CHAPTER
seventeen

Hugo and I sat on the front stoop, watching Marvel’s station wagon inch down the street. When I’d called her after breakfast to let her know that Clara and Hugo were at my house, she’d insisted on paying a visit.

When I’d told her in a whisper that Hugo was black, she’d just lowered her own voice and told me that was all right.

“Nick and Dick would love to meet him,” she’d said over the phone.

When I’d asked if she had any hand-me-downs that could fit a five-year-old, she’d yelled for the boys to go through their drawers to find anything that no longer fit. Then she’d asked if Clara could use anything. When I said she could, Marvel told me that she’d be right over.

“Forty-five minutes at the most,” she’d said.

Thirty-nine minutes later, she was nearly at my house.

There was no one quite like Marvel DeYoung.

At the corner, she stopped the car, and one of the back doors burst open, letting Nick and Dick out. They ran as fast as their feet would go, trying to best each other, seeing who could reach the house first.

“What are they doing?” Hugo asked.

“Racing each other,” I answered. I put a hand on Hugo’s shoulder, and he didn’t move away from me. “Does it look like they’re having fun?”

Just then, one of the twins shoved the other off the sidewalk and into one of my neighbors’ hedges.

“No,” Hugo answered. “It looks like they’re fighting.”

“Well, sometimes I wonder if they think fighting is fun.”

Hugo nodded, dubious, with his eyes wide as he watched one of the boys sprint the last few feet, jumping up and down in triumph at the end of my driveway. Hugo scooted closer to me.

“Are you feeling shy?” I asked.

He gave a tiny shrug.

“They’ll be nice to you, I promise.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

“You cheated,” the second twin said, catching up to the first.

“Nah,” said the first. “Just ran faster.”

“Did not.” The second twin inspected a fresh scratch on his arm. Most likely from the hedge.

I cleared my throat, and they turned toward Hugo and me. “Hi, boys.”

“Hey there, Aunt Betty,” the one I guessed was Nick said, making his way to the porch. “Is that Hugo?”

“It is,” I answered.

“Glad to meet you.” He stuck out his hand to Hugo. “I’m Nick DeYoung.”

“And I’m Richard,” the other boy said, also offering his hand. “But my friends call me Dick.”

Hugo squinted and looked at their hands as if inspecting for grime under the fingernails—which he no doubt found plenty of. Then he took both at the same time, pumping them up and down once before letting go.

“That’s our mom.” Dick nodded his head toward Marvel.

“Boys, come give me a hand with these, please,” she called from the tail end of her car where she held a paper bag on one hip. “Hi there, Hugo.”

“Hi.” He lifted a hand in a wave.

Marvel made her way across the grass and to the porch. She handed a bag off to me before bending at the knee and putting another on the ground before she wrapped her arms around Hugo, pulling him close. To my surprise, he didn’t flinch or pull away.

“Oh, it is so nice to meet you,” she said.

“You too,” Hugo said after she’d let go of him.

“Her name is Marvel,” Nick said. “Like the comic books.”

“That’s right.” Marvel smiled down at Hugo. “Do you like the Fantastic Four, Hugo?”

Hugo’s eyes grew wide, and he looked at me as if he was lost.

“It’s all right if you don’t know them,” Nick said. “We can let you read our comic books when you come to our house.”

“Mom, are you Hugo’s uncle?” Dick asked.

“She couldn’t be his uncle,” Nick said. “Uncles are men.”

“Shows how much you know,” Dick sneered at him, then broke into a goofy smile. “So, would you be his uncle, Mom?”

“No,” Marvel said. “I’m not sure what I’d be to him.”

“You said we were his cousins,” Nick said.

“Then that makes Mom his uncle,” Dick said.

The left side of his mouth twitched up into a smirk that he’d inherited from his father and I knew he was trying to get his mother’s goat. From the exasperated sigh Marvel heaved, I could tell it was working.

“No, Dicky,” Marvel said. “If anything, it makes me his aunt.”

“But I’m Nick.”

“You are not. Now go on in the backyard and play for a little while. We’ll figure out who’s who later.” Marvel nodded toward the back of the house. “And don’t teach Hugo any bad habits. I don’t need his mother angry at me on account of you.”

Nick and Dick ran to the back as if the fate of the world depended on which one of them got through the gate first. Hugo watched them go and took my hand.

“Don’t you want to go play?” I asked, bending at the knees and meeting him face-to-face.

“I do,” he whispered.

“Then go ahead, sweetie.”

But he didn’t budge.

“You’ll have fun,” I said. “If you need anything, I’ll be inside.”

“Mommy too?” he asked.

I nodded, yet still he held my hand.

“She’ll be glad that you’re making friends,” I said. “Don’t you think?”

He looked me right in the eyes as if reading something inside me before letting go and running to join the others.

Something about that made my heart ache.

We carried everything in, taking two trips each, and lined it up on the living room floor. The sounds of the boys wafted in through the open windows.

“I didn’t expect you to bring so much,” I said, plucking a stuffed puppy from one of the bags.

“Well, it is two boys’ worth,” Marvel said. “I’m glad someone can use it all. That bag’s for Clara.”

“She’ll be glad.” I lowered myself to the floor, folding my knees to one side of me. “She’s taking her time this morning.”

I didn’t say that Clara hadn’t come out of her room all morning. I’d hoped she’d get herself around when I told her Marvel and the boys were coming, but she’d told me she wasn’t feeling up to it.

“What a nice surprise for you, the two of them showing up.” Marvel pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I assume it was nice.”

I nodded but didn’t meet her eyes. Marvel could read me a little too well.

Marvel and I started unpacking the bags, setting everything in neatly folded piles all around us on the floor where we sat. Shirts, slacks, shorts.

“You know what I was thinking about after you called? Remember how hard it was for her when you and Normie got married?” Marvel pulled a green flannel shirt from a bag, holding it up by the shoulders before handing it to me.

“Oh, do I ever.” I took the shirt, feeling of its soft fabric between my fingers. “She about barred the door so I couldn’t get to the church.”

“Do you think she felt like you were abandoning her?”

“Maybe.”

I picked a woolly sweater from a pile, thinking Hugo wouldn’t need it anytime soon, wondering if he and Clara would be long gone by then. Assuming they would be. I figured they could just take it all with them.

“Remember how he won her over again?” I asked.

Marvel shook her head.

“He had his friend Ivan take her out dancing.” I smiled at the memory. “My dad never did find out about that.”

“I remember now,” Marvel said. “It took Albert a month to get over his hurt feelings.”

“He always held a candle for her, didn’t he?”

“And she hardly knew he existed.” She frowned. “Poor Albie.”

I pulled a bag closer to me, the one that had dresses and blouses and slacks for Clara. A pretty cream-colored skirt was folded up on top of the stack.

She’d known about Albert’s affection for her. I’d made sure of that. But at my every suggestion, Clara had wrinkled her nose and told me he was “like a brother.”

He would have treated her so well, though.

“Do you think Hugo will be able to use any of this?” Marvel asked, folding an empty bag.

“It’s all so nice. He’ll be pleased, I’m sure.”

“I only brought what the boys didn’t manage to tear to shreds.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m surprised I found as much as I did. I’m convinced those two are part wolverine.”

“It’s from Stan’s side.” I winked at her.

“That would not surprise me at all.” She handed me a bow tie with polka dots all over it.

“How sweet.” I held the tie up, imagining Hugo wearing it. It would be just right for church. “He’ll like that, I think.”

“I’m glad someone will wear it. Nick and Dick weren’t partial to it.”

“I don’t see why not.”

Marvel shrugged, but then something caught her attention behind me. When I turned to see what it was, Clara stood in the doorway wearing the same dress she’d had on the day before. Rumpled and looking as tired as Clara did, the dress made me feel sad.

“Marvel?” she said, striding across the room.

Marvel got up just in time to greet her with a hug.

“Oh, look at how beautiful you are,” she said. “And Hugo is adorable.”

“Thank you.”

They didn’t cut the embrace short. They held on to each other a good amount of time.

It was a warmer welcome than I’d offered.

Pop and Stan came over when the bakery closed at noon with steaks from the butcher’s to put on the grill. By then Clara had changed into a pair of pedal pushers and a white blouse from one of Marvel’s hand-me-down bags. She had her hair rolled into a bun and put a little shadow on her eyelids.

I’d managed to get a few cups of coffee into her too. It was amazing what miracles a little joe could do for a person.

Gone was the anxious woman of the night before. So too was the sullen one of the morning. In their place was the Clara I’d always liked best. Spunky, easygoing, and radiant.

I stood at the kitchen counter, cubing boiled potatoes for a salad and looking out the window. Clara and Pop sat in a couple of lawn chairs Stan had pulled out of the shed. She leaned on the arm of the chair, listening to Pop talk and smiling wider and wider as he went.

“Albie just got here,” Marvel said, coming in through the garage door with a pie balancing on her hands. “I sent him out back.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “You can put that on the table if you want.”

Out the window I saw Albert walk through the gate and close it behind him. He stopped just on the other side, all his attention on Clara.

“Did he change his clothes?” I asked in a whisper.

The collar of his shirt was too neat to have been worn in the hot bakery, his pants too clean to have been dusted with flour.

“I think so,” Marvel answered, joining me at the counter.

When Clara noticed him, she smiled and I heard her greeting to him through the open window. Albert returned it but lowered his head before walking across the yard.

It was as if it was just too much, her gaze.

I decided to focus my attention on the potatoes. The last thing I needed was to cut my finger off.