by Bobbie Pyron
together.
Together.
18
They Eat First
Today is a week and one day we’ve been in this shelter and it’s wearing us all down. Dylan sucks his thumb all the time now. Mama’s about chewed her fingernails down to the quick, and Daddy looks like he’s shrinking inside of himself. He’s filling out job applications like crazy, but nobody’s hiring a boat mechanic here in the mountains.
The truth is, even though Daddy’s always been able to fix anything, I don’t know if he’s going to be able to fix this.
But right now, I’m happy. It’s sunny and warm and the air smells good. We’re going back to the park where Baby is. Mama is watching Gabby and her brothers so Miss Alvarez can interview for jobs today. I’ve got some scrambled egg and toast wrapped up in a napkin for Baby.
We pass the pole with the flyer about the Firefly Girls meeting. I stop and look at it again. The meeting was last night. In the daylight I can see the girls in the photo better. They look so happy and excited, the way I always felt in my troop back home. I do a quick calculation in my head. They’ll be selling gourmet brownies soon. It’s my favorite time, which makes me feel pretty sad. But then, to perk myself up, I promise as soon as we’re in a real home, I’ll find a Firefly Girls troop to join.
We cross to the park. Dylan and Ricky whoop and holler. “Race you to the monkey bars!” Luke tries his best to keep up.
Mama smiles for the second time. I smile too. She takes my hand and squeezes it three times, our I-love-you code. It’s going to be a good day.
Mama sits on a bench by the monkey bars, pushes up the sleeves on her shirt, and tips her face up to the sun. She hums a little tune under her breath.
The sun is so warm on my back, I can’t imagine it ever snowing again.
“Let’s go look for leaves,” Gabby says.
“What for?” I ask, looking over at the bathroom. I want so much to see Baby.
“I told the librarian I’d bring her some for a craft she’s doing in her story time tomorrow.” Gabby holds up a plastic grocery bag.
I sigh. “Okay, but I got something I need to do first.”
“Mama,” I say, “me and Gabby are going to look for leaves.”
“Gabby and I,” Mama corrects. “And don’t go too far. Stay where I can see you.” She closes her eyes again.
I motion for Gabby to follow me over to the bathroom.
Gabby laughs. “You drank too much orange juice this morning?”
“Ha ha,” I say. “You’ll see.”
We trot across the grass, leaves crunching under out feet. What if Baby’s not there anymore? My heart speeds up and so do my feet.
“Jeez, Piper, you must be about to wet your pants,” Gabby says, trying to keep up.
I skid to a stop and peer into the dark corner. My heart drops. At first I don’t see him or the duffel bag. Did somebody take them or did the old woman, Jewel, come back?
And then I hear a little yip. I look behind the big garbage can and there they are: Baby and the duffel bag. My heart leaps up. The little dog pulls his lips back and smiles right back at me!
I kneel down. “Morning, Baby,” I say softly. “Are you hungry?”
I take the napkin with the scrambled egg and toast out of my pocket and hold it out.
Oh so slowly, Baby leaves his bed on top of the duffel bag. He takes one step toward me and away from the bag, then another.
“Come on,” I coax. “Come eat.”
Baby looks back at the safety of his bed and at my hand holding the food. He holds up one dirty white paw with indecision. I know just how that feels.
“It’s okay,” I murmur to him the way Mama does to me when I’m sick or sad. “It’s okay, Baby.”
Using Mama’s comfort-voice works: Baby takes one big leap and lands right in my lap. He buries his little face in the food-filled napkin and eats.
“Oh my gosh,” Gabby breathes. “He’s so cute!”
I’d forgotten all about Gabby.
She squats down next to me. Baby glances up at her, gives his tail a quick wag, and goes right back to eating.
“Who does he belong to?” Gabby asks.
“This homeless lady named Jewel. I think they live here in the park.”
Gabby glances around. “Where is she?”
Very gently, I stroke Baby’s back. His fur is wiry in places and soft in others. “This other lady, Ree, told me that Jewel got real sick and had to be taken to the hospital.”
“Poor thing,” Gabby says. I’m not sure if she means the dog or the woman. I feel bad for both of them.
Gabby brightens. “Hey, maybe he could come with us while we look for leaves. I bet he’d like to play with us.”
But try as we might, Baby won’t leave Jewel’s bag. He perches on top of the old blue blanket and pins back his ears in what looks for all the world like an apology.
“Well, let’s go, then,” Gabby says, snapping her fingers. I’ve spent enough time with her now to know she does that when she’s antsy. “At least he’s had food.”
Then I remember what Ree said. “Hang on a sec.” I take the yogurt cup beside the duffel bag and fill it with clean water from the bathroom.
Baby wags his tail in thanks. “I’ll be back,” I promise. It’s hard to leave him. Truth is, I’d rather just hang out with Baby.
Slowly, we circle around a small pond and back toward the playground, filling the bag with leaves. Gabby chatters on and on about her old house and her friends and her old school. I don’t really pay much attention until I hear her say, “and so my mom says we may go live with my cousin Louisa and her family. My aunt has a new baby and could use Mama’s help.”
“Wait,” I say, stopping. “You’re moving?”
“Well, yeah, Piper,” Gabby says, throwing me a sideways look. “You think we want to stay in that shelter forever?”
“But I thought you were going to live at the family shelter and we’d stay friends and maybe go to the same school, and—”
“A family shelter is still a shelter,” she snaps.
My heart sinks.
I glance over toward the bathroom. That woman, Ree, and her dog, Ajax are over there.
I nod toward the bathroom building. “That’s Ree. I’m going to let her know I fed Baby.”
Gabby frowns. “She looks kind of scary.”
“She’s okay,” I assure her. At least I think so.
“Hey,” I say, walking up behind Ree. She’s holding Baby in her lap, whispering things I can’t hear.
Ree looks up at me. “Hey yourself.”
Her dog, Ajax, slowly stands. He’s got that old dog kind of stiffness.
“Whoa,” Gabby says. “That’s a really big dog.” She steps behind me, which is kind of funny because she’s bigger than I am.
“Is he friendly?” she asks.
“Depends,” Ree says.
“On what?” Gabby asks nervously.
“On if he’s hungry or not.” Ree winks at me. She sets Baby down and stands.
I see Gabby taking in the woman’s camo pants, orange T-shirt, black army boots, and tattoos.
“I fed him a few minutes ago,” I say, nodding toward Baby, “and gave him water too.”
Ree smiles. “Everybody’s feeding him. He’s going to get fat.” She lets out a laugh that sounds more like a bark. “Baby fat, get it?”
I shrug. I kind of don’t.
“What if that old lady doesn’t come back?” Gabby asks.
Ree narrows her eyes at Gabby. Gabby takes a step back. I almost do too but I don’t.
“That ‘old lady’ has a name. It’s Jewel,” Ree growls. “And she’ll come back for Baby.”
Gabby frowns. “She could be dead, you know.”
Ree shifts and says nothing.
“Besides,” Gabby says in a kind of know-it-all voice I haven’t heard before, “she lives here in the park with that little dog. She can’t take care of him.” She tosses her long black hair. I have a bad f
eeling about what’s going to come out of her mouth next. “He’d be better off with a real family.”
I’ve seen lots of storms build out over the Gulf of Mexico. The sky gets black, then purple. The wind blows like crazy and thunder rumbles. Then the wind stops. Everything gets still and quiet. And that’s when you know the storm’s about to unleash its fury. That’s exactly what it feels like right now.
“A real family,” Ree echoes in a low voice. She takes one step closer to Gabby. She bends down and looks right into Gabby’s eyes. “You think because Jewel doesn’t live in a fancy house, she doesn’t love Baby?”
Gabby swallows hard. “Um, well—”
“You think,” Ree continues in her storm-building voice, “you think that because she lives here in the park, Jewel doesn’t do everything she can every day to take care of Baby?”
“I only meant—”
Ree straightens up. “You see Linda and Duke over there?” she says, pointing to a woman and dog stretched out in the sun on a blanket. “And Jerry and Lucky over there?” It’s the man with the shopping cart and cat, also enjoying the sunshine. She rests her hand on the top of Ajax’s broad head. “And me and Ajax standing right here?”
Gabby nods and doesn’t say anything this time. Smart choice.
“Our animals always, and I mean always, come first. They eat first. They share our blankets when it’s cold. If they’re sick, we get them help.”
Ree’s working up a good head of steam. “And do you know why that is?”
Gabby shakes her head.
“Because we love them,” Ree practically shouts. “and they love us back no matter what. When they look at us, they don’t see some raggedy old guy pushing a shopping cart, or an ex–drug addict, or some faceless old woman.” Ree taps her chest with each word. “They see us.”
Silence. It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the air.
“What’s going on here?” We all blink at the sound of Mama’s voice.
Ree glares at Mama. “These your girls?”
Without missing a beat, Mama says, “Yes, ma’am, they are.” She rests a hand lightly on my shoulder. Gabby moves closer to Mama’s side.
Mama tilts her chin up and stands as tall as she can, which isn’t saying much. “Were they bothering you?” Mama asks.
I glance over at my mother. Mama has this cute little turned-up nose that I sorely wish I had. Daddy’s nickname for Mama is “Button” because her nose is as cute as a button. But when she’s mad, those nostrils flare like a wild stallion’s.
Ree looks away. “No, they weren’t bothering me. I was just explaining to them that people who aren’t lucky enough to have a roof over their heads need their pets more than ever and do their best to take care of them.”
Mama looks from Ree to Ajax. I don’t think she sees Baby. Mama nods. “I can imagine that’s true,” she says. She squeezes my shoulder (kind of hard) and says, “Time to go, girls.”
As we head back over to the playground, I take a quick look back. Ree and Ajax are watching us. I don’t know why, but I raise my hand. After a second, Ree raises hers and flashes me a peace sign. Truce.
19
Each Night
Each night
Baby follows the whisper of a scent trail
left by the ambulance that took his Jewel
away.
He puts his wet, black nose to the ground
and snuffles his way through dead leaves
and wet grass,
past the others sleeping,
dreaming,
in the park.
Each night
Baby goes a little farther from the safety
of Jewel’s bag.
First, to the playground
that still holds the scent of children.
The next night,
halfway across the park.
Then next,
all the way across.
He stops.
Soon, the grass will end and the sidewalk will begin.
His heart thunders in his
little chest.
Did he hear her call his name?
He turns and runs and runs across the park,
past the small field where he ran and played
with fierce joy.
Past the playground
and to the place where Jewel
is not.
She is not there.
The fourth night,
when the moon is bright and full,
one small white paw
and then another steps from the grass
onto the sidewalk.
Cars and buses race past,
their headlights slicing across
the small dog.
Baby shivers at the sight of buildings rising and
scraping
the night sky.
He presses his nose to the sidewalk
and searches.
The scent trail he has been following
leads into a river
of traffic.
He steps off the sidewalk.
A car horn blares.
Tires screech.
Baby freezes
then yips,
turns and flies
across the grass
as fast, faster, than he has ever run before.
Back
to the dark corner,
the blue blanket,
the duffel bag that holds all
that is left of Jewel.
Two sweaters.
A skirt her favorite shade of purple.
Two books,
one she turns to for comfort,
one that makes her sad.
And tucked away in a corner
of the duffel bag,
a small leather pouch
that Jewel used to wear around her neck,
and inside that small leather pouch,
a silver key.
Baby watches the moon rise above the trees.
He remembers how Jewel loved the moon
when it was full and gold as a coin.
All night, Jewel would talk to the moon,
watch the moon and its shadows
while Baby
leaned into Jewel, and watched her.
20
Hope House
And just like that, we’re moving!
Our caseworker, Mr. Ryan, called Mama yesterday while we were at the park. He said a space had come open at Hope House, a family shelter not too far away.
Mama dropped her head into her hands. “Praise the Lord,” she sighed, like the entire weight of the world had been lifted.
Now we’re riding in Mr. Ryan’s car on our way to Hope House. We drive past the bus station where we first arrived in this city. It seems like years ago instead of a week and a half.
We stop at a red light and there, on the corner of the intersection, I see Ree and Ajax. Ree holds a cardboard sign that says “Hungry Please Help! God Bless!” The wind is blowing so hard it about tears the sign from her hands. Mr. Ryan eyes Ree and Ajax and sighs. Kitty-corner from Ree’s spot is where the dancing man usually is. He’s not there today. I wonder if he’s okay.
And of course, I’m worried about Baby.
I’m also thinking and thinking about Gabby. This morning, I went down to their room to tell her the good news. But when I got down there, it was empty. I asked Miss Jean if she knew where they went. For just a minute—long enough for me to imagine us doing all kinds of fun things—I thought maybe Gabby and her family had left for Hope House too. Miss Jean shook her head. “They left first thing this morning. Gone to live with some relatives, I think.” It makes me sad even though Gabby had told me they were probably going to do that. She was my only friend. Human friend, that is. She didn’t even say goodbye.
The light changes. We turn the corner and there it is: the park where Baby lives. I hope I’ll still be able to check on him.
We pass the library. Mr. Ryan pulls his car into a driveway. “This is it
,” he says, unbuckling his seat belt. “Hope House.”
Mama scrambles out to see our new home. Daddy unfolds from the back seat. “Come on, you two,” he says to me and Dylan, holding out his hands.
The four of us stand there on the sidewalk, the Trudeau family, looking up and up at the building before us.
Dylan says what we’re all thinking: “It doesn’t look like a house, Mama.” He sticks his thumb in his mouth.
Daddy frowns. “It looks like a motel.”
“It is—or was,” Mr. Ryan says. He goes around to the back of the car and opens the trunk. “It was a motel, but now it’s a family shelter. Holds a lot of people, I can tell you that.”
Daddy sighs.
Mama stiffens her spine and says, “It’ll be fine.”
Dylan takes my hand. “Emerald City?”
He eyes the tall, gray building, which, I swear, sways in the wind. “Or the Wicked Witch of the West’s castle?” Dylan asks.
I scan the top of the building. “No flying monkeys.” I give his hand a little squeeze. “I think we’re safe. Let’s go, Toto.”
Okay, this is a motel. Not a sort-of motel or a motel-converted-to-apartments motel but a real motel. Two queen-sized beds, two nightstands, a tiny round table with two chairs, some drawers, a small closet, a microwave and miniature fridge, and a tiny bathroom. My heart sinks.
None of us say anything. Mr. Ryan clears his throat.
Mama snaps out of her trance of disappointment and says in a bright, brittle voice, “This is great! We have our own bathroom! And look,” she says, pointing up at one corner of the room. “A television!” Sure enough, hanging precariously (I remember that vocabulary word, Mrs. Monroe) from a bracket is a small TV.
“Yay!” Dylan crows.
Mama looks with dismay at the stains on the gold bedspreads and brown carpet. Daddy eyes a large crack over the bathroom door.
“Looks like you and Dylan will be sharing a bed, Piper,” Mama says.
“Yay!” Dylan yips.
Yay.
“Let me show you around Hope House,” Mr. Ryan says.
We ride the elevator down, down, down five floors to the first floor. Dylan thinks it’s the coolest thing ever that, to go anywhere, we have to ride an elevator.
Mr. Ryan introduces us to the man working at the front desk, Mr. Windward. He has earrings in both ears and lots of tattoos. But he also has a smile that says he’s really and truly glad we’re here. “You can call me Byron,” he says. “I’m here most of the time.”