Worms don’t just regenerate the soil. Worms regenerate themselves. The Eisenia fétida, for example, can regrow any parts of its body that have been cut off.
Naturally, studying these marvelous creatures had made Edgar an optimist (like Modesto Impregno). He realized that there are always second chances.
Watching Mal Aimes be dragged away by the police gave him exactly this feeling: optimism.
He didn’t fret that the tunnel upon which he’d spent weeks was now useless. With Mal Aimes arrested, he could simply walk across the street like a human being, which, no offense to worms, he much preferred to be. The door was even open. He was about to dash over, but then he looked down at his clothes. He was covered in dirt, encased in mud. He could pass for a worm himself, as he once had while attending a Halloween party in Athens.
Edgar dashed to the shower and jumped in, clothes and all.
Liberty also felt cheered as she stood in her doorway looking out at the world. Judge Hardnose had paid attention to her letter. There was justice. No one would be cheated out of their insurance money after suffering a disaster, and she and her mother were free, at least until the trial.
“Is it safe out there?” Sal peered over her shoulder. “It does smell nice with all the flowers.”
“Perfectly safe.” Liberty took her mother’s arm and led her to the old picnic table that had been cracked in two by lightning. “Mother?”
“What?”
“Did you ever used to sing me a song about stars?”
“Why, yes. It went, ‘Baby wishing for a star, wishing near and far …’ Sal’s voice was sweet, the voice in Liberty’s dreams. “‘Sail, my baby said, out into the sea. Only don’t forget to sail back again to me.’”
“That was it.” Liberty smiled.
Sal looked at the trees and bushes from her childhood. She blinked in the sun. Her stomach growled. “I’m so hungry, Liberty. I haven’t eaten in days. Could you please make me some fried clams?”
“You just rest here,” Liberty said. “I’ll make them.”
Across the street, Worm Man walked shyly through his garden toward the street. It was so lovely to see the girl close up rather than in the sky or through a window.
But who was the big blob of flesh next to her, he wondered. Where was Sally Mason?
He crossed the street and opened the creaky old gate. “Uh, hello,” he called. “I am your neighbor—”
“Worm Man!” Sal shrieked, and jumped to her feet (which wasn’t easy for her). Edgar? Have you forgotten me?”
Worm Man’s eyes grew wide. Could the blob be Sally Mason, the love of his life?
His first thought was to rush back into his house and lock the door, then dig a tunnel to Canada or Mexico.
His second thought was more scientific (and optimistic). He had spent years digging through the volcanic debris of Vesuvius for the fossils of ancient worms, not to mention the time spent digging his underground tunnel.
If somewhere in that mountain of sour-faced flesh was Sally Mason, he would excavate her !
“Hello,” Liberty said. “I was just going to fry some clams for my mother. Would you like some?”
“Fried clams? Certainly not. We will have fresh-steamed artichokes with lemon, salad from my garden drizzled with virgin olive oil from my tree, and cantaloupe, plus eight glasses of water a day. But first, some exercise. We’ll start by walking around the block a few times. After that, a little yoga is in order. There will be no more fried foods or sedentary lifestyle. Do you understand, Sally Mason?”
Sal stood up, her eyes beaming. “You mean … you’re giving me a makeover!”
“That is exactly what I mean!”
“Edgar.” Sal’s eyes got watery. She took Worm Man’s arm.
“Are you coming on our walk?” Edgar asked Liberty, whose mouth had dropped open.
“Uh, no, thank you. I’ll see to things here.”
Liberty watched her mother teeter down the street on the arm of Worm Man. Sal’s head was held high like a queen’s.
A queen for once.
Splat! Birdbrain gave his usual announcement of arrival, right on the picnic table. “You give lousy directions,” he said. “As in… none! This town has Gooch Boulevard, Gooch Avenue, and Gooch Street.”
Liberty smiled. “You were so easygoing when I couldn’t understand you.” She put out her arm.
Birdbrain hopped on. “See my painting? I call it Bird Contemplating His Future.”
“Very nice.” Liberty frowned at the picnic table. “But don’t you think the sidewalk would make a better canvas?”
“I’m too beat to make any more art. Is this home? I’ll just hang here.”
“You know, I think I’m beat too.” Carefully avoiding Birdbrain’s painting, Liberty plunked down onto the bench, wondering how the day could be more perfect.
Of course, she didn’t know that Ms. Klaus, application in hand, was driving swiftly through the city on her way. Her navigation, though, was much worse than Birdbrain’s; she’d already gotten lost twice.
Birdbrain hopped down and wandered around the yard. He had his own interest in worms, unscientific.