“Yeah.” I tried to remember what my mother wanted me to say.
“Did you just happen to be in the record store?” Mrs. Clockshire asked. Mrs. Clockshire was round in every way. Even her open palm looked like a perfect circle.
“Yeah. With Izzy. The kid I’ve been taking care of all summer.” My face burned and my heart hurt. I longed to be back at the Cone house.
The rest of the choir gathered around me. I felt like a fox cornered by dogs, but no one said anything about the clothes I was wearing in the photo. Or the neighborhood Night Train Records was in. Or even that Jimmy was leaning into my ear. They were simply excited that I’d met Sheba and Jimmy.
When it was time for the service to start, I went straight to the front row of the choir seats, just as my mother had instructed. I looked out into the pews and saw my parents. My father was staring off into space. My mother was watching me as if I were a recent parolee with a flight risk. I offered a small half smile. She did not smile back.
When the choir stood for the first song, I started out singing quietly, but eventually let myself go with it. Mr. Forge liked throwing a modern song in every week and this Sunday he had chosen “Imagine” by John Lennon. He changed the words, though, so we sang, there’s more heaven instead of no heaven. He also changed no religion to no warring.
When the song was over, I looked out at the congregation. Most people had a look on their faces that let me know they loved this song and how we’d sung it. My father was still staring off into space. My mother had no expression. Maybe she was so traumatized by my photo in the paper that getting through church this day was painful for her.
I glanced past my mother and almost screamed. In the back row were Jimmy, Sheba, and Izzy. Izzy appeared to be standing on the pew to see better. Sheba was smiling so big, it was like her face was made up of white teeth. She was wearing the black wig that fell to her shoulders and had bangs, and had on a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, like what the librarian at school wore. Jimmy was in a baseball cap, glasses, and a button-down shirt and a tie, both of which must have belonged to Dr. Cone. The only other time I’d seen Jimmy hiding his furry chest was when we’d gone to dinner at Morgan Millard.
I didn’t wave, as I didn’t want to draw attention to them, but Izzy frantically waved to me until Sheba pulled her down onto her lap. I winked. I smiled. I blinked my eyes. And then I glanced at my mother, who had turned in her seat to see what I was looking at. I was pretty sure she couldn’t see them through the heads in the seats, though. She would have recognized Izzy and known that it was Jimmy and Sheba seated with her.
I sang the remaining three songs as if I were singing for Jimmy, Sheba, and Izzy alone. In my head, I could hear Sheba harmonizing. I could hear Jimmy’s bubbling-engine voice. I could even hear Izzy wobbling in and out of tune. I tried not to look at them too much, for fear my mother would get out of her seat and march to the back of the church.
When the service ended, I was the first one off my chair and out the internal side door to the basement where we hung our choir robes. Instead of going back up the stairs into the church, I took the door that went outside. The hot air slammed into my face as I ran around to the front doors of the church. My parents always lingered in their pew and talked with the people who sat near us. I’d have a couple of minutes to say hello to Jimmy, Sheba, and Izzy.
The glossy red double doors were open and people were spilling outside. As I was dashing up the marble steps, Mrs. Cranger stopped me. “Mary Jane, I knew that was you in the paper!”
“Oh yeah! Funny that I was there, wasn’t it?” I said without pausing.
But when I pushed my way inside, Jimmy, Sheba, and Izzy were gone. My stomach felt like it did a full rotation. My parents were chatting their way down the aisle, my mother with her hand on the elbow of the blind man, Mr. Blackstone.
I turned and went outside. And then I saw the Cones’ station wagon pulled alongside the curb, running.
“MARY JANE!” Izzy hung out the open window, waving her arms to me.
I started to go to her when Pastor Fearson stopped me. He put his two hands over one of mine, as if he were warming my chilled fingers, and then leaned his head in toward me. “Mary Jane! What a surprise to see your picture in the paper!”
“Yes. That was a surprise.” I could hear Izzy’s little voice calling my name over the murmur of the congregation. People were now filling the wide marble steps that led to the sidewalk. I looked around Pastor Fearson to the station wagon. Izzy motioned for me to come to her.