Hardwired

by C. P. Rowlands

  Almost every time Sharon worked at Mojo’s, something would go wrong, and then the whole family would argue. She’d even set the place on fire once. Finally, the night of Clary’s birthday, Uncle Joe made the announcement. For the sake of peace and good will, Sharon would no longer work at Mojo’s. Sharon had edged closer to Jesse, staring down at her plate. It was the first time Clary saw Sharon cover Jesse’s hand with her own.

  The next day at Mojo’s, Sharon had stopped by for a soda, and Jesse had shoved Clary aside. Angry, Clary had pushed back. Jesse, in her command-voice, had said, “Calm down. When you grow up, I’ll explain.”

  Clary had stuck her chest out, right in front of customers. “I am grown up. What do you call these?”

  Jesse had dropped the carton of buns she was holding and surveyed her from top to bottom. “I call it just getting started, Clary. And having boobs doesn’t mean you’re grown up.”

  “Still working on it,” Clary muttered, gathering her things off the table. She’d go over Piper’s iPad in Aunt Mo’s office and wait for the phone call.

  Later, upstairs, Clary noticed fog had edged in from the lake, and the bedroom was damp and chilly. She put an extra blanket on the bed and stretched out under the covers.

  It had been great talking to her parents and Aunt Mo tonight. When she’d told Maureen about Leefe and the attack, her aunt had listened carefully. She’d only asked if Leefe was out of the hospital and what the doctor had said. Clary had told her that Leefe was home, but she hadn’t known what the doctor had said. Despite what Jesse had said, Clary decided to drop in and see if Leefe needed help.

  They’d also talked about Mojo’s and the homeless children. Maureen had said she’d tried giving out leftover food when the stand closed at night, but it hadn’t worked. Too many children had shown up as word got around town about free food, and she’d had to stop. She’d asked Clary to keep on working on ideas. She’d be open to any suggestions.

  At that point in the conversation, Clary had asked Maureen if she’d told her about the South Port homeless in the last year. Mo said she’d talked about it, off and on. Clary admitted she hadn’t remembered.

  Restless, Clary wondered how Joe and Maureen had coped when Sharon left all those years ago. If Hannah’s absence was any clue, it had to be horrible. After Robin had taken Hannah and left, she’d wake, alone, listening for a sound. Any sound.

  She thought of the last morning she’d woken with Robin and the honey blond hair across her hand. She’d gotten out of bed quietly, dressed, and taken Hannah next door so Robin could sleep in. Jean had let her use her kitchen to make breakfast, and Hannah could wait for the school bus there. Clary had left them laughing as she walked down the steps to her car. The lilacs had smelled so good that morning.

  Then, that night, she’d wandered through her deserted house, stunned and heartbroken.

  Chapter Six

  Something at the edge of sleep woke Clary out of a messy dream about Hannah. She wrapped the blanket around herself against the damp air and looked out the window. The streetlights turned the fog into a dense yellow soup. She listened hard but heard nothing.

  “No one’s out there.”

  “Christ.” Clary clutched the blanket to her as a face materialized in the streetlight’s dim glow in the room. She pushed against the wall, her heart running wild.

  “Sorry. I thought I heard a noise and didn’t know you were here,” Leefe said. “I guess we’re even now. You scared me half to death in the hospital.”

  “How did you get into—”

  “Maureen’s house?” Leefe finished the sentence. “It’s too foggy to go to my place, and this is my safe house.” She walked to the window and looked outside. “I thought you were staying with Jesse and Piper. You know Maureen?”

  Clary’s heart slowed. “Maureen’s my aunt, my mother’s sister. Jesse and Piper own my childhood home.”

  “I didn’t know.” Leefe fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Her leather jacket creaked as she sank carefully to the floor, black hair glistening with moisture.

  “You can’t smoke here.”

  “I always have.”

  “Not tonight you don’t.”

  “Your aunt smokes with me.”

  “I’ve never seen her smoke.”

  “She does with me, although we’re usually on the deck.”

  “This is bizarre.” Still fuzzy with sleep, Clary bolted out of bed for her jeans and shirt hanging on the chair. “How about some coffee?” she said, shivering in the cool air.

  Leefe pushed off the floor with a small groan. “I’ll make the coffee,” she said and disappeared down the stairs.

  Not bothering with underwear or shoes, Clary zipped up. What did Leefe mean by “safe house”? And no damn way had Aunt Mo taken up smoking.

  Leefe turned from the coffeepot as Clary slipped into the big captain’s chair at the table, clearing sleep out of her voice.

  “Let’s start over. How did you get into the house?”

  Leefe reached for cups from the cabinet, touching her ribs with a grimace. She held up a key ring. “Maureen gave me these keys last fall when I needed a place to stay. She bought the gingerbread house and I moved over there but kept the keys for nights like this.”

  “Aunt Mo owns the house by the jetties?” Clary stared at Leefe, shocked. Was this something else she’d forgotten in that crazy year?

  “I pay her rent,” Leefe said defensively as she hung her coat over the chair.

  “I didn’t know she owned the house, that’s all. Or I forgot. As I told you at the hospital, I live and teach in Iowa, and haven’t been home in years. I’m watching over the house and Mojo’s while Maureen and Joe are on a cruise with my mother and father.”

  “I noticed lights here earlier and a yellow car in the driveway.” Leefe took an ashtray out of the bottom drawer.

  “My first new car.” Clary poured coffee for both of them. She was fairly certain Leefe had been teasing about Maureen’s smoking.

  “I sleep on the daybed in Maureen’s office when I stay here. I’ve never been upstairs. I thought I heard a noise and went up. There’ve been break-ins in the neighborhood.”

  Clary studied her face. Even in the mellow light from the lamp that hung above the table, Leefe’s light eyes were an intriguing contrast to the black hair. Despite the bruises, she was fascinating. “If it’s okay with Maureen, it’s okay with me. Has Uncle Joe said anything?”

  “He calls me ‘the kid.’ Never heard anyone laugh like those two.” Leefe put the ashtray back in the drawer and looked over her shoulder at Clary. “I just realized why you’re familiar. You’re the other girl with Sharon and Jesse in the boat photos. Maureen talks about you, and I should have put it together. Clary’s not a common name.”

  “My grandmother’s name,” Clary said. “See the bigger picture of the older woman with curly white hair in the middle of those photos? That’s Maureen and my mother’s mother. I was the lucky one to get her name. She helped raise me.” Clary pointed at the wall.

  Leefe turned to look at the pictures.

  “Leefe’s hardly a common name,” Clary said.

  “I’m not even sure that’s my real name,” Leefe said, still looking at the photo. “Maureen’s talked about her mother. I’ve seen her picture in the big library downtown.”

  “She was the head librarian for years,” Clary said, smiling.

  “That means Sharon was your cousin.”

  “She was the same age as Jesse. I’m two years younger.” Clary turned to the pictures on the wall. “The boat pictures? We were all in college when Dad took those photos. That was his boat, a twenty-eight-foot runabout. Joe bought it when Mom and Dad moved.” She glanced at the clock. “Why are you out? Jesse said she brought you home from the hospital today, and it’s late. Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time. A friend stopped by, and I hitched a ride downtown. My mistake.” Leefe made a face. �
�I don’t drive and didn’t think the beach was safe tonight in the fog, so I stopped here. The house was dark and your car must be in the garage.”

  Leefe sat carefully, and Clary saw that she was taller than she’d thought, but still seemed somewhat delicate. Her jeans and simple white T-shirt fit her slender frame perfectly.

  “How did you happen to end up teaching?” Leefe twisted her cup around.

  “Just something to do after I got out of jail,” Clary said casually and yawned.

  Leefe’s head came up with a surprised expression.

  Barely restraining her glee, Clary kept a serious face. That’ll teach her to tease me about Maureen and smoking.

  “You can’t teach if you’ve been in jail.”

  “You’re right and I’m kidding, although who knows what my future holds.” Clary grinned. “I’m just hardwired. Both of my parents were teachers.”

  “What does hardwired mean?”

  “The basic me. The innate, born-with thing.”

  “Does it involve family?”

  Clary leaned forward on her elbows, enjoying the wordplay. Leefe’s eyes had just changed from tired to interested. “Both of my parents loved teaching so much that I was probably born with that gene.”

  “I thought hardwired had something to do with engines or computers.”

  “It can, but I meant it as a part of my personality.”

  “Families and words sometimes confuse me. I think I’ve worn out at least three dictionaries.” Leefe’s hands trembled when she took a drink of coffee. “I’m beat.”

  “You were really hurt and only out of the hospital today. You need rest. Do you know where the pillows and—of course you do. You’ve slept here before.” Clary rinsed her cup. “How are the bruises and stitches?” She put her hands under Leefe’s chin, turning it for a better look. “Do you have pain pills or antibiotics, and is it time to take them now?” She felt Leefe shiver, and the moment sank into slow-motion, but Clary caught herself and stepped away.

  “I have them and it’s time, but they really slow me down.” Leefe’s lovely eyes were weary again.

  Clary filled a glass with water and placed it in front of Leefe. “Take your pills, and get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.

  Upstairs, Clary straightened the bed. She’d been right about the color of Leefe’s eyes, and it was good to hear her voice without the slurs she’d heard in the hospital this morning. Clary pondered their conversation for a moment. She’d sensed toughness and a refreshing honesty.

  She turned to her side. She’d forgotten to ask Leefe what she’d meant by “safe house.” She’d ask in the morning. She pulled the covers up to her chin, thinking of what she’d read on the iPad tonight. Piper had included the grinding, long-term effects of homelessness, and the hope and despair.

  *

  After cleaning the coffeepot and turning off the light, Leefe stood in the dark living room. She couldn’t even see across the street. Maureen or Jesse should have mentioned that Clary would be here. When Zip had stopped by tonight with food, she’d asked for a ride downtown despite Jesse’s orders to stay off the streets for a couple of days. The city had been quiet, but she’d talked with a few families before the fog had blanketed everything. She’d been working with the police, tracking homeless families for over a year, and reported to Detective Howard McCardle. On the nights she was out, she always checked in after she was home safely, per his instructions. She found her phone and left Howard a text that she was at Maureen’s.

  She turned on the office light and studied the photo on the desk. Maureen often held this picture of Jesse, Sharon, and Clary with a smile, murmuring “my girls.” There had been kind people in her life, but none like Maureen or Beverly, and she cherished them. Clary’s face lit up when she talked about her family, so she must cherish them too. She angled the photo for a better look. There certainly was a family resemblance between Sharon and Clary. They had the same straight nose and good bones, but Sharon had dark hair and eyes.

  Draping her coat over the desk chair, she thought about Sharon. Sixteen years ago, she’d told the police everything that would help. Jesse had read that report and wanted the rest of the story, but she wasn’t talking. It would stay between her and Sharon, no matter how much Jesse demanded.

  She folded her jeans and shirt neatly on the chair and then pulled a pillow and blankets from the big dresser, something she’d done many times. Books and notepads lay beside the closed laptop on the desk. Leefe picked up Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird with a smile. She’d read it for a college course and liked it. The other book by someone named Kozel wasn’t familiar, and she leaned over the desk, reading the inside covers. He wrote about the homeless? When she saw Clary again, she’d ask. She loved to talk books and words.

  Leefe turned off the light and stretched out on the daybed with a yawn. It felt good to lie in the cool air with blankets over her aching body. This was a wonderful, sturdy house. She’d loved it since the first night Maureen had helped her.

  Clary’s face had been open and smiling as they talked, and she liked that. Almost everyone she dealt with had some mistrust or defeat on their faces. She grinned, remembering the teasing about Maureen’s smoking. Truthfully, Maureen’s smoking was rare, and only after she’d had at least two glasses of wine. They’d usually be on the deck and Maureen would be talking about Sharon.

  She adjusted the blanket over her sore body and realized she’d forgotten to ask if Clary would pose for her art class. The program was getting a good response, and the students would love working with a live model.

  That was quite a sight upstairs when Clary raced out of bed without a single piece of clothing. There’d been just enough time for a really good look at that tight, feminine body with her hair hanging across her face. She didn’t have many genuinely sexy moments, but that certainly was one. She closed her eyes, smiling.

  Chapter Seven

  The rich and tempting scent of coffee hung in the air the next morning as Clary dressed. After catching sight of her old T-shirt in the mirror, she went through the closet and chose a peasant blouse trimmed with lace.

  The office was empty as she went by, and everything was as she’d left it last night. She stopped. No, it wasn’t. The books were neatly stacked on the daybed, not the desk. She picked up To Kill a Mockingbird and headed to the kitchen.

  Jesse was at the kitchen table, reading the morning paper, not Leefe. Disappointed, Clary went for a cup.

  “Morning,” she said. “You have a key, too? Is there anyone that doesn’t have a key to this house?”

  “Of course I have a key. I checked the house before you came home,” Jesse said and folded the paper. “That’s a nice top, and look, something unusual. You’re carrying a book.”

  Clary ignored the tease and handed the book to Jesse. “Have you read this?”

  “I don’t know. Remember, I never have a book. I hear you had a visitor last night.”

  Clary placed a bowl on the table. “How’d you know about that?” She held up the cereal and offered, but Jesse shook her head.

  “Leefe left a text. I should have told you she often stays here.”

  “She scared me half to death in the bedroom, and has Aunt Mo taken up smoking?”

  “Only to be sociable, and only with Leefe. For that matter, Leefe rarely smokes. Why?”

  “She pulled out cigarettes last night but didn’t smoke.” Clary poured milk over her cereal and began to eat. “Why did she text you?”

  “Not me. The department. Howie McCardle organized our unit and hired Leefe to track the homeless whenever she had time. She has a regular salary from the day care, but the police chip in for this. It’s enough for rent. Leefe needs less than anyone I know. When I dropped her off yesterday, I told her to stay home for several days, but hell, she never listens to me.”

  “Piper said Leefe did something for the police, but she wasn’t sure what it was.”

  “Officially, her job is m
anaging the city’s homeless day care, but Leefe has a real relationship with the homeless families. She knows more about them than anyone.”

  “Does she go out alone? Isn’t that kind of worrisome?”

  “Most of them love her.”

  “Jesse, she just got out of the hospital. Someone doesn’t love her.” Clary took a spoonful of cereal. “Didn’t you say her adoptive parents abandoned her?”

  “They did. They ran from the police when Leefe was seven. She came home from school to an empty house and was alone for three days until the cops came looking because she hadn’t shown up at school. She was so sick that Beverly kept her in the hospital and then got her out to the county home. The Ellis house was horrible, filthy and infested. The city eventually tore it down.”

  Clary shook her head. “How did Maureen know Leefe, and how did this become her safe house? Also, I didn’t know Maureen owns the gingerbread house by the jetties. Leefe said she rents it from her.”

  “Last fall, some men were hassling Leefe on the beach, and yes, she was working for us. Maureen was at Mojo’s, closing it up for the winter. She saw the ruckus, brought Leefe here, and it was a fit. She cares for her, Clary. Unlike a lot of the others that came out of the county home, Leefe’s always been clean. No drugs or prostitution. She had always had a job and was always in college. She loves books just like you.” Jesse shrugged. “After that, Maureen just sort of adopted her. She bought the house, and Leefe moved in before Thanksgiving.”

  Thinking, Clary ate quietly. Maureen had said she’d told her about the homeless, but they hadn’t talked about the gingerbread house on the beach. Last year, she’d been submerged in school and her therapist. Everything else around her had been a blur.

  Jesse looked across the kitchen. “It’s odd about Leefe. It’s like she belongs here.”

  “Honestly, I’m glad Maureen and Joe have someone around.”