Trail of Crumbs

by Lisa J. Lawrence

  NINE

  After school, they hesitated outside Elgin’s door. “Do we knock?” Greta asked.

  Ash raised his hand to knock before dropping it back by his side. “I don’t know. We’re supposed to live here now. Won’t it drive him crazy, us knocking every time we come or go? He’ll have to come to the door in that weird outfit.”

  “You’re right.” She pushed the door open, sliding off her boots on the mat. “Hello! We’re home!” She didn’t want to surprise him walking past in anything less than an undershirt and fluorescent running shorts.

  From behind a fern at the kitchen table, Elgin lifted his head and waved. Ash and Greta hung out in their bedroom for an hour, the smell of something fantastic wafting under the door.

  “How’s this supposed to work?” Ash asked, peering over the side of the bed at Greta. She sat cross-legged with her homework spread out around her. He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Do we cook for ourselves? Can we use his food? A job for every meal? I don’t get it.”

  Greta shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.”

  At five o’clock Elgin knocked on their door before opening it a crack. “Supper’s ready, if you are.”

  When he left, Greta raised an eyebrow at Ash. They followed Elgin, the heat from the stove making the kitchen and living room even warmer. Condensation covered the windows, smudging their view of the darkening sky. Elgin pointed to the empty chairs at the table. He’d already set places for them, with a pot of rice and a wok filled with steak strips and grilled vegetables in the middle. Greta tried not to dive for her fork.

  “Thank you. This looks fantastic,” she said, torn between ravenous and awkward. They all sat looking at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move.

  “Well, dig in.” Elgin waved a hand toward the food.

  Greta dished up, taking half of what she actually wanted before handing the spoons to Ash. He did the same and passed them to Eglin.

  After one bite, Ash asked, “So how do we pay for meals?”

  Greta wondered the same thing. One chore for basic carbohydrates? Two for any meal containing meat? Do twenty push-ups?

  Elgin’s eyebrows pressed together. “Sit, relax, eat,” he said. “You aren’t servants here.” He finished dishing up his own food before speaking again. “My daughter, Alice, only comes by once a month. I like cooking and rarely have someone to cook for, so”—he gestured to the food again—“please eat it.”

  “Ash likes cooking too,” Greta said. Ash looked at her, the sense of betrayal clear on his face. She didn’t know why she’d said it. Must’ve been the steak. “Well, he used to.” She put a large forkful in her mouth so she didn’t have to speak again.

  “That right?” Elgin said. “Maybe we can cook together sometime.” He didn’t seem to notice the color on Ash’s cheeks or his murderous glare at Greta.

  After Ash went into personal lockdown, Greta made small talk with Elgin. He had one daughter—Alice—and had taken an early retirement from Canada Post. “I’m waiting for spring,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the kitchen window facing the backyard, “to put in my garden.” He stared at the foggy black rectangle for an uncomfortable amount of time.

  After dinner Greta tried to wash the dishes, but Elgin waved her away. “You kids take care of this”—he pointed at the fat flakes falling outside the window—“and I’ll do the dishes. The shovel’s by the front porch.”

  In their bedroom, they made a plan. Greta would shovel the walk first, before bed, and Ash would do it in the morning before going to school. And they’d do a good job, to pay for the steak.

  Greta started to say, “Ash, I’m sorry—”

  The door swung open wide, whacking Ash’s cardboard box behind it. A woman a few years older than Ash and Greta stood with her arms and legs wide, ready for a shoot-out. They shrank from her long blond hair, upturned nose and frown lines on her forehead—Cinderella meets biker chick. Her nostrils flared as she looked back and forth between them. Like she would either start singing to forest creatures or kick someone in the ’nads.

  “Who are you?” she barked. Ash opened his mouth, but before he could answer she said, “And why in the holy hell do you think you can live at my dad’s house for free?”

  Alice.

  “We’re…” Greta started but trailed off when Alice’s eyes burned her.

  “You think this is this some kind of a shelter?” Alice asked, her voice fake-kind. “Are you comfortable in my old room?”

  Elgin appeared at her elbow. “I told you already.” He sighed. “Their parents abandoned them.”

  “And why is this my problem?” Alice asked, turning to look at him.

  “Alice!” Elgin scolded.

  “No, really. Who are these people?”

  “A little humanity, please,” he said.

  She scoffed. “This, from you.”

  Ash pushed himself off the bed, a textbook clunking to the floor. “We plan to pay. We’re both looking for jobs and waiting for our aunt to get back from Arizona.” Greta knew that voice—the calm before the storm. “We’re fully aware this isn’t a shelter.” He stepped close to her and pulled himself up tall. Somehow Alice seemed taller.

  “And this future hypothetical money is supposed to help me how?” she asked. Ash’s between-the-eyes line matched Alice’s forehead lines.

  “What does this have to do with you?” Ash asked, his calm shifting closer to storm.

  “My dad uses that rent money to support me—his daughter—while I’m in school, genius.” Alice spat out the words. “So you are literally robbing me with this Robin Hood act.”

  Ash’s chest swelled. Elgin tugged on Alice’s arm. “I have some money in savings,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Guilt dampened Greta’s desire to claw out Alice’s eyes. They had put Elgin in an awkward position. It wasn’t like he was independently wealthy. In this tornado of fury, he was the only one who looked small.

  Alice’s head snapped back and forth between Elgin and Ash, her loose curls twitching down her back. “This isn’t over,” she said, turning and clomping down the hallway. They stood frozen as the front door slammed.

  Elgin started to apologize, but Greta waved it away. “We’ll have money soon. We’re the ones who are sorry.” She glanced over at Ash, who definitely didn’t look sorry.

  Elgin disappeared into his bedroom. Greta closed their door again, with Ash still poised for a fight.

  “Wow. Finally someone who can out-badass you, Ash,” she said. “Are you in love?”

  “I’m making lamb kebabs for dinner,” Elgin said. “They’re Alice’s favorite.”

  “That’s nice.” If Ash was trying to sound excited, he was failing.

  Greta had avoided the topic of Alice since she’d burst into their room a week earlier. She noticed Ash and Elgin had done the same.

  “I could use your help making the rub,” Elgin said. Ash didn’t stop pulling clean silverware from the dishwasher and sorting it into a drawer. He pursed his lips tightly.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to save that for when Alice comes?” Greta asked, sliding clean plates onto a shelf.

  “Oh, she’s coming,” Elgin said.

  Ash and Greta stopped moving.

  Elgin straightened and looked at them. “She’s my daughter, and we need to make peace here.”

  Greta heard: That monster is my spawn, and I plan to feed you to her. “Ash and I could go downstairs for a while, if you want some alone time.” Only one person had responded to Elgin’s rental ad, and nothing had come of it. She and Ash had also applied for a few more jobs that week but hadn’t heard anything back. They checked the answering machine in the basement every day. Greta had hoped to have everything lined up before they saw Alice again.

  “No, that’s not the point,” Elgin said. “We need to sit down, all together, and sort this out. The ancient Greeks had a word for it—heuristic. It’s not solving the problem complete
ly but finding a functional solution.”

  Greta had the feeling a heuristic with Alice would involve a lot of yelling.

  Elgin talked Ash through the recipe for the lamb. At first Ash barely looked at the bowl or teaspoon as he dumped in the paprika.

  “A little more precision there,” Elgin said, ignoring—or not noticing—Ash’s scowl.

  Then Ash measured out some thyme, basil, cumin and curry powder. He moved a little slower, his face relaxing.

  “And here’s the secret ingredient,” Elgin said, passing Ash a packet of what looked like Shake ’n Bake chicken coating.

  Ash eyed it before sprinkling some on top. “There you go.” He slid the bowl toward Elgin and brushed off his hands. Then he washed pots in the sink and pretended not to watch Elgin as he massaged the spices into the raw lamb.

  Ash disappeared as soon as the skewers went in the oven. Greta knew then she wouldn’t apologize again for pushing him into the kitchen. It would be like Ash apologizing for pressuring her to go to school. It was the way things should be.

  “Now, baby potatoes or rice?” Elgin asked Greta.

  “I vote for potatoes.” Dinner conversation might be an act-of-God disaster, but the food would taste great.

  Greta and Ash were hiding in their room when Alice arrived. They heard her voice in the kitchen, and Elgin called them out a minute later. Greta hardly noticed the grilled lamb arranged on a platter in the middle of the table. Alice sat on Elgin’s right side, her arms folded on the table like a Mafia boss. Greta had already coached Ash to stick to head nodding or shaking. Alice probably knew somebody who could make people disappear, no questions asked.

  Greta said hello and Ash nodded as they slipped into their chairs.

  Then it got quiet. No one spoke for a while, besides the odd comment from Alice, like “You feed freeloaders well, Dad” or “This tastes great—just lacking a little shame is all.” Greta noticed Ash gripping his fork like a caveman discovering utensils for the first time. But he followed Greta’s rules and didn’t speak.

  Then Elgin cleared his throat. “I think we should talk about this…situation.”

  And Alice talked. “Any jobs yet?” They shook their heads. “How convenient.”

  “We’re trying,” Greta said, breaking her own rule.

  “You’re obviously not trying hard enough. Have you even made résumés? You know you have to apply for more than one job, right?”

  Ash glowered over his lamb kebabs. “Really? I thought people would come knock on our door and offer us jobs.”

  “You think you’re funny? You think this is funny?”

  “Okay, okay.” Elgin waved his hands to calm them. “I’m sure something will work out soon.”

  Now Greta gripped her fork too and shot Ash a look. The more he talked, the more she wanted to kill Alice. Stop it.

  “For your information,” Ash said, ignoring Greta, “we do a lot to earn our way here, like grocery shopping, snow shoveling and cleaning.”

  “And how exactly is that helping me?” Alice snapped.

  “Okaaaaay,” Elgin said. His smooth tone a gravelly patch.

  Alice threw up her hands, pushed back her chair and stomped to the door. She slipped onto the front porch with a cigarette and lighter from her purse.

  “Sorry,” Greta told Elgin, who had dropped his head in his hands, his food barely touched.

  Elgin shook his head. “Ever since Eleanor died, I can’t win,” he said.

  “Eleanor?” Greta asked.

  “My wife. Alice’s mother.” His voice failed at the end of mother, and he ducked his head farther away from them.

  It was bloody awful. Pantless Elgin, who fed them lamb, was possibly crying. Because they had moved in and had no money. And his wife had died. Plus his daughter was a freak. Greta pushed back her chair. She’d fix it somehow.

  “Stay here,” she told Ash. She’d do whatever it took.

  Greta slipped on her shoes and stepped onto the porch. Alice twitched her head in Greta’s direction before blowing a puff of smoke into the still air. The porch light shone over icing-sugar dunes. Alice didn’t speak. Her eyes looked glassy-fragile too, like her dad’s.

  “Look, I’m so sorry,” Greta said, “for how this has inconvenienced you. I want you to know we’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.” Then she braced herself.

  “Okay.” Alice nodded but still wouldn’t look at Greta.

  Was that it?

  Alice’s face contorted as she tried to hold in tears. “He hasn’t been functional in four years, and when he finally steps up, it’s for someone else’s kids.” She shook away the tears, her face hardening again.

  “Is that when your mom died? Four years ago?”

  Scary Alice returned, her eyes scorching Greta.

  “Your dad…said something…but I don’t really know… anything,” Greta stammered.

  “Yes, that’s when my mom died.” She said it like it was Greta’s fault.

  “My mom died too. Nine years ago.”

  “You shitting me?”

  “You think I’d pretend-kill my own mother?”

  Some hackles lowered. “How’d she die?”

  “Breast cancer,” Greta said.

  “Are you making this up to attempt to bond with me?”

  Greta reached for the door, turning away before she could grab that cigarette and put it out on Alice’s forehead. “You narcissistic—”

  “Whoa, wait. Your mother died of breast cancer too?”

  Greta nodded.

  Alice faced her now, scanning Greta’s eyes like she was trying to figure out if Greta was a real human or a cyborg. “You said your parents left. I thought that meant your mom too.”

  “My dad and evil stepmother.”

  While they stood there regarding each other, the door creaked open and Ash slipped through. Greta tried not to sigh at his bad timing. The tiny window of humanity Greta had seen opening in Alice banged shut.

  “Hey,” Ash said.

  Alice practically sneered.

  “I’ll be in soon,” Greta hinted, nudging him toward the door. “We’re just…talking.”

  “Why are you so hard on your dad?” Ash asked.

  Alice looked like she wanted to karate chop him with some scorching retort, but then sighed and dropped the cigarette butt on the porch, grinding it under her heel. “You’ve got to understand that after my mom died, my dad turned into this weird, pantless recluse you see now. Think anyone ever drops by for a barbecue or invites us over on Christmas?”

  “I thought the lack of pants was heat related,” Greta said.

  “Yes,” Alice answered. “And when summer rolls around, it will also be ‘heat related.’

  “I was sweating like a whore in church when he actually agreed to come to my high school graduation, like I’d turn around and find him talking to the plants or reciting haikus about death at the punch bowl.”

  Greta could picture Alice, in a too-puffy dress, gripping his arm. Don’t talk to anyone. Greta nodded. Elgin was a little startling.

  Ash kicked a clump of snow off the porch, pocking a flawless drift on the lawn. After a minute he said, “But he’s here, giving you checks every month to support you. Making you lamb kebabs because they’re your favorite. He’s still lapping our dad.”

  “This isn’t some dysfunctional-father contest,” Alice said, but her voice had lost its steel.

  Greta rubbed her bare arms, finally feeling the cold. “Why don’t we try to finish dinner?” Greta said. “We can be civil for twenty minutes and kill each other after.”

  “I might take you up on that,” Alice said. Greta couldn’t tell if she was joking.

  They sat down at the table again and stayed nearly silent for the next ten minutes. Elgin took this as an invitation to talk about Alice. Alice in school to become a dental assistant, Alice’s ex-boyfriend (which earned him a frightening glare), Alice who had won Ping-Pong trophies, Alice who had been on the honor roll in junior hi
gh school.

  When Elgin paused for a breath, Ash looked back and forth between Alice and Elgin and asked, “So…are you adopted?”

  Greta almost kicked him under the table, except she was kind of wondering about the age difference herself. She thought Roger looked old, but Elgin definitely tipped the scale toward senior citizen.

  “No, he’s my biological father,” Alice said in a voice that told Greta she’d had this conversation a million times. “He was twenty years older than my mom, and she’s the one who died first. Consider the irony.”

  After dinner, they watched a rerun of Quiz Kings. And no one talked about jobs or rent or dead mothers. When Alice grabbed her jacket to leave, she pointed back and forth between Ash and Greta. “When I come back, I expect you to tell me about your new jobs.”

  They nodded dumbly, even Ash. One did not poke a rabid wolverine with a stick. Not more than once anyway.

  TEN

  They told Nate about Alice on the ride to school the next day.

  “I missed out on all the fun?” Nate laughed.

  “She’s a complete psycho. That’s what you missed,” Ash said.

  “You forgot to mention she looks like Cinderella,” Greta added. “Cinderella who has spent a lot of time at boot camp.”

  Nate slumped in the driver’s seat. “Maybe I can come next time.”

  Why not throw Nate in the mix? They could play a game of Would You Rather while Alice uttered death threats and Elgin modeled his collection of vintage running shorts. They could even combine the two, and Alice could make them choose between creative ways to die. Would you rather douse yourself in lighter fluid and volunteer to carry the Olympic torch or hang upside down over a river of crocodiles by a bungee cord made of plastic shopping bags?

  Later that morning, on her way to lunch, Greta was thinking about their dinner with Alice and how to come up with some money ASAP. She bent over for a drink at a water fountain in the “safe” hallway. As she stood up, she nearly plowed into Rachel. Real Rachel this time, with her glossy black hair and a cute little shirt. Rachel stumbled back onto Matt’s toes, surprise stealing any expression from their faces for a second. Dylan and Chloe followed a few steps behind, his arm slung over her shoulder. It was the at-school-in-your-underwear dream. A root canal without freezing. Every bad thing all at once.