Calli (7 page)

“Mr. Hatley saw someone pass me a note and then he joked about saving the trees. Mom, it’s no big deal.”

“No wonder you’re failing French if you’re passing notes all day!”

I gulp. Madame Mahoney must’ve called.

“Your teacher has kindly offered you an extra credit assignment and you haven’t mentioned a thing to me.”

“Well, you’ve been so busy with Cherish.”

“That isn’t fair,” Mom says.

I know it isn’t, but I can’t stop myself. “You know what’s not fair? Making me take a class I don’t care about because you made a mistake with some French jerk. If you’d have just been honest with your mom and yourself—”

“Enough! You’re grounded! I’ll have to ask you to leave, Delia.” Mom’s whole face, not just the rash, is tomato red as she storms out of my room.

Delia grabs her backpack and stands up. “Sorry,” I tell her.

She looks at me like I’m globs of tar washed up on the shore. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

As Delia walks out of the house, Cherish starts laughing. I realize she’s turned the TV off to eavesdrop. That witch.

My ears hurt from the pressure of holding in the tears, but I won’t let Cherish break me down.

It may be Earth Day, but it certainly isn’t my day.

GETTING INTO THE CAR WITH MOM, I’m irritated to think of Cherish and her popular, older friends chilling at North Beach doing who knows what while I hang out with my mother at Louisiane Musée.

“You need to prioritize your schoolwork and take advantage of extra credit, baby girl. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. You used to be an all A student,” Mom says as she steers the Hocus Focus left on Shreveport Avenue.

Mom’s questions blur together. “Is something going on between you and your boyfriend? Is the stress of fostering getting to you? Is there anything you’re not telling me?”

Yes. Yes. Yes.
“Everything is fine. I just don’t like French.” Mom’s already got a fever. Liz took me aside this morning to replenish my candy bar supply and told me Mom wasn’t feeling well. “Be especially nice to her today, Calli.” If I hadn’t been out of chocolate, it would’ve bothered me that she was essentially bribing me.

Mom sighs. I do too. It’s been a long week.

Delia talked to Torey more on the bus than she spoke to me. They’re probably hanging out at the mall together today. They wouldn’t try on dresses, would they? That’s supposed to be our thing.

I saw Dub in the cafeteria with his buddies at lunch. I thought he was going to ditch them to come talk to me, but he gave me my space all right. Since I haven’t responded to his note, it’s like he’s given up on me. I’ve tried writing him back, but nothing sounds right. I rip at my fingernail and wince.

Mom sighs again when she pulls into the museum parking lot. When I grab the door handle, my mother reaches across me in an attempt to keep it closed. I can’t open the door without hurting her. “There will be plenty of things you don’t like in life, but you just have to deal with them the best you can. If you’d have studied and done your best, you could’ve spent this beautiful Saturday playing in the sand.” She makes it sound like I’m a little girl. “Got your money?”

I dig though my purse to find my wallet. She’s not only making me pay for
my
admission, but I also have to pay for hers. The museum is a fine place and all, but Mom’s taking this grounding thing way too seriously.

I fold the receipt and slip it into my pocket to keep as proof for Madame Mahoney. The odor inside the museum reminds me of a library—stale and dusty. I read one of the signs. PRESENT-DAY LAKE CHARLES WAS FIRST SETTLED BY MARTIN LEBLEU OF BORDEAUX, FRANCE. The next line mentions his wife and how their daughter married some guy named Charles Sallier. (Lake Charles is named after him.) Life must’ve been a
lot simpler in 1781, but I laugh to myself thinking about how those French people probably reacted when they saw their first gator.

“Look at this,” Mom says, pointing to a black-and-white picture of the lake. It doesn’t seem the same without the current buildings and structures surrounding it. There are some pictures of old steamboats sailing too. Lady Luck Casino is a riverboat casino, but it’s anchored and looks much more modern in comparison.

Mom stops to read the sign. “Things keep right on changing, don’t they?” It’s the type of question you don’t answer, and she obviously doesn’t expect one because she keeps right on talking. “While you don’t like studying French now, you may appreciate it in a few years. It’s a part of who you are.”

“Maybe, but it’s not like I’ll ever talk to my father. He’s blood related, but he’s not family.”

Mom doesn’t argue the point. Her eyes glaze over as she stares at a glass case full of bottles, books, and ratty dolls. “Cherish hasn’t had the opportunity to get to know many of her relatives either. She barely even has a family.”

Walking around the museum, we don’t say much else to each other. We stop when we hear a howling sob. I look around to find where the noise is coming from and find a toddler sitting near the staircase, wailing.

Mom rushes up to him. “Did you lose your mommy?”

The red-faced toddler answers with more wails. Mom takes him by the hand, and we head to the front desk to find help. The little boy’s crying so hard he starts hiccuping.

A woman catches us as we pass by the bathroom. “David!” she cries. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

The toddler throws himself at the woman. She scoops him up in her arms, kissing him all over. “Oh, my gosh, thank you!” the woman tells my mother.

“Of course,” Mom says and then looks in my direction. “I lost this one here when she was a little girl. It happens.”

When we continue on our tour after the lost toddler drama, I probe Mom for more information. “You lost me?”

“Yes, when you were three. You stopped to watch the escalator, and I kept on going. Some lady found you, and she called my name over the intercom. Talk about feeling horrible. You were hysterical. I felt like the worst mom in the world!”

“You’re not the worst mom. Far from it. I don’t even remember getting lost.”

“Good. That means I didn’t traumatize you too bad.” Mom stops to check out some yellowed costumes.

A silky, lacy wedding gown on display catches my attention. If trying on prom gowns is enjoyable, I can only imagine how wonderful it is to try on wedding dresses. I hope Delia will be around to help pick out my gown if I ever get married.

Mom and Liz had a commitment ceremony on their fifth anniversary and neither one of them wore a wedding dress. They wore off-white linen suits. It wasn’t an official ceremony, but it was important to them.

Everything about their ceremony was nontraditional. I was both the ring bearer and the flower girl. Only a few of their closest friends came. Delia was there. Her mom was invited but said she couldn’t make it. She did make Mom and Liz each a matching wrist corsage though. Grandma sent them a blender.

Mom and Liz shared cheesecake, not wedding cake, at the reception. At my wedding, I’d love to have a huge towering cake with thick chocolate frosting. My stomach gurgles.

“Ready for lunch?” Mom asks.

“Yeah.”

We head out of the museum and walk quietly to the parking lot. The hot air inside the car makes me sleepy.

“I’ll pick the place to eat,” she says, and I try to work up an appetite for a mushy veggie burger.

My jaw drops open when we pull into Popeyes.

MOM ROLLS DOWN THE WINDOW. “I’ll take the eight-piece family meal,” she says. “Mild, please. Coleslaw and red beans and rice. Two Cokes. Thank you.”

Mom ordering greasy, semispicy food? “What are you doing?” I ask as she drives to the next window and shells over cash. I’m glad she doesn’t expect me to pay for it.

“You don’t have me all figured out, just like I don’t have you all figured out either.” Mom reaches for the bag of food and hands it to me. “Let’s go to Charpentier Park.”

I lean down to set it on the floor. My stomach grumbles again after sniffing the fried chicken. Is Mom putting me through some kind of weird test? The savory scent is especially tempting.

When we get to the park, I grab the food and carry it over to a picnic table. I’m prepared to fail if this is a test. After we sit down, Mom hands me a plastic fork and a paper plate. She opens up the bag and pulls out a chicken
drumstick. My mother bites right into it without wiping her hands first or scraping off spices.

I open the container of red beans and rice and plop a big spoonful on the plate. I pick a plump wing. The salty, juicy flavors spill down my chin.

“I forgot how good fried chicken is.” Mom reaches for another piece. “Hand me some of that coleslaw. And a biscuit too.”

“Won’t this food get to you?”

“No doubt,” Mom says, her mouth full of food, “but I want to enjoy a day with my daughter. I’ve been spending time with Cherish because she needs the attention. She’s gone to so many homes and dealt with such unimaginable things. Anyway, you need attention too, and I know Popeyes is one of your favorite places.”

She smiles. I feel warm, and it’s not from the bright sun.

Mom tells me that she found out more information about our new placement—a kindergartner named Lemond James who will transition to our house in about two weeks. “He has an older sister who was removed from the home awhile back.” Mom’s voice wavers as she continues. “I can’t imagine what that poor boy and his family have gone through. I felt torn to pieces when I lost you for a few minutes.” She reaches for my hand.

I don’t trust my words. I place my hand over hers and hope she knows it means I’d be torn apart too.

Once our hands separate, I dig into the food. After eating two biscuits, half the container of rice, and three pieces of chicken, I vow I’m never going to eat this much food again, at least for a little while. I get up and throw the trash away, tossing the plastic stuff into the recycle
bin. I even pick up a can off the ground and recycle it too. Mr. Hatley would be proud.

“I hope you know you can talk to me about anything,” Mom says when I return to the picnic table.

“Yeah, I know.” Not like I would though.

“I shouldn’t be so hard on you, baby girl, but I love you and I
do
care.”

“I love you too.” When I hug Mom tightly, I accidentally smear a touch of chicken grease on her shirt.

 

“How was the museum?” Cherish asks when she gets home. She doesn’t sound sarcastic.

“Not too bad.” I keep the fried chicken and the conversation between Mom and me private. It must’ve been miserable for Cherish growing up with strangers and not her mom or even her maw-maw. I don’t need to rub it in.

Sand and all, she plops into the recliner. Good thing Mom’s monkey is hanging from her doorknob. She might actually fuss about getting dirt on the furniture. Liz is moving furniture around in the den, making room for Lemond.

“How was the beach?” Cherish’s skin has a red tint to it. Her hair is tangled. It usually looks polished and wavy, not kinky-curly like Delia’s. Somehow this girl even manages to make messy look good.

“All right. Your friend was there.”

“Delia? Really?”

“Yeah. With that girl Torey. Looks like you’ve been replaced.”

I’d imagined the two of them dress shopping, but knowing for sure they hung out feels like a betrayal of
sorts. Is this how Delia felt when I started spending more time with Dub?

“You okay?” Cherish asks. “You look funny.”

I realize I’m twisting my lips. “I’m fine.” Why should I be upset? I’m grounded and Delia has every right to do whatever, whenever, with whomever. “It’s just complicated.”

“Complicated?” Cherish asks with a laugh. “You have no idea what complicated means.”