Bigger than a Bread Box Page 5

  So I pushed a chair under the doorknob like people do on TV. I wrestled the bread box out of the suitcase and set it on my bed. I took out all the money, smoothed and folded the bills, then bound them in bundles using ponytail holders. It felt good to get everything organized. I buried the bundles under my clothes in the suitcase. After that I sat down on the bed, cross-legged, and stared at the empty bread box.

  I wished for a bunch of things right away, things I’d been wanting forever. I wished for an iPod and got it. I wished for a supersize bag of Twizzlers and ate them while I wished for a phone of my own so I wouldn’t have to ask Gran for hers anymore. When the phone arrived, it was purple.

  The wishing was nuts. Practically anything I wanted I could have! It was like my birthday, with no bad gifts.

  Then it occurred to me that I’d have to explain where I was getting all these things, so I stopped and tried to think of tiny things I wanted. I knew if I wished for something hard to hide—like a computer or a kitten—I was sure to get busted. I tried to think of small things worth having. I couldn’t think of many. What was tiny and wonderful?

  At last I said, “I wish for … a diamond.”

  A diamond?

  I reached across the bed and opened the box. Inside it was a diamond, a real diamond! I—Rebecca Rose Shapiro—owned a diamond of my own! How crazy was that?

  I sat holding my diamond cupped in my hand for a bit. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. What do you do with a diamond? Especially a diamond you can’t tell anyone about?

  I climbed off the bed and carefully placed the diamond in a tiny box on the dresser, a little pink butterfly-shaped box that had probably been my mom’s when she was a kid. I hid the Twizzlers bag in the suitcase with the money and the phone. I set the iPod—which had come loaded with songs I’d mostly never heard of before—to shuffle. Then I lay back on my pink pillow and listened to the music, glancing now and then at the unfamiliar names of the bands.

  I really liked a group called The Flaming Lips, even though I thought they had a weird name. Their songs were kind of bouncy and floaty, and I was so tired from my late night that I fell asleep listening to them. I was still lying there, snoozing on my pink bed with the plastic red taste of Twizzlers on my tongue, when a song woke me up. The song. Dad’s song. The song that was emblazoned in my brain more deeply than any other song ever could be. I heard it and opened my eyes.

  It was the song that the three of us—on good nights when my parents were still getting along, before Lew was even born—had danced to in the living room before bed. Mom would dim the lights and Dad would push PLAY on the CD player on the fireplace mantel and we’d all dance. I’d stand on the coffee table and my parents would hold my hands. I’d belt out the words. I knew them by heart, which was funny, because I’d never really thought about the words before, though I’d sung the song all my life.

  Suddenly wide-awake, I stared at the ceiling as I sang along under my breath. I couldn’t stop myself. What a weird coincidence! That song, sent to me now, as if by magic. I felt like there was a ghost in the room. How had the bread box known?

  Got a wife and kids in Baltimore, Jack.

  I went out for a ride and I never went back …

  I’d always loved to shout out the word Baltimore with my dad. As if the fact that it was about our city made it somehow our song, as if the fact that anyone would write a song about our dirty city made it less dirty. Made us famous. Made us matter.

  I sang along with those words, and it was like I’d never heard them before in my life. How had I never paid attention until now? Kids? Never went back? I’d never thought about the kids before, or the never going back. It had only been a song to jump around to with the lights down. It was a loud song, a dancing kind of song. The kind of song you played air guitar to. Dad always pretended he had a saxophone.

  I stopped singing along and listened carefully.

  Like a river that don’t know where it’s flowin’,

  I took a wrong turn and I just kept goin’ …

  Who would do that? Keep going after a wrong turn? What kind of person stayed away? And why? The voice in the song sounded so sad, so hungry, even though the music was fast. Why didn’t he just go back? I thought about my mom. I couldn’t help it.

  Everybody’s got a hungry heart.

  Everybody’s got a hungry heart.

  Lay down your money and you play your part.

  Everybody’s got a hu-u-ungry heart.

  I pulled out my earbuds and buried the iPod beneath the pillow, but I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was wrong.

  I tried to remind myself of Dad on the phone, saying that he was looking for a job, that he might even go back to teaching, which would make Mom so happy. I thought about Dad saying he missed me. I thought about my mom saying she just needed to think things over. I reminded myself that I had a bread box full of wishes. It would all be fine. Everything would work out. I told myself that.

  But underneath all that was the song, repeating. I couldn’t block the memory of the three of us, dancing in the warm light of the living room. My parents laughing. My mother’s head tossed back so that her hair hung down her back. My father’s big warm hand holding my hand, holding me up, balanced, so that I didn’t fall off the coffee table. I remembered knowing that I would never fall off. I knew, I knew, I knew that they loved each other. Didn’t we all want to be happy still? Together? How could they ever work things out if they weren’t together? Why were we so far apart?

  Right then my mom startled me, yelling out, “Rebecca, please come help us set the table for dinner!” And I remembered why.

  Even so, I headed for the door, because suddenly I needed to get away from the song, and my thoughts. However I felt about Mom, I wanted to be in the warm kitchen with everyone. I didn’t want to be alone, but I wasn’t going to talk to her, like I had at breakfast. I wasn’t going to talk to her until she fixed things and took us home.

  Still, it was nice to eat the chicken noodle casserole that she and Gran had made. It was good to hear them talking about nothing much. It felt normal. I sat next to Lew and watched him make a mess of his plate. I couldn’t help laughing at him, all covered in chicken glop. Whatever else was different, Lew was the same. He was two and I was twelve, but we were both stuck in this place together. We played I Spy as we ate, and then I wiped his face and hands. After dinner, Gran and I read picture books to Lew on the couch, while Mom did the dishes.

  I didn’t touch the bread box again that night.

  CHAPTER 7

  The next morning, Gran woke me up again, but this time she didn’t sing. She didn’t say anything. In fact, I’m not even sure quite why I woke up. I guess I could just feel the weight of her, sitting on my bed, silently waiting for me to wake up. It was weird.

  I opened one eye. “You aren’t going to sing at me again today?” I asked her.

  “Saturday,” she said. “Doesn’t seem right on Saturday. Everyone else is still in bed, so I thought I’d let you rest a little longer. I was just looking at you, thinking how much you remind me of your mother when she was your age.”

  I shifted and rolled over so that she wasn’t sitting on my foot. She moved and sat on my other one.

  “Actually,” I said, closing my eyes again, “I look a lot more like Dad. Also, this isn’t really sleeping. You woke me up, and now you’re sitting on my foot.”

  “Oh,” she added, shifting her weight back to the first foot. “Well, generosity was my plan, but then I came in to watch you sleep—because that’s the weird sort of thing grandmothers do—and I realized I wanted to talk to you about something. So here we are.”

  “Okay,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “Well,” Gran said, “with all the commotion, it makes sense that you’d forget. I mean, you’re a kid, and there’s been a lot going on. Nobody’s mad at you or anything.… I don’t want to make you feel bad at all … and I didn’t say
anything at first.…”

  “Mad at me for what?” I asked.

  “Your mom’s birthday,” said Gran.

  I sat up the rest of the way. “It’s today?” The last thing I wanted to do was celebrate my mom.

  Gran shook her head.

  “Well, then, when is it?” I asked, falling back into my pillows.

  “It was last week.”

  “Last week?” I sat up again. “But nobody reminded me. Nobody said anything.”

  “Well,” she sighed, “it is possible you would have just remembered on your own. It isn’t like you’re five years old anymore.” I started to protest, to argue, but she held up a hand and continued. “But you’re right. Nobody said anything, or did anything, and I think that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Her birthday was Tuesday.”

  “Tuesday.” I thought back, counting the days. Tuesday had been the day before Suitcase Day.

  “Don’t feel bad, kiddo. It really isn’t your fault. You could have remembered, and that would have been nice, but you aren’t really the issue. Your dad blew it big-time.”

  “But is that why we’re here? Because he forgot her birthday? That’s an awful reason, and anyway, it seems like she’d been planning—”

  Gran smiled a weak smile. “Honey, I doubt he just forgot. I’m betting he was sending her a message loud and clear, but even if he just forgot, it made her feel bad. Anyway, no reason is ever the reason for something like this. It was the excuse your mom needed to make her move. She hasn’t been … very happy. I guess you could say she’d been weighing her options.”

  “Why?” I asked, thinking about the fight they’d had when the lights went off, remembering the things Mom had said in the dark. Without meaning to, I reached for my locket and clutched it in one hand.

  Gran’s eyes followed my fingers. “You have to ask her about that, but I think her well kind of ran dry. Nobody else was helping to fill it. So she got tired of drawing water for everyone else. You get me?”

  “Not really,” I said. Wasn’t it a mom’s job to get the water?

  Gran sighed. “It’s funny, Rebecca, how badly moms need presents. They do a lot they never get thanked for, so little things become big. Presents matter. In good ways and in bad ways. I betcha a lot of marriages have come undone after birthdays or anniversaries. Come to think of it, I almost left your grandfather one Christmas.”

  “Because he didn’t get you a present?”

  “Well, more because he didn’t get your mom a present, and because he had been a grouch all dang day, and because he never put the tree up even though he said he would. But that’s another story, and anyway, he left a few months later. It was for the best, really. It wasn’t like I couldn’t support myself, and besides, he wasn’t very much fun.”

  I tried to digest all that. I didn’t know much about my grandfather. In fact, this was as much as anyone had ever told me about him directly. I only knew that he’d gone away when Mom was a kid and that he’d been a lawyer, and bald, and that his name had been John, and that we didn’t really talk about him.

  Now I wondered if there would ever be a good time to ask Gran more about him. But before I could think more about it, Gran changed the subject back to Mom’s birthday. She handed me a ten-dollar bill and said, “You don’t have to get her anything fancy, but here, I thought maybe today or tomorrow we could run around town, and you could pick her out a little present. Surprise her with it at a special dinner. Make her feel good.”

  I scowled. I wasn’t feeling so mad at my mom anymore, not like I had been a few days ago, but I wasn’t ready to do nice things for her either. If I gave her a present, she’d think things were all fine again. She’d expect me to start talking to her again for real. I wasn’t ready for that.

  “Look, kiddo,” said Gran. “Your mom has made a mess of things, but she loves you more than anything in the world, and she’s having a hard time too right now. This isn’t easy on her.”

  “Then she shouldn’t have done it!” I said.

  “That might be true,” said Gran. “But sometimes it doesn’t matter whether someone is right or wrong. Sometimes you just have to love them when they need you.”

  “I’m not sure I can right now.”

  “Maybe you can try seeing this as a chance for you to grow up a little, Rebecca. By which I mean … maybe you can try to fake it.”

  I scowled again.

  “You can be mad at her all you want. You have that right. But happy or sad, you’re going to have to do some stretching. She’ll need help with Lew, and even if your parents work things out, nothing will be the same when you get home. You’re not a little girl anymore. This changes things. You and your mom are going to be partners now, in a way. Are you ready for that?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  “Well, then, get sure,” said Gran. “Now show your mom you understand, and get her some silly thing so we can have a birthday dinner for her tomorrow night. It doesn’t matter what it is. A coffee mug. Some bath salts. A candle. Whatever it is people get their moms these days. I certainly don’t know what that is. But it’ll be a very big deal to her, I’ll betcha. And that will make all our lives easier.”

  “Fine. I’ll get her something,” I sulked.

  “Good girl,” said Gran. “Smart girl.”

  “But I’m still not talking to her,” I added.

  “Suit yourself. That’ll only make things harder for you,” said Gran.

  I didn’t think so. “Anyway, you know what?” I said, looking up at my grandmother. “I talked to Dad, and he cleaned the house. Also he’s looking for a job. A good one.”

  Gran sighed. “I hope for everyone’s sake that’s true. I like your dad. I always have liked him. He’s basically a good guy. But sometimes, Rebecca, a person goes so far down a road, they can’t find the energy to walk back the other way.” Then Gran stood up and walked out of the room.

  I took the ten dollars, even though I didn’t need it. Then I decided to spend the entire day watching TV alone. In my room. On the mini TV I wished for next. It was a risky wish, but I thought I deserved it. When it arrived in my room, it was kind of old and dusty, so I figured I could always say I’d found it in the attic. That was very nearly true.

  CHAPTER 8

  The next day was Sunday, and everyone slept in—except Lew, who came into my room, dragging his blanket, and crawled into bed with me. After Mom and Gran woke up, we all walked to a coffee shop called Joe’s for a late breakfast. Joe’s was full of broken-down velvet couches, weird cartoony art, and scratched coffee tables. It was colder outside than it had been all week, and windier, almost like home. A reminder that winter was coming, even though the trees still looked like fall. I wore my coat.

  A guy with messy, complicated hair was working behind the counter. He had a cool dragon tattoo on his neck, and he looked mean, but he seemed friendly when he asked what we wanted. I ordered a chocolate muffin, which is just a cupcake without icing. When I sat down to eat it, my new phone and the big wad of money in my back pockets made it uncomfortable to sit, even on the squishy sofa. I wasn’t sure why I’d brought the phone along, since I couldn’t exactly use it in front of Mom and Gran, but you never know when you’ll need to make a call.

  Lew had fresh-squeezed tangerine juice and part of my mom’s scone, and he made a huge mess all over the carpet, but nobody seemed to care. While I helped him clean up the crumbs, Mom read the paper and Gran just settled back into the couch. It all felt very Sunday.

  After a while, Gran winked at me and said to my mom, “I think maybe Rebecca would like to go off by herself for a bit. Poor kid’s been stuck with us old folks and babies all morning!”

  “I not a baby,” said Lew, pouting.

  Mom set down the paper. “I’m not so sure. She doesn’t know the area at all.”

  “I’m twelve, Mom,” I said. “What do you think will happen to me if I leave for a measly hour? Anyway, Baltimore is way rougher than Atlanta!” I wasn’t s
o sure if that was actually true. The guy in the biker jacket, muttering to himself by the door, kind of gave me the creeps.

  “Give her an hour, Annie,” said Gran firmly, laying a hand on my mom’s arm. “The village runs only two blocks in either direction. Not much trouble to get into, and she’ll be careful. Right, Rebecca? Look both ways?”

  I nodded.

  With a big, exasperated sigh, my mom said yes and went back to her paper. So I walked out of the coffee shop. The door creaked behind me when I shut it.

  On the street, I felt invisible but also tingly at the thought of being completely on my own in a place like this. Most of the buildings housed funky-looking bars that weren’t open yet, and most of the people who walked past me looked like they were in rock bands. Everyone seemed to be either moving too quickly or too slowly. A lot of people were walking dogs. The dogs all looked strangely related, shovel-headed, with thick, strong bodies, either black or brown.

  I stopped to pet one of the dogs. The pretty lady holding his leash smiled at me. “His name is Petey. He likes you,” she said as the dog licked at my face. His warm breath and his whiskers tickled me, and I decided that if I ever got home, I might ask my dad for a dog.

  After that, I walked slowly down the line of shops, staring in the windows. In the only bar open at eleven o’clock in the morning, a woman with purple hair was playing a banjo while the guy beside her, in overalls and an old-fashioned mustache, played an electric guitar. The people watching them were eating omelets and drinking cans of beer. I thought that was weird, but I liked the music. The lady had a soft, pretty voice that reminded me of campfires.

  I walked past the window of a gift shop and was drawn in by some blue pottery. I wandered around in the shop for about five minutes, but even with the amount of money in my pocket, it was too expensive for Mom’s gift. If I spent fifty dollars on a vase, Gran would wonder what was going on. Before leaving the store, I took a deep whiff of the warm candles-and-wood smell. It was a nice place, and I wished I had someone with me to show it to. They had a wall of goofy, dirty greeting cards by the door. I knew if Mary Kate were here, we’d read them to each other and laugh at the bad words and funny photos. I made a mental note to email Mary Kate later. For some reason, I was nervous to call her. I didn’t know what I’d say. There was too much to say.