The Dollar Kids

by Jennifer Richard Jacobson

  “It’s a bit of an albatross, isn’t it?” Mum said. She opened one of the top cabinets and the handle came off in her fingers.

  “There’s duct tape on the oven door,” Clem said.

  “And a hole where the dishwasher should be!” said Anneth.

  “Who needs a dishwasher when you have three kids?” joked Dad.

  “Very funny,” said Anneth.

  “In all seriousness, though,” said Dad, “you guys are going to have to roll up your sleeves and help us get this work done. Your mother and I can’t do it alone.”

  Clem looked at his father skeptically. “This is your dream project, Dad,” he said, heading out of the kitchen, presumably to find his room. “The three of us will have school — and sports.”

  Not me. I won’t have sports, thought Lowen. He was still determined to get out of that obligation somehow, despite the coach’s declaration. Not that he’d be any good with the house repairs, either.

  While Mum and Dad began discussing priorities for the kitchen, Anneth and Lowen wandered through the rest of the house. It had the same layout as the one they’d visited. They passed through the dining room, which had water spots on the ceiling and floor, to the living room, which was small but had large windows that looked out on the porch. One of the windows, the one on the side of the house, had cracks patched with duct tape. The staircase to the second floor was at one end of the living room.

  Anneth made Lowen climb the narrow staircase first. It was dark, and you couldn’t help thinking of the ghosts that might be lurking upstairs.

  “Clem?” Lowen called.

  There was no answer.

  The stairs climbed to a second-floor hall and then turned and narrowed, leading to the third floor. The hall on the second floor was short, with three bedrooms and a bathroom coming off it. The bathroom had black grunge growing on the walls, and several of the shower tiles had fallen off.

  The largest bedroom at the front of the house also had its own bathroom with a toilet and sink. They knew without asking that this bedroom would go to Mum and Dad.

  The other two bedrooms were both small and very dark. The cobalt-blue one had a single sloping wall and a window that looked out to the backyard. The forest-green one was longer and narrower and had two sloping walls and a window that looked out at the funeral home. The closet in that room was small and missing a door.

  “You can have that one,” Anneth said, pointing to the green room.

  Lowen wasn’t surprised by her lack of sympathy. She was making it very clear that she was done babying him. He wanted to live here; he could look out at a place where they embalmed bodies.

  What did it matter?

  He could hear Clem banging around above their heads and decided to investigate the fourth bedroom. The curved stairway was steep, and he found himself using his hands as well as his feet to crawl up. He didn’t get far before he reached an open trapdoor. “I’m coming up!” he announced.

  “You have my permission to come up,” Clem clarified.

  He entered a room that had no doubt been the attic at one time. Bare and patchy wallboard had been screwed to the steeply pitched walls. There were two small windows at the front of the room and one larger window at the back. Dad and Clem were looking out the back window at the fire escape when Mum called up, “Is it safe?”

  “It looks fine,” Dad called to Mum. Then he addressed Clem. “But no sneaking out in the middle of the night!”

  Clem turned and muttered, “Yeah, Dad. ’Cause that’s the kind of kid I am.”

  It seemed like everything Dad said annoyed Clem these days.

  Dad and Mum walked back to get the car while the kids sat on the floor of their new living room, munching on the last of the car snacks that Mum had in her handbag.

  “I doubt our old furniture will look right in here,” said Anneth, reaching for the carrots.

  “Yeah,” said Clem. “But we won’t have to worry about the elevator constantly breaking and having to trudge up four flights.”

  “Or Mrs. Finlay banging on our floor with her broom whenever we’re having fun,” said Lowen.

  Anneth laughed. “Or the landlord always suggesting that he’s going to turn our apartment into two upscale condominiums.”

  Lowen was happy to see his sister smiling. “Or the smells of Limburger cheese coming from across the hall,” he added, but he no sooner said it than he realized that the odor had come from Abe’s apartment and that it had been a long time since they’d smelled anything at all in the hallway.

  The listing stopped.

  It took less than ten minutes for Mum and Dad to return with the car, and less than that to unpack it. Everyone, except Dad, had brought one small bag of clothes, toiletries, a sleeping bag (Mum had to buy hers at the local Goodwill), and an air mattress. Dad, who had already contacted the movers to give them the official address, would drive the borrowed car back to the city that night. The rest of their belongings (except for the few things Dad needed at home) would arrive on Monday.

  Wanting his first night in the new house to be a happy one, Lowen took his time in deciding where to place his air mattress. He tried putting it under the window, but he felt too claustrophobic under the eaves (and too close to the dead). Instead he chose the opposite wall, closest to the center of the house. He placed the two Bones books and another graphic novel that he’d read on the long car ride to Millville next to his mattress. His pajamas he hung on a hook in the open closet. He noticed a hole by the baseboard of the closet and hoped that it wasn’t home to a rat — especially since he was sleeping on the floor. He had just placed his bag with his extra clothes and toothbrush in front of the hole when he heard knocking on the back door. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a window that looked out in that direction.

  “It’s that group of kids you were talking to in the gym, Clem,” Anneth said, her voice echoing in the empty house.

  Clem practically slid down the first set of stairs, leaped down the second, and called out, “Toodles!”

  “Wait!” Mum yelled. “Find out where you’re headed and tell us, and then say good-bye to your father before you go.”

  A familiar, but nevertheless acute, sadness began to settle over Lowen. As long as he was with his entire family, as long as they had the promise of winning a new house, as long as they had discovery ahead of them, he’d been OK. But now Clem was racing off with new friends, something he almost never did from the apartment (his friends were spread out all over the city), and Dad was leaving to go home to Flintlock without them. Truth be told, Lowen hadn’t really faced the fact that they wouldn’t be living as a family now that his father would live three hundred miles away, alone in their former home, maybe for months.

  Clem gave Dad a quick hug, assured him that he’d do his part to help Mum, and then was out the door.

  “Daddy, please take me back to Flintlock with you!” Anneth cried. “I can’t stay here in this horrible house without you or Megan or the places I know.”

  Dad pulled Anneth into his arms. Then he glanced up at Lowen, saw him waging his own battle with tears, and pulled him into the hug. Mum wrapped her arms around them all. “We are still a family,” she said. “We still have each other, our old friends, our happy memories.”

  “And new adventures on top of that,” said Dad, with perhaps more enthusiasm than he felt. “We can’t be afraid of change.”

  “But I don’t want change!” Anneth cried.

  “We know that, Annie,” Dad said. “Mum and I don’t want you to think we’re not listening to your needs, too. If you truly can’t be happy here, we promise we’ll reassess. For now, try to think of this as summer camp. See how it goes.”

  Too tired to continue the familiar battle, Anneth nodded.

  Then Dad,

  and the royal-blue Camry,

  drove off.

  While Clem slept late (Clem always slept late), Mum suggested that she and Lowen and Anneth walk down to Dollar Mart for cheap household items and n
onperishables: toilet paper, paper towels, pasta, rice, cereal. Then they’d go to Roger’s Market for perishables: milk, eggs, fruits and vegetables, which were likely to be more expensive in a small market but fresher, too.

  “I’m starving,” Lowen said, reminding his mother that they hadn’t had a proper dinner the night before.

  “We’ll stop at the Busy Bee for breakfast,” Mum said, “and check out our building mates.”

  Whereas Mum’s shop was going to be a take-out place, the Busy Bee had around ten tables and a small bar. A sign at the door advised them to seat themselves; they settled into the one remaining booth on the side of the room. As they did, the noise level dropped to whispers and all heads turned their way. If Dad were there, he’d probably wave to the onlookers or introduce the family to the people at the closest table. But that wasn’t Mum’s way. She dropped her eyes to the menu, willing others to be polite and look away. Anneth pulled out her phone and began texting. Lowen reached to examine the bee-shaped salt and pepper shakers and wished for a moment that he hadn’t complained about being hungry.

  A man and woman came in and, noticing that there were no booths left, resigned themselves to a center table. It didn’t make sense, but Lowen felt like his family had sat down where they didn’t belong.

  He didn’t think it could get more awkward, but then the Doshis walked in and it did. Rena, all smiles, came directly over to their table, the three girls following. “Good morning! How was your first night in your new house?” she said, her voice sounding loud in the hushed space.

  “Jolly,” Mum said. “Though things will be nicer when our furniture arrives.”

  Ack. Why did Mum always revert to her snobbier-sounding Briticisms when she was nervous? Could they possibly stand out more?

  “The girls slept like babies. Especially Hema,” Rena said. “Must have been all the exercise we got yesterday.”

  Mum laughed. “These hills will take some getting used to.”

  Excuse me, Lowen wanted to say. These hills just happen to be home to everyone sitting around us. Could we stop working so hard to be outsiders? He looked at Anneth for some moral support, but she was apparently reporting the scene to Megan back home.

  By this time, no one was trying to hide their stares.

  “Come with me,” Sami said to her sisters, suddenly taking charge. She led the girls over to the remaining table in the center of the room, pushed their chairs in closer, and began softly reading from the menu.

  Rena was chatting with Mum about the lack of an exercise studio in town (eye rolls from the crowd) and the fact that she was probably going to have to purchase a latte machine to get by, when, thankfully, their meal finally came and Rena headed to her own table. Sami, Lowen couldn’t help noticing, had ordered for all of them.

  Fortunately, unlike the Busy Bee, Dollar Mart had only one other customer, a young woman in shorts and flip-flops, combing the aisles. On the left side of the store was stuff like kitchen utensils, bedding, school supplies, and games. On the right were groceries. Anneth started to get a cart, but Mum reminded them that anything purchased had to be carried home, so it would be better if each of them took a basket and filled it only partway.

  “We should have done this when Dad was here,” Anneth said. “Then we wouldn’t have to carry everything back up the hill.”

  “Dad had a five-hour drive ahead of him,” Mum said. “Ten hours is a lot of car time in one day. I didn’t want him to get sleepy. Besides, we’re not going to be able to afford to buy a car till the shop is turning a reliable profit, so this is something we’re going to have to get used to.”

  “Clem should be helping,” Anneth said.

  “We’ll go later in the day next time,” Mum said. She led them down an aisle, all business. “But we need to stock up on a few essentials.” She reached for paper cups and plates.

  “What?” Lowen exclaimed. Mum hated to waste trees.

  “I have no choice,” she said defensively. “The dishes don’t arrive till Monday. Is this the smallest package here?” she asked, holding up a package of cups.

  “This one’s smaller,” Anneth said, pulling a package of red cups off the shelf.

  “Yes, but plastic. Worse.” Mum tossed the paper cups and plates in her basket.

  “Do you want these paper towels?” Lowen asked.

  “Are they recycled paper?”

  Lowen looked at the packaging. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then no paper towels,” Mum said. “Go to the kitchen aisle and get us two new dish towels and a sponge.”

  Anneth followed Lowen to the kitchen aisle. They knew exactly which towels to get: the ones with pictures of violets. It was Mum’s favorite flower.

  When they returned to the food aisles, Mum was chatting with the Kellings, the ones with twins. Apparently Mason was babysitting while they were shopping. As Lowen stood staring at soda his mother would never let them buy, he overheard Eden tell Mum that they had considered purchasing a dollar house in many different cities — Detroit, Buffalo, and Gary — but they wanted to raise their kids in a small town, so they were thrilled to be accepted here in Millville.

  “Small towns have their advantages,” said Mum agreeably. “But I had forgotten how . . .”

  Lowen knew she was fishing for the best word.

  “I’d forgotten how curious small-town folk can be.”

  Eden nodded. “But they chose us, right? And we’re a very diverse group. So they must be accepting.”

  “You would think,” Mum said, but she didn’t sound so sure.

  When the women finally said their good-byes, the Grovers returned to the task at hand.

  As it turned out, Dollar Mart carried none of their usual brands. They only had white pasta, not whole wheat, and white rice, not brown. They only had sugary cereals, not the low-sugar cereals that Mum insisted on at home. All of the choices of granola bars contained corn syrup. Mum’s voice rose with each new frustration.

  “Find the anchovy paste,” Mum barked.

  Lowen and Anneth gave each other a look of horror. Sure, they knew that their mother made a great bow-tie pasta with anchovy paste, but they also knew that there was no way that Dollar Mart would carry such a thing.

  “Go on,” Mum said as she frowned at the label on a can of soup.

  “We’ll get it dreckly,” said Anneth. It was one of Mum’s Cornish sayings, which sounds like directly, but sort of means “Yeah, right.”

  Mum snapped her head up at Anneth and then caught her own foolishness. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Cheeky! Guess I was being a bit unrealistic, huh?”

  “Maybe Dad could bring some,” Lowen said, trying to be helpful.

  Mum ruffled his short dark hair. “What was I thinking?” she said. “Where is my adventurous attitude? Here,” she said, handing Anneth a box of alphabet pasta to put in her basket, “these look fun.” From there she added easy-boil white rice (“Why not make things easier in the beginning?”) and a box of Froot Loops. The granola bars contained not only corn syrup but chocolate as well.

  Mum seemed to be enjoying herself as much as Lowen and Anneth, and in the end, she reached for a big bag of Cheetos. “Let’s shock Clem,” she said with a big grin. And then to Anneth, “Go get us a container of Breyers Chocolate Truffle, too.”

  The young woman had finished shopping moments before them and was standing at the only open register. She glanced their way just as Anneth added the carton of ice cream to her very full basket.

  “Hey, Charlotte. How are the little ones?” the clerk, an older woman with long gray hair, asked her.

  The young woman — Charlotte, apparently — dug in her purse for a handful of crumpled bills. “They’re fine. They’ve got swimming lessons this morning. Gives me a chance to get something done.” She smoothed out the bills and began counting them. “How’s Louisa?”

  The clerk began bagging the groceries. “She’s good. She misses Millville, but she doesn’t miss the stress of being out of work.�
��

  “Don’t I know it,” Charlotte said as the clerk bagged the last item. She stared at the total. “You know, Sally, I don’t think I’ll take the popcorn after all. That bag leaves more seeds in the bottom than it pops.”

  “No problem,” Sally said, and she deducted the price from the total.

  “And take out the cereal — the kids complain that the generic puffed wheat tastes like cardboard.”

  For a moment, Lowen was annoyed. Why not make these decisions before she got in line?

  “You know, I have to agree with them,” the clerk said as she ran the cereal back over the scanner, deducting the price. Charlotte counted her bills again and frowned.

  That’s when he got it: it wasn’t that Charlotte didn’t want the items — it was that she didn’t have enough money to pay for everything. He glanced at their baskets at the same moment Charlotte did.

  Lowen wished they hadn’t tossed in so much junk in the end. He could tell that Mum was uncomfortable, too.

  “Let’s skip these, too,” said Charlotte, as she handed back a bag of potatoes.

  That’s when Mum jumped in. “Put those potatoes on my bill,” she said.

  The woman stared at Mum. Hard. Color rose up to her face. “That’s not necessary,” she said gruffly. “I have plenty of potatoes at home. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Of course,” said the clerk, and completed the transaction.

  After Charlotte paid, she turned back to Mum. “Thanks, though,” she said grudgingly, and then she and her cart were gone.

  Sally, the clerk, rang up the Grovers without any of the same friendliness she’d shown Charlotte.

  “Well, that was awkward,” said Anneth as they left the store.

  “It was my fault,” said Mum. “I was trying to help, but I just ended up embarrassing her — and myself.”

  They had filled far more bags than they had intended to and would have to be more careful at their next stop. Mum kept reminding them to stay off the road as they walked the highway back to Roger’s Market.

  Like the building Mum was renting for her restaurant, Roger’s was small and wooden. It was light green and in need of paint. A sign affixed to the side read HOT COFFEE, NACHO CHIPS, ICE CREAM, PENNY CANDY. Mum and Anneth began to cross the small parking lot out front, but Lowen froze. The market looked dark to him, menacing. No doubt there’d be some sort of bell, just like the bell at Georgio’s, announcing their arrival. All eyes would be on them.