waiting. It wanted in. It wanted to take over my whole self. Every once in a while, I could feel the dark thing hovering, jabbing at me, looking for a way in, and my heart would begin to race and my palms to sweat. And then Iâd think, itâs that scary fear thing trying to get me. It hid everywhere, waiting for me to let go of Dane, let go of wanting to bring my daddy back, so that it could get inside me, and then Dane would never be able to come back to me. Thatâs what I knew, and I searched everywhere for things to hold on to that would keep me safe, keep the fear away: simple, good things, like Grandaddy Opalâs job. He delivered newspapers to all the houses in the neighborhood, and in the early mornings I would watch him from my bedroom window as he pedaled down the driveway on his bicycle, his newspaper bag draped over his shoulder and his long white hair flying like a wing from the back of his head.
I told Grandaddy Opal that delivering papers on a bicycle looked like the most fun thing to doâbesides dancing, of course, but I didnât mention the dancing.
Grandaddy Opal said he would get me a bicycle and then I could join him on his route. It wouldnât be a new bicycle, though. He said it would be an old beat-up one picked up at a yard sale. He was good at fixing bicycles. âYou fix it up, paint it, and then itâs yours,â he said. âYou take care of it, grease it up good every now and then, give it a name, and you ride it everywhere. You and that bicycle become best friends. Itâs a real special relationship.â
I couldnât wait to get one, to own something special, but Grandaddy Opal said it had to be the right one. âHas to be cheap as dirt,â he said, âand itâs got to have personality. Donât worry, Iâll know it when I see it. Meanwhile, I can teach you how to ride some on Old Sam.â
We practiced in the late afternoons, after my dance lessons and before Gigi came home. Learning to ride was hard for me. Old Sam belonged to Grandaddy Opal, and he didnât want anybody but Grandaddy riding him. Even with the seat lowered all the way, I had to pedal with the tips of my toes and Grandaddy Opal had to hold on to the back of the seat to keep me steady. I couldnât wait to get my own bicycle.
We had been living with Grandaddy Opal well over a yearâI was almost twelveâwhen he came into our bedroom one morning and shook me awake. I saw his empty newspaper pouch hanging around his neck like a feed bag.
He put his finger to his lips. âShh.â Then he told me to hurry up and get dressed. He left and I put on clothes from the day before, not worrying about making too much noise and waking Gigi. Since weâd been living with Grandaddy Opal, nothing woke Gigi before nine or ten in the morning.
I went out to the kitchen, but Grandaddy Opal wasnât there. I went into the great room, and that was empty, too. Then I saw him through the window, wheeling his bicycle out of the garage. I ran outside and called to him.
âWell, what took you so long?â
âI wasnât so long.â
âSure you were. Now, go on into that garage and see what you see.â
I knew right then what Iâd find, and I was rightâmy bicycle. I could see its dark form leaning against the washing machine, waiting for me. It didnât have the freshly painted shine of a just-fixed-up bicycle because Grandaddy Opal said I would have to do all the fixing and caring for it myself, that way it would become special, and really mine.
âThat there is an old English racer,â Grandaddy Opal said, coming into the garage and switching on a light. âAnd look-a hereââhe pointed to a decal on the bar just below the seat. âSee what that says? Nottingham, England. And see the picture of Robin Hood? Robin Hood was from Nottingham. You ever read about Robin Hood stealing from the rich to give to the
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