Sneak Thief Page 8

  “Okay,” I told Mabel as I left the room.

  “Everything all right?”

  I thought it over. Was everything all right? Could it be all right? This hospice was full of dying people, after all. I could hear a lady crying even now. But in another way, inside of me, just for now, everything was all right.

  “Yup,” I replied.

  On a whim, I reached out and took Mabel’s hand into both of my own.

  “Thanks for bringing me here.”

  * * *

  —

  At 2:17 that morning, I awoke, my loco bearing down on me so hard I thought I might die of it. Right away, it started talking to me in pictures, remembering things I didn’t even know I knew: Mabel’s crystal earbobs were sitting on the edge of the bathroom sink. A fifty-dollar gift certificate for Dress Up was tucked into a notebook in the kitchen junk drawer. Two strings of beads hung from the rearview mirror of the pickup truck outside.

  I didn’t even have to shake off my sleep. My loco was wide awake. I jumped out of bed and tiptoed toward the bathroom. Right away, the pain in my head let off so I could think clear enough to sneak.

  The earbobs were right where my loco said they’d be. Hoo, they were pretty, twinkling in the glow of the night-light. They’d look real pretty in my stash, too.

  Like a thing with its own mind, my hand reached out to take them—

  —And stopped.

  I had made a promise. A promise to try. I said I would talk to someone before I stole.

  My head pounded with the demand of my loco. The first bits of crazy flickered at the sides of my vision.

  I happened to see myself in the mirror. Pain imps clung to my forehead, to spots above my ears, at the base of my skull in the back. And there was one, a real big one, a-rippling over my heart. Without a thought, I reached for that one first and gave it a tug. Or, rather, I tried to.

  I couldn’t grasp it.

  I tried the others in turn. Ears. Forehead. Skull. My hand passed right through them. A little frantic, I turned away from the mirror and I looked down at my chest.

  There wasn’t a single imp upon me.

  Then I looked back in the mirror—and there they all were again.

  Meanwhile, the loco was just a-flying down its track, fixin’ to squash me. The imps would have to wait.

  I ran to Mabel’s closed door and lifted my hand to knock—but couldn’t. Was I really gonna wake a pregnant lady at two in the a.m.?

  Yes, yes, I have to! part of me insisted.

  But I just couldn’t set my knuckles to the door.

  What about somebody else? I could call Jimmy! (What, and wake all four Orrs in the wee hours? How would I explain that to Desiree?) Or maybe JoBeth would be working dispatch! The police were open round the clock, right? (And what if it’s not JoBeth? Hello, dispatcher, I’m fixin’ to commit a crime?)

  Ugh! I stormed into the living room.

  Ugh! Then back into the bathroom.

  I snatched up Mabel’s earbobs and held them tight in my fist. Oh, I wanted so bad to start me a new stash! I knew just where I’d put it, too. In the back of the potting shed outside, there was a old tackle box, covered in cobwebs. I could clear out the underneath section real easy, but leave the stuff in the top cubbies to hide my borrows. Mabel would never even know.

  She said her great-grandma gave her those earrings, the Voice reminded me.

  Ugh! I threw down the earrings and quiet-stomped into my room.

  Atop the dresser, seven pain imps rippled in the mayo jar.

  “Listen, you!” I poked my face at the jar. “I ain’t got no one to talk to but you, so you it’s gonna be!”

  They didn’t reply, but that didn’t surprise me none.

  “My loco is screaming!” I told them. “My head hurts! The whole world’s asleep and those earbobs are calling my name! I don’t understand it! Things was going so good! I was feeling fine!”

  I gripped the jar so hard my knuckles turned white. “I don’t want to go back to ’Bagoville! I want to stay here where things are lit up and soft. I hate that dark, stank RV! I hate what Nina done and what she said! I hate that she’s my mother! I hate my whole life, every blame second of it until I met Desiree in that stupid, yellow laundrymat!”

  I was gasping for air now.

  “I know I only knowed Desiree for a short time, but she’s my crazy friend! I never had a crazy friend!”

  My eyes teared up. I could barely make out the imps.

  Whisper-shouting at the sky, I cried, “Please don’t take my friend! Please don’t take my new life! Please don’t make me steal! Please!”

  Tears streaming, I set down the jar. It thunked with a louder noise than I’d expected, and I jumped. Dingnation! Did I just wake Mabel, after I’d tried so hard not to? And now that I thought on it, how loud had I been talking? I wasn’t even sure.

  I sat still and quiet for a time, listening, hoping not to hear the sounds of a pregnant lady’s sleep disturbed. Thankfully, none came.

  I stretched and wiped my tears, taking in the room afresh. Starlight filtering in from the blinds. The ticking sound of Travis’s old-style clock. Desiree’s rainbow rock. Jimmy’s book.

  On a whim, I reached for it. Some words were embossed in the cover. I turned on a light so I could read them. The Big Book, they said. And in smaller print, Twelve Steps Anonymous.

  Why not? I figured. I ain’t getting to sleep anytime soon.

  I opened the book.

  We discovered we were powerless over our addictions. Our best efforts to stop them had failed. We needed help from a bigger, Higher Power.

  Truth to tell, it both made sense and it didn’t. I figured Higher Power was something like the knowing Voice Mabel and I both heard, and Crispy’s love, the only thing that was real. But how did you get a thing like that to help you? It seemed to me the Voice came when it wanted and slipped off just as quick. And as for love, that was a thing whose acquaintance I’d barely ever made.

  And! And! Even if you did know how to get the help of this Bigger Power, how were you supposed to wait for its pleasure when twenty tons of loco was bearing down on you?

  I surely did not know.

  But I read some more of that book anyway, until I fell asleep. And when I woke up, the loco was mostly quiet.

  “Belle! Come look!” Mabel called from the front porch.

  Barefooted and bedheaded, I stepped outside. Mabel was holding one of my potted weeds up to the sunlight.

  “Looky here!” she said. “Your plants are thriving!”

  It was true! The flowers had looked so forlorn before, plucked as they had been from the ground. But today they were upright and strong, their pink-petaled faces turned gladly toward the sky.

  A notion took me. “Hey, uh, Mabel?”

  “Mmm?”

  “What if I took one to Crispy’s friend? And one to Desiree? Would you mind parting with them nice pots?”

  “Pssh,” Mabel huffed. “I’ve got more flowerpots than you can shake a stick at. Take ’em!” She set the flower back down on the porch. “Are you planning on running Crispy’s errand today? I’d be happy to give you a lift.”

  Right quick, I brain-navigated a way to get there without passing by the shopping district. “No, I think I’ve got it, thanks.”

  She took off her hat and wiped her brow. “Do you have time for breakfast first?”

  Putting on a surly expression, I crossed my arms. “Mabel, do you know what I had for breakfast the day we met?”

  “No.”

  “Two handfuls of Monkey Puffs and a few swigs of co-cola.”

  “Oh?” I could see she was doing her dangedest to hide a pained expression.

  “I reckon I would have to be a mighty right fool to miss out on one of your fine meals.” I grinned.

 
; She laughed.

  “So, what is it this morning?” I asked. “Fancy eggs or fancy muffins?”

  * * *

  —

  I told Mabel I’d be back to work after my visits with Crispy’s friend and Desiree. She kindly packed a double lunch for me and Desiree to share.

  “After all that flattery, how could I deprive you of a homemade lunch?” she wanted to know.

  With Crispy’s letter in my pocket and an address in my head—not to mention a bag of food hung over my elbow and one flowering, potted weed under each arm—I departed on foot.

  The lady’s house was only one block off Main, so it was easy to find, but a mite tempting to my loco.

  Oh, Bigger Power, I said. Keep my feet on this here road.

  Fortunately, there were a few things to distract me. The weather was fair, but there were some grayish, flat-looking clouds in the distance. I looked at them real hard so I could describe them to Desiree and ask if they meant rain. I thought she’d like that.

  Next, I saw a turtle slow-tailing it across the road. Even in a Podunk like Sass, a pace like that could get him squashed. No sooner had I scooped him up and deposited him beside a water-filled ditch than I spotted a man in his yard, watering a familiar-looking shrub within an inch of its life.

  I had to work up the nerve, but I finally did walk over to him and say, “Sir, I work at a plant nursery, and my boss told me that plant can’t tolerate much water.”

  “That so?” he said, looking at the hose as if it done him wrong.

  I knelt down and felt the ground. “I’d be surprised if it lives out the week. Good news, though: you do seem to have a green thumb for the roses.” Nodding in the direction of some lively blooms, I suggested, “Ought to plant more of them. Once it dries out, this spot here might not be bad.”

  “Why, I thank you kindly!” He seemed to mean it, too.

  I was reflecting on how far-fetched it seemed that Hush Cantrell could offer advice about anything except sneak thieving, when suddenly on my right side, there appeared the house I was looking for.

  It was a large place, bigger than Mabel’s and the Orrs’ combined. Porches wrapped around not just the first floor but the second story, too. An old, faded sign hung just outside the fence, reading THE REST EASY BOARDINGHOUSE.

  I went up to the door and knocked with the toe of my shoe.

  Through an open window, I heard somebody shuffling up long before they appeared. Finally the door did open, and a pink-haired lady with a cane stood before me. Pain imps fluttered on both of her hips. She gave me a thorough going-over, pausing for quite some time to mull on my weeds.

  “Yes?” she asked, a little suspicious.

  “Missus Roxie Fuller?” I inquired.

  “Yes.”

  Juggling my armfuls of stuff, I pulled the paper from my pocket. “I have a letter here for you. From Mister Crispy Freye. Can I give it to you?”

  “Crispy Freye, you say?” She squinted into her memory. “You mean Dalton Freye?” All at once, a deep red pain imp flared over her heart.

  “I don’t rightly know, ma’am. Probably, if you know the name. Can I give you the letter?” I repeated.

  “All…right.” She cane-walked onto the porch. “My glasses are lost, though. Could you read it to me?”

  I told her I could, and followed her down to a few wicker chairs on the shady side of the house.

  “You know Dalton?” she asked as she sat.

  “Not very well, but yes, I know him.”

  “And he asked you to bring me a letter? Me, Roxanne Fuller?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Curious. I haven’t spoken to him since—” She shook her head. “Neverhoo. What’s he got to say?”

  I set down the plants and unfolded the letter, sparing half a glance for that pain imp over her heart. How sudden it sprung up!

  “Dear Roxie,” I read. “Many years ago, when we were kids, your sister came to me and told me you thought I was handsome, and that you planned to marry me someday. All my friends was there and they started a-laughing. I was mighty embarrassed, and knew for sure they’d rib me worse unless I came up with something clever—or cruel—to say. So I did.

  “I said, ‘Roxie Fuller is fat and ugly. Besides, I’d never marry a boardinghouse girl!’

  “That got me off the hook with my friends, but what I didn’t know, until a minute later, was that you were there, hiding behind a tree and listening to the whole thing. I saw you cry, Roxie, and I saw you run away. And because of it, I know how bad I hurt your feelings.

  “You never did talk to me again after that, and you were in your rights not to. But because you kept away, and because I was so ashamed, I never got to apologize, or to tell you the truth. So, here it is.

  “I was a coward. A despisable coward and a foot licker, desperate not to be made fun of. And you, Roxie, you were neither ugly nor fat. You were the prettiest girl in our year, with the sweetest dimples I ever did see. But even more important than that, you were always so brave, so easeful with different kinds of folks. The truth is, I admired—”

  “That’s underlined,” I explained.

  “I admired that you were a boardinghouse girl. How many curious and interesting people you must have met! Not at all like my humdrum upbringing! I admired you so much, Roxie. It tore me up when you stopped speaking to me, because I liked you so very much.

  “Someday, when we meet on the other side, I hope to apologize to you in person, and you’ll see how sincere I am. Until then, this letter will have to do. You were always beautiful, Roxie, in every way that a young girl can be. I am so sorry if I made you believe any different.

  “With every sincere wish for your happiness,

  “Crispy”

  When I looked up, Roxie had one hand on her heart and the other curved above her eyes. The pain imp flickered pale-dark, pale-dark.

  “Read it again,” she whispered. “Please.”

  I did. By the time I finished, the pain imp over her heart had vanished. Not merely pale, but clean gone.

  “Don’t that beat all!” I said.

  “It sure does,” Roxie replied. There was a kind of awe in her voice as she added, “I forgot all about that.”

  I canted my head. “Part of you didn’t.”

  She made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. “You’re right! Seventy years later, part of me still remembered.” After a time, she ran her hands down her face. “Well, thank you, young lady. Thank you. Now, tell me, how is Dalton and what’s he up to? Why did he send you?”

  “Oh, well, ma’am,” I said. “Crispy’s up at the Pitney hospice, fixin’ to die. I reckon he’s doing well in spite of it—”

  “Hospice? Dying!” She set her hand on her heart, where a new pain imp appeared. “Can I see him? Is he taking visitors?”

  “I think so. Me and Mabel Holt sat with him just yesterday.”

  She gripped her cane and gave it a shake. “Well, it’s good, then. It’s good that you came. Thank you, uh, what’s your name?”

  “Hush Cantrell.”

  “Thank you, Hush. I’d offer you a blueberry muffin, but once a body’s got a bed in Pitney, there’s no time to lose!” She pushed herself to standing and headed for her house.

  My flowers wobbled in the draft that the slamming door left behind.

  “Hey! One of these is for you!” I called out, holding up one of the plants.

  I heard her make some reply, but precisely what she said, I never found out.

  Her big Cadillac peeled out from her garage before I was halfway down the block.

  * * *

  —

  Me and Desiree had a picnic lunch in the Orrs’ front yard, sitting on a sheet Becky brought out for us. Desiree made the potted flower our centerpiece—it pleased her so mightily, she’d refused t
o leave it inside while we ate.

  I asked her about the grayish clouds—the rain was headed away from us, not toward, she said—and she told me about her first day soothing equines for Horse Dentist.

  “There was this one mare, named Pepper Shakes,” she said. “So beautiful, except her teeth were yellow and she had a big cavity. At first I couldn’t calm her down, but then I remembered how, when my daddy first took me to the dentist and I was so scared, he sang a certain song and it helped me feel better. So I sang that song to the horse, real soft, and she went all still and mild, and the dentist did his work just fine. Sometimes there’s magic in the homeliest things, you know?”

  In fact, I was fairly sure I did not know, but I was growing accustomed to Desiree’s peculiar, glad way of looking at things.

  “So! What about the pain imps?” she asked.

  “What about them?”

  “I keep feeling like we should do something, now that we know they’re there.”

  I nodded. Since the hospice, I’d been feeling that way, too. I told Desiree about Crispy and the skeleton person. I also mentioned how Roxie Fuller’s pain imps came and went that morning.

  “Have you thought about just telling people you can see them?” Desiree asked me.

  “No way, nohow! Sass folk already think plenty of things about me. I don’t want to add crazy to the list.”

  “I wish we had some way to prove they were there. It might help you feel more confident,” she said. “What we need is a good scientific study. Samples and measurements and peer-reviewed journals.”

  I laughed. “You’re spending too much time with that dentist. It ain’t science we need, it’s—”

  “What?” Desiree tugged at my sleeve.

  “I don’t know.” It took some time to find my tongue. “I think we need…a scam.”

  She looked at me sideways.

  I went on, “We need to get those imps off of people, get folks feeling better. It’s like you said the other day, about putting a stop to pain. But it’s like I said, too. We can’t just go, ‘Excuse me, there’s an invisible thing dangling off of you, Missus Smith. Let me just get a little personal here and pluck it off your boob.’ ”