“And you do?”
“I have a genius IQ. I took a test.”
“So does Willis, probably. He’s really smart. Not with books, like you, but he knows stuff.”
“Have you got any Coke?”
“Willis says it’s not healthy.”
“It’s okay if you don’t drink, like, a gallon a day.”
He ate a second sandwich and fed a crust to Foo. “I like this bologna. Thanks. Were you going to eat all these yourself?”
“No, I made ’em for the dog.” She flipped him the bird.
He laughed and gave it right back to her. “How old are you anyway?”
“Old enough to know better.”
“Better than what?”
“Better than let you hang around here all day.” She picked a bit of lettuce out from between her teeth. “If Willis finds out—”
“How come you’re scared of him?”
“I’m not.”
“Liar.”
“He doesn’t like strangers.”
“He knows me.”
“You met him one time. That’s not the same as knowing someone.”
“If he knew me better, I wouldn’t be a stranger.”
Talking to Django could be exhausting.
“When’s he coming home?”
She shrugged. He had told her that after work he was going to the university for his interview to become a doctor. She had no idea how long such things took.
“What’s your favorite TV show?” Django asked. “Did you ever watch Lost?”
“We don’t have a TV anymore.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Weird.”
This boy with all his questions was trouble waiting to happen. The truth of that was written in his bright and inquisitive expression. Madora knew what she had to do: tell him to go away and never come back; and somehow she had to sound like she meant it. That was the hard part, because he was just a kid but already she thought of him as her friend; and she’d had precious few of those, even back in Yuma.
Her life would be more interesting if she could go back to waiting tables at the diner up Interstate 8. She had tried to persuade Willis to let her do this, telling him she missed the friendly, hurry-up atmosphere of the diner, where she had been good at making customers feel welcome. Murray, the manager, said she was a natural. She had been proud and eager to tell Willis how she had been praised, but he wasn’t impressed. He said all you needed to serve food was two legs, two hands, and a brain the size of a Brussels sprout. At the same time, it was dangerous work; oddballs wandered in and out and got crazy ideas about girls who made them feel at home. Willis wanted her to talk to Linda, make friends with her; and for a time she had tried, but Linda didn’t like her and was not interested in friendship unless it meant Madora would open the door of the trailer and let her walk out.
Linda had no time for Madora, but she liked Willis, though not in the beginning when her tantrums had been fierce. She’d twice bitten him, once on the pad of his thumb and again on his forearm. To punish her after the second incident, he told Madora not to feed her and turned off the lights in the trailer. One day in the dark without food and Linda had begged to be forgiven. In the months before her baby was born, after the tantrums stopped and she seemed finally reconciled to her captivity, she had become more docile. She never had much to say to Madora, but when Willis was around she bubbled up, joked, and flirted.
Freedom had returned to the front of Linda’s mind since the baby was born. For the last few days she had nagged Madora with questions designed to elicit information about where they lived and how far they were from the nearest town. When she was not asking questions, she was swearing never to tell a soul that she had been held captive. Linda was getting to be a pain in the butt. Willis, unperturbed, said to give her time; she’d settle down again.
Madora asked him how much longer Linda would be in the trailer and his answer made no sense.
“As long as necessary.”
Django said, “Got any cookies?”
“Go home and eat your own.”
“Willis doesn’t like ’em, huh?”
“Willis is none of your business.”
“Are you married to him?”
“Not yet.”
“My dad was married before he met my mom. He loved her too, but she got sick. Huck was only a baby when she died.”
Django talked about his rich half brother nonstop once he got started. He described his mansion with a landing pad for a helicopter, his airplane, and the bodyguards who spent their spare time lifting weights. As he spun his tale Madora imagined a movie about rich people and didn’t believe a word of it. It was easier for her to accept him as crazy and a world-class liar than believe a boy with a life right out of the movies, the son of a rock star, was riding his bike around the back roads of San Diego County.
“If he’s your brother, how come you hang out here?”
“Just getting things fixed up. My aunt’s gonna call him up pretty soon. Why? Don’t you want me around?”
“Evers Canyon isn’t like Beverly Hills. Once Foo and me were taking a walk and minding our own business and this guy comes out and sits on his front steps and he had this big old rifle on his knees, kind of like it was just resting there, but I knew if Foo or me took one step on his property, he’d prob’ly shoot our heads off.” She could tell a tall tale as convincingly as Django.
“A trailer like that one?” Django nodded his head toward the backyard.
“Dummy. A mobile home.”
“Does somebody live in your trailer?”
“Why would anyone live in that old thing?” The pulse beating at the corner of Madora’s eyelid felt as obvious as an earthquake, and she put her hand up to cover it. “There aren’t any windows.”
“Where’s that whirring sound come from? Like an air conditioner?”
It was true. Even from the carport where they sat, she heard the purr of the air conditioner Willis had installed in the trailer. “We have a generator. Sometimes the electricity goes off in the house.”
Django finished his third sandwich. “I never heard of a generator going all the time.”
“So?” Madora rubbed her eye. “Shows you don’t know everything, I guess.”
Django burped and laughed.
“You are so gross.”
“Me and my friends used to have burping contests.”
“You have to go.”
Madora picked up the empty sandwich plate and stood. Foo danced around her ankles in expectation of a few crumbs. Django kept talking.
“Willis told my aunt he’s going into med school. Is that true? Is he going to be a doctor?”
That morning, talking about his upcoming interview, Willis had been as nervous as the feral cats that shivered around her legs when she laid out a plate of dinner scraps. Madora couldn’t do anything right. He called her stupid because his only tie had a spot on it. As if Madora was supposed to know that and clean it ahead of time when she did not think she had ever seen him wear a tie before.
Django said, “He’ll have to cut his hair before they let him work in a hospital.”
“You don’t know about hospitals.”
“I don’t think anyone wants a doctor with a braid.”
“Shut up!”
“What kind of doctor does he want to be?”
“None of your business.”
“He looks kinda creepy with all that hair.”
“I told you to shut up!”
His face bore its bright and questioning expression, as if he had the right to go where he wanted, open any door, ask any question that popped into his mind. She wondered at this peculiar boy who never stopped asking questions.
“Who are you anyway?”
“Django Jackson Jones.”
“You’re the weirdest boy I ever met.”
“Ditto for you,” Django said.
“Me?”
“You remind me of Rapunzel.”
“Is that a girl?”
“In the fairy tale. She was a prisoner in a tower waiting for her prince to come along.”
Madora laughed. “Willis is my prince.”
“Charming,” said Django.
“Willis has a gun. If you don’t get outta here, I’m gonna go get it and shoot you.”
“Have you ever been to Beverly Hills?”
“Are you deaf and retarded?”
“I’m going up there with my aunt, so I won’t be around for a couple of days.”
“That’s the best news yet.”
“I could bring you back a TV. If you wanted. There’s a bunch at the house.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Okay,” he said, walking off toward his bike.
“And don’t come back.”
“See you in a couple of days.”
Chapter 12
Madora watched Django ride off, and when she was sure he would not return to ask another intrusive question or tell her what he thought about something, she went into the kitchen and used up the last of the bologna and lettuce to make Linda a sandwich, which she carried back to the trailer.
The girl was in a foul mood. “It’s about goddamn time, Madora. I heard you yucking it up while I was starving in here.”
Though it was midafternoon, Linda still wore the shorty pajamas Willis had bought her when the weather grew too warm for flannel. She had rucked her blond hair back in a ponytail and put on lipstick, but there was a sour smell about her, as if she hadn’t washed in some time, although Madora brought her a bucket of fresh water and a clean towel and washcloth every morning. It did no good to nag her about cleanliness. Living on the streets as she had, she must have grown accustomed to unsanitary living.
“Who were you talking to?” Linda spoke in a voice that reminded Madora of her own when she was training Foo. “You can trust me. I won’t tell Willis.”
“I wasn’t talking to anyone. You’re hearing things.”
Linda shrugged and opened the sandwich and lifted out the bologna slice. Tipping her head back, she fed the whole thing into her little mouth, then closed the sandwich and ate the bread and lettuce slathered in mustard and mayonnaise.
“I like you, Madora. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Willis’d be way pissed if he knew you had someone around here. A boyfriend maybe?” She stuck her index finger in her mouth and scraped the food stuck to her gums. “You’re my friend. I’d never tell on you.”
Madora did not for the smallest sliver of a second believe that she and Linda were friends.
“Boy or girl?”
“Who?”
“Your friend. Outside.”
“I don’t have any friends.”
Linda considered this, and something that had been avid in her manner faded away. Dispirited, she lay back on the bed, licking the tips of her fingers, rubbing them on her bare thighs. She expelled a long breath and absently scratched at the eruptions of pimples along her jaw line.
Madora looked away and swept the trailer as she did every day.
After a while, Linda said, “I wonder what my sisters are doing right now.”
“You have sisters?”
“Three, and one brother. Saint Phillip. He had his own room because he was a boy. BFD. I was the oldest. I should have had my own fucking room, but I had to share with three little brats. God, I hated them.”
“Is that why you ran away?”
“It’s none of your business why I ran away.”
“I would have been glad to have a sister. If I had one I’d never run off and leave her.”
“You don’t know anything. You’re just a stupid fat girl.”
“I’m not stupid.”
Linda looked surprised. “Well, fuck me straight! The parrot can speak for herself.”
The sun had just dropped behind the canyon wall when Madora heard the squeal of the Tahoe’s brakes and the sound of the SUV’s big tires digging a trench in the gravel. Willis slammed the driver’s side door. She took a deep breath and leaned against the sink, her arms across her chest, her hands shoved up under her arms.
“What’s the matter with you?” he said when he saw her. “You look like an ice cream cone in that pink thing.”
She had taken a shower and washed her hair. The pink and white shift was the only thing in her closet that wasn’t wrinkled, and the color made her happy, bringing to her mind the smell and taste of a strawberry smoothie. Willis opened the refrigerator door, took out a beer, and slammed the door shut, shaking the boxes of cereal that stood on top like books on a shelf.
He dragged a chair out from the table, opened the beer can, and drank. His Adam’s apple moved up and down as he chugged the whole thing without pausing for breath.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?”
She didn’t have to. She had known as soon as he braked the Tahoe that whatever had happened during his interview, it wasn’t what Willis had hoped for.
“The counselor was a piece-of-shit twenty-year-old girl.” He leaned over the table and his brown eyes, darkening to near black around the pupils, were unfocused. He had been drinking before he came home. “She told me to go to community college, something about fulfilling requirements.”
“You told her you graduated from high school, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did, Madora. You think I’m an idiot? She said my grades were borderline and I’d have to make ’em up before the college would let me in.”
“But then it’ll be okay? Premed?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. And then when I’m about forty years old I have to take some test, the MCAT.”
“That’s the name?”
“It’ll say if I’m”—he made quotes with his fingers—“med school material.”
“Did you tell her you were a Marine medic? And about being a home health care provider?”
“They don’t care about any of that.”
“But it’s not fair. You’ll be a wonderful doctor. You should get letters from your clients. Like references.”
“Shut up, Madora, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He could say all the awful things he wanted. Her love was like a shield; the words bounced off without hurting her. She could not think about herself when he was obviously in pain, so angry and depressed. It was her job to lift his spirits when he couldn’t do it himself.
“I know you. I know how good you are.”
He set his elbows on the table and looked at her. Beneath their drooping lids, his eyes were almost crossed.
“You’ve had a lot to drink,” she said. “Do you want to lie down?”
He shook his head.
“It’s not the worst news in the world, Willis. I mean, it might mean you’ll spend more time in school, but in the end you’ll still be a doctor, right? And that’s what you want.”
“Just get me another beer and quit tryin’ to be a nurse.”
“Maybe that’s the answer, Willis.”
“What?”
“Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to be a nurse than a doctor?”
“You want me to clean up after some bozo no better’n me ’cept he’s got an MD after his name? My father was a doctor, Madora, and if he could do it, I sure as hell can too.”
“You’ll be a wonderful doctor.” She knew this with all her heart.
“You bet I will.”
“You’ll show them.”
“I figured it out, drivin’ home. I’m not going to let some twenty-year-old college brat tell me what I can do. I’m going to the Caribbean. They got medical schools.” He straightened up, belched. “I’ll get into one of them, easy.”
She hesitated and then asked the obvious question. “Won’t that cost a lot? Where would we get the money to move there?”
“Let me worry about that,” he said and finished off his beer.
This new plan would involve airplane trips, and she could not guess what other expenses when she
considered that on a Caribbean island a foreign language might be spoken and the laws would be different. In some foreign places Americans were not liked. She thought about living at the end of a road in a foreign country, stuck in some kind of hut, unable even to say good morning to her neighbors in words they would understand.
Willis mumbled something about going back to the trailer to watch a movie with Linda.
“Stay with me, Willis.” Madora was patient by nature and not given to jealousy, but tonight she did not want him to traipse back to the trailer for consolation. It was her job to make him feel better, but how could she do that if he passed out on Linda’s bed? She hated that he sometimes seemed to prefer Linda’s company to hers. Maybe if she were thinner, more like the girl she was when Willis found her on the porch at that party in Yuma…
She said, “Linda wants us to let her go.”
“I’m calling the shots, not her. Or you either.”
“Yes, but maybe we should be thinking—”
“I don’t want you thinking at all, Madora.”
The disastrous interview had been a heavy blow. If it helped him to be mean to her, she could take it. Although Willis still saw her as the same girl he’d rescued, Madora was not a fragile teenager anymore. Years with him had toughened her. She had grown a skin that did not bleed as easily as it once had.
Django’s questions about the trailer had been plaguing her all afternoon. She had something to say and it did not matter if Willis wanted to hear. And if he became angry, at least that would take his mind off medical school for a while.
“I’m worried someone might get curious about the trailer.”
His eyes snapped into focus. “Has someone been hanging around?”
“I’m just saying, what if a hiker or a mountain biker—”
He looked at her.
“We’d be in trouble, wouldn’t we?”
“If you keep your mouth shut, no one’s gonna get curious about a piece-of-shit trailer in the backyard. This place is a dump, Madora. Look around you. The trailer fits right in.”
He called their home a dump. She wanted to defend the little house, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.
He shoved past her and made his way to the back door, running his hand along the countertop to maintain balance. He pulled the door open, and Foo, who had been outside on the cement, nosing the door, rushed in and darted between his legs. Willis staggered and kicked out, cursing at the dog as he fell against the doorjamb, missed the outside step, and stumbled into the brick-and-board shelf in the carport. He tipped sideways and fell on the hawk-scarred rabbit’s cage, stabbing his hip on the pointed corner. With a yell of rage, he whirled and in one movement grabbed the cage between his hands and threw it hard into the cement floor.
Little Girl Gone Page 9