Miles from Ordinary Read online

  “What?” I said.

  “Your momma got to that party and danced on a coffee table for all to see. She kept those shoes on and danced!”

  My momma had done that? No way!

  “I was so embarrassed,” Aunt Linda said. “But, also, I was so proud of her. There was no one like your mother, Lacey. No one. And man, did we ever have a good time.”

  “Then why?” My hands were a tight ball in my lap.

  “She’s always been a little sad,” Aunt Linda said. “Even then.” She shook her head. “Momma’s leaving and not taking us was tough on both of us. But harder on your momma. She became the mother, sort of. Doing what mothers do, cooking, cleaning.” Aunt Linda paused. “And your grandfather did strange things sometimes.”

  I hadn’t asked Aunt Linda what. I already knew a bit of that.

  Maybe Momma was right, I thought as the bus rocked and swayed toward the library. Maybe staying away from the world was good. If people acted like the Tattoo Guy all the time why be a part of that?

  I rested my head on the seat back and wondered at Momma. I said a prayer in my heart for her. That she would be okay. That she would make it. That she would love her job. That she would be her quirky self once again, dancing on a coffee table in new high-heel shoes, at least for me to witness. That who she was would step from the past, like a ghost splitting the skin of a being, and she would be okay again.

  Maybe, I thought, maybe she would like this job so much she’d ask for extra hours. Maybe this job would fix her up.

  It was a nice thought. Comfortable.

  It surprised me good when Aaron plopped down in the seat behind me.

  I popped my head up, turned, and glared at him.

  “We don’t live too far from each other,” he said, like he couldn’t see my squint-eyed angry look. He smiled full on, his face so bright I almost had to glance away. “We go to the same school, too. Do you remember me? We were in English together last year. With Mr. Humphrey. I talked to you then? Asked you about homework and stuff?” Aaron slung his hair to the side with a jerk of his head. It slid back into his eyes.

  I needed to stay angry. Not let them hurt me. I peered over my shoulder at him. Why, I would hate him too, just for sitting near Tattoo Guy. I regretted all the looks we had shared during the bus ride. But he was so cute. So hot. Such a hottie. Aaron’s long sandy blond hair hung loose, dropping to his shoulders. It curled some at the bottom.

  “I was in Mr. Averett’s homeroom? Aaron Ririe?” He leaned over the seat a little, his tanned arms near my neck. I moved to face him better.

  “So?” I said. There was a nasty feeling crawling around inside me like a worm. It was all Tattoo Guy’s fault.

  And Momma’s.

  No! Not Momma’s. Tattoo Guy’s.

  Aaron didn’t even flinch at my rudeness. “Do you remember me? I said hi to you a few times? And talked to you about Great Expectations?” He paused. Shook his head, then said, “I hated reading that book.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I love that book,” I said. “And I remember you.” All the girls chattering about him and his skater friends and Jace Isom. I felt my face warm up thinking about Jace. That group was hard to forget. In class Aaron spoke so low you could almost not hear him. He smiled a lot.

  The whole ride today he had seemed nice.

  Until the Tattoo Guy called out.

  “Cool.” He grinned, showing white teeth that were a little crooked. “I live across the street from you? Down a few houses?”

  Why was everything he said a question?

  He slung his hair from his eyes again. “You know, in that newer subdivision?”

  Me and Momma, we live in an old place. Our house is so ancient that when the wind blows Momma says it’s spirits running through looking for peace. “Granddaddy,” she says on bad nights, “I hear Granddaddy searching.” When there’s a storm, and the wind shakes the walls like a thousand hands I’m not so sure I don’t hear Granddaddy, too.

  “I skate in front of your place?” Aaron’s face turned red like he was running out of energy. His voice went soft the way butter gets when you leave it out of the fridge too long. Like he was embarrassed for something he’d done. Or my not saying anything. Well, good!

  Good?

  A horrible thought came into my head. Maybe, maybe, he had heard Momma. Had seen her during one of her frightened evenings. Had she climbed his front porch? Knocked on his front door? Told people to beware the evil that was coming to destroy the world? The thought horrified me. The thought sealed my lips even tighter.

  Please God, don’t let Momma have paid his family a visit.

  “Okay then,” Aaron said, and shifted like he might get up.

  Speak, Lacey, I thought. Now. Or he’ll leave.

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah,” I said. My voice sounded like I needed a sip of water. “I know about where you live. And I’ve seen you, too. You know.” I pointed to his skateboard. “With that.”

  When I realized that Aaron Ririe’s family had moved into the new subdivision a few years back, I’d taken to watching the street in the late afternoons. He sometimes skated in front of my house, most of the time with his guy friends. There were five or six of them. Jace Isom was there, too. They laughed loud, skated hard.

  Sometimes.

  Sometimes at night, when the house settled in and before Momma called for me, I tried on the idea of me skating with that Jace Isom. In my imaginations he would say, “Good job, Lacey. You’re a natural.” He would touch my hand the way boys touched girls in school. His words would be kind. Not the things he had said.

  Again, the memory of my dreams caused my face to burn. I looked away from Aaron. We were both quiet a moment. Did he know what Jace had said?

  “Do you know Jace Isom?” Aaron said.

  Could he read my mind? Like Momma? Like Granddaddy?

  “He was in your homeroom, I think. And some other class?”

  “I know him,” I said. Had the air-conditioning quit working on the bus? Why, it felt like I had stuck my head in an oven under the broiler. Knowing Jace Isom was a kinda truth. Kinda because Jace and I were in the same classes just a week ago when school let out, but I’d never really talked to him. Or anyone in our eighth-grade class for that matter.

  But you thought about him. And you looked at him. He called you “Freak.”

  You are a freak!

  I’m not.

  You are!

  The bus let out a sigh and I stared at the huge tinted window, not seeing anything outside. In the reflection of the glass I seemed like a ghost, a freakin’ ghost.

  I shook my head. Don’t think of that, Lacey. Don’t think of Jace or Tattoo Guy or any boy for that matter.

  “My stop’s coming up,” I said. Ahead the library squatted like a coquina-rock bug, half of it on land, the other half perched out over the Peace River on huge concrete legs that had been driven into the shallow water. I could smell the ocean now. I pulled the buzzer. The bell sounded.

  “No way,” Aaron said. His face broke out in a wide grin. “Mine, too.”

  “No it isn’t.” My face went from hot to cold with his words. He was making fun of me. Like the other kids in school. He must know about Momma. It seemed at that moment, sitting on the plastic seat of the bus, everyone knew about Momma. Well, I wasn’t going to take it! I wouldn’t!

  I glared right in Aaron’s face, something I would have never done in school. Never. In school, after Jace, I kept my stares to myself, where no one would notice.

  “I swear this is where I get off,” Aaron said, raising his hands like the truth might be on his palms. He let out a little laugh. His voice stayed soft. “Skate park.” He tapped his board to prove what he said was true. I saw his arm was road-rashed near the elbow. “I go almost every day. And I skate at home. But you know that already.”

  I rocked forward with the movement of the bus. I gazed at Aaron good. His eyes were the color of melted Rolos—a smooth chocolate with mixed-in gold.
Maybe he wasn’t like Jace. Or the others. Maybe …

  He is. You know he is. They are friends.

  Maybe not. I mean, I knew they were friends. But maybe he was different. I could try to trust him. I could try. Momma was trying by getting a job. I could try by giving Aaron a chance.

  He stood. “Where are you going?”

  Answer, mouth. “To work.” A birdlike feeling fluttered in my stomach when I said those words. I relaxed a little. “I’m going to work in the library.”

  “Oh yeah? You have a job there?” Aaron said. “Cool.”

  “Yes. Cool.” It was cool. I pulled up my backpack and scooted around a little to loosen my legs from the seat. They were stuck from the humidity and heat, even though air-conditioning filled the bus with a soft hum. I was embarrassed to leave two wet prints shaped like triangles behind. Maybe Aaron wouldn’t notice.

  The bus slowed with a squeal. I stood. If I didn’t look back, he might not see my sweat. There was so much to worry about. So much. No wonder Momma couldn’t handle this. Too many things. Lots of them icky. Aaron came up close behind me, bumping into me as the bus braked.

  “I love you,” the Tattoo Guy said, his voice riding up to where I stood.

  It felt like my eyeballs bulged from my head, like a cartoon character’s.

  “Shut the eff up,” Aaron said. Only he said the real swear, the real word. Now my eyes did bulge.

  Wicked. He’s wicked.

  “Just ignore him,” Aaron said. “What’s your name?” He stood close to me. Close enough that I could feel the rough top of his board on my arm.

  I didn’t answer. As soon as the doors opened I hurried from the bus, stepping into heavy air that smelled of salt and water. The sun felt good on my face. I closed my eyes and people stepped off the bus around me.

  If today was going to be a good day, a different day, then I had to make it that way, bad words, Tattoo Guys and all. Opening my eyes, I squinted in the light.

  “Lacey,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “My name. It’s Lacey.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

  I looked toward the library almost glowing in the Florida heat.

  He knows, he knows! He’s one of them.

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “So you’d tell me.”

  “What?” I tossed my hair over my shoulder. It fell like a heated blanket on my back. “Why would you do that?”

  He shrugged, looked down at the sidewalk, then back at me. “Just wanted a reason to say something. Asking your name seemed good enough.”

  “Even though you knew it?”

  He leaned toward me some. I made sure not to step away, not to flinch. “It was an excuse, Lacey,” he said. “An excuse to talk to you.”

  “Oh.” He wanted to talk to me? Me? The bus roared away, leaving behind its dirty smell. I stood there staring at Aaron. My heart thumped.

  The sun made the air seem full of foil-reflecting brightness. I needed to get inside. I needed to start working. Help people. Work long enough to stop my worry of Momma. Maybe even relive this conversation with Aaron who seemed nice. Nice to me.

  Maybe, I thought, maybe summer was going to mean lots of wonderful things. A job, Momma working, and a friend of my own. Maybe Aaron didn’t know a thing about us. Maybe he had missed it all.

  “I better go,” I said after soaking in the sun a moment or two more. “I don’t want to be late.”

  Aaron moved up next to me. “How long are you working, Lacey?”

  Behind us traffic moved toward the beach. A horn blared. A salty breeze blew in from the water. I could hear the cry of seagulls.

  Answer, Lacey, answer!

  “About four hours,” I said. I backed toward the steps of the library. “I better go in.”

  Aaron stood still, watching me. “Okay, bye,” he said. He didn’t move.

  “I’ll see you later,” I said.

  “Sounds good.” Still, he didn’t move.

  I stopped on the library steps.

  “See ya,” he said. Then he spun around and walked off down MacClenny toward the big tree park, where ancient magnolias had grown so huge the limbs had to be propped up with metal poles.

  I let out a huge breath of air. A good thing! This was a good thing! I felt—powerful. I marched myself (with power) toward the library where I’d dust videos (with power) and help old ladies reach novels off the top shelves (with power) and clean candy off the covers of books (with even more power and maybe some elbow grease). At least that’s what I thought I’d be doing. Whatever my job might be, my day would only get better.

  I’d gone up four steps and was almost inside when I heard Aaron call, “Hey, Lacey? I’ll ride back with you. On the bus.”

  I shielded my eyes to look at him, not sure what to say. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” Aaron grinned at me.

  I grinned, too. Aaron waved a little. Then threw his board onto the ground, ran after it, jumped on and rode away. The wheels made click-click sounds on the sidewalk.

  For several moments, again, I stood in the heat of the day. I faced the sun. Today was a wonderful day. A terrific day. It was going to be different.

  “You are gonna make it, Lacey,” I said.

  I climbed the rest of the stairs, my face feeling strange for all the smiling I’d done in the last few minutes. I stopped long enough to pet the huge marble lion that pawed at air. Then I went into the library.

  V

  That first whiff of the library sent me straight back to Aunt Linda. I almost expected her to come from behind a stack of books like that had been her hiding place for the last year. Almost expected her to say, “I was just kidding when I left, Lacey.” Or, “I’ve been here all along. Right here. Hiding!”

  I glanced around, just in case. I could see the ocean from here, out to the east. Saw the adult section of the library, the computers where several teenagers sat, and the tables where an older man read the newspaper.

  Was he looking at the tornado article? Was he wondering how a whole family could die at the same time? Or was he reading something others would think normal? Something not scary. Not sad.

  One last glance told me Aunt Linda wasn’t here. That book smell made me miss her something awful. For the second time in fifteen minutes, tears stung my eyes.

  I’m gonna cry, I thought with surprise. I squeezed my hands tight. Pressed my fists into my hip bones. I’m gonna cry.

  “No you aren’t,” I whispered. “Oh, no you are not.” I don’t cry anymore, not even when I get hurt. It doesn’t help anything. Just plugs your nose and makes your face blotchy. Believe you me, I’ve seen that look too many times on Momma’s face to want it on my own. That’s why I was surprised at my own almost blubbering. Instead of boobing, though, I took in another breath, pulling in that Aunt Linda smell, and walked to where John sat behind the counter.

  “Lacey,” he said. He smiled like he was happy to see me. “Glad you could make it. And on time. Just like Linda.”

  I nodded. Again tears threatened. I hadn’t realized I missed her so much.

  This stinking library. It wasn’t a Band-Aid. It was a jab at an old wound. The picking of a deep scab. I heard Aunt Linda’s voice in my head: “Baby, you can sit on my lap as long as your feet don’t touch the floor.” She told me that any time she read to me. I always made sure after I hit a growth spurt to tuck my knees up high so not even one of my toes touched the ground.

  “You ready to work?” John said, he clapped his hands together with an airy pop.

  “Ready,” I said. I could do this. “What are my duties?”

  John gave me a funny look then said, “Your duties. Hmmm. First thing, empty those carts. You sure you know the Dewey decimal system?”

  “Since I could walk.” Okay, an exaggeration, but not by much. Momma knows it too, thanks to Aunt Linda. Once, a long time ago, I helped Aunt Linda arrange all the books on her bedroom shelves just like Dewey Decimal would have done it
. I couldn’t have been more than seven.

  “I thought you’d want to do the kids’ section. So have at it.”

  “All right.”

  Three pale green carts waited. I grasped the cool metal handle of one and pulled it across the speckled carpet. The wheels squeaked out eep, eep, eep sounds. Toward the children’s section. Toward Aunt Linda’s old job. My heart thumped with excitement. The tears were gone, dried away.

  In my head I heard Aunt Linda’s voice, soft like a night breeze. “Lacey-girl, books take you anywhere. Any place you want to go. You remember that always.”

  And I have.

  From the moment I watched Aunt Linda drive away in that old gold-colored Mazda of hers, I’ve been reading. When I can, I mean. When Momma doesn’t need me. Miss Docker, our school librarian, said I was her very best customer, and I bet I was.

  Now, I’d be working where my aunt had worked. Surrounded by books of all kinds. As long as Momma allowed it. As long as Momma could work at the Winn-Dixie. As long as Momma was okay.

  VI

  Being in the library brought memories of Aunt Linda back heavy. There I was pulling that old cart around and it was like Aunt Linda sat on the big rocker in the corner. I mean, I didn’t really see her, like Momma sometimes sees Granddaddy, who’s been dead since my birth. It was like I remembered her being here.

  Aunt Linda with kids around her at story time. Even the big kids would kneel at her feet as she read. Dressed up in a pioneer dress if she read something from the Little House series. Or with long fake red nails if she read Holes aloud. Or with a fat mane of golden mop hair when she read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

  I have a secret. It’s one that turns me cold, just at the remembering. It’s one that splits at my heart if I give it too much thought.

  I know why Aunt Linda left.

  Momma has no idea I listened in on their fights. Can’t imagine what she would say if she knew.