Marty sent us to school loaded with muffins, biscotti, and cinnamon rolls for the teachers, double chocolate chip cookies for our friends, and braided egg bread for the custodian. She stayed up late every night now to bake. For some reason her key had broken off in her ignition. Could it be because of me?
“Winnie, what’s up with Marty?” I asked.
She racewalked ahead of me, but I double-timed and grabbed her arm.
“Wait,” I said.
She stopped and gave me a Deja look. She’d been rude to me ever since camp. She couldn’t stop talking about this new girl she’d met. Rae’s so cool and perfect and she walks on water. Junk like that.
“What’s bothering Marty?” I asked. “She still mad, or what?”
“I think it’s almost the day when Ginger died.”
“Oh.” We continued on to the custodian’s room with our goodies. “You mean, the anniversary of her death?”
“Yeah. She died before Deja’s birthday.”
“When’s that?” I asked.
“March eleventh.”
The next day I made things worse, even though it wasn’t my fault. I came out to the kitchen minding my own business, and Marty was there, surrounded by the usual eggshells, flour explosions, and gooey beaters. I asked her what she was making.
“Coconut dandies,” she said. She scooped some dough into a spoon and presented it to me like a trophy. “Try some.”
Little pieces of coconut stuck out like stiff white worms. I looked at the empty coconut bag on the counter; I could imagine its sickening sweet smell and the way it would slick my tongue with oil. I took a step backward. “No, thanks. Coconut makes me sick.”
She lowered the spoon, looking as if I’d slapped her. “What?”
“I mean, I used to like it. But once when I was little, Mom bought a giant bag of coconut, and I hid in the closet and ate half of it and I was sick for two days.”
She stared at me for a long time. Dough dripped from the spoon onto the floor. She grabbed a paper towel and swiped at the floor. “No problem,” she said, really perky. Jekyll and Hyde. “I can make something else. Chocolate chips or molasses joes.”
I slid my eyes over to the table stacked with goodies.
She turned on the garbage disposal and dumped the whole bowl of dough into the sink.
“Marty! They’re probably really good. It’s just that—”
“No, there’s something off about them.” She let it run until I thought it would eat the sink too. She finally flipped the switch and turned off the water.
“Will you clean up for me?” she asked. Before I had time to answer, she had turned the corner. She headed down the hall to her room and quietly shut the door behind her.
Whatever. It gagged me to handle the coconut mess, but I wanted to clean up the scene of the crime. When I was done, I went to Winnie’s room, knocked, and slipped inside without waiting for an answer, closing the door behind me. She was on the phone.
“What?” she asked, trying to be the ice queen.
“Something weird’s going on,” I said. “Hang up.”
“No way,” she said, doing her best Deja impression. “I’m talking to Rae.”
I told Winnie it was about her mom, and she told Rae she’d call her back. I filled her in about what happened with Marty, except that I left out the fact that I wouldn’t taste the dough.
“Mom was making coconut dandies?” She sank down to the edge of her bed. “And she just threw them away?”
“Yeah. Why?” I asked.
“Mom hasn’t made them forever. Ginger was addicted to them.”
So that’s why she was so hot for me to try them.
“I begged her to make them. ‘They’re too much trouble,’” Winnie said, imitating a snooty Marty. She jumped up and took two steps to the door.
I jumped up and barred the way. “Where are you going?”
“Why can’t she make them for us? She would a made them for Ginger. Perfect little Ginger.”
I’d never heard Winnie bad-mouth Ginger before.
“Easy, turbo,” I said. “Can’t you see something’s going on?”
“Like what?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, thinking. “You said Ginger’s anniversary is soon. It’s gotta have something to do with that.”
Winnie’s face smoothed out and sagged. “Oh, yeah. Like she was making them because of Ginger—”
“And couldn’t finish them,” I ended. Because she wanted me to be Ginger, and I wouldn’t even taste them.
We both sat down on the edge of her bed.
“Wow,” Winnie said. “I guess that’s why she doesn’t make them anymore.”
It stung a little, thinking that Marty wanted me to be someone else, but I still felt sorry for her. “We need to be really nice to your mom till this is over.”
“Yeah. No arguing. Or whining.”
I think our pact made her forget to be mad.
“Andie, when did your other mom and dad die?” she asked shyly.
Other. When would she ever get it? “When I was ten.”
“What makes you remember them?” she asked, not really looking at me. “I mean, like coconut dandies. You know, stuff you can’t eat anymore, or something?”
I thought for a minute. “Broadway musicals.”
Her head tilted to the side like a kitten charmed by a dangling string.
“Like Phantom. Les Misérables. Cats.”
She still looked lost.
“Annie? The Sound of Music?” I said, for the musically impaired.
“Oh, yeah. I know what you mean,” she said. “Your parents listened to that?”
I nodded. “We knew them by heart.”
“Do you still listen to them?” she asked.
“Sharing a room with Deja? Get real.” I got up from the bed and opened the door. “Do you think Deja remembers about Ginger’s anniversary? Maybe you should warn her. She might make it a little easier on Marty.”
She frowned. “I guess so. Would you do it?”
I snorted. “Yeah, right. Go tell her now. She’ll probably listen to you.”
After a minute, Winnie came back to say that Deja’s response was, “Like it’s not going to ruin my birthday every year.”
At night, I talked to God about Marty. None of this was her fault, but she was paying for it anyway. And I figured she’d had more than her share of hurt, since she’d taken care of a sick kid that wasn’t even hers to begin with. Except for Grandma and Grandpa, it was the first time I’d prayed for someone else since I’d prayed for my parents to be safe on their trip.
That Sunday, Marty cried all through church. I was blind-sided. People huddled around her after the sermon, hugging her, crying. Watching them, I had this guilty feeling, like a kid might feel who talked to a stranger and got stolen. Even though I’d been a baby and couldn’t have done anything about it, I felt like it was my fault.
I knew it didn’t make sense. But I had a sickening feeling that if only I’d been in the right crib where I belonged, Marty wouldn’t be suffering right now. She really was my mom. My biological mom. She carried me in her body and gave birth to me. Suddenly I had this bad urge, and I had to get out of there.
Pushing the door open, I ran around the side of the building to the back parking lot. I bent over double and threw up by the curb. I don’t know why. I don’t even know how long I was there. I was crying against the building when Carl found me. He never said a word. He just gave me his handkerchief and put his arm around my shoulder and led me back to the car.
Marty and Carl left the house later in the afternoon. Winnie said they went to Ginger’s grave. When they came back, Marty had some dirt on her knees. That stirred up even more memories for me. Going with Grandma and Grandpa to take plastic flowers to Mom and Dad’s graves. It was hard to believe that they were there, under the ground, but their names were on the headstones with the same date. It just didn’t seem real.
Everybody except me slept the afternoon away. Even Deja. I tried to be quiet, not because I was afraid of her, but because I felt a little sorry for her. Because of everything that happened with the Ridley breakup, and the kids laughing at her in school, and Ginger.
I finished my homework, and when I threw away some old papers from my notebook, I saw Deja’s empty vanilla musk perfume bottle in our trash. That gave me a crazy idea. Her birthday was coming soon, and I had a little money stashed away that Grandma had sent. Was it worth it? Would she appreciate it? Probably not.
I went out to the TV to watch old movies and made myself some hot chocolate. I felt lonely and weird, being the only one awake all afternoon. The gutters chugged rain. At about five o’clock I turned on some lights, and the others finally started waking up from the spell. I guess they were waiting for the day to be over.
The next time we picked up Marty from work I had my money with me. I sneaked away to the cosmetics aisle and found a small bottle of Deja’s spray cologne. After Marty left her check stand to get her purse, I got in the express line and paid for it, and hid it under my coat.
I wrapped it in the Sunday comics, but I didn’t put my name on it. After her birthday dinner at a spaghetti place we came back for cake, which looked like Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Marty had definitely pulled herself together. It was pink with turrets, and I was afraid Deja would toss it across the room, but she actually liked it. Go figure.
Deja opened her gifts, almost like a normal person. She actually sounded shy when she thanked everyone. Then she came to my gift.
“That’s from me,” I said.
She picked it up like it was an incendiary device and glanced at her mom. Marty nodded at her to go ahead, and Deja cautiously pulled open the paper. Her jaw dropped a little, and she didn’t exactly look me in the face.
“Thanks,” she said. She inspected the seal on it to be sure I hadn’t tampered with it.
Marty smiled at me. “That was nice, Andie.”
Later, when I was reading in bed, Deja brought in her gifts and put them away. I saw her spray some of the vanilla musk on her arm and rub her wrists together.
She looked over at me. “What’s up with this?”
I hesitated. It was my moment of truth. I dug into a box under my bed and pulled out the chain with the rings.
“I found these in the bathroom vent. I mean, Cyclops found them.”
I wouldn’t say things were friendly between us after that, but at least I could wear the chain again. We had a tentative cease-fire for a while, until Cyclops came up missing.
My allergies hadn’t gotten any better, and some days I was miserable. I missed more school and cost Marty more money at the clinic.
Cyclops prowled around my side of the room at the window early one morning, knocking over my stuff, crying to get out. Deja had left our bedroom door open so he could sneak in the night before. I was so tired of it all that I whacked at him when he jumped on my bed, and this time I connected. I must have been half asleep, because I hit him pretty hard with my fist. He clawed me and jumped down. I heard him crying at the front door, so I got up to let him out, and he hissed at me when he left. He didn’t come in that night.
They called and called him for days. Even though I didn’t tell anyone what happened the morning he left, Deja considered me the prime suspect and accused me every chance she got. I don’t think she woke up when I slugged him, or she would have told. Unfortunately, I had the jagged scar, the motive, and the murder weapon. The only thing missing was the body.
The court lady with the bird name came back one day, sneaking around and asking questions, trying to sound casual. I didn’t buy that casual part, because when she asked to come in, I don’t think she was really waiting for an answer. Marty let her in, standing there with her arms crossed wearing her “on the edge” face.
Ms. Crow, or Sparrow, or whatever, was looking for something. She pretended to be polite, asking to open things and then doing it anyway. When she came to an opened bag of cat food in the cupboard, she stopped.
“Where’s kitty?” she asked.
Then I knew she was really looking for signs of Cyclops. Marty sort of deflated in front of us, and I remembered that I’d told the lady about my allergies the last time she came. I slipped my arm behind me to hide the ugly red scratch Cyclops had given me.
I finally put two and two together. Here was that kid power I’d been looking for. One word about Deja, one complaint about Cyclops or how sick I’d been, and I could really screw things up for Marty.
Marty was trying to explain about the cat food and looking like she just wanted to give up. The lady wasn’t being mean, just doing her job, pecking at Marty with questions, making little bloody spots on her.
I don’t know why, but I didn’t use it. The power, I mean. Maybe I felt sorry for Marty after Ginger’s anniversary and then losing a pet on top of it. But this lady made me mad, the way she was treating Marty. Anyway, if I made trouble for her, they couldn’t send me back to Grandma and Grandpa because the house hadn’t sold yet. If they took me away from Marty, they’d send me straight to Uncle Greg.
“Cyclops ran away,” I said.
They both stopped talking and looked at me. I could tell the lady didn’t really believe me, so I kept going. “A couple weeks ago. We put up signs, but I guess he’s gone for good this time.”
The lady looked disappointed. I think she was hoping he’d pop out from somewhere and rub against her leg. I got the feeling she liked being right.
She gave up on Cyclops and checked out the other rooms. I don’t know what she expected to find there. Guns, pipe bombs, a meth lab? Maybe she’s found that stuff in other houses—who knows? She asked Marty if she could speak to me alone. I looked at Marty, but she just lifted her eyebrows in surrender. I guess I didn’t have a choice.
Marty left, and the lady turned to me. “Why don’t you show me your room again?”
Luckily, Deja was gone. “Andrea …”
“AnDRAYa.”
She came into my room acting like she’s on my side, and she couldn’t even say my name right.
“Of course. Andrea. How’re things since our last visit?”
I shrugged. “Fine.”
“Have you been well? Getting enough to eat?” She scoped out the room as she talked. What was she looking for this time?
“I guess.”
“So how are you and …” She looked down at her notes. “… Deja getting along?”
Boy, I was tempted, but I just answered, “Peachy.”
She nodded like she didn’t completely believe me. Things got really weird after that.
“Deja’s what, seventeen?”
“Sixteen.”
“Does she ever have any friends over to the house?”
“Sometimes her friend Summer.”
“Does she have any boyfriends?”
“Only Ridley, but they broke up.”
“Did he ever come over?”
I snorted, feeling kind of snotty. “No-o.”
“What about Marty and Carl? Do they ever have anyone over?”
That’s when I realized that not one single grown-up had come over since I’d been here. And somehow I knew that it didn’t look good, either, that Marty and Carl didn’t have friends. This nosy lady reminded me of those reporters.
“Marty has a friend at work named Jo. They’re really good friends. I think they went to the same high school, but Jo doesn’t ever come over.” I remembered Winnie saying Carl had a girlfriend, but I didn’t want to mention it.
“I see. Does she have any boyfriends? Does anyone ever spend the night?”
Spend the night? As in “sleep together”? What kind of people did she think we were? “No way.” Then I said, like that explained everything, “We go to church.”
She smiled and clicked her pen. “Yes, but that doesn’t always mean that … well … even people who …”
I waited, not wanting to make it any easier on her, but she cleared her throat instead. “How’re you doing in school?”
My grades were okay. I never got sent to the principal’s office, except when I melted down on the first day. She asked me if I’d made any friends and I said yes, because of Natalie. She didn’t ask if I’d lost any friends, so I didn’t feel like I had to tell her that part of it.
After she finally left, I wondered what she would have done if I’d said yes to any of the above. Yes, Cyclops sleeps in my bed. Yes, strange men stay here every night. Yes, Deja hates me and is planning a drive-by.
Marty stuck her head in the door after the lady left, looking almost shy. “I guess we’d better put up some signs around the neighborhood,” she said, and I remembered the lie I’d told about Cyclops.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I didn’t want Marty to read more into what I’d done than I meant. “Just in case she comes back.”
It’s funny, I had kid power in my hands like a fluttering bird, and I’d let it go. Chucked it up toward the sky. Maybe I’d subconsciously decided it was okay to be nice to her because she’d admitted defeat. Mercy on the battlefield. Or maybe I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere now that she’d given me up, and I wasn’t quite ready to let go.
We put up signs around the neighborhood and asked the neighbors if they’d seen Cyclops, but nobody had. Secretly I was happy, even though I had to pretend I wasn’t. I was beginning to feel normal again. I could smell things just like normal people whose heads weren’t underwater all the time.
When Cyclops had been gone for a month, Carl painted a picture of him in the garden from a photograph so they’d have something to remember him by. At church, Winnie raised her hand and asked them to pray for Cyclops to come home.
I had never been raised around pets, and I thought they were overdoing it a little. There were so many good things about not having one. The laundry room didn’t smell like cat pee because Deja hadn’t changed the litter in a week. Marty didn’t have to spend money on litter, or for cat food that Cyclops would cry for and then ignore. The furniture didn’t get any worse because he wasn’t there to claw at it. I didn’t have to take so much medicine and feel like a walking zombie at school. Life was easier.
I wondered if Cyclops ran away because of me. You know, bad vibes and all. I felt better now that he was gone, but the family didn’t. So I prayed. I never asked God to make Cyclops come back. I just asked Him to take care of Cyclops and make the family get over missing him. Maybe that was selfish, but I think God understood where I was coming from.