The Language of Sycamores (20 page)

Kate laughed. “I had forgotten about that.” Rose fussed in the background, and Kate hurried to wind up the conversation. “Well, anyway, I tried to get in touch with the newspaper that had the article, but it doesn’t exist anymore. I e-mailed the article to Ben and asked if maybe he could check into it while he’s in St. Louis this week. The retirement home wouldn’t give me any information over the phone, but if Ben goes there in person, maybe . . .”

“That sounds good.” I wondered, suddenly, why she had called instead of waiting until tonight to tell me all this. She hung on the phone like there was more to say. I could hear her moving around, trying to quiet Rose. “Anything else?” Onstage, Dell was just beginning her solo in the waterfall number. She was singing quietly, so timidly I could barely hear her voice. “Dell’s singing right now.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Kate’s focus seemed to be elsewhere. “Aunt Jeane’s coming for our little Memorial Day family gathering.”

“That’ll be fun. We haven’t gotten to visit in a while.” I watched as Tina stopped Dell, then leaned down to whisper in her ear. Dell nodded, pressed her lips into a determined line, and straightened her body with a deep breath. When she started to sing again, her voice rang through the sanctuary, pure and sweet and perfect.

“Dad’s coming for Memorial Day, too,” Kate said, then she sucked in a breath like she was waiting for a bomb to explode.

“O.K.,” I heard myself reply, and I suddenly knew I didn’t care. I didn’t care if Attila the Hun was coming to our family gathering. All I cared about was that Dell, who had been so shy a few days ago that she wouldn’t even raise her head and talk to people, was onstage, singing. She hit a long, high note, head falling back, eyes closing, dark hair tumbling around her, arms unfolding into the air, stretching out like wings.

Tears filled my eyes, and I realized I was on my feet. “Listen to this!” I said into the phone, then held it in the air.

At that moment, Dell looked like she could fly.

I barely remembered saying good-bye to Kate. All I could think about when Dell finished her song was getting to the stage to give her a hug. I nearly trampled three gazelles on my way. I was dimly aware that I was interrupting the performance, showing favoritism, and I probably looked ridiculous dashing across the set with my arms flailing at my sides, squealing, “That was great! That was great!”

Dell launched into my arms with a force that knocked me back, and we tumbled onto the floor, landing among the warthogs, who, as warthogs will do, jumped on top of us and created a pig pile.

Pinned underneath the mass of squirming, giggling bodies, I closed my eyes and laughed until I ached, tickling feet and kissing little body parts. It was a moment I knew I would never forget. A moment of the pure and complete joy of childhood.

“This looks more like a scene from
Hair,
” Keiler joked from somewhere overhead when the frenzy died down and the warthogs lay exhausted.

“It feels like a visit to the chiropractor.”

The kids slowly unpiled, leaving Dell and me to disentangle ourselves and get up. I gave her one more quick hug, and then Keiler called for everyone to hit their marks for the next number. The kids bounded into place with only a modicum of pushing, shoving, and tail swinging. I went back to my place offstage, and Mojo Joe clapped his hands, saying, “Positions, everybody. Positions. Hold it! Where is the rotten log with the gummy bugs in it? We need the rotten log for this one!”

The set crew appeared with the rotten log, which looked suspiciously like an old packing barrel covered with brown paper, and the show went on.

By lunchtime, we had more or less made it through every number. The kids were tired but surprisingly cheerful as they split into core groups for lunch, after which they would spend the rest of the day working on their specific parts. I sprung the news on Keiler that I had an appointment in town and would be gone over lunch, and probably for a half hour or so after that.

He didn’t ask any questions, just said, “Take your time. I’ll hold down the fort,” then continued to the lunchroom with the kids.

I went to Brother Baker’s office and took my purse from the closet, searching for an ibuprofen. It had been a great but very noisy morning. I wished James could have been there to see it. He would have been so proud of Dell, and so amazed at how much the kids had accomplished in the week since he left. He would have been astounded to see Sherita perfectly dancing the part of the mother lion.

He would also have been asking why I had an appointment in town, and I wouldn’t have had an answer. All the same, I wanted to talk to him, just to hear his voice for a minute before I left. Grabbing my cell phone, I clicked it on, hoping to catch him between flights and deliver an early update on the morning’s practice. He’d surprised me by calling the farm almost every evening to see how things were going. It felt good to be interested in something together, even if our conversations were littered with undertones about heading home and tending to the business of unemployment.

When I told him my father was coming for Memorial Day, he would really be worried. He knew that mixing Dad and me was like combining baking soda and vinegar—it was bound to foam up into a mess. We always ended up hashing over the past, who was right, who was wrong, whose fault things were. We never solved anything, which was why I avoided visits with my father. When he heard about my job layoff and the fact that I’d stayed for two weeks at the farm instead of rushing back to pound the pavement in Boston, he’d be all over the issue like a dog on a fresh steak.

James would never believe me when I said I absolutely didn’t care. I wasn’t interested in dissecting the past or the present with my father anymore. Dad was Dad and I was me. I was all grown up. And that was that.
Hakuna Matata
, as they say in
The Lion King.
No worries.

James would think I’d lost my mind, been possessed by some alter-Karen, who could forgive and forget and accept the fact that nobody’s perfect.

The cell phone rang, and I pressed the button without even looking at the screen.

“Hello?” I said, expecting to hear James.

“Where the
bleep
have you been?” It wasn’t James. My mind rocketed back to my old reality. It was Brent Giani, from Systems at Lansing Tech.

“Brent?” It seemed like a year, not just a little over a week, since I’d talked to him. “Hey. How are you? How are things there?”

He barely waited for me to finish the sentence.
“Where
are
you?”
He sounded irked, which was unusual. Normally, Brent just slouched and shuffled along in his rumpled khakis and his plaid shirts, moving at his own relaxed pace. He didn’t get excited unless the system was down.

“Well, I’m . . .” A line of kids went by in the hall, squealing and making animal sounds, drowning out what I was going to say.

“What was
that
?” he demanded, like he couldn’t imagine.

Probably, he couldn’t. “Kids making animal sounds.” I knew that would really confuse him, so I added, “I’m in Missouri . . . for a . . . visit. Since I didn’t have anything
else
to do this week.” The bitterness in my voice surprised me. I’d hardly thought about Lansing all week. I hadn’t had time. Talking to Brent brought it all back. “How goes it on the
Titanic
?”

Brent didn’t laugh, which made me wonder again what was going on. Usually, he was right there with a sarcastic response. “Listen, there’s a lot going on. We’ve been trying to get in touch with you for a week.”

“We . . . who?” I stumbled backward, feeling for the side of the desk and sitting down. “What’s going on?”

He paused, and the moment seemed to stretch out forever.

“Brent, what’s going on?” I pressed, suddenly back in the reality of Lansing and corporate treachery.

When he answered, his voice was lowered. “Some of us are”—another pause, and then—“getting something together. We’ve got a plan, and we want you in.”

I tried to imagine what he meant. “A plan to do what, exactly?”

“Well, let’s just say I intercepted a memo last week between Vandever and his henchmen. On the day after Memorial weekend, Lansing is going to send out a memo to our custom-network accounts telling them we’re no longer offering custom-network services, and referring them to a third-party vendor. Care to guess who owns the third-party vendor?”

I gasped, everything suddenly clarifying like the pieces of a puzzle falling together—the closing of my department, the quick layoffs of everyone in Custom Networks. It wasn’t just a cost-cutting measure. It was part of a plan. “No. You’re kidding. Vandever and his bunch own it, don’t they? They shut down my department, and now they’re going to send the business over to their own little company.” My skin went flush and perspiration beaded up on my back, dripping slowly downward in hot streams.

“Ex-actly. Now it makes sense that they’re closing down a profitable department and leaving other departments untouched, doesn’t it? They’re taking this company apart like a junk car, keeping the good pieces for themselves.”

“They can’t do that!” I fumed, my indignation reverberating through the office. “That’s illegal.”

Brent groaned. “Technically, who knows? Anyway, it isn’t going to matter because we’re going to beat them to it.”

“How?” My mind revved like a dragster about to take off. “What do you have planned?”

A mad-scientist giggle trickled through the phone. “Heh-heh-heh-heh. Well, say a certain someone had the customer list and sent out a memo to all the customers that same day, offering them the services of a new start-up custom-networking company run by the very people who built their networks in the first place. Wouldn’t the customers find that more attractive than using a third-party vendor they’ve never heard of?”

“Of course they would.” The picture crystallized, and I stood there
in awe of the possibility. “It’s perfect. It’s brilliant. We steal back the business Vandever stole from us, and right out from under his nose. Oh, my gosh, that’s priceless!” The sweet essence of revenge spiraled through me like wine, leaving me giddy and lighter than air.

“Yes, it is.” Brent’s voice was low, confident. “We give Vandever and his cronies what they deserve, and our new company starts out with a basis of solid accounts to build on. Almost no risk, and we go from watching the board of directors run our company down the tubes, to running our own company.”

Almost no risk.
That wasn’t exactly true. “But there’s some risk for you. You still have a job at Lansing.”

“Not as of this coming Friday.” He sounded almost gleeful about it. “As of Friday, I’m telling them I’m out of here for good. Next Tuesday, we start up Geo Networking Solutions.”

“Geo Networking. Is that what you’re calling it?” I liked the sound of the name.

“That’s it. You in? We need you here to make this work, Karen.”

That heady sense of revenge wafted past, and every inch of my body tingled with excitement. “I’m with you. What do I need to do?”

“Get back here as soon as you can. Yesterday, if possible.” In the background, I heard him typing on his computer, and his voice took on a regular cadence that matched the keystrokes. “We’re working out all the details with the lawyers this week, and we sign the articles of incorporation next Tuesday, right after the Memorial Day holiday, just in time for the memo to go out to all of our old and dear networking customers.”

“I’ll be . . .” As if on cue, as if it had been planned by some great, cosmic force, the hallway door opened and I heard the kids at lunch, singing one of
The Lion King
songs.

“ ‘
Hakuna Matata
 . . . it means no worries. . . .’ ”

“Oh, God,” I muttered, feeling my breath go out in a great, deflating gust.

“What?” It sounded like Brent thumped the phone. “Are you still there?”

A groan started somewhere in my stomach and wound its way to
my throat. It was the sound of being torn in half—half with the kids, and half with Brent and my coworkers. What now?

What now?

“I . . . can’t . . .” What should I do? What was the right thing to do? Could I possibly leave the kids just four days before the performance they had worked so hard for? Could I leave Dell, run out on Kate and the family gathering she was counting on?

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, searching, trying to clear my mind.
Oh, God, tell me what to do. . . .
“I can’t leave until after Memorial weekend.” The words came from somewhere in the darkness, and I barely even heard them before I was saying them to Brent. “I’m committed to some things here.”

He coughed into the phone. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, Brent, I’m not kidding.” The determination, the steadiness of my voice surprised me. Inside, my stomach was flip-flopping like a fish on shore.

Brent muttered under his breath and I heard him typing again. “Monday night,” he said. “Can you catch a flight Monday night? I can e-mail you the details so you can be ready to sign with us Tuesday morning.”

“All right,” I heard myself say. My stomach stopped flipping and just lay like cold, silent stone. “I’ll be there.”

Chapter 20

T
he week was a strange mixture of
Lion King
rehearsals, corporate espionage, and waiting for biopsy results. I spent the mornings and early afternoons with the Jumpkids, then usually a little while with Dell, playing the church piano or just talking before I took her home. She was frustrated, I could tell. She didn’t understand why we couldn’t while away our afternoons wading at the river, or learning new tunes on Grandma’s old piano, or sitting at the soda shop in town, as we had the first week of camp.

I explained to her that I was doing some computer work, and it was very important—not as important as Jumpkids camp, but important.

“I thought you didn’t have that job anymore.” She frowned, cocking her head to one side and studying me.

“This is a new job,” I told her Thursday afternoon, as we sat in my car outside her house. The windows inside were dark and the TV was on—the windows were always dark and the TV was always on. “I’m starting a brand-new company with some people I work with in Boston.”

“Oh.” She gave me a resentful look, and for the first time ever I understood the dilemma working parents feel. On the one hand, I was excited about starting Geo Networking, so excited that even struggling along with Kate’s lousy Internet service couldn’t dampen my spirits. I
was practically foaming at the mouth for revenge against Vandever and his cronies. I imagined their smug, unfeeling faces at the board meeting that final Friday, and then I pictured them finding out that Geo had taken the business they were plotting to steal for themselves. The anticipation of perfect justice lifted me a foot off the ground every time I thought about it.

On the other hand, there were Dell and the Jumpkids. When I was with them, I had a sense of something completely new, a warm feeling of accomplishment that came from making someone else’s life better. A satisfaction of the soul.

The two were like angel and devil, at war on my shoulders with my head in between.

“Dell, is something wrong?” I looked toward the house, wondering again. All week long, Dell had been quiet and exhausted, with big, dark circles under her eyes. The only time she came alive was when she was onstage. When I asked her about it, she told me she wasn’t sleeping well because she was worried about her part in the Jumpkids production. Sometimes, she gave me messages from Grandma Rose, so I knew she must be sleeping some, dreaming.

Still, I knew there were things she wasn’t telling me. Uncle Bobby seemed to be out of the picture since the fight with Dell’s grandmother, so I surmised that whatever was wrong at home wasn’t related to his presence there.

“Huh-uh,” she said, giving the front door a narrow-eyed look. Nothing wrong.

I knew if I asked to come in, she’d tell me her granny was sleeping, then she’d bolt from the car before I could follow. For me, Granny was nothing more than a large, shadowy figure occasionally moving past the window inside. Today, I couldn’t see her at all.

“When’s James coming home?” Dell asked, seeming a little more cheerful.

“Tomorrow morning.” I couldn’t wait for James to come back, either. All week, we had been talking about the plans for Geo Networking. James liked the idea of the company, but mostly he seemed relieved that I was moving back within the comfortable realm of our normal
lives. Like me, he was concerned about the changes in Dell’s behavior, but I suspected he thought I was exaggerating.

He’d tried to pacify me on the phone. “Well, you know, she’s twelve years old. Maybe she’s coming into that moody stage. Remember when Megan was twelve? She about drove her parents nuts.” He laughed at the mention of his niece, who was a brilliant girl but a definite drama queen.

“True, but Megan’s always been that way,” I reminded him. “This seems different with Dell. It’s like she’s shutting down. She should be happy right now, with all of the Jumpkids excitement. But she’s not. She’s tired, and . . . I don’t know . . . preoccupied.”

“Maybe it’s the pressure,” he suggested, trying to put the situation neatly in a box. “This whole Jumpkids thing is way out of her normal realm. She’s probably just nervous about it.”

“Probably,” I said, because the call-waiting was beeping. “Gotta go, hon. There’s a call on the other line. Probably someone from Geo.”

We said good-bye and I went back to business, but in the corner of my mind there was a nagging disquiet about Dell. I looked at her now, sitting in the car, seeming reluctant to go into the house, and I felt it again.

There was no point asking her to let me come in, so I went through Friday’s schedule, even though we’d already been over it twice. “Now remember, no Jumpkids in the morning. I’ll be at church with Keiler and the other counselors, finishing sound checks and getting the costumes and set ready. Your job is to sleep in, relax, get all rested up for the big dress rehearsal tomorrow night. It’ll be just like a full performance. We’ll have an audience and everything, so everyone needs to be in top shape, all right?”

She nodded, sucking in a quick breath and widening her eyes. “ ’K.”

“And no staying up late tonight.” Shaking a finger at her, I did a pretty good imitation of Grandma Rose. Dell was too nervous to appreciate the joke.

“ ’K.”

“James or I or Kate will come by for you around four tomorrow, so there’s plenty of time to get ready before the curtain at six.”

“ ’K.” She opened the door and slid one foot out. “Is Ben gonna be there tomorrow night, too?”

“No, he won’t make it home from St. Louis until Saturday.” She looked slightly crestfallen, so I added, “But he’ll be here for the big Saturday afternoon performance. All the cousins are coming, too, and my father and Aunt Jeane, so you’ll have a whole row right there cheering you on.”

She brightened noticeably. “Cool, a family row.”

“That’s right.” I choked on an unexpected lump of emotion. “A family row.”

I went home and buried myself in business for Geo so that I wouldn’t have to think about Dell’s family row. After the weekend, the family row would be back to just Kate and Ben and the kids. James and I would be gone, and with the demands of starting a new company, there was no telling when I would get a chance to come visit. Dell would still be living day to day in the little house across the river, where Granny stayed closeted from the outside world, and Uncle Bobby might show up any minute. Dell would come over to Kate’s when she could, looking for attention and love, and someone to support her music. Kate would do her best, give what she had that wasn’t already taken by raising two toddlers and caring for the farm. As Dell moved into puberty and her teenage years, would that be enough?

After next week, the Jumpkids crew would pack up and move to another town—Goshen, Missouri, I think Keiler had said. They would set up again and lead a new group of kids through the steps of
The Lion King,
down the path to finding themselves. When summer was over, the counselors would go back to college. Keiler would head for the mountains to become a wandering musician, or else to seminary school. The Jumpkids winter program would continue under a new director, when they finally found someone who’d take on such a demanding job for the salary of only twenty-nine thousand dollars a year.

Life in Missouri would go on just as if I’d never been here at all.

And in Boston, life would go on for James and me. Any day now, Dr. Schmidt would have the results of my biopsy. He’d assure me that everything was all right, and I could put the trauma behind me.
Realistically, I’d never need to tell James about the irregular test result at all. The matter would soon be settled, and there would be no more big question marks looming in our future.

It was a comforting theory, but I didn’t feel comforted as I went to bed Thursday night. I felt like I was lying to James by trying to protect him from the cancer question. I felt out of place, and I wasn’t sure why, because in my mind I had everything planned out: help Kate tomorrow morning with preparations for the weekend guests, go to the church around noon to meet Keiler and the other counselors, finish preparations for the program. James would be in at three. Pick up Dell at four. Get the cast ready for dress rehearsal to begin at six. Perform, go home, and sleep; meet long-lost relatives Saturday morning, assemble family row for the final Jumpkids performance Saturday afternoon, visit with company Sunday, say good-bye to everyone Monday. Leave. Somewhere in the schedule, receive a call from Dr. Schmidt delivering a negative biopsy result.

It all made perfect sense, yet I couldn’t squelch the feeling that things wouldn’t work out that way. The disturbing sense of something about to go wrong buzzed around my head like a fly, and I tossed and turned all night. I was on edge all morning while helping Kate with the housework. Kate noticed and asked if anything was wrong. I passed it off as opening-day jitters.

“I hope Dell’s doing all right,” Kate mused as we worked in the kitchen. “I know she must be nervous. She’s never done anything like this.”

“I told her to stay home and get a good night’s sleep,” I said. “She’s been really tired all week.”

“I noticed that. I asked her if there was something wrong at home.”

“So did I. She said no, of course.”

Kate nodded, frowning toward the kitchen door, as if she wished Dell would show up. There was no sign of her, so both of us went back to work. I was glad when it was time for me to head for the church. The house was too quiet, and I was thinking far too much about the biopsy result. Was that the thing that was about to go wrong? Was some lab technician, even now, holding my future in latex-encased hands, thinking,
This poor woman—this will be a shock. . . .

When I arrived at the church, I was swept into a frenzy of activity that made me forget about everything. It seemed like only a few minutes passed before it was three o’clock and James was walking in the door. Onstage, we were in the middle of a disaster involving moving clouds and confetti raindrops. Fortunately James jumped in and helped us finish with the set.

“Guess next week will be a picnic compared to this one,” he joked as we arranged paper boulders around a waterfall made of Saran Wrap and shiny foil gift paper.

“Oh, no doubt.” Both of us knew that next week would be no picnic. It would be fast paced and stress filled. In a way, I wasn’t looking forward to that.
You’ve turned soft over the past couple of weeks,
I told myself.
Need to get back in the game . . .

James must have sensed the inner dialogue, because he cocked his head back and slanted a questioning glance. “Something wrong? You look . . . different. . . . I don’t know, nervous or something.”

Smiling, I gave him a belated hello kiss. Our typical kiss, not the kind of romantic, passionate one we had parted with a week ago. He noticed the difference.

“Just opening-night jitters,” I said.

He nodded at the explanation. It was easy, logical. He was quick to accept it. A twinge of disappointment went through me. I wanted him to ask what was
really
wrong. But then, I didn’t want to tell him.

The back door opened, and Sherita and Meleka came in with Myrone in tow.

“We thought we better come on,” Sherita said, trying to conceal a case of real, live enthusiasm. “We didn’t wanna be late.”

Meleka vibrated in place, then spun around and dashed toward the hallway door, hollering, “I’m gonna go help Mindy.” Over the course of the week, she and Mindy had built a strong friendship.

Myrone pointed at Rafiki’s tree, which was standing in the corner of the set, waiting to be brought out later. “Twee, twee, twee!” he squealed, and then pointed at the waterfall, “Wooo, wa-wa!”

“Oh, good,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at Keiler. “He can tell it’s water.”

“He ain’t dumb,” Sherita groused, but she was smiling slightly as she said it. Her bright eyes cut my way for just an instant as she walked down the aisle carrying Myrone. “We’re gonna go practice his part.” Pausing at the door, she glanced back at me and said, “O.K.?”

“O.K.,” I replied. “Yesterday, he was a wonderful baby lion.”

Sherita bounced him up and down roughly, looking pleased. “What’s a baby lion say, Myrone?”

“Raaarrrr!” Myrone squinted, showing a mouthful of teeth.

“That’s right.” Sherita turned and started through the door. “And don’t mess up today, either.”

When they were gone, James glanced around the sanctuary, seeming puzzled. “Where’s Dell? I figured she would be here with you. It’s you girls’ big day.”