Upside Down in the Middle of Nowhere (4 page)

“Why shouldn't I tell him? Maybe we
should
evacuate.”

I couldn't believe my ears. My brother was so slow. “Georgie, it's my birthday weekend. My party's
the day after tomorrow.”

“So?” he said. He might as well have slapped me upside my head.

“So?” I did the best head slide I've ever done in my whole life.

He plucked a half-green grape off the vine and started walking for the back door.

I scooted in front of him, forcing him to a stop. He rolled his eyes and folded his arms up across his chest.

I took a deep breath and forced a smile that most likely showed too many teeth. “Please don't tell Daddy. Please? Just don't say nothin' till after my party Sunday—
please
, Georgie?”

His eyes softened. He opened his mouth to say something, but the screen door squeaked.

“There you are. Your mama's looking for the two of you.” Daddy stood in the doorway, holding the screen open.

Me and Georgie stood there froze like a couple of fools.

“Is everything all right?” Daddy stepped out of the doorway. All the muscadine juice in my mouth dried up and sweat beads popped out across my forehead.

“Sure, Daddy, everything's fine. We're just eatin' some grapes.” Georgie play-slapped my arm and walked over to the screen door. “You better come on, Armani, before them mosquitoes eat you up!”

Daddy put his hand on my brother's shoulder and the two of them held the door open, waiting on me. “Your brother's right. We don't want the birthday girl covered with bug bites.”

“Yeah,” Georgie said over the top of his glasses. “You don't wanna show up at your party on Sunday looking like you dragged yourself up outta the swamp.” He laughed. Daddy shook his head from side to side, a nice smile shining across his face.

I smiled so big I could feel it in my ears.

Tap, tap, tap
. Someone was knocking on me and Sealy's bedroom door.

“Come in,” I loud-whispered. It was early, and Sealy was still asleep beside me. I moved her arm from across my face. I hated sleeping with my sister. It wouldn't have been so bad, except for the fact that instead of her occupying her side of the bed, like she was supposed to, she felt inclined to find new ways of sleeping on top of me.

The door creaked open a few inches, and Daddy stuck his head through. “Good morning.”

“Mornin', Daddy,” I said in my lazy morning voice. The smell of cinnamon and warm chicory brewing in the coffeepot floated into our room.

“I'm headed to Pete's. Do you want to ride along?” At the end of every month, when Daddy got his paycheck, him and Georgie made a run to Mr. Pete's doughnut shop and got us a couple dozen fresh doughnuts. I knew without even asking that the reason he was offering for me to ride with him instead of my brother was because it was my birthday weekend.

Sealy rolled over, but kept on sleeping. I was out of bed before I answered, “I'll be out in a minute.”

I always liked the way Saturday mornings smelled. That was the day Mama made her pies. Everybody in our neighborhood called her The Pie Lady. Anyone needing a pie for any reason would be a fool if they didn't get it from my mama. Last Christmas there was a lady who drove four hours from Lake Charles for five of my mama's pies. They're that good.

Mama would get up while it was still dark as tar outside and the rest of the world was still sleeping. She'd start out by rolling the dough. Most times, there'd be flour from one end of the counter to the other. After she got her piecrusts all fixed, she'd start slow-cooking the fillings on the stovetop.

By the time I'd come walking into the kitchen, the sun had only been up a short while, but the whole house already smelled of cinnamon apples, sweet potato with extra nutmeg, and the sugary-sweet perfume of heavy syrup simmering in the big silvery pot.

Mama was standing at the stove stirring one of them pots with a big wooden spoon. I came up behind, and stood on my tippy-toes so I could kiss her cheek. “Mornin', Mama.”

She's pretty, my mama. But I think she's always been the most pretty real early in the morning when she has her pie-making glow. I knew that's when she was the happiest. I guess she loved her pie-making the way Sealy loved her books.

“Good morning,” Mama said, putting the spoon down on the countertop. She wiped her floury hands on her apron and gave me a
warm morning hug. Then she took my face in both her hands and rubbed my nose with her nose. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, ma'am.” I reached past her and dipped my finger in the thick goop puddled on the wooden spoon. Mama lightly slapped the back of my hand. I smiled and put my syrupy finger in my mouth, knowin' right away it was the fixins of a pecan pie.

Memaw was sitting at the table cracking pecans. There was a bowl for the shells and a bowl for the nuts, but Memaw was missing both of them. Nuts and shells and nut dust covered the table. Hardly nothing was in the bowls.

“Well, now, aren't you an early bird,” Memaw said, squinting at me. Her eyeglasses were hanging from the gold-colored cord around her neck. I unfolded the glasses and slid them onto her face, careful not to accidentally poke an eye out.

“Oh, my—look at this mess,” she said, looking around at all the nuts and nut dust. I giggled.

“Mornin', Memaw.” I leaned over and kissed her forehead. She reached her hand up and hugged my head.

The back screen door slapped shut and Daddy's heavy footsteps came toward the kitchen.

He wasn't smiling like he usually did on a doughnut Saturday. Long creases were planted across his forehead. “You ready to go, baby girl?” Daddy asked. His pleasant voice didn't match the look of trouble on his face.

“Uh-huh,” I said, picking up nutshells and wondering if his look had anything to do with the Babineauxes skipping town.

“Excuse me?” Daddy cocked his head at me. Both Mama and Memaw stopped what they were doing and looked at him.

“I mean
yes, sir.”
I had to stop my lip from wanting to curl.

He relaxed a tiny bit. “Why don't you wait for me in the truck? I'll be there in a minute.”

“Yes, sir.” I looked to Mama and Memaw and gave my finger sign for I
love you
.

I almost made it out the door when Memaw shuffled toward me in her wore-out fuzzy slippers.

“Here.” She shoved two dollars into my hand. “Get me two of them apple fritters.”

“But Memaw, you ain't supposed to be eatin' too many sweets on account of your sugar bein' high.” I held out the dollar bills for her to take back.

“You listen to me, child. There's nothin' wrong with my sugar that a warm apple fritter can't fix. Now go on.” She shooed me toward the door.

I let out a big sigh and stuffed the money into the pocket of my shorts. “You're gonna get me in trouble.” She stared at me over the top of her glasses, holding up two fingers with one hand and rubbing her belly with the other. She looked silly, and it made me smile.

“You're bad, Memaw. You're gonna get us
both
in trouble.” I went out and got in Daddy's truck. I sat there trying to figure out how I was gonna sneak that ol' woman her apple fritters.

The truck smelled like Daddy, or maybe Daddy smelled like the truck. I really ain't sure. It was one of them aromas made up from a whole collection of smells.

Daddy never smoked in front of us kids. I don't even think he did in front of Mama, neither. But we all knew that when Daddy drove by hisself, he would smoke on a skinny cigar. I liked the smell it left behind—a smoky, thick sweetness of leaves burning at Christmastime.

The truck door creaked and stuck on the hinges when Daddy opened it. He sat down heavy in his driver's seat and let out a long sigh. I think he might've forgot I was there. His hand sat there holding the keys, and he stared at something I didn't see out the windshield. He shook his head, shaking his private thoughts loose, and then he turned to look at me. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes looked far away.

“Are you buckled up?”

“Yes, sir.” I wanted to ask him what was troubling him, but I knew that whatever it was, he'd feel better as soon as he had some of Mr. Pete's fresh doughnut holes.

He picked up the little metal can that held his peppermints. He flipped the lid and held it out to me. I smiled and took one of the tiny candies. He winked at me and took one for hisself. I had a feeling that he was aching for a cigar right then, but he went to sucking the mint instead.

Once we got moving, I was relieved to see that whatever was upsetting my daddy seemed to fly out the open truck widow and into the muggy morning air.

“Daddy, hurry up!” I pointed out the window. I could see the flashing blue and white light on the pole next to the building, even though the doughnut shop was still more than a block down the road. That bright, spinning light let everybody know that a new batch of doughnuts had come out of the oven. It was like the light was screaming, “Come an' get 'em while they're hot!”

My mouth started to water thinking about biting into the hot, fresh, melt-in-your-mouth fried, sugary dough.

“Daddy, drive faster!”

Daddy didn't say nothing. He just grinned and sucked on his peppermint. I bounced up and down in my seat.

The truck finally made it to the sandy parking lot. A big ol' dust cloud whooshed out from underneath us. I jumped out before Daddy even had a chance to shut off the engine. I slammed my door shut and slid around the front of the truck.

I was running for the shop's bright red painted door when I seen a playpen like the one Mama used for the twins sitting up in the alley between Pete's and the pawn shop next door. A cardboard sign reading “free puppies” was taped to the rim. I skidded to a stop, temporarily forgetting all about doughnuts.

I whipped around and gave Daddy my most convincing sweet-as-pie face with my hands folded in prayer up against my chest.

“Oh, Daddy, please?” I hadn't even looked at the four-legged creatures yet, but I'd been wanting myself a puppy for as long as I could remember. I knew he'd say yes, it being my birthday weekend and all.

Daddy was shaking his head “no” before he even took the time to ponder the possibility.

I approached the filthy playpen holding the free puppies. I was fixin' to open my mouth to remind him of all the benefits of a free pet when a stench flew up my nose, making my stomach do a flip-flop.

Daddy yanked me back. A mangy beast leaped up out of that pen made for babies like it was gonna tear me to shreds. It took to barking and growling and flinging thick dog spit everywhere.

“Hey, keep back, girl!” snarled a toothless old white lady. She came swaggering from around the corner of the doughnut shop carrying a long, thick stick in her gnarled hand. Daddy swept me behind him and took a step toward the skinny, dirty, hunched-over woman.

“We were just looking at your puppies, ma'am,” Daddy said. The devil dog and two more like it were all yapping and having a fit.

“These here puppies ain't for you.” The words got lost in raspy phlegm rumbling around in her saggy throat. The woman's eyes were watery-yellow, and her face was dry and cracked, like gator skin. Even though I was safe up behind Daddy, I could smell the sourness of the old woman's breath.

Without any warning, that ugly ol' witch swung her stick and hit one of them dog-monsters upside the head so hard the stick splintered. The animal screamed a dog scream, and the other two yelped and ran to huddle in a corner of the pen.

“Now go on,” the evil woman grumbled, waving her stick. “Get on outta here.”

Daddy put his arm around my shoulder and guided me toward the red door of the doughnut shop. I couldn't tear my eyes from the old
woman's heartless face. I pulled loose from Daddy and went marching right up to the woman, getting as close as my good sense would let me.