“You want me to tell Theresa that?”
“My Theresa thinks the world of you, Moose. Course you Irish have a way about you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” She wags her finger at me. “But if Theresa thought you needed her really badly for something-”
“Oh… like what?”
She throws her hands in the air. “Whatever it is you kids are always so busy doing. Come talk to her, will you?” she asks, sucking her lips inside her mouth like Theresa does.
I follow Mrs. Mattaman to her apartment. On the way, I see Jimmy down at the dock, tracking our progress. When he sees that I see him, his head ducks down as if he wasn’t watching. Here I am, stepping on his toes again. But what am I supposed to do? This was Mrs. Mattaman’s idea, not mine.
Why is it people always ask me to do these things anyway?
Theresa is completely under the white nubby bedcover. Not even a toe is sticking out-it’s just one big Theresa-size lump planted in the middle of her bed.
“Hey Theresa… c’mon, stick your head out, I gotta talk to you,” I say.
“Theresa isn’t here,” she whispers.
“Well, hmmm,” I say, “this is definitely Theresa’s room. I wonder where Theresa went?”
The lump is silent.
Out in the living room, Mrs. Mattaman switches the station on the radio. It makes a patchwork of high-pitched squeaks until she settles on Jack Benny.
I try again. “Look, I heard Annie wants to put together some more gangster cards. She really needs your help. Nobody knows how many bullet holes to put in Bonnie and Clyde except you.”
Still nothing. Not even a change in the wrinkle pattern over her little self.
I look around her room. What am I going to do here? If Mrs. Mattaman can’t figure this out, then how am I supposed to?
Where is Theresa’s strange stuff on Alcatraz book? I wonder. Maybe there’s something in that. Once she was sure Baby Face Nelson was hiding in the canteen pickle barrel. Another time she thought she’d found Al Capone’s pinky ring, but it was a clasp that fell off of Bea Trixle’s purse.
On her bedside table is a pad of paper. Maybe I’ll write her a note and send it under the covers. I flip through looking for a blank sheet. “Dear Theresa,” I begin on a page with a faint impression of a checkerboard. I know what this was from. Theresa drew a checkerboard so that she could play button checkers with Natalie.
Theresa understands Natalie better than any other little kid ever has. She’s able to figure out how to play with her too.
“I’m going to visit Natalie tomorrow,” I blurt out.
Just as my lips form these words, a plan begins to take shape in my mind. I could go to San Francisco to visit Natalie and then make certain I got on the 2:00 boat, the ferry Mae will be taking. Theresa could come with me. Seven-year-old little girls can get away with things that almost-thirteen-year-old boys cannot. Theresa could just hand Mae the roses… couldn’t she?
“I need help.” My voice comes out in an urgent rush. “Will you come?”
The Theresa lump moves a smidgen. The covers rearrange around her middle.
“I have to talk to Mr. Purdy, the headmaster. You could play button checkers with Natalie. That way you can keep her busy while I talk.”
“Bring a magazine,” Theresa whispers.
“Sure, but once she presses her face on each page, she’s done with the magazine. My talk with Mr. Purdy’s gonna run much longer than that.”
“Bring an index. You don’t need me.”
“I can’t read to her and talk to Mr. Purdy at the same time.”
“She’s there without me all the time,” Theresa growls.
“Yeah, but not when I’m there. If I spend my time talking to Purdy, she’s not gonna like that.”
Silence again, but there’s a different feel to this silence, like maybe Theresa is thinking about this.
I tap the flat part of the bedspread near what I think is Theresa’s leg. “Natalie is going to expect you to be there. What am I going to tell her?”
This elicits a big complicated sigh from the white bedcover. “Tell her I’m stupid. Tell her I’m the stupidest person in the whole world and she’s lucky I’m not there.”
“Theresa, you’re not stupid. You made a mistake. I make mistakes all the time. I made at least 150 mistakes in the last hour. Wait no, 151.”
Theresa’s voice is so quiet I almost don’t hear it. “He almost died.”
“Yeah and you did the right thing. You let Jimmy and me know he was in trouble, and we got him to Doc Ollie and Doc Ollie got the penny out. And now he’s fine.”
More silence.
“I wished Rocky would go away.” She can hardly get these words out.
“Yeah, okay,” I whisper back. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t love him. Do you know how many times I’ve wished Natalie would go away?” As soon as I say this my armpits begin to sweat and my hives burn. I don’t mean this. I don’t.
“Really?” Theresa whispers, her voice yearning.
My hand steadies myself on the bed. I can’t lie to Theresa, but I sure as heck don’t want to talk about this. “Sometimes I feel that way,” I admit.
The covers are moving, like she is nodding.
“But Natalie’s not going to understand any of this. All she’ll know is you aren’t there.”
“I’m a jinx,” Theresa says.
“No, you’re not.”
“Am so. That’s what Piper said.”
“Since when do you listen to her?”
“Since never,” she concedes.
“Exactly. Piper is full of crap. You of all people know that.”
The covers move again in a nodding motion. “Why do you like her then?” Theresa whispers.
“I never said I did.”
“You do, though.”
“It’s a small island. We all have to get along.”
“You
“Right now I don’t.”
This gets her. She sits up straight in bed and takes her covers off. “Why? What did she do?”
“She…” I stare into Theresa’s disheveled face. “Look, I’ll be there tomorrow on the ten a.m. I need you to come, okay? I really do.”
Theresa doesn’t answer, but I can tell by the way her eyes are looking straight up, as if to see what’s in her own head, that she’s thinking about this.
Boy, do I hope she decides to come.
13. EVERYBODY LIKES MOOSE
Sunday, August 18, 1935
The next morning I head straight for the dock, the
Once I’m down at the dock, I begin to stew. What if Theresa doesn’t come? Luckily, it isn’t long before I see her dark uncombed head poke out of her front door, her church coat and hat in her hand.
But wait. What’s she doing now? She’s going upstairs, not down. Uh-oh. She’s not headed for Annie’s house… is she?
She is.
Theresa’s decided not to come? But then why is she wearing her good clothes? Okay, she’s back outside now, tugging on Annie’s arm. Annie has her church clothes on too.
Annie’s coming? Uh-oh. And what’s Annie have with her? A bag with her baseball bat sticking out of it. She’s wearing her church clothes and she has her baseball gear?
By the time they get down to the dock, Jimmy appears. He must have been watching from the canteen. “Where are you going?” Jimmy asks Annie and Theresa.
“Gonna visit Natalie,” I tell him.
“Me too, and Annie’s coming, aren’t you, Annie?” Theresa smiles up at her.
“I thought you were never leaving your room,” Jimmy mutters.
“I had to,” Theresa explains. “Moose needs my help, don’t you, Moose?”
“And you?” Jimmy’s eyes dart to Annie. His tongue pokes his cheek out of shape. “You got your baseball gear?”
“Don’t look at me,” I say. “I have no idea why she’s bringing her baseball gear.”
“Like I believe that,” Jimmy says.
“I don’t,” I insist, watching a gull land with a live crab in its mouth. The bird sets the crab down gently, then snaps a leg off and swallows it.
“I thought I’d just see, you know, if he was at the field,” Annie explains.
“He, meaning Scout?” Jimmy asks.
