CHAPTER
twenty-four

Before I knew it, the end of June had come, warm and sunny. The irises and delphinium of spring were done, making way for the coneflowers and hydrangeas of summer.

The change didn’t wait for my permission or for me to even do anything. It came all of its own accord, whether I liked it or not. I was always sad when one plant had to go in order for the new to have space in the soil. But then, when the fresh blooms spread, I was glad for something different.

Lifting my head, I used the back of one of my garden gloves to wipe a bit of sweat off my forehead. I caught a glimpse of Hugo bouncing a ball in the driveway. He had his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration, and I had to smile at that.

He was such a serious little man at only five years old.

Somewhere in the neighborhood, a radio played at what I had to guess was full volume. I worked to the rhythm of the plinking xylophone that was backed up by smooth strings. A voice joined the instruments singing words I did not understand. Peppy as the song was, I couldn’t help but feel sad when I heard it.

Shutting my eyes, I tried breathing against the melancholy that washed over me, heavy and powerful as a tall wave.

For the past few days that song had been playing everywhere I went. One of the disc jockeys had said that it was called “Sukiyaki.” I found myself humming along, wishing I knew what made the singer so sad, but unable to understand the words he sang.

Hugo’s ball hit his foot, careening off in my direction. Flinching, I put my hands up in front of my face. Clearly, I’d never been much of an athlete. The ball hit my hands and landed right in the middle of the flower bed, breaking half a dozen of the coneflowers’ stems.

He stood in the driveway, hands over his mouth and a look of utter horror on his face. Shoulders slumped and tears in his eyes, he waited, it seemed, for me to do something.

“I need a little practice catching, huh?” I said, reaching through the flowers for the ball and rolling it my way. Standing, I bent at the waist, the ball between my knees. I was glad I’d decided to wear my pedal pushers. “Ready?”

Lowering his hands, palms up, in front of his stomach, he lifted one of his eyebrows. The boy had no idea what to make of me. Still, he waited for my throw.

It wasn’t any good, my throw, and he had to run into the neighbor’s yard to retrieve the ball.

“Oopsy daisy,” I called after him. “Sorry.”

When he got the ball, he lifted it over his head in both hands and said, “Wanna play catch?”

“Yes,” I said.

He made sure I was ready before tossing it to me. I, again, missed. It was all right, though, because the terrified look on his face was gone, replaced with a slight smile that I liked very much indeed.

Moving just a little bit closer, he made eye contact and nodded to let me know he was going to throw it. That toss I caught.

“Good catch,” Hugo said.

“Thank you.”

We played like that for ten or fifteen minutes with more catches than misses between us, which I counted a success.

Finished, I bent down to pick up my gardening tools—a spade, gloves, and the like. Hugo looked at the broken coneflowers.

“I’m sorry I broke your flowers,” he said.

Hands on my hips, I regarded them. “Hugo, have you ever heard the expression ‘when life gives you lemons, make lemonade’?”

He nodded.

“Do you understand what it means?”

“No,” he answered.

“It just means that when something happens that you didn’t plan on, turn it into something good.” I bent down and picked up those flowers, arranging them in my fist. “Let’s put these in some water. Maybe your mommy would like them in her room?”

I thought those pink-purple flowers would be a ray of sunshine in her world that was too often dark.

Just like Hugo was.

I took Hugo for an ice cream at Sam’s after I got myself cleaned up from my yard work. He didn’t even ask if we could invite Clara along. We just hopped into the car and drove away, as if she wasn’t there at all.

When I asked him if we should bring something home for her—a sundae or a shake—he shook his head, saying that she wouldn’t eat it anyway.

He ordered a cone of Superman ice cream, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to wash the red, yellow, and blue dribbles out of the shirt he’d worn.

It didn’t matter, though. He’d enjoyed that treat so much, it was worth the cost of a hand-me-down T-shirt.

On the short drive home, with the windows rolled down and my hair blowing about with abandon, I thought of what a good day it had been. I turned up the radio when the Peter, Paul, and Mary tune came on, the one that had been so popular the year before.

“What do they want a hammer for?” Hugo asked from the seat beside me.

“Well, I don’t know, exactly,” I said. “But I think it’s a nice song anyway.”

When we rounded the corner of Deerfield to get home, I noticed something was wrong.

I could see even before we pulled into the driveway that the garage door was open and Norman’s Impala gone. I did my best not to let Hugo read my alarm.

“Tell you what,” I said, turning down the radio. “I’m going to park on the street for a minute. I’ll have you stay in the car until I come to get you.”

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

“Not necessarily.” I pulled up to the curb. “Roll up your window and keep the doors locked until I say it’s okay. All right?”

“Aunt Betty, I’m scared.”

I put the gear into park and turned toward him. “You don’t need to be, sweetheart. I just want to check something.”

After turning off the engine, I got out, making sure that Hugo had his door locked. I turned back to look at him when I was halfway up the drive. He had both hands on the window, his face so close to the glass I could see the steam of his breath. I smiled at him, hoping it didn’t show how frightened I was.

In the garage nothing was amiss except for the missing car and the door that led to the kitchen was locked. I used my key to let myself in.

There on the table was a note from Clara.

Birdie,

Went out for a little bit. Be back soon. Keys were in the ignition of the black car. Hope you don’t mind.

Clara

I never knew I could be so relieved and so furious at the same time.