Fly Away (2 page)

Nighttime. Grace is sleeping. She is always first to go to sleep. There are stars out in the black sky and I can see the glow of the lantern light in Mama and Boots's tent. There is a slice of moon above the trees.

“See?
”

It is Teddy's little voice next to me. That's the only part of my name, Lucy, that he can say—the “see” of Lucy.

“Teddy,” I whisper.

“Cow,” he says.

“Cow,” I whisper.

His eyes gleam in the dark. I know he's
going to sing now. And he does. He sings the song perfectly, all the la la's in tune. I hear the words in my head.

“Fly away, fly away,

All the birdies fly away.”

I reach over and take his hand.

And we sleep.

In
the morning it is drizzly and dreary. Boots is listening to the weather forecast on the car radio.

“More rain and storms today,” he says, worried.

Mama packs up the chickens. I help Gracie into her car seat. She clicks herself
in. I lift Teddy into his seat back by the chickens. I click him in.

He points to the chickens.

“Cow,” he says.

Gracie and I laugh.

“Chickens,” says Gracie. “I'll draw you one.”

She takes out her paper and markers and quickly draws a very good chicken. She hands it to Teddy.

Teddy smiles at her.

“Cow,” he says happily.

“I think that for Teddy ‘cow' means ‘Look! There's something!' ” I tell Gracie.

Boots stows the tent in the storage under the beds. The car is packed.

Boots starts up the car.

“Ready?”`

“Ready,” says Mama. She puts on her headphones.

“A day and a half to go,” says Boots.

Boots turns on his tape. Today it is
Aida
, the triumphal march. Somewhere in act 2. Boots once told me that when the opera is presented there is a huge parade of people and animals, sometimes elephants, camels, and horses. Maybe I'll take Boots to see
Aida
when I'm a rich poet. There aren't any elephants or camels in
La Traviata
.

We drive off in the mist. Gracie leans over and points to Teddy. He is keeping time to the music on his car seat. If he hears it enough, he'll be able to sing it.

We drive off down the highway. I take out my writing book and my pen.
I stare at the blank lined page. I feel the same way about a blank page that my Mama feels about her old home in North Dakota. I love it because it is fresh and clean. I hate it because I have to fill it.

I think about the shining coal-black cow with the surprising white circle around her middle.

I write a line.

Ring-Around cow.

I look at it so hard my eyes blur.

Outside the car window horses run by the fences.

“Cows!” yells Teddy.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” calls Gracie.

I sigh.

It's going to be a long drive.

It is late afternoon when the storm starts, rain coming down softly at first, then harder. There is thunder and lightning, the lightning coming down to the land all around us. The wind picks up.

Teddy sleeps through the storm in his car seat, a sweet peaceful look on his face. Flashes of lightning light up his face, but still he sleeps.

Then there is a new sound.

Mama takes off her headphones to listen. Hail begins to fall on the roof of the van, bouncing off like small stones at first, then harder, so hard that Boots can't hear his music. Boots pulls off the
road, peering through the windshield. He parks under an overhang by gas pumps. The sudden quiet wakes Teddy.

“See?”

“It's all right, Teddy. You can go back to sleep.”

Teddy puts his thumb in his mouth and closes his eyes.

“I'll fill the gas tank and then we'll decide what to do. We can't drive in this.”

Mama peers out.

“No, we can't. It isn't safe.”

Boots pumps gas and runs into the gas station. I can see him talking on the cell phone. After a bit he comes back with crackers and cheese, some bottles of cold water, and cookies.

His hair is wet with rain.

“I called Frankie and told her we'd be there for her,” he says. “She said stay away. She doesn't need help.”

“Of course she did,” says Mama. “Frankie is stubborn.”

Boots smiles.

“She told me to turn around and go home!” he says.

“What did you say?” I ask him.

“I told her okay, we'd go home,” says Boots.

“You didn't tell the truth,” says Gracie.

“True. I didn't want Frankie to worry.”

“That woman,” says Mama.

Boots takes her hand.

“That woman,” he whispers, making Mama smile.

“All the motels are full,” Boots says, handing out snacks.

“We can't set up our tent in this,” says Mama.

Boots shakes his head.

“The owner of the gas station says there's a park with a pavilion down the road. We can park under it for the night.”

“And food?” asks Mama.

“We'll get hamburgers just before we get there.”

“Where will you sleep?” asks Gracie, yawning already.

Boots drives off, the noise sudden and loud again.

“We'll all sleep in the car!” says Boots with a laugh. “It will be fun!”

Mama laughs too.

“Even the chickens?” asks Gracie.

“Even the chickens,” say Mama and Boots together, laughing.

My parents are crazy.

We eat hamburgers and Teddy discovers pickles.

“Mo,” he says. “Mo.”

So we hand our pickles over to him.

We park under the pavilion and put down the front car seats.

The hail is still strong on the pavilion roof, but when Mama and Boots get in their sleeping bags, the chickens between them, it is fun.

And when Boots turns out the lantern and it is dark, Teddy leans over close to me.

“See?”

“Teddy.”

And he sings to me. He sings “Twinkle, Twinkle” without words, and “Fly Away,” the whole song.

But the noise of the hail is so loud that no one else hears.

I'm glad.

I like that this is our secret, Teddy's night song.

Teddy's and mine.

The
next day there is light mist and sun at the same time. We drive with a huge rainbow off in the horizon.

“Rainbow, Teddy,” says Gracie. “See?”

“Cow,” say Teddy and Gracie and Mama and Boots at the same time, knowing what he will say.

Teddy thinks it is very funny that we all say the same thing, so he says it again.

“Cow!”

“I wish he'd say more words,” says Mama. “He's a late talker. You all spoke early.”

“Early and often,” says Boots.

“He talks in his own way,” I say.

Mama turns to look at me.

If only Mama knew.

“We all have things we can do and can't do,” says Boots.

“Well
, I
can't
sing
,” I say, hoping for comforting words from Mama.

“I know,” says Mama.

Boots looks quickly at Mama.

“Maggie? That sounds a little unkind.”

A little.

“Oh,” says Mama. “I didn't mean that.”

Boots looks in the rearview mirror until he finds me.

I know him well enough to know what he is thinking.

It is this:
It's all right if you can't sing.

All morning long we pass fields and rivers that are filled to their banks with water. We pass herds of cows and horses. We pass pigs and goats and farm meadows filled with sheep. It seems that Teddy has tired of calling everything he sees “cow.” I turn to him as we pass the sheep.

“Baa, baa,” I whisper.

Teddy smiles at me as if he knows it is a secret.

“Baa, baa,” he says softly.

And then we see it.

The Red River.

Boots pulls the car over to park. Everyone is quiet.

The river is higher than some of the trees that border it. The river is flowing fast, carrying small trees along with it, tumbling pieces of what looks like roofs or small parts of sheds or porches.

“And there's the bridge we'll be crossing,” says Boots softly.

The spidery metal bridge, painted red, crosses over to the farmland where Frankie lives. The river is so high it almost reaches the bridge. There is a policeman at either end, directing one car at a time to cross.

Boots starts the car.

“We'd better cross while we can,” he says. “It's a long way around if the bridge closes.”

The policeman waves us over the bridge.

“Go slowly, please,” he says.

We cross the river slowly. I hold on to the door handle so tightly, my knuckles turn white. All around all I can see is water moving fast. It seems to want to carry us along with it, though I know we're on the bridge. No one talks in the car. When we finally reach the far side I realize I've been holding my breath. Boots drives the car up the hill past farms and meadows. I look back and it's still there, that river.

Boots has said that we have to help Frankie when the river floods her land. But how can we do that? We're just people, the five of us, and the river is fast and huge.

“Two more hours,” says Boots very quietly. “We'll be at Frankie's in two hours.”

“Boots?”

“What, Lucy?”

“I'm worried about the river.”

“I am too. But, we'll do what we can.”

“I'm worried about Frankie, too. She'll be mad at us for coming to her house.”

“She'll be mad at me,” Boots says.

“And me,” says Mama. “Frankie would never be upset with you.”

There is silence. We drive on, but when I turn around and look behind me, the river is always there.

“It will be all right,” I say, looking at Teddy.

He looks at me steadily. Teddy isn't worried. I realize that I am talking to myself.

“It will,” says Boots.

Up
a small hill, next to a herd of cows, then down a dirt road to the white house with the porch all around. Mama starts to cry.

The birdies fly away and they come back home.

Mama blows her nose.

The farmhouse faces the river. It is up the hill a bit, maybe midway, but the river is creeping up that hill. It has crossed the dirt road in one place and Boots drives up on the grass to avoid it. Farther up the hill men are piling up sandbags in front of the porch.

One of the men turns and it isn't a man at all. It's Frankie.

Mama opens the door and is out of the car before Boots comes to a stop. She runs to throw her arms around Frankie.

Frankie's long gray hair is braided and pinned over her head. She wears jeans and an old T-shirt. She's taller than Mama, and she stands quietly for a moment, not moving. Then, after a while, she puts her arms around Mama.