Ma got off work really late. Partly that was because of moving Wilhelmina into Room 102—something her bossy son watched over the whole time. And partly that was because of everything that needed doing before the next day—giving oldies showers, mostly. And tidying up. And readying clothes for any oldie whose family was coming to the Brookside Thanksgiving.
“Why’s everything got to be so perfect?” I asked on the bus ride home.
“Some folks only visit on holidays. It’s important the residents look their best.”
“But…isn’t that like faking it?”
“It’s the same as cleaning yourself up before family comes to supper.” She looked out the window. “Just a whole lot more work when a body has trouble moving on its own.”
I was going to leave it right there, but she turned back and stared at me.
“What?” I asked.
Behind her stare, I could see tired wheels turning toward trouble. And before long she took up blinkin’—something I knew to be a dangerous sign.
“No, Ma. Whatever you’re thinkin’, no. There’s only so much one day can take.”
But she yanked on the stop cord, and before I knew it, we were off the bus miles from home, marching along the sidewalk.
“Where we goin’, Ma?”
“To fetch you some clothes. I’m wearin’ my work uniform tomorrow, but you can’t be showin’ up in that.”
I was tripping all over myself to keep up. “I’ve got clean stuff at home!”
“Did you see Brookside today?” She tossed me a look that was half angry, half helpless. “I had no idea all this would be such a fuss or I’d have planned better.” She started walking even faster. “Lord, I hope they’re still open.”
“Who, Ma?”
But then we turned the corner and I knew.
Goodwill.
The lights were on, and we made it with seven minutes to spare. And in seven minutes, Ma tracked down some slacks, a button-down shirt, and a pair of shoes. The shoes were at least two sizes too big, but it was the only pair that came anywhere near fitting me. “Better too big than too small,” Ma said, and headed for the register.
The clothes came to six dollars and fifty-two cents. That left Ma with a little change from the seven dollars she handed over, and left me with an eye on the stack of comic books by the register. They were tattered and torn, but I heard them crying out, Lincoln…
“They’re only a quarter, Ma, please?” I begged.
Ma looked at me, at the change in her hand, at the comics, and back at me.
I could feel my face start to crumble.
That was not her cavin’ look.
That was her stand-firm look.
But…why? She had a quarter right there in her hand! And couldn’t she hear the comics calling my name?
And then the girl behind the counter said, “One free comic book with the purchase of a traditional Thanksgiving outfit.”
I stared at her, not believing my ears. She had eyes that looked like they’d lost a battle with a fat-tipped Sharpie and had pins sticking through an eyebrow, but her voice was like angels singing.
“Go on,” she said. “Take one.”
She didn’t have to say it again.
Back on the bus Ma leaned against the window and closed her eyes. “Four of those comics equals one good shirt,” she said, sounding worn to the bone.
I knew she was explaining why she hadn’t jumped at the chance to buy me a comic, but it gave me an instant case of guilt over the hush money I’d wasted.
I tried to smooth it all over by kiddin’ around. “So…can I take the shirt back?”
Her head turned toward me. Slowly. Like it was in need of oilin’.
“You’re a funny boy, Lincoln Jones.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, grinning at her.
She raised a disapprovin’ eyebrow, then turned back to the window, but I could see her in the glass, smiling.
The next morning we were up early, same as every Wednesday, but instead of getting on the school bus, I got on the city bus with Ma. My Goodwill clothes and comic book were in my backpack, along with a notebook for stories.
“So,” Ma said once we were settled in, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Not already…!” I moaned.
“What am I gonna say?” she asked, her proper tone instantly slippin’ away.
“Somethin’ havin’ to do with me doin’ somethin’ besides readin’ my comic book?”
“Hmm,” she said, sizing me up. “How’d you know?”
“Ma!”
“And didn’t you read the whole thing last night?”
“It was a speed-read! To see how it ended! I need to go back and read it right.”
She sighed. “Look, Lincoln, I didn’t ask if it was okay for you to spend the whole day with me. I figured it’d be fine, but after all the fuss yesterday, I don’t want to jeopardize my job.”
“But Gloria said—”
“Gloria’s been workin’ there five years and everybody loves her. No one’s firin’ Gloria.” She took a deep breath. “Me, I’m new, and not as…sunny as Gloria.”
“So…why was she the one so shook up yesterday and not you?”
Ma gave me a long, hard stare, then nodded and said, “I guess we can thank Cliff for that.”
“What’s Cliff got to do with this?”
“I’m done takin’ the blame for stuff I haven’t done. I’m done with Cliff and anyone like him, which means I ain’t cowerin’ to the likes of Wilhelmina’s son.”
My jaw went for a tumble. “You think he’s as bad as Cliff?”
She gave a little snort. “Same animal, different claws. I don’t know what he said to the director, but he got Wilhelmina moved like that, so I think he’s got a way of gettin’ what he wants. And last night he wanted me and Gloria fired.”
“But—”
“I cannot lose this job, Lincoln. So I’m gonna stand my ground, but I’m also gonna make sure I don’t give Mr. Freize some other excuse to fire me.” She turned double-barrels on me. “So if you don’t mind, I’ve been thinkin’.”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I need you to be helpful today. Helpful and cheerful. No broodin’ about bein’ at Brookside on your day off, no callin’ folks crazies. I want you to help with the snacks, help clear the dishes, do table activities with the residents, or just sit and talk with them. Make like you’re happy to be there, and be thankful.” Her lips pinched together hard, and I could see tears springin’ up in her eyes. And finally what she was thinking came slippin’ out around the rock choking off her throat. “Remember last year, and be thankful.”
Funny how you can move away from a place, but the memories of it move right along with you. Suddenly my mind was at last year’s Thanksgiving, with me hiding from Cliff under the table as he went after Ma, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Orange glaze don’t belong on a Thanksgiving bird! You know I hate sweet with my meat! How am I suppose’ta eat that?” He had her up against the wall, spraying whiskey breath in her face. “Answer me, woman! How?”
I would have tried to make him let go of her, but the times I’d done that before, he’d sent me flying across the room and then doubled down on Ma. So I held my breath and waited while Ma choked out, “Sorry,” over and over until Cliff finally shoved her aside.
“I’m glad you got us out of there, Ma,” I said.
She gave me a little smile, but I could see she was still battling the rock in her throat. So when she started turning back to the window, I touched her arm and said, “I am thankful, Ma. Mighty thankful. And I’m happy to help.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Remember that when Paula starts tappin’.”
I raised one back. “And Debbie asks what my name is?”
“And Peggy starts talkin’ to the air.”
“And Alice grabs my backside?”
Both Ma’s eyebrows went flyin’. “She does that?”
I laughed, “Don’t worry. I’ve learned to steer clear.”
She laughed, too, and something about seeing her head thrown back with laughter made me feel lucky.
Lucky to be spending the day with her.
Even if it was in Crazy Town.