Lark and Termite (26 page)

I was already thinking, trying to plan.

“You’re not of age,” Nonie said. “I’ll look into assigning guardianship to Elise, but they may want to put Termite into care, until—”

“Will Social Services accept Elise? She isn’t a family member.” And she’s small and skinny and getting old, I wanted to say, and works ten-hour days at the Coffee-Stop. She chain-smokes, and that’s not good for Termite. “I’ll think of something,” I told Nonie. “I’m going out to the alley now. I don’t want him coming in the house, thinking it’s too bad for us to stay here.”

“There’s over two hundred dollars in that salt box where I keep loose cash,” Nonie said. “You use it, and Charlie will get you whatever else you need.”

I checked on Termite in his chair in the living room and went out, and asked the sheriff, cheerful, if he was here about the buyout. No, he said, was my Aunt Noreen at home. He didn’t say anything else until Noreen was there, and then she got in the front seat with him as though they were going to a meeting. They drove off down the alley in the cruiser. There were chains on thetires, like for a snowstorm, but they were silent, clogged with mud. The surface was dry enough to crack under the wheels, but underneath the mud smelled wet and dark. I looked down the alley after them, and that dirty orange cat that trails Termite everywhere came right out and sat itself in front of me, like a warning, not ten feet away. Someone would come in a car soon, and take Termite. I looked back toward the Tuccis’ house, and Solly was walking toward me.

T
he Coffee-Stop has a
CLOSED
sign on the door, but I see Elise inside, wiping down the narrow counter. Elise’s store is the shape of a diner. She likes to say she has an eight-person seating capacity, every seat a window seat, but the Coffee-Stop is really just a grocery that sells hot dogs and cigarettes and coffee. I knock on the glass and she opens the big door to let us in, leans down to make a fuss over Termite.

“Well, look at this new chair you’re riding in.” She tousles his hair. “The power’s back on. You want to hear some music?” Elise has a jukebox unit on the wall. Her favorite songs, regardless of fashion. Now she joggles the coin drawer and takes out some quarters, turns Termite’s chair so he’s in front of the little window where the 45s slide and click. “Chet Baker,” she says. “He has a new one. Termite can listen while we talk.” She knows he likes it loud, but the song’s melodic, and I can hear her under the phrases. “You want some coffee, Lark?” She’s got her ashtray and cup at the end of the counter, and she beckons me over. “That Chet Baker,” she says, “pretty as a woman, and sounds like one.”

I sit just beside her. “Elise, do you know who my father is?”

“I do know, honey, but even if Nonie had never told me, I could hazard a guess.”

“Why? Why can you guess?”

“Charlie helped Noreen raise you in that restaurant and dotes on you completely. Even Gladdy accepted it. Charlie wouldn’t have it otherwise.” She looks at me, lights her cigarette, and nods. “It’s not unusual, an aunt raising her sister’s children.”

“Why would Charlie have a child with my mother? And why would Nonie come back here, after he did?” I’m asking, but I know, I remember.
Inside you. Be careful when you’re young. Now you get it.

“Lola”—Elise is saying and her voice trails off—“well, she had a hard time. She was too much for anyplace. And she wasn’t lucky, not from the very beginning. You’re not like her, honey. You’re just about as pretty, but you’re steady, like Charlie. There’s no one steadier than Charlie, or as loyal. He stood by Gladdy all those years, a woman only a saint could love, even if he is her son. And he’s stood by Noreen as well, in his way. I know you blame him for not marrying her, but truth be told, it was Noreen who wouldn’t marry Charlie, after she came back to Winfield. He’d betrayed her, and his being sorry didn’t change it. He talked her into coming back to him, and she helped him save that restaurant. She hasn’t married him since because she’s happy as she is.”

“It was me,” I say, “I’m the reason no one would ever say my mother’s name.”

Elise holds up her thin hand. “It wasn’t you, Lark. From the time you got here, you were the joy in Noreen’s life, and Charlie’s. Noreen couldn’t have children. More every day, they were grateful. Lola gave them the child they could never have had. And she told Noreen she’d intended just that—you were no accident.” Elise leans forward and takes both my hands, her birdlike face intent. “I’m telling you this for your mother’s sake, Lark. My mother used to say, with babies, there are no accidents. And she was right. We can plan the bad, but who can plan the good?”

She looks at me like I might answer. “I don’t know, Elise.”

Elise smiles, wry and quiet. “You can understand Noreen didn’t appreciate Lola’s intentions at the time. She stayed with her, though, until you were born, there in Louisville. Then she left the second husband, the nightclub owner, and came home.” Elise leans back and lights a cigarette, looks out the window of the Coffee-Stop. “Small towns talk. Noreen kept Lola secret for you, to protect you from the rest of the story, your mother’s story. It was painful for Noreen, and it still is. She wanted you to grow up before you had to know about it. And you have.” The smoke from her cigarette lifts, trails its way to the open window.

“What happened to her, Elise?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment. “Sadness,” she says then. “The war happened. That boy she married was killed in Korea. People forget that a soldier’s death goes on for years—for a generation, really. They leave people behind. If he’d come back, they would have managed with the baby.”

“Did he die before Termite was born?”

“No one knows, but Termite was born by the time they notified Lola. Afterward she moved to Coral Gables.”

“Coral Gables?”

“Oh yes. That was Lola’s house, where she’d planned to live with her husband. And wanted Nonie to let you come and stay with them when he got back, which Noreen was not about to do.”

“But he died,” I said.

“It was a confused mess over there in Korea, first weeks of the war,” Elise says. “They never told Lola how or why he died, or sent a casket back.” She looks over at Termite and leans a little forward, lowers her voice under the music. “And the baby, at first she only knew he wasn’t normal, he didn’t cry. She kept going for over a year, thinking what to do and then deciding. I can imagine her wondering about taking him with her, as much care as he needed. Deciding, for some reason, not to.”

“She knew better,” I say.

Elise doesn’t say yes or no, just looks at me.

“And Gladdy kept the house,” I say.

“It was never Gladdy’s. She went down to Coral Gables to sell it for Charlie, and took such a liking to it that she told him to keep it. Her retirement home, she called it. Charlie was never there once.”

“My mother,” I say to Elise. “How did she do it?”

“Lark, Nonie wouldn’t want me telling you.”

“Nonie isn’t telling me. But someone has to, Elise.”

“I’ll tell you,” she says, “only because it would be so hard for Charlie.” She stubs out the cigarette, moves her hand to dispel the smoke, but it hangs in the air. “She’d arranged everything. She locked up that little house and hired a car to drive her to Louisville, to Billy Onslow’s club. He was Noreen’s second husband, older, well, much older. He was like an uncle to Lola. Owned a nightclub. Lola had moved back there, where she’d lived all during the forties, where she met that soldier in the first place. She still knew most of the girls who lived there.”

“Why did they live there?”

“He owned the building.” She barely pauses. “Lola sang in his club for years. Oh, she had a voice. Sweet and husky, like, say, Rosemary Clooney She never was famous like that, of course. For her it was a job, a job she liked. They thought she’d come back to sing again, where she had help with the baby. She’d been there about a week and had put him to bed. The girl she paid to watch him was on her way but hadn’t arrived. It was evening, plenty of people around, before the club opened. She walked downstairs, told everyone she’d be right back, she was going outside to have a cigarette and would they check on the baby in just a minute. Smiled. Waved. Walked a few streets away and shot herself with that little derringer the soldier had left with her.”

The gun in the flag. Someone packed them into the boxes.

“Lola was gone,” Elise says. “What could Nonie do but take the baby? She sent you away.”

“Church camp,” I said.

“Yes. Now
that was
uncharacteristic. You know what she thinks of religion. It was all she could find on short notice. A veteran brought the baby, someone who’d served with the boy in Korea. He was in uniform, I remember, walked with a bad limp. That was why they let him come home, because this was in ’51, the war was still on. I guess he was badly injured and spent months in a VA hospital. Then he looked for Lola, brought her a letter. The boy had asked him to give it to her personally, that kind of thing. Anyway, it was several weeks later Lola died.”

“Sergeant Ervin Tompkins,” I said.

“Was that his name? Came with his wife. Korean girl, war bride. Brought a nurse with them to care for the baby. Billy Onslow hired the nurse and provided the car, a big Packard.”

“Is Billy Onslow still in Louisville?”

“No. Died years ago, heart attack. But he did what Lola asked. Had that baby brought here, where her family was.” Elise looks over at me. “That was you.”

I don’t know when the music stopped, but it’s quiet now. Elise looks around, like she’s just noticing as well. Termite is still, holding his head to the side, turned toward the jukebox and the window that looks out on Main Street.

“Well,” Elise says, tearful. “We’ll get through this, and you and Termite will stay with me until we can.” She sniffs and stands up, takes a breath. “Don’t you worry about Noreen. The coroner’s report will clear her, and so will I. They had words about that watch in the car. Gladdy grabbed it off Noreen’s wrist, broke the band right in front of me. Noreen helped her anyway, carried those heavy bags of food up the steps.” Elise looks past me and nods, definitive. “I wouldn’t have, but Noreen did. She wasn’t gone a minute. Didn’t step foot in that house.”

“Nonie told me about Gladdy,” I say, “this morning, before the sheriff came.”

“Well, of course, she would have.” Elise fixes me with her nearsighted gaze. “I don’t know if she told you she saved my life. Reached into that car in the flood and pulled me out. I have a fear of water, and I wasn’t myself. I sprained her wrist, fighting her. I’ll tell them as much, on a stack of Bibles.”

The jukebox sounds a series of clicks in the quiet, finishing up.

“I’ve got to open the store soon, honey,” Elise says. “Just wait here while I go across the street for a minute, will you? Soon as I get back, you’ll go talk to your father.” She’s out the door.

I go over and stand with Termite. “My father,” I tell him, “Charlie is my father, and yours died in the war. He never wanted to leave you.” I lean down close. “We’re going to Florida, Termite, to the ocean.” I feed the jukebox a few more quarters from the open drawer, push
REPEAT.
The street in front of us is empty and mostly shut down, but Elise’s music glides along like the sound of a movie we’re not watching. A horn, a tinkling piano. Couples could fill the sidewalks, dancing slow like they’re moving in another world.

This morning, in the alley, I told Solly I was leaving with Termite. Quickly, tonight. Gladdy’s house in Coral Gables would be empty. We’d go there, and hope they didn’t find us. With the flood and the cleanup, they might look for us or they might not. If we were gone, and our own family said we were accounted for, they might just figure we weren’t their problem. Charlie would give me the keys, and directions. The story I told Miss Barker would get told.

“Lark, if you’re leaving, I’m coming with you.” Solly was walking me back into the house, pulling me inside. The houses on the alley were empty. They were all on the buyout list, but Solly was already being careful. “The water ruined Joey’s car,” he said. “All I’ve got is the bike. I used the lift down at the garage and got it onto the second floor of the shop before the flood, but it’s half apart.”

“It’s no good to go in a car,” I said. “Cars are easy to find. We’ll go on the train, in one of the boxcars, right out of the yard. No way to trace us. The Chessies go direct to Miami, and I know exactly when they run. They’re shuttling cars through, moving them out. In a few days, the yard will be empty. It has to be tonight.”

We were standing with Termite then, in Nonie’s nearly empty living room. “I was on my way to Florida, more or less,” he said. “I already told Nick I’m going to school, and gave notice at the garage.” Solly knelt down to talk to Termite. “Termite, you mind if I come with you? We’ll grow a garden, maybe build a patio. I’ll take you to the beach. We’ll look at the ocean. What do you say?”

Termite only breathed, short sighs. “He wants his ribbon,” I said. “Termite, there’s no time.”

Solly touched Termite’s hair. He left his hand there, on Termite’s head and white neck. “He’s never had a mother or father, and he never will. He has us.” Solly pulled me close to them, put his mouth almost on mine, made his voice quiet, every word distinct. “We’ll take him and we’ll leave here. We’ll get married as soon as you’re of age. You have the birth certificates. You can prove you’re his sister. Even if they find us, no one will take him.”

“Solly, I’m not eighteen for seven months.”

“That’s not long. We’ll go to Florida, lay low in Coral Gables. A good mechanic can always get a job. I’ll wait on school.”

“You might not have to. Lauderdale isn’t far. But if you come with me, Solly, you have to do it my way. No record of where we are or how we got there. And tell no one you’re with us, not Nick, not Zeke—no one. You’re going to school early, that’s all. Be at the rail yard by eight twenty, just after dark. If you can’t get there, or you change your mind, promise me, tell no one. The cars move at eight twenty-seven. We’ll have to find an empty Chessie.”

He looked at me. “I’ll be at the rail yard. You’re not riding a boxcar to Florida alone, with him. I’ll be there.”