Lucy Doesn't Wear Pink (35 page)

“That book doesn’t belong to Aunt Karen,” Dad said.

“And neither do I,” Lucy said.

He cocked his head. “You’ve made your decision then?”

Before she could answer, a yowl arose — a familiar yowl that came not from the back gate but from across the street.

“That’s Mudge,” Dad said.

Lucy was down the steps and out the front gate before Dad could even get his cane unfolded. J.J.’s front door opened, and Januarie stepped out, holding a bag that wiggled and bulged and howled as if there were three cats inside — instead of just hers.

“I found him,” Januarie said. “Could you take him before he bites me through this thing?”

Lucy didn’t have to be asked twice. Januarie met her on the sidewalk, and Lucy pulled open the mouth of the cloth bag. Mudge was in her arms, telling her in no uncertain terms how upset he was over the treatment he’d received. Lucy was sure there was something in there about expecting tuna every day for the rest of his life.

“Where was he?” Lucy said, face half buried in his fur.

Januarie looked down at her shoes.

“He was in a cage out in the back.” J.J. hiked over an old bathtub and joined them. “My dad put him back there.”

“Why?” Lucy said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dad said from behind her. “We have him back now — thanks kids.”

“But will he — will your dad — ”

“Gone,” J.J. said.

“Where?”

“Jail.”

“Why?”

“Sheriff took him — ’cause he just did.”

That was all Lucy needed to know anyway.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s better now.”

“So — Januarie-February-June-or-July,” Dad said, very quickly, Lucy thought. “You and your brother want to come over for pizza? I’m buying.”

“Of course, you’re buying,” Januarie said, “You’re the grown-up!”

As J.J. and Lucy followed Dad and Januarie across the street, J.J. grunted.

“What?” Lucy said.

“You going to El Paso?”

“No. Never.”

“Better tell Dusty and them. They’re cryin’.”

“Over me?”

“Yeah. It’s girly.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, “It is.”

“I don’t get it.”

But Lucy decided maybe she did.

That night, after eating pizza and giving Januarie the pink jacket she was never, ever going to wear and checking to make sure Mudge was safely back under his plant, Lucy curled up with Lollipop to make another list.

She started to nestle the Book of Lists in with Lollipop, but she stopped. Instead, she set it on the dresser, next to her soccer ball.

She was sure her mother would want it that way.

1

Lucy stuck her pen through the rubber band in her ponytail and looked at her cat Marmalade, curled up in the rocking chair. He blinked back out of his orange face as if he’d heard what she wrote and was very much offended.

“I’m not talking about you, silly,” she said to him. “You’re a CatBoy. That’s different from a Human-Boy.” She grunted. “If you can call most boys human.”

Untangling her pen from its blonde perching place — and wondering how it got into a snarl just sitting there for seven seconds — she went back to the J.J. list.

Marmalade yawned — loud — and licked his cat-lips.

“Okay, okay,” Lucy said. “I’m getting to the important stuff.”

She scowled. The last time Aunt Karen visited from El Paso, she kept talking about how it was time for Lucy to get a bra. Had Mom worn one when
she
was only eleven years old? That probably wasn’t something Lucy could ask Dad without dying of embarrassment. She squeezed her pen and went back to the page.

Lucy dropped the pen and shook her hand, letting her fingers f lap against each other. That was a lot of writing. Inez, her weekday nanny, always said Lucy’s lists were her way of praying, so even though she might be hand-crippled for life, she did feel better.

Marmalade obviously did too, because he was now curled in a ball like a tangerine, breathing his very plump self up and down in the middle. Sleep-wheezing sounds were also coming from the half-open toy chest, where Lollipop, Lucy’s round, black kitty was snoozing.

It must be incredibly boring being cats. Feeling better seemed to make them want to lick their hairy paws and go to sleep. It made Lucy want to bounce out the door and get a soccer game going, or ride her bike in the desert with J.J., or at the very least go check out whatever her dad was clanging around in the kitchen.

But you couldn’t do any of those things when you were grounded. At least the March wind had stopped beating against the house and the long shadows were making stripes on her blue walls. That meant the day of groundation was almost over, and tomorrow she could start fresh.

Lucy carefully nestled the Book of Lists on her pillow and got to her knees on the bed, propping her chin against the tile windowsill to gaze out at Granada Street. It was a sleepy Saturday, except for the sound of the hammers a block over on Tularosa Street where workers were turning the old, falling-apart hotel into a restaurant.

The cottonwood trees that lined her street were letting loose a swirl of white fibers, and between those and the new spring leaves, she couldn’t see J.J.’s house as well as she could in winter. It was impossible to tell if he was sending her any shadow signals with a flashlight from behind the sheet covering his upstairs window. J.J. making a bunny with his fingers meant, “I’m hopping on over.” Devil’s horns meant, “Januarie” — that was his sister — “is driving me nuts.”

Dad’s clanging in the kitchen stopped in a too-fast way. Marmalade uncurled like a popping spring and stood on the seat of the rocker with every orange hair standing up on end. Marmalade never moved that quickly unless there was food involved.

Lucy scrambled across the bed and got to her door, yelling, “Dad?” — at the very same moment her father said, “Luce?”

She sailed across the wide hallway — not bothering to ride the yellow Navajo rug on the tile the way she usually did — and almost collided with Dad in the kitchen doorway. His hands were spread out to either side in their “Now, Lucy, calm down” sign. But his face looked about as calm as a cat in a kitty-carrier. His triangle nose and squared-off chin formed white, frightened angles that made Lucy’s mouth go dry.

“What’s going on, Dad?”

“I’m not sure. I need your eyes.”

He tilted his salt-and-pepper-crew-cut head toward the back door. “I heard something I didn’t like in the yard. I don’t want you to go out there.”

“Why?”

“Because I think it’s some kind of wild cat.”

“In our
yard?
”

Dad rubbed his palm up and down her arm. “I’m probably overreacting, but let’s check it out.”

Lucy lunged for the door.

“Window, Luce,” Dad said.

She dragged a chair to the sink and climbed up on it. Her father had been blind for four years, and she still couldn’t figure out how he knew absolutely everything she was doing — or was going to do — before she even did it. J.J. couldn’t either. He thought she could get away with a whole lot more than she ever did.

Leaning across the sink, Lucy slid the Christmas cactus aside on the windowsill so she could support herself with her hands. The backyard was already a puzzle of shadows, and at first, she didn’t see anything unusual except —

“Uh-oh,” she said.

“What?”

“Looks like Artemis got into the garbage again. That bag that had that disgusting Thai food Aunt Karen brought is all over the place.” She started to pull away from the window. “I’ll go out and pick it up.”