Turtle in Paradise (12 page)

A hush falls over the room as the man onstage announces the next category.

“And for being the only girl stranded on an island with a bunch of boys with no chance of rescue, this year’s award goes to …”

He opens the envelope and smiles.

“Turtle!” he says.

The audience explodes into applause.

I turn to Shirley Temple. “Sorry, Shirley. Maybe next year.”

As I make my way to the podium, flashbulbs go off, blinding me. I blink awake.

Light’s streaming in through the holes on the roof and I’m lying on top of the Diaper Gang, like they’re a pile of puppies, an elbow digging in my belly.

A voice hollers, “Turtle! Kids!”

The door crashes open and Ollie’s standing there, breathing hard.

“Cap!” he shouts. “I found ’em!”

Slow Poke shoulders past Ollie, relief spreading across his face, his eyes fixing on me.

“Honey!” he says, swooping me up in his arms. I bury my face in his warm, solid chest and I know everything’s going to be okay.

The boys leap up around me.

Slow Poke holds me out so he can look at me. “Oh, honey. Your poor face.”

“What took you so long, Pat?” I ask.

He makes a strangled noise. “We been looking for you kids since your aunt raised the alarm. But we had to put in once the hurricane started blowing.”

“That was a hurricane?” I ask.

“It sure was, Miss Turtle,” Ollie says.

“What about home?” Pork Chop asks.

“Key West came through it all right,” Ollie
says, and hesitates. “But word is, the Upper Keys got hit hard.”

Kermit blanches. “Poppy!”

Slow Poke pats him on the head. “He’s fine, Kermit. He wasn’t even there when it hit. He came back when he heard you kids went missing. You probably saved his life.”

We walk out of the shack and see a motorboat in the water. A man is standing on shore, chewing on a cigar.

“I seem to be missing a boat,” Johnny Cakes says.

“We’re in for it now, fellas,” Ira says under his breath.

The rumrunner walks over to us, slips off his fine white linen jacket, and wraps it around my shoulders. He tips my chin up. “You look like you could use a leche, sweet cheeks.”

“It wasn’t us, Johnny Cakes!” Beans says.

“That’s interesting,” Johnny Cakes says. “Because Killie saw you taking it.”

“You’d believe a horse killer over us?” Beans blusters.

“I’d believe an honest man over you,” Johnny Cakes says.

Beans bites his lip.

I look over at Slow Poke. “How’d you figure out we came here?”

“That kid who’s always tagging around after you,” he says.

“You mean Too Bad?” Pork Chop asks.

Ollie nods. “He heard you talking about digging up treasure on this key.”

“We were saved by Killie and Too Bad?” Pork Chop smacks his head. “Aw, we’re never gonna live this down, fellas.”

Slow Poke scolds us. “Your mothers have all been worried sick. What were you kids thinking?”

“We were thinking about
this
,” Beans says, and thrusts out the sack. The gold coins spill out.

Slow Poke’s jaw drops so far, I’m surprised it doesn’t hit the ground.

“I don’t believe it, Cap!” Ollie says.

“And we’re not sharing one thin dime with you,” Pork Chop says with a trace of his old self.

Johnny Cakes puts a hand on Pork Chop’s shoulder and squeezes. “We’ll see about that.”

It seems like everybody and their cousin is waiting for us at the docks. Even Nana Philly is there, sitting in the back of a wagon. She smiles when she sees me, although Beans swears I imagined it.

“Smiled at a kid?” he says.

The best sight turns out to be Uncle Vernon, wearing a scruffy beard. The news coming in from up north is terrible: they’re saying lots of folks are dead from the hurricane, many of them the men who’d been working on the overseas highway. But not Uncle Vernon. It’s probably the only time in history a bunch of lying, stealing, no-good kids actually saved someone’s life.

The hurricane makes headlines, but so do we.

We’re eating ice cream on the front porch. We’re Jimmy’s best customers now.

Kermit is running down Curry Lane, waving a newspaper.

“We made the front page!” he shouts.

“Charming?” I say to Beans. “Guess they never met you.”

“Why’d they say ‘Gang’?” Ira asks. “It’s
Diaper Gang
. Two words.”

“My eyes are closed! Why’d they print that photo?” Kermit asks.

“Better than with your eyes open,” Beans says.

Not everyone’s happy about our good fortune, though.

“It ain’t fair! I would’ve gotten all your marbles if you’d died,” Buddy complains.

“Sorry about that, Buddy,” Kermit says.

Jelly walks out his front door.

“Well, if it ain’t the Diaper Gang,” he says. “That a new wagon?”

“It sure is, Jelly!” Ira says, stepping back to reveal a brand-new wagon. The boys don’t have to work for candy now that they’re rich, but they do anyway. Beans claims the babies need them.

We’d been back in Key West for a few days when an antiques-dealer fella appeared and paid twenty thousand dollars cash on the spot for the treasure. After Johnny Cakes was paid back for his lost boat, the rest of the money was split up six ways between me, Kermit, Beans, Pork Chop, Ira, and Nana Philly. After all, it was her map, even if she didn’t know about it in the first place. She’s already bought a new hat, and Miss Bea says she wants to get the piano fixed.

My money’s waiting for me in the bank. Well, except what I used to buy a new pair of shoes.
Strange as it sounds, I’m having a hard time getting used to wearing them. They’re pretty as a postcard, but they pinch my toes and my feet are hot and sweaty.

“Got a new member in your little gang, I see,” Jelly says, looking at Too Bad, who’s straightening up the blankets in the wagon.

Too Bad beams from ear to ear. “That’s right! I’m in the Diaper Gang now! I saved their lives!”

Pork Chop groans, as if the idea still pains him.

“And guess what?” Too Bad exclaims. “I know the secret formula! It’s cornstarch!”

“Too Bad!” Pork Chop hollers. “First new rule of the Diaper Gang is ‘Shut up, already!’”

Too Bad winces. “Sorry!”

“Cornstarch?” I echo. “Your secret diaper-rash formula is cornstarch?”

“Nobody would believe us if we told them,” Kermit says.

Aunt Minnie comes walking down the lane.

“I didn’t have an accident, Ma,” Buddy says quickly, although he’s squeezing his legs together.

“The day’s young, Buddy,” she says, and looks at me. “Turtle, can you come inside for a moment, please?”

I can’t tell if Aunt Minnie’s still mad at me or not. When we got back to Key West after the storm, her eyes were red like she’d been crying for a long time. She gave me a quick hug and then shook me—shook me so hard that my teeth rattled in my head.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again! You’re the one who’s supposed to have some sense!” she said.

I go into the kitchen and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I just came from Mrs. Lowe’s,” she says. “Your mother called. She’s in Miami. She’ll be here as soon as she can get a boat in.”

My heart leaps. “I would’ve gotten stranded on an island a whole lot sooner if I’d known that would make her come get me!”

My aunt purses her lips. “Your cat can come back here if you’d like.”

“Really?”

She looks embarrassed. “You were right. It wasn’t Smokey. When you children were on that key, another cat snuck in here and made a mess.”

“The cat happen to look like a skunk?” I ask.

She pauses and then says, “I should have believed you.”

“I know,” I say, and she laughs.

“I’m not sure Nana Philly’s gonna want to give Smokey back,” I say. “She’s sweet on her.”

“Maybe we can trade Buddy for Smokey,” Aunt Minnie says, and grins wryly. “At least until he’s toilet-trained.”

I’m at Pepe’s, drinking a leche with Johnny Cakes and the writer fella, recounting our adventure.

“What happened next?” the writer fella asks me, smoothing his mustache.

I lean forward. “That’s when the rats showed up, Mr. Hemingway.”

His eyes bulge out. “Rats?”

“Hundreds of them! They were crawling all over us. Worst thing you ever saw!”

Slow Poke strolls up. “Hundreds of rats, you say? Strange how that didn’t make it into any of the newspaper accounts,” he muses.

“Writers never get the story right,” I say.

Slow Poke laughs and pops a wide-brimmed hat on my head. “Keep your pretty face from getting burned.”

Kermit runs up to our table.

“Turtle! Turtle!” he says.

“What’s the big hurry, Kermit?” Johnny Cakes asks.

Kermit starts coughing.

“Easy there, son,” Slow Poke says, handing him a leche.

Kermit gulps the coffee and then looks at me. “Turtle! Your mother’s here!”

“Sadiebelle’s here?” Slow Poke says.

“She’s at the house!”

Curry Lane has never seemed longer than when I’m running down it toward Mama. My hat flies off, but I can’t be bothered to stop; nothing’s going to keep me from my mother.

“Turtle!” Mama cries.

She rushes down the steps of the porch, and then I’m in her arms, and I’m home again.

“Oh, baby,” she says, and stands back, looking me up and down. “Just look at you! You’re so tan.”

“I missed you, Mama,” I say.

A deep voice says, “Miss me, too, princess?” and Archie’s walking out the front door, wearing his Panama hat.

“Archie!” I cry, and run to him. He picks me up and twirls me around, putting his Panama hat on my head.

“You can call me Daddy now,” he says.

“You got married?” I gasp.

I look back at Mama, and she waves her hand at me, a thin gold ring glinting in the sun. She’s smiling so wide she’s practically glowing.

“Oh, Mama!” I say, and I feel her happiness like my own. It’s as if a weight has lifted off my heart, and for the first time in my life I can breathe.

Archie sets me down, looking serious. “Nothing like a tragedy to make you realize what’s important. Soon as your mother told me what happened, we started driving.”

Beans, who’s sitting on the porch swing, says, “Say, how’s your pal Mr. Idjit doing, anyhow? His hair grow in yet?”

Slow Poke is loping down the lane. His eyes light up when he sees Mama.

“Sadiebelle,” Slow Poke says, and smiles. “It’s been a long time.”

“Slow Poke,” Mama says, going still.

“Mama,” I say, tugging on her arm. “Slow Poke’s the one that rescued us.”

“He is?” she asks.

Archie wraps an arm around my shoulder and looks at Slow Poke. “In that case, I owe you a debt, sir, for looking after our little girl here.”

Slow Poke’s smile slips.

“This is Archie,” Mama says. “My husband.”

“You’re married?” Slow Poke asks.

“Newlyweds,” Archie says, and sticks his hand out to Slow Poke. “Archie Meeks. Pleased to meet you.”

Slow Poke doesn’t shake his hand.

“Huh,” Slow Poke says in a hollow voice, “too late again.” And then he turns and walks quickly down the lane.

“What a funny fella,” Archie says with a laugh. “And what kind of name is Slow Poke?”

I look up at Mama. “What did he mean, ‘again’?”

“Nothing, I’m sure,” she says, and smiles a little too brightly. Then she links her arm in mine and says, “Come on, baby. I’m dying to show Archie Duval Street.”

It’s like the happy ending of a Hollywood picture: Archie and Mama and me strolling arm in arm along Duval Street, a perfect family.

“On the way down here, we passed a nice piece of land in Georgia,” Archie says to me.

“Georgia?” I say.

“Good lot. Peach trees. A little brook.”

“The perfect place for the Bellewood,” Mama finishes.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” he says.

“What about Mrs. Budnick?” I ask.

“I quit,” Mama announces with a laugh. “No more scrubbing floors for me!”

“We’ll be hiring the help from now on, thank you very much,” Archie says.

“Long as we’re nice to the housekeeper’s kid,” I say.

Archie looks down at me from under his Panama hat. “I told you we’d be here someday, princess.”

“Duval Street?” I ask.

He smiles. “Easy Street.”

Something’s been bothering me about Little Orphan Annie. After she was adopted by Daddy Warbucks and went to live in his mansion, did she ever miss the orphanage? Late at night, when she was lying in her soft new bed, did she ever think about the orphans she left behind?

I’m starting to feel like Little Orphan Annie. I’ve got my very own fancy room next to Mama and Archie’s in the Key West Colonial Hotel on Duval Street. The sheets are crisp, and the pillows are plump. It’s probably the nicest bed I’ve ever slept in. But that’s just the problem: I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about Aunt Minnie and Uncle Vernon and Nana
Philly and Miss Bea and the Diaper Gang and Slow Poke and Johnny Cakes and Mrs. Soldano, and even Too Bad, who turned out not to be so bad after all. Seems to me like he should get a new nickname.

At breakfast, Archie asks, “You ladies all packed?”

“Yes, indeed,” Mama says.

“Aren’t we gonna say good-bye to Aunt Minnie and Uncle Vernon?” I ask Mama.

“Of course,” she says.

Archie nods in agreement. “I’ll check out of the hotel and arrange to get the luggage over to the docks. I’ll meet you at your sister’s place at noon. That should leave plenty of time to say your goodbyes and for us to make our boat.”

“That sounds perfect,” Mama says. “Don’t forget to stop at the bank, Mr. Meeks.”

He tips his hat. “As if I would forget, Mrs. Meeks,” he says, and she giggles.

After he’s gone, Mama turns to me and gives herself a little shake.

“Isn’t this like a dream come true?” she asks. “I feel like Cinderella!”

“She scrubbed floors, too,” I say, and swallow. “Mama, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, baby,” she says.

“How well did you know Slow Poke?”