Of Foster Homes and Flies

by Lutzke, Chad

  “Honey, I've been callin' and callin' for days and got no answer, and...oh honey, I’m so sorry about your momma. I always knew this day would come."

  It feels like a dream now and I start to ask her why she's here, but the words aren't coming out how I want them to. She can tell I'm confused and offers explanation.

  "I told your momma I was comin' for a week or two this summer, sent her a postcard in April. I knew if I called she'd never remember. Oh, honey…I’m so, so sorry.”

  I bury myself in Aunt Sunny’s bosom, and with the exception of the few that snuck out recently, I let out every tear I’ve held in for the past two years. Through the sobbing I tell her everything. I tell her about what it was like living with mom, about the notebook, the plastic, the flies, about Ingrid, about the spelling bee. About all of it.

  She listens to every word and never flinches, never lets go of the heartache in her eyes, and squeezes me harder whenever I say something I think will shock her, cause her to think less of me. And by the time I’m done, she’s crying and apologizing and telling me I never have to worry about any of that again.

  During this time, the coroner must have come and gotten Mom because when I look up I see a big black van pulling away. It doesn’t say coroner on the sides like I thought it would but I can tell it’s them. The ambulance leaves and the cops finish their talk and disperse. The back door opens and the police officer that Aunt Sunny elbowed tells her she’s free to go and advises her to never stand in the way of law enforcement again and that under the circumstances he is going to let her go with a warning. He then tells her that I need to come with him for further questioning to “iron things out.” I’m not sure if that means figure out where to lock me away or what.

  Aunt Sunny gives the cop a dirty look and tells him he should be ashamed for picking on a little boy and then she tells me she’ll be right behind us and that I’ll see her soon.

  ***

  When we get to the police station the cop takes me to a room and makes me wait. Then a different officer comes in and asks me a lot of the same questions the other cop did. I tell him everything. I even tell him he can look in my bag and see the second place ribbon if he wants, like it’s some kind of alibi. After he questions me, he comes back and opens the door and Aunt Sunny is standing there. The cop says I can leave now but tells Aunt Sunny I need to stay in town at least through the week.

  She gives him a glare and puts her arm around me and leads me outside and to her car. I ask her why they’re not taking me to any orphanage or foster home.

  “Honey, as long as I’m alive you’ll never so much as drive by one of those hell holes.”

  Then she asks where I want to eat. I tell her Sambo’s.

  Saturday

  Aunt Sunny and I spend the rest of the week in a hotel. She doesn’t make me go to the two last half days of school, but I do get to see Carter. At first he acts funny around me and it feels weird, but then he says he’s sorry, that he feels bad because he didn’t realize everything I was going through. He tells me a better friend would have noticed, would have tried to help more. But I tell him he’s wrong. He’s exactly who I need him to be, except that he should stop lying and just be himself. I can tell it hurts his feelings but he appreciates the honesty.

  Aunt Sunny keeps telling me I’m too thin and I need to eat more, so she orders lots of room service and we go out to eat at least once a day.

  On Saturday evening, Aunt Sunny gets a phone call and it’s the police station. I can hear the officer’s voice through the phone. They tell her that after a thorough investigation, including the questioning of potential witnesses, that in no way am I found at fault in Mom’s death and that I won’t be held accountable for the negligence in reporting it, but that they did strongly advise Aunt Sunny to seek out professional counseling for me. Aunt Sunny thanks the officer for the call and tells him he's an idiot for suggesting such a thing and that all I need is love. Then she hangs up on him.

  Sunday

  Sunday morning we go to church. Before the sermon starts, Aunt Sunny catches a few people staring at me and pointing, then whispering to each other. She lets them have it. She says some words that I’ve never even heard before, and I don’t think any of them are kind. Then the church service starts.

  The sermon is about forgiveness and loving your enemies. Afterward Aunt Sunny tells me that at some point I need to forgive Mom, if I haven’t already. She says resentment is toxic and will keep you down your whole life if you don’t let it go.

  We go out to eat for lunch. This time she picks the place. The food is expensive and she catches me trying to order the cheapest thing on the menu and tells me if I do that then she’s ordering four of them and I’m eating them all. While we wait for our food, Aunt Sunny tells me that I’m coming with her to California. She tells me how much I’ll love it there, that it’s not too hot and humid like New Orleans, yet the sun is out and about every day. She says she lives near the beach and we can go there all the time and that I can even learn to surf if I want.

  “Work your way toward a surfing trophy, kiddo.”

  After we’re done eating she says she has a surprise for me. We leave and head toward Mom’s house and then turn onto 32nd Street and stop at Riverview Humane Society.

  “You wait here.”

  I don’t want to wait. Just the sight of the building is unnerving. The last time I was here I had turned my back on Ingrid, and a part of me went with her. Aunt Sunny gets out of the car and goes into the building. Only a minute goes by before she walks out with Ingrid, except Ingrid isn’t yellow anymore. She’s snow white and fluffy with freshly trimmed hair. Aunt Sunny opens the car door and Ingrid hops out of her arms and into my lap, wildly licking my face. She smells clean, like apples and cucumber.

  Aunt Sunny just sits and watches with a smile that could get no bigger. “Well, I hope you two are ready for a road trip, cuz we’re gettin’ outta this place and ain’t ever lookin’ back.”

  As we drive down 32nd Street with Greek's ahead of us, I'm thirsty for an ice cold coke, but as we pass by the store I don't say a word. I can think of $2.00 better well spent.

  Epilogue

  The trip to California was a bonding experience for me and Aunt Sunny, and California is everything she said it would be, and more. It’s only been a week so I haven’t learned to surf or anything–not sure it’s for me anyway–but I did meet a few neighborhood kids who love bikes and trails just as much as I do. I still talk to Carter a few times a week on the phone, and Aunt Sunny says he can even come stay a few weeks this summer if it’s okay with his parents.

  Aunt Sunny has her friend, Tom, over and he’s got the barbeque going. The smell doesn’t remind me of home. It doesn’t remind me of anything. It’s new. Brand new. I think of Mr. Artwell and his goodbye toast with his optimistic smile–the bingo-playing seer of New Orleans.

  He knew things would turn out.

  As I lie stretched out on the lawn chair, soaking in the sun, I take a deep breath and let the scent of the food and charcoal mix and build new memories. Pleasant ones. I reach for the book I brought out to read–The Temple of Gold–and open it. Sam’s vibrant red writing catches my eye and I flip back to the front page.

  Denny, I believe in you. Love, Sam.

  I grab the phone and dial the number of my good friend Sam, hoping she made it safely to her destination, that the number she wrote was the right one. My heart races, my palms near sweating. I count every ring, losing hope at the end of each one. After the seventh, I hear a click, followed by the angelic and naive voice of a girl saying hello.

  I Believe In Gratitude: : I would like to thank the following people for their encouragement, support, friendship, inspiration and help specifically with the writing, release, and promotion of this book: My wife, biggest fan and ideal reader, Mary. James Newman (whose book Midnight Rain was a great inspiration for the book you've just read), John Boden (who randomly sent me a copy of Midnight Rain to my snailbox), James T
horn, Zach Bohannon, Bettina Melher, John L. Monk, Joe Mynhardt, Mark Allan Gunnells, Tom Adams, Yvonne Mason, Michael Thomas Knight, Robert C. Pettigrew, Shaun Hupp, Robert R. McCammon, William Goldman, Stephen King, Joe Lansdale and Kelly Hudson whose styles inspired me to use first person present tense for this one, Jodine Thurston, Mike Perez, Betty Rocksteady for her loyal reading and feedback, Matt Weber, Tom Adams, Scott Webb, Dan Padavona, Dad Lutzke, and my mother who is very much alive, forever sober, quiet, gentle, loving and whom I would never wrap in plastic for all the trophies in the world, my biological father who continues to be an inspiration to everything I write despite him being gone, childhood friends, Michigan dirt trails, forests and fields, Kellogg's Pop-Tarts, and Zombie Aaron Maguire who doesn't read anything I write but without whom I wouldn't have so many adventures to draw from--a lifetime of memories crammed into two years. And mostly importantly, God/Jesus. My existence without you would be a lonely and bleak one indeed. Thank you!

  A quick note about books like Robert McCammon’s Boy’s Life, William Goldman's The Temple of Gold, James Newman’s Midnight Rain, Stephen King’s The Body, and John Boden's Jedi Summer as well as films like River’s Edge, Bottle Rocket, and Ghost World; they keep my affair with reading and writing going. Coming-of-age is my favorite subgenre, and it is my hope that this book provided some of the same type of magic for you that all of the above have for me.

  About the Author

  Chad lives in Battle Creek, MI. with his wife and children where he works as a medical language specialist. For over two decades, he has been a contributor to several different outlets in the independent music and film scene including articles, reviews, and artwork. Chad loves music, rain, sarcasm, dry humor, and cheese. He has a strong disdain for dishonesty and hard-boiled eggs. He has written for Famous Monsters of Filmland, Rue Morgue and Scream magazine. He is a regular contributor to Horror Novel Reviews, Halloween Forevermore and Heavy Planet. His fictional work can be found in several magazines and anthologies including, Great British Horror's What Goes Around, Devolution Z Magazine, Straight to Video II: The Sequel, Straight to Video III: Conquest of the Planet of the Tapes, Toys in the Attic: A Collection of Evil Playthings and many more. He has released three Double Feature Collections with books I, II, & III: TWO BEFORE DAWN, LITTLE ONES OF WOOD & HAIR, and DEATH DEALERS: AID FROM THE ELDERLY, as well as his 18-story horror anthology, NIGHT AS A CATALYST. He has written a collaborative effort with horror author Terry M. West, THE HIM DEEP DOWN. And early 2016 he released a book through Black Bed Sheet Books where Chad acted as editor/compiler for the BUMPS IN THE ROAD anthology. Later in 2016, several more releases will be added to Lutzke's body of work, including his PALE WHITE coming-of-age vampire series, CAR NEX: FROM HELL THEY CAME, 47-16, A David Bowie Literary Tribute and AMERICAN DEMON HUNTERS: BATTLE CREEK with J. Thorn. Stay tuned! Chad can be found lurking the internet at the following address: www.chadlutzke.weebly.com