“You can be sure I don’t. I haven’t bought myself much of anything since . . . since I lost Lucy,” he said.
“The offer is good for you as well,” Mrs. Camden told him.
I had never seen Grandpa Arnold blush, not like this. He mumbled something and then announced that he had some financial homework to do. Before he left, he complimented My Faith on her dinner. Mrs. Camden added to the praise, and then Myra appeared and the three of them began to talk about the week’s menu for the boy in Willie’s room. My Faith said she had kept his dinner warm. Apparently, Mrs. Camden had thought it better to let him sleep.
“He’s still mending so much,” she said. “The poor thing probably doesn’t weigh fifty pounds. He must be about nine or ten. I feel like I might break his bones when I lift him.”
“And that’s not all from the poison, is it?” Myra asked.
I sat there, unable to feign disinterest, especially with Mrs. Camden’s response.
“It could have damaged his appetite, of course, but Dr. Friedman believes he was kept on a diet lacking in the basic caloric intake a child that age should have, probably for some time. It’s stunted his growth somewhat. We’re treating his pituitary gland.”
“Sounds like he was kept imprisoned or something,” Myra offered.
Mrs. Camden shook her head. “I hope we’ll know someday, but that part has to come later.” She looked at me. “When he feels more trusting.”
I rose. “I have to finish my homework,” I said.
“That offer still stands,” Mrs. Camden called after me. “Whatever day you choose. I’ll work it out.”
I didn’t reply. I kept walking away, even though my body was fighting to turn around on its own to accept her offer. It had been so long since I had gone shopping with my grandmother and, of course, way longer since I had gone with my mother. On a few occasions, Myra accompanied me, mainly to get some necessities. She was all business, in and out. Lingering over displays, seeing new fashions, and window-shopping were things she never wanted to do. She always had something waiting for her to do at home, even on her day off. What I had bought lately I usually had bought with some girlfriends, especially Lila, whose mother took me along with them. But a special day for myself was something that seemed lost forever.
I didn’t pause. I intended as usual to walk quickly past Willie’s room, but as I approached, I could hear the boy moaning. I stopped to listen and then looked back to see if Mrs. Camden was coming up. There was no sound of footsteps on the stairway. Slowly, I went to Willie’s door and pushed it slightly open. The boy’s moans were a little louder. Should I go back and call for Mrs. Camden? I wondered. What if he was dying? If he died here after all my grandfather had done for him, how would that affect my grandfather? Would he think he had been wrong even to have begun all this? Would he blame himself? A terrible part of me wished for it as vengeance for his giving so much of Willie to this stranger. I didn’t like that mean and vicious part of me, but I couldn’t deny those feelings.
I opened the door farther and stepped into the room. Mrs. Camden had left the curtains open, but the late-afternoon sun had fallen by now, and the sky was just past twilight. I could see some stars growing brighter. My Faith had once told Willie and me that the stars were the souls of the beautiful and good. Willie was always asking me which ones I thought might be our parents.
The stars weren’t bright enough yet. The spill of hallway illumination was all the light in the room. The boy wasn’t moving. He was on his back, his head sunk into one of Willie’s big, soft pillows, his face so pale that it was ghostlike. Sometimes Willie fell asleep with his arms wrapped around that pillow, clutching it as if it was our mother, who slept beside him when he was sick or frightened. Grandma Arnold never did, but I had often after our parents were killed.
I heard the boy moan again. Was he dreaming or calling for help? What if he was dreaming, and in his dreams, he was talking about his family and what had happened to him? I could overhear it and then tell everyone what I had learned, I thought. I inched closer.
I was standing right beside the bed when he moaned again and then shook his head with his eyes closed and clearly said, “Mickey sick.”
Mickey? “Who’s Mickey?” I asked. His eyes were still closed. “Mickey who? Are you Mickey? Is that your real name?”
He didn’t speak.
I looked back at the doorway and listened. I didn’t hear Mrs. Camden coming, so I touched his shoulder gently and asked again, “Are you Mickey? You’re sick, right?”
His eyes looked sewn shut. His lips opened slightly, and he shook his head again and again said, “Mickey sick.”
I shook him harder. “Who’s Mickey? Talk. Are you Mickey? Talk!” I said much louder.
A burst of light brightened the room when the overhead fixture went on, surprising me. I turned toward the door. Mrs. Camden was standing there. “What’s going on?” she asked.
The boy moaned and this time opened his eyes. He looked up at me, visibly terrified at how I was looming over him.
I straightened up quickly. “He was moaning, so I came in to see why.”
She nodded and walked toward the bed. I stepped back. “Hi, honey,” she said to him. “Getting a little hungry, maybe?”
He looked at me and then at her and nodded.
“He said ‘Mickey.’ I heard him say it. He said, ‘Mickey sick.’ That’s probably his real name. Ask him. Ask him!”
“Calm down, Clara Sue. It’s not good to shout at him. That only frightens him and closes him up faster and tighter.”
“Ask him,” I said more softly, choking back my excitement. “Go on,” I challenged, and folded my arms over my breasts defiantly.