The Sound of Life and Everything by Krista Van Dolzer Page B

he’d look nicer in gray, but this brown will have to do. Takuma, will you try—?”
    â€œI’m afraid you wouldn’t want those, either,” Mrs. Leavitt interrupted as she ripped them off the hanger and tucked them under her arm. “This twill’s too coarse for our climate.”
    Mama threw her arms up. “Is there anything in this whole store that you might let me buy?”
    Mrs. Leavitt winced, then mumbled, “No.”
    Behind her, Chester flinched, though he didn’t disagree. On the far end of the store, the only other shopper set a casserole back on the shelf, then darted out the door. Her hat was angled low, so I couldn’t see her face, but she was obviously a coward. The door wheezed shut on her heels with a tired sigh.
    White-hot anger zigzagged across my field of vision, but luckily, Daddy’s boxing lesson had included a few pointers on punching with both eyes closed and one arm tied behind your back. I used Mrs. Leavitt’s heavy breathing to triangulate her position, but before I could cock my fist, Takuma touched my arm. When I squinted up at him, he shook his head.
    I knotted my arms across my chest. Why Takuma didn’t want me to teach her a lesson, I had no idea. She’d ignored him, insulted him, and ultimately denied him pants (albeit pleated ones). But I didn’t have a chance to outline these injustices before Mama cleared her throat.
    â€œVery well,” she said majestically. “A thousand apologies, Virginia, for burdening you with our business.”
    â€œOh, Anna, be reasonable. I mean, how would it look if we did business with—?”
    â€œDon’t say it,” Mama said. “I can’t stop you from thinkin’ it, but I
can
stop you from sayin’ it, at least when we’re around.”
    Mrs. Leavitt blinked. “It’s what he is.”
    Mama hooked one arm through Takuma’s and took my hand with the other. “He’s a human being,” she replied as she steered us out the door, “just like you and just like me.”

14
    The drive home calmed me down, but it stirred Mama up. At first, she only glared and muttered hexes on the Leavitts, but once we passed the post office, she started dictating a letter to the Honorable James P. McGranery, the attorney general. She wanted him to prosecute all the ninnies in St. Jude.
    By the time that we got home, Mama was fit to be tied. She took one look at the kitchen, then burrowed into the junk drawer.
    â€œJed was right,” she growled. “We can’t just stick him in a suit and pretend that he belongs.” She pulled out a meat cleaver, then stuffed it back into the drawer. “He’s got to learn how to talk. If he’s gonna be a part of this town, he’s got to speak for himself.”
    â€œThat’s fine, Mama,” I said. “But what does that have to do with ladles?”
    â€œI’m gonna teach him,” Mama said, but after taking one look at the ladle, she returned it to the drawer. “But I suppose that ‘ladle’ might not be a useful word.”
    Takuma tried to grab it, but I gently closed the drawer.
    â€œWhy don’t you let me do this, Mama?” It seemed like she could use a breather. “You could make yourself some sweet tea . . . or boil some potatoes. You like boilin’ potatoes, don’t you?”
    Mama squinted at me, then, finally, nodded. “But I expect him to be talkin’ by the time I finish my first cup!”
    â€œCome on,” I told Takuma. “I want to show you something.”
    Our backyard in the spring was a magical place. The spring break after Theo and I had celebrated our ninth birthdays, we’d spent most of a morning nailing boards to the oak trees that lined the back of my property. Then Auntie Mildred had caught wind of what me and Theo had been up to and made us take them down. She said that we were lucky we hadn’t