The Book of Bright Ideas (5 page)

I could tell by the way his snaky eyebrows scrinched in the shape of an
S
that he didn't have a clue what a beck was. Winnalee must have known this too, because she added, “That's a brook, I think. A little stream. I ain't sure, though.”

Tommy gave one of those laughs that comes out half like a grunt. “I know that. What, you think I'm stupid?” He cocked his head, then pointed out past Winnalee's new house. “See that field there? If you cross it, duck right into that patch of white pine, straight west about three-quarters of a mile or so, you'll come right to a little stream that sits between Peters land and the Fossard property.”

Tommy grinned at me after he said this, and I started biting the inside of my cheek.

“There's fairies at that creek too. Little fairy ladies with pearly wings. Pretty little dresses on 'em too. Lots of folks have seen 'em there. Course, you have to catch them right before dark, I hear.”

Winnalee lit up, her eyes getting all round and sparkly. She hoisted her ma up higher in her arms.

One of Tommy's eyebrows scooted up, and the other one crouched down. “Course, you'll be takin' a chance on running into Fossard's ghost.”

“Ghost?”

“Yep. Ask Button here about Hiram Fossard's ghost. She'll tell ya. He was the grave digger over at the commie cemetery, where the old atheists got buried. He was a skinny old guy, with a big ol' hump on his back. Couldn't even straighten up if he wanted to after spending so many years bent over, digging graves. He was crazy as a loon too. So scared of those Soviets nuking us that he dug himself a bomb shelter. Cut it right into that hill by his house with the very shovel that he dug the commies' graves with. Put a cot in there, a water barrel, guns, food, you name it.”

“Lots of people have bomb shelters,” Winnalee said. “That don't make them crazy.”

Tommy nodded in quick little jerks. “Yep, that's right. But I ain't saying that's why he was nuts. It wasn't. He was nuts because he was so damn worried about those nuke bombs that he couldn't sleep nights. Stayed up around the clock in time, days on end, pacing and watching the sky, waiting for the big one to drop.

“Course, the nutty bastard was just as scared of being stuck underground too. So it weren't long before he couldn't get his mind off of being stuck under that hill of dirt if the Soviets did shit on us and he ended up trapped in that shelter. Worked himself into such a tizzy that one night he shot his dog and his wife, then he hanged himself from a tree.”

Tommy cocked his head to one side and yanked on an imaginary rope around his neck. He made choking noises as his tongue flapped out of the side of his mouth. He laughed some, then dropped his voice down real quiet and leaned his ugly head farther out of the window. “His ghost still won't go into the ground. Walks all night long—and sometimes in the day too—pacing, still waitin' for the Soviets to come, that shovel he always carried scuffing behind him as he drags it across the ground. People who dare go there—looking for fairies, most likely—they all hear it.”

Scared started swirling in my belly. I looked over at Winnalee, but she didn't look sick with fright at all. She just tugged her ma up again and lifted her head up a bit higher. “You're just trying to scare us. You think if you do, we'll be too afraid to go there to see the fairies. But you're not so smart after all. I ain't scared of dead people. If I was, you think I'd carry my dead ma with me wherever I go?”

I was real glad when Aunt Verdella leaned out the porch door just then, calling to Tommy, telling him where he could find Uncle Rudy. He waved to Aunt Verdella so she knew he'd heard her, then looked back at me and Winnalee. “I gotta get to work. I ain't got time to be sitting here talking to a couple of little kids.” He put the truck in gear and it lurched forward, heading toward the driveway that led to the barn.

“Button, you going over to Winnalee's?”

I yelled back that I was.

“Okay, sweetie. But don't you go anywhere else. Auntie Verdella needs to know where you are.”

As we walked across the lawn, Winnalee was all excited about going on an adventure to see those fairies. It was enough to make me start gnawing on the inside of my cheek.

“Aunt Verdella'd never let me go that far, Winnalee,” I said. “She's always worried that I'm gonna get lost. I can't even leave the yard. And anyway, Tommy's nothing but a big liar. How do we know we could really find Fossard's property by going straight through the woods? And I'll bet if we did find it, there wouldn't be any fairies there anyway, because fairies aren't real.”

As we walked up the porch steps, Winnalee shook her head. “Button, I told you. Anything's possible. You never know. Now come on, so I can show you that picture and prove to you that fairies exist.”

I followed Winnalee through the house, and when we passed Freeda's bedroom to get to the stairs, I could see Freeda stretched across her bed in her underwear, the morning sun resting over her naked back. She was asleep, one pale arm dangling over the edge of the bed, her penny hair dripped over the side. “She was out last night, then came home with some guy,” Winnalee said. “He left the toilet seat up, and I didn't see it when I got up in the night to pee. I got my butt wet too. Freeda said she'll pick up a night-light. I told her why don't she just make her stupid boyfriends put the damn seat down instead. Anyway, she ain't gonna get outta bed at least till noon—I can tell you that much. And you don't have to worry about making noise either, because she don't hear nothing when she's sleeping.”

I followed Winnalee into her room, where she put her ma on the window seat, then opened the closet and disappeared inside. She came out with her shoe box. She dug out the folded page of the book, then brought it over to the bed that wasn't made, and we sat down.

She unfolded the page and laid it on the lap of her mesh skirt, which was scratching my bare leg and practically hogging up the whole bed. “See?”

“Holy moly!” I said, as I took the picture from her lap. I probably looked stupid with my mouth hanging wide open and my eyes all bugged out, but I couldn't help it. I ran my fingers over the glossy page where an old-fashioned girl was propped on a bank. Right in front of her were beautiful little fairies, their bare legs and arms dancing, their wings pointing up to heaven. “Wow!”

“See, I told you! Wish we had a camera to take pictures with when we find them.”

I was thinking hard now. Thinking about how when Winnalee first told me that she had her ma in that jar, I didn't believe her then either, but it was true. Now here I was looking at pictures of fairies. I was having a hard time believing my own eyes, but maybe, just maybe, Winnalee was telling the truth this time too.

The thought of maybe seeing real live fairies made my belly start dancing. But then I thought of seeing Fossard's ghost, and suddenly it felt like my belly danced too close to a cliff and fell right off in one whoosh. “I won't be able to go all that ways, Winnalee. I told you. You heard Aunt Verdella tell me not to go anywhere else. She'd spy us before we even reached the edge of the field, so we can just forget about running off to find fairies today.”

Winnalee took the picture and folded it back up. “I don't mean today, Button. You can't go out on a big adventure without thinking everything out first. We have to make plans. We need a map, food, things like that. Then we'll have to wait for just the right chance to sneak away.”

My arms stopped itching when she said we didn't have to go yet.

5

One thing I thought about while I sat in the Malones' kitchen with Freeda and Aunt Verdella, while Winnalee splashed and sang in the tub (her first bath since she moved in, even though we'd gotten plenty dirty in the nine days since she got here), was how families are all different. At my house, it was quiet. So quiet that if Ma let a mouse slip inside (which she wouldn't), I was sure you could hear him breathing. Even when the TV set was on (which wasn't often), you had to scoot so close to it to hear anything that you had to worry about ruining your eyes.

Our house was clean too, with everything having a place and everyone having rules they had to follow. The towels all had to match, and after you used one, you had to fold it neat so that the hems hung straight like pictures. And nobody talked much, and nobody laughed, and nobody cried, and nobody touched anybody.

At Aunt Verdella and Uncle Rudy's, it was noisy all the time. The TV was going from the time they woke up till the time they went to bed—even if nobody was watching it, and even if that was wasting electricity. It was always turned up loud too. So loud that I was sure that if I ran to the end of the field, I'd still be able to hear the soap-opera people talking, and Aunt Verdella talking at them, or at Uncle Rudy. And the towels in the bathroom were folded over the rack, but if the hems hung crooked like bangs cut wrong, then that was okay. And if one of those towels was plain pink, and one green striped, and another one was busy with flowers, then that was okay too, because that was pretty like a rainbow. And there wasn't no special place to put anything either, so we spent a lot of time digging under mounds of yarn, old mail, or clothes that were folded but not put away yet for whatever it was we needed.

At the Malones', though, it was different still. Sometimes it was real noisy, with music playing so loud you could feel it thumping in your chest. But other times, like when Freeda was sleeping and Winnalee was drawing, it was as quiet in their house as it was in ours. The towels were usually left on the floor, or bunched up with just a wadded corner tucked over the towel rack. And sometimes they matched, and sometimes they didn't. And there was lots of yelling and cussing, and even slapping now and then, but there was lots of laughing and hugging too.

“That sure is a cute top,” I heard Aunt Verdella say, so I stopped thinking and looked at the skinny, sleeveless blouse hanging over the back of a chair she was pointing to. “I wish I could wear things like that.”

“Why can't you?” Freeda asked, as she ripped open a bag of Windmill cookies and ate a blade off of one. “I say, if you've got it, flaunt it.” Freeda stretched out her arms and shimmied as she whooped.

“Oh good heavens,” Aunt Verdella said with a laugh. “I'm fifty-eight years old and fat, that's why. Imagine how silly I'd look in something like that!” She giggled some more.

“Ah, piss,” Freeda said, as she leaned back on her chair. She propped her feet up and hooked her long toes on the edge of the table. “If people don't like it, they can lump it. People should wear what they want, and do what they want. That's what I say. When I'm your age, I'm gonna wear whatever I damn please. And I'm gonna grow my hair all the way down to my ass too, and let it hang wild, just to piss off people who think that older women should have short hair. Just watch me.”

Aunt Verdella giggled, then said, “I've no doubt you'll do exactly those things!”

“You want one, kid?” Freeda asked, tapping the cookie bag with the edge of her foot.

I kind of wanted one. Not because I liked the way they tasted, but because I liked the way they looked, but I couldn't make myself say yes.

Freeda popped the rest of her cookie in her mouth. She leaned forward and took another one out of the package, then flicked it across the table. It spun, then stopped when it bumped against my hand. I picked it up and chewed it with little bites.

Freeda set down her cup and, without excusing herself, shuffled into the bathroom on bare feet. She didn't even close the door behind her, even though we could see her drop her drawers and hear her piddling. I watched but tried to make it look like I wasn't. I saw drops of bathwater shoot sideways at her. She put her hands in front of her face, and her top part darted from side to side, like one of those fat-faced, poisonous snakes that dance when you play them music on a flute. “Goddammit, Winnalee. You stop that right now!”

Winnalee giggled, and Aunt Verdella turned to look. She giggled too.

“I mean it, you little shit, or I'll drown you when I'm off of here!” Winnalee kept flicking water till Freeda wiped, pulled up her pants, and ran out of the room.

“What a kid!” Freeda said, as she rolled her eyes.

Aunt Verdella turned and caught her reflection in the chrome toaster. She started picking at her hair. “You could get by with having your hair long when you're older, but not me. Oh, look at this frizzy mess. I've colored it so many times, I don't even remember what color it was before I started!”

While Aunt Verdella talked, I could feel Freeda staring at me. I set my half-eaten cookie down on the table and slipped my hands up over my ears—wishing my hands were as big as Uncle Rudy's so I could cover my knotty curls too.

“You like your hair like that, Button?” Freeda asked. I could tell by the way she asked it that she wouldn't like her hair to look like mine. Her eyes peered at me from over her coffee cup while she waited for my answer. I could feel my cheeks heat up.

“I didn't think so,” she said. She set her cup down. “I've seen the way you look at Winnalee's hair. Hey, next time your ma gets out her scissors and that stupid perm kit, you just tell her, ‘Fuck it, I'm not getting my hair whacked and fried. I'm letting it grow long like Winnalee's.' Then run like hell.”

Aunt Verdella gasped. “Freeda!”

Freeda laughed and got up. She went to the stove and grabbed the percolator off it, put her finger on the glass knob on top, then tipped it sideways to refill her cup. “Ah, don't get your butt in a bundle, Verdella. That kid ain't gonna repeat what I just said. Look at her. She's so uptight she can't even say she wants a frickin' cookie without biting half of her face off, much less how she wants to wear her hair.”

“But still…” Aunt Verdella said.

Freeda stood up. She stared out the window that overlooked the empty field and rubbed her belly. She yawned. “Shit, I've gotta find a job before we die of starvation and I die of boredom.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Aunt Verdella said. “Marty's Place is almost remodeled now, honey, so you can go in and see him about that job. Reece said he's still looking for another girl.” Aunt Verdella sighed. “You poor thing, having so much responsibility resting on your young shoulders. And with no one to count on but yourself. Maybe you'll find a nice guy to marry right here in Dauber who'll help lighten your load.”

Freeda looked at Aunt Verdella and laughed. “Who says a man would lessen my load? What planet you living on, anyway? Damn, that's the last thing I need.” She looked down at me, her green eyes lemony-colored with the sunlight shining through the sides of them. “Here's a tip for you, kiddo. Men are good for one thing, and one thing only. And hell, you don't even really need them for that either. Remember that.”

Aunt Verdella glanced over at me, like I'd just heard something I shouldn't have, but I wasn't sure what that something was. Then she looked back at Freeda, her eyes still filled with worry. “Still, it's gotta be rough, having so much responsibility at your age. How old are you, anyway? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Well, still, you must have been pretty young when you started carrying this load all by yourself. How long have your folks been gone now, honey?”

“Daddy, about fifteen years, I guess. Ma, four.”

“Oh my, to lose your folks that young, and to have to raise your little sister alone.”

“I'm used to being on my own,” Freeda says. “I've been on my own since I was sixteen years old. I don't need nobody taking care of me.”

“Since you were sixteen?”

Freeda picked up her cup and took another sip, but she didn't sit down. “Yep, that's how old I was when I took off. Sixteen.”

“Took off, as in ran away?”

“That's right. I didn't step one foot back in that dump for five years. I just pulled into town the night before Ma died. Came home one day, went out that night, came back in around noon the next day, and found her deader than a doornail on the kitchen floor.”

Aunt Verdella's freckly hand clamped over her chest, and she looked ready to cry. “Oh dear, how awful!”

Freeda's shoulders made a quick shrug. “Yeah, well…I called Ma's sister—she lived just down the road—and told her to call that piece of slime they call a brother from the bar, because Ma was dead and I'd called the funeral home to come get her and I was taking off. I grabbed my bags, a few things for Winnalee, told them where to send the ashes, and I got the hell outta there.”

While Aunt Verdella was staring at her, her mouth hanging wide open, Freeda turned and shouted toward the bathroom, where Winnalee was still singing and splashing. “Crissakes, Winnalee! You've gotta be shriveled up like a prune by now. Get the hell out of there. I've gotta job-hunt today, and I sure as hell can't go like this. Now move it!” Winnalee kept on singing and splashing. Freeda cussed under her breath, then said, “Damn kid. You can't hardly ever get her into the goddamn tub. Then once you do, you can't get her out.”

Aunt Verdella was watching Freeda, her face still looking upset. “But there were arrangements to be made, of course. And, oh my, you needed some support at a time like that, honey. I don't mean to pry, it's just that I'm trying to understand why you'd just take Winnalee and leave at a time like that.”

“I don't mind you prying. Ask me anything, I don't care. I ain't got nothing to hide.” She pulled a bobby pin out of her penny hair and opened it with her teeth, then retucked a loose strand back to the top of her head. “I wasn't about to hang around there and listen to my aunt and Ma's old biddy friends give me bullcrap about how I killed my ma by running off, then coming back out of the blue. And I sure as hell wasn't gonna leave Winnalee behind to be raised by her sister, that religious freak, or worse yet, their loser brother, the son of a bitch.”

Freeda sat down, lifted her bare legs, and curled her long toes over the edge of the table again, like they were fingers. “As if
I
had anything to do with her dropping dead. My ma didn't give a shit about me leaving, and she didn't give a shit about me coming home either. The only thing that woman ever cared about was eating. She goddamn ate herself to death, that's what she did. Just like Daddy drank himself to death. She had these big-ass stools parked all over that damn kitchen and pulled herself from one to the next, baking and eating till she looked like a bloated wood tick that fell off some mangy dog. I wasn't about to be blamed for any of that.”

“Oh my. Poor little Winnalee,” Aunt Verdella said, making her voice as small as she could. “She'd never even met you, right? How on earth did you get her to go with you, being a perfect stranger?”

Freeda got up and went to the refrigerator, opening it and peering in. “No, she hadn't met me, but my pictures were hanging around the walls—probably because Ma was too goddamn lazy to take them down—so Winnalee knew about me, of course. God knows what stories Ma told her, but I guess Winnalee decided I was her best bet. Not like I gave her a choice, anyway.”

Freeda slammed the fridge door shut without taking anything from it. “Okay, enough, Winnalee! Now get the hell out of that tub!”

Freeda turned back to Aunt Verdella, her hands on her hips. “Hell, if you're gonna overindulge in something, it might as well be sex. At least sex won't rot your liver or clog your goddamn arteries. That's my theory, anyway.”

Then her laugh stopped. She marched into the bathroom, where Winnalee was singing a made-up song about fairies.

“What are you doing? Don't let my water out!” Winnalee screamed. We heard a couple wet slaps and then some more yelling.

Aunt Verdella hurried to the bathroom door. “Come on now, honey,” she said. “Button here is waiting to play with you.”

I heard the bathwater gurgle as the last of it chugged down the drain, then Winnalee came into the kitchen, butt-naked, her long curls dripping. She didn't have any red slap marks on her crinkly skin, so I figured maybe she was the one who'd been doing the slapping.

“Come on,” she called to me, as she ran through the kitchen, her feet padding wet prints across the floor.

“Get your ass back here and wipe up these goddamn puddles! You hear me?”

Winnalee ignored Freeda and kept running.

I followed her up the stairs, where she dug in her closet for something to wear. She grabbed a pair of red shorts with sailboats on them and a pink shirt with yellow flowers and put them on. She didn't bother to put on underpants first.