“Thank you. My momma . . .” She looks at her bare feet, and I think I catch the wobble of her lower lip.
“Well, it’s lovely,” I say. Thinking about my momma makes me feel sad, too, so I change the subject fast. “My name’s Lucy. Can I help you with something?”
Magnolia brings her gaze back to mine and shakes her head, her hair swinging like the boughs of a willow in a storm. “No, ma’am. But I can help you.” She smiles, revealing a wide gap of missing teeth in the front of her mouth.
Could soul-snatchers be this adorable?
I soften. “Oh yeah? How can you help me?”
The girl points a stubby finger toward the calico cat, now nestled in the crook of an old oak tree. “Patches told me you got hurt real bad and you ain’t got no food to eat.”
Patches regards me from her perch and blinks.
A talking cat, of course.
Though goosebumps travel along my forearms and the back of my neck, I nod. “Patches is a smart cat.”
“We got a lot of food in the kitchen. Miss Letty cooks real good.”
Before I can say no, Magnolia laces her fingers with mine. She leads me up the walk to the stoop and pulls open the pocked screen door.
“Miss Letty won’t mind you bringing a stranger in the house?” I raise my eyebrow.
The girl giggles. It reminds me of a chorus of baby birds. “You’re silly, Lucy. You’re not a stranger. You lost your momma and daddy just like us. I bet Miss Letty would let you stay, if you wanted.”
My mouth drops open. I’m an orphan. In a strange way, that makes the kids within these walls my kin. I stop resisting her pull and enter the house.
Chapter 8
“Oh,” says the woman at the sink. Soapsuds cling to her fingers as she rests a hand on her heart. “You’ve brought company, Maggie?”
“Yu-huh!” With curls bobbing, Maggie drags me over to a long table with benches that reminds me a lot of a picnic table, except I’ve never see anyone with a picnic table in their kitchen. “This is Lucy. Lucy ain’t got no family. Can she stay?”
From Letty’s open mouth, I can tell she’s been put on the spot. I blush at the child’s forwardness and shake my head. “Oh, no. It’s okay. I’m staying with my aunt just down the road.”
Letty’s thin shoulders relax as she returns to the dishes. “You’re Perdita’s niece, I take it?”
“Yeah.” The woman’s rod-straight spine stiffens even further at my flippant reply. Anxious not to land on Letty’s bad side right off the bat, I correct myself. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Lucy Torres.” I cringe when I say my last name. I’m the last living Torres, a shivering leaf clinging to my withered family tree. The weight of my situation settles on my shoulders.
Letty watches me for a moment before drying her hands on a towel tucked in the waistband of her apron. With a flutter of her fingertips, she shoos Magnolia away. “Go on, child. I do believe you forgot to tidy your bed. There’ll be no playing with your new friend until you do.”
Magnolia sticks out her lower lip in a pout, but runs off to do as the woman instructs. I watch her until she disappears around the corner. Once we’re alone, Letty turns her attention to me.
“Perdita isn’t well, as you probably know.”
I nod.
“I worry about anyone who spends too much time around that woman, but that’s neither here nor there.” Letty pauses and strokes the long silver braid cascading down her shoulder. Her eyes are the color of steel wool and they scrub away at me until I squirm beneath my skin. Finally, she says, “Can I trust you, Lucy?”
I blink a few times at the question. “Yeah, I think so.”
“What I do here is very important to me. I cannot risk harming my little ones beyond what harm has already come to them. If I cannot trust you, I need you to go.”
“You can trust me,” I vow, and I mean it.
“Good. Then that’s settled.” She grins. The lines accentuating her mouth suggest she used to be happy a lot. “You’re welcome here, Lucy, if you need a break from Perdita, and I reckon you will. Of course, you can’t be here after dark, but that goes without saying.”
I want to ask her why it goes without saying, why no one is allowed to do anything after dark, but I bob my head instead.
She pats my hand and stands. “You look absolutely peaked. Maggie was right to ask you in.”
I offer her a weak smile. “Aunt Perdita isn’t the best at stocking the kitchen. I think she’s too used to having Millie around.”
“When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”
“Sometime yesterday. Doc brought me some bread to help settle my stomach so I could take my meds.”
Letty’s eyes narrow. “Medication? What for, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
Truth is, I do mind, but the idea of refusing Letty anything frightens me a little. She’s the kind of old lady who wouldn’t hesitate to tan your hide with a switch if she thought you needed it. “It’s nothing. I fell down the other day.”
Magnolia chooses that moment to run back into the room. “Patches told me Oliver’s horse fell over, right on top of her,” she says matter-of-factly as she plunks herself back down on the bench.
The old woman glares back at me, crossing her arms. “Nothing, eh?”
A flush creeps across my face at being caught in my half-truth. It’s been a while since I’ve had to answer to anyone. “Technically, the horse didn’t fall on me. Oliver fell on me. We were . . .” What were we doing? I don’t even know. We had been running from something, but I couldn’t remember what.
“Be thankful it was only a few bumps and bruises, then. If they’d caught you, it would have been so much worse.” Momentarily satisfied by my confession, Letty breaks her iron gaze to move toward the refrigerator. “Now, how does a cold chicken sandwich sound?
I spend the rest of the afternoon hanging out with the other children at the orphanage. There are three in all: the oldest a 14-year-old boy named Duke; another girl, Tessa; and Magnolia. They all want to hear about growing up in Detroit, and I tell them story after story until Letty calls us to set up for dinner.
It’s the first time since the accident that I feel comfortable. It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve actually had a conversation without getting angry. When one of my stories leaves me choked up, the kids don’t press me to talk about it. They know how it feels. Their hearts are full of sad stories, too.
Too soon, the sun sinks toward the horizon. It’s time for me to go home, the last place I want to be.
I slip into the mansion a few minutes before sunset, tired and aching from too much walking on my twisted frame. The halls echo with my stumbling steps, which I’m sure really annoys Aunt Perdita. Well, she really annoys me, too, so I stomp more loudly than necessary. Just to get under her skin.
When I flip on the light in my room, a new rose floats in the crystal vase next to my bed.
Chapter 9
I’d just finished lacing up my sneakers when the knock on the door startles me.
“Come in,” I say. Aunt Perdita must really be bored to wander all the way to my room. I hadn’t seen her in days. She’s the worst guardian ever.
The door opens and Oliver, not my aunt, stands in the doorway. He nervously shifts his weight from side to side.
“Turn around! I’m not decent!” I shield my bald head with my hands. I don’t care if my aunt sees me at my worst; her opinion doesn’t matter to me one bit. Wish I could say the same for Oliver.
He whirls away from me, clearing his throat. “I’m real sorry. I should have sent your aunt.”
I grab the first scarf I find dangling from the post of my bed and work at wrapping it around to hide the worst of my scars. “Relax,” I say. “I’m not naked or anything. You can look now.”
When he turns around, his face is red. A laugh sputters from my lips.
“Luce, I only came here to give you this.” He pulls my lost scarf from his pocket. “There’s not much left of it, but I told you I’d fi
nd it. I like to keep my word.”
That scarf had been one of my favorites, a faint lilac with silver threads woven in a series of spirals. My best-tolerated nurse, Greta, had given it to me on her last shift before my discharge. Now it barely resembles the same item, one end shredded and singed beyond recognition. I hug the fabric to my chest and frown. “What in the world happened to it?”
Oliver opens his mouth to answer, but seems to think better of it.
I place the tattered remains of my scarf on the table next to the rose vase. “Well, thanks for returning it, I guess.”
He doesn’t move.
“If that’s all, I’ve got to go. The kids begged Letty to let me take them to the fountain. And Maggie wants ice cream.”
“Downtown?” His voice drops. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I’ve heard some of the—”
Irritation bubbles within me. “I won’t be alone. Don’t worry, Dad.” I instantly regret my words. Even on his very best day, Oliver will never come close to being as awesome as my father had been. He had one thing right, though—my dad would have worried about me alone in a place like this, too. I sigh and close my eyes. “Sorry . . . I didn’t mean that.”
Oliver looks away, but concern shines clearly in his dark eyes. “Those kids can’t do a thing to protect you if you need it. Letty hasn’t thought this through.”
“What kind of town is this? I’m not even safe in the center of Main Street in broad daylight?”
His face remains sober. “So you see my point.”
“Not really.”
He narrows the gap between us, our faces so close together our noses nearly touch. Threads of green braid into the brown of his irises, eyes the color of earth itself. For one suspended moment, I expect him to lean in for a kiss. My palms grow sticky and my throat won’t cooperate when I try to swallow.
He’s going to kiss me! I’m so not ready for this. My last kiss ruined my life.
I brace for impact, squeezing my eyes shut. Instead of a kiss, Oliver grasps my shoulders in each of his hands, wrestling my attention away from Derek Carver and his trash-talking mouth.
“Luce, Mitte isn’t like anywhere you’ve ever been before,” he says. His eyes flash like lightning striking the earth. “The rules don’t apply here. I keep trying to tell you.”
I shrug away from his grip. I’m trapped under his warning and I need to free myself. “Help me out, then. It’s like I’m in the Twilight Zone!”
Oliver remains quiet.
“I swear—I’m going to go insane if I can’t go anywhere or do anything. Can’t you tell me anything?” My last sentence isn’t a question. It’s a plea.
Thoughts war in the shift of his eyes, the twitch of his lips, the tightening of his jaw. He wants to share everything with me, I can tell. But when he opens his mouth to speak, it snaps back closed.
I can’t stand it anymore.
“If you’re not going to say anything, then I guess I’ll go. Ignorance is bliss and junk.” I limp away, missing my ability to stalk out like an angry lioness. Stupid bionic leg. So much for fixing me up like new. I can’t even make a dramatic exit anymore.
My retreat is so slow that Oliver could take his time making a list of the pros and cons of telling me all about Mitte. Heck, my retreat is so slow he could work a crossword puzzle, knit a sweater, and then make his list. I only make it a few doors down before he speaks up.
“If you’re not going to take my word for it, then all I can do is wish you luck.”
I roll my eyes as I continue my slow progress down the hall.
“But if you’re still around later, maybe we could talk.”
“Okay,” I sigh, tired of the mystery. “I’ll be back eventually.”
We reach the front door together, which he swings outward with a flair. “Well, then, ‘eventually’ it is, ma’am. I hope.”
“Still not a ma’am!” I call out as I walk away.
The kids’ voices begin buzzing as soon as we near the shops on the fringe of downtown Mitte. Magnolia, who had just peeled her face from the window of the bakery, The Baking Mitte, looks practically combustible.
“Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou for bringing us, Lucy!” she trills as she spins in a circle and knocks into Tessa. Remembering her manners, Magnolia straightens the hem of her tank top and says, “Oops. Sorry, Tess.”
Tessa wrinkles her nose, driving her freckles together in a blob. She is ten years old, with stick-straight red hair, and has never spoken a word in the time I’ve been around her. Magnolia ignores her rebuttal and skips back to my side. “Can we get cookies on the way home? Miss Letty doesn’t let us have them.”
“I don’t know, Mags. Cookies and ice cream in one day? Letty might not let me take you anywhere ever again.” I laugh. “Besides, you’ve already got too much energy. I can’t keep up.”
“Too bad you can’t drive, Lucy,” Duke says. “You’re slow.”
“Hey!” I punch his arm. “I can drive better than you.” It’s not true. My driving is abysmal and the reason I’m stuck in Mitte. But Duke doesn’t know that.
A grin creeps across his face. “You know how to drive?”
“Yeah, but I . . . don’t drive.” My smile disappears as the truck’s horn blares in my mind. “Long story. But maybe I can teach you someday.” The words feel like a lie as soon as they trip off my lips. I’m not sure how I’ll ever get behind the wheel of another vehicle, not when I can still hear them dying in my memories.
“Oh. Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Duke mutters, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans.
I nudge his shoulder with mine. “Why not? Afraid a girl’s a better driver than you?”
He purses his lips and puts a step between us.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” I cup my hands around my mouth to make my voice louder. “Duke is intimidated by my mad skills!” Mad skills are an extreme exaggeration, but no one in Mitte knows about the accident. Never would, if I could help it.
“Am not,” he says. A fringe of ink-black bangs hides his eyes. “But you know they won’t let us drive, even if I was old enough.”
“Who won’t?” All I can picture is a room full of pruney town council members taking a vote on whether residents of Mitte were permitted to drive cars. The council members would unanimously agree that, no, cars were evil. Then they would jot that rule down next to the “no dogs” and the “no going outside after dark” rules.
“You’re kidding, right?” Duke scrunches up his face like I’ve sprouted a second head. Apparently I should already know the answer to my question. And, of course, he knows the answer. Everyone knows everything about this place except for me—so what else is new?
I sigh.
His lip curls into a sneer. “The Conductors would have our skin if we so much as touched the cars, you know that.”
“The Conductors?”
He snorts. “How hard did you hit your head?”
I smile but I have no idea what he’s talking about or, worse yet, who he’s talking about. Most of my time in this town I’ve spent alone, trapped in the house by a lack of sunlight or stupid broken bones. It’s difficult to learn the rules that way. Someone really ought to have given me the Mitte Handbook or something.
Ask him.
The thought flickers in my head only long enough for me to squash it flat like a bug. Duke thinks I know what I’m doing and, worse than that, he might even look up to me. I might even matter to him. I shake my head. No. I stopped mattering months ago when I became a broken thing in need of mending instead of a seventeen-year-old girl with dreams of her own.
Ask him. It might save you.
I bite my tongue and push the voice back into the furthest corner of my head. Of course I can’t ask him to give me Mitte 101, and why do I need to? Mitte’s just a close-minded, crazy little town identical to a thousand others. It’s the kind of town country songs whine about, the kind of town that suffocates kids like me until they find refuge in the bi
g city—any big city, take your pick.
My smile widens into a devious grin. I nudge him again with my elbow, pushing him off balance. “C’mon. What they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”
Duke’s eyes widen beneath their cover. “Someone would tell on us, Luce. You know they would. This place is bad enough.” He pauses and a tremor shakes his frame. “I can’t imagine being sent away, and I don’t want to.”
My insides scream at me to pull him aside and ask him exactly what he means by that, but my pride keeps my mouth shut. Being sent away sounds like a pretty good option to me, but Duke’s reaction convinces me to tuck away any thoughts of escape. For now.
The babbling voices of the fountain trickle down the street, interrupting a daydream in which I was running up the front steps of my old house and into my dad’s open arms. I push the lump in my throat down with a swallow, forcing myself to concentrate on the younger children, who are in the process of running into traffic.
Traffic. I snort. You mean scary-looking Angus sitting on the bench, cracking his knuckles through his gloves? The withered old lady shuffling down the center of the street in her threadbare housecoat? As long as no one breaks a hip here, I think we’re good.
I follow Magnolia’s golden head as it bounces away in the distance. Thankfully she opts for the safest path of several choices, the sidewalk across the street from the burly motorcyclist now giving me the evil eye. At least, I’m pretty sure he’s giving me the evil eye. No one else seems to notice his hostility—or maybe he’s always like this and they’ve grown used to it. I ignore Angus’ flesh-eating glare but speed up my hobble . . . just in case.
“Girl!” he barks.
Hop-step. Hop-step. Hop-step.
“Hey, you!” He tries again.
Hop-step. Hop-step. Hop-
“Quit runnin’ or whatever you wanna call that, freak!”
Step.
The tips of my ears heat up. I can’t argue my freakishness with Angus; I know he’s more right than wrong. Does he really have to say it out loud, though? Maybe someone within earshot hasn’t figured it out yet and he totally just clued them in.
In the Middle Page 6