The Secrets on Chicory Lane: A Novel(10)

Eddie looked at me as if I was nuts. “Vacation? The last vacation we went on was to see my grandparents in Arkansas. That was three years ago. I was eight. All I remember was the long, hot drive in the car, and then I was bored to death for a week. Horrible.”

“I don’t guess we’re going anywhere this year, since there’s a new baby in the house.”

“Hey, I saw at the movie theater that they’re bringing back Help! You want to go see it?”

“I saw it last year.” Eddie was into the Beatles. I liked them all right, but he thought they were the second coming.

“I want to see that James Bond double feature that’s coming, too,” he said. “Maybe your parents will drive us if you want to go with me.”

“I don’t know if they’ll let me see those movies. Aren’t they for grown-ups?”

“Nah. I saw Thunderball, and it was great.”

That was one thing Eddie did a lot of—see movies. If he didn’t have anyone to go with, Eddie’s mother would drive him downtown to one of the theaters on a Saturday and he’d spend all day repeatedly watching whatever was playing. Sometimes I think he just didn’t want to be home on the days I wasn’t available. He liked playing records, too. Not only did he have all of the Beatles’ albums, but he also listened to early rock groups like the Rolling Stones, Herman’s Hermits, the Beach Boys, and so on. Sometimes that’s what we did together when we were at my house or his. He’d bring over a stack of 45s, and we’d play them.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed human figures in the window of the cockpit. Two boys from school—I don’t remember their names now—were spying on us. “Hey, look, it’s the lovebirds,” one of them said. “What are y’all doing hiding in the airplane? Huh?”

“Shut up,” Eddie said. “We’re just talking.”

The other one sang, “Eddie likes Shelby, Eddie likes Shelby, Shelby likes Eddie, Shelby likes Eddie …”

“Shut up!” Eddie repeated, standing up, ready to punch one of them in the face. They ran off laughing. That was my cue to get home, so I stood up, too.

“Where you going?”

“It’s getting close to supper time. I better leave.”

“You’re not going to let them bother you, are you?”

“No, they’re stupid.” I started climbing the steps to the cockpit. “Besides, what they said isn’t true. We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend.” As I reached the top, I heard Eddie mutter, “We’re not?” I didn’t say anything else as we walked back to Chicory Lane, silent.

At the dinner table that same evening, I asked my parents about Mr. Alpine. I needed to satisfy my curiosity.

“He’s one of our neighbors, dear,” Mom answered. “We hired him to take Michael’s portrait, remember?”

“He takes our school pictures, too,” I added.

“Uh huh. And doesn’t he work at the library?”

“Yes.”

“He’s Mayor Alpine’s brother,” Dad said.

“I know that.”

“He’s also on the school board at Giddings.” That was the junior high school I would start attending in the fall.

“But do you know him?”

Mom wrinkled her brow as if she wondered why I would ask such a thing. “We say hello when we see him.”

“He comes into the bank,” Dad added. “Very personable guy. He’s helping to organize the Fourth of July parade. I think he does it every year.”

She looked at me. “Why do you ask, dear?”

I shrugged. “I think he’s nice. He’s always giving stuff to everyone, comic books and candy. And he’s got a movie projector and shows us cartoons and old movies.”

“Really?” said Dad.

“He’s got a lot of neat stuff. You know that robot from that movie we saw on TV?”

Dad looked at me sideways. “Robby the Robot? Forbidden Planet?”

“Yeah. Well, Mr. Alpine has a Robby the Robot toy that’s this big.” I used my fingers to indicate six inches off the table top. “He winds it, and it walks and lights up.”

“You’ve been in his house?” Mom asked.

“Everybody has. To see his toy collection, watch movies …”

Mom paused. She seemed concerned. “You probably shouldn’t do that, Shelby. If he asks you to come in again, just politely say you’re not supposed to go in anyone’s house without us knowing about it.”

“He’s a nice man,” I said again, working my way up to the real question. “Did you know he was married once?”

My dad cleared his throat and said, “Uh, yes, that’s true. That was before we moved here. He was a young man then, and he didn’t live on our street.”

“Did they have any kids?”

Dad and Mom glanced at each other. Dad continued, “They did. I don’t know the whole story, but the baby died in its crib. A tragedy.”

“Honey,” Mom said, “sometimes babies die for no reason when they’re really small. They call it a ‘crib death.’ That’s what happened.”

At the time, this news shocked me. Now, of course, I know about SIDS—sudden infant death syndrome—but back then no one had a term for it. The cause of death was a mystery; doctors didn’t start fully studying SIDS until a decade later, and it wasn’t part of the public consciousness until the eighties or nineties.