and over in Spoon's head, the panicky feeling intensified. His insides tightened and clenched.

It was futile, he knew, but he wished the cards had never existed. He wished he could just get rid of them, erase them forever. Briefly he considered tucking the cards into Joanie's suitcase or the knitting bag Pa had given her. He reasoned that everyone loved Joanie so much that no one would be mad at her no matter what she did. But he couldn't go through with it. He also considered throwing the cards in the garbage. But what would that solve? He would still feel guilty, and Pa would still be searching for them.

Pa stayed and stayed because of the rain. On any other day, this would have made Spoon happy. But given the circumstances, how could he be happy? His discomfort grew as the rain drummed on, and so he tried to avoid Pa without being too obvious.

At one point, Pa said, “We really need this rain. Don't you agree, Farmer Spoon?”

Spoon's face tensed. He firmed up his lips and replied with a mute, uncertain nod.

When they all played Chinese checkers, Spoon played one game, then watched from the sofa. When Kay made chocolate milk shakes and everyone else sat around the kitchen table to drink them, Spoon hung back, leaning into the sink, using a straw to sip the shake without tasting it. When Scott pulled down a puzzle from the closet and spilled it onto a card table in the den, Spoon slumped against the window frame and pretended to be disinterested. “I've done that puzzle a million times,” he explained, although he wanted to help with it badly. Out the window, the rain came in long sheets that receded down the street, vanishing like the sails of a ghost ship. It occurred to Spoon that everyone might be better off if he would vanish, too.

The rain finally ended. It was late afternoon. Weak rays of sunlight peeked out from between thinning clouds. The air was cool and moist. Branches, big and small, from the neighbors' shedding, ancient maple tree were strewn across the yard. Puddles were everywhere.

While Scott, Kay, and Pa wove through the garden tying drooping plants to stakes with strips torn from old sheets, and Joanie raced about the yard collecting sticks, Spoon kicked off his shoes and walked from puddle to puddle, trying to work out a plan.

“Aren't you overdoing it?” Spoon said sarcastically to Joanie as he watched her amass a pile of sticks.

She looked at him blankly.

“Where are you going to put them? Your suitcase and bag are already full.”

Joanie thought for a moment, picking at a loose thread on her sweatshirt. Her eyes flashed. “I'll make room for the new ones,” she chirped. “I'm going to sort through
all
my bones and take out the old, sick ones. Then I'll bury them, like Gram.”

“Shut up!” Spoon said, finding the weight of his emotions suddenly unendurable. “Your stupid sticks aren't anything like Gram.” After lashing out at Joanie, he pushed her with all his might, causing her to stumble and fall into a muddy puddle.

He regretted it instantly.

Joanie had bitten down on her lip as she landed in the puddle. She pulled herself up and touched her hand to her mouth, and when she saw the blood on her fingers, she started to cry.

“Sorry,” said Spoon, holding back tears. “I'm really sorry.”

Pa glanced up, then busied himself in the garden again. Scott and Kay walked toward them. His parents sighed and looked at Spoon with disappointment in their eyes. That was punishment enough. That and what Joanie said in a tiny whisper between sobs: “I knew you wouldn't be nice to me forever.”

“I'
M
GOING TO
walk Pa home,” Scott said to Spoon. “Come with us. It might do you good to be away from Joanie for a while.”

Spoon sucked in his cheeks, thinking. “Uh, okay,” he replied slowly. “I'll be right there.”

Instinctively Spoon ran up to his room. He opened his top dresser drawer and took out Gram's cards. His heart pounded. Now it seemed too conspicuous to jam the cards into his pocket, so he placed them in his backpack, adding his baseball glove, two paperback novels, and a dirty T-shirt for bulk. He hadn't a clue as to why he was doing this. “Coming,” he yelled from the stairs.

“Not planning on running away, are you?” Scott said with a wink, tapping Spoon's backpack as they filed out the door.

Blushing, Spoon raised his shoulders and dropped them. “Just something to hold on to.” It embarrassed him to think that his father had complimented him only yesterday about being a kind big brother. It embarrassed him to think how easily Joanie had forgiven him for pushing her down.

In terms of punishments, Spoon's parents always tried to let whoever was involved in a particular quarrel or fight work out a suitable arrangement.

“What do you think is appropriate?” Kay had asked Spoon, after Joanie had been cleaned up and kissed.

“I could help Joanie find more sticks?” Spoon had answered. “Really good ones.”

“Joanie?” said Scott.

Joanie nodded. “But he has to call them bones.”

“Bones,” said Spoon. “Not sticks.”

“And I think you should apologize one more time,” she added, peering up at Spoon.

“I'm sorry,” Spoon said clearly and kindly.

“Okay?” said Scott.

“Okay,” said Joanie, smiling.

During the short walk, Spoon willed Scott not to mention Joanie, and he willed Pa not to mention the cards. Few words fell between them, and Spoon was grateful for the quiet.

“Oh, my,” Pa said as they neared his back door. “Look, I left the kitchen windows wide open.”

“Good thing your cleanup crew is with you,” said Scott. “Let's go inside and see how bad it is.”

A thin liquid sheen seemed to coat everything, even small things like the knobs on the cupboards. The cushions on two of the chairs were shades darker. The windowsills were beaded. Pools of water on the countertops, the table, and the floor reminded Spoon of lakes on maps.

The three potted spider plants on the metal TV table beneath one of the windows had tipped over. Dirt was mounded on the low table and scattered across the floor.

Immediately they went to work. Spoon carried in an armload of towels from the bathroom, and Scott found the mop and a bucket in the basement.

It didn't take long to get Pa's kitchen back to normal. And except for a soggy newspaper, a waterlogged roll of paper towels, the soaked cushions, and a few bent and broken leaves on the spider plants, there was no damage done.

“Spoon,” said Pa, “will you please do me a favor?” He had been wringing out towels in the sink. Now he was wringing his hands.

Spoon inclined his head.

“Will you take a quick run through the house to see if I left any other windows open?”

Spoon nodded.

“If you come back with a smile on your face, I'll know you have good news. And if not, at least I'm lucky you're both here to help me.”

He started upstairs. The windows were either closed or open so slightly a quick wipe with his towel was all that was necessary to dry the wet areas.

Downstairs. The study—fine. The living room—fine. The dining room—fine. The dining room. Spoon froze; he could not leave. He realized that this was his chance to make things right. He was glad he still had his backpack on. Now he shrugged it off and took out Gram's cards. With the suns on the walls watching from every direction, Spoon replaced the cards in the breakfront.

As he carefully, noiselessly eased the drawer closed, he weighed what he was doing in his mind. He decided not to say anything to Pa. It wasn't the most brave thing to do—return the cards without an explanation—but it was all he was capable of at the moment.

Right away, Spoon felt different. In two ways. Good and bad. He felt as if a great stone had been lifted from his chest. But he also felt a new stab of longing for Gram. He felt both sensations in every muscle and bone.

Spoon entered the kitchen with a smile.

“Good news?” said Pa, his silver eyebrows arched.

“Good news,” Spoon replied.

Father and son were walking back to their house.

Spoon breathed deeply. Relief.

“If your mother hasn't started supper,” said Scott, “let's cook. You and me.”

“Sure,” said Spoon, looking down, watching so that he didn't step on any of the many worms underfoot.

“What should we make?”

“Something good.” Spoon thought of all his favorite comfort foods. “Something like macaroni and cheese or hot dogs.” But then the worms made him think of tiny, skinny wriggling hot dogs, cooking in a pot of smelly rainwater. “Macaroni and cheese,” he said. “Definitely macaroni and cheese.”

The sidewalks and streets were wet. Spoon guessed that when the moon came out and the street lamps came on, the pavement would glisten. By tomorrow it will all be dry, he thought.

Tomorrow. Maybe he'd look for something else of Gram's. Maybe he'd find some other way to remember her. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

M
ONDAY
DAWNED MISTY
and cool, but the sun burned through the white haziness, warming things up and revealing a sky that was clear blue and polished like the inside of Gram's big, old enamel bowl.

Spoon woke early with a dream on the fringe of his consciousness. All he could remember of the dream was that he was hiding beneath a table and that the table was shrinking, pressing against his shoulders, neck, and head. By the time Spoon had sprung from bed and gotten dressed, the fragment of the dream was already lost to him, forgotten like some bit of trivia, never to be thought of again.

He hurried downstairs to find that everyone else had risen early, too. His parents were making coffee; Joanie was setting the table. Spoon was still saying his good mornings when Pa came through the back door, carrying a white box and wearing a toothy smile.

“Surprise!” he said brightly. “Bakery for everyone.”

It caught Spoon unawares to see Pa so early—and so cheerful.

“Look at my fat lip,” Joanie said proudly, rushing at Pa.

“My, my,” said Pa, sizing it up. He offered the box to Joanie.

Joanie placed the box on the table and tore open the cardboard flaps. The box contained scones, Danish pastries, and sugary cinnamon buns.