AS SOON AS PROMISES COME, THEY GO.
Daddy shows up from Philadelphia one Sunday. He surprises me and Ma.
“Took a day to join you for church services,” he says, pulling both of us into his arms. “I can only stay the day, though. I need to get back to the Claremont Hotel. I’m a workingman now.” Daddy is proud.
It is a church day to beat all. We’re dressed so fine. I’ve put on a collared shirt. Daddy wears his best shoes. Ma even takes her Sunday hat down from the shelf. She has a hum rising out from her. She is ready to let the choir hear her joy on this day.
It doesn’t take long before Daddy is back to making us laugh. Back to telling us his riddle-jokes. Back to his old way.
“What sea animal can be adjusted to play music?” This is one of Daddy’s favorites.
We all say the answer together: “A tune-a-fish!”
We walk toward our truck, the three of us, arm in arm, step in step. Daddy says to Ma, “Betty, can you lift this boy?”
Ma knows what Daddy’s thinking. She says, “On the count of three.”
I know what’s coming. We link our arms even tighter. We count at the same time. “One… two—three.”
On three Daddy and Ma lift me at my elbows, just high enough to let my feet jiggle above the grass, and fast enough to scare away the pigeons. We all laugh at the whole silly thing. Daddy says, “In the time I’ve been gone, this boy has gotten taller. He’s still as straight as a clothespin but heavier.”
Daddy looks down. “Otis, it must be your clobber feet that are bringing on some extra weight.”
Ma giggles. “It’s the bricks I feed him.”
I say to Ma, “And I’m getting taller from when you hang me out to dry with the laundry after my bath.”
Another bunch of giggles springs from Daddy and Ma and me.
As we walk, we come upon a rabbit’s nest in the tall grasses of our yard. There’s a baby bunny nestled in a pile of brush. “Look,” I say. “He’s all alone. We could bring him to church. I could show him to people.”
I reach for the rabbit, but Daddy stops me. “Come away from there, Otis. You mustn’t ever remove a baby cottontail from its nest.”
“But he’s abandoned,” I say. “There’s no ma or daddy that I can see. The little bunny’s a loner.”
Daddy says, “We don’t know that for sure, Otis. Mother rabbits leave their babies alone in their nests during the day. They stay away in the waking hours so they won’t attract attention from roaming dogs and cats.”
Ma knows about bunnies, too. “The mother returns to her babies at night. Let’s leave the bunny where he is for now. If his mama’s not back after a few days, we’ll know he’s truly orphaned.”
The bunny’s fur is just-grown, a fluff-coat of brown velvet. I want to pet him, but I don’t.
When we get to the truck, Daddy and Ma ride up front in the cab. I ride in the back on the flatbed where I’d put our radio earlier on so that after services we can listen to music in the church basement and play the radio for the folks who only wish they had a Philco.
This day is so sunny. The breeze blows nice on my face. I have a smile inside, thinking about Daddy’s riddle-joke. I tell the riddle-joke to myself, just to make me laugh again.
“Otis,” I ask, like I’m saying it for the first time. “What sea animal can be adjusted to play music?”
But before I can say, “A tune-a-fish,” I hear a loud horn. When I lean out from the side of the flatbed, there’s a hay truck coming right at us!
Then I hear the screech. Daddy’s truck rattles and jerks and smacks me against the side of the flatbed.
I call out to Daddy and Ma. But they have no way to hear me from the truck’s cab.
Right quick comes the crash.
And flying glass.
And twisted metal.
And a hiss.
Then there’s hay flying off from the other truck, dropping on me like rain.
Next come the flames. Loud, high, hot fire, snatching at the hay. Burning up around Daddy and Ma. Sending smoke into the sky. Pouring an ugly odor all over the place. Choking off my breath. Making the happy day go suddenly black.