Beth don’t answer, and for a long moment, I don’t think she’s going to. I mean, what else is there to say? She just sits there, looking down at her bare feet on the carpet. But finally, she takes a deep breath and looks up at me again.
“What I did—leaving like that—it’s exactly why I think you should see her, Hadley.”
“I don’t want—”
“Just hear me out a second,” she says. “I won’t make you do anything you really don’t want to. But … But you asked me the other day why I left, and I didn’t tell you. Truth is, I’m real embarrassed about the whole thing. I ain’t proud of it. And if I could do it over again, I would.” She swallows, loud enough I can hear it. “After … After Daddy died, Mama and I didn’t get along well. We were both sad and angry, and we took it out on each other. We both said some not-so-kind things to each other, but I said the worst.”
I watch my sister, my narrow field of vision focusing on her face as best as I can. But she ain’t meeting my eyes.
“I’d already been planning to leave,” Beth explains. “I’d graduated. I’d saved up money to get an apartment with some friends. But the night before I was supposed to move out, Mama and I got into a fight. And I … at the end of it, I told her … I said …” Beth’s voice gets real shaky, and I think she might be about to cry. “I told her that I wished it had been her. Instead of Daddy, I mean. That I wished … I wished she was the one who’d died.”
“Oh.” The sound leaves my mouth on an exhale, but I hadn’t meant to make a noise at all.
I don’t remember that argument. I was pretty little when Beth left, after all. But I do remember her and Mama yelling a lot. And when I asked why, both of them would always just tell me not to worry about it. The morning after Beth went away, I found Mama sitting on the couch in the living room crying. All these years, I’d assumed it was because Beth had moved out. But now I see there was more to it than that.
Still, this throws me for a loop. The older sister I grew up with, the one I remember, was bubbly and energetic and maybe a little dramatic, but … Even now, as upset as I’ve been with her, I can’t imagine her saying something that mean. Just thinking something like that is terrible. And not the kinda thing I’d have expected from Beth.
“I didn’t mean it,” Beth says quickly. “I felt awful about it the minute the words left my mouth. But instead of saying I was sorry, I … I left. And I was too ashamed to talk to her again after that. Mama called me, and I didn’t answer. And she kept calling, but I … couldn’t talk to her. After a while, she called less and less. She stopped after a year or so. By then, I didn’t just feel ashamed for what I had said but for taking so long to apologize. So I … I stayed away. And I’ve regretted it. A lot.”
“That’s a stupid reason to stop talking to us,” I snap. I’m angry at her. It’s an old, heavy anger that sits on my chest. It mingles with something even more raw: grief. The grief and mourning I felt and pushed away years ago, when I first realized Beth wasn’t coming back. It’s all stirred up inside me again now.
I’m not upset with her for what she said to Mama, but that she didn’t just apologize and come home when she could have. I’m angry at her for letting that argument take her away from me. When I hadn’t done nothing wrong.
“You’re right,” she says. “It was. Especially because I know Mama would have forgiven me. I made a mistake, I did a bad thing, but she would have forgiven me. I just never gave her the chance.”
“And what about me?” I ask. “Were you too busy thinking about Mama to consider me? I thought you’d come home. I waited and waited. I knew y’all argued, but I never fought with you. I thought you’d come back for … for me. And I’ve been so, so mad at you that you didn’t. And I …”
I trail off. I wish I hadn’t said any of that, because now there are tears springing to my eyes. And I hate myself for being this pathetic.
“I’m sorry, Baby Sister.”
“Hadley,” I correct.
“Hadley. I’m … I’m sorry. I was young, and stupid, and you were … you were caught in the middle. I never meant for that to happen. I wish I could change things.”
I look away. Not because I’m mad at her, but because I ain’t sure what else I’m supposed to say to all this.
Beth don’t make me dwell on it too long, though.
“I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to, Hadley,” she says again. “But take it from me—seeking forgiveness ain’t easy. Especially from the people you hurt. But Mama’s trying. She’s trying real hard. You don’t gotta forgive her. That’s up to you. But … at least know what you’re doing, okay? I don’t want you to have the same kinda regrets I do.”
“What about you?” I ask. “You’ve been talking to her again. Did you apologize? Did she forgive you?”
“I did apologize,” Beth says. “And … she has. She forgave me right away. It don’t make what I did right or better. It doesn’t mean it goes away. But we’re trying. Both of us. It’s hard and uncomfortable, but … it’s better than losing her forever, you know?”
When I don’t say nothing in response, Beth gets to her feet. I keep my head turned and listen as she quietly walks out of the room and shuts the door behind her.
After she’s gone, I move to look at Lila, who’s still lying on the bed beside me. She’s staring at me with her big, dark eyes. She pushes herself into a sitting position so she can lick my cheek.
The best thing about Lila is, she don’t expect me to say nothing. I lean against her, wrapping one arm around her boxy frame, glad for the company that won’t judge the confused, frustrated tears sliding down my cheeks.
Mama never told me she was worried about money, but looking back, I probably should’ve picked up on it sooner.
I should’ve noticed the way she’d let out a frustrated sigh every time she opened our empty fridge. Or the strain in her voice when she promised me she’d come up with the money I needed to go on a class trip. Or the way she’d bury her face in her hands while sitting at the kitchen table, with a pile of bills in front of her.
The first time I really started to think that maybe something might be wrong was about a year ago, when Mama was still working for Dr. Parker.
I’d walked into the kitchen, feeling a bit frustrated as I tried to button a pair of jeans that just wouldn’t fit. Mama was at the table, that pile of bills in front of her. She wasn’t looking at them, though. Instead, she seemed to be staring at the wall. I didn’t think much of it, because I had my own things to be worried about.
“Mama,” I said with a groan as I walked over to the table. “Mama, I think I need new clothes.”
It took her a minute to respond. But after a second, she turned to look at me. “What was that, Hadley Bean? Sorry. I was just … What’s wrong?”
“My clothes,” I said. “I think I need some new ones. Especially jeans.”
“What’s wrong with the clothes you have now?”
“Look.” I gestured to the pants I was struggling to button. The jeans showed way more ankle than they had when we’d bought them at the start of the school year. And they were way too tight around my hips now, too. I could barely pull them on, let alone get them fastened. “I just got these out of my closet thinking I could wear them tomorrow, but they don’t fit. Almost none of my pants do anymore.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “I’m sure most of them still fit. Come on. Let’s go take a look.”
But Mama was wrong. Of all the clothes she’d bought me at the start of the school year, only one pair of jeans still looked all right, and I’d been wearing and washing them constantly, so the knees were starting to wear out.
Mama looked down at the pile of too-small clothes on my bed in disbelief. “How did you outgrow all these so fast?”
I shrug. “I dunno. But I can’t wear this stuff anymore. Most of the pants won’t even pull all the way up now.”
“Puberty.” Mama sighed. “
I can’t believe you’re growing up this fast. We’ll figure something out. For now, you have leggings that fit, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “But I can’t wear them to school.”
“How come?”
“It’s against dress code unless you’re wearing them with a dress that’s down to your knees,” I told her. “It’s stupid.”
Mama nodded. “Yeah, that is stupid.”
“So,” I said, sitting down on my bed next to the pile of jeans. “Can we go shopping this weekend or something?”
“I don’t know if we can do it this weekend,” Mama said, turning to start walking out of the room and back toward the kitchen. “But we’ll definitely do it soon.”
“Can it please be this weekend?” I asked, hurrying after her. “Mama, the end-of-year dance is next week. And then fifth grade graduation on Friday. I need jeans that look all right for those. I can’t wear the ones with holes in them.”
“I forgot all about the dance,” Mama admitted as she poured herself a glass of sweet tea. “Shoot. Can’t you wear one of your dresses?”
“Most of my dresses are too short for dress code now. Or are too tight. The only dress that fits is this year’s Easter dress,” I explained. “Way too fancy for a school dance. Besides, almost none of the girls will be wearing dresses to the dance or to graduation. If I did, I’d be teased for being too dressed up. Almost everyone wears jeans and a nice shirt. Please, Mama, we gotta get me some new clothes.”
Mama took a long drink of her tea before putting the glass back down on the counter and turning away from me. “I’ll … I’ll figure something out.”
“So we’re gonna go clothes shopping this weekend?”
She didn’t answer me. Just kept her back to me, facing the window over the sink.
“Mama?”
“Yeah.” She turned on the faucet, rinsed out her cup, and turned around slowly. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it, Hadley Bean. Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure everything works out.”
“Mama, is everything okay?”
“Of course it is.” She walked over to me and wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me into a hug. “The only thing that’s not okay is how fast you’re growing! How am I supposed to keep you in clothes if you won’t stop getting taller.” She ruffled my hair, messing up my hair as I tried to shrug out of her reach. She laughed. But it still sounded a little strained. “You’re gonna be as tall as me soon.”
“I’m gonna be taller than you eventually.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I reached up to smooth out my hair again. “So … everything’s all right?”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Bean.” She leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Everything will work out. I’ll take care of us, I promise.”
And that was the thing—I never really thought about our money troubles because Mama always told me not to. She always said we’d be fine, that she’d take care of things. And she always did. She always came through with whatever I needed.
Of course, I had no idea that one way she’d been “taking care of us” was by stealing from Dr. Parker.
Beth wants me to start taking Lila to the dog park near her house. She says it’s just as important for Lila to learn how to socialize with other dogs as it is with other people. But considering she also tells me how many kids in the neighborhood take their dogs there, I’m guessing Lila ain’t the only one she thinks ought to be socializing.
I know if I don’t do it, she’ll just keep bugging me about it. So one afternoon, after watching one of those house remodeling shows with Mrs. McGraw, I get Lila leashed up.
Apparently Beth had a talk with Mrs. McGraw about me going places by myself in the neighborhood, because she doesn’t try to argue as much anymore about whether or not it’s safe. That ain’t to say she makes it easy, though.
“Don’t go anywhere but the dog park, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And call me if you’re gonna be more than an hour or two. You got that cell phone of yours, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“If I call you and you don’t answer, I’m coming out looking for you.”
“Okay.”
“Your sister says you’re fine and I ought to let you go out and practice with your cane. But if you get lost or hurt or something—”
“I’ll be fine. Can I go?”
“Don’t give me that attitude, young lady. No need to be rude.”
“Can I go, please?”
Despite herself, Mrs. McGraw gives a snort of laughter at that. And I might smile back at her. Just a little.
“All right. Go on then. Don’t forget your cane.”
I groan, but I do grab my cane as I head out the door and down the sidewalk with Lila.
I almost hate to admit it, but walking with Lila like this is a little easier now than it was a few weeks ago. My cane still jabs into my stomach sometimes, but I also don’t gotta look at my feet no more. Instead, I can focus on correcting Lila on the leash, keeping her at a good heel the way Beth showed me. And Lila’s doing pretty good at it, too.
“You know, Lila,” I say when we’re standing across the street from the dog park, listening for traffic like Cilia’s been teaching me, “for a dog who was supposedly so hard to train, you actually learn things real quick. Makes me think you’re just stubborn and know more than you let on.”
I feel Lila’s tail hit the back of my legs. Two quick wags. That’s about all I ever expect from her.
I wait maybe longer than I need to before I cross the street. I don’t hear any cars, and Beth says this part of town ain’t real busy during the day. But I’m still feeling kinda nervous as I listen, and I keep second-guessing myself. It’s silly. I used to cross streets by myself all the time. I ain’t a little kid. But now that Cilia’s been showing me safer ways to do it during mobility lessons—listening for the traffic that’s moving in the same direction as me or the all-quiet and such—I’m actually trying to do what she says. I ain’t used to relying on my ears yet.
After a minute, I decide there really ain’t any cars coming, and I tug Lila with me as I walk across the street, toward the dog park, at top speed.
There ain’t a lot of people here today, which I can’t say bothers me much. I keep Lila’s leash on until we find an empty bench on the shady end of the park, under a few trees. Once I’ve gotten comfortable, I unhook Lila’s leash and say, “Okay. Go on. Go play.”
She don’t move.
“You don’t have to play with any of the other dogs,” I tell her. “But at least go run around or something.”
Lila looks up at me, then turns around and sits down with her back to the bench.
I sigh. “Fine. We’ll just stay a few minutes. That way it’ll at least get Beth off our backs.”
The words have hardly left my mouth when I hear a scrambling noise and see a big black figure hurtling across the dog park and right at me. I don’t even have time to stand up or move before two paws slam into my chest and a long, wet tongue begins lapping at my cheeks.
“Augh!”
“No, Pilot! Off!”
I shove at the chest of the large, fluffy dog while, from the other side, someone else pulls it back. Once it’s off me, I stand up real quick and start wiping the dog drool off my face.
“Sorry. I’m real sorry,” says the girl who’s now holding the dog by its collar. She looks to be about my age, with a round face and wavy brown pigtails. And I think she looks kinda familiar. “Pilot’s big, but he’s still a puppy. Only ten months old. And he just really likes people. I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
I stare at her for a minute, trying to figure out where I know this girl from. And then it hits me, a flash of memory from a few days earlier.
I have seen her before. This girl was the one sitting at a picnic table, staring at me and my cane.
I tense up a bit, already feeling irritated, w
hen the girl suddenly recognizes me, too.
“Oh!” she says. “I keep seeing you around! You and your dog were up on the hill the other day, right? At the picnic tables? I saw y’all there.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. I start looking around for Lila, who ain’t sitting in front of the bench no more. I figure she probably ran off when the black dog jumped on me. I wanna find her quick, though, because I sure don’t wanna stick around to listen to this girl tease me about my cane.
“I saw you a few weeks ago, too,” she says. “When Pilot and I were leaving this dog park, actually. You were across the street. I tried to say hi, but I think you were heading somewhere.”
It takes me a minute of looking around, my eyes straining for a glimpse of Lila, before I spot her. She ain’t gone real far. She’s behind the bench and is just sitting there, watching me and this girl and her dog through the wooden slats. I’m about to grab her leash and go over to her when I realize what the girl has just said.
“Huh?” I say, turning to face her. Then I remember. It was the first day I’d taken Lila for a walk. The day I’d tripped and Lila had run away from me, because we’d both been trying to avoid the too-friendly girl coming toward us. That was this girl. My face gets hot, embarrassed, wondering if she saw me fall that day.
If she did, she doesn’t bring it up now.
“Yeah. I was hoping to say hi, but you took off so fast that day. And then again at the picnic tables. I’m glad I finally get to meet you now. I’m Shelby.”
I just stare at her at first, not sure if I ought to be relieved she hasn’t teased me about my cane or if I should still be wary. Also, I just … ain’t real sure what to say to her. I haven’t spent much time with anyone my age since I left Mama’s house. It’s pretty much just been Lila and Beth and Mrs. McGraw. But Shelby is looking at me, still smiling but like she’s expecting something, and after a too-long pause I manage to say:
“Uh … I’m Hadley.”
“Nice to meet you, Hadley,” she says. Then, with an embarrassed smile, she admits, “If I’m being honest, though, it’s your dog I was really hoping to meet. No offense to you—I’m sure you’re great, too, and I’d love to get to know you. But … I really love dogs, so whenever there’s a new one in the neighborhood, I get a little excited. Kinda the way Pilot does with people.”
Lila and Hadley Page 9