The Sound of Life and Everything (14 page)

There was that word again. “Does that mean ‘thank you'?” I asked.

He nodded, still smiling.

“Well, I'll be,” I said as I sat back on my heels. I'd heard of old dogs and new tricks, but what about new dogs and old ones? I'd thought I was the teacher and Takuma was the student, but apparently, there were a few things that he could teach me, too.

19

Mama called the lab first thing Monday morning.
Luckily, Miss Kendall was able to squeeze us in that afternoon. Mama tried to ship me off to school, promising that she'd take care of it, but I flatly refused. If anyone was going to take care of Takuma, it was going to be me.

It was weird to be back in Dr. Franks's lair. It had only been a week and a few days, but it felt like a lot longer. When we broke Takuma out, I hadn't thought we'd come back. And yet here we were, smack-dab where we'd started. My hands curled into fists.

If Mama felt intimidated, she did a good job of not showing it. She didn't say a word to the first secretary, just flashed her driver's license and steered us toward the silver door. She didn't say a word to the next secretary, either, or the one after that. In fact, she didn't say anything until we ran into Dr. Franks, literally. He was carrying a stack of folders, so he didn't see us coming. The folders tumbled to the floor on impact.

“Mrs. Higbee!” Dr Franks said, like he was happy to see her.

But Mama wasn't fooled. “Oh, don't act so surprised. I set up an appointment with Miss Kendall.”

“Yes, Imogene did mention that you'd be dropping by. I'm just surprised you followed through.”

While they chatted like old friends (or maybe sworn enemies), me and Takuma grabbed the folders. I couldn't have cared less about Dr. Franks's files, but I didn't want Takuma to pick them up alone.

Dr. Franks fluttered his arms like an anxious mother hen. “Oh, subject oh-one-eight, you really don't have to do—”

“Takuma,” I cut in. “His name's Takuma, not ‘subject.'”

Dr. Franks opened his mouth to answer, but before he could put me in my place, Takuma tried to stand back up. His leg gave out beneath him, and he crashed back to the floor.

“Takuma!” I said at the same time Dr. Franks asked, “How long has this been going on?”

“Just a few days,” Mama said as she gave Takuma a hand.

I looped Takuma's arm through mine. “Maybe he hurt his knee when he fell yesterday.”

Dr. Franks pursed his lips. “Perhaps,” was all he said, but it sounded like,
I doubt it.

We dropped Takuma off outside a dressing room, then made our way upstairs. The long, skinny room felt bigger than it had the time before, but then, it was also emptier.

While we waited for Takuma to change out of his clothes, Mama cleared her throat. “It was wrong of me to drag you to the Broadway yesterday.” Even though she whispered it, her voice echoed in the empty room. “I wasn't mad at Jesus, but I'm afraid I took it out on Him.”

“Who were you mad at, then?” I asked.

“No one,” Mama said. “I was just mad at life, I guess.”

I didn't have a chance to ask her what she meant before a door opened in the gym and Takuma reappeared. He looked especially vulnerable in that old teal robe, but the assistants didn't seem to notice. They herded him out into the open, oblivious to his shivers or the way he grimaced with each step.

Dr. Franks pushed a nearby button, and the intercom crackled to life. “Go ahead,” he said, though he already sounded defeated.

Takuma didn't wait for more instructions, just lumbered toward the balance beam. Each step was so off balance that he looked like he was walking on the side of a hill. Wincing, I looked away. I couldn't bear to wait and see if he took another spill.

“What's wrong?” Mama demanded.

“What isn't?” Dr. Franks replied. “It's a neurodegenerative condition.”

“Yes,” Mama said, huffing, “but what does that
mean
?”

He refused to meet her gaze. “It means his motor neurons are failing.”

“His motor
what
?” I asked.

Dr. Franks's shoulders slumped. “It means his brain is losing control.” It sounded like his dog had died.

As if on cue, Takuma tripped over the balance beam. The assistants rushed to help him, but I still felt helpless. He needed me and Mama, not those stiff, unfeeling folks who hid behind their masks. He needed his family.

“Well, there must be something we can do,” I said.

Dr. Franks shook his head sadly. “I'm afraid the damage is already done.”

Mama's eyes narrowed. “There's something you're not tellin' us.” She leaned toward Dr. Franks. “What's really goin' on?”

“Nothing!” he replied as he shrank away from her. “It's just—well, I'm afraid—”

“Don't get your knickers in a bunch.” She folded her arms across her waist. “We can't force you to tell us. But if you think we haven't noticed you have something to hide—or something
more
to hide—then you're sadly mistaken.”

I expected Dr. Franks to argue, but he just looked away.

“Just tell me this,” she said. “Is he gonna end up like President Roosevelt?”

President Roosevelt had died only a few months after Daniel, so I hadn't known him well. But when it came out after his death that he'd spent years in a wheelchair, it had made the evening news. Apparently, he hadn't wanted us to think of him as crippled, but it was hard not to think of him that way. Suddenly, it was hard not to think of Takuma that way, too.

“No, Mrs. Higbee,” Dr. Franks said. “If his symptoms progress predictably, he won't end up in a wheelchair for any length of time.”

Mama eyed him like she thought he was one of Auntie Mildred's riddles, but Dr. Franks lowered his gaze, refusing to be solved.

20

Dr. Franks might have been convinced that Takuma's
motor things were failing, but Mama refused to take his finding as anything but a somewhat educated guess. We'd spent so long training his mind that we'd neglected the rest of him. He didn't need a wheelchair; he just needed some exercise.

The next day, Mama incorporated a daily workout into his schedule. I volunteered to be his trainer, since I was handy with a stopwatch (or at least I would have been if I'd ever handled one), but when I mentioned this to Mama, she just offered me her old straw hat. Apparently, these weren't going to be those kinds of workouts.

I tried to change her mind, but Mama's decision was binding. A baby had to crawl before it could learn to walk, and Takuma had to walk before he could learn to run. Grudgingly, I took the hat and dragged him out the door.

We walked in silence for a while, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Takuma's leg was doing better—he hadn't fallen once all day—and the air was getting warmer. It smelled like the orange blossoms were just starting to bloom.

I drew a deep breath through my nose, then blew it back out through my mouth. “Do you like oranges?” I asked.

His forehead wrinkled. “Oranges?”

I made a ball out of my hands. “You know, those orange fruits?” But as soon as I said it, I knew he wouldn't understand. I thought about it for a second, then pretended to peel the ball. “You have to peel 'em if you want to get to the segments inside, and the juice runs down your hands, and you have to lick it off.”

The peeling must have struck a chord, because he smiled and said, “Orange-ee.”

“Orange-ee,” I said, trying out the unfamiliar word. “You know, that makes me think—”

I broke off when I realized he was no longer beside me. He was on his hands and knees, clutching the back of his leg.

I squatted down beside him. “Is it your motor things?” I whispered. I didn't want it to be, but it was time to face the facts.

Takuma didn't answer, but whether that was because he didn't know or couldn't speak, I couldn't decide.

I thought about stroking his hair, then immediately thought better of it. According to Dr. Franks, Takuma's motor things were in his brain, and I didn't want to mess them up. “Is there something I can do?” I asked. I didn't like this helpless feeling.

Takuma grabbed a fence post and tried to drag himself back to his feet, but he didn't have the strength. When he pulled his hand away, I noticed a sliver in his thumb. I tried to grab his wrist, but he cradled it against his chest.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“No, you're not,” I said as I wedged my shoulder in his armpit. If Samson could destroy a temple just by tugging on two pillars, I could certainly do this. But when I tried to stand back up, I just didn't have the leverage.

This was the worst pickle I'd ever been in (and I'd been in quite a few). Takuma couldn't walk, and I couldn't pick him up. I probably could have left him while I went and got Mama, but with folks like Mr. Lloyd and Mrs. Leavitt on the loose, that didn't strike me as a good idea.

The growl of an incoming Chevrolet presented a possible solution. I tried to catch the driver's eye by waving both arms over my head, but the numbskull sped right past us without even slowing down. I muttered hexes on his kin as I watched his tailgate shrink to the size of a postage stamp, but it didn't make a difference. He still disappeared in a hazy cloud of dust.

We were still just standing there wheezing when another car turned onto Radley. This time, I locked eyes with the driver, who happened to be Mr. Jaeger. He wouldn't have been my first choice, but I'd take what we could get. It wasn't like he was going to murder us in broad daylight; he obviously took more care than that. But when I waved him over, he just kept right on going. He didn't even have the decency to avert his gaze.

I chucked a rock at his tailpipe, but he was already long gone. And we were still stranded.

Takuma rolled onto his side. He couldn't even sit up straight. “Leave me,” he croaked miserably.

“I'm not leavin' you,” I said, propping my elbows on my knees. “Heaven only knows who might come along.”

As if on cue, a pair of bicycles rounded the corner. I whirled around to meet them, hoping against hope that it was Gracie and one of her many beaus.

But it was Walter. And Theo.

Walter grated to a stop, spitting gravel at our shoes. “Well, well, well,” he said as he leaned over his handlebars. “Look what the rat dragged in.”

I stepped between him and Takuma. “Leave us be,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “This ain't any of your beeswax.”

Theo shuddered to a stop a foot or two behind Walter. He only watched us for a moment, though, before he pedaled off, racing back the way he'd come. I'd long suspected that Theo was a coward, but now I knew for sure. I wanted to spit at his tires, but that seemed like a waste of spit.

Walter popped his knuckles. “On the contrary,” he said, nodding toward the Olsens' fence, “destruction of private property is everyone's business.”

“We're not destroyin' it,” I said, though it was sagging beneath our weight. But the way I saw it, fences were meant to be leaned on. “As soon as he works out this charley horse, we'll be on our way.”

It was a bluff, of course—Takuma didn't have a charley horse any more than I had a black eye—but Walter wasn't privy to that piece of information. Hopefully, he'd take the bait and leave.

Unfortunately, he didn't.

“Well, it serves him right,” he said as he spit in our direction. “My uncle Mitch lost his right arm to those dirty, stinking Japs. The doctors had to cut it off when he came back from Okinawa.”

I lowered my gaze. “I'm sure he's sorry about your uncle.” Takuma had never taken pleasure in another person's pain.

Walter batted that away. “Of course, the reverend thinks that he's not even a Jap.” He kicked Takuma in the shin. “You hear that, dirty butcher? The reverend thinks you're nothing!”

Takuma bit his lip, probably to keep from crying out, but I could tell that he was hurting. White-hot anger zigzagged across my field of vision, and my hands balled into fists. It was like that day on the playground, but this time, Mrs. Temple wouldn't be able to intervene.

I struck as swiftly as a lightning bolt, upending Walter and his bicycle in a single move. He whacked himself between the legs, but I showed him no mercy. While he curled up in a ball, I smashed his face into the dirt, then seized a juicy-looking clod and shoved it in his mouth.

“Do you taste that?” I demanded. “It tastes like your filthy words.”

Takuma yelled my name, but I pretended not to hear. He was probably going to tell me to leave Walter alone, and I was having too much fun.

I waved another clod in Walter's face. “Do you think you've had enough?”

Walter half said, half choked something that I couldn't decipher.

I smiled wickedly. “I didn't think so, either.”

But I didn't have a chance to shove it in his mouth before another bicycle trundled up and a familiar voice said, “Ella Mae!”

Instead of answering, I dug my knees into Walter's back. Gracie might have been my cousin, but she wasn't my mama. She couldn't tell me what to do.

Unfortunately, she disagreed.

“Ella Mae!” she said again. This time, she grabbed me by my collar. “You get off that boy at once!”

I tried to wrap my knees around his stomach and keep him pinned against the ground, but Gracie's collar-grabbing gave Walter the opening he needed. As soon as my weight shifted, he bucked me off his back with a bloodcurdling howl. I came down on my fanny, hard.

While I recovered from the impact, Walter scrambled to his feet with a dark gleam in his eyes. But before he could tackle me on his own terms, Gracie stepped between us.

“Go home,” she said to Walter, sticking both hands on her hips. “And be sure to tell your mama to expect my call.”

Walter opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut again. He glowered up at Gracie as he retrieved his bicycle and swung a wobbly leg over the seat. I couldn't help but grin as he pedaled gingerly away.

Gracie swatted my fanny. “Stop grinning like that, Ella Mae.”

I paid her no heed. I'd grin at Walter however I pleased.

She knelt down by Takuma. “I don't think I can carry you, but I do think I can help. Do you think you can walk if I support most of your weight?”

Takuma closed his eyes as another wave of pain swept over him, but he managed to nod.

“Then let's get you back to Auntie Anna's.” She looped his arm around her neck. “We'll stand up on three, okay? Are you ready? One, two,
three
!”

Takuma gasped and Gracie grunted as they struggled to their feet, but somehow, they stood up. Once they were mostly upright, she snaked an arm around his waist, and he sagged against her side. I didn't like how she clung to his belt loop and he didn't shy away.

“I can take him now,” I said as I stepped in front of Gracie.

“You're too short,” Gracie said, easily sidestepping me. “Besides, if Walter circles back, I don't think he's going to settle for calling you two names again.”

I stuck out my chest. “I can handle Walter.”

“Stuffing dirt in his mouth isn't handling him,” Gracie said. “And don't think I'm not going to talk to Auntie Anna, either.”

True to her word, the first thing Gracie did when we got home was set Takuma on the couch, and the second thing she did was tell Mama the whole story. Mama listened carefully to Gracie's blow-by-blow account, then disappeared into the kitchen without saying a word. She came back with her wooden spoon and a handful of lemon drops.

She whacked me so hard with the spoon that tears sprang to my eyes, then dumped the lemon drops into my hand. Mama said the whack was for stuffing Walter's face with dirt while the lemon drops were for protecting Takuma. She offered some to Gracie, but Gracie waved her off. She was too busy propping Takuma's leg up on a laundry basket and tending to his sliver.

Mama mentioned something about steering clear of Walter, but I was no longer listening. I was too busy glaring at the back of Gracie's head. Takuma was
my
best friend, not hers. I was getting tired of her interference.

• • •

On Wednesday, I dodged Walter like a bad case of the flu, but there was nothing I could do about dodging Theo. From the way that he kept trying to capture my attention, I could tell he had something to say, but I wasn't in the mood to hear him out. Unfortunately, he tracked me down while I was headed home from school. That was what I got for sticking to the roads.

I stuck up my nose. “I'm not speakin' to you, Theodore.”

“Why, because you don't like losin'?”

“No, because I don't like talkin' to Walter's pea-brained friends!”

Theo's smile faded. “I'm not Walter's friend,” he mumbled.

I laughed, not very nicely. “Well, you could've fooled me.”

He dragged a hand under his nose. “I'm not Walter's friend, all right? We've just been passin' time. It turns out that Walter doesn't have many friends, either.”

This was news to me, but I wasn't about to encourage Theo. “I'm not interested in Walter's social life.”

Theo stuck his chest out. “Well,
I'm
not interested—”

“In being Takuma's friend, I know.”

Theo ducked his head. “It's not what you think,” he whispered. “And I really am sorry about what happened yesterday.”

“I'm sorry, too,” I said. “But then, I should have realized that you were a coward.”

It was an awful thing to say, and as soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. Takuma wouldn't say things just to hurt people. He only said things that were important.