The Truth about Mary Rose by Marilyn Sachs Read Free Book Online Page B

about Manny. After they finished talking about me.
    “It’s not as if he had a close circle of friends in Lincoln. He’s always been a loner. And he couldn’t wait to come here and poke around New York City. But he’s not happy. He’s just not happy, and he’s never been like this before.”
    “You know, Veronica,” my father said, “I think he’ll be all right once we’re on our own. Back home, he had a corner of the basement to do his experiments, and his own room to get off by himself. He’s that kind of a boy. Here, he’s sharing a room with Ray, he has no place to be alone, and your mother—well, he’ll be all right once we’re on our own.”
    “But, Luis, you know we can’t go until my mother can manage by herself.”
    “Of course,” said my father, “but according to the doctor she should be managing already. You’re too good a nurse, I’m afraid, and the patient doesn’t want to recover.”
    “You’ve been very patient, Luis, and I really appreciate it. I know she’s hard to take, and you’ve been wonderful.”
    “Don’t mention it,” said my father. “When your mother turns on the charm, there’s nobody like her. And I think it’s very considerate of her to circle all the important news items in the paper for me—especially the ones about Puerto Ricans who commit crimes.”
    I tiptoed back to my room, and had to wait until they were asleep before I got to the bathroom.
    Next morning at breakfast, Manny pushed away his bowl of corn flakes. “I can’t stand this stuff,” he said.
    I don’t like it much either, but I’ve been eating it since we moved. At home, in Lincoln, my father used to have hot oatmeal for us every morning, or corn meal mush.
    “How about some eggs?” my mother said. “Or maybe French toast?”
    My father and Ray had already left, so it was only Grandma, Mom, Manny and me.
    “I’ll make them,” Manny said, but then he changed his mind, said he wasn’t hungry, and went upstairs.
    “I don’t know,” said my mother. “I just don’t know what to do about that boy.”
    “Leave him be,” said my grandmother. “It’s a stage he’s going through. That’s the way it is with those smart ones. He’s a lot like Stanley at that age ...”
    I followed Manny upstairs. The door was closed, and I pushed it open, and walked into the bedroom. Manny was sitting on the bed, crying. I looked away from him, quick, like I didn’t see him, and then I walked over to the window and looked out at the yard below.
    After a while he said, “Damnit, Mary Rose, don’t you ever knock at the door?”
    “I’m sorry, Manny, but I have to ask you something.”
    I was still looking out of the window to give him some time. I don’t remember when I saw Manny cry before. My mother and my father, yes—even Ray, but not Manny. I hated to see Manny cry because I knew when he cried he really meant it.
    “What?” he asked. “What’s so important that you couldn’t even knock at the door?” He still didn’t sound right so I kept looking out of the window, and thinking what should I tell him I had to ask him about. All I could think of was Mary Rose’s box. So I asked him about that. I mean, I told him how I’d been looking for three days, and how I hadn’t found it, and that the basement was such a mess, I didn’t feel like looking there, and what did he think I should do.
    It was very quiet behind me, so I took a quick look. I could see it was all right again. He was looking at me, and he wasn’t crying, and there were think lines across his nose.
    “And you say Grandma doesn’t remember where it is?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Well, that’s strange because she seems to remember just about everything else about Mary Rose—everything she ever said ... every time her nose ran ... everything!”
    I let that go. I remembered the way he was crying just a little while ago.
    “So what should I do?”
    “Get Grandma to remember. She’s got it stored somewheres up