Shaking the Sugar Tree by Nick Wilgus Read Free Book Online Page A

came forward.
    “Come with us, Kayla,” Mr. Warren said in a voice that was obviously used to being obeyed.
    “I’m not going with you, Daddy,” she said firmly, glancing at the young man who had propped himself on the hood of his car, watching us.
    “Kayla,” he said in warning.
    She looked at us with uncertain eyes. She was close to tears. I could sense that. Flustered. Unhappy. Wringing her hands together nervously.
    “I’ve got to go,” she announced suddenly, her decision made.
    She turned away from us and headed for the young man with the cool car.
    “Kayla!” her father shouted angrily.
    She shook her head but refused to look back.
    “If you go with him, don’t you ever come back!” Mr. Warren shouted. “I’m warning you!”
    “Ma!” Noah called in alarm.
    He broke free from my grip and ran after her.
    I went after him.
    “Don’t you dare come back!” her father screamed.
    “Kayla?” her mother called. “Kayla!”
    Noah ran around to the front of her, grabbing her again, squeezing his arms tightly around her waist, hugging her with all his little might. She struggled with him, trying to push him away.
    “Ma!” he sobbed.
    “Stop it!” she exclaimed angrily.
    “Ma!”
    “Let me go! Goddammit!”
    He wouldn’t let her go, didn’t understand what she wanted.
    She shoved him roughly, fearfully, and he fell backwards on the concrete, throwing out a hand to break his fall.
    “Jesus!” Kayla exclaimed loudly, smoothing out her shirt as if she had been covered with little-boy cooties.
    She hurried to the car, got inside, and slammed the door shut with a terrible finality.
    The tattooed man got in, started the car.
    They roared off.
    I crouched down, took Noah in my arms, inspecting the cuts on his hand. Bright blobs of blood appeared on his skin.
    “Ma!” he sobbed, looking confused and bewildered at this fresh rejection.
    The word was now a long moan filled with agony.
    “Maaaaaaaaaaa!”
    “Hush, baby,” I said, holding him.
    He put his face against my chest and cried.
    “Maaaaa?”
    The sound became a question, a cry of astonishment, confusion.
    “It’s okay, baby,” I said, stroking his hair.
    “Aaaaahhhhh,” he sobbed, opening his mouth wide, groaning. “Aaaahhhhh!”
    “Hush, sweetie,” I said.
    Mr. and Mrs. Warren got into their SUV and drove slowly away.
    The female prison guard stood at the gate, watching us.
    I got Noah to his feet and we walked in her direction.
    “Could we use your bathroom?” I asked.
    She looked at Noah’s scuffed-up hand, the snot dripping from his nose.
    “I’ll get a first-aid kit,” she said, leading us inside.

11) Why, Daddy?
     
    T HAT EVENING , we had a quiet dinner of pizza and salad, Noah’s favorites. I had even bought Coke to go with it, though the Cantrell boys were not soda drinkers if only because we couldn’t afford to waste money on food-like products that were high in calories but had no nutritional value to speak of. On KUDZU, Elvis sang about cold Kentucky rains.
    Dinner did little to cheer Noah, and when pizza fails to bring a smile of pleasure to my little boy’s face, I know the weather inside his mind is dark and stormy.
    Your food is getting cold , I said.
    “Why, Daddy?” he asked plaintively. It came out sounding like “ai dah eeeeee?” He had spent countless hours in speech class just to learn those three sounds, which he could only approximate but not yet master. He spent many evenings with a straw stuck in his tongue trying to figure out the “S” sound.
    I don’t know.
    “Why?”
    I’m sorry.
    She thinks I’m dumb.
    No, she doesn’t.
    She thinks I’m dumb because I’m deaf.
    That’s not true.
    She doesn’t want to be friends with a stupid dummy.
    Don’t call yourself that!
    I’m a big stupid deaf dummy.
    Stop it!
    I hate her!
    No you don’t.
    She thinks I’m stupid! She wouldn’t hate me if I wasn’t deaf. Why do I have to be deaf? It’s not fair!
    Stop it!
    I hate her!
    I stopped