“What?”
“Huh?” I started at his voice. It was no more than a low murmur, but Hattie’s monotonous growling engine had put me in a trancelike state.
The look he gave me in return was so honest it made me blush. “You were smiling,” he said, smiling himself. “You looked really happy.”
“Did I?” I acknowledged my face, feeling the corner of my lips still slightly upturned. “I guess so.” We both laughed.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked bluntly. Seeing my reaction, he added, “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.”
“Oh, no . . . I don’t mind.” And surprisingly, I didn’t; truthfully, it was the point-blank way in which he was watching me that caused the increase in heart rate. The question was asked with an intensity, but without the usual snark. Since he already knew I volunteered, what harm was there in telling him about the fieldtrips. “I was just thinking about the holidays.” At my wistful tone, he chuckled under his breath. I laughed too. “I know . . . it’s really much too early to be planning, but I was just remembering how excited the kids were last year—and just how it’s so much more fun with them. I think someday,” I continued dreamily, “maybe I might want to visit another country—Rwanda or maybe someplace in South America, I don’t really know. But I’ve thought about how fun it would be to have a shipment of presents delivered and spend Christmas with orphans who have never been given presents.”
When he didn’t answer, I peeked over, startled to find him sitting perfectly straight, his back no longer touching the seat, and with a grim expression on his face. I replayed my sentence in my mind, wondering if it was something I’d said.
Through a wan smile, he said, “That sounds nice.”
There was a finality in his tone that made me think he didn’t want to hear anymore. “Thank you,” I said quietly, then admonished myself for doing so, feeling doubly inane for letting my thoughts run away with my mouth. This was why I didn’t speak unless I had a valid reason. I resolved to not let it happen again. “You’re going to make a left on Sunflower.”
He smiled, less forced than a moment ago. “Thought you didn’t know the street names?” he joked in good humor.
Not able to control my face, I blushed, and answered succinctly, “Just that one.” I decided not to mention the reason I remembered it, was because it was my favorite flower. There wasn’t any reason he needed to know that, and therefore would remain unsaid.
“Is rain this time of year common?” Already leaning forward, he folded his arms loosely on top of the steering wheel, squinting up at the sky. “Every time I’ve visited it’s been sunny and warm.”
I kept my head forward as I answered him. “I think so . . . but I’m probably not the best person to ask, though.”
“Why is that?”
“Oh, only because I haven’t lived here for very long. I think March tends to be more of a wet month.” I realized we were talking about the weather. The only time people talked about the weather was when they were uncomfortable or bored. I took a peek, trying to discern which one it was. “Are you just visiting again or did you move here?” The goal had been to sound interested, but instead travel-agent surfaced.
“Moved,” he answered, switching driving hands again. “For the meantime, anyway. My aunt and uncle have a house near the school. They travel a lot, and are hardly ever home for more than a couple weeks at a time. It’s just me and their two cats right now.”
For someone who spent a majority of their time alone, this sounded utterly lonely even to me. Though I preferred solitude, there was something comforting about the noises a house made when it was occupied or being used. I enjoyed hearing my parents’ voices downstairs, and knowing that if I needed them, they were there.
“Were you traveling with them?” I asked, elaborating further when he stared uncomprehendingly ahead. “Last week, I mean, when you weren’t at school?” I sounded nosy to my own ears; it wasn’t like me to pry into peoples’ lives, but after spending so many days in bewildered torment, certain I was the cause behind him leaving school, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to possibly prove myself wrong.
“Um . . . no.” My eyes were glued to his face, searching for any unspoken answers I might find there. “I had some loose ends I needed to tie up.” The ambiguity of both his face and automated answer gave me little to work with.
“You said every time you’ve visited it’s been sunny?” For whatever reason, I waited for him to acknowledge the question before continuing. He did so with a slight nod. “Does that mean, then, you usually visit in the summer?”
Great . . . I found a way to direct us back to riveting weather talk. Waiting for his answer, I tried to think of an interesting—but neutrally safe—topic; one that had nothing to do with the forecast, seasons, or precipitation. When more than enough time for a response had passed, I turned my head questioningly.
I immediately wish I hadn’t.
While I was only able to see half of his face—it was enough. Without thinking, I leaned away. He didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he didn’t seem to be breathing. His jaw was clenched tight, a silver dollar sized circle protruding from his lower cheek from where he ground his teeth together. A rigid bleakness, far surpassing any moment we had since first meeting, shook his whole body lightly so that he appeared to be gently trembling. There was nothing, I thought horrified and frightened, that was even remotely gentle about the way he looked. He held the wheel in an iron grip, elbows locked, and knuckles bone white. His face echoed the same eerie pallor, stealing even the innate, perpetual blush of his cheeks. I knew I should look away. I couldn’t, though. I stared with obvious fright at the eyes pulled wide, as if held open by one of those pronged contraptions that forced your eyelids apart.
What have I done?
I recoiled in my seat, pressing further against the door. I wanted out; only slightly less than that, I wanted to know why I couldn’t cease in bringing out the absolute worst in him. Obviously I was to blame; there was no one else in the car. I combed the sentence again, carefully, and for at least the tenth time, looking for the slightest bit of transgression.
“Dominic.” It was barely more than a whisper, and yet in the barren silence of the car, it sounded like a scream. “Are you okay?” I gave up hoping he would answer when the time on the dash moved one minute ahead. “If you want to pull over . . . I’m feeling well enough to drive now.” The clock crept two more minutes ahead, nothing but Hattie’s engine making a sound.
We were almost at The House of Hope; just a few more lights and then I would need to give him the final direction. I sat stiffly, eternally dreading that moment. The boisterous silence ate up all the oxygen in the car. I felt breathless, flushed, and nauseated, and it had nothing to do with embarrassment for once—or even the headache. Every so often I would peek over, hoping to see something—a flicker of life, even anger, something that told me he was still here.
One more light.
I was working up the strength to give the last direction, a pit of fearful doom growing inside my stomach. I reminded myself that once I did, I would be free to run. Run to the building, to my kids, to anywhere other than here, where I did nothing but enrage and torture Dominic. After today, I would find a way to never see or talk to him again. I would be late to my classes, waiting until passing period was over to travel the campus. I would eat lunch in my car every day. I would drop Music class. Earlier I didn’t think that was a possibility, but now things were diff—
“Foster.” My name was a flatline on his lips. “I think it would be a good idea for you to rest before we get there,” he suggested, his voice wooden.
I still couldn’t look away; his face was too loud; it reminded me of a Bisque doll, the painted lips, skin like crushed pearls, a stationary vitality. Only its hushed eyes betrayed a sentience, so still, so empty, something almost there, but not even close.
The right side of my body began to ache from being shoved against the door. I
didn’t move, and I tried very hard not to breathe. Any fear I felt was not for myself. Beneath the grievous shame for what I had done, I wished more than anything that I could take it back—whatever it was. A hundred different times I thought about apologizing, only I knew it wouldn’t do any good. What he wanted from me was silence, to pretend, even if only for a moment, that I didn’t exist. I would give him that.
We were less than two blocks away now. I didn’t dare speak to give him the final direction. From here on out the road was clearly marked with signs. So long as Dominic was paying attention, he would find it.
He would find the street marked with Hope.
Chapter Thirteen
Hattie’s belly scraped against the shallow driveway when Dominic took the incline too fast. He made the small climb and veered into a spot marked Staff Parking Only. In the same second he shut the engine off, he flung open the door and slammed it behind him.
I flinched.
Absent of Hattie’s noises the car shrieked, leaving a shrill cacophony roaring in my eardrums. Slowly, I peeled myself off the door, allowing my stiff muscles to loosen before I attempted getting out of the car. Alone, I inhaled deeply, taking my first full breath in five minutes.
In the side mirror, I saw Dominic standing by himself on the curb, fists clenched at his sides; he turned to the left, to the right, and then left again. I sighed as he disappeared into the wrong door.
The aspirin had worked magnificently—only a very distant throb near my occipital lobe remained. After moving Hattie out of the Staff parking spot, I quickly grabbed our belongings from the trunk and hastened toward the main building. Dominic was just exiting the door as I struggled up the curb, barely managing the large boxes of supplies. I had my arms wrapped around the bulk, pressing it against my stomach. I lifted a knee, trying to hoist my burden and get a better grip, when Dominic captured all three boxes with barely a pause in stride.
He took off, muttering, “We need to go in that door.”
I started after him, then decided to stay behind a moment, giving him space. I tried not to, but I began playing it out again in my mind. The whats and whys were like razor-toothed parasites, chomping and feasting on my sanity.
“Stop.” I did so abruptly, though it wasn’t walking I had been referring to. “You have to stop thinking about this,” I ordered in a mildly assertive voice.
On my right was a sandstone wall. I leaned my back up against it and pressed my fingers to my temples, rubbing vigorously in tiny, forward circles. This felt wonderful—but was making me sleepy. I dropped my hands, opting for closed eyes instead. It was imperative I pull myself together before I saw my kids. There would be plenty of time later to attempt to figure this out—much, much later, on the drive home, or alone in my bedroom when I had no one else but myself to consider. Not now, though. Not when there were twelve children who had spent the last two days and entire morning awaiting my arrival. I was theirs now.
I pushed off the wall and began walking, picturing the sweet faces likely pressed up against the window.
“Today is about them,” I reminded myself.
I decided to make an indissoluble commitment to myself: for the remainder of the day I would not permit myself to think about him. Not even for a second. Not until I had hugged and kissed every face goodbye and was back in my car.
A few seconds later I felt my mind speaking without permission. Please let him enjoy today . . . let him have fun with the children and forget about everything else.
Okay, I warned myself, but that had better be the last time.
~
The next six and a half hours passed almost according to plan. Dominic had signed up to work with a group of pre-teen boys; their recreational areas were separated from my younger children. At the beginning of the day, when I saw him leading his group onto the basketball court, I wondered if he knew what to expect. My little ones were so easy to please; they only wanted love and attention. The teens, rarely coming from a home without some form of abuse, most often wanted nothing to do with the volunteers. The ones that tried too hard, for them they reserved special loathing.
After everyone was dismissed from the common room, I gathered my kids to take them outside, relocating far away from Dominic. The thirteen of us skipped and splashed in puddles, held together by a chain of hands. To avoid thinking of him I occupied my mind with a song. The children joined in and we made lots of terrific noise.
Boat races in the gutter were a complete success. I was able to enjoy myself—thanks to rubber bands and gloves. My kids, on the other hand, practically bathed in the miasma, were overjoyed at the opportunity to get wet and filthy.
One of them—Robert, overexcited while awaiting his turn—nearly fell face-first into the gutter. I caught him by the back of the shirt just before he plunged forward. Everyone laughed and clapped for me, and Jonah referred to this as “ninja reflexes.”
When everyone had raced their boats half a dozen times, I made each child stand in line on the sidewalk and began disinfecting them. One by one, I aimed the bulk-size Purell bottle at their hands, watching carefully to make sure they didn’t wipe it on their clothes or friends—or in Robert’s case, eat it. They laughed at me as I slathered it up and down their arms, rubbing the leftover in their hair when possible.
My kids were bright; it only took a few visits before they were onto me and my fear of bacteria. One of their favorite things to do was chase me around with trash they found on the ground. Used Band-Aids were like Golden Wonka Tickets. But as much as they enjoyed watching me squirm and shriek—while I made empty threats to take away treats if they didn’t behave—they did it because they thought I was funny. Not weird, or strange, or just plain crazy. Funny. There was no one else on earth I could be that for, besides them. And somehow that made it all the more special when I was rewarded by their sweet, excited squeals of laughter.
It wasn’t until about halfway through the day when I saw Dominic. Everyone—amid protests of disappointment—was forced to regather in the common room for lunch. When weather was pleasant we would eat outside, the expansive grounds offering plenty of scenic spots.
On my first day volunteering at The House of Hope I had prepared myself for bedraggled residents, rotting greenery, and a small dilapidated building. What I had not been prepared to see was one of the most beautiful places I had yet to visit. The landscape was breathtaking, complete with generous expanses of freshly mowed grass, pruned roses and gardenia bushes, three parks, a lake, volleyball, basketball, and tennis courts, and even two salt-water pools. A separate building on the western end provided housing for the families, the temporarily and permanently orphaned children, and some of the staff too.
Held captive in the common room, it was impossible to escape the scent of hot and cold meals; hot dogs, pizza, sandwiches, all mingling with the musty stench of wet industrial carpet and sweating bodies.
Jesse, on his knees beside me, asked with beseeching puppy eyes if we could go back outside after lunch. I smoothed his blonde curls away from his face, sad that I would have to deny him. I’d been extremely lucky—and grateful—that Mr. Sandhearn had given me his permission to take the children outdoors in the drizzle. Watching it fall in steady sheets beyond the opened doors, I knew the remainder of the day would have to be spent inside. Staring into the saturnine freckled face in front of me, my heartstrings tugged. I touched Jesse’s cheek, using the pad of my thumb to gently wipe away the moisture collecting behind the lower blonde lashes.
To distract him I began making silly faces: crossing my eyes, pulling my ears from my head and puffing up my cheeks. Jesse, reluctant at first, began to giggle, then dissolved into hysterics, his brown eyes eagerly waiting to see what I would do next. Soon I had a full audience. But after a while I ran out of faces and—by split decision—we began a game of Duck-Duck-Goose.
I told myself I wasn’t looking for Dominic as I walked the perimeter of the amorphous circle of bodies. The wiggling figures dithered excitedl
y on the carpet, eyes alert, most propped up on one knee and ready to spring at any moment. But whether accidental or intentional, I found him, on the other side of the room, surrounded by a troop of smiling boys. I looked down, smiled, and ducked the small sable head below me. The body it belonged to instantly shot straight up in an explosive shriek, laughing as she chased me around the circle and very nearly catching me before I collapsed to my knees. Pinioned between Angelica and Connor, I hesitantly looked up again. It didn’t matter that there was a thousand other places to look, a hundred other faces to find—my eyes were laser focused with only one face in mind.
He was stooped over a felted green pool table, jacket and beanie removed and chest hovering over the pool stick. This was another reason I felt obliged to make rainy days extra fun; the older kids were allowed to play in the game room where an air hockey table, arcade games, and an electronic basketball hoop were available for their entertainment. As the five-year-olds were barely tall enough to see over the edge, it wasn’t exactly an ideal place to play. Through a wide gap of bodies, I could see him perfectly, one eye closed as he aimed all attention on the white ball. I smiled. If the boys beside him were any closer they would have been backpacks.
I didn’t see what happened next. I definitely heard it, though, over the steady roar of activities and voices. It came in the form of boyish hollers and the slapping of hands. Without thinking I looked up, catching Dominic and a dark-haired boy exchanging high-fives. I was drawn in instantly by Dominic’s warm smile. He looked at peace.
Awakening Foster Kelly Page 30