Sweet Dream Baby Read Online Free Page B

Grandpa Hollister. I’ve only seen them once before, when I was a baby. It’s a long way from Florida to Omaha, and Dad says Mom and my grandparents didn’t get along all that well, but I know what they look like from the pictures Dad keeps on the bureau in the big bedroom.
    Wendy lets go of my hand and looks at her watch. “Gee, Mick, didn’t your mom and dad tell them when to meet you?”
    She looks around the terminal. It’s not as big as the one in Omaha, and there aren’t many people now. Through the windows, I can see palm trees. Honest to God palm trees, just like on Arthur Godfrey. It’s hot in the terminal, hotter than in Omaha, and I know it’s going to be hot outside. And the people sound different. They talk slower, like the farm kids at home, only different. It’s more like music. Rock ’n’ roll music. Like that Elvis my dad says is a subversive, whatever that means.
    Wendy puts her hands on her hips and says, “I got to meet Lucille at 2:30.” She looks at me, and I’m not Mick or gorgeous anymore. I’m the kid that’s holding things up here. I know the feeling.
    Wendy takes me outside, and we look up and down the sidewalk in front of the terminal. It’s hotter than I ever felt in Omaha, and the air is full of smells I never smelled before, and I can tell, I don’t know how, that I’m smelling the ocean. It’s salty and fishy and some other things I can’t name. It’s exciting, and I’m going to have a boat.
    Cars pull up and people get out and hug other people and take their bags, and there’s laughing and crying, but there’s no Grandma and Grandpa Hollister.
    There’s sweat on Wendy’s forehead, and her eyes look tired red behind the dark makeup. She reaches up and pushes some hair out of her eyes. I pull my hand from hers. I say, “I can wait here by myself. It’s okay. I mean, I won’t do anything wrong or anything.”
    She smiles at me and looks up and down the sidewalk again. “Well…,” she says.
    I smile at her. I’ve got to stop being such a kid. I’ve got to grow up and face things and tough it out like my dad says. I say, “You got to meet Lucille, right?”
    She looks at her watch again. “You’re such a sweetie, Mick.” She kneels and kisses me on the cheek. “Don’t talk to any strangers, okay?”
    â€œSure,” I say. Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Delia are strangers.
    Wendy walks a few steps, then turns and looks back at me. She’s pretty, and she was my friend, and she said I was gorgeous and a heartbreaker. She waves, and I wave. I’m going to remember the way she smelled and the feel of her lips on my cheek. I watch until she’s gone back inside the terminal, then I move my suitcase back into the shade and sit on it and start counting planes that land and take off. A DC-3 takes off, and a Beechcraft Bonanza with a V tail makes a perfect three-point landing.
    A man comes by and says, “You okay, Kid?” He’s a stranger, but his eyes are all right, so I say, “Yeah, I’m okay. My mom went to make a phone call. I’m waiting out here for my Uncle Fred.”
    He looks at me a minute, shakes his head, and walks on. I think he knows I’m lying, but maybe not. Maybe I’m good at it.
    I count more planes, and a black man comes by in a blue jumpsuit with “Buster” stitched on it in red letters. He stops next to me to light a Camel, and some of the good-smelling smoke drifts across my face. He says, “Hey, Little Guy. Didn’ yo folks come for you?” He seems nice, but he’s a stranger, and he’s black, and I don’t know what to say. We don’t have black people in Omaha. We’ve got a few Indians. I’ve seen them downtown when I go to the YMCA. They drink from a paper bag, and sometimes they stop people and ask for money. Uncle Fred