Nine nights later, I was standing on her street. Just above the subway. Just above the stairs down to our special place on our special platform. Staring up at the moon. Don't ask me why. The subway station just got too boring. Too painful. I hated the looks from the people who saw me there every night. It made me feel pathetic.
So I stood outside. Looking up at the moon. It was closer to a half moon than a crescent now. Taunting me with evidence of how much time was slipping by.
I wanted to say something to the moon. Okay, I know that sounds weird. But Delilah said at times like this I should be thankful for my own life. But I wasn't. Because I felt I had no life. Hadn't since I was seven. Except that handful of glorious days when I was going to run away to a new life with Maria. But now, when even that was in question, what exactly was I supposed to be thankful for?
But then I thought, Maybe if I just said it. Maybe if I could say it whether it felt true or not. Maybe it would start to feel truer later on.
I opened my mouth, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had no gratitude because I had nothing to feel gratitude for. Then I thought, That's not really fair. That's not really true. Grandma Annie had a place for me in Mojave. That was something. But without Maria, I didn't feel I could go to Mojave. Still …
I opened my mouth again. But before I could say anything, I heard it.
“Tony?”
I whipped around. Yes. It was. It was her. It was Maria!
“Maria!” I said, and I lunged in to give her a hug. I was going to give her the biggest bear hug ever.
“No!” she said. “Don't!”
My heart fell right into my shoes.
I just stood there, dumbstruck, my face hot, wondering why I wasn't allowed to hug her. She looked into my face. I know she must have seen the devastation there.
“Oh, Tony,” she said, and moved in slowly and gently, and put her arms around me. Set her head down against my shoulder. I just stood there with my arms at my sides, not sure what I was supposed to do. “Just be gentle,” she said. “Hug me around my shoulders. Gently. Not around my ribs.”
I put my arms around her shoulders. I could smell her hair. Some kind of fresh-smelling shampoo. It took a moment for two and two to come together in my confused brain and add up to four. “Are you hurt?”
“Just that my ribs are all taped up,” she said.
I held her away from me at arm's length to look into her face. But she wouldn't meet my eyes. She looked away. “What happened to your ribs?”
“It's not as bad as it sounds,” she said. “I just fell wrong. Over the table. And I broke four ribs and one of them punctured my lung. I can't believe you waited for me.”
I took a deep breath and spoke out of what I believed. I let all the doubts and fears and swirling drop away. “I knew you'd come if you could.”
“Thank you for waiting for me,” she said.
She wasn't wearing her hat. She seemed smaller and more vulnerable without it.
“Let's go to Mojave right now,” I said. “Not in four months. Now.”
“That's what I was thinking. Now.” She looked around her as if expecting suitcases to magically appear.
“Are you still at your sister's? Can you pack tomorrow? Or even tonight. How much stuff do you have? How much would you need to—”
“Tony—” she said, interrupting me. My heart sank again. It sounded like a bad “Tony.” It sounded like a no.
“What?”
“There's something else. One more thing. That I didn't tell you yet. Because I wasn't sure how you would—”
“It doesn't matter,” I said. “I want to go away with you. I never want to take a chance on losing you again. I don't care what it is. Will you go with me?”
I looked more closely into her face in the mostly-dark and saw that she was crying.
“Yes. I will. I just don't want you to change your mind if—”
“Never. I'll never change my mind. Can you go pack right now? How much stuff do you have?”
“I have a big duffel bag. I guess whatever doesn't fit in there I could just leave. I can only take what Stella brought over to her apartment, anyway. I wouldn't dare go back home for the rest of my stuff.”
“Tomorrow. While he's at work.”
“No. He might not go to work. And he might be out by tomorrow.”
“Out? Out of what?”
“Tonight. In about two hours. Is that okay?”
“How will you carry that big duffel bag? You're hurt.”
“I'll manage.”
“I'll go with you and help.”
“No. No, you can't. It's too risky. If he gets out, he'll kill you. I have to go alone. I'll carry the duffel bag. I'll do it because I have to. I'll be there.”
? ? ?
I CAME BARGING back into Delilah's like a freight train. After running all the way home from the subway. She was still up. It was nearly midnight but she was still up. I felt so blessed.
“She came,” I said. “She came. I asked her to leave with me right away. She said yes.”
“Ho, ho, whoa,” Delilah said. She was sitting in her big chair, reading a mystery novel. Wearing her little red half-glasses that sat way down on her nose. “I got the part about how you're happy. So, that's good. But the rest was just all gibberish as far as I could hear.”
That's when I realized I was so out of breath she hadn't stood a chance of understanding.
I sat down on the couch. Breathed for a minute.
She closed up her book and gave me her complete attention. Watching me over the tops of her red reading glasses.
“She showed up. Maria.”
“Oh, child! That's the best news! Did she say where she's been?”
“In the hospital.”
Delilah frowned. Scowled, in fact. “He put her there?”
“I think so. I didn't exactly ask.”
“Well, that explains a lot, anyway.”
“I really banked on your good nature today,” I said. “She's meeting me in a couple of hours. With all her stuff. Can I bring her here? Just till we figure out how to get to Mojave?”
“Well, now, child, you know you can. Won't have much privacy.”
“It's okay. It's only for a day or two anyway. Oh, wait. How are we going to get to California?”
“We'll think of something,” she said. “We'll work something out.”
I was quiet for a time. Just thinking. My head spinning around, making circles of all the parts I would still need to work out. Like money. There was so much left to figure out.
I said, pretty much out of nowhere, “She said there's one more thing. That she's been putting off telling me. But I didn't give her a chance to say what it was. Now I wish I had.”
“Well, let me ask you this, then. Would there be anything she could tell you that would really matter? I mean, are you sure? Or are you still in a place to let a thing get in your way?”
“I'm sure,” I said. Without needing to think.
“Then put it out of your head. Because it won't even matter. If you're sure, you're sure.”
I CALLED GRANDMA ANNIE right away. Because it wasn't as late in California. Praying she'd be there. That she'd pick up. She did. On the third ring.
“It's me,” I said. “It's Sebastian. We can leave anytime after today. Sooner is better. The sooner we leave, the better. As far as I'm concerned. I'm not really sure how we'll get out there, though. I'm not sure how to get money from my father without starting trouble.”
“Don't,” she said. “Don't ask that man for anything. After what he did!”
“I feel like he owes it to me, though.”
“Don't even open that can of worms. I'll wire you some money. It won't be much, I'm sorry to say. I can wire you about five hundred dollars. You'll have to go down to the Western union office to pick it up. That sure won't get you out here on a plane or a train. Not both of you. Might do for the bus. If it's enough, go all the way to Bakersfield. I'll pick you up there. If it's not enough to get to Bakersfield, let me know. I'll drive farther.”
I said nothing for a minute. I was too filled up with something to talk. A hard something to explain. It's like I was wondering why this stranger would do so much for me. But she was my blood family. My grandmother. I think it was dawning on me how weird and wrong it is that a member of your blood family should be a relative stranger. Not to mention two members of your family.
“This is so nice of you,” I said. “I'll pay you back.”
“Nonsense. I won't hear of it. Just tell me when to expect you. Soon as you know.”
“Okay. Thanks. Really. Thanks.”
“We can't wait to see you,” she said. “Your mom has to work weekdays, but the very first Friday night she'll be here to see you.”
“Grandma Annie …” I just stuck on the next thing for a long time. I had no words to put to it yet. No idea when I ever would. So why had I even opened my mouth?
“Yes?”
“Never mind. We'll talk a lot more when I get out there.”
WHEN I GOT OFF THE PHONE, I got online on Delilah's computer and looked up the bus fare. The money she was sending was enough for both of us to get from New York to Bakersfield with more than a hundred dollars left over for food along the way. Now, if Maria just showed up like she promised she would, everything would work out perfectly.
When I got back to Stella's, the apartment was all dark. I could hear Victor snoring from the bedroom.
I decided that before I went in there for Natalie I would have to write some notes.
I wrote most of the one to Stella in just a couple of minutes. That was easy. At least, the first part was.
At first I just said I was taking a chance on Tony. That we were going away to a place in California called the Mojave Desert. And that I thought it was nicer than it sounded by the name.
That I had to leave right now, with no notice, in the middle of the night, because otherwise Carl might get out on bail before I had my chance.
I also mentioned that there was a chance I'd be back by morning because maybe Tony would change his mind when he met Natalie.
I thought that was a diplomatic way to say it. Rather than, He might change his mind when he finds out there is such a thing as Natalie.
You learn after a while. How not to bring too much crap down onto your own head.
But that wasn't the hard part. The hard part was the part about C.J.
I tried a few things on in my head, but none of them worked out right. And I wasn't even packed yet. And I didn't want to keep Tony waiting any longer than what I promised.
I decided to ditch the Stella note for a while and work on the one for C.J. Now, there's another good little joke in my own head. Like that one would be easier. If I thought the second half of the Stella note was hard … The C.J. one was impossible.
I stared at the paper for what I thought was a couple of minutes, but when I looked at the clock I saw I only had about forty minutes left to pack and get Natalie and get down to the station with a duffel bag I probably couldn't even carry.
So I ditched the C.J. note altogether.
And I finished the Stella one like this:
When I get where I'm going I'll give you my address, and I'll also probably send you a letter and ask you to mail it to C.J. Because I can't mail it from California. I can't give Carl any clues. I wanted to leave a note for C.J., right now tonight. But I need a little more time to figure out what I need to say.
Please don't judge me. I am up against a wall here and doing the best I can.
Thank you for helping me,
Love,
Your Sister, Maria
P.S.: Maybe I won't give you my new address for the first six months or so, because then if Carl asks you can honestly say you don't know.
And another P.S.: I will try to send back the duffel bag, which I realize is actually yours, or at least send the money for you to buy another. I'm not sure exactly when I will be able to do this but I promise I'll try.
Oh. One more P.S.: I'm going to be rude and borrow something without asking. But I will either give it back or buy you a new one. I'm taking this VHS tape you have of The Wizard of Oz. It just seems really important that Natalie have at least one thing that feels familiar to her. If you weren't family, that would just be too rude. But you are.
Love,
Maria
But I guess I said that part already.
I spent about ten minutes—time I didn't really have to spare— searching for that tape among what seemed like about a thousand others. How Stella navigated through that mass of videos was beyond me. But I couldn't give up, because it just felt too important.
By the time I found it I was late and pretty much stressed out.
I thought it would wake Stella up when I went to pull Natalie out of their bed. She even fussed a little in her sleep when I took the feather boa away from her. But I guess if Stella can sleep through Victor's snoring, she can sleep through anything at all.
I HAD TO SORT OF DRAG the duffel bag down the stairs. Bumping down one step at a time. I had Natalie half-sleeping on one shoulder, and that was painful enough. Just the way it pulled my rib cage down on one side. Of course, I made sure it was not the bad side. But it hurt just the same.
Trouble is, when I got to the lobby and had to pick up the bag, I had to use my bad side.
“Ow,” I said, and set it back down again. I can be really good at understatements at a time like this.
“Hmmmm?” Natalie said. Or at least one syllable that added up to that type of question.
“Nothing, honey. Go back to sleep.”
I went back to dragging the bag by the corner. All the way across the linoleum floor of the lobby to Stella's outside door. Thinking that if I dragged it down to the subway, all down the rough concrete, it would have no bottom and no clothes by the time I got there.
And I was getting short on time, too.
I remembered telling Tony I could haul the bag down there. “I will because I have to,” I said, or some bullshit like that. Something that sounded good at the time. Something that reminded me how I tend to bite off all kinds of stuff I can't really manage. Like I think I'm really powerful or something. Like I think my own will can work magic.
When I got through the doorway and out onto the landing, I saw Delores and another bag lady I didn't know, sleeping all huddled over each other on the curb.
Now, in my neighborhood, I say hi to the homeless people. But I never ask them their names and I never tell them mine. Because if one ever called me by my name in front of Carl, ho boy. It would really hit the fan.
But in Stella's neighborhood I feel a little freer. So in Stella's neighborhood, I know just about every street guy and lady personally. Except this one lady who was all curled up with Delores, who I think must have been new.
“Delores,” I called in a sort of sharp, loud whisper.
Her head came up. “Yo, Maria,” she said. “What you doin' out so late?”
“I need your help, Delores.”
“Well, sure, honey. Anything for you.”
Sometimes I give quarters to Delores and Sam and Mickey and Lois and some of the others, and even though a quarter wouldn't impress them a bit from some people, they know I don't have much. So it's the thought. You know. They know the good thought behind it. People don't forget things like that. The more people ignore them, the more they remember the ones who don't.
She came down the street to me, smoothing down her ripped skirt with the big yellow flowers on it.
“Bring your shopping cart,” I said. “If I could just get you to put this big duffel bag on your cart. And then we can wheel it down to the subway.”
She was surprisingly strong, Delores. Picked it up with one hand and threw it so it balanced across both sides of the cart. Then she lifted Natalie out of my hands, so gentle, like she was a newborn baby or something, and set her down in the seat. The seat they build into the cart for kids to ride in it.
And off we went. I was looking at her hair, and how it was formed into permanent mats in the back. Like extra-free-form dreadlocks. Like one of those psychiatric inkblot tests, only with hair.
I was also memorizing the look and feel of a city street in the dark. In case I never walked down one again.
“I don't think I have anything more than just change on me,” I said.
“Don't matter to me,” she said. “Not if it's you. Where you going?”
“I'm running away.”
“From what?”
“My boyfriend.”
“Sounds like a good move. Except how you gonna run away with nothing but change in your pocket?”
“Well, I got a friend,” I said. “And we just have to do the best we can.”
When we got to the subway stairs, she asked me if I wanted her to haul the bag and the girl downstairs for me. But I knew she didn't want to leave her shopping cart with its precious contents unattended. I mean, that was her life savings. So I told her I'd pull the bag down the stairs and it would be okay.
“Enjoy your new life,” she said when she handed back Natalie.
“Thank you,” I said, and tried to give her my miserable little pocketful of change.
She balled my hand back up into a fist and pushed it right back at me.
“Tonight you need this more than I do,” she said.
I paced the subway station for about forty-five minutes. Chewing on my lip. Biting my nails, which I almost never did.
Not that she was late. She wasn't. It's that I got there forty-five minutes early. Just in case she was early. I couldn't sit at Delilah's. I was too wound up.
So I just paced. And bit.
Then, finally, what seemed like hours later, I turned to pace back from the far end of the platform and there she was. Standing near our bench by the stairs. She had a big olive-green duffel bag lying on the platform by her feet. And in her arms was a kid. A girl. Bigger than a baby. Smaller than a child who would walk beside you all on her own.
I took two or three fast steps in her direction, then broke into a run.
The closer I got to her, the clearer I could see her face, and the more I saw her face, the more I saw something pleading. Something scared.
Meanwhile my brain was stupid and slow, and not catching up to all this. I was actually thinking, Why is she holding that kid? Whose kid? Where's the person who owns that kid and is about to take her back? There was no one else anywhere near them.
Then I remembered what she'd said. There's one more thing. That I haven't told you yet.
Then I knew.
I saw her face change the moment I got it. To even more scared. So she must have seen a lot of something bad in my eyes. Shock. What else can I call it? I thought it would just be the two of us. I had no idea how wrong I could be.
By now I was close enough to say something to her. But I didn't. Because I didn't know what to say. I slowed down to a fast walk again. Stopped a couple of steps in front of her.
I looked at Maria. Maria looked at me.
I looked at the kid. She looked back.
She was wearing a little dress. A purple dress. And bare feet. Her little bare legs were the tiniest, skinniest things. I couldn't imagine that even the bones of her legs all by themselves could be so skinny. She had dark hair, like her mother, but very thin. Just little wisps of soft-looking dark hair. And the biggest eyes I've ever seen on any face. I mean, the eyes just stole the whole show. They were huge. Dark, liquid brown.
She looked like a porcelain doll. Something desperately easy to break.
She was sucking her thumb.
I heard Maria say, “Tony, this is Natalie.”
Natalie looked away again. Buried her face in the junction between Maria's neck and shoulder. Thumb and all.
“It's not you,” Maria said. “She's shy. She's like this with everybody.”
Then, with Natalie's face hidden, it was just the two of us again. Me and Maria. The pleading look on her face got stronger. Sadder.
I still had not managed to say so much as a word.
“If you want to change your mind,” she said, “I'll understand. No hard feelings. Really. Either way.”
I just stood mute. No words came. Not even thoughts, really. It was just a blank moment. Well, no it wasn't, really. It was a huge and very busy moment. But within that moment, I was just a blank.
“Please don't change your mind,” she said. Her lower lip trembled when she said it. I could see it was all she could do to keep from crying.
It shook me out of my reverie. “I haven't changed my mind. Come on. Let's go.”
I picked up her duffel bag. And we got on the train and headed for Delilah's.
DELILAH SWUNG THE DOOR WIDE, her face full of welcome. I expected that look to fall all the way to the carpet and hit hard when she saw the unexpected addition. But it didn't. If anything, she lit up even brighter.
“Well, now, who have we got here?” she said, clearly in a voice intended for a child's ears. “A very lovely little lady, I would say.” Natalie buried her head, thumb and all. “You must be Maria,” Delilah said. “Come in, come in. Are you hungry?”
We stepped inside, and life just seemed to go on from there. If Delilah was shocked, or even particularly surprised, she never let on.
“I had dinner,” Maria said. “But thank you for asking.”
She sat on the couch. Perched on the edge, a little nervous. She set Natalie next to her, and Natalie sucked her thumb and stared with wide eyes. Looked around the room for a minute. Then glued her eyes to Delilah.
I said nothing.
“What about that little girl? She eaten?”
“No, she won't eat when anything is different. She hates change. It's really hard to get her to eat even at home. She won't talk around anybody new, either. New people make her nervous. So don't take it personally if she's afraid of you.”
“I'm going to make something I betcha she'll eat.” And Delilah set to bustling about the kitchen. Opening cupboards and setting food on counters. Setting pans on the stove. Into and out of the refrigerator, fetching things.
“Just promise me you won't be insulted if she won't eat it,” Maria said.
Delilah hobbled back into the living room and stood in front of the couch, looking down at Natalie and speaking directly to her. Amazingly, Natalie did not bury her face or look away.
“Now, how about if I make something that's just so out-of-this-world delicious that even the pickiest eater in the world couldn't hardly resist it?” She gave Natalie a wink. Natalie just stared. “Babies tend to like me,” Delilah said. “I get along good with babies.”
Natalie took her thumb out of her mouth for the first time since I'd made her acquaintance. “I'm not a baby,” she said. Looking right up into Delilah's big smiling face.
“Wow,” Maria said. “That's a first.”
Delilah scooped Natalie up into her arms. I expected her to scream and cry and reach for her mother, but none of that happened. She just rode Delilah's hip into the kitchen. Sucking her thumb. “You know, I think I was mistaken. You're right. You're not a baby at all. You're a pretty darn big girl. I guess you must be, what, maybe three years old?”
She shook her head, thumb and all.
“She'll be three in October,” Maria said.
“Well, that is pretty big. That's a big girl. That's sure as heck no baby. Can you forgive me for calling you a baby? Can you let that big giant mistake go by?” I think Natalie might have nodded, but I could barely see her head over Delilah's shoulder. They were in the kitchen now, back to their cooking. “Now, you get a look at what I'm making here. And you'll see you're hungrier than you think you are. Just wait till you see.”
I sat on the edge of Delilah's big chair. I looked at Maria, sitting on the couch. And she looked at me. She smiled a weak little smile, and I smiled back. It was the first real moment we'd had since I'd lost her for all that time. The first chance we had to just be together, and say hello with our eyes. It made my stomach feel warm. Not hot, just warm. It was different, this smile. It was about a whole something else.
“Oh, child,” I heard Delilah call from the kitchen, and I knew she meant me. “There's a phone message on my desk from your Grandma Annie. Has everything about where you need to go and what you need to do to pick up that money.”
So that was the end of that moment.
I retrieved the message, and read it over. “I better go do this now,” I said. “Then we can leave in the morning.”
In my head I was thinking, Do two-year-olds ride the bus for free? Or is that a whole other bus fare? And will that whole other bus fare even fit into that leftover hundred-and-some dollars? And even if it does, what are we supposed to do for food for three or four days on the road? But I didn't ask any of that out loud. I just walked down to the Western union office to pick up the money.
MARIA TOOK NATALIE into the bathroom to give her a bath before bed.
It was the first moment Delilah and I had alone together to talk.
“Sweet girl,” Delilah said.
“Which one?”
“Well, I meant Maria. But both, I guess. Look, I didn't want to say this in front of her. But I called the bus company. While you was gone. It's gonna be an extra hundred and nine for the baby. It still all fits into five hundred. But it only leaves you twenty-five or thirty for food. That's not much for three people.”
“We'll have to make do,” I said.
“Why don't you let me give you fifty?”
“No. No way. Thanks, but you've done so much already.”
“I can spare it.”
“No, I couldn't take your money, Delilah. I wouldn't feel right.”
“How about a loan?”
“No, please. I'd feel really guilty.”
“Okay, how about this, then? How about I pack you some sandwiches for the first day, and then some stuff that doesn't need to stay cool? Some nuts and dried fruit and candy bars and crackers? How would that be?”
“Well …” I still hated to take from her. When she'd given so much already. “That would be … nice.”
“Done and done,” she said, and got up to putter in the kitchen.
I got up and wandered in after her. Leaned on the counter and watched her work.
“Thanks,” I said.
“It ain't hardly nothing.”
“This is not exactly the way I pictured things.”
“Life rarely is, honey. Like the old saying: If you want to hear God laugh, tell Her your plans. But she's here. And you're going. Isn't that the main thing?”
“Yeah. It is. I just feel like … it's so many people to be responsible for.”
“Honey, she been raising that child for years. She knows what to do. And she knows how to take care of herself, too. They each got their own Higher Power, and you are not It. You just put one foot in front of the other and don't worry so much.”
“I just wish that kid wasn't so terrified of me.”
“I would not take that personally if I was you.”
Silence for a moment. I watched her spread peanut butter on six slices of whole wheat bread. Perfectly, and right to the edge, in about three smooth movements of the knife.
“She's not afraid of you,” I said.
“That's because I'm not afraid of her. Think about that.”
Then Maria came back out and asked permission to use one of Delilah's towels on the bed, on top of a rubber sheet she'd brought, because sometimes Natalie wets the bed.
So that was the end of my one and only fatherhood lesson. From that moment forth I was completely on my own.