Calli (19 page)

WHEN I GET ONTO THE BUS, I roll the poster up so it doesn’t get bent. Then I realize I have peanut butter smeared on my shirt. Wonderful. Lemond insisted I help him make peanut butter toast this morning. The novelty of the pancakes has disappeared.

I sit in the seat in front of Delia and Torey. I’ve gotten used to sitting by myself. At least it’s roomier. It’s not like my butt is tiny.

“Want to go shopping this weekend?” Delia asks. “Rashell can drive us.”

“Or we could go swimming,” Torey says which makes me happy Mom talked me into getting a new swimsuit. Dub’s hinted that he wants to go to the water park for our anniversary. I don’t plan on skinning my knees this time, but I do plan on recreating our first kiss.

The bus driver stomps on the brakes so we don’t run a traffic light, and then I see something hilarious. There’s
a red truck parked next to us with a huge bumper sticker that says, “Texas is bigger than France.”

“Funny,” Delia says, laughing. For the most part, she gets me.

When we arrive at school, she makes a point of saying hi to Dub. It’s a small gesture, but it’s something.

“Comment ça va?”
Dub asks me after he gives me a hug. He’s more of a natural at speaking French than I am.

“Très bien,”
I say. “A little nervous for the presentation today.”

“You’ll do
bien,”
he says.

When the time comes, Mr. Hatley’s sitting on his desk, and he swats at a streamer on the ceiling that he never took down from Earth Day. “Calli, you’re the first presenter,” he says. “C’mon down!”

I stand in front of the class and clear my throat. Gunner starts laughing when I hang my poster on the board, just like I thought he would. He shouts out, “What does poop have to do with biology?”

What a stupid comment! I don’t let it phase me—Gunner’s nobody and obviously dumb. “Everything,” I say, and I begin my presentation. “We’ve studied several ways air pollution harms us and the Earth, and there is a lot we can do to improve the environment.” I clear my throat again and then share the ideas that I told Lemond. “Plus there’s a group called the Louisiana Bucket Brigade. They give out buckets to people near refineries to check the air. Even if the refinery folks say the air is fine, people can use the buckets to take air samples for themselves.

“For my final project, I’m going to collect donations for the Louisiana Bucket Brigade. I already have eight
dollars,” I say. This is what I have left after paying my friends back for the dress. Luckily Liz slipped me some extra cash to help out.

“Excellent,” Mr. Hatley says. “I’ll double your end collection.”

Returning to my desk, I know I’ve earned an easy A.

Mom and Lemond are making cookies in the kitchen when I get home. Lemond gets out of school earlier than I do.

Lemond kneels on a chair, twirling the batter around. Mom places her hand over his to stir the cementlike mixture. She’s probably added some soy protein or flax seeds. Lemond’s hand completely disappears in Mom’s.

He looks up at her and then rubs his nose. I giggle when he smears on some cookie dough that looks like a giant booger.

Mom and Lemond glance at me. “What’s so funny, Calli?” Lemond asks.

“Boogers,” I say in a funny voice.

“Ew!” Lemond says. “The egg stuff looks like boogers. We’re making chocolate chip cookies. Wanna help?”

“Mmm . . . chocolate-chip-booger-cookies.” I grab the butter and set it back in the refrigerator. The rush of coolness lingers for a moment.

“Maybe Mama will make cookies with me someday.” Lemond quits stirring the mix.

Mom lifts up her hand. “It would be nice if she did.”

Lemond pouts. “She never does nothing with me.”

Mom’s voice is soft when she tells him, “I know things aren’t perfect. No family is perfect, but I have a feeling
your mom will be trying a whole lot harder when she’s ready. She must be missing you something fierce.”

“When am I going to see her again?” Lemond asks.

“Next Wednesday.”

Lemond sighs and picks up the spoon to stir the cookie mix. Then he sprinkles a few more chocolate chips into the dough. Mom smiles, and I notice small wrinkles around her eyes. I hadn’t realized she had so many. What all would I miss if I had to be taken away from my mother? She’s not perfect, but she’s a whole lot better at this mothering business than Lemond’s.

Lemond needs someone like her in his life. His home isn’t with us, I know, but I want him to stay here where I know he’ll be safe and taken care of. I don’t want him to have the type of life that Cherish had growing up.

“Calli, are you going to cry?” Lemond asks. He pops a chocolate chip into his mouth.

“I’m okay.” I eat a chocolate chip too. The semisweet chocolate goodness melts on my tongue, and I help Lemond form the dough into tablespoon-size balls. Sassy jumps up and tries to eat some.

“Get down,” Lemond says.

Mom and Lemond scoop the cookie dough balls onto the baking sheet. I wash my hands and then leave the room to find our camera in the den. When I return, Mom’s leaning over to place the cookies into the oven and Lemond is supervising. I snap a photo.

Lemond looks up at the flash of light and gives me a wide, toothless grin. I take another picture. This is the kind of memory I’ve missed out on not being a sister. The kind of memory I want to be able to remember when Lemond goes back to his previous life.

“WE’RE HOME,” Mom says in a forced, cheery voice when she and Lemond walk through the front door. They’re late coming from an appointment. “Smells good in here.”

Liz got off of work over an hour ago, and she’s been cooking dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs.

Sassy runs over to greet Mom and Lemond and licks him all over. He must’ve spilled something on his shirt. The kid’s messy.

“Enough, Sassy,” Lemond says, pushing her away. He reaches for a toy to toss so she’ll leave him alone. When she chases after it, he tramps to his room and slams the door.

“Is he okay?” I ask. Liz must be wondering the same thing because she walks out of the kitchen with a concerned look on her face. Her apron is sprinkled with tomato sauce. Mom motions us to go into the kitchen for a private conversation.

“The state has deemed Lemond’s mother fit, but she
didn’t show up for the appointment today. Her absence will push things back, but not by much if she complies with everything else,” Mom whispers. “Lemond was heartbroken when he didn’t get to see her, and I think he’s afraid she won’t follow through.”

“But he’d have us, right?” I ask.

“Of course,” Liz says in a voice above a whisper. It’s full of hurt. “But no matter what, he wants to be with his family. I know what he’s going through. The state gave my mom a lot of chances, but she refused to go to meetings and appointments, and she even disappeared for a couple of months. I hope for Lemond’s sake that his mother pulls it together, especially since she’s so close to getting him back.”

My stomach clenches and I take a slow breath before saying anything. “Does he have to go home? His mom couldn’t even make it to the appointment today, and I can’t stand the thought of anything bad happening. We could adopt him and he could visit his family . . .”

“Your heart is in the right place, Calli,” Liz says. “But the judge told his mother she needs to get help. Once she does what she’s been ordered to do, they’ll be reunified. If she doesn’t, well, we’ll discuss it then.”

“Did you tell Michelle about how he got hit? Remember what I said about his sister living with her father now because someone was mean to her at her mom’s place?”

“Of course we brought our concerns to Michelle,” Mom says, “and she assured us Lemond’s mom has been receiving help for these very reasons.”

Wrong or right, I hope his mother doesn’t follow through. The more I think about the situation, the more
it feels like there’s a fist inside my abdomen wringing my guts.

Our conversation is interrupted when the timer goes off. “The pasta’s done. We can talk about this later.” Liz finishes preparing dinner while Mom checks on Lemond.

He reluctantly joins us at the kitchen table. While Mom and Liz serve the plates, I pour us each a glass of water, and for Lemond, chocolate milk.

Lemond crosses his arms over his chest and stares at his plate.

“Please try to eat,” Mom tells him.

“I’m not hungry.” Lemond twirls the spaghetti on his fork but doesn’t eat any.

“Just try a couple of bites—Liz worked hard to make us a yummy dinner.”

Lemond drops the fork on his plate, which makes a loud clanking noise. “You’re not my mother and you can’t tell me what to do!”

Ouch.
Mom takes a bite of spaghetti as if to demonstrate that she’s not taking his comment personally. Liz gets up to help herself to seconds.

Just like Lemond, I can barely eat. Sassy nudges my hand and I break off a piece of meatball for her. The fur around her mouth tickles my fingers as she eats, and her wet tongue is slimy.

Lemond keeps playing with his food, sailing the meatballs around his plate like little boats. He ends up knocking his glass of chocolate milk over, pouring the entire contents onto the table.

Lemond starts weeping. Sassy licks at what’s now dripping onto the floor.

“It’s okay,” Mom says, racing for a roll of paper towels. Liz helps her clean up the mess.

“It’s not worth crying over spilled milk,” I say to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t help. Lemond’s still crying. When I try to give him a hug, he pushes me away. This isn’t like him at all.

Once the milk spill is under control, Lemond rushes to his room and slams the door once again.

“Should I go check on him?” Mom asks Liz. I’m thinking the same thing.

Liz shakes her head no. “He needs some time alone right now. Let’s finish dinner and check on him later.”

The thing is, none of us can eat now.

 

“I could use some help taking Sassy on a walk,” I say to Lemond after doing the dishes. “Want to come with me?”

He hesitates for a moment before saying, “Fine.”

It takes a couple of minutes for him to clasp the leash onto her collar because Sassy’s jumping around so much and because his fingers aren’t nimble enough. “You can walk Sassy,” he says, obviously frustrated by his failed attempts.

Once we get outside and walk down the street, I hardly know what to say to Lemond. Liz would probably have the right words since she can speak from experience. All I can do is speak from my heart. “I’ll be here for you, Lemond. No matter what.”

After saying this, I have to wonder—will I be able to follow through on what I just promised him? No matter what?

Lemond slips his hand into mine and says something
random and shocking. “Elissa fed us out of the trash before.”

“What?” I stop walking. Sassy chokes from trying to pull forward.

“Mama was gone and there was nothing to eat. Why doesn’t Mama love me more, Calli?”

Good God—how am I supposed to respond to something like this? I squeeze his hand before we start walking again. “I’m sure your mom loves you even if she doesn’t know much about being a mother.”

Other than outright kidnapping him, there has to be something I can do to keep Lemond from getting hurt worse than he’s already been hurt.

SITTING AT MY DESK, I’ve come up with one thing I could do: find Lemond’s mother’s name and phone number, call her using my most official voice, and lie that a future appointment has been canceled so she’ll miss another one. Maybe the agency people will think she’s unfit when she tells them what happened.

Even if it’s wrong, my intentions are better than they were when I’d retaliated against Cherish.

Still, I have enough marks on my tally sheet.