The Year of Billy Miller (8 page)

They didn’t go far. Just to the garage.

The first thing Papa did was to turn off the radio. Billy noticed that the cello with arms had been pushed against the wall, partially draped with a blanket, abandoned.

“All right,” said Papa, clapping his hands. “I wouldn’t call it a breakthrough yet, but I’ve been working hard today. Because of you.”

Laid out on the table in Papa’s work area were several wooden cigar boxes. Each one had various items placed inside it. The inside of one box resembled a landscape, another a city. One looked like a funny face with mismatched watch dial eyes, a doorknob nose, and a black plastic comb mustache. The boxes were in differing stages of completion.

“I’ve just begun,” explained Papa. “At this point, I’m just moving things around, trying things out. Nothing’s close to being finished.”

“They’re dioramas!” said Billy. He grinned. “I helped you—I gave you the idea.”

“You did,” said Papa, smiling. “And I thank you. I’m calling them assemblages, but that’s just a fancy way of saying they’re dioramas.”

Billy felt taller somehow. Bigger. Shiny, even. He’d never helped Papa in such an important way before.

Papa had all kinds of things on hand to use for his assemblages: bolts, nails, wire, marbles, foreign coins, twigs, fabric scraps, beads, shards of glass, seashells, stones, old black-and-white photographs, maps. These things were on the table—in jars, little heaps, and stacks—surrounding the boxes.

“Check out this one,” said Papa. He directed Billy’s attention to the box at the corner of his worktable.

It was a face—a realistic-looking one—with green sea-glass eyes, coils of wire for hair, and an intricate arrangement of small pieces of wood for skin.

“I’m not done with it yet,” said Papa.

Suddenly, the face came into clear focus. In wonder, Billy said, “It’s me!”

“Yes, it is,” said Papa. “If it turns out, I might do one of Mama and Sal, too.”

“You’re so good,” said Billy. “When I’m older, I hope I’m good at something.”

“You will be,” said Papa. “And you’re already good at many things.”

Billy waited to hear what the things were, but Papa just smiled at him before making some adjustments on one of the boxes.

They shared a pleasant, companionable silence. Then Papa ruffled Billy’s hair. Billy could feel Papa’s fingers lingering, searching, like when he checked for ticks after they went hiking or camping.

“Hey, mister,” Papa said, “you are lump free.”

Strangely, it was as if Papa’s words were coming through his fingers and from all around, pressing against Billy. And Billy felt the full force of Papa’s attention.

Billy hadn’t thought about his lump in a while. He raised his hand and felt for himself. It was true. His lump was gone. A fact. “Let’s tell everyone,” he said.

“Let’s,” said Papa. “And after that, you can help me make dinner.”

“Can we have macaroni and cheese?”

“I think that could be arranged,” said Papa. With his arms stretched wide, he guided Billy out of the garage. “You’re a good boy. A good lump-free boy.”

“Thank you, Papa, yes I am.”

“Hey, what about
Dad
? I thought I was Dad?”

“Oh—” said Billy. “I forgot.” He paused. He puckered his lips, then bit his lower one, released it. “I might forget sometimes,” he admitted.

“That’s okay,” said Papa. “You might forget what to call me, but I know you know who I am,” he joked.

Billy grabbed Papa’s sleeve. He stared up at him. “Don’t worry, Dad,” he said. “I’ll never forget you.”

“I’m not worried,” said Papa. “Not one little bit.”

And they went into the house, side by side, to spread their good news.

1

Billy Miller hated his sister. At least, right now he did. Sal was crying—wailing, really—so loudly that Billy had gone to his room, shut the door, flung himself on his bed, and buried his head under his pillow. The crying continued and Billy could not escape it. The sound penetrated the pillow, then it seemed to be coming from deep inside him like an extra, throbbing, irritating pulse.

Finally, the crying stopped. Billy didn’t believe it at first. He pushed aside his pillow and cocked his head. Nothing. He rolled off his bed and tiptoed to the door. He opened it a crack. Not a sound.

Tentatively, he headed downstairs to check out the situation. He stopped on the landing and looked out the window. It was dark. The streetlight at the corner was on, illuminating the falling snow. Like dandelion fluff, the snow drifted slowly to the ground, and Billy continued quietly down to the living room.

Sal was on the couch nestled against Gabby, Sal and Billy’s babysitter. Sal was silent, but her body was heaving and shuddering in an oddly rhythmic pattern. Gabby was stroking Sal’s hair. When Gabby saw Billy she gave him a thumbs-up sign.

“Ruby’s Cupboard is back on schedule,” said Gabby. “If you’re still up for it.”

“Yes,” said Billy.

“Good,” said Gabby. “I’m hungry. I’ll help Sal wash up and then we can go.”

Sal lifted her head and swiveled it like a periscope. She seemed to be searching, seeing if Mama and Papa had magically reappeared. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were splotchy. “I cried so much I’m washed enough,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“Good point,” said Gabby. She prodded Sal playfully. “Well, let’s get our coats and hats and mittens on.”

Billy was ready in a flash. Maybe part of the evening could be salvaged. He’d had a vision as to how this night was going to be, and mostly his vision had crumbled to pieces.

It was Friday. Mama and Papa had driven to Chicago for a party at the gallery that was showing Papa’s new artwork, his assemblages. They were going to stay at a hotel in Chicago and return the next afternoon.

The plan had been that Ned was going to spend the night at Billy’s house. Gabby was going to take Billy, Ned, and Sal out for dinner. They’d have hot dogs, onion rings, and root beer. Dessert would be ice cream sundaes. And, most exciting, Billy and Ned were going to stay awake all night—something Billy had never done before. This part of the plan was a secret.

But Ned had thrown up at school during the afternoon recess, and even though he’d sworn on the phone from home that he felt fine, Mama canceled the sleepover. “I don’t want you or Sal getting sick,” she’d said to Billy, checking his forehead for a temperature. “Gabby will still take you to Ruby’s Cupboard. You’ll still have a good time.”

Billy had tried to adjust his attitude. He reminded himself how much he loved to eat out, and he reminded himself that he could stay up all night without Ned. Why not? It would still be one of the major events of his life.

But then as Mama and Papa drove away, Sal burst into tears. A delayed reaction. It was as if something inside her suddenly broke or popped or was switched on. She was hysterical. Gabby, Billy, and even the Drop Sisters were powerless to soothe her.

The gushing of tears went on.

And on.

And on.

Billy couldn’t stand it. He put his hands over his ears. He’d gone from trying to be helpful, to being annoyed, to feeling angry. “CAN. WE. GO. NOW. PLEASE?” he repeated loudly over the relentless crying.

“I’m working on it,” Gabby said calmly. “We just might have to eat here,” she told Billy.

Billy curled his lip. “NO,” he said. He stormed up to his room, hiding and seething. And that’s where he’d stayed until the crying had stopped.

At last, things were back on track. Gabby was driving Billy, Sal, and the Drop Sisters to Ruby’s Cupboard in her car.

“Isn’t the snow pretty?” asked Gabby. “It’s so feathery. Like snow in a movie.”

“It’s furry,” said Billy, staring out the window.

When he’d stepped out of the house, it was as if a curtain of peacefulness had fallen over the neighborhood. It was quiet. The air smelled wet and white.

“Will Ruby’s still be open?” asked Billy.

“Definitely,” said Gabby. “It’s not
that
late.”

To Billy, it seemed that Sal had cried for hours. He was starving. “Are you going to get a hot dog?” he asked Sal.

Instead of saying yes or no, Sal responded with a sad whimper.

“Is everything okay, Salamander?” asked Gabby.

Sal sniffled. “I’m okay. It was just a leftover cry.” She sniffled again. “But the Drop Sisters might cry. I just told them that Mama and Papa are gone.”