All That's Missing (14 page)

Oh, geez. Would she give it a rest?

When their eyes met, she pressed her mouth closed again. Then she took the sardine can and fit it under the blade of the electric can opener. As she pressed down on the lever, Arlo felt his chest muscles relax.
Thank goodness. More noise. No talking.

But it didn't last long.

“Always buy the kind packed in water,” she said. “Not that stuff packed in oil.” She emptied the sardines onto a white plate with a dainty silver fork. “Oil has cholesterol. You don't want to start clogging up your arteries.”

She tossed the can in the trash, waving a finger at Steamboat, who was nosing around. “Not for you, boy. Go sit down, now.”

Steamboat went back to the top of the steps and laid his head between his paws.
Poor dog.
Arlo wondered when she fed him.

“You may think you don't need to worry at your age, but it never hurts to start healthy habits early,” she said. “You wouldn't want to block circulation in your brain and go soft in the head now, would you?”

Bam! Another direct hit. Was that what was wrong with Poppo? Was he soft in the head because of too much cholesterol?

It was no wonder she and Poppo didn't talk to each other. They were nothing alike. Arlo could see why Poppo never wanted to talk about her. Poppo didn't like to say bad things about people, and it would be tough to describe Ida Jones without saying something negative.

If she was so careful about making sure everybody ate healthy meals, why wasn't his grandfather Jones still alive? Poppo never said what he died of.

“Crackers are in the lazy Susan. You mind getting them for me?”

“No. I mean, sure, I'll be happy to.”

“Thank you.”

She hadn't even tried to talk to Arlo all these years. It was Poppo who had taken care of him. Meanwhile, here she'd been, living in this big house. OK. Maybe it was falling down now, but still, it was a lot nicer than the house he and Poppo lived in. And besides, what he and Poppo needed right now was help — not criticism.

Arlo sneezed as the fish oil raised the hairs in his nose.

“Gesundheit,” she said.

“Thank you.”

Steamboat sneaked out from the doorway and positioned himself at Arlo's feet.

“Sure you only want one?” she asked.

“Maybe two?” Arlo said, trying to be polite.

“Take three,” she said, and put them on his plate.

Arlo stared at the fish. The smell turned his stomach. He watched her spread mustard over a saltine cracker and carefully mash a sardine down on top of it with a fork.
Ugh.
She held it out to him.

“Would you like to try one of these?”

“No, thank you.”

“At least take a cracker,” she said.

“OK.” Arlo took four crackers off the serving plate. “Thank you,” he said.

“I have regular mustard if you don't like the spicy kind,” she said.

“That's OK,” Arlo said. He felt Steamboat sniffing around his feet.

If she would only turn her head for a second, he could slip his plate under the counter.

“You're not eating,” she said.

“What? Oh, yeah. Well, Poppo always says you should take your time eating your food. It's good for digestion.”

She stopped chewing. “Albert told you that? Well, maybe I don't give him enough credit.”

When the phone rang in another room, Steamboat barked.

“It's OK, boy,” Ida said. “I'll get it.”

She headed around the corner toward the center of the house. While she was gone, Arlo slipped his plate to the floor. Steamboat lapped up the sardines in three easy bites.

Arlo just managed to get the plate back on the counter before she came back to the kitchen.

“Telemarketers,” she said. “I swear. How do they know when you're eating dinner?”

“We get them at home, too,” Arlo said. “Poppo takes the phone off the hook sometimes.”

“Good for him.” She nodded at his empty plate. “So you liked them after all,” she said.

“I think it's the crackers that makes the difference,” Arlo said, giving Steamboat a grateful pat on the head.

As she carried their dirty dishes to the sink, Steamboat trotted behind her. He stood on his hind legs with his front paws together and an expectant look on his face.

“Now, Steamboat, you know table scraps are bad for you.”

Steamboat whimpered. He looked at Arlo and licked his chops.

“He doesn't have anything for you, either,” Ida said. She looked from Arlo to Steamboat and then back at the clean dish in Arlo's hand. Her eyes narrowed.

When she turned back to the sink, Arlo could have sworn that Steamboat winked at him.

“Now that you've had something to eat, I think it's time we got down to business.”

They were sitting in the living room after the sardine
feast.
Arlo stared at his reflection in the shine on her coffee table, intrigued by the way it made his cheekbones look wider and flatter than they really were.

“Arlo?”

“Yes, ma'am?”

She leaned forward in her chair.
“What are you doing here?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Arlo gulped some water. “I wanted to see you,” he said.

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Isn't that amazing? After nine years, you were suddenly seized with an uncontrollable urge to see your long-lost grandmother.”

You could have split logs on the points of her eyebrows.

“Come now, Arlo. If you're going to lie, you can do better than that.”

The way she glared at him made it hard to think. Arlo blinked. Her habit must be catching. He'd parcel the truth out carefully. See how she reacted. Give her time to digest each bit slowly and get ready for the next installment.

“What happened was, the police came . . .”

“Police?” Her china cup clinked against its saucer.

“It was after they found him in the Dumpster. . . .”

“Found who? What on earth are you talking about?”

Arlo closed his eyes and kept talking. If he could just get through this part, the rest would be easier. “It was in the alley beside Fanucci's Market.”

“You don't mean Albert? Slow down, Arlo. You've lost me. Did you say . . . Dumpster?”

“That's right.”

“We're talking about your grandfather?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She was blinking faster now.

“And where is he now?”

“In the hospital.” Arlo winced. “They were sending me to this place —”

“Who was?”

“The social worker.”

“Police. Social workers. What will it be next?”

Ida set her cup and saucer on the table.

“Those Sabatinis of yours, I swear . . .”

Those Sabatinis of yours?
Did she mean for him to hear her? Maybe it came from living by herself. Maybe she didn't realize she was talking out loud.

“Didn't we warn Wake? Didn't we tell him?”

She kept mumbling to herself. Arlo tried not to listen. He set up a humming in his head. It didn't block out her voice, but it helped to blur the words so they didn't have as much sting.

“Arlo? Are you listening to me?”

“Sorry?”

“The hospital. Do you know what it's called?”

“Oh, sure. Marshboro General.”

“That's better. Do you have a number?”

“No.”

“I should have known. That's all right. We'll call Information.”

“No. Wait a minute!”

“Now what?” She held the receiver with her hand poised over the keypad.

“It's just . . .”

“Just what?”

“The social worker.”

“Yes. Yes. You mentioned her already. Sending you someplace or other.” She waved her hand the way a person shoos away a pesky mosquito. “We'll deal with that later.”

Arlo panicked. “If you tell them where I am, they'll send someone after me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Did you do something wrong?”

“No. I swear.”

One of her eyes twitched, just the tiniest movement at the inside corner of her right eye. “So, that's why you came,” she said. “You needed to escape.”

Arlo nodded.

“So you ran away?”

He shrugged.
What would you do?
he wanted to ask.

They stared at each other a full five seconds before she spoke again.

“For heaven's sake, don't stare at me like I'm the Wicked Witch of the West. I'm not going to bite.”

Arlo jumped. Could she read minds, too? “Sorry,” he said.

“And, for heaven's sake, try to sit still.” She frowned at Arlo's knee tapping up and down. “You make me so nervous, I can't hear myself think.”

Arlo pressed his hand down on his knee. He needed to make her understand. “I have this friend Sam,” he said. “His mom's dead, and he lives with his great-aunt. He used to live in a shelter, and then he lived in a foster home. And he got bitten by a rat.”

She put up her hand. “You've lost me again, Arlo. And all that stuff's not important right now. First things first. Let's make this phone call, shall we? We can worry about rats later.”

Arlo held his breath while she was on the phone, straining to catch a word here and there, words like
stable now
and
keeping a close watch.
The longer the conversation continued, the pinker his grandmother's face became.

“Of course, I didn't realize,” she said, glancing at Arlo. “No. No. That won't be necessary. . . . Yes, I'm sure. I was just calling to let you know that Arlo is here with me.”

There was a pause.

“Yes. Yes, he's fine. I'm his grandmother.”

Another pause.

“No, dear. On the
other
side of the family. Mr. Sabatini and I are not related.”

The next question must have been especially difficult, because Ida's cheeks went from pink to crimson.

“Well, I don't know about that. How soon would you need an answer?”

When she met Arlo's gaze, Ida looked away. “Yes, yes. I understand. I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Then there was another pause and some throat clearing before she spoke again.

“Of course. I understand. Yes. And, you'll let us know if there's any change, won't you? Thank you.”

Can I speak to him?
Arlo mouthed the question silently so as not to disturb her.

His grandmother shook her head.
Sleeping,
she answered.

After hanging up, she moved to the window and stared blankly at the river.

“Is Poppo all right?”

“He's about the same as when you left him,” she said. “Maybe a little stronger and certainly no worse. That's the good news.”

Water sloshed against Arlo's dam. That was the
good
news?

“The doctor says he needs to stay right where he is for the time being, but he's not in any
immediate
danger.”

“When can I talk to him?”

“I don't know. The doctor didn't say.”

“Can you call him back and ask?”

“I wasn't talking to the doctor. I was talking to a nurse.”

“Maybe she could tell you. We could call her back.”

Ida's mouth twitched again.

“Is there something else?”

His grandmother cleared her throat. “He's still unconscious, Arlo.”

Water surged.
Plink.
There went a twig. And then a clump of mud.

“Now, don't be frightened. That's not surprising, considering the stroke. The doctor says we have to wait and see.”

Wait and see? That was supposed to make him feel better? “How long?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“How long do we have to wait?” Arlo asked. He was staring back at her now. Letting her see what that felt like.

She started blinking. “The nurse promised someone would call if there's any change,” she said. “If we don't hear from them tonight, we'll call tomorrow.”

Oh, why had he ever come here? Why hadn't he stayed in Marshboro where he belonged? What's the worst they could have done to him there? Stick him in a shelter for a few nights? Big deal. At least someone would have taken him to see Poppo. Surely, they would have done that.

She was studying him closely.

Arlo shifted uncomfortably. “What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

“You were going to say something, weren't you?”

His grandmother sighed. “If they really think we need to be there, they'll call,” she said.

Their eyes met long enough for Arlo to understand what she wasn't saying. . . . Poppo was in danger. And here Arlo was, 350 miles away, staying with a woman who was supposed to care about him but who seemed to have the heart of an armadillo.