“She asked that I give you a ride to church on Sunday and sends her best wishes to Bonnie.”
“So I can go?”
“Yes, you can go.”
“HURRAH!” Izzy shouted, and everyone cheered and hooted as if something truly spectacular had just gone down.
9
Jimmy sat in the front seat with Dr. Cone. The rest of us bumped around in the back, Izzy and myself framed by Mrs. Cone and Sheba. No one had on a seat belt and the windows were open, blowing my hair into my face. Mrs. Cone’s and Sheba’s blond wigs barely moved, as if the hair were too heavy to be pushed around.
“When I was a kid, my family always sang in the car,” Sheba said.
“Can I have a Lorna Doone?” Izzy asked me, though her mother was the one who had packed the cooler with snacks and placed them in the wayback of the station wagon.
“Yes. Anyone else?” I flipped around in my seat and leaned into the wayback.
“Bring out the whole pack,” Mrs. Cone said.
“We sang mostly school songs,” Sheba said. “Like ‘My Country, ’Tis of Thee.’”
“My country ’tis of thee—” I started the song as I sat back in my seat and opened the box of cookies. I handed one to Izzy and tried to give one to Mrs. Cone, who waved her hand to mean no, thanks.
“Sweet land of liberty—” Sheba joined in.
I sat forward and handed Dr. Cone and Jimmy each a cookie. Sheba and I kept singing. When Jimmy twanged in with his rumbling voice, it suddenly sounded beautiful.
“Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims’ pride, from ev-ryyy mountain side, let freedom ring!”
“Why did the fathers die?” Izzy asked.
Mrs. Cone reached over my lap, took Izzy’s unfinished cookie, bit into it, and then handed it back. “I guess they’re talking about the dads who died in the Revolutionary War.”
“What’s that?”
“When Americans decided they didn’t want a king or a queen.” Sheba reached over, grabbed the box of cookies, and pulled one out. Mrs. Cone took the box from Sheba and pulled out a cookie for herself.
“Maybe Izzy knows this one,” Jimmy said. “If I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morning, I’d hammer in the evening. . . .”
Jimmy sang and everyone joined in. Izzy made hand motions as she sang, her fist bumping up and down for a hammer, her hands over her head and her head tocking back and forth for a bell. By the time we were on the last chorus, everyone was doing the hand motions.
We sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” and then “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” in a round. Next Dr. Cone sang us a song he had learned at camp as a boy. It was about a cannibal king playing the bongos under a bamboo tree and kissing his girlfriend. Izzy loved the song, especially the part where you made big kissing sounds. It went Boom boom （kiss kiss） Boom boom （kiss kiss）。 It only took a couple of minutes for Dr. Cone to teach the song to everyone, and soon we all sang it with as much exuberance as Izzy.
“Again! Let’s sing it again!” Izzy said.
We did as Izzy requested, only this time everyone turned to someone beside them and kissed. Jimmy even kissed Dr. Cone’s cheek. I’d never seen a man kiss another man like that, and it seemed so funny that I was still laughing as I kissed Sheba’s cheek.
We all sat in the car and stared at the low, long white clapboard house. The shingles and shutters were old-looking, faded pea green. The house seemed lonely against the beach. The neighboring houses were so far away, they reminded me of the little green homes in Monopoly.
“It looks like a Hopper painting,” Mrs. Cone said.
Jimmy sang, “Starry, starry night, paint your palette blue and grey —”
“Isn’t that song about Van Gogh?” Dr. Cone asked.
“I’m about to pee my shorts,” Sheba said.
“Really you will? Sheba, will you pee your shorts?” Izzy asked.
“Where did I put that key?” Dr. Cone was searching his pockets. He leaned past Jimmy and opened the glove box.
“I have to go NOW!” Sheba burst out of the car and ran to the sand dunes. The rest of us got out of the car, Dr. Cone still patting down his pockets. Sheba turned around to face us, then pulled down her shorts, squatted, and peed. I looked around. No one seemed to be paying attention, except Izzy.
Izzy ran to Sheba. “I want to pee in the sand!”
“Got it!” Dr. Cone pulled the key from his breast pocket. He unlocked the house and propped the front door open. Jimmy and Mrs. Cone started unloading the car.