by R. J. Garcia
I observed the clean white appliances, a hanging plant, and even a spice rack.
They ordered pizza for us and we all ate together, then I stretched out on the floor of Isabella’s room.
It was a small pink room, painted just for Izzy, with a tall window overlooking the backyard and woods. The window was open about an inch. Thin lace curtains billowed in and out, almost as if it were breathing. I stayed there watching it until my little sister fell asleep around ten o’clock.
Anyway, I hadn’t been able to sleep much and thought I might as well meet that kid, Finn. I texted my friend Carlos about the secret meeting. This way, at least one person would know what happened if I ended up missing or dead. Yeah, I watched a lot of true crime shows. Carlos said it might be a cult because that kind of thing was big in small towns. Finn didn’t seem dark enough.
There would probably only be Finn and another lame kid with a flashlight and comic book and it wouldn’t be worth pissing off Holden. But my brain needed a night off from thinking and trying not to think. I’d sneak upstairs and if I got caught I’d pretend to want a glass of milk. Otherwise, I’d slip out the back.
I put on my raggedy Nikes and crept up the stairs, stopping each time a step creaked. Squeezing the narrow, wooden banisters, my nerves kicked in. I was really going to do this.
I placed one sneaker on the kitchen’s tile. The lights were off, but the moon and starlight trickled in. I could see the patio, only feet away from my freedom. I heard the TV from the next room. According to my cell phone, it was already midnight. Would Finn still be waiting? I decided to go for it. I held my breath as if that would make me lighter and grabbed the handle of the sliding glass door as a man’s voice asked, “Where do you think you’re going?”
I jumped, startled, bracing myself before turning back around to face him.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Holden said.
“I wanted a little fresh air,” my voice came out in an uneasy whisper.
He walked toward me in his sweat pants and a T-shirt, holding a can of beer. His expression hardened. “You saw where not following the rules got your mother.”
“Yeah, I saw.” I glumly nodded. He seemed calm, but I didn’t know if he was angrier than he let on, or what he was capable of.
It surprised me when he said, “Tommy, it will get better. I promise.”
Reese came in the kitchen, turning on the too-bright light. Her hair surprisingly disheveled, and partly veiling her face, made her look kind of pretty. She closed her pink terry cloth robe. “Do you want some milk or something, sweetie?” She squinted at me.
I ran my nervous hands over my face. “No. I’m going back to bed.” They both stared at me with blank expressions as I went by.
Back in the basement, I walked around. That was when I noticed a large ground-level window and my easy escape, but I didn’t feel like going anymore. A multicolored afghan lay folded on top of the sofa. I snatched it and walked back to my strange, new room. I sprawled out on top of the neatly made bed. I texted back and forth with my friend Carlos for a while and watched YouTube videos for hours. My cell phone read five o’clock in white numbers like it did—when pounding woke me up. I was half asleep and freezing because we kept the thermostat at fifty. I grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around my body and got up. The dawn crept in through the flimsy blinds.
I walked into the living room, rubbing my eyes with my fingers, under the fluorescent glare. I saw my mom open the door. An older, black lady in a business suit stood there, with two police officers posed just behind her. They all wedged their way in. One of the officers was Hispanic with a bone-clean head and Van Dyke. The other officer was a muscly, white guy with a big neck and bloated face.
The lady asked my mom if she was Jennifer Walker. My mom made a noncommittal noise, before saying, “Yeah.” Next, the lady told my mom her name, and that she was with The Department of Child Welfare. I took a couple steps toward them. The lady talked to my mom. “I am here for the welfare of the children.”
My mom asked her to “Please go.”
The social worker did this thing where she put her hand up and said, “Ah, ah, ah, I am here for the welfare of these children.” This time, the lady overenunciated each word.
My mom looked small and shaky. She started to slur her words a little. “I’m a good mom.” She looked over at me, her eyes with a peculiar glaze over them. Her right hand was nervously clutching at her collarbone as she said my name over and over like I could get her out of this. The police officers came out of my mom’s room.
I didn’t know what to do. “She’s a good mom,” I mumbled. I heard the patter of small, quick feet. I turned to see Isabella running to me. I picked her up. Her face never left my shoulder.
The caseworker was a fat woman made puffier by superiority. The white officer held up a small bag of crack and looked at my mom. I flinched inside. My mom always told me not to use anything stronger than pot. “You’re going with us, good mom,” he said. I hated that guy.
That was it. I felt a twist in my gut. My life ended.
I pushed the pain down until I felt hollow. Everything stopped. I guess I fell to sleep.
Chapter 3
Introductions
The yard was a nice size and neatly manicured, with juniper bushes bordering the side of the house. It was mid-February and a crazy seventy degrees. Birds made trilling sounds off in the distance. The air outside smelled like charcoal and charring meat. Holden manned an impressive, stainless steel grill. Okay, it was probably the nicest place I had ever stayed. Yet, the feeling remained, a slight rumble in my stomach from living in a world turned upside down.
“They found a dead body in those woods,” my third cousin Jessi told me, when she caught my eyes shifting to the surrounding trees. Maybe she was tired of the getting to know you chit-chat. She was around my mom’s age. She had short brown hair with tacky blond highlights and teeth too small for her face.
Izzy latched onto my arm.
Jessi realized she hit the wrong target and added, “It was a long time ago.” Her eyes moved to Izzy. Her lips twisted into an apologetic smile.
“It’s okay, Izzy. If you go back far enough in history, probably something bad has happened everywhere,” I reasoned. This may not have been comforting. “Probably some civil war guys died at a Dunkin Donuts, but the Dunkin Donuts isn’t haunted.”
Jessi’s husband Sean looked like a military guy with his hair buzzed short. I noticed his beer gut, so he probably wasn’t in good enough shape to be in the army. I got stuck sitting next to them at a picnic-type table in Holden and Reese’s backyard. Isabella sat on the other side of me, still clinging to my arm. They had two small kids who were chasing one another. Jessi warned them not to play with the hillbillies next door.
Sean broke in, “Oh come on, Sheriff Bears is good people.” He looked at me. “Have you met him yet, Tommy? He’s a badass. I once saw him snap a guy’s arm like it was a twig.”
“Really impressive,” I said with heavy sarcasm.
“I know,” he grinned, not picking up on my tone.
I laid it out in simple terms. “The guy is a sheriff. He’s supposed to protect people. He’s an asshole.” The guy was so stupid. I didn’t even feel like I was talking to an adult.
“You better not let Sheriff Bears hear you say that,” Sean warned me. “Otis Bears is someone you don’t mess with.” After a small pause, he thought of more to say. “Well, have you heard about your crazy Uncle Earl?”
“I have a crazy uncle?” I asked, mildly interested.
“He’s your grandmother’s younger brother and was a clown in the circus for a while, no, Jess?”
Jessi corrected him. “No. He delivered bouncy houses for kid’s birthday parties. Leddy’s the one obsessed with clowns. He’s not crazy. He had a nervous breakdown.”
The two bickered when their little girl toddled up to the table. Her pointy chin jutted up, and she wore the glazed expression th
at only a drunk or little kid could achieve, asking, “Why don’t you and your sister match?”
Innocently, she noticed that I was white, like them, and Isabella was more caramel, if you had to say a color. It struck me as kind of funny. Izzy smiled, too. I explained, “We have different dads.” The girl asked Isabella to play, and my sister gladly skipped off with her. Isabella’s S-shaped curls swayed while they ran to the tree line and stopped as if there was some magnetic field keeping them from entering the woods.
Reese came out with a big bowl full of potato salad, telling me, “You gotta try some, Tommy,” when Sean interrupted her, asking if my dad was Mexican because I had black hair and brown eyes.
Jessi reached over the table, and smacked him, saying, “He looks white.” She pointed out, “He just has brown hair and brown eyes,” as if being Mexican would have been a bad thing. Carlos was Mexican and the coolest guy I knew, next to Simon. The parents were kind of racist for sure.
I felt relieved when Holden changed the subject. Truthfully, I didn’t know who my father was. I started to think my uncle wasn’t all that bad.
Dusk pushed the daylight back into the sun when the grandparents I hadn’t even met arrived in a grey, four-door sedan. We all gathered on that dusty driveway.
My grandfather gave me a weak, clammy handshake. He was a small, nervous man. He had the face of a basset hound with the sad, humble eyes, loose jowls, and sagging neck. He was an old guy, yet it seemed at least some of this look must have accompanied him his entire life.
My grandmother nodded as if I had done something to please her, and said, “Well, look at you.” She didn’t look that old, although she had short grey hair, which was neatly tucked behind her large ears. Her eyes were bright blue with a few lines around them that ran deep, like tiny scars. Her eyebrows appeared to be drawn on in dramatic arches.
They weren’t the scary, ominous figures my mom had made them out to be. In fact, they had even bought a TV for me, and not a small one, but a big-screen TV. I fell into a state of shock when I saw Holden and Sean lugging it to the front door, as Jessi held it open for them.
Isabella commented, “They must be rich.”
Our grandmother overheard her and smiled. “The big TVs were almost the same price as the smaller ones,” she told us. She patted Izzy on the head and took me off guard, kissing me hard on the lips and said, “Damn that daughter of mine for keeping you from me.” She huffed out my name dramatically several times. It hung in the air between us. I wasn’t in the moment with her. None of them felt like long-lost family to me.
The old man slipped me a twenty-dollar bill, saying, “You’re a handsome boy.”
My grandma said, “I couldn't understand why your mother ran away from home. We did everything for that girl.”
I felt a wave of something but didn’t know how to respond.
Ending the awkward silence, Reese said, “That’s some TV. You’re going to have your own bachelor pad downstairs,” before she corralled everybody inside the house for homemade apple pie.
Later, I thanked my grandmother for the TV. She told me she worked at Walmart and got a discount anyway.
My grandmother worked at Walmart? Everything seemed weird to me. She had gifts for Isabella too, including an Easy Bake oven. Isabella relished all the gifts and attention. I just wanted the day to end.
Monday Reese registered us both for school. When Tuesday came, Reese drove Izzy to preschool, since she worked as a secretary there anyway, but I had to take the bus.
Finn and I said, “Hey,” and stood in the bright morning sun waiting for the bus. He had a split lip and it looked like his enthusiasm, from the other day, had been knocked off his face. I guess he looked as shitty as I felt.
My mind flickered between what I should say. I almost asked about his lip, but instead explained, “Holden caught me trying to sneak out.”
He eyed me and yawned in reply before saying, “I didn’t make it either. Next time.” He wore a faded flannel over a T-shirt with jeans. At least he had on sneakers, which saved him from looking like too much of a country boy. Suddenly, Finn executed an about-face and stalked off across the lawn. Only then I noticed the bus was coming and I trailed right behind him.
Once on the bus, Finn took up an entire seat, stretching out like a comfortable house cat.
I sat directly in front of him, hesitating before awkwardly stretching my legs across the seat, feeling stiffness in my shoulders. I finally asked, “What happened to your lip?”
“My stepdad. He caught me sneaking two beers from the fridge. One was for you.”
“That sucks.” He was starting to seem cool to me. I searched for something else to say. “So, will I get to meet Mudget?” I briefly grinned because the name sounded ridiculous.
“Unfortunately. If he sees you hang out with me, you will be on his list.”
Finn looked serious, but a smile again tugged at the corners of my lips. “I’ve got my ass kicked before. I’m good at it.”
“You’re not supposed to be proud of that.” His voice hit a flat note.
We stopped talking. I began to stare out the window at the forest following us. The morning light broke through the trees in ethereal rays. My sleepy brain drank in the mystery of it.
The bus slowed to its first creaky stop. Two girls in hoodies strolled onto the bus. Only one was cute enough to make me nervous. She had long blond hair and was all legs, with slender curves. It surprised me when Finn moved over, and she slid next to him. The other girl sat in the seat directly across from the super cute one.
The girl next to Finn pulled her hand from her pocket and punched him in the arm. “You stood me up!” she protested, thrusting her hands back into the pockets of her hoodie.
“Sorry. I got into this thing with my stepdad, and he took my phone,” he said apologetically. She looked at his puffy lip and let out a string of hard obscenities, finishing with, “He laid his hands on you!”
Finn grinned and blushed, liking the attention. “No, he punched me. Actually, he only slapped me. You know he has those giant pork chop hands.” Finn joked and seemed to forget I existed. Catching me eavesdropping, the pretty girl frowned at me. I briefly looked down.
She again punched Finn in the arm. “Listen, Wilds! I’m the only one allowed to punch you.” I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Her eyes were pale green and her nose cute and a little chubby. Her lips were full and curvy. The more I looked at her, the prettier I noticed she was. “Why are you staring?” she finally asked.
“That’s Tommy. He’s cool,” Finn said. “He moved in with Holden and Reese.”
“Oh,” she replied, and stared at me, clearly deciding if I could be trusted.
I said, “Hi.”
“Well, Finn, introduce us.” This girl had darker blond hair that hung to her shoulders, with a pinkish gathering of pimples on her forehead which interrupted her otherwise baby-smooth skin. She wore thin, crooked braids at each side, making her look like a hippie. She had sweet eyes and a long nose that looked nice enough on her face. She looked a little smaller and younger than the other girl.
“That’s Annie.”
Annie smiled, showing a mouth full of wires.
Finn continued, “And the mean one’s Silence.”
“I am mean.” Silence’s almost-shy smile revealed dimples. This really took me by surprise.
I swiveled around farther in my seat to face her. Nervously, I double-checked. “Silence?” My face felt warm when I asked her.
“Yeah. Silence Harper,” she replied in a what’s-it-to-you tone and folded her arms.
“And Annie,” the other girl added.
Silence dropped her head on Finn’s shoulder. He closed his eyes as if he was used to being close to her. Was she his girlfriend? I thought Finn wasn’t the type to talk to girls, let alone have an actual girlfriend. Aside from being pretty, this girl had something special about her. I hadn’t figured it out.
Annie leaned toward me to ask, “What gr
ade are you in, Tommy?”
“I’m a freshman, like you guys.”
“Oh no, I’m in eighth grade.” Annie explained, “I had to repeat the third grade because I had encephalitis and missed too much school. And Silence is in seventh grade.” I glanced at her in disbelief. Her shoulders slumped, and she seemed to lose her edge.
That explained how Finn could hang around a girl that cool. She was just a kid. I turned back around in my seat, no longer as intrigued. I thought it was weird how they put freshmen with the junior-high kids.
I looked out the window. It was nothing like the city. There were small houses with big yards and lawn ornaments, some of them faring better than others, with fake brick and stone. Then a run-down trailer suddenly got thrown into the mix. Everything seemed connected by narrow, tree-lined roads. I had landed in The Middle, for sure.
Finally, we arrived. The school was small compared to my old school. It was a two-story brick building, oddly square shaped. It contained the seventh and eighth grade classes, with an adjoining freshman wing. A dozen or so kids started getting up from their seats. Silence motioned for me to go in front of her. I did. She was almost as tall as me, and was twelve?
“Thanks,” I said.
She gave a half smile in reply. I overheard Annie whispering to Silence that I was cute. As far as I knew, I had never been cute before.
The girls went their way and we went ours. “What’s your locker number?” Finn asked.
“568.”
“Cool, your locker’s right by mine.”
I followed him, not really knowing what to expect. My role of Chicago public school student had been to occasionally show up and appear as disinterested as everyone else. My eyes blinked around the place. Random kids stood by their lockers. Others congregated in the middle of the hall, making it a challenge to get through. All the morning, voices around me played like a meaningless drone. Mainly I kept my head down. Although the floor looked buffed and polished, it remained dingy with its fair share of scuff marks. I shouldered my backpack as Finn and I made our way to our lockers. Each locker shined with a fresh coat of purple paint. That’s when a feeling of nervousness moved in my gut.