Sunny Haven is the girls home I had the distinct non-pleasure of living in for six months before coming to stay with the Scotts. My mother is doing a little time for her side business—well, OK, her only business—of drug pushing, and here I am.
“All right, our little drama queen, let’s go.” Millie grabs her purse from the orange vinyl seat next to me. “We need to go check on Mother, then run by the church and the Valiant.”
The Scotts own an old historical theater, the Valiant. They completely renovated it last year, and I got to help. But that’s a long story.
James looks at his watch. “I’m going to take you ladies home after we look in on Maxine. I’ll go to the church and the theater myself. Millie, you should probably be taking it easy so you don’t pull some stitches. And Katie needs to be in bed for school tomorrow.”
“School?” I trash my coffee and put on my most pitiful face. “James, I have suffered terrible emotional trauma tonight. I sat cheek to cheek in a tub with your dog. I endured a tornado. My foster mother was nearly taken out by a window, and I had to wait in the ER for nearly three hours with only a National Geographic from 1992 to read. Don’t you think I need a day of recovery?”
Millie laughs and pulls me to her. “I think that calls for a day off. Given the reports we’ve heard about the damage in town, there will probably be a lot of kids absent tomorrow.”
Elation races through me. Yea! I get to skip school tomorrow! No PE for me!
Then reality sets in. Millie would never agree to me missing school. When I came to In Between High, I was a little behind on the credits, and I’m only now starting to make some good progress. There could be an outbreak of measles, mumps, and scabies, and Millie would still probably force me to go to class.
“Are you sure all the doctor gave you was ibuprofen?” Maybe Millie hit her head, too, and we just don’t know it.
A gray-haired man in scrubs walks down the hall, calling out to the Scotts.
“Millie, I forgot to give you this.”
He joins us in the waiting area, and hands my foster mom a piece of paper.
“Here’s the prescription for pain pills, just in case. I know you said you didn’t want to take any, but should you change your mind, I want you to have this.”
“Thanks, Dr. Carnegie.” Millie hands James her purse, and with her hand at my back, leads us toward the exit, suddenly anxious to leave.
“Don’t forget, call my office in the morning, and I’ll make sure the clinic gets you in for a mammogram. With your family history, we really need to check that out.”
Millie smiles and nods, and as the doctor departs, I put myself in my foster mom’s path.
“What? Family history? What is he talking about?”
Millie’s gaze travels to her husband, and the two share a look that probably communicates pages of information between them, but leaves me clueless as ever.
“When the doctor was patching me up, he noticed a lump. My sister had breast cancer so he wants to check it out, just to play it safe.” Millie shrugs it off. “It’s nothing. We’ll talk about it later, Katie. Right now, we need to go check on my mom.” She grabs James’s hand. “And since Katie and I are taking the day off tomorrow, we’re going with you to see the church and the theater.”
We walk out to the car, the rain now a light mist. Rocky’s tail hits the seat, and in his excitement to see us, he barks a welcome.
I push him out of my way and climb in the back.
Millie’s words play over and over in my head. Lump? Cancer? What if something happens to her?
What will happen to me?
“It’s about time you got here. I could’ve been whisked away to California in that twister, and you people probably wouldn’t even have noticed.”
Maxine, my seventy-something-year-old foster grandma, is holding open what’s left of her door. She’s obviously not hurt. She’s immaculately put together in a velour jogging suit, perfectly matching nails, and some sporty Pumas. See, Maxine thinks she’s my age. Her birth certificate, a document that mysteriously disappeared sometime in the Nixon era, is the only sure proof we have she’s a bona fide senior citizen and not a kid. Well, that and her wrinkles.
“Maxine, we called you before and after the storm. I think I’ve talked to you at least twenty-five times tonight.” James walks around surveying the damage. “And not once did you happen to mention part of the roof on your apartment is gone or that your windows were completely blown out.”
The Scotts and I take in the trashed apartment in shocked silence while Maxine inspects her daughter.
“Mom, where were you when the tornado hit? In the hall? The bathroom?”
Maxine becomes a flurry of activity, picking up stray clothing and shoes that are scattered everywhere.
“Mom?”
“Oh . . . yes, yes, I was in a hall.” Maxine’s eyes meet mine, and she silently demands my help.
Millie’s dad died a long time ago, and after all these years, Maxine has finally found herself a Mr. Right in Sam Dayberry, the Valiant caretaker. Though it doesn’t make much sense (and with Maxine I’ve learned things rarely do), my foster grandma insists her relationship with Sam is kept hush-hush. So her own daughter doesn’t even know she has a honey.
“Well, whose hall were you in?” Millie steps around an upturned lamp.
“You said you were going to a friend’s house tonight to watch TV, right?” I chime in. Kind of weak, but it’s the best I can do and still be truthful. Maxine was obviously over at Sam’s.
“Right. That’s definitely what I was doing.” Maxine’s head bobs a little too eagerly. “Sooo . . . looks like I’ll be staying with you guys for a while. I’ll go pack my bag.”
“Wait a minute.” James puts a halting hand up. “I think this is totally fixable. Maybe even for tonight. I’ll just grab some duct tape, and—”
“James, there’s not a single window left intact. Glass is everywhere, and it’s raining in part of the living room. She can’t stay here.” Millie plants a fist on her hip, a sure sign she’s not in the mood for James’s funny business.
Maxine waggles her eyebrows at her son-in-law. “Don’t worry. You won’t even know I’m there. As long as I get breakfast in bed, remote control privileges, and Millie’s home-baked cookies every night.”
“Our house is kind of a mess too. I would never dream of you being the slightest bit uncomfortable. How about a nice stay at the Coach House Inn?”
Maxine clutches her chest and gasps. “The Roach and Mouse Inn? James, I am hurt . . . I am appalled . . . We’re family.”
Rolling his eyes, my foster dad picks up a displaced dining room chair and sits down. “Go pack your bags. But pack light. If I have to call in HGTV to fix this place quickly, I will.”
Maxine claps her hands in excessive, obnoxious glee. “Come on, girls, you can help me pack. Oh, wait, Katie, just you. Millie’s injured.”
Great. Nothing like the privilege of folding your foster grandmother’s undies.
I follow Maxine down the hall and into her leopard-print bedroom.
“Grab that suitcase there.” Maxine points to her closet. “Be careful of the glass.”
“Will you be taking the Hello Kitty luggage?”
Maxine mumbles something that sounds like duh, and I grab the bag.
“Did Millie tell you everything the doctor told her tonight?” My foster grandma is not known for being tight-lipped, so if I can find out anything else about Millie and the cancer, Maxine’s the source. And Millie was talking so quietly on the phone in the car, I couldn’t catch all of the conversation.
She grabs some shirts off hangers. “Yeah. I guess. Glass, stitches, and some aspirin, right?”
“The doctor said he found a lump.”
Maxine drops a shirt. “What?”
“She didn’t tell you that part? Dr. Carnegie says he wants her to come in for some test. A mammogram.”
You don’t get many quiet moments around Maxine. But
this is one of them.
She sits on the bed, despite the fact it’s slightly damp from the rain coming through the windows. “She didn’t tell me the doctor said that.”
I dig for more information. “Do you think Millie—”
“Hey, ladies, we need to get a move on.” Millie appears in the doorway. She hesitates and looks at me.
I’m frozen to the spot, knowing I just got busted talking about my foster mom. Millie’s a very private lady, and I know somehow I’ve just broken a rule.
“We still need to go by the church and the Valiant.” James enters in behind his wife and closes Maxine’s suitcase. “Are we ready?”
The rain has picked up, and we race to the car. Rocky sits between Maxine and me in the backseat. I hold my nose to block out his offensive smell, but Maxine croons to the mutt and scratches his chin all the way to the Valiant.
I drum my fingers on the car door, and anxiety swims through my gut. This theater is really important to me. It’s a part of our makeshift family.
Though I was concerned about my foster mom, I’m also worried about the theater. That place has become my home away from home . . . um, away from home. When I’m not at the Scotts, I’m usually there, at the Valiant, working. Last fall I even performed in a play. Most girls my age are crushing on some boy. But me, I’m madly in love with an old stage.
The car can’t go fast enough, and my stomach sinks as we pass all the storm damage. Houses with windows out like Maxine’s. Roofs ripped apart. Trash and miscellaneous items lining the streets. A car turned on its side. Dogs running loose. A trampoline bent over a fence.
Very little in this town was left alone. I hope the harm is minor to the theater, but our odds aren’t good. I slump down in the seat and close my eyes, trying to block out the images in my head, the possibilities for a damaged Valiant.
The car turns the final corner and the theater comes into sight.
There, illuminated by streetlights, is the mighty Valiant, whole and solid, as if the history and love in the old nails and mortar held it together against the wind.
We hop out of the car. James and I walk around the building.
“Not even a shingle out of place.” His disbelief mirrors mine.
The Valiant stands in perfect condition. Every window, every door.
My foster dad throws an arm around me. “How do you account for that?”
My eyes travel over every square inch of my beloved theater. I shake my head in awe, and the words tumble out of my mouth before they fully form in my mind. “It has to be God.”
Chapter 3
“Well, good morning, Sunshine.”
Tying my robe as I enter the kitchen, I shoot daggers at a smiling Maxine. Chirpy, happy morning people really bug me. Especially ones who do it on purpose.
Last night after we checked the church and found it had barely been rattled, we came back home. Tired and drained. And I got a new roommate. Since it was too late to clean out the spare bedroom for Maxine, she spent the night in my room in the extra bed. Yes, just a big ol’ sleepover with the grandma.
Except there is no sleeping when Maxine is around. I’ve heard semi-truck horns that weren’t as loud as the sounds coming out of her mouth last night. Between her nighttime Donald Duck impressions and my fretting over Millie and the Big C, I think I slept a grand total of five minutes.
“Looking a little rough today, Dumplin’. How about some of my special juice cocktail?”
With one swollen eye, I regard my foster grandmother. I look like I just walked out of a police lineup, and she couldn’t be any more rested and refreshed. Her overly blond hair is tied back in a neat bun, and her pink lipstick matches her sweater set perfectly.
I reach for the juice she’s poured and mumble a few syllables that hopefully sound something like thank you.
“Drink up, Sweet Pea.” Maxine nods toward the glass. “Does a body good.”
So does eight hours of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep.
I toss the glass back as James enters the kitchen. His eyes land on my juice, and he lunges for me. “Katie, no!”
Too late. I swallow the contents. My throat immediately constricts around the slimy concoction.
Gonna. Hurl.
My eyes water, and I run to the sink, gagging all the way. I jerk on the tap and hold my tongue under the faucet like a dog, desperate to wash away the taste.
Wiping my mouth, I turn on Maxine with murder in my eyes.
“What,” I growl, “was that?”
“My morning specialty. Prune juice and egg whites.”
“Here, drink this.” James pops the top on a Diet Dr. Pepper, and I down it in three gulps. Ah, the beverage of champions. My eyes close as I feel the familiar burn that could only belong to a drink capable of dissolving nails.
I pull another can out of the fridge. “That was disgusting. Are you crazy?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?” James’s hand goes up. “Because if it’s not, I’d like to answer.”
Maxine chuckles mischievously. “Woke you up, didn’t it?”
I throw a bagel in the toaster, wondering where Millie is. She’s usually the first one up and around in the kitchen. “Actually, Maxine, it didn’t wake me up. And you want to know why? Because I never went to sleep!”
“My, my, aren’t we grouchy this morning. When does your charm kick in? Ten a.m.? Noon-ish?” Maxine tweaks my nose.
James unrolls the paper and hunts for the sports section. “Didn’t you sleep well, Katie?”
“You mean you didn’t hear it?” I ask.
“Hear what?” Maxine’s eyes narrow.
I open my mouth and make the loudest, most obnoxious noises I can. I try to duplicate Maxine’s snoring, but end up sounding like a choking pig instead.
“I do not snore!” Maxine gasps, clutching her chest dramatically.
“Whatever!” James and I yell simultaneously.
I point my finger at Maxine. “You kept me up the entire night.”
“I am a refined woman, and I do not snore. Take that back!”
“Take that back?” I laugh. “I’ll take that back when you give me back my eight hours of sleep!”
“Well, I never—” Maxine fans her flushed face with a napkin.
“You may think you never,” James interrupts. “But you would be wrong.” He looks at me with understanding, like we’re united in our pain. “Maxine’s gone on some trips with us, and we always make sure our room doesn’t adjoin hers. It sounds like that storm last night—only multiplied times one hundred.”
Maxine hands me my bagel. “I don’t find this topic funny. Occasionally I do have some sinus issues. Perhaps we could talk about something else this morning.”
Setting my plate next to James, I poke him in the ribs. “It was like sleeping in a sawmill.”
“If she could snore her way into heaven . . .” James shakes his head.
“I don’t find this appropriate breakfast time conversation. If I did snore, and I’m not saying I do, it is not that loud. Barely a rumble.”
“Like the rumble of a Harley-Davidson convention?” I smirk.
“Good morning.” Millie shuts the back door, entering the kitchen. She lets the dog off the leash, and Rocky, spying Maxine, runs into the living room.
All teasing stops.
I suddenly feel awkward. Do we talk about Millie’s situation? Do we pretend like we’re not all thinking about it? What exactly is the breakfast etiquette for potential cancer conversation?
“Where’ve you been, Mil?” James gets up and takes his wife’s jacket.
“Rocky and I went for a walk. I wanted to see some of the damage in the daylight. We better get on over to the church, James. We need to rally our resources and see what people need.”
“I need a new roommate,” I grumble. “Maxine tried to poison me with prunes this morning.”
“Poison you? I did no such thing. The things this girl says.”
“I could have died.” I lo
ok to Millie for support. “From an overdose of . . . fiber.”
Maxine’s glossy pink lips slip into an innocent smile. “Nonsense. And we’re gonna be great roomies. You and me, Katie. We are peas and carrots. Tom and Jerry. Pickles and ice cream.”
I tear into the last bite of bagel. “Tom tried to eat Jerry.”
Maxine clears her throat loudly. “So, Millie. When’s that mammogram?”
My eyes bug out of my head. James loses his grip on the paper.
“Well . . . I . . . uh . . . I guess . . .” Millie falters on her way to the fridge. “I haven’t made the appointment yet. It’s only seven. The doctor’s office won’t be open for another thirty minutes.”
Millie gives her mother a warning look then plants a smile on for me. “Did you know school is closed today? Part of the roof was damaged, and it leaked pretty badly overnight.”
“Yes!” I pump my fist in the air. “How bad are we talking here? Like bad as in you need waders to get to class and we’ll be out for the next month? Or bad as in enjoy the day off and see you tomorrow?”
Millie smiles. “It doesn’t look very serious. I’m sure we’ll find out today.” She leans down and kisses her mother’s cheek. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, she did.” I answer. “Now when is she moving to the spare bedroom?”
Silence. “James, you didn’t tell her?” Millie’s eyes soften with sympathy.
My foster dad is suddenly very interested in the classifieds.
“Looking for a job there, James?” I pull the employment section out of his hands and prepare for the bad news.
“Um . . . yes, I was gonna tell you . . . eventually. See . . . we found some leaks in a few rooms. Yup, we’ve got leaks in the downstairs bathroom, the laundry room, the garage, and . . .”
I sigh. “And the guest bedroom.”
Millie pats my hand. “The carpet is pretty wet in there. We’re going to have to get the roof replaced and the flooring cleaned and—”
“And Maxine and I are bunkmates.” My eyes cut to Maxine, and she waggles her manicured eyebrows at me.
“Katie, it’ll be great. You’ll see. You’ll never even know I’m here.”
On the Loose (A Katie Parker Production) Page 2