his arms. “Get yourself back in that bed, Mister. Where do you think you’re going?”
Oil Can hiccupped. “That bed stinks. I’m going home.”
Mavis brushed a shock of hair off his forehead then held onto his hands. “You don’t have a home.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, and I wanted to cry when I saw Oil Can’s face. His eyes crinkled and he wet his lips.
“Of course I have a home. Everyone has a home.”
Mavis sat him back on the bed. “Well, I sure wish you’d tell us where.” She sighed, then lifted his legs and gently spun him around. He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. Mavis tucked a pillow under his neck. He looked her in the eye.
“Oil Can’s not a charity case,” he said. “O.C. Henri’s never taken charity. Never will.”
‘I know. I know,” Mavis said. She reached for the remote control on his nightstand, raised the back of his bed, and clicked on the TV. “There. Maybe you’ll be more comfortable.”
Oil Can adjusted his pillow. Mavis moved aside and his eyes lit up when he saw me. For some reason I felt not only good, I felt important. I felt like I’d known this man that I’d met only two days ago, all of my life.
He turned the volume down. “Hey there little girl,” he said. “I had a hunch you’d pay Oil Can a visit.” He nodded. “Yep. If there’s one thing O. C. Henri is good at, it’s hunches. And I have a whopper of a hunch that you are one very special girl.” He looked at me in a curious way. “There’s something about you. I bet I knew you in a previous life.”
I glanced at Mavis. She rolled her eyes.
Oil Can smiled. “I remember you sitting with me in the emergency room. I knew you wouldn’t forget me.”
I smiled. He did know I was there “You’re not exactly forgettable,” I said.
“That’s right.” His words started to slur. “No one forgets Oil Can.” Then his eyes closed and his head flopped forward.
My heart started to race. Oh no. He’s gone. He’s dead for sure this time. I shot Mavis a frightened glance. “I…I think he’s gone off to one of his other lives.”
She put her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “He’s okay, honey. He carried on like that all night and most of the morning. He rambled on and on about New Orleans, his Angel of Music, Voodoo Vicki and the red door. Then he’d doze off, pop up again, and start with stories about how he’d been the Duke of Bourbon Street, a professor at Tulane, an adventurer.”
I glanced at Oil Can. He was snoring again. He looked so peaceful. It was a no-brainer to imagine him as an adventurer. The Duke of Bourbon Street was a stretch. And a professor? That vision just wouldn’t form.
“And oh yeah.” Mavis sighed. “I don’t want to forget how he saved a patrol in Viet Nam. They’ve all got a story about Nam.”
Mavis turned off the TV. “I don’t know. She shook her head. “Nothing makes sense coming from a man that’s talking in his sleep while he’s walking in his sleep. Maybe they were dreams. Maybe he was hallucinating. But I haven’t told you the best of the bunch.” She pointed to Oil Can.
“That man believes his Angel of Music is living right here in Harriman. He can sense it in his bones. Poor devil.” Mavis sighed. “He swears some mysterious force led him here and he’s going to find her. What do you think of that?”
“I think he will find her. It’s serendipity.”
Mavis left the room and headed for the nurses’ station. Since Oil Can was off in another world, I figured I might as well leave. I caught up to Mavis.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about what Oil Can said about being a charity case. That is so sad. And, I don’t see any reason to send him off to a homeless shelter or something awful like that.”
Mavis raised her eyebrows. “Well, under the circumstances, where do you think he’d go?”
“My house.”
Mavis’s eyes grew so big they nearly went into her eyebrows. “Your house?”
“Sure. He can stay in the room over the old garage. Daddy will help him out. One time in California he paid for this homeless vet to stay in a motel until he got a job. So, I’m sure I can talk him into it.” I scratched my head. “’Course, I’ll have to figure out a way to convince Mom. But she’ll be away at school most of the time. Besides, she parks in the new garage. She’d tear the old one down if she had her way. She says it’s a health hazard.”
“Madison, you might be taking on a lot more than you realize. Mr. Henri is not only very sick, he is very peculiar. You said yourself you don’t know anything about him.”
I sighed. “I know. But I trust him. And there’s plenty of time to check things out. I’m not going to ask my dad to let some wing nut stay with us. And between Grandpa and Anna keeping an eye on him he’d be history in a flash if they thought he was dangerous.”
Mavis placed her hand on my cheek. “Madison, your heart is so big, but it’s anybody’s guess where it’s going to lead you.”
I nodded. “Kind of exciting, isn’t it?”
Tenth Chapter
At lunch Wednesday, I found Quinn in the cafeteria, sitting alone, munching on a sandwich and some chips. He waved me over. I made a bee line for the table, dropped my backpack on the bench, sat down and wrinkled my nose. As usual, the cafeteria smelled like recycled spaghetti sauce.
“Did you hear about Glee Club today?” I said.
“No. Where’s your food?”
I shook my head. “Not hungry. I overheard Miss Anderson on her cell phone while she was walking down the hall. She looked stressed and I know she was talking to someone about the festival.”
Quinn squinted. “And just how did you come to that conclusion?”
“Because she said, ‘I don’t know if we can do that. There’s not enough time.”
“She could have been talking about a million things.”
“Well aren’t you worried?”
“No. You worry enough for everyone. I’ll see ya at practice.”
By the time the last bell rang my stomach felt like it had been on a spin dry cycle. When I walked into the nearly empty auditorium, for the first time, the meaning of, band geek, really hit me in the face. Why hadn’t I noticed before? Most of the twenty-eight kids were totally wrapped up in tuning their instruments, or warming up their voices, all painfully aware that only ten would be selected to represent our school at the festival. I knew how the contestants on American Idol must feel.
Fashion statements are practically meaningless to this bunch. Shari Parker and Frieda Speropholis being the exceptions, Shari looking like a Vogue model and Frieda like something from Goths Gone Wild.
Grandpa
