by Lisa Bork
He sprang out of the chair, ready for action. “I’ve got a Fiat to service this morning and a Land Rover coming in this afternoon.”
I held up my hand to slow his departure. “Cory, one more thing. Did you want to come over for Thanksgiving dinner?”
His eyes misted. “I do, but can I bring a date?”
A date. Cory’s life had been busy in more ways than one since I dropped out of sight. “Sure. Who?”
“I’ll let you know after I ask him.”
How mysterious. Cory had learned the man he loved was a big fat liar in the worst way just a few days before we lost Noelle. He’d handled his depression better than me, pouring his energy into his maintenance work and letting out all his emotion in amateur theater performances at the Broadway-quality theater one town over from Wachobe. Too bad I hadn’t taken a page from his book.
I powered up my computer, smelling smoke as the dust burned off. The website for Hemming Motors News came up a second after I typed in the address. They didn’t have any Caterhams listed.
A little more searching uncovered two for sale from sports car dealerships in Florida and Arizona. No one answered the phone numbers listed on their websites. I left my name and numbers, office and cell. What more could I do today?
Cory had the bills paid to date, and he’d invoiced all his maintenance customers in a timely manner. An order for parts and supplies went out last week. He didn’t really need me here. I’d become superfluous in my own business.
I tried to think of a way to become more important. I stuck my head in the three-bay garage. “I’m going grocery shopping. I’ll bring you back lunch around noon.”
Flat on his back and smiling, Cory shot out from under the Fiat on his mechanic’s creeper. “Can we have pizza?”
____
The grocery store proved to be a nightmare. I couldn’t decide between a fresh turkey, a Butterball, or the store brand. Jellied cranberry sauce or sauce with berries? One loaf of stuffing bread? Or two, if Cory brought a guest? Maybe Erica would like to bring a guest as well?
I dialed her cell phone number and waited. She answered on the eighth ring. She sounded half-awake.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping. I worked until two a.m. What do you want?”
“I want to make sure you’re planning on having Thanksgiving dinner with us.”
“I’m surprised you care enough to ask.”
I deserved that. I hadn’t called her in weeks. “I care. Did you want to bring a date?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m twenty pounds overweight. I look like a cow. No one wants to poke a cow, Jolene.”
“That’s a nice picture, Erica.”
“Better than the picture of all my flab being sucked out. Have you ever seen them do that on TV?”
I had. It grossed me out for days, and the mere memory of it made me want to vomit. “Why are you so gory today? What’s wrong?”
“Everything. Not that you care.”
“I care, Erica, I care. Why don’t you come for dinner tonight and tell me all about it?”
“Fine. But don’t serve chicken. I hate chicken.” She hung up.
I couldn’t decide what to serve for dinner. Ray’s list only covered Thanksgiving dinner and a few other staples. I pushed the cart from one end of the store to another, frustrated with my own indecisiveness and shocked at the anxiety this simple responsibility induced. When I saw another woman reach for lasagna noodles, I seized on the idea, purchasing the supplies for it, salad fixings, and a loaf of Italian bread. Only after I was halfway home did I realize I hadn’t purchased dessert. Ray liked dessert every night.
I ordered pizza for Cory and me while I unloaded the groceries at home. I didn’t feel like driving back to the shop, but I knew he expected me to eat lunch with him today. And I could run into the bakery down the street for a dessert. I would have much rather taken a nap.
But I soldiered on, picking up the pizza and returning to the shop in time to catch a phone call from Ray.
“How’s your day going?”
“Okay. I shopped. We’re having lasagna for dinner.”
“Excellent. Can you set one more place?”
“I’ll have to set two extra. I invited Erica.”
His silence unnerved me.
“Is Erica a problem, Ray?”
“No, but I have someone I want you to meet.”
“I don’t need a psychiatrist, Ray. I’m doing everything you asked me to do.” Not with any enjoyment or enthusiasm, but I was doing it.
“He’s not a doctor, Darlin’.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Danny Phillips. He’s twelve.”
“Twelve? Where did you meet him?”
“His father was arrested this morning for grand theft auto.”
“Not good.”
“It gets worse. He’s Danny’s only parent, and he’s not going to make bail. When he’s proven guilty, he may be incarcerated for a while.”
I noticed Ray said “when” not “if.” The Sheriff’s Department must have an airtight case. “So why do you want me to meet him?”
“We’re his new foster parents.”
Erica arrived at our home before Ray. I was in the kitchen talking to myself, or, rather, talking to Ray, saying all the things I wouldn’t have the courage or stamina to say to his face. Nor would I voice them in front of this twelve-year-old boy, who needed a loving home. Too bad I didn’t feel capable of loving him. I wasn’t even sure I would like him.
“What are we having?”
“Lasagna.”
Erica plopped onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “Great, I wore a white blouse. I’ll probably get sauce all over it and look like someone stabbed me.”
I stopped slicing the bread, holding the knife in midair. “You’re very graphic today and not in a good way.”
“Nobody wants me anymore. I’m fat and used up.”
“You don’t look so bad to me.” Her hair could use styling. She could button up her blouse a couple more buttons. Okay, maybe she had a slight roll at the waistline, but nothing crisis-mode. On a good day, she could still give Kate Hudson a run for her money with her sparkling blue eyes and natural blonde ringlets.
“My thighs rub together.” She yanked on the blouse. “This is size eight. I’m an elephant.” Her eyes raked over my body. “You stole my figure and gave me yours in return.”
I resumed slicing so I wouldn’t be tempted to turn the knife on her.
“Can I have a beer?” Erica slid off the stool and helped herself to a Corona.
“You shouldn’t drink with your medication.”
She took a long swing. “I’m not taking it anymore. Mom said I’m cured.”
I nicked my finger with the knife. Thankfully, no blood oozed out to ruin the bread.
Erica claimed our dead mother gave her advice all the time. I didn’t know exactly how these exchanges occurred since Erica never even visited Mom’s grave, but I did know from experience that their supposed conversations tended to precede disaster. “When did you take your last pill?”
Her shoulders hunched. “I don’t remember.”
“What does Dr. Albert say about it?”
“I haven’t seen him lately.” She headed toward the living room. “I’m going to watch the news.”
Erica had stopped taking her medicine before, claiming to be cured. Her bipolar disorder would never be cured, just tempered to a dull roar. Tomorrow morning I would drag her to Dr. Albert’s office and force her to start taking her medication again. She’d come so far in the last year. I didn’t want to see her backslide. I rolled my shoulders and my neck. I’d need to go to bed early tonight to have enough energy to win that battle.
When I set the breadbasket on the table, Erica was watching a talk show. Two women were attacking each other on a stage, pulling hair and screaming while a man held a microphone up to their faces.
Erica pointed her beer at the television. “Women are
animals. No wonder men think we’re just a receptacle. And when the receptacle shows too much sign of use, they move on.”
My lips parted, but no words came to mind. Tomorrow. I’d tackle her tomorrow.
I heard Ray come through the kitchen door and turned to greet him. A mop-headed boy stood next to him, barely waist-high compared to Ray but chin-high compared to me. The sleeves on his red ski jacket were an inch above his wrist bones and his baggy jeans had a hole in each knee. He had on some pretty expensive high-tops, though.
“Darlin’, this is Danny.” Ray looked at him, reached over and swept the dark hair off the kid’s face. I got a glimpse of angry brown eyes before the hair flopped back into place. “Danny, this is Jolene.”
“Hi, Danny. Nice to meet you.”
The kid muttered an unintelligible reply.
Erica bumped into my back. “Who’s the kid, Ray?”
“This is Danny. He’s going to be staying with us for a while.”
“No shit.”
My elbow slammed into her belly roll.
“I mean, that’s great.”
While Ray hung up their coats in the living room closet, Erica trailed me to the stove. “What’s up with the kid? Does Ray want to adopt him? He looks like the Shaggy Dog.”
“He’s our new foster child. It’s only temporary, until his father gets out of jail.”
“His dad’s in jail?”
I had no doubt that both Danny and Ray had heard her shriek. “We’ll talk about it later, when we’re alone, okay?”
“Okay, but you better count the silver.”
When we sat down to dinner, Ray’s glower confirmed that he’d heard everything, and Erica was in trouble. Or maybe I was.
I tried to make amends. “I hope you like lasagna, Danny.”
“It’s okay.”
It must have been more than okay, because he shoveled it into his mouth in seconds flat. Ray smiled at me and served the kid a second helping.
Danny didn’t touch the salad I put on his plate. I decided not to press the issue.
Ray made most of the dinner conversation, explaining that he’d delivered Danny’s school transcripts and made an appointment with the principal of Wachobe Middle School to register Danny the next morning. Danny would start school the Monday following Thanksgiving.
After dinner, while Erica and Danny watched SpongeBob on the television in the living room, I whispered to Ray in the kitchen.
“Where are his clothes?”
“His father didn’t provide an address at the time of arrest. I don’t know where their stuff is.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Then how did you get the kid?”
“His father told me he needed to be picked up from school.”
“Didn’t the school have an address for them?”
“Yes, but it was his father’s ex-girlfriend’s place. All she said was that they moved out six months ago.”
“What about Social Services?”
“Danny’s been on their radar before, but they’re happy to have us shoulder the burden for now.”
“Even though shots have been fired in our home?” This fact had contributed to the judge’s decision to return Noelle to her birthmother four months ago. Or maybe it had been the man’s blood spattered all over our walls, looking kinda Jackson Pollack, but not in a good way.
Ray frowned. “That wasn’t our fault. Let’s just say Danny is not the type of kid to be in high demand.”
I didn’t have the energy to explore this revelation. “Where’s he going to sleep?”
“On the couch for tonight.”
“Then where?” I started to load the dishwasher.
“We do have a spare bedroom.”
A plate slipped out of my hand and shattered on the floor. “Are you talking about Noelle’s nursery?” Tears filled my eyes. It was my last link to her. Sometimes I even thought I could smell the No More Tears from her hair.
Ray got the broom and swept up the shards. “I know it’s hard, Darlin’, but it’s time to move on. You said yesterday you wanted to help people. Here’s a kid who needs our help.”
Words failed me. Ray always liked to take control of a situation and make decisions for me. It was a side to his personality I could live without, but I didn’t have the strength or inclination to fight it today.
He took my silence as acquiescence. “I’m on the day shift tomorrow. I’d appreciate it if you took Danny over to school to meet with the principal. Then maybe you could do a little clothes and supply shopping with him? He’s looking forward to it. Can you do that for me?”
Before I could tell him I already had my day planned around straightening out Erica, she let out another shriek. Ray and I charged into the living room to find her waving her purse in the air.
“I went in the can and came out to find Danny Boy helping himself to my cash.”
“I was looking for a Kleenex.” Danny rubbed his nose. “I got boogers.”
“Liar! The kid’s a thief.”
Ray held up a placating hand. “Settle down, Erica. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding, my ass. I’m out of here.” She grabbed her coat from the closet. Her slam reverberated in the front door glass.
Ray perched on the edge of the couch next to the boy, whose head had sunk into his shoulders. “We have some rules in this house, Danny. If you’re going to live here, you have to follow our rules. No stealing, no lying, no swearing, no drugs, no smoking of any kind, no playing with matches, no going anywhere without telling us, and no talking back. We expect you to do your homework and help out when you’re asked.” He reached his massive hand up and brushed the hair out of the kid’s face. “Will you promise to follow those rules, Danny?”
“Yes.” But his sullen tone and his failure to look Ray in the eye bothered me.
Erica could wait another day. This kid needed me more. But I couldn’t let this opportunity pass. “I have one more rule.”
Danny and Ray looked at me.
“No hair in your eyes. Tomorrow we’ll get you a haircut, too.”
____
The principal at Wachobe Middle School, Mrs. Travis, projected warmth in her smile, her handshake, and her guiding hand on Danny’s shoulder. I squared away the paperwork with her while a teacher gave Danny some placement assessments. Then the principal took us on a tour. I’d seen the building before. Ray and I both went to school here, and the brick exterior and tan interior hadn’t changed much. The library had new blue carpeting, and the gym had a springy newfangled floor made out of recycled rubber. I recognized the smell of Pizza Day wafting from the cafeteria.
With hair masking his face, I couldn’t tell what Danny thought of the school. He sat outside in the hallway for a few minutes after our tour while the principal reviewed his assessments with me.
“He tested at grade level, although the teacher thought he showed more potential. I’m going to place him in Mr. Matthews’ class. He’s a young teacher, and boys seem to relate well with him.” Mrs. Travis fingered Danny’s transcripts. “Danny’s file indicates he can be a handful. I think Mr. Matthews will be up to the task.”
I knew why Ray brought the documents over here himself yesterday. He didn’t want me to read the kid’s transcript. Did he think a twelve-year-old could scare me?
On second thought, Erica at ten had been pretty frightening.
Mrs. Travis didn’t seem to notice my involuntary shudder. She kept right on talking as though I was the natural choice to fulfill Danny’s needs. “This is the list of supplies we require for fifth graders. It would be helpful if Danny could bring them on his first day.”
Maybe she and Ray saw something in me that I didn’t. In any case, I was in no shape to argue with either of them, or Danny, for that matter. I rose and picked up my purse. “We’re going shopping now. He’ll be ready to go on Monday.”
The principal shook my hand again and wished us well. I stepped into the hall outside her off
ice, but didn’t see Danny. I headed to the left down the hallway in search of him, the click from my dress boot heels echoing off the walls.
I glanced into the classrooms filled with hard-at-work children. At the next hall, I gave up and turned back only to find Danny standing three yards behind me. “There you are. Are you ready to go?”
He nodded and took off at a fast clip. I had to hustle to keep up with him.
The hour drive to the nearest shopping mecca passed without a word from Danny. I commented on how nice the principal seemed and tried to talk up his new teacher. Danny turned his face to the window. I chalked up his silence to natural apprehension about new people and places.
I found a barbershop that catered to sports enthusiasts with televisions tuned to the games while stylists did their magic. Danny didn’t express any opinions as to how he would like his hair cut, so I asked the woman to give him a popular cut. His hair ended up covering his ears but not his face. Now I could see he was quite a handsome little fellow with high cheekbones and eyes like a mournful puppy dog. His right cheek had a nick in it the size of a pinhead just underneath his eye.
He picked Wendy’s for lunch, but refused to make any sort of conversation, despite my half-hearted efforts. I picked Wal-Mart for shopping. He picked dark-wash jeans and T-shirts with motorcycles on them. Boxers, not briefs, and white crew socks. Pajamas with sports themes. The dark blue parka I picked seemed satisfactory to him. He refused a hat, mittens, or boots, even though I pointed out the snowfall predicted for Thanksgiving Day.
I read the school supply list while he selected the items off the shelf, showing a preference for all things blue and red, especially a red backpack. When we moved to the linen aisle, he selected a twin bed quilt with a sports theme. I got him all the accessories to match. We did all this with minimal conversation. Sometimes I received only a jerk of his head in reply to my questions. I attributed this to his being twelve years old and a boy, who had to shop for his new underwear and sheets with a strange woman.
We bought a bedroom set at a store that promised “zoom delivery” the very next day and no payment for a year, the only kind of furniture I knew for sure we could afford. He liked the walnut. So did I. He picked out sky blue paint at Sherwin-Williams. I was okay with that, too. But Ray would have to roll it over the pink I’d lovingly painted on Noelle’s walls. My heart would break if I had to do it myself.