As soon as Cora and Jake were outside, Henry ran behind the counter. Three garbage bags were pushed under it, just beneath the cash register. He untied one and pulled out a pair of shorts. Pink. Flowered. Sparkles. Shoot. Definitely not from his house.
Now that he was out of Vermont, where life as he knew it had come crashing to an end, now that he was in New Orleans, where he had never been before but where he couldnt totally explain why but he felt like he fit, now that up was down and left was right, he could imagine that anything was possible.
Henry tore open the second bag. T-shirts. He pulled one out. THE RICHMOND MOUNTAINEERS. Richmond was two towns over. His team played them in football. Got beaten by them most of the time. This bag was not from his house either.
He wasnt sure what hed do if he found the marble. There was no one to trade it with. Could he wish on it? Wish that Wayne would appear next to him? That time would wind back up like a pitcher getting ready to throw a curveball? That the hole in his skin, the crack in his bone, the tear in his heart, that all his pain would get taped and wrapped and sewn so that it would heal and go away?
He dumped the third bag onto the floor.
Baby clothes!
He kicked into the center of the pile and a pair of tiny overalls flew through the air and landed on the cash register.
Shoot, shoot, shoot!
Henry ran out from behind the counter and over to the shelves Cora had pointed out. Hope filled his fingertips as he pulled a pair of blue jeans out of a bag from between two pairs of corduroys. They were small, but still, he hoped. He reached into the front pocket, wishing, wishing wishing- There was something there!
He pulled it out with his hand- Wishing, wishing, wishing- A car.
A tiny wooden car.
"Finding places to put the clothes?" Coras voice was m.u.f.fled behind two huge bags balanced in her arms.
"Huh-?" said Henry. "Uh-oh...well...no-" He pushed the car into his pocket.
Cora dropped her bags behind the counter. She surveyed the strewn clothes. "Did you find whatever you were looking for?" She lifted the overalls off the cash register. "Clearly these are not your hearts desire-"
"No," said Henry quietly.
Jake came in, arms loaded with boxes.
"A hearts desire is a slippery thing," said Cora. "One minute its right next door to you, and the next minute its gone."
"True words," said Jake.
Henry swallowed hard. One minute in your pocket and the next minute on a truck bound south. One minute running down the mountain and the next minute flat on the ground. One minute alive and the next minute dead.
Cora opened the cash register and pulled out a knife.
Jeezum Crow! One minute alive and the next minute dead, all right!
"Would you both be willing to try a piece of my cake?" said Cora. "Please?" She cut into it and that cinnamon smell wafted into Henrys nose. She handed him a slice. "Be honest. I need it to be perfect. Because"-she leaned in toward Henry-"heres my secret. This cake is for my hearts desire."
And as Henry took a bite of the cake, which tasted fresh and delicious and different, and as he spun the tiny wheels on the small wooden car hidden in his pocket, he wondered if he would even recognize his own hearts desire if he ran into it on one of those crazy streets.
chapter 31.
ZAVION.
Zavion checked the sky. It was a small consolation that there was no rain coming down.
He walked to the corner.
Tulane Avenue and North Broad Street.
He was in Mid-City. Papa had painted a mural at Krescent City Kids day care, which was just around the corner on South Dorgenois Street.
Zavion was hungry. He unzipped his backpack and pulled out his loaf of bread. He ripped off a piece. It tasted like honey.
As he ate, he oriented himself. Gentilly was northeast. Home. Treme was closer. Northeast too. The convention center was southeast. Tulane Avenue would take him close to it.
It was strange. He knew every street and neighborhood like the back of his hand. He knew where he was. But at the same time, everything was different. Upside down. Like that purple car.
Zavions stomach felt weighed down with the bread he had made. He liked that feeling. Grounded. He needed it because a part of him felt like he was still hurtling through s.p.a.ce.
He swallowed his fear with his last bite of bread and took a step into the intersection. He crossed North Broad Street and began to walk down Tulane Avenue. He put his hand in his pocket and closed his fingers around the marble. He imagined its roundness. He suddenly had a thought. The marble had no upside or downside. It was facing the right direction no matter which way it landed. Its feet were on the ground all the time.
Zavion liked this thought. He held on to it and on to the marble as his feet continued down the street.
chapter 32.
HENRY.
Fueled by peanut-b.u.t.ter-chocolate-cinnamon cake, Henry was now on a full-fledged mission. He was going to find that marble. It wasnt in this Salvation Army, he was sure of it. But there must be more than one Salvation Army in New Orleans.
Jake and Cora were outside getting more boxes. Henry could slip out now. He opened the door and turned to walk down the block.
"And just where do you think youre going?" said Jake. He dropped a stack of boxes on the ground.
"Nowhere." All of a sudden, the center of Henrys stomach, where the cake sat, began to get warm. Like he was baking it all over again.
"Hey, Im teasing," said Jake.
"Oh, uh-" Henry took a few steps backward.
"We could use your help here." Jake reached out and punched Henry lightly in the arm. "Strong kid like you."
"I dont know...." Henrys belly was getting warmer.
Cora came up from behind Jake. "I promise another treat after you grab a few boxes," she said. "Ive got plenty of cake experiments in the kitchen."
"A bunch of garbage bags are sitting right at the edge of the trailer. Go on and get those, Henry," said Jake. "Okay?"
"No." Henrys belly was hot now. Oh man! Why wouldnt Jake just let him go?
"No?"
"No!" Like a match striking the side of a box, the no ignited him.
"Henry." Jake reached out to touch Henrys arm. "I cant let you wander around without me."
"Let go of me!"
"Whats going on?" Jake tightened his grip. His eyes looked into Henrys. They darted back and forth, searching for something.
Henry couldnt look at him. Henry turned from Jake to Cora. Coras eyes were wide and deep. Henry thought he saw understanding swimming in them, but he couldnt be sure. All he knew was that the fire inside him flickered.
"Henry?" Jake said gently.
Henry wanted to try to explain the fire to Jake. He really wanted to- "What is it, Henry?" Jake asked.
No! He couldnt tell him. Before he knew it, hed yanked his arm away from Jake and pushed him, with both hands, in the chest.
The spot in his belly blazed.
"What are you doing, Henry?" said Jake.
"What am I doing?" he yelled.
"Yeah, what was that you just did?"
"What am I doing?" Henry yelled again. "What am I doing here?" He flashed on Mount Mansfield. Its hulking body ripping itself from the earth and somersaulting, upside down, right-side up, chasing him. He shook his head like a dog. He didnt know how he would ever get the mountain to release him. "What am I doing here?" he said again. "Im...Im not being there!"
And then he ran, ran as fast as he could, ran to get away from Jake, ran like Jake and Cora were the ones burning him, ran to push the aching feeling from his heart into his legs. But no matter how much he ran, or how much he stayed, he couldnt seem to get rid of it.
chapter 33.
ZAVION.
Tulane Avenue was empty except for a group of people huddled together on the stoop of one yellow house. Their heads were below a brown waterline that cut across the front of the house, slashing the red front door right in half.
Zavion raised his hand in some sort of greeting. One person waved back. A woman. A baby sat on her lap, so maybe she was a mother. No one else even acknowledged Zavion. It was like they didnt see him.
He crossed South Rampart Street. The Mississippi River was only a few blocks away. The convention center was even closer.
Zavion gripped his backpack tighter.
He bit down on his back teeth so hard a pain shot through his jaw all the way to his ears.
It was awful being back in New Orleans. It made Zavions pulse beat faster. He could feel it at the side of his head. With each thump an image pumped through his body.
Thump. The cross from St. Marys Church.
Thump. The seat of a playground swing.
Thump. A lamp. Thump. A keyboard. Thump. A clear suitcase filled with Matchbox cars.
A parade of objects knocked and darted and careened through him. He hadnt remembered seeing them, but he was sure, now, that he had. They had rushed by as he and Papa had made their way through the flooded streets.
He wondered if Joe the photojournalist had taken pictures of them.
Zavion needed to slow down his pulse. If he could slow it down, if he could grab hold of the images flooding his body, if he could line them up like his lunch sandwiches in the refrigerator, neat and organized in a row, he knew he would feel better. He rubbed the side of his head.
Lamp, next to- Keyboard, next to- Matchbox suitcase, next to- Boot.
But it didnt work. How could it? At the intersection, where he had stopped, a group of refrigerators stood together on the corner. With all these broken refrigerators littering the street, there was no hope for keeping sandwiches lined up straight and fresh.
Still, he tried again.
Boot, next to- Teddy bear, next to- Soup pot, next to- Kite- - The memory hit Zavion like a bucketful of marbles.
An orange kite.