“Since when did you start running?” She stands up on her pedals and the breeze ruffles her yellow bob.
I inhale. “Since” — exhale — “this morning.”
“Is this supposed to be a stress reliever? Because I could think of a hundred better ways to relieve stress. We could sneak over and jump on the neighbor’s trampoline again.”
“Yes, this is a stress reliever. And I feel better already. It’s clearing my head right up.” I think I’m gonna hurl. I’ve had a lot of running experience this past year in PE, but I don’t usually work out on an empty stomach, zero sleep, and with the weight of the entire universe on my shoulders.
“Why dontcha get on my bike? We can take a ride.”
“No, thanks.” Six forty-five and I’m sweating like a pig. No wonder the birds aren’t up yet. I’m scaring them away with my BO.
“Aw, come on. Get on the bike. I won’t make you do all the pedaling this time.”
“How sweet.” Why didn’t I bring any water with me? “Look, Maxine, I just want to be alone. I want to run off some steam and be by myself.”
“I think you need company.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“I think you want to talk.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Well, maybe I need to talk. And I’m on my way to buy donuts.”
“I am committed to this run, Maxine. Nothing you can say is going to deter me from my goal. Your words are powerless.”
“You can have extra sprinkles.”
I screech to a halt. “Stop the bike.”
And Maxine hands me my helmet.
A BOX OF DONUTS, TWO EXTRA-LARGE mochas, and an hour and a half later, my foster grandmother and I return to the house.
My mom’s rusty Mercury sits in the driveway.
“It’s only eight thirty. What’s she doing here?” Maxine asks as we pedal the bike to the front porch.
Good question. My mom is more a stay-up-all-night-and-sleep-all-day kind of girl.
We open the front door, and I inhale the coffee smell drifting from the kitchen.
“In here, ladies!” Millie calls.
Maxine and I exchange a look and walk into the kitchen.
Millie and my mom sit at the table in the breakfast nook and sip from steaming mugs. In the kitchen, James waves at me with his spatula then flips a pancake.
“You hungry?” He wiggles his eyebrows like this is a cute, happy moment.
Well, it’s not. I have two worlds colliding in my kitchen right now. I’m hurt, confused, and scared. Not to mention I clearly forgot to apply deodorant before my early morning jog.
“Everything okay, hon?” Millie pats the seat beside her then gets up and heads toward the coffee maker.
“Sure.” I paste on a smile and make eye contact with everyone. See, people. I’m smiling. Smiling at Mom. Smiling at the Scotts and Maxine. Like it is totally normal to be having coffee and flapjacks with the mom who’s ignored me for the past year and the people who have changed my life. Yes, I’ll have butter with that.
“We called your mom to see if she’d have breakfast with us. I think we’d all like to get to know one another better.” Millie smiles and hands me a cup of coffee as she sits back down.
She slides the skim milk and sugar toward me.
My mom takes it back. “Katie likes her coffee black.”
Millie’s smile freezes. She looks at me.
I look at my mom.
I rescue the milk and sugar. “Things have changed.” I pour the milk in my coffee, adding a little extra because . . . well, I don’t know why. Because for some reason this ticks me off. The woman hasn’t contacted me in over a year and now she’s telling Millie how to fix my breakfast?
My mom clears her throat. “I guess I never had the money for extras in the coffee, being a single mother and all.”
Yeah, and the fact you forgot to get groceries on a regular basis. Like every day that ends in Y.
“Here you go, ladies. My special blueberry pancakes. Who wants whipped cream?” James arrives at the table bearing a two-foot-tall stack of pancakes. My stomach lurches.
“Um . . . I’m not hungry.”
He frowns. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, Maxine and I got a light snack this morning on our ride.” Maxine called it a snack. I call it six donuts. And a few éclairs. All right, and half a Danish.
“Bring on the whipped cream. Yes, sir. Pour it on.” Maxine parks herself in a chair next to my mom and rubs her hands. “I pedaled myself into a good appetite.”
“So . . . Bobbie Ann” — Millie picks up her fork and cuts into a piece of cantaloupe on her plate — “I was saying that Katie has a home here for as long as she’d like. As long as you’d like.”
My mom looks up from her plate, her faced scrunched in confusion.
“I mean, if you didn’t feel for certain you were ready to return to full-time parenting, then that would be totally understandable. I’m sure pursuing . . . recovery can be a huge responsibility all on its own.”
“Huh?” My mom swallows a bite.
“What Millie’s trying to say is, we don’t want you to rush your recovery process. Katie is thriving here with us.” James lays his big hand on mine. “So if you feel having Katie with you right now would add to your stress, then we’d love for her to stay with us longer.”
Millie blots her mouth with a napkin. “And I’d also like to know what you’re doing in terms of drug rehab.”
I choke on my java.
My mom blanches. You know she’s dying for a cigarette right now.
Mom’s mouth opens then closes. “Er . . . um . . . I . . .” She runs a hand through her brassy hair. First thing we’re gonna do when we get to her trailer is touch up those roots. “I had some recovery classes in . . . prison.”
I wince at the word and imagine my mom in an orange button-up suit and handcuffs. A total fashion don’t.
“And I’m in a support group back home.”
Millie slowly nods. I can tell she’s not impressed. The Scotts’ twenty-five-year-old daughter, Amy, has drug issues, so Millie’s familiar with the road my mom’s on.
“Mrs. Scott, I know I have not been a model parent. But over the course of this year, I have realized things need to change.” My mom sniffs. “And I’m ready to make that change.” She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “For my daughter.”
An awkward silence descends on the room.
I hate awkward silences. I’m always overcome with the urge to hum. Probably not appropriate though. Humming solos rarely are.
“I appreciate breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. Scott.” My mom scoots her chair back and stands up. Rocky leaps to attention, eyeing her like she’s a potential source of danger. “I have to check out of the hotel by ten, so I guess I’d better go.” Harsh lines fan around Mom’s brown eyes as she studies my face. “I don’t have a phone yet, but I’ll try and call often. I’ll keep you posted on coming back home. I guess I need to contact Mrs. Smartly.”
“You didn’t finish your breakfast.” I drop my gaze and stare at her hands. “You don’t want to spend the day with me? I have some play videos I’ve been wanting to show you.”
Mom fidgets with the watch on her wrist. “I think the best thing is for me to just get back home. I didn’t think this through very well. Besides, I have to be at work in the morning.”
“On a Sunday?”
“I clean the shop on Sundays.” She smiles. “See? Your mom’s got a job. A real job.”
Real meaning one that doesn’t involve making deals behind a dumpster in the trailer park. Still, it’s progress. And there’s hope in that.
“I was kind of hoping we could hang out.” I was hoping you’d want to hang out.
“We’re gonna have all the time in the world for that — time for just you and me. I’ve got to go home and get the ball rolling and get my kid home. But I am glad you’re being well taken care of.”
She pulls me into a h
ug, and slowly I wrap my arms around the new and improved Bobbie Ann Parker.
My brain is absolutely numb, but one thought manages to form.
She doesn’t smell like Millie.
“Okay, kiddo, I’ll see you soon.” She kisses me on the forehead, a move totally unlike my mom.
James and Millie shake Mom’s hand, and we all migrate toward the front door.
“You take care of my girl now.” And Bobbie Ann, former inmate number 19840981, slips outside and back out of my life.
But for how long?
“You all right, Katie?”
James rests his arm on my shoulders.
“Sure.”
“Well, I’m not okay,” Maxine barks. “Katie’s not going anywhere. Millie, tell her she’s not going anywhere.”
Silence.
I look at Millie, who still says nothing.
“Don’t stress over this yet.” James pulls me close. “You know my motto.”
“God is in control.” I parrot the words my foster dad has tattooed on my brain. “I’m not stressed.” I look him square in the eye. “Really.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope.” I brave a smile. “I am cool as ever.”
“Is that so?” He grins. “Well, if you’re so cool, then why do you still have your biking helmet on?” He raps the top of my headgear.
“All I know is something smells.”
“Mother, we will all reserve judgment on Katie’s mom. Keep your comments to yourself.”
“No.” Maxine swats me on the behind as she sails past. “I mean your foster kid needs a shower. Woo-wee!” She laughs as she hits the stairs. “Race you to the shower, sweet pea.”
I follow in the trail of Maxine’s perfume, but stop when Millie calls my name.
I turn around. “Yeah?”
James drapes his arm around my foster mom. “We love you, kid.”
I nod. “Same here.”
Yet I know — nothing will ever be the same here.
Chapter four
MAYOR THREATENS TO CONDEMN BUBBA’S Big Picture.
My spoon of organic oatmeal halts midway to my mouth as I catch a glimpse of the front page.
“What is that?” I thrust my finger into James’s Sunday paper.
“Hmmm?” With his mind already on the sports section, my foster dad doesn’t even look up.
I grab the paper out of his hands and scan the article. “It says unless improvements are made on the drive-in, the city is going to shut it down.” Above the article is a picture of the current owner, Buford T. Hollis. Looks like he pulled out his best white T-shirt for his big moment.
Millie refills her coffee mug. “This has been going on for years. Mayor Crowley threatens to shut down the drive-in, Buford touches up some paint and gives the mayor some movie passes, and then the whole argument is dropped. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“That man’s a tyrant. Who voted for him?” James growls.
Millie laughs. “We did.”
“The article says Buford has a few weeks to make fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of repairs. That doesn’t sound like an idle threat.”
Millie pats me on the back. “I’m sure it will be fine. The mayor’s just full of hot air.”
Their nonchalant attitudes do little to calm me. I text Frances as soon as I hit my room and fill her in. If anyone can get more information about this, it’s Frances.
An hour later, I walk into the youth building at church. I allow myself the luxury of basking in my friends’ hugs and hellos. If I go home with my mom, I won’t ever have this again. Not like my In Between church friends. I’ll miss their smiles, the house band, and Pastor Mike and his bald head. These people brought me to Christ. And now I could lose them forever. I’m sure I can find new friends in a new church, but it won’t be the same.
“Hi, Katie.”
I turn around and there stands Charlie. Looking totally yum in khakis and a polo. “Hey.” I take a deep breath. “Charlie, I just wanted to apologize for — ” My mouth shuts and my eyes narrow to slits. “Hello, Chelsea.” Grrrr.
My nonboyfriend’s face pinkens.
“Charlie brought me to church this morning.” Chelsea looks at him like he just saved her life instead of giving her a lift. “Isn’t he the best?”
Oh, he’s the best all right. The best at walking all over my heart. The best at being a total jerk. “Yeah, very nice of him.”
“I’m gonna go save us some seats, okay? Don’t be long.” Chelsea flounces off in her cute pink skirt that probably cost more than my entire week’s worth of outfits.
Charlie leans in, and I catch a whiff of his shampoo. I may be mad at him, but that boy smells gooood.
“Chelsea’s car got taken away.” He frowns.
“Oh, what happened? Let me guess, it was time to change the oil in her Beemer and Daddy just bought her a new one instead?”
“No . . . I mean her car got permanently taken away.”
“What are you talking about?” I lower my voice to match his. “What’s going on with her?”
“Chelsea’s dad — ”
“Hey, Charlie. I forgot my Bible.” Miss No Car appears between us. “Get me one from the back, would you?” She pats his bicep and smiles.
Okay, God, I’m sorry, but I cannot stand this girl. I know the Bible says you love all of us, but seriously, don’t you sometimes just want to make some exceptions?
“Er . . . right. I’ll get that now.” Charlie smiles sheepishly. “I’ll talk to you later, Katie.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” He hasn’t even asked me about my mom. I roll my eyes and go off in search of Frances.
I find her standing in a corner surrounded by a motley crew of friends. She jerks the front page of the paper out of Nash’s hands. “Can you believe this?” She pushes her trendy black glasses up on her nose. “This is an outrage! This demands action.”
“James and Millie say it’s gonna blow over.” I stand next to my friend Hannah, who twists her hair, deep in thought.
“Blow over? Like they think there will be another tornado?” Hannah pops her gum.
Frances and I stare at our friend then continue our conversation. We’re quite used to these Hannah moments. There’s a big blank spot in her head where things make sense only to her.
“We have to do something.” Frances jabs her finger in the air. “I know. We’ll start a petition.”
“A petition for what?” I ask.
“To save the drive-in. We’ll get people to sign it. If we have a lot of signatures in support of preserving the drive-in, then the mayor will think twice about shutting it down. He won’t want the whole town mad at him.”
“I don’t know, Frances.” Couldn’t she come up with anything better? She’s the brains among us.
“It’s a start,” Nash chimes in.
“Um . . . Katie?” Frances looks beyond her boyfriend and glares. “Is that Chelsea Blake sitting with Charlie? Your Charlie?”
I follow the path of her stare and see Chelsea giggle at something Charlie’s said. She whispers in his ear, and he smiles. My hands ball into fists. “Yes, on the same night my mother rolls back into town, Charlie tells me he’s decided to renew his connection to Chelsea.”
Nash shakes his head and sends his long hair dancing. “What? Dude, that stinks.”
“Yeah.” I purse my lips. “He said something about how he couldn’t really explain, and he just needed me to be understanding. But” — Chelsea’s lilting giggle carries over to our corner — “I think I’m all out of understanding.” That skinny little Dooney and Bourke–carrying, feather-brained —
“Charlie’s a decent guy though. I’m sure he has a good reason for hanging out with her again,” Nash says.
Frances gasps and throws her arm around me. “Men! You’re all clueless. Your friend has left Katie abandoned and alone.” She pulls me closer. “Destitute and distraught. Crying out for help as the vultures swoop and circle around the decaying remains of h
er dying relationship.”
Hannah twirls her hair. “Huh?”
“Charlie’s a jerk, Hannah. That’s all I’m trying to say.” Frances lets me go and motions us toward some seats.
Right behind Charlie and Chelsea.
I shake my head in spastic jerks. No! I would rather go sit alone in the church basement than sit here.
Frances takes her seat and clears her throat. “So, Katie, you were telling me Joey Farmer asked you out?”
I blink. “Huh?”
Charlie swivels around in his seat. “Who?” Seriously, that boy is even hot when he scowls. When I scowl I just look constipated.
Frances’s dark eyes laser into mine. It’s that “smile pretty and just go with it” look.
“He’s such the catch.” Frances elbows Nash. “You hang out with him sometimes, don’t you?”
“I have no idea who — oomph! Right. Love the guy. An absolute . . . um, stud. If I wasn’t a dude, I’d date him myself.”
Charlie’s gray eyes lock onto mine. “You have a date?”
I open my mouth to deny it, but Frances stops me.
“He’s so cool. He taught Nash everything he knows about music. Isn’t that right?”
Frances’s boyfriend glares. “Yes, Johnny Filmer is a genius in the music world.”
“Joey Farmer,” Charlie corrects.
“Right. Well . . . uh . . . sometimes I forget . . . and use his stage name.”
No, this has got to stop. It’s dishonest! We’re lying in the house of God. Lightning bolts are going to shoot through the ceiling at any moment.
Must put an end to this. “Actually, Frances was just — ”
“I think it’s sweet you have a boyfriend, Katie.” Chelsea’s cat-who-just-ate-the-canary smirk unravels all my righteous intentions.
“He’s not a boyfriend.” I smile right back. “He’s just a . . .” I pretend to consider this. “Friend.” And you know all about those special “friends,” don’t you Charlie? Jerk face.
“You should invite him to go bowling with us after church,” Charlie suggests, his expression unreadable.
“Uh . . . I can’t. He’s . . . he’s . . .” I send a silent message to Frances for help. “He’s . . .”
The Big Picture Page 3