Becoming Naomi Leon Page 6

  My fork started to chatter against my plate.

  Gram reached over to steady my hand. “Naomi, help me carry these dishes inside so we can make room for dessert. I made pecan and pumpkin pies.”

  I picked up my plate and followed Gram. Unfortunately Clive was right behind us, clutching his napkin.

  “Which way to the bathroom? I need to wash up.”

  Gram pointed down the hall. When he was out of sight, she whispered, “Don’t you pay any mind to that nonsense out there. Now, go get me a few more plates.”

  Gram kept me busy with the dishes, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Skyla wanting to take me to Las Vegas. I wasn’t going anywhere without Owen and Gram. My idea was that Skyla would move somewhere close by us — maybe to a cute, little apartment — and Owen and I could visit her, stopping in from school on our way home. Home to Baby Beluga and Gram.

  When I came back in with the last of the plates, Clive was sitting in the living room/kitchen, leaning back on the bench seat with his hands folded behind his head.

  Gram rinsed the plates and stacked them on top of each other with a loud clink.

  “This trailer isn’t half bad,” he said.

  “It’s not much, but it’s what I can afford and it’s the children’s home,” said Gram, her voice tight.

  “But you must get money from the state,” said Clive. “That’s got to be a bundle for two kids, right? And what’s the story on the little old lady outside? Is she your dependent, too?” He was kind of half smirking at Gram.

  I stopped scraping the plates. Gram did not take to people prying into her personals.

  Gram slammed a plate down so hard it broke, the pieces clattering into the sink. She turned to face Clive and straightened up as tall as she could muster. Unfortunately she was not wearing her athletic shoes, and even sitting down, Clive seemed to tower over her. “I think you’re asking an awful lot of someone you just met, and I don’t think it’s any of your business. And Mrs. Maloney is a friend, plain and simple.”

  Just then Skyla walked in. “Have you all been making nice?” she asked.

  Gram never took her eyes from Clive’s face. “Clive was just inquiring into my finances, seeing how we’re such good friends and all. He wants to know how much money I get each month for Naomi and Owen and I’d like to know why he’s so interested in something I’ve never asked for.” Gram shook her head. “What you see is what we’ve got. And for your information, Naomi is not going to Las Vegas to be a baby-sitter or otherwise. I won’t have it.”

  Clive stared at the floor. He seemed mad.

  Skyla looked at him and raised her eyebrows and pursed her mouth. She grabbed his hand. “Clive, this isn’t the time or the place. Come on outside and sit down and have dessert.”

  Gram stared after them. “Naomi, would you run and fetch my sweater from my bed? There’s a chill outside.”

  As I passed the bathroom, I noticed something wadded up on the edge of the sink. It was Clive’s napkin. Next to it a brown-streaked lump of soap sat in a puddle of water. He had taken my bluebird of happiness from the Thanksgiving table and used it to wash the turkey grease from his hands.

  After the contentment of the pies had set in, Owen and Bernardo laid out the checkerboard.

  “Who wants to play?” asked Owen.

  I glanced at Bernardo and smiled. Owen could beat most adults.

  “I’ll play,” said Skyla.

  They played three games in a row and Skyla won each time. After every game she whooped and hollered and yelled, “I won!”

  Owen just sat there, grinning a happy face. “Want to play again?”

  I had never once seen Owen lose to anyone. I looked at Bernardo, and he shrugged his shoulders.

  Gram said, “Skyla, why would any grown-up take that much delight in winning over a small child?”

  “He needs to learn how to compete. He needs to learn how to use his brain. Set ’em up again, Owen, and let’s see you try harder.”

  “He couldn’t get any smarter,” said Gram.

  “Oh, I know,” said Skyla, patting Owen on the head like he was a dog.

  I could tell that Skyla didn’t believe Gram. “He gets straight ‘A’s,” I said.

  “Naomi, that’s real sweet of you to stick up for your brother. I’m the same way with people, always trying to make them feel better. That’s why you and me are two peas in a pod.”

  “Did it ever occur to you, Skyla,” said Gram, “that he could beat you at any time and maybe he’s just trying to please you?”

  Skyla smiled. “I won fair and square. Right, Owen?”

  Owen looked at all of us, who knew better. “Sort of,” he said.

  The sweetness left Skyla’s face and her eyes narrowed. “You mean you’ve been letting me win?”

  Owen’s gigantic smile slipped into a guilty, sad-eyed face.

  “I don’t like people making fun of me, Owen, so play like you mean it.” Skyla quickly set up the board, and it took Owen a matter of minutes to win.

  She sat back and glared at Owen. “Just think how smart people would think you were, if you didn’t have that tape plastered all over your chest and if you wore a lift in your shoe so you’d walk even, like everybody else. Wouldn’t that give a better impression?”

  Owen said, “I had a lift in my shoe once, but the doctors have to make me a taller one because I’m growing. It’s coming next month . . . and then . . . and then I’ll be even . . . right, Gram?” His voice trailed off.

  Before Gram could answer, Clive said, “Hey, let me play, buddy. I love checkers.” He signaled for Skyla to go sit on the couch.

  For a minute I was grateful to him for getting Owen away from Skyla.

  Owen set up the board and beat Clive three games running.

  Clive looked up at Skyla. “This kid’s an ace. I’d put a ton of money on him and have him play some dudes I know. We could make a fortune.”

  “You’d bet on Owen?” said Gram.

  “Just for fun,” said Clive, shrugging his shoulders.

  “I get it,” said Skyla. “To look at him, you wouldn’t think he had a brain in his body or could beat anybody at anything, especially with him being crippled — ”

  “Skyla!” said Gram.

  Bernardo stood up and walked over to Owen. He quietly put the checkers and board back in the box and took Owen’s hand, leading him toward his house through the avocado trees.

  Mrs. Maloney turned to Skyla and said, “Shame on you!”

  “All I’m saying,” said Skyla, “is that he doesn’t look smart and that could work in Clive’s favor. You know what I mean. Owen’s not right physically, and he has weird habits.”

  “And you needed to point that out to him on Thanksgiving Day in front of all these people?” said Gram. “He still has doctor appointments every three months to see what can be done for him. Another one a week from today. Maybe you should consider coming along to see what this child is up against.” Gram looked at Skyla and shook her head in disgust. “Mrs. Maloney, let me walk you home. It’s almost five o’clock, and I know you’ll be wanting to go to bed soon.”

  Fabiola started folding up Mrs. Maloney’s chairs.

  Gram told me, “Naomi, run over and get Lulu. I cooked the turkey giblets for her, and it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving if she didn’t get to eat them. Clive, there’s no need to leave on Lulu’s account. She’s usually a fair judge of folks.”

  Clive grabbed Skyla’s hand and they headed toward the car.

  Before I reached the grove, Skyla called out, “Naomi! Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  I felt my breath catch in my throat. I turned back and walked toward the Mustang, practicing the line I’d rehearsed. Skyla and Clive were already situated in the car, seatbelts buckled, and watching my every move. My throat tightened like it always did when people stared at me.

  I leaned down and peeked in the passenger window and choked out the words. “Thank . . . you . . . for . . . all the nice . . . thin
gs you bought us.”

  Clive didn’t answer. His chin raised up and down once. I guessed that meant, “You’re welcome.”

  I stood up and, glancing in the back, saw a twelve-pack of beer on the seat. Was Skyla drinking again? If she was, what would that mean? That she’d have to go back to a halfway house? Or to the hospital?

  Skyla’s eyes turned hard and squinty. “That’s my business, Naomi, not yours. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

  “That’s weird. Absolutely weird,” said Blanca after I told her about Thanksgiving Day on the way to class Monday morning. “Clive sounds scary. Don’t you feel sorry for his daughter?”

  I nodded. “I’m not going to Las Vegas. Gram said it loud and clear.”

  “Did you tell her about the booze in the backseat?”

  “No . . . well . . . I didn’t know for sure if Skyla was really going to drink it. I mean . . . maybe it was just for Clive. Gram has enough worries right now. And then what if Gram says something to Skyla and Skyla gets mad at me?”

  “Skyla wouldn’t have told you to keep your mouth shut if the beer was for Clive. You should tell your gram,” said Blanca.

  “No,” I said. “Not until I know for sure.” I could already hear the caterwaul of Skyla and Gram fighting if Gram found out.

  “Naomi the Lion,” said Blanca, shaking her head as we walked into Ms. Morimoto’s room. “You need to wake up before something bad happens.”

  “We have a problem,” said Gram, rushing into the trailer on Thursday afternoon. “I’m going to have to cancel Owen’s appointment.”

  “Why?” said Skyla, brushing her baby finger with Holly Berry nail polish.

  “The bride of that big wedding is at Fabiola’s,” said Gram. “She tried on the wedding gown and has lost so much weight that we’re going to have to work straight through the afternoon to get it altered. The wedding is this weekend, out of town. She’s coming back first thing in the morning to pick up the gown.”

  “I can take Owen,” said Skyla, waving her hands to dry her nails.

  Gram’s forehead wrinkled.

  “Now, don’t look so worried or be like you used to be, not trusting me over every little thing. I’ll even pick up Chicken in a Bucket for dinner. We can handle it, can’t we, Naomi?”

  For the past week Skyla had been smooth and nice as cream pie. She hadn’t once mentioned Las Vegas again. Maybe if she helped Gram today, it would mend just about everything between them.

  “I’ll take notes for you just like always,” I said to Gram, holding up my notebook. “And I’ll call you the minute we get home.”

  Gram hesitated and bit her lip. “Well . . . it would be a big help. Otherwise we’d have to wait forever for another appointment. And it’s just his usual X ray and consultation.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” said Skyla. “It’s only to Children’s Hospital and back. Now, it’s all decided. Besides, I am his mother.”

  Owen and I knew Children’s Hospital by heart and could give directions to anyone for surgery, pediatrics, physical therapy, orthopedics, and the lab. I had sat in just about every waiting room and visited all the public restrooms. We’d spent so much time here over the years that Gram said they should name a table in the cafeteria after us.

  At every nurses’ station we passed, someone said hello to us or came out to slap hands with Owen, or to give me a hug and to ask about Gram. While Owen was in radiology getting his X rays, Skyla and I waited in the hall in plastic chairs. Wide eyed, she watched each doctor and nurse walk by.

  When an orderly pushed a patient down the hall in a bed on wheels, Skyla shuddered. “Hospitals give me the creeps.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Lots of people get better in hospitals.”

  “Yeah, well, lots of people don’t,” she snapped. She got up and paced. “Naomi, when are you going to start talking so I can hear you? I am tired of straining my ears. Hand me my purse and tell me in a regular voice where I can find the restroom.”

  Raising my voice a hair, I said, “It’s down the hall to the right.”

  She jerked her purse out of my hand and marched off. When she finally came back twenty minutes later, she had double-dosed herself with gardenia perfume. Layered underneath was something even stronger. It reminded me of Gram’s Christmas rum cake.

  I coughed and choked on all the sweetness. “What’s that smell?”

  “Naomi, it’s just a little something to calm me down. To get me through all this.” She looked around the hospital hallway. “You mind your own business, like I told you before. Do you hear me?”

  I nodded, looking at my shoes. She was drinking again. But no matter what she said, the alcohol wasn’t relaxing her because her hands shook and she could not stand still.

  After the X rays, the three of us waited in one of the fancy consult rooms with nice furniture. Gram called them friendly rooms. She said that if the doctors gave you bad news, they wanted you in a comfy, friendly atmosphere, not a scary one. Skyla sat down and tapped her nails on the table. The room had a window looking into a small playroom where the doctors would ask Owen to go when they were ready to report the grown-up stuff. They always let me stay, since I was Gram’s secretary.

  “How much longer?” said Skyla.

  “A few minutes,” said Owen.

  “Good, then I have time to scoot out to the restroom.”

  When she came back, the perfume was taking a backseat to the rum cake.

  Two doctors arrived wearing white smocks and holding file folders. Little koala bears hugged their stethoscopes, and one wore a tie with bright balloons all over it. Owen jumped up and hugged them. They were part of his special team.

  After they let go of Owen, Dr. Reed turned to us. “Hello, Naomi. And you must be Owen’s mother” — she looked at his folder — “Skyla Jones. Mrs. Outlaw called and said you’d be bringing him today. I’m Dr. Amanda Reed, and this is my colleague, Dr. John Navarro. I’m an orthopedist and Dr. Navarro is an ENT. We both specialize in pediatrics.”

  Owen leaned toward Skyla and whispered. “She’s a bone doctor and he’s an ear, nose, and throat guy, and they take care of kids.”

  Skyla glared at him. “I know what they are, Owen.” Her voice sounded pinched. She tapped a little harder on the table, and one of her press-on nails flew across the room and landed on the floor.

  Owen laughed hard and the doctors chuckled along with him. When Owen saw Skyla’s stare, he immediately stopped.

  I tried to cover my smile with my hands.

  Skyla’s face was as hot as her nail polish. “What can you do about Owen?” she said, examining her fingers.

  Skyla didn’t know the order of things.

  “First, we’d like Owen to be excused. Why don’t you go to the playroom for a few minutes while we talk,” said Dr. Reed.

  After Owen hopped up and went into the adjoining room, Dr. Navarro turned to Skyla. “At this juncture, there is nothing more to do. He’s had all the surgeries that his age and size can accommodate. There’s a surgery we would like to do when he reaches adolescence, when he’s thirteen or fourteen, but for now, we’ve reviewed all of his tests and we’ve determined that he’s in great shape. He’s just going to be an FLK.”

  “A what?” said Skyla.

  “A Funny Looking Kid,” said Dr. Reed.

  “Is that some medical term, or are you trying to make a joke?”

  “No,” said Dr. Navarro. “I’m most certainly not making fun of him. And sometimes it’s a term we use unofficially. He’s fine mentally. In fact, he has a rather high IQ and is quite bright. He just has a few physical problems that were the result of his birth defects, but there’s nothing more we can do surgically, for now. He’s just going to be — ”

  “An FLK. A Funny Looking Kid?” said Skyla, her voice rising, scary and shrill. “As if I don’t have enough problems! This is . . . is . . . embarrassing!”

  Dr. Reed wrinkled her forehead. “He’s healthy and has a wond
erful outlook on life. He has great prospects, great potential, and with a few more surgeries when he gets older . . .”

  I didn’t think Owen would mind being a Funny Looking Kid for a few more years. We had both spent enough time at Children’s Hospital to know that his ailments were slight compared to some others. If Gram were here, she would have said it was our lucky day.

  Skyla pressed her lips together tight. She leaned toward the doctors and said, “This kid’s a Blem. He’s crooked and he can’t talk right, and you’re telling me nothing more can be done to make him right. Well, that’s no bargain in my book!”

  I couldn’t believe that Skyla was comparing Owen to Walker Gordon’s once yearly sale of discount shoes called Blems, the ones with flaws.

  Dr. Navarro searched in his pocket, pulled out a business card, stood up, and handed it to Skyla. “Ms. Jones, please call me if you have any questions. I’d be happy to talk to you at length, and I can also recommend a support group if you like. We know Owen rather well and he’s a remarkable young man. My number is on the card.”

  Skyla looked at the card and tossed it back on the table. Then she stood up, walked over to the playroom door, and jerked it open. “Owen, come on! We’re getting out of here!”

  Owen walked into the conference room, smiling, until he saw all the concerned looks around him. I got up and took his hand. “Everything’s okay, Owen.”

  “Naomi!” yelled Skyla. “Everything is not okay!”

  As we left the room, I saw Owen eyeing the tape dispenser on the shelf near the door.

  Skyla kept her eyes straight on the road and barely moved all the way home, except for her swigs from one of those plastic travel bottles that she kept pulling out of her purse. Even though it was dark, she drove too fast, weaving the car in and out of traffic. Owen pulled himself so far into his hooded sweatshirt, he looked like a swaddled cocoon. When we finally arrived at Baby Beluga, I was dizzy and my hands trembled. As soon as I got inside, I hurried to call Gram.

  Skyla said, “Put the phone down, Naomi. Sit down, both of you.”

  We sat.

  “Don’t you ever laugh at me or humiliate me like that again! And Naomi, don’t give me that ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ stare, because you know exactly what I mean. Owen, I guess there’s not much to be done with you, but you’re going to stop this tape thing starting right now. And if you don’t, that bike is going in the trash.”