“It really is. I promise.”
She nodded like she believed my words. Then tilted toward me until our foreheads touched. I could smell her milky breath. Slowly, I rubbed her slim arm. Her skin felt so cool.
And I hoped. I hoped to goodness I had told Momma the truth.
III
The reason I even got me a summer-nonpaying-job-at-the-library is because of Aunt Linda. She used to work here—for lots of years. She knew everything there was to know about Dewey Decimal and his system. And even more about children’s books. She ran that part of the library. She loved the Decimal system so much she had herself a little parakeet in a cage that sat up on the informational bookshelf where all the world could see him. His name was Mr. Dewey. When she quit her job and left, she took Mr. Dewey with her. The library hasn’t been the same since. No chirping.
And no Aunt Linda.
“A helper at the library?” John had asked when I came in a week before school ended to find out about a job. “Any relative of Linda Mills is welcome here. But I need to interview you.”
“Okay,” I had said, trying hard not to smile. “Thank you. I mean, that’s fair.”
Shut up, mouth!
My heart thumped. Wanting to yelp for joy, but instead holding the happiness in, I waited for John. What kinda luck was this?
“You a hard worker?” he asked.
Believe you me, Momma’s taught me that if she’s taught me anything at all. “Yes, sir,” I said.
“And are you willing to come in when we need you?”
If she says yes. If Granddaddy says yes.
“As long as the bus will get me here,” I said. “We don’t have a car.”
John nodded. “I remember.”
We haven’t had a working car in a forever. When Aunt Linda left, she took hers. And right before that, Momma had the incident and now she’s not allowed to drive, what with the way she ran us into a ditch one day when she was having a difficult time. Her words. If you ask me, the judge shouldn’t have said “no driver’s license” to her. It’s hard to sob and drive and see all at the same time. And we’ve needed a car, though I have made do on foot and by using public transportation.
“We can arrange your hours to work with the bus route,” John said. He tapped his fingers together. And just like that I had a volunteer job at one of Aunt Linda’s favorite places: the Peace City Library.
One of my favorite places, too.
Now, on the bus, sitting there beside Momma, I squeezed her hand again. Not because I needed it, though I was a little nervous. Momma was taking a big step. And I was real proud of her. Proud and hopeful at the same time.
Outside the sun beat down hot, making the green of passing trees bright. The sky was clear blue except for one bit of wispy cloud. It was cool on the bus. And loud. Every time the bus driver shifted gears or stopped to pick someone up, me and Momma jerked forward and backward in our seat. Momma had plugged her ears over the noise. And she wasn’t looking at anyone, either. Just kept her face down, staring at her shoes or else the gum that was stuck to the floor.
“You’re gonna do fine,” I said to Momma, putting my mouth right next to her. Saying those words reassured me, too. I would do fine at the library. “You’ve run a cash register before and all the ringing-in stuff is done with a scanner nowadays.”
“I know, I know,” Momma said. I could feel her hand shaking. She bit at her lip. Peeked side-eyed at me.
“Remember how it’s done?”
The day Momma filled out an application at the Winn-Dixie we had watched one cashier after another. Watched how each girl had scanned items, sometimes packing a small order herself. And Momma had been okay with it. Standing there kind of tall. Holding my hand till I thought my fingers might pop off one at a time.
“Not like the old days,” Momma had said. “In the olden days we did all the work. Punched the numbers in by hand. Figured out the change. Counted it all out to the customer.”
And I had said, “See, this will be a breeze for you. It’s all automatic.”
That watching gave her courage to let me fill out the paperwork for her. Gave her the courage to let me turn it in. Then to walk her to the man giving job interviews. I waited outside his office, my fingers crossed.
The bus brakes squealed as we stopped for someone to get off. “All you have to do,” I said, squeezing her hands in mine, “is run the stuff over the reader thing and it’ll ring in the price. And someone will be there to help you. You’ll have a trainer. And a bagger too, for the first few days. They won’t leave you alone.”
“Still, it’s scary,” Momma said. Her head wobbled on her neck, like maybe it might fall from its perch, roll up the aisle and then down the steps of the bus. “I only worked a year after your daddy left us. And then with Granddaddy’s money I didn’t have to work at all. Remember that?”
Yes, I did. We had never been rich. Never. But there had been enough. Until the spending.
“You remember Linda? She could do any kind of work. Any kind.”
I looked away from Momma. Of course I remembered my aunt.
It was right then that I knew why I wanted this job.
Yes, there might be a friend. A girlfriend I could stay up all night talking to. But what I hoped, really hoped, was that my going down to the library would make Aunt Linda show up. Would make her come home.
Come back.
For a moment I saw us jogging along the beach together. The wind blew so hard that sand got in my mouth and I was still crunching
