Lila and Hadley Page 7

  “How will you read?”

  “How will you use a computer?”

  “Does this mean you won’t want to watch movies anymore? Because you can’t see them?”

  “Will you still be able to take pictures on your phone? Can you see the pictures we tag you in?”

  “How many fingers am I holding up right now?”

  That last one came from Joey, but before he could lift his arm up to hold fingers in front of my face, Maya grabbed his wrist and yanked it right back down.

  “Pretty sure that’s rude,” she told him.

  I’m not sure if it was rude or not, but it was annoying. Every time anybody—even grown-ups sometimes—finds out I’m blind, they put up their hand and ask how many fingers they’re holding up. Like they’re testing me. The answer is almost always three.

  I didn’t know how to answer the rest of their questions. I had no idea how reading or taking pictures or watching movies was gonna work yet. I could still do all that stuff—though it had definitely gotten a bit harder—but if the doctor was right and my vision was just gonna keep getting worse, I didn’t know what that would mean.

  “You know,” Maya said, letting go of Joey’s arm. “I’m legally blind without my glasses on.”

  “No, you ain’t,” I said. “The doctor says you’re only legally blind if your vision is that way with best correction, which I think means glasses. So you can’t be legally blind without glasses on, because the glasses fix it. You just got bad eyes without them on.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Okay.”

  We were sitting on the school bus, heading home. We all lived on the same bus route, just a few miles apart. Which meant we got to spend a little extra time every morning and afternoon with each other. Normally I liked that, but today I was kinda ready to just go home to Mama.

  I’d known for a while I was legally blind—since my last eye doctor visit when he said my vision had officially reached that point. My friends knew my vision was bad, but I hadn’t told them it’d be getting worse. If Mama really wanted me to possibly take some kind of classes in the next year or two, though, I knew I’d have to be honest with my friends about what was going on. Besides, keeping it from them had been hard enough. We weren’t the sorta friends who kept things from each other usually.

  Still, I was wishing I had kept it to myself. Because all these questions just made me feel tired and worried.

  And then Joey asked me one question I did know the answer to.

  “Are you scared?” he asked. “About it getting even worse?”

  “No.”

  It was the first time I’d ever outright lied to them before.

  “That’s good,” Maya said. “I think I’d be scared. But I’m glad you’re not. But if you ever need help with things—as you go blind or whatever—we’ll be there. We can help.”

  “Yeah,” Joey said. “We can definitely help with whatever you need.”

  “Thanks, y’all,” I said. Though I knew that they couldn’t.

  When I got home, Mama was on the phone, having one of those conversations where she sounded real stressed out. This was in the winter, a few weeks before Christmas last year, and she’d stopped working for Dr. Parker months ago. Those calls, the ones I later learned were with lawyers, had only started in the last several weeks.

  I made myself a bowl of cereal and sat down on the couch watching a rerun of some old sitcom about people living in New York City while I waited for Mama’s call to wrap up. It took another half hour or so, and another episode of the show was playing when Mama finally hung up the phone, dropping it onto the kitchen counter with a huff, before coming to sit on the other end of the couch.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s fine, Bean. Don’t worry about it.”

  I didn’t know it then, but I wasn’t the only one telling lies that day.

  “How was school?”

  “It was okay. But I told Joey and Maya what the doctors said, about me being really legally blind now.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” I put down my long-empty bowl of cereal. “They were … They weren’t mean about it or anything. They were just … weird. They asked a lot of questions I don’t got answers to. And then Joey asked me if I’m scared.”

  Mama was watching me. I could feel her eyes on my face, even though I had my head turned toward the TV, where two of the characters were about to get married while their friends scrambled around, getting things ready but also accidentally making them worse. I’d seen this episode before.

  “What did you tell him?” she asked.

  “I said I wasn’t scared.”

  “Is that the truth?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, Bean.” Mama scooted across the couch toward me, then wrapped her arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug. “It’s all right to be scared.”

  “No it ain’t,” I say, burying my face in her shoulder. Her hair smelled like the coconut shampoo she always used. “It’s embarrassing. Especially because people already get all sad for me when they find out what’s going on with my sight. If they know I’m scared, too, it’ll be even worse.”

  Mama squeezed a little tighter. “I understand you not wanting people to know it scares you. It’s not anyone’s business but yours. But you don’t gotta be embarrassed about being scared. You know change is coming. And change is scary sometimes.”

  “I thought you said it’ll be okay, though. That I’ll be okay even if I can’t see?”

  “You will be,” Mama said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be scared about how things will change. There are a lot of things as you grow up where you’ll know a change is coming. And even if you know you’ll probably come out the other side of it all right, not knowing how you’ll get there is scary. All you can do is keep pushing forward, do your best, and have faith that, even if it takes a while, you’ll get through it.”

  The way Mama’s voice shook a bit when she spoke made me think she was speaking from experience. And now, months later, I realize she was probably dealing with her own fears then, about what was coming in her future. Except, unlike me, her situation was her own fault.

  I’d had no idea what was coming, though. All I knew was that I trusted Mama more than anyone. That if she told me I’d be okay, I would, and if she said it was all right to be scared, then it was.

  “Okay,” I murmured. “Thanks, Mama.”

  “As for Joey and Maya,” she said, “just give them some time. They care a lot about you, and maybe the way they showed it today wasn’t great. But they’ll get better. And if they don’t, just tell them how you feel. They’re good kids and good friends. I think they’ll listen.”

  “Maybe.”

  She hugged me for a minute longer before her cell phone started to ring in the next room. Her arms fell slowly away from me as she stood up. I could sense the shift in her. That probably sounds weird, but I didn’t have to see to feel the tension coming off Mama right then.

  “I have to get that,” she said, her voice tired and shaky.

  Then she went to the kitchen to answer the phone, and I went back to watching the silly TV show. With no idea that my eyesight wasn’t the only big change ahead of me that I ought to be worried about.

  “Rise and shine!” Beth calls out, pushing open my bedroom door with only a single knock of warning. “It’s a beautiful Saturday, and it’s well past time to get up.”

  “Ugh. Go away.” I yank the covers over my and Lila’s heads. She’s taken a real liking to sleeping under the blankets with me. I thought it’d be too hot for her, since she’s got fur and all, but apparently she don’t mind too much. And right now, she wiggles closer to me, burying her face against my side, like she ain’t ready to get up either.

  “Come on, y’all.” Beth sighs. “It’s nearly noon. I’ve already spent a couple hours working in my garden. And I don’t have any clients today, so the three of us are gonna spend some time together.”

  “L
ater.”

  “Nope.”

  The covers are peeled back, and it’s me—not the dog in the bed—that snarls at my sister.

  “Oh, give me a chance, Hadley. I’ve got a great idea for what we’re going to do this afternoon. It’ll be fun.”

  “Doubt it,” I mumble, keeping my forearms pressed to my face.

  “Lord. And Mama said I was a dramatic teenager.”

  At the mention of Mama, I feel my stomach drop, like a weight pulling me down deeper into the mattress. I roll onto my side, facing away from Beth. Behind her, on the little wooden desk, the stack of Mama’s letters gets higher every week. All unopened. I wrap my arm around Lila, pressing my face into her short fur.

  “Hadley …” Beth’s voice is soft all of a sudden. I hate it. “You know … she really wants to hear from you. If you want to go see her, we could—”

  “If I get out of bed, will you drop it?”

  “Drop it?”

  “Mama,” I say, my voice a bit muffled as I speak against Lila’s neck. “If I get up, will you stop talking about her?”

  Beth lets out this long, exasperated sigh. The thing is, she was a dramatic teenager. I was real little, sure, but I remember. And I recall that sigh, in particular, driving Mama up the wall. I don’t bring it up though. Because Beth says, “Fine. If you get up, I promise not to talk about Mama anymore. Today, at least.”

  “Deal.”

  I give Lila a quick squeeze followed by a little shake as I push myself up. “Come on. If I gotta suffer, so do you.”

  Lila whines.

  “Hey now,” Beth says. “No one is gonna do any suffering. I told you—I have a nice afternoon planned. You know, we’ve hardly spent any time together since you got here, and the time we have has all been in this house. So I figured we’d go on a bit of an adventure. And get in some leash training with Lila while we’re at it.”

  At the sound of her name, Lila rolls over and looks at Beth. Then she looks back at me with an expression that, if you ask me, seems to say, Do I have to? I give her a solemn nod.

  “So get dressed,” Beth says. “I’ll put some food in Lila’s bowl and grab you a banana to eat before we go, but don’t worry, we’ll have a bigger meal while we’re out.” She claps her hands together, all perky and excited, before leaving the room. Though she don’t shut the bedroom door behind her.

  I climb off the bed with a groan and walk over to the dresser to get my clothes. I can feel Lila watching me from the bed, so I say, “You might as well go eat. I don’t think we’re getting out of this.”

  She huffs out a breath, but after a second or so, I hear her feet hit the floor, and she plods out of the room toward the kitchen.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m standing at the front door with Beth, who’s got my cane in one hand and Lila’s leash in the other. She hands them both to me, and I frown.

  “You’re gonna be with me, right? So I don’t think I need this,” I say, trying to hand the cane back to her.

  Beth pushes it back toward me. “I will be with you, but you still need to practice.”

  “Ugh.”

  “You’re gonna have to start working with Lila on leash training by yourself soon,” she reminds me. “Might as well get the feel of walking her while using a cane now.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Baby Sister,” she says. She looks down at Lila, who has flopped onto her side and closed her eyes, as if faking sleep. “And yours, Lila. Come on. Both y’all. Let’s get moving.” She picks up a backpack by the door and slings it over her shoulders.

  I scowl at her calling me Baby Sister before kneeling down and hooking the leash onto Lila’s collar, giving it a gentle tug to urge her back to her feet. She stands, but it’s clear she ain’t real happy about it. Can’t say I blame her. The three of us have never gone anywhere together before. Not since bringing Lila home from the rescue. Really, the only person I’ve been out of the house with much is Mrs. McGraw, who takes me to see Cilia for my lessons.

  This is gonna be weird. I just know it.

  As soon as we reach the sidewalk, Beth switches into dog-trainer mode. She keeps a close eye on Lila and tells me how to correct her: how to keep her from pulling too hard or walking behind, how to get her to heel. All that stuff. She’s brought a bag of baby carrots along to help, and to my surprise, Lila actually seems to be picking up on things pretty quickly. It probably shouldn’t shock me, though, considering how fast she learned the other things I taught her, even if she wouldn’t do them in front of anyone for a while. Today, I’m the one having the harder time. Turns out, holding a cane in one hand and a dog leash in the other is kinda tricky. Especially when I am still poking myself in the belly with my cane at least once every block or two.

  “How’d you end up as a dog trainer, anyway?” I ask Beth as we walk past the dog park. Lila’s head turns to watch through the fence as some of the other dogs bark and chase each other around, but she keeps walking like she’s supposed to, no growling or whining or trying to run off this time. “Good girl,” I murmur, before looking over to Beth again. “I didn’t even know you liked dogs.”

  “Just because we didn’t have one growing up doesn’t mean I didn’t like them,” she says. “I would’ve loved to have one as a kid, but Daddy was allergic, so …” She trails off for a minute, then clears her throat. “Anyway. Um, well, when I was nineteen or so, I volunteered at a dog rescue—not the one Vanessa runs. This was in another town, before I moved here. My roommate at the time was volunteering, so I decided I would, too. And I really enjoyed it. I found out I was pretty good with dogs, and I thought why not make it my job? So I found a dog obedience school in the area and convinced one of the trainers there to do an apprenticeship with me.”

  “How’d you end up at Right Choice Rescue?”

  When she answers, Beth’s voice is brighter, happier than she’s been since I came here. I realize she’s excited I asked, which almost makes me wish I hadn’t. But the truth is, I’ve been wondering this for a while. If I’d had to imagine a future for the big sister who left Mama and me all those years ago, this wouldn’t have been it. Though, I guess I didn’t really have an alternative in mind, either.

  Honestly, I just don’t feel like I know Beth at all. And I’m torn between wanting to keep it that way and wanting to figure out what has happened to the girl who taught me how to do cartwheels in the backyard or who ran up and down the hallways with me on her shoulders until Mama hollered at us to stop before one of us got hurt.

  “Well, when I moved here, I decided to try and start a business. So people could hire me to come and train their dogs or do some obedience work if they were having trouble. I put a bunch of flyers up and made a website and all that. And after a few months, Vanessa gave me a call. She’d just opened the rescue and had a couple dogs she thought she could find a good home for if they just had a bit more training. So I took the job, got those dogs on their best behavior, and a month later, they were both adopted. So she asked me to stick around. I still work with family dogs, too. In fact, that’s most of my work. But I think my time with Right Choice is probably what I find most rewarding.”

  I nod.

  “You know, Vanessa is always looking for volunteers, if you ever wanna come to work with me sometime. I know you’re busy with Lila, but you could visit the rescue like once a week or so, help out for a few hours. I could show you what I do every day. And the dogs always love more company.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Beth’s excited expression falters, erased by disappointment. I turn my eyes down to Lila so I don’t gotta look at her.

  We only walk for about twenty minutes or so before Beth leads us off the sidewalk and onto a dirt path that snakes its way up a small hill. “There’s not a lot going on in this town,” she tells me, a bit of that cheer returning to her voice, “but we do have this very cute little park here, with a perfect picnic spot. Watch your step, by the way. The ground’s not real
even. And don’t let Lila sniff like that—she’ll trip you up. Give her leash a light tug just to get her attention—there you go. And we’re almost there now.”

  I try not to get too frustrated with Beth telling me what to do. But it doesn’t go as bad as the night she tried to help me teach Lila to “Come.” Today Lila seems to be actually listening, and Beth’s advice is helpful. Not as overwhelming as before.

  We make it to the top of the hill, where there are several picnic tables scattered around. It seems like most of them are already taken—being a Saturday afternoon in July and all—but Beth leads us over to an open one and helps me tether Lila’s leash to one of the table legs before taking off her backpack.

  “I figured we could have our lunch here today,” she says, unzipping the backpack. She pulls out some sandwich bags, two bottles of water, and a few packs of potato chips. “It just seemed like a real waste of a nice day to stay inside. We could all use some fresh air.”

  I know “we all” actually means “you”—because from what she’s said, Beth spends a lot of her day outside working with dogs. It’s me that only goes outside when Lila’s gotta go pee or during my weekly mobility lesson. But I don’t bother pointing it out. Instead, I just open the sandwich bag she gives me and sniff inside.

  “Peanut butter and jelly?”

  “Yep. I remember it was your favorite thing to have for lunch when you were little. I hope you still like it?”

  I just shrug. But truth is, I do. When I see she’s cut it diagonally, though, the way Mama always did, a pang of sadness hits me real hard. I force myself to take a big bite and look away so Beth can’t see my face.

  I don’t want to miss Mama. I’m still furious with her. I ain’t opened any of her letters or answered any of her calls from jail. I won’t ever forgive her for being a liar. But sometimes, these little things, like this stupid sandwich, will make me think of her. Of the way she’d always pack my lunch for school with a note that said I love you, Bean! With a smiley face at the end. I always rolled my eyes at that, but now that I don’t have it, it feels wrong. Or how she knew just the right way to braid my hair so it wouldn’t come loose halfway through the day. Or how we’d spend almost every night on the couch together, one blanket wrapped around the both of us, while she’d read me books. We’d been halfway through Tuck Everlasting when she got sentenced. I still don’t know how it ends.