A Tinfoil Sky (16 page)

While Mel worked to pry the window open, Gladys fixed them both some peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Mel could feel Gladys watching her. Once Mel was finished, they sat down at the table.

“Listen,” Mel said to herself more than to anyone else. “You can hear the birds sing.”

Gladys opened a can of Red Label milk and poured some into her teacup. Then, after a sip of tea, she looked up. “Both of these keys are for you.”

Mel glanced at the keys.

“I should have given them to you in the first place. I just … I just thought …,” Gladys started.

Mel finished her sentence. “You thought I’d steal your things.”

“I was wrong, and I’m sorry.” Gladys said and then gently slid the keys in Mel’s direction.

Mel picked them up and put them in her pocket. Her thought was to attach them to the key chain that also held the Pinto car key, which she’d kept safe zipped in the front pocket of her pack all this time.

Mr. Frohberger was sweeping the front steps when she walked by.

“Who’s that you have slung around your neck?”

“This is Fearless.”

“Well, how about that. Welcome to the neighborhood, Fearless,” Mr. Frohberger said, rubbing Fearless’s neck and head.

Mel wondered if Gladys had told Mr. Frohberger about Cecily, and the letter.

“So, where are you off to today, Mel?”

“Oh, I’m just taking Fearless out for walk.”

“Well, if he gets tired of walking, which I doubt he will, sitting up there like some kind of prince, you can bring him back here and see if he can track down a mouse or two. I don’t know why, but about this time of year, every rodent for forty miles tries to make a home in the store.”

“I’ll do that,” Mel said, stroking Fearless’s head.

“Stop in on your way back, anyway. I found something I think you might like to have.”

Mel and Fearless walked for most of the day. They went by the park and the office buildings near the central bus stop, and they dropped by the soup kitchen; Cecily was nowhere to be found.

Mel didn’t feel much like talking when she got back to Frohberger’s, but she had said she would stop and so she did.

“Here you go,” Mr. Frohberger said, sliding a piece of paper out from between two pieces of cardboard. “It’s the poster I printed up for your grandfather’s last show.” Fearless leaped from Mel’s shoulder to the counter.

Mel examined the dark black letters done in calligraphy, and the pen-and-ink sketch of Tux: his smile, his black tuxedo, top hat, and the swirl of imagined magic spiraling around him.

“He would have wanted you to have it,” Mr. Frohberger said as he stroked Fearless.

Mel stared at that poster. “Did he really look like that?”

“More or less. He wore a tuxedo and top hat – well, only when he was performing and all, but he always wore that smile. You’ve got his eyes.”

Mel slid the poster back between the pieces of cardboard and looked up at Mr. Frohberger.

“Thank you,” she said, and then she turned and began to walk out the door.

“Oh! Don’t forget this guy!”

“Come on, Fearless,” Mel called. “And thanks again, Mr. Frohberger. This is great.”

As Mel opened the door, Fearless scampered out onto the sidewalk and across the road.

The apartment smelled of sausages and eggs cooking, and Fearless headed straight for the kitchen when they came through the door. Mel followed him.

“What’s that you have there?” Gladys asked.

“A poster. Mr. Frohberger gave it to me.”

“Is it a poster of Tux?”

“It is. Do you want to see it?” Mel carefully pulled the poster from between the cardboard and laid it on the table.

Gladys sat looking at the picture, her breathing deepening and slowing, and then she began to speak, more to herself than to Mel. Words flowed from her lips – only the occasional word loud enough for Mel to make out. Even so, Gladys’s voice seemed rhythmic, punctuated by moments of silence as though she was listening for a reply. Mel heard her name, “Melody,” included in the strands of words beaded together. And although she couldn’t fully hear the words, she understood the meaning, and she
could tell that what Mr. Frohberger had said was true: Gladys loved Tux.

After awhile, Gladys stood and went to Cecily’s old bedroom. She dragged the dark wooden steamer trunk into the kitchen. Mel expected the trunk to be full of things like pillows, old clothes, or other uninteresting things often stored in mothballs. She couldn’t have been more wrong. The first thing Gladys lifted out of the trunk was a framed newspaper article picturing a man in a swallowtailed black tuxedo and top hat with a white stick.

“The Terrific Tux Tulley” the headline read.

Gladys wiped the dust off the frame with the edge of her skirt, and stood the framed picture on the table.

Mel stared at the contents of the trunk: silk handkerchiefs – four or five different colors – boxes, calipers, rulers, mirrors, a folded three-legged table, files full of papers, and a hinged box. In a space all of its own, and carefully folded and wrapped in tissue, was Tux’s suit. Beside the suit sat a hatbox.

“Magic isn’t something you buy in a store,” Gladys said, her hands brushing the surface of the satin hatbox as she sat down.

Mel looked at Gladys, at the slightly pink color in her face.

“Tux used to say that everyone needs a little magic in their lives; it gives them hope.”

Hope. The word seemed odd
, Mel thought,
coming from Gladys’s mouth, but in a way it seemed right
.

“And when Cecily left, taking you with her, it broke his heart, broke both our hearts.” Gladys paused, took in a breath, and then continued. “Tux looked day and night. He and Ed Frohberger, they looked for weeks, even got in Ed’s old Impala and drove to the city. When everyone else had given up hope, Ed Frohberger kept going out with Tux. More than just about anything, your Grandpa Tux loved you. Nothing would make him happier than to know that you’re home and that you’re safe.”

Gladys reached into the trunk and picked up a small photo album, the kind with black paper pages and gold foil tabs holding in the photographs.

“These, here, are Tux’s parents. I never met them; they stayed in the old country. This here,” Gladys ran her finger along the line of children, stopping at the smallest, “this is Tux. He was three years old.” About the age you were when he last saw you.”

Gladys turned the page. There was another photograph of Tux; only the name Theodore was written below it. He was fourteen years old. Mel smiled as she looked up at Gladys and then back down at the album.

Gladys turned page after page, each time telling the story of each person preserved in the black-and-white photos. Mel noticed there were no photographs of Gladys’s family, no photos of Cecily. What Mel had hoped for as the pages turned was that there would be pictures of her, as a baby, from those first three years when she had lived at least part of the time with Gladys and Tux, here. But as Gladys turned the last page, Mel accepted that there wouldn’t be. Gladys reached for the trunk lid and closed it.

“Not much we can sell in here,” she said.

Moments later, Gladys got up from the table and went into her room, returning with a small album and another photograph suspended in a simple silver frame. She handed the photograph to Mel. It was Tux, and he was holding a little girl. They were twirling, the girl’s natural ringlets swirling across her face. Her mouth was open and she was laughing. Mel closed her eyes, and not only could she feel herself spinning, she could also hear Mr. Frohberger whistling, and she and Tux were dancing. They were on the sidewalk just outside the store. And deep in that place that was hurting, she knew it was a memory – not a want-to-have, pretend- to have, try-to-have memory, but a real memory.

“That picture,” Gladys said when Mel opened her eyes, “belongs to you.”

Gladys’s fingers gently stroked the small satin album. Mel wondered if Gladys was going to cry.

“And this album is for you, too.”

Mel picked up the album from Gladys’s hands. Her fingers traced the embossed italic gold letters:
C-E-C-I-L-Y
.

“I really miss her,” Mel said, looking up at Gladys.

“I know you do,” Gladys said as she reached out and touched Mel’s hand.

The last week Paul was in Riverview, he and Mel spent every day together. They played chess in the library, walked along the river, and ate ice cream on the steps of Frohberger’s. And then on one especially clear day, they rode the bikes back up the mountain. Mel told Paul about her list of beautiful places, and they agreed that Morning Mountain belonged on the list. They talked about their lives, where they had been, and what they had seen; some of it was funny and some of it was sad. Paul told Mel about his parents and about the divorce. Mel told Paul about the letter and Rose and the four-pose picture of her with Cecily, and she told him that Cecily had left. She was surprised how good it felt just to tell the whole truth, just this once, to someone who could actually hear it.

On the last night Paul was in town, his mom invited Mel over for dinner. They ate pizza and watched a movie, and when it was over, Paul and his mom drove her back home.

As Mel opened the van door, Paul also opened the door on his side.

“I can walk myself in,” Mel said quickly.

“I’ll be right back,” Paul said to his mom, ignoring Mel’s comment.

“See you at the library,” Marilyn said as she turned and smiled at Mel.

“Yeah, for sure. And thanks for the pizza and for the ride home.”

Neither Paul nor Mel spoke as they walked to the apartment building. Mel wondered if Paul was also listening to his own thoughts, sorting out what to say. In her head, thoughts came, left, and returned, but she said nothing as they climbed the stairs.

Mel unlocked the door to the apartment to find Gladys sitting on the couch with her hands in her lap.

“Paul,” Mel said, looking at Paul and then to Gladys, “this is my grandma.” Gladys smiled, first at Mel, and then at Paul.

“Nice to meet you,” Paul said.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Gladys answered.

Fearless rubbed himself against Mel’s leg and slipped out the open door and down the stairs.

“Uh, I need to let Fearless out the bottom door,” Mel said as much to Paul as to Gladys. She was grateful for
the excuse to walk Paul back down to the entry. They both stopped when they reached the sidewalk.

Paul glanced over his shoulder at the waiting van, and then up to Gladys’s apartment window. He took in a deep breath, pushed his hands into the pockets of his faded jean jacket, and brought his eyes back to Mel.

“So, I’ll be back to visit my mom at Thanksgiving. Do you think you’ll be here?”

Mel smiled. “Yeah, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

“Great – I’ll call you.”

“I’d like that,” Mel said.

Paul turned and walked back to the van, and Mel walked back up the stairs to Gladys’s.

Mel finished her storytime shift at the library and was walking toward the soup kitchen when she saw her.

“Cecily!” Mel yelled as she began running.

Cecily turned. Mel slowed to a jog.

“Cecily?” Mel said, this time making sure it was, in fact, her mom.

“Oh God, Mel,” Cecily said. “I’m so sorry.”

Cecily wrapped her arms around Mel’s shoulders. Mel couldn’t imagine anything feeling better.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Cecily said. “It just seemed like the best thing to do, you at Gladys’s, having friends, a job, and …”

“It’s okay; I knew you’d come back,” Mel told her. “I knew you wouldn’t just leave me.”

“I got here today and I was hoping that you’d come back with me. I just called Gladys.” Then she paused and added, “We came to get the car out of the city pound and we were going to go by the library next.” Cecily leaned
down and kissed the top of Mel’s head.

“We?” Mel asked as she pulled away and looked up at Cecily.

Cecily’s eyes shifted to the road.

Mel followed them. It was the Pinto. And in the car was Craig.

“Craig?” Mel asked, looking back at Cecily. Her heart started to hammer against her chest.

“Hey, Mel,” Craig said over the bass music, leaning toward the passenger seat. “Are you coming with us?”

Mel didn’t answer. Instead her eyes went back to Cecily, then to the sidewalk, and then away. “What did he say about us taking the car? Did he say anything about my journal and …” Her voice trailed off.

“It’s going to be okay,” Cecily said, reading Mel’s thoughts. “God, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, but Craig …” He was the last person Mel wanted to see again.

“Don’t worry. Things are going to be different this time,” Cecily assured her. “I promise.”

“But you said there was no going back.”

“Sometimes plans change,” Cecily whispered.

“I have a cat.” Mel said the words as a matter of fact, making sure it was clear to Cecily that Fearless was coming with her.

“Okay,” Cecily said, and then looked down at Craig. “A cat’s okay, don’t you think, Craig?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Craig said, nodding his head.

Cecily opened the front door. Mel hesitated but then opened the door to the back and got in, her eyes on the soup kitchen door as they pulled away from the curb. Mel would have liked to have gone in, to have said good-bye to Rose and Gus.

“Gladys said she’d pack up your things for you,” Cecily said as she looked over her shoulder at Mel.

Mel nodded but said nothing.

It seemed like Craig was looking in the rearview mirror every few seconds, making eye contact. Mel decided to keep her head down. As they went past Frohberger’s, she looked sideways into the shop window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Frohberger.

Craig pulled the car up to the curb in front of Gladys’s.

“Make it quick,” he told Mel.

“Yeah, I will.”

“Are you going to come in with me?” Mel whispered to Cecily through the window of the car door.

“No, that’s probably not a good idea,” Cecily said, looking at Craig and then at the apartment.