The Graham Cracker Plot (10 page)

Through the living room window we saw Ashley slow dancing with her arms wrapped around herself. Once we got close, I recognized the song. “Oh, Darling.” The Beatles.

Ashley spun in a circle. Her skirt and hair whirled. She was beautiful, a spinning doll with silk ribbons for hair. She lifted her arms and moved like a ballerina. Then she did something that made me feel sad. She wrapped her arms around the floor lamp. She swayed and danced with it and rested her head on the shade. She'd found a dance partner.

Then I had an idea so perfect my head about popped off my body. The Chemist should marry Ashley! He described himself as “totally chill,” so he could handle her when the crazies hit. He'd just wait it out, wait until everything was fine again. He'd like her music and her pink highlights. And her eyes. Ashley's eyes held a secret.
Guess who I was before this. Guess.

 

DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

As soon as Graham and I stepped inside the house, Ashley grabbed our hands.

“The church people have an actual record player! We escaped to heaven!” She jumped up and down and clapped. “Do you like to dance?”

Graham said no at the exact time I said yes.

I twirled in a circle, just like she'd done. Except I kept my hands pressed on my sides so the granny gown didn't flip and show my undies. “Once, the Chemist took me to the Rattlesnake and it was almost the time when kids have to leave. When is that, Graham?”

“Nine o'clock.”

“Right. Almost nine. The Chemist played country songs on the jukebox and taught me the Electric Slide. People watched and clapped and the bartender didn't kick me out until nine-thirty.”

“The Chemist likes music?” Ashley asked.

“The Chemist loves music! He loves music so much he even likes Mozart, and nobody likes Mozart, except music teachers.”

She squeezed my hand. “Does the Chemist like to dance?”

“He dances. He sings. He plays drums. He
loves
music.”

“Does he love cats? Because I want a cat. I want to own a pet store.”

I shrugged. I thought,
Thank God the church people don't have any cats!
And,
I hope she doesn't see the ponies.

Ashley turned around and fumbled with the records. She started a new song and cranked the sound. “Twist and Shout.”

Ashley grabbed one of Graham's arms, and I grabbed the other, and we twisted and shouted all over that house. Ashley rolled up
Ladies Home Journal
and sang into it like a microphone. We twisted our way upstairs into the bedroom. The church people had the best jumping bed ever—huge, fluffy, white. We jumped so high we could touch the ceiling.

When the song ended, Ashley went downstairs to start it over. She pulled Fred so he stood on his hind legs, and we twisted with Fred. We twisted around the refrigerator and on the dining room table.

Then we collapsed on the couch, breathing hard. I promised myself we'd clean up all the mud in the morning. I felt bad about the fluffy snow-white bedspread. Hopefully the powder fresh dryer sheets would erase the mud and make it sparkle.

“I'm making something to eat,” Graham said. “You slugs want anything?”

Ashley dropped her head into her hands. “I'm getting one of my headaches.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It hurts. It's gonna get worse. I can tell.”

Graham looked at me and mouthed, “Now what?”

“Go see if she's got pills in her suitcase,” I whispered, so my voice wouldn't hurt her head even more.

Ashley looked at me. “You're really bossy, you know that?”

I could tell she was hurting—her eyes were glassy and red—so I didn't argue. I didn't know if a brain injury headache was like a headache from too much vodka. Aspirin, water, coffee, and greasy food help a vodka headache.

Graham shook a bottle in front of her face. “Is this it?”

Ashley squinted. “I think so.”

“How many do you take?”

“It's on the white sheet taped by the sink,” Ashley said.

Graham sighed. “We're not at your apartment. There's no sheet.”

I took the bottle and read the label. “I can't pronounce it, but it says to take one every six hours as needed. I guess it's needed, huh?”

Ashley swallowed the pill and curled up on the couch with Fred. “Will you rub my temples?” she asked. With her head on my lap, I rubbed circles. Her wig shifted, revealing tufts of hair and patches of scars. On the top of her forehead, there wasn't a scar, really, but a small indent. If she lay straight on her back, you could put a marble in that indent, and the marble wouldn't roll away.

“That's nice, Daffodil. You're so lovely.”

“So are you, Ashley.”

She smiled, eyes closed.

Graham came back with marshmallows and fat pretzel sticks. I rounded up pillows and blankets for beds while Graham turned off the lights. Then we mowed through the food while Ashley slept.

“Who invented the pretzel?” Graham wondered. “Stupid snack. Flour and salt. And it doesn't even have salt, but salt
pellets
! Who goes to a store, walks past the chips and cheese balls and cookies and thinks, ‘Can't wait to get me some pretzels!'”

“People who sell beer,” I said. “At the Rattlesnake you get mountains of pretzels. The Chemist says you get thirsty and drink more beer.”

Ashley lifted her head and said with a scratchy voice, “You shouldn't have to pay water bills. Water's everywhere. It should be free.” Then she closed her eyes, like she'd been sleep talking.

As we settled into our indoor campground, Fred ate marshmallows and pretzels and Graham counted money.

“I'm not sure he should be eating that stuff. He must have dog food in the barn,” I said. “Where are those Beefy Bits?”

“You screwed me up. Now I gotta start over. One, two…”

I took the bags from Fred, but man, dogs eat fast. The marshmallows were
gone
. I slid the pretzel bag under the sofa because I was too tired to go to the kitchen. I crawled under my blanket again. I thought about Mom and the Chemist. Who would I miss most? I figured the answer didn't matter, because the Chemist needed
help
. Mom didn't. At least she had Alex, even though he was old and had a ring of hair. Alex told her things like, she's smart enough to get through nursing school, she deserves a good job, and he's proud of her. Which is way better than old boyfriends who said stuff like, “Can you make some tacos, babe?”

So the answer was pretty easy. The Chemist.

And I really missed the Chemist. I missed how we'd sing together back when he had me for sleepover custody. He'd tuck me into the couch and we'd sing “Two of Us” until I couldn't keep my eyes open.

“So what's the plan tomorrow?” Graham yackity-yacked right over my memory.

“Get our clothes. Fill up the trunk with towels and sheets and food.”

“We should bring Fred and one of the horses.”

“Fred's exactly what we need for the distraction. But a horse? In a car? How's that going to happen?”

“Listen. A storm led us to an empty house with
horses
. We need a crazy distraction for the plan to work, and here we are in this nice house with a barn and three horses. It's a sign.”

“Could be one of those weird timing things,” I said.

“We need a distraction and a good one. Something that will stop people and make them stare at me instead of staring at you, the illegal person. When they see me, well, I'm a kid on a horse being chased by a vicious dog. A kid who falls off the horse in an explosion of ketchup blood. They won't even notice the Chemist is wire cutting the top of the fence.”

“What's wrong with you having a pretend seizure? That's way simpler.”

“I don't know what a seizure looks like!”

“Nice time to inform me of that little detail!” I punched my pillow. “Graham, did the Idea Coin tell you this?”

He shrugged.

“Well?”

“I sure wish we hadn't tipped over the refrigerator. We could've made pancakes for breakfast. Or eggs. Or egg salad.”

“Answer me!”

He nodded. “Right. The Idea Coin.”

Still, if there was no seizure, I thought Fred chasing Graham was distraction enough. All we needed were the Beefy Bits, and the chase would be on. It was simple.

Ashley breathed soft little snores.

Graham turned off the light.

“Hey,” I said. “Will you give me my backpack? It's right by Ashley. Don't wake her up.”

I pulled the book from the pack. It was small and pink. The cover had a black outline of a big hand holding a little hand.

“What's that?”

I showed him the cover.

“
Daddies and Daughters: Stories to Inspire and Nurture
. Sounds snoring-boring.”

I whispered, “It's supposed to help me remember good times with the Chemist.”

“I guess it's cool the Chemist gave you that. I mean, it's all pink and boring and I wouldn't want it, but you know, at least he knew you'd want something like that.”

“Go to sleep, Graham. I just want to read something short.”

“Read it to me.”

“It's private,” I said.

“C'mon. I don't have a dad who writes to me. I don't have a dad at all. Read it.”

“Your dad might send you things if he knew you existed. He'd probably take you to baseball games and send you checks every week. It's not his fault he doesn't know about you. It's your mom's fault. She shouldn't have dates with men she doesn't know anything about.”

Graham snorted. “Thanks, Dr. Daisy. Just read it.”

“Fine.” I sat up so the moonlight lit up the page. “I like looking at a few pages, in bed, when it's dark. Not when it's quiet because River Estates is never quiet.”

“Right,” Graham said. “Roaring car engines, slamming doors, blaring T Vs.”

“Don't forget the drunks,” I said. “But don't you get used to the sounds? Eventually all that noise kind of rocks me to sleep.”

“I run a fan. Tunes it out pretty nice.” Graham shifted closer to me and the book.

I showed Graham the writing on the inside cover. Then I read it.

A special quote just for you: “Any man can be a father. It takes someone special to be a dad.” Your dad is gone for a while but never forgotten. Hang on to your memories, buddy.

Graham took the book and squinted at the signature. He said, “It's not from the Chemist! It says,
Sincerely, Alex.
”

Graham flopped on his back. “So you've got two dads. What do you have to complain about? Give Alex to my mom. I'd take a stepdad like that.”

“If you like being left with a neighbor while he runs off to Mexico with your mom.”

My eyes squinted, and the words blurred. From my head to my toes, I was tired, more tired than I'd ever been. I yawned. “Just put it away. I'm so tired.”

“I will. I'm just gonna look at it for a while,” Graham whispered.

The pillow felt like a feather cradle. I sniffed the blanket. It smelled like the laundry sheets in the Powder Fresh box. Nice. Warm.

I hoped the world outside the River Estates Mobile Home Park glimmered and smelled Powder Fresh. In that world, every kid would know their dad and the Rattlesnake Bar and Grill would be the Rattlesnake Carnival. I slipped into the dream, the big beautiful dream, when Graham ripped a long rumbling fart.

He laughed. I laughed, too. We giggled until Ashley lifted her head and asked what was so funny and would we please stop.

Finally I closed my eyes, Graham on one side of me, still looking at my
Daddies and Daughters
book, and Ashley on the couch. I liked the three of us.

My mind swirled right through the tired part. What if tomorrow was a failure—it wouldn't be, but if it was—would there still be a three of us?

 

 

THE THIRD PART

 

DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

I will tell you three things about waking up to the sound of barking and puking.

Number one:
When marshmallows return from a dog's stomach, they come up slimy and
whole
. Not one single tooth mark.

Number two:
Dog puke is slippery. Graham learned that when he looked out the window near Fred, who was barking and heaving on the floor. Graham landed flat on his back in marshmallow puke.

Number three:
When Fred barks and growls and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he jumps at the door, it's his way of saying, “Holy crap. There's a guy outside.”

In fact, it was also Graham's way of saying it. From the floor he shouted, “Holy crap! There's a guy outside!” A car door slammed. I belly-crawled to the other side of the couch and peeked through the curtain.

Not only was he a guy, he was a teenage guy. He walked around the escape car, checking it out. The back door was still wide open. He picked out the wet map, which fell apart in his hand.

“Wake up.” I threw a pillow at Ashley's head.

Her eyes popped open. “I'm awake.” She sat up, and her blond-and-pink wig shifted to the side of her head. A few brown hairs slipped out of the wig.

Graham made a face. “Man, this is gross.”

“I don't think he lives here,” I said. “There aren't any boy rooms upstairs. Everything's all quilted and flowery and old.”

“So what's he doing here?”

Ashley and Graham scooted by me and crouched down. The guy wore a baseball cap and a hoodie. Tall and skinny, he crossed the driveway in a couple strides and disappeared inside the barn.

Fred was licking the puke off Graham's back.

I slapped him. “Stop it! Fred, you're disgusting!”

“What are we gonna do?” Graham asked.