Read Online Ball Don't Lie by Matt de la Pena - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Matt de la Pena
Tags: Fiction
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finally pulled off the 10 at Lincoln, she headed west on Broadway. They inched through Third Street Promenade foot traffic and cars waiting to pull into parking garages. Out the window Sticky spied the exact spot he used to beg for change with Baby. Pictured himself holding out the white bowl and making the sad face Baby taught him. The felt-penned sign around his neck blowing into his face when the wind picked up. Pictured Baby right behind him, sitting Indian style and humming to herself.
Here we are,
Francine said as she pulled up to the Loews Hotel lobby, shut off the engine and handed the keys to the valet guy.
This is the place
.
Up in the fancy room, Francine came out of the bathroom wearing a long black dress and lipstick. High heels. Long silver earrings that dangled over her bare freckled shoulders. She helped Sticky tuck his new shirt into his new pants. Held the jacket out so he could put one arm in and then the other.
When Sticky was all set she took out a blow-dryer and ran a brush through her wet hair.
We’re going to eat at a place
called Ivy at the Shore,
she shouted over the hot air.
It’s a really nice place. My husband took me there for every one of our
anniversaries
. She flipped off the blow-dryer and set it down. She spun around in the mirror and then turned her attention to Sticky.
Now I’m taking you.
At dinner Francine taught Sticky about table manners: where to place the napkin in his lap, where to keep hands and elbows, how to hold the menu, which fork to use and at what time. Sticky sat stiff and listened to everything she said.
In the dim light, and with his new gear, he wondered if he looked like he belonged. Or could people tell it was his first time inside a restaurant. Ever. That it felt like a foreign country to him.
He watched a boy sitting three tables down wearing a tie. Watched the way the boy talked to adults and ordered for himself, the way he sipped soup from a spoon and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. Every move seemed so natural. Sticky swore to himself right then and there that when he got older, had money of his own, he’d be eating at places like this every single night.
Before the food came out Francine reached over and took Sticky’s hands. She closed her eyes and began a prayer:
Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful night, thank you for
bringing Sticky and me into one another’s lives. Lord, one day
Sticky, too, will come to you. . . .
As Francine went on, Sticky kept his eyes open. He watched the wrinkles in her chin stretch and fall as she spoke, her eyelids twitch. She always talked to him about God. Read Bible passages each morning while he wolfed down eggs and toast. She told him about Jesus and heaven, how to lead life like a true Christian. He could never figure out what to make of all that talk, but he liked that her words were aimed at him and nobody else.
Just as Francine released Sticky’s hands and opened her eyes, the waitress set down their plates.
Let’s eat,
Francine said.
But a year into things, Francine was diagnosed with cancer. Told she had to undergo immediate and intensive treatment just to have a chance at pulling through.
Her daughter flew in from New York two days after they found out, drove the van when they took Sticky back to his foster care pad.
They dropped him off late at night.
This is only temporary,
Francine said outside the van, tears running down her face. Her daughter stayed inside the van, left the motor running.
I promise,
Francine said.
The
Lord will make sure of it
. Her face was outlined by a glowing sliver of moon and Sticky felt bad for her.
When I get better
I’m going to rush back here and take you home.
And as she stared at him, Sticky thought it was true what she was saying. This lady. She would come back for him.
They looked at each other for a while, neither of them moving or saying a word. Then Francine smiled through her tears and took both of his hands in hers. She kneeled so they were eye-level and
Here we are,
Francine said as she pulled up to the Loews Hotel lobby, shut off the engine and handed the keys to the valet guy.
This is the place
.
Up in the fancy room, Francine came out of the bathroom wearing a long black dress and lipstick. High heels. Long silver earrings that dangled over her bare freckled shoulders. She helped Sticky tuck his new shirt into his new pants. Held the jacket out so he could put one arm in and then the other.
When Sticky was all set she took out a blow-dryer and ran a brush through her wet hair.
We’re going to eat at a place
called Ivy at the Shore,
she shouted over the hot air.
It’s a really nice place. My husband took me there for every one of our
anniversaries
. She flipped off the blow-dryer and set it down. She spun around in the mirror and then turned her attention to Sticky.
Now I’m taking you.
At dinner Francine taught Sticky about table manners: where to place the napkin in his lap, where to keep hands and elbows, how to hold the menu, which fork to use and at what time. Sticky sat stiff and listened to everything she said.
In the dim light, and with his new gear, he wondered if he looked like he belonged. Or could people tell it was his first time inside a restaurant. Ever. That it felt like a foreign country to him.
He watched a boy sitting three tables down wearing a tie. Watched the way the boy talked to adults and ordered for himself, the way he sipped soup from a spoon and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. Every move seemed so natural. Sticky swore to himself right then and there that when he got older, had money of his own, he’d be eating at places like this every single night.
Before the food came out Francine reached over and took Sticky’s hands. She closed her eyes and began a prayer:
Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful night, thank you for
bringing Sticky and me into one another’s lives. Lord, one day
Sticky, too, will come to you. . . .
As Francine went on, Sticky kept his eyes open. He watched the wrinkles in her chin stretch and fall as she spoke, her eyelids twitch. She always talked to him about God. Read Bible passages each morning while he wolfed down eggs and toast. She told him about Jesus and heaven, how to lead life like a true Christian. He could never figure out what to make of all that talk, but he liked that her words were aimed at him and nobody else.
Just as Francine released Sticky’s hands and opened her eyes, the waitress set down their plates.
Let’s eat,
Francine said.
But a year into things, Francine was diagnosed with cancer. Told she had to undergo immediate and intensive treatment just to have a chance at pulling through.
Her daughter flew in from New York two days after they found out, drove the van when they took Sticky back to his foster care pad.
They dropped him off late at night.
This is only temporary,
Francine said outside the van, tears running down her face. Her daughter stayed inside the van, left the motor running.
I promise,
Francine said.
The
Lord will make sure of it
. Her face was outlined by a glowing sliver of moon and Sticky felt bad for her.
When I get better
I’m going to rush back here and take you home.
And as she stared at him, Sticky thought it was true what she was saying. This lady. She would come back for him.
They looked at each other for a while, neither of them moving or saying a word. Then Francine smiled through her tears and took both of his hands in hers. She kneeled so they were eye-level and
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