CHAPTER 14
Devon
Devon hoped to make it home before Uncle T, slip in to check on Memaw, maybe grab a quick snack to take to his room for later.
But as he pedaled closer to the house—making sure to go the back way so T wouldn’t pull up behind him and see the new bike before he could hide it behind the clump of trees by the shed—he saw not only T’s brown Cadillac but two others.
One was a beat-up yellow convertible and the other a slick black machine with silver rims that gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Ray’s car.
His stomach got all quivery, reminding him of eggs in a pan before they scrambled up right.
T spotted Devon as he was walking over from the yard.
There was a woman with him. Girl, really, with giant hoop earrings and shorts that looked so tight and tiny Devon had to blink to make sure he was seeing right.
The girl was laughing and swaying, like there was music playing except there wasn’t, and her long blue fingernails scratched playfully against T’s arm.
“Terry-baby, come on now. Play nice.”
She slitted her eyes like a cat.
Devon cleared his throat.
T tossed him a glare. “What you doing sneakin’ up the back like that, tryin’ to get blasted?”
“No, sir.”
T thinned his lips, one hand on the girl’s hip. The girl didn’t seem to mind.
“You come tiptoeing in with your crusty ol’ head, get yourself beat down or shot if you’re not careful. Best go easy now, boy.”
Devon swallowed and eyed the door, tried to decide whether to edge past T and the girl or go around to the front door.
He figured T was liable to take it as some sign of disrespect and get mad if he went around.
Slowly, he climbed the back stairs, keeping as much distance between him and his uncle as he could.
The girl had her arms around T’s neck now, doing a little dance.
Whatever she was smoking smelled foul, skunk-like. T didn’t seem to care.
But when Devon got to the top of the stairs, T’s hand shot out, clenched Devon’s arm. The girl laughed and wriggled, but T held on, stared him down. His arm hurt, and he knew T wanted that, wanted to show off.
“Aw, leave ’im be, Terry-baby. You’re scarin’ the poor kid.” The girl squeezed T’s bicep.
T flicked a look her way, and she laughed nervously.
“Hear me?” T’s voice was cold. Devon managed a nod. The eggs in his belly began to slip and slide again, and his knees felt weak.
“Yessir,” Devon muttered, and then T released his arm and Devon half-fell past, slipping into the house and the smoke-filled kitchen.
Two dirty frying pans were on the stove, and a man in an undershirt and blue jeans was passed out at the kitchen table, his head turned slightly to one side.
Devon could see the man’s tongue poking out just barely, saw a line of yellow and white pills and what looked like powder on a tray.
Ray was nowhere in sight, but he could hear giggling down the hall and the squeal of some girl.
He scooched closer to the sound, realized they were in his room. Great.
Quickly, he opened the door to the pantry and grabbed a half-empty bag of chips and a pop-top spaghetti and meatballs.
He stuffed them into his backpack, then grabbed a couple of juice boxes and headed down the hall to Memaw’s room.
The TV was on in the living room, the new flat-screen T had brought, and Devon switched it off.
So much for saving on the power bill. He sure hoped T would be around when the bill came. Then again, he hoped he wasn’t.
“Memaw?” He tapped softly at her door, stepped inside.
Her room was quiet, cool, and the overhead fan ticked softly. The curtains were drawn, but a thin strip of rectangular white light came from the bottom of the roller shade, just enough so he could see where he was going, see her sleeping form on the bed.
He tiptoed in, and she stirred at the creak of the floorboards.
“Devon, honey, that you?” She coughed, a weak, raspy cough, and he went to her.
“Yes, Memaw, it’s me. How are you feeling?”
“Oh, my sweet, sweeeet boy.” She struggled to sit, and he saw she was in her nightgown, hair still pinned up in back the way she wore it at night. She hadn’t moved all day, then. “So sweeeeeet.”
Her voice sounded funny, and he peered at her. Her face looked droopy.
“There are people here.” His hand gestured to the door. “Memaw, T’s got some friends here. Girls, too, and they’re all up to no good.”
But Memaw only shrugged, settled back against the pillows.
“Ah, hungh,” was all she managed, and then her eyes closed, and she was snoring softly, and he was alone again.
Tears pricked his eyes. What was going on?
Memaw never slept this much. She needed a doctor, he knew it, needed someone to figure out what was happening here.
But how could he bring a doctor here, to this place, with all this mess going on?
And how could he get her out of the house in this condition, to where she could get help?
He could ask CJ, maybe. But CJ would tell his mom, and then who knew what would happen?
Leaving his backpack in her closet, he opened the door, marched out to the patio. The girl was in the chair now, lighting another smoke.
“She needs a doctor, Uncle T.”
“She don’t need nothin’.” He set his jaw.
“So you’re just—just gonna let her die? A doctor could do something to help, figure out what’s going on. She might’ve had a stroke or something, or an aneur-whatever it’s called, or—or something. Please, Uncle T.”
All the trying in the world couldn’t stop the hot tears from pooling. He squeezed his eyes tight so they wouldn’t fall. If they started, he knew they wouldn’t stop, not for a long time, and T’d never let him hear the end of it. You big baby. Get it together for Memaw’s sake. For Mama’s sake.
T shook his head, thumbed at the girl. “Missy’s got her. She works part-time. An aide, at the old folks’ home. Said she sees this all th’time, a’ight?”
Devon whirled on her. “Did you give my Memaw some pills or something? Something to make her go all wacko?”
Missy half-stood and blew out a whoosh of smoke. “I di’nt give her nothin’.” Her voice was like a hiss. “I don’t know where you come off, kid, but I don’t go ’round feeding grannies pills or nothin’. That’s not how I do people.”
“Missy, shut it.” T sighed. “Look, kid, she’s old. You know what I’m sayin’?”
“She deserves better.” The words were tight in his throat. “Will you at least drive her to the doctor?”
“No—”
“Or let me call Doc Kittredge? He makes house calls sometimes. I’m sure he’d come.”
“Nobody’s comin’ here. Got that, boy? I mean no one. You cross me on this, it’ll be a big mistake. Hear me?”
His words were soft, but Devon knew a threat when he heard it. He held T’s eyes a long moment.
“Let it go, boy. Nothin’s gonna happen. We’re family. I got this.”
Devon didn’t even bother to answer. He just let the door slam behind him and dashed back to Memaw’s room, where he locked her door and buried his face in her bedcovers. She didn’t budge, just slept on. The tears came for what felt like hours.
Please help, Jesus. Help my Memaw.