Something to Hold (10 page)

It's hard to imagine Raymond caring so much about anyone. He must be hurting too.

"Like last time?" Pinky asks.

Jewel nods her head slowly. "Yeah. Just like..." Her voice trails off, and she stops.

What does she mean? And who is Cutla?
But I keep the questions to myself.

"Miss Anthony says
Káthla
has to come to school tomorrow," Jewel says.

The playfield is empty. All the kids have gone home or into the dormitories. The sun slants down on us, sliding into the west. The light is weak and soft, and I'm glad I have my jacket. Jewel must be cold out here with nothing around her shoulders.

"I gotta go," Jewel says finally. She stands up from the swing and I do too. Jewel turns toward the girls' dorm, behind us.

"Wait." Jewel stops and looks back at me. It seems so little, but I have to say it. "I'm sorry too."

"She liked you," Jewel says. "Back there at the store that time?"

I see that little hand reach up and place the last coin on the counter. And outside, in the parking lot, fold itself into Jewel's.

"You did a good thing," she says.

Tears fill my eyes, and I can only nod my thanks. Jewel heads across the playfield and up the broad front steps of the dorm, then slips through the doors.

A
LL
through the next day, I watch the doorway for someone to come talk to Miss Anthony about Jewel. Maybe I'll see her parents. But aside from the girl who picks up the attendance and Mr. Shanahan popping in for a quick and muffled conversation with Miss Anthony, nobody enters the classroom. Jewel stays focused on her desk, her face etched with sorrow.

At the end of the day, Miss Anthony slaps a math test onto my desk, her index finger pinned to the big, red D at the top.

"You can do better," she says. "Go clean this up before you leave."

"Clean this up" means I have to stay after class and do the missed problems over. Show all my work and make it neat. No erasing, no cross-outs. I snatch up the test and my pencil and settle in at the work table in the back of the room.

Movement in the hall catches my eye. A tiny, ancient woman stands at the doorway, holding her wool jacket close over a dark wing dress, a black scarf tied back over braided gray hair. It's Mrs. Queahpama.
What is she doing here?

Behind her, Raymond slumps in the shadows.

Miss Anthony finally notices her, and Mrs. Queahpama takes a step inside. "I've come to talk about my grandchildren," she says.

Káthla?

For a second, Miss Anthony looks surprised. Then she quickly gathers herself. "We are not yet finished for the day," she says. "You can wait for me in the school office, if you like."

"I will wait here." Mrs. Queahpama takes off her jacket and settles herself on a chair beside the door. Raymond stays out in the hall, leaning between the coat hooks, his arms crossed and his head down.

Miss Anthony turns away from her and passes out the rest of the tests. The bell rings as I yank a clean sheet of paper out of the stack Miss Anthony keeps on the work table for do-overs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Jewel stop at the doorway and stand beside her grandmother. When all the other kids are gone, Mrs. Queahpama motions Raymond into the room, and he trades one wall for another.

Miss Anthony takes her time putting books away, erasing the board. Then she turns around and leans against her desk. "Now," she says, "thank you for coming to meet with me."

Mrs. Queahpama nods. Miss Anthony picks up her grade book and studies it for a minute, counting.

"Jewel missed eight days before the Christmas vacation," she says. "Raymond has missed twice as many. Frankly, they're not bright enough to miss so much school."

Did she just call them stupid?
I melt down low in my seat, hoping Jewel won't see me. I don't want her to be shamed in front of me.

"We have had a great loss," Mrs. Queahpama says quietly. "The children need time."

"These children need to be in school." Miss Anthony frowns. "It's their parents' responsibility to see that they return to the dormitories so that they do not fall so far behind."

Mrs. Queahpama rises slowly from her chair. Standing, she is shorter than Raymond and Jewel, but she seems to fill the room. Though her voice remains soft, there is iron inside it. "There are things more important than school."

Miss Anthony shakes her head and crosses her arms. "It is our policy," she says firmly, "that boarding students attend regularly if they expect the privilege of residing here. Raymond is in serious jeopardy of being dismissed from the dormitory."

Mrs. Queahpama looks at her grandchildren, then back at Miss Anthony. "Yes, I know how this school works." She nods. "That is why I signed them out of the dorms. They will be coming to stay with me."

Jewel jerks her head to catch her grandmother's eye. Her face looks softer, relieved. I don't know what changed, but I'm happy to see it.

Miss Anthony does not let go. "I'm sure that is a decision for their parents to make."

Jewel and Raymond turn anxious eyes to their grandmother, and I wonder why. Mrs. Queahpama looks at our teacher for a moment without speaking. Then she picks up her wool jacket and works her arm into it. Jewel holds the sleeve for her, pats the shoulder smooth. "Let's go home," Mrs. Queahpama says.

After they leave, Miss Anthony finally sees me. "Finish that at home," she says. I quickly gather my things and get out of there.

At the end of the hall, Raymond and Jewel are standing outside the office door. I see that Mrs. Queahpama is inside, talking with Mr. Shanahan at the counter.

I stand so that Jewel is between me and Raymond. "You don't have to live at school anymore?" I ask her.

Jewel nods. "My
káthla
is taking us to stay with her. She lives past McKenzie's store, out near the highway."

I want to ask about her parents, but that feels wrong somehow.

Jewel picks at her fingernails, not looking at me. "You heard what she said about us back there?" She tilts her head toward the classroom down the hall.

"I didn't hear anything," I say. It's not the truth, but I don't care.

Jewel smiles a tiny bit, like she knows what I'm doing.

"See you Monday," I tell her, and walk on home.

A
ND
just like that, something lifts. March arrives, and spring begins to tease us as the days warm with smells of sagebrush climbing up the mesa across the highway, the feathery cottonwoods budding out down by Shitike Creek, the musk of the first mown grass on the campus. Miss Anthony keeps the windows open most afternoons, even with the highway so close.

With every week that passes, Jewel seems more at ease. Raymond remains mostly silent, but he's no longer so hostile. He just looks empty. They don't always get to school on time, but they get there. And they walk home to their
káthlds
every afternoon, crossing the campus and cutting the corner by our house to take the shortcut up the alley.

I watch for them from our kitchen, where I sit after school telling Mom about the day. Raymond always strides in front, head down and hands in his pockets as Jewel follows him with books. I'm glad they have each other.

On Wednesday, Mom is stepping out the back door when I come around the house after school. "Oh, good, you're home," she says, holding out a stack of letters with stamps. "Would you take these to the mail for me?"

I've got a ton of homework. "Can't you send one of the boys?" I ask.

"Bill's not home yet, and Joe's got Cub Scouts in ten minutes. I need these to go out today."

I sigh to let her know what a burden this is. Then I set my stuff on the back steps and take the letters.

There is the usual jumble of cars and trucks parked outside McKenzie's, shopping carts abandoned in the parking lot. I wind my way through them and push open the glass doors. It smells like smoked meat and old wood in here from the worn floor and the jars of beef jerky at the checkout counter. I love that smell.

I ease my way among the people and carts crowding the aisles, walk toward the metal bank of postboxes lining one wall at the back of the building. When I come around a counter loaded with strings of beads, I see Jewel stretching up on her tiptoes, reaching to a high box. She pulls out an envelope.

"Hey," I say.

Jewel looks up. "
Káthla
says this is the best part about us staying with her. She can't reach the mailbox."

This is the most normal kid thing she has ever said to me. As if we're friends.
Maybe we are?

"How is it—being out of the dorm?" I ask.

Jewel thinks about this for a moment, then she smiles. "It's like we're finally home." She looks so relaxed.

She turns to close the little door on the postbox, and I see the deep red rose made of beads in her hair. Now I'm sure that things are better for her.

"You're wearing your hair clip again," I say, though I'm kind of scared that she'll think this is none of my business.

Jewel puts her hand to the back of her ponytail and touches the beads. "
Káthla
made this for me a few years ago," she says, her voice suddenly quiet. "At a sad time. She wanted me to know that she loved me."

"It's beautiful."

I drop Mom's letters through the slot, and we walk outside together. A breeze rustles the poplars around the campus, spinning dust across the parking lot. The late-afternoon air is warm.

"Maybe you could come over some day after school," I say quickly, hoping she doesn't laugh.

Jewel considers this for a second. Then she says, "Yeah, OK." Just like friends making plans.

"How come you don't hang out with Norma anymore?" I hadn't meant to ask this, but it's been on my mind.

Jewel looks thoughtful and kind of sad. "When we lost my cousin, I started to see how mean Norma is. People like Howie deserve better. I don't want to be like that."

She holds up the envelope. "I have to go.
Káthla's
waiting for this." It has a government seal in the corner—same as the one on my dad's pickup.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a car turn fast into a dirt lane across from the store. It skitters gravel and dust in all directions. Jewel startles. "Oh,
no!
" she gasps, and she takes off running. She dashes out of the parking lot and across the road, then pounds up the driveway, swallowed in the cloud of dust.

What's wrong?
I follow as far as the edge of the blacktop. The car skids to a stop right at the door of an unpainted house in an open yard of cheatgrass, the boards burned black by the sun. Now the front door opens, and
Káthla
steps out onto a low stoop a few feet from the front bumper.

A man in a baseball cap and jeans jacket bursts out of the car. He's too far away for me to tell much, except that he is huge. And it is clear from the way he moves that he is angry.

Káthla
says something to him as Jewel rushes up, breathing hard. She slips the envelope into her grandmother's hand.
Káthla
stuffs it into her pocket.

The man points at it, then jabs his finger in front of
Káthla's
face. I can see that he's yelling, even though I can't hear the words.
Káthla
shakes her head firmly.

Suddenly, there's Raymond scuffing along the shoulder of the road up from Shitike Creek. He turns into the drive, looks up toward the house. He stands perfectly still for several seconds. Then he starts running up the driveway.

Jewel shakes her head in a clear signal.
Stop.
Either Raymond doesn't see it or he ignores her.

But the man sees. He whirls around as Raymond comes up from behind. The man's cap is pulled low; I still can't see his face. He crosses his arms and stares at Raymond, who stops with the front of the car between them.

Raymond says something that makes the man raise both arms.
Káthla
quickly steps off the stoop, her hands out.
Calm down.
She stands at Raymond's side and gestures toward the door.
She's inviting that guy in?
Raymond shakes his head at her, and she puts her hand on his arm and nods slightly. It looks like she's telling him that it's okay.

The man takes a step toward the car door, kicks it shut, and then follows them all into the house.

My heart is racing. The bus from the junior high pulls up at the curb with a wheeze of brakes. Jimmy is the first kid to clomp down the stairs, Bill right behind him.

Jimmy grins. "Hey, Kit."

I usually like it when he calls me that, like I'm not some little kid. Right now, I'm too shaky to smile back.

"What're you doing over here?" Bill asks.

"Mom. Letters. Mailbox," I say.

Bill lets me walk with them the two blocks to our house. He goes on about baseball tryouts coming up in a couple of weeks. Pitching, batting, blah, blah, blah.

I keep thinking about that man going into
Káthla's
house. The whole thing gives me a bad feeling.

***

The next day, we spend the last half hour before lunch reviewing state capitals for a geography test. Miss Anthony counts us off into pairs, and for once we get to talk to each other during class. Well, sort of. I get stuck with Orin, who never takes anything seriously. Every time I give him a state, he answers with the first thing that pops into his head.

"Idaho," I say.

"Potato," he responds. And it goes like that.

I'm about to ask for another partner when Raymond slinks into the room, dark glasses covering his eyes. There is something crumpled and broken about him.

Orin sees it and shuts right up. And then Dora and Pinky stop talking behind us. Working at her desk, Miss Anthony doesn't notice at first. But the hush that slowly spreads across the room makes her look up.

She stands at her desk. "What's going on here?" she asks Jewel. Jewel has shrunk down into her seat and is silent. Miss Anthony looks more closely at Raymond.

"We do not wear dark glasses in class," she says. "Take them off."