Beverly, Right Here Page 6

  Mr. Larksong leaned on his cane and made his way slowly over to the door.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Larksong,” said Elmer.

  Mr. Larksong pulled the door open wide. It closed slowly behind him.

  “Are all of these books yours?” said Beverly.

  “Library,” said Elmer.

  “Where’s the one with the angel?”

  “What?” said Elmer. He looked up at her. “Which one with the angel? Art is filled with angels.”

  “The one you had yesterday,” said Beverly. She could feel her own face getting red, but she kept going. “The one with the Italian Renaissance art.” The words felt strange and sharp in her mouth.

  Elmer reached under the counter and pulled out another book.

  “This?” he said.

  The blue of the angel’s wings was just as astonishing as it had been the day before. And the angel looked just as annoyed — like she had too much to do and no one was helping her get it done.

  The Zoom City door opened, and a man with a baseball cap and sunglasses came into the store. He was whistling.

  “It’s called Annunciation,” said Elmer. “What do you like about it?”

  Beverly said nothing.

  “The painting,” said Elmer. “Why do you like it?”

  “Who said I liked it?” said Beverly. And then she said, “Because of the wings.”

  Elmer nodded.

  “My name’s Beverly,” she said.

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Tapinski.”

  He stared at her.

  “What?” she said. “Do you want to know my middle name, too?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Louise,” said Beverly. “Satisfied?”

  “I’m Elmer.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I’m reminding you,” he said. And then he raised the book up so that it covered his face. “I get off at five,” he said from behind the book. “In case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t wondering,” she said.

  But Beverly Tapinski was smiling when she left Zoom City.

  She wasn’t going to wait for Elmer to get off work.

  She wasn’t.

  But she didn’t want to go back to Iola’s. And she didn’t want to go to the beach. She walked to the phone booth. She stood and stared at it without going inside.

  She thought about her mother, sitting on the back porch, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes and staring out at the scraggly orange trees, resenting them.

  “Those lousy trees. They can’t grow one piece of fruit that isn’t sour. I should cut them all down.”

  But she never did cut them down.

  Buddy was buried under those trees.

  He was alone with no one but her mother to watch over him.

  Which was the same as no one at all watching over him.

  Beverly went into the phone booth and picked up the phone, but she couldn’t make herself dial.

  What would she say?

  Rhonda Joy Tapinski, could you please, just for once, help me out?

  Could you watch over Buddy?

  Ha.

  Buddy was dead.

  And Beverly’s mother didn’t watch out for anybody but herself.

  Beverly hung up the phone. She thought about the annoyed angel with the blue wings. She wished she could send her to go and stand over Buddy’s grave, or float over it, or whatever it was that angels did. Hover? Flutter?

  She leaned her forehead against the glass, put her hand up above her head, and felt the words. They were still there. Of course they were.

  In a crooked little house by a crooked little sea.

  She could read them without even seeing them. She liked that. She ran her fingers over the words again and again.

  And then she pulled open the door to the phone booth and stepped outside and looked up at the sun. It was at least four o’clock. Elmer got off at five.

  Who was she kidding?

  She turned. She went back to Zoom City.

  She sat down in front of the mechanical horse. She leaned her head up against his flank and closed her eyes.

  “Now, I’m just wondering if I can be of some assistance to you,” said a voice.

  Beverly opened her eyes. A lady in a green wraparound skirt was bending down, smiling at her. The wraparound skirt had ducks on it, hundreds of them.

  “Are you lost?” said the woman. “Weary?”

  “I’m not lost,” said Beverly.

  “Are you weary?”

  “I’m fine,” said Beverly.

  “Yet here you are, sitting all alone on a summer’s day.” The woman stood up. She put her hands on her hips and beamed at Beverly. Her hair was gathered up on top of her head in a big brown pile. There was a pencil stuck in the top of the pile. The late-afternoon sun was visible behind the woman’s left shoulder — a smoldering ball of light.

  “Can I interest you in salvation?”

  “What?” said Beverly.

  “Salvation,” said the woman.

  Beverly sat up straighter.

  “Here,” said the woman. “Take this.” She held out a piece of paper. “Take it. It tells the truth.”

  The door to Zoom City opened. Elmer stuck his head out. “Mrs. Deely?” he said.

  “What?”

  “I told you. You can’t do that.”

  The woman turned and looked at Elmer. “Do what?” she said.

  “Harass people.”

  “I’m not harassing anyone. The truth has been delivered to me, and I’m delivering it to others. How can that be harassment?” Mrs. Deely looked confused.

  “It’s fine,” said Beverly. “I don’t care.”

  “See?” said Mrs. Deely to Elmer. And then she turned back to Beverly and held out the paper again. “I made it myself. Read it at your leisure. You will know it to be true.”

  “Thanks,” said Beverly. She took the paper and looked down at it and saw that it was covered in little stick figures with balloons coming out of their mouths. There were tiny words in the balloons.

  “It’s a cartoon,” said Mrs. Deely. “To make the truth more accessible. I drew it myself. Under divine guidance.”

  “Okay,” said Beverly.

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Deely,” said Elmer.

  “Good-bye, good-bye,” said Mrs. Deely. “I will pray for you.” She waved at both of them, and then she walked around the side of Zoom City, past the hedge, down toward the ocean.

  “What are you doing out here?” said Elmer.

  “Waiting,” said Beverly.

  “For what?”

  “For you,” said Beverly. “Duh.”

  Elmer smiled. He looked down at his feet. “I’ll be off pretty soon,” he said.

  The door to Zoom City closed.

  Beverly leaned back against the horse. She looked at Mrs. Deely’s cartoon. There were so many words crammed into each balloon that it was almost impossible to read anything. One of the stick figures was screaming; at least, Beverly assumed it was screaming. Its mouth was open in a big, agonized O. And there was another stick figure that looked like it was getting consumed by fire.

  Also, there were a lot of snakes. The stick figures were holding snakes in their hands and waving them around. They were jumping up and down on snakes. And there was one really big snake. Or maybe it was an alligator; it had feet. The creature, whatever it was, had a bubble over its head. Beverly squinted. “And the truth shall be delivered to you in fire and dim gladness.” Those were the words inside the bubble.

  “Good grief,” said Beverly out loud.

  She folded up the paper and put it in her back pocket.

  She closed her eyes again. Iola was probably wondering where Beverly was. She was maybe thinking that Beverly wasn’t coming back. She was probably standing out on the front steps of the trailer, looking up the road, waiting and hoping for Beverly.

  It was terrible — how people waited for other people.

  Beverly couldn
’t stand it. Talk about fire and dim gladness. She didn’t want to think about it.

  She took Mrs. Deely’s cartoon out of her back pocket and looked at it again.

  One of the stick figures was standing on top of a mountain with both arms over its head. There was a bubble coming out of its mouth, but there weren’t any words inside the bubble.

  Did Mrs. Deely forget to put the words in?

  Or was the stick figure trying to say something that couldn’t be said in words at all?

  She hides in the bushes,” said Elmer. “And then she kind of leaps out of the bushes and pounces on people and makes them take those cartoons. It scares them.”

  “I wasn’t scared,” said Beverly.

  “Yeah, well, that’s you. She draws cartoons of people dying and getting burned up in fires and consumed by snakes, and then she gives the cartoons to kids when they’re sitting on the horse. It makes the kids cry. They think that since it’s a cartoon, it’s something fun. And it’s not fun. There’s no point in scaring people. Life is scary enough as it is.”

  They were walking down A1A, side by side. Elmer had a book bag slung over his shoulder, and Beverly was close enough to him that her arm kept brushing against the canvas of the bag.

  “Where are we going?” she said.

  “To the bus stop,” said Elmer.

  They walked past the phone booth.

  “Wait,” said Beverly. She stopped. “I want to show you this.”

  “Yeah,” said Elmer. “It’s a phone booth. I’ve seen it before.”

  “No,” said Beverly. “Inside.”

  “What?” said Elmer. “Is Superman in there?”

  “Ha-ha,” said Beverly. She pulled open the door. “Go inside.”

  “You go first,” said Elmer.

  “Good grief,” she said. “You don’t trust anybody, do you? Fine.” She stepped inside. “Look. Here I am. Inside. Nothing has happened to me.”

  Elmer put down his book bag. He stepped inside, too.

  “It stinks in here,” he said.

  Up close, Elmer’s face was cratered, angry, covered in pimples.

  “I feel like Hansel,” said Elmer. “I feel like I just got shoved into the oven by the witch.”

  “Tilt your head,” said Beverly.

  “What?” said Elmer.

  “Look up,” she said. She pointed.

  “Oh,” said Elmer. “Words.”

  “Read them,” said Beverly.

  “In a crooked little house,” said Elmer, “by a crooked little sea.”

  Beverly’s heart thumped. It was strange, almost painful, to hear someone else say the words. It was as if Elmer were reading something that had been written inside of her, carved into her.

  He said the words again, faster this time. “In a crooked little house by a crooked little sea. That’s good,” he said. “I like it.”

  “Did you write it?” said Beverly.

  “Me? No. I don’t write poetry. Let’s get out of here. It’s too hot.”

  They stepped out of the phone booth. Elmer picked up his book bag. “I’ve got a question for you,” said Elmer.

  A truck blew past them, blaring its horn.

  “Okay,” said Beverly.

  “What did you like about the wings? In the painting?”

  “They’re so blue,” she said. “I’ve never seen a blue like that.”

  Elmer nodded.

  “How did they do that?” she said.

  “Do what?”

  “Make that color.”

  Elmer stopped walking. He looked at her. “It’s a gem,” he said. “It’s lapis lazuli. They ground it up and turned it into paint.”

  “Lapis lazuli,” said Beverly.

  “Right,” said Elmer. He started walking again.

  “Lapis lazuli,” she said quietly to herself.

  It was like muttering a spell, an incantation.

  And then they were at the bus stop. Elmer looked at his watch and said, “The bus should be here any minute now.”

  “Where’s Dartmouth?” said Beverly.

  “New Hampshire.”

  New Hampshire. Which was, what? A thousand miles away?

  “So you’re going to be an engineer?”

  “Yeah, I hope so.”

  Cars rushed past them in a hot, metallic blur. Suddenly, Beverly couldn’t stand the world — its heat and noise and violence, how all it ever wanted to do was to strip things away.

  “I hate everything,” she said.

  “How old are you?” said Elmer.

  “What difference does that make? I’m fourteen.”

  “Right,” said Elmer. And then the bus came, and Elmer was climbing the steps. He turned back and said to her, “Lapis lazuli. That’s one thing you don’t hate. And me, right? You don’t hate me.” He smiled at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Right,” said Beverly. “Okay.”

  She stood and watched the bus pull away. She couldn’t see Elmer inside, but she stood there and waved anyway.

  What was wrong with her?

  Waving at a person she couldn’t even see.

  Waving at a bus like some little kid.

  “Lapis lazuli!” she shouted after the bus. “Lapis lazuli!”

  They were such beautiful blue words.

  She couldn’t help it. She loved them.

  She waved until the bus disappeared.

  She went back to the Seahorse Court. Iola wasn’t in the front yard. Beverly walked up the little steps and knocked on the door.

  She waited. She knocked again. The door opened, and there was Iola — big-eyed, unsmiling.

  “Hi,” said Beverly.

  “Hi?” said Iola. “That’s what you’re going to say to me? Hi?”

  “I guess so,” said Beverly.

  “I’ve been waiting for you for I don’t know how long,” said Iola.

  “I didn’t ask you to wait for me.”

  “I even put those lips on,” said Iola, “and I just sat here and waited for you, thinking how it would make you laugh if you come up the drive and seen me sitting here with those waxy lips on my face. And when you didn’t show up, I just ended up eating them.”

  “How did they taste?” said Beverly.

  “Terrible!” said Iola. “Waxy. And not near sweet enough.”

  Beverly stood on the steps, and Iola stood in the doorway.

  Somewhere behind them, the ocean was muttering.

  “Don’t wait for me,” said Beverly. “I can’t stand to think about you waiting for me.”

  “I waited,” said Iola. Her glasses slipped down her nose. She pushed them up with one finger. “Just because you can’t stand to think about something don’t mean it ain’t happening, that it ain’t true. People wait on other people. People rely on other people.”

  Iola’s glasses slipped down again, and again she pushed them back up.

  The glasses looked bigger than they had the day before. It was like Iola was shrinking.

  Nod came and squeezed through Iola’s legs. He went down the steps and into the yard, his tail high.

  Iola stood at the door without moving.

  Beverly didn’t move, either. She just stood there. The ocean kept muttering. The sky was turning some kind of ominous pink. But then, pink always looked ominous to Beverly. It made her think of princesses and beauty contests and her mother and lies.

  “Well,” said Iola.

  “Well,” said Beverly. “Are you going to let me in?”

  “I’m always going to let you in, darling,” said Iola. “It’s not a matter of whether or not I’m going to let you in.”

  Nod stood at the bottom of the steps and looked up at the two of them. He made a noise that sounded like a question. The sky above the trailer turned from pink to purple. Dark clouds were rolling in.

  “That cat wants to come back inside now,” said Iola. “In, out, in, out. You can’t ever predict what a cat wants.”

  “I made a friend,” said Beverly.
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  “What?” said Iola.

  “I made a friend.”

  “Oh, honey,” said Iola.

  Beverly shrugged. “His name is Elmer. It’s a stupid name. He works at Zoom City.”

  “Oh, honey,” said Iola again. “I’m so glad.”

  Nod came bounding up the steps. He wound himself through Beverly’s legs, working to trip her. She could hear him purring. The sky was dark with clouds now. “You stupid cat,” said Beverly.

  “It’s fixing to rain,” said Iola. “Come on, now.”

  She took hold of Beverly’s hand, and Beverly bent down and picked up Nod.

  They went into the trailer that way — the three of them together.

  Iola immediately set to work making Beverly a tuna melt. How was it that Beverly hated fish and worked at a fish restaurant and ate tuna fish every day of her life? How had that happened?

  Rain was beating hard on the roof of the trailer. Beverly sat down at the little kitchen table and saw that there was a piece of paper placed right in the center of it. The paper was white with a border of little purple flowers, and there was an envelope with little purple flowers sitting on top of the paper. And on top of the envelope, there was a pen. The envelope had a stamp on it.

  “What’s this?” said Beverly.

  “Well, what does it look like?” said Iola. She fussed with the toaster.

  “Stationery,” said Beverly.

  “That’s right,” said Iola. “You said you wanted to write a letter, and I forgot about getting you what you needed. And then I remembered, and now there it is. Right in front of you.”

  Nod leaped up on the refrigerator. He put his back to them. He studied the wall as if it contained some great mystery. His tail swung back and forth. Maybe someday, Nod would solve the mystery. Maybe a door would slide open in the wall, and Nod would leap through it and not come back.

  But for now, he was here.

  Beverly picked up the pen.

  Dear Raymie, she wrote.

  She sat still for a minute. She listened to the rain.

  And then she bent her head and wrote:

  There is this phone booth here that is just kind of on the side of the road, but also not very far away from the ocean, and someone has scratched some words inside it, on the glass. I don’t know who did it, but I guess that doesn’t matter.