Another Kind of Hurricane (12 page)

“No, Zavion,” said Papa, from his chair in the dining room where he was still painting little landscapes. “No, no, no.”

“But Papa—”

“And no.”

He was so calm when he argued. No yelling, no sweating, no jumping up from his chair.

“I have to repay the store.” Zavion rubbed the marble against his palm with his fingers. It was warm, tucked in his new jeans pocket. Zavion could only hold what fit in his hands now. The marble and chocolate bars.

“I can say it again, if you really want—”

Zavion did
not
want.

“No.”

Clearly, it didn't matter what Zavion wanted. It didn't matter what he knew
—he knew
—was the right thing to do. Zavion
felt a renewed sense of hope with the magic marble in his pocket. He had already wished on it. Just like he'd done with the wishing rocks. He'd even found a windowsill to sleep near, and he placed the marble there. Just where his wishing rocks had sat. He was hoping it would make him sleep better.

“Let me call the market,” said Zavion.

“We don't even know its name. We can't just look up ‘market with broken window near the convention center,' ” said Papa.

“Luna Market,” said Zavion. How did Papa not know that? “On Chartres Street.” Until that moment, he hadn't realized that he knew the street name too.

His brain had been functioning that day whether he had known it or not.

“Please, Papa,” said Zavion. “Can we try to call?”

Papa put down his paintbrush. “You are bullheaded, boy, do you know that? The phone line at the market is probably down.”

“Probably.”

“Most likely.”

“Maybe, but maybe not,” said Zavion.

Papa smiled. “Bullheaded. Just like your Mama.” He indicated over his shoulder to a desk with a computer on it. “Use that. See if you can find the number. Then you can call.” He
pulled a cell phone from his shirt pocket. “I borrowed Skeet's phone to call Gabe. I left him a message.”

Zavion walked over to the desk. The computer screen had a map up. He looked at it closely. Point A was Baton Rouge. Point B was Topeka, Kansas.

Zavion needed to act fast.

He typed
Yellow Pages
into the search box and then typed
Luna Market, 311 Chartres Street, New Orleans, Louisiana
.

It was there!

“I found it,” said Zavion.

“Here's the phone,” said Papa.

Zavion stood behind him and punched in the number. He squeezed the marble with his other hand. For luck. He swallowed hard. What would he say? He hadn't thought about that.

He glanced over Papa's shoulder. The sunlight, streaming in from the side window, lit up a corner of his painting. A purplish-blue color shimmered there. Zavion leaned forward to get a better look. A tiny marsh under a full moon.

Papa seemed obsessed with these landscapes he could hold in his hand. There was something reassuring to Zavion about that.

“Well—” said Papa, startling Zavion.

The phone! Zavion had forgotten that he was on the phone.

No ringing. No sound. Silence.

“Nothing,” he had to admit. He handed the phone back to Papa.

“Phone lines have to be down,” said Papa. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. “It's too soon.”

And the way he said it made Zavion think that he meant it was too soon to even think about New Orleans.

“Go on, Zav,” said Papa. “You need to go for a run—”

“I need to repay the store,” said Zavion.

Papa sighed. “How about you send money later when we get some?”

Zavion couldn't wait until later. He didn't trust that the mail service would get the money to the market. He couldn't risk that. This was something he had to do in person. He had to look the cashier in the eyes. He had to make sure he was understood.

“Please, Papa.” He was going to try one more time. “Please take me to New Orleans.”

“No.”

Zavion knew he would say no.

If Papa wouldn't do it with him, then he was going to do it alone.

“Then I'm going to go by myself.” There. He had said it out loud. He felt his heart beating in the wrong place, up against the bottom of his throat.

Papa looked up from his painting. He stared at Zavion without blinking. Zavion had the same wide, long eyelashes—he had Papa's eyes and cheeks, but he had Mama's nose and mouth—and his eyelashes fluttered furiously as he blinked and blinked and blinked while Papa's sat frozen above his eyes.

Zavion knew that Papa usually, eventually, let him do things his way. Even if Papa had more control over his eye muscles and knew how to hold a paintbrush for hours at a time, Zavion was the one who controlled everything else.

Or he used to.

“It's the right thing to do, Papa. So I'm going to do it,” he said.

“You will not go back into New Orleans,” said Papa slowly.

“But—”

“Do. You. Understand. Me?” Papa spoke even more slowly.

Zavion willed his eyes to stop blinking. He widened them and kept them still even as they dried and he had to fight the urge to blink.

“Why?” He spoke the one word as slowly as he could.

“Because—” Papa looked down then. He closed his eyes. He put down his paintbrush and flexed his fingers and closed them into a fist. He opened his eyes again and opened his fist and shook his hand back and forth. “Because,” he finally said again, “I don't want you…I can't have you…back in that…
drowned…monster of a city…” He gripped his hands together, interlocking his fingers, and leaned forward. “That…place…isn't…safe—”

Zavion knew about safe. He had made it his job to keep Papa and his own self safe for all these years.

He bent his head down to the floor and finally blinked his eyes. They were wet, but he wasn't crying. He had messed up something
huge
during the hurricane. He rolled the marble from one finger to another in his pocket. It sounded kind of silly, but he believed he had a touch of magic, now that he had found this marble.

He would find some money.

He would find a way to get to New Orleans.

He would find Luna Market.

“This bird has a pouch like a kangaroo.”

“What is a pelican?”

“This is the largest raptor in the world.”

“What is the Andean condor?”

A game show was on the radio.

“Henry…” Mom's sigh traveled through the telephone like a gust of wind. It blew into Henry's ear and rattled its way to his knees. “Are you all right? Are you eating enough?”

“I just left! How could I not be eating enough?”

Why did mothers always ask about food? Every time Henry went to his father and stepmother's house for the weekend, the first thing Mom asked when he got home was if he had eaten enough. Like his father didn't have a refrigerator or an oven or a cereal cupboard.

“Henry, are you there?”

“Yes, Mom.” He turned to Jake, whose eyes were fixed on the road.

“Take this opportunity, Henry.”

What the heck was she talking about?

“Take all these miles between you and the mountain and use them.”

Henry still didn't know what she was talking about.

“This South American bird has a distinctive look, with feathers on top of its head that fan into a bold crest when it feels threatened.”

“What's a harpy eagle?” said Henry without even thinking.

“What?” said Mom.

“What is an ibis?”
said the contestant.

“Wrong,”
said the game show host.
“The correct answer is ‘What is a harpy eagle?' ”

Jake turned to look at Henry. “Nice job,” he said.

“Brae misses you already—” Mom's voice cut back in over the game show host.

At the mention of Brae, Henry refocused his attention. “Is he okay?” he said.

“He's fine. Nopie came over after school to play with him.”

“Stupid Nopie! Mom don't let—”

“Don't worry about Brae and me,” said Mom, interrupting. “We're okay.”

Henry put his hand across his knees to quiet them. “I gotta go, Mom,” he said. “Bye.” And he clicked off the phone before she had a chance to say anything else. He handed it back to Jake.

“You okay?” Jake asked.

“This means having two toes directed forward and two toes directed backward, as the parrot has.”

“What is
zygodactyl
?” answered Henry.

“You're real good at those animal questions,” said Jake.

Henry felt his face flush. He shrugged. But it was true. He could keep track of animal facts. He liked to do it. He liked animals. They were dependable. They were loyal. When they bit you, it was for a good reason. “You're real good with animals,” said Jake. Henry's cheeks flushed again. “You should be the one searching for Tiger.” Jake touched the silver baseball. It flickered in the light.

Was the baseball a good-luck charm? Did Jake wish on it?

Henry slouched in his seat and reached his leg toward the rearview mirror. He touched the baseball with his foot. He wished like a parrot with its zygodactyl-like toes, forward and backward. He wished forward that Tiger would find his way home, and that he would find his marble in New Orleans. He wished, backward—with every bone in his body—that he could let Wayne win that last race down the mountain.

Zavion figured out how to get to New Orleans.

The clown brothers had helped him.

“Why'd the bird NOT cross the road?” Skeet said
.

“Why?” asked Tavius and Enzo in unison
.

“Because it couldn't swim!” Skeet hooted. “Get it? The street had been flooded with water? And it couldn't swim?”

“But it could fly,” said Tavius
.

“Yeah, birdbrain,” said Enzo
.

Zavion had been making bread at the time. He was on the thirty-sixth knead when Skeet told his joke, and he had laughed out loud, almost losing count.

“Count me in for a piece of that bread,” said Tavius. “Honey oat with a heaping spoonful of guffaw!”

“Food for the heart,” said Enzo.

“Food for the soul,” echoed Skeet.

As Zavion folded and pushed and turned and folded the
dough, he laughed again, thinking about the bird joke. He liked the clown brothers.

Why'd the bird NOT cross the road?

Ha!

Aha!

Birds!
The bird lady. Diana. She went to New Orleans all the time. Maybe he could hitch a ride with her.

The marble on the windowsill
was
a good idea. Zavion had slept a little better. And now he had the first idea for his plan.

—

Osprey ran into the kitchen, flying a green Converse sneaker on her leash like a kite. The sneaker bounced on its heel on the floor and hit Ms. Cyn's leg. Two mugs slipped from her hands.

—

The sound of ceramic shattering.

The smell of coffee splattering against the cupboard.

The crash rattled something in the back of Zavion's brain.

All of a sudden, Zavion couldn't breathe.

He was underwater.

He gasped.

“I'm sorry—”

Zavion didn't know if he said those words out loud or not.

—

“Lordy, child—” Was Ms. Cyn talking to Zavion or Osprey?

Zavion snapped back. He waited for her to add
You scared the living pee out of me
, but she didn't this time.

“Coffee down,” said Enzo.

“That'll keep the snakes away,” said Tavius.

“Hush, you,” said Ms. Cyn. She wiped coffee off the cupboard.

Zavion picked up pieces of the broken mugs.

“Osprey,” said Enzo, “you need to be more careful.”

“Watch out, Osprey,” said Skeet, “he's going all father-figure on you.”

“I
am
her father,” said Enzo. He hugged Osprey, who squirmed in his arms.

“Poor kid,” said Tavius.

Osprey broke free from Enzo and ran around the kitchen table.

“Poor father,” said Zavion.

The clowns laughed.

Zavion had told a joke that made them laugh.

Enzo stood up. “Let me help, Ms. Cyn,” he said. Osprey ran a lap around him.

“You've got your hands full,” she said.

Zavion straightened up, his own hands full of shards of ceramic mug. “I can take Osprey for a walk,” he said.

He wasn't sure why he offered.

Osprey stopped running. “We can take Green for a walk,” she said.

“Green?” asked Tavius.

“My dog,” she said, pointing to the sneaker.

“Cute pup,” said Skeet.

Enzo blinked his eyes a few times fast. Tavius and Skeet immediately threw their arms around him. Zavion remembered that their real dog, Crow, had died in the hurricane. He felt a wave of sadness for Enzo.

“I used to babysit at home,” offered Zavion again.

“Go on,” said Ms. Cyn. She rinsed her dish towel in the sink. “Get on out of here so I can clean up.”

“You?” said Tavius.

“Clean?” said Skeet.

“The kitchen?” said Enzo, grinning. To Zavion, he said, “Thank you.”

—

Osprey stopped at the corner.

For someone with such short legs, she was fast.

“This way,” said Zavion. It had occurred to him as they began their walk that he could investigate the bird lady while they were at it. He was pretty sure he knew the way to her house.

“Nope,” said Osprey. She turned in the opposite direction
and began skipping down the block. “Sorry, Zavion,” she sang over her shoulder. “Green is dragging me this way.”

Zavion jogged down the block after her. “Hey! Hold up—”

But Osprey only sped up. “Green!” she yelled. “You know how dogs are—” Her voice was hard to hear now. She was so far ahead of him.

Zavion caught up to her and grabbed the leash. “Whoa,” he said, playing along. “C'mon now, Green. Ease up.”

Osprey giggled and stopped running. Then she flopped onto the sidewalk. “Green's tired. He needs to rest.”

Zavion was tired too. He sat down next to Osprey.

“What am I going to do with you?” he said.

Osprey scooped Green into her lap and rocked the shoe. Osprey reminded Zavion of Mama all of a sudden. He didn't want to remember Mama right now. Right here. For the second time that day, sadness washed over him like a wave.

The wave must have gotten Osprey wet too because she said, “I love Green, but I loved Crow just a little bit more.” She turned to Zavion, her eyes wide. “Is that okay to say?”

“Oh, yes,” said Zavion. “That makes sense.” He reached out and patted Green. “Green is great, but Crow—I bet he was amazing.”

Osprey nodded. “He was. Uncle Skeet gave him to me. When Mama was just getting sick. He was a puppy when I got
him, but a big puppy! And he would sit on my lap! Uncle Skeet hauled him off me the first time he plopped down, but I kind of liked it. I kind of liked it a lot.”

“You did?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He didn't knock the breath out of you?”

Osprey giggled again. “A little. But I liked it. I told Uncle Skeet I liked it. He told me Crow must have thought his job was to make sure I didn't float away.”

“I bet you didn't, under all that dog,” he said.

“Nope.” Osprey leaned in toward Zavion. “But you want to know a secret?”

Zavion nodded.

“Dogs are a magic. Sometimes Crow would sit next to me, and only his tail was on my lap. And I
still
didn't float away.” Osprey's face looked so serious. “Uncle Skeet told me that anyone whose Mama floated up into heaven needed a dog to keep her from floating up too.” Osprey hugged Green to her chest. “But Uncle Skeet and me—we forgot that Crow needed a cat—”

Zavion was puzzled. “A cat?”

Osprey nodded. “To keep him from floating away.”

—

Another wave, and another and another. Zavion stood up so he wouldn't get so wet and took Osprey's hand and pulled her
up too. As they walked down the block, Zavion thought about how he wanted a dog now. He wanted Mama to have a dog. He wanted every single person in New Orleans to have a dog, and their dog a cat, and the cat a rat, so that they all could stop floating away—

Zavion wondered if a mountain could keep a person from floating away too.

He believed it could.

A van was parked in the driveway of a blue house in the middle of the street. Birdcages were littered all around it. They were all empty. He walked down the driveway.

“This must be it. ‘Diana's Parrot Rescue,' ” he read off the side of the van. He stood still for a moment, not sure what he should do.

“Look at what I taught Green!” Osprey sang out.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” said Zavion, rushing back to her.

“Watch!” She ran down the driveway, dropped her leash, and then ran back to Zavion. She pulled a peanut out of her pocket and threw it at the sneaker. “Fetch, Green!” The peanut landed next to Green, on the driveway. “He's still learning,” she said.

Zavion walked tentatively toward Osprey and then continued inside the garage. “Wow—it's like a bird arcade in here.” More cages were stacked inside, all of them filled with birds.
Parrots, macaws, cockatoos, cockatiels, parakeets—there must have been fifty birds altogether. Zavion knelt in front of a cage and put out his finger. A green bird snapped at it. “Okay, boy. Easy does it. I won't bother you, okay?”

Zavion walked out of the garage and straight up to an open window around the side of the house. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered in. “Wow,” he whispered. “There are birds everywhere.”

Besides the birds, a person was sleeping on a couch. Two other people were awake. A woman was sitting in a chair, and a man was on a sleeping bag on the floor.

“When are we going back in?” said the man. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

“Two hours,” said the woman.

A parrot squawked from inside the garage. The sound was low and gravelly, like it was clearing something from his throat.

And there was another sound.

Also gravelly. Truly gravelly. Like something was actually being dragged across a gravel driveway. Like a green sneaker. He had forgotten for a moment that Osprey was with him. He ran to join her.

“You know what we should do, Osprey?” He put his hand on her shoulder to guide her down the driveway. He didn't want her stopping to throw a peanut.

“What?”

“We should get Green a sock so that he has something to keep him from floating away.”

Osprey started running down the street. “Floating like this?” she called over her shoulder.

“That's more like running,” Zavion said to himself before taking off after her. He hadn't done it in a long time but his leg muscles remembered how. “Yes, like that,” he yelled.

And then he followed Osprey and her running, floating dog.

—

When they got back to the house, Ms. Cyn was sitting in the living room knitting her endless scarf.

“Zavion, honey,” she said. She pulled a five-dollar bill out of her pocket. “Here.” Zavion said no, but Ms. Cyn insisted. “You did Enzo a big favor,” she said. “And I can tell Osprey had a good time. Good times are worth a lot these days. More than this. But it's what I've got and I want you to have it.” She pressed the crisp bill into Zavion's hand.

And like that, Zavion had not only figured out how he was going to get to New Orleans, but how he was going to pay back Luna Market for the chocolate bars too.

He had a plan.

He had money.

He had two hours.

—

Zavion walked to the end of the block and turned the corner. He hitched Tavius's backpack higher on his shoulder. Tavius had been nice to let Zavion borrow it.

For a long walk, Zavion had said. Papa had been busy painting his slate roof shingles and barely looked up when Zavion told him he was going out.

Zavion had paused for a moment, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He had stared at Papa, his fingers gripping the small paintbrush, so intent on making such small lines. Papa's hand shook as he painted a green vertical stripe, maybe a stalk of grass, maybe a stem of a flower. He put the paintbrush down, massaged his hand, and picked it right up again.

Papa was determined.

Zavion was determined too.

—

Clouds hung in the sky, but just lazy and lounging, no threat of rain. The bread he had packed for his snack jostled inside and clunked him on his back. He put his hand in his pocket and felt the marble. He put his other hand in his other pocket and felt the five-dollar bill. He had left a note for Papa, he had food, he had money, he had a magic marble.

He was ready.

The van was still parked in the driveway. Good. That was
good. He could hear the chatter of the birds in the garage all the way from the street. Zavion strained his ears to hear.

Go, go, go, go
.

Did Zavion really want to go through with this? He could turn around. He could walk back to Skeet's house. He could try to forget about the chocolate bars.

But he knew he couldn't forget.