Tessa (From Fear to Faith)
Page 9
“Look, Tess, we can hardly afford to take care of ourselves right now. I’m afraid pets are out of the question.”
“But Mom, Genny eats almost nothing. I’ll pay for it. I’ll keep my door closed so you can’t smell her. I’ll scrub her cage as often as I have to. You can’t make me get rid of her!”
“I’m not gonna fight with you, Tessa. I’ve got my hands full with Walter. But that mouse has to go. I’ll drive you out to the farm tomorrow.”
I felt like my heart was being ripped in two. I sank down on my bed, covering my face to muffle the sobs. How could Mom be so cruel? Couldn’t she see that I needed Genevieve?
After a time, my tears subsided. I heard Genevieve rooting around in the debris in the bottom of the can. Then she caught sight of me and stood up on her hind legs, jumping and begging to be lifted out. Fresh tears spilled down my cheek as I reached into the can. If only I could keep her secretly! But none of the scenarios I pictured had a good ending.
Maybe it’s for the best, I consoled myself. At least she’ll be safe at the farm. Otherwise, who knows what will happen to her when I run away.
I watched Genevieve streak across my bed and leap to the floor. I quickly shut the door and checked to make sure the furnace vent was plugged with a piece of cardboard.
The one thing that continued to delay my plans to leave home was my inability to find the car key. I had checked Mom’s purse. I had combed her drawers. I had even searched her pants pockets while she lounged on the couch in her bathrobe, but without success. Where could she be keeping it – on a string around her neck? Knowing her, she might be. And if so, I would never get it.
16
I had a hard time falling asleep that night. Genevieve was making a lot of noise, which didn’t help. I kept thinking about her and how much I was going to miss her. Though I felt ridiculous crying over a mouse, I couldn’t stop the ache inside. Hours crawled by. At last, exhausted from sleeplessness and crying, I rose and downed one of Mom’s sleeping pills. Back in bed, I soon sank into a dreamless slumber.
I awoke with a jerk, my heart pounding. I could hear muffled voices and the thud of something heavy hitting our front door. Terrified, I stumbled out of bed to check the bolts on my bedroom door, then with shaking hands groped through the darkness for my clock. Four thirty. I stood trembling, clutching the clock, too terrified even to call out to Mom. A thief would never make this much noise. It had to be someone with more sinister intents.
The thuds were soon followed by the crack of splintering wood. Dropping to my knees, I began frantically pulling the stuff out from underneath my bed. It was a pretty obvious hiding place, but I had nothing better.
There was a final splintering sound, then a window-jarring bang as the heavy front door slammed against the wall. I dove under the bed, making sure all of me was completely out of sight. I lay panting, listening to the heavy tread of footsteps in the next room. A man coughed harshly. Then Mom’s bedroom door creaked open.
“Walter Miner!” she exploded. “What do you think you’re doing!”
I crawled out from under the bed, still shaking, drenched with sweat and disbelief. It was Walter? How crazy could he get?
Walter’s usually deep voice was husky and thick, as if he had laryngitis. “Don’t think you can lock me out of my own house. I’ve got ways of getting in.”
“What are you talking about? Where are your keys?”
“Never mind my keys. I’m looking for something.” I could hear his footsteps going toward the kitchen.
“Where have you been, anyway?” Mom demanded. “You promised me you’d work on the furniture!”
“Leave me alone. I’m busy.” Walter’s voice was muffled by the rattling of pans. It sounded as if he was digging through the stove drawer.
“You’re busy,” she spat. “I bet. Did you ever start Vicks’ bookcase?”
There was a screech and a thump as he pulled the drawer all the way out.
“Look,” she said. “The phone bill is due. The electric bill is due. So is the rent, the car insurance, and almost everything else… Are you listening to me?”
“You better get going on it,” he said, slamming the drawer shut.
“Me! Where do you expect me to get the money?”
Walter murmured something unintelligible. I heard shuffling noises, followed by a slammed cupboard door. “What the hell did you do with my beer?” Walter exclaimed. Although louder now, his voice retained its tortured, raspy quality.
“Forget your stupid beer. If you don’t pay the rent pretty soon, we’re gonna be homeless, you hear?”
“Quit bugging me!” Walter shot back. “I hate coming home, and I hate you! All you wanna do is fight.”
“You don’t care, do you.” Mom’s voice shook with anger. “You don’t care about a single damn thing except your drugs. How about if I tell all your customers what’s really going on. You want me to do that? Do you?”
I didn’t want to listen to this. It was the same old fight they’d had the other morning. I switched on a light and changed out of my sweat-soaked pajamas. I was so exhausted from the stress that I felt sick. I climbed back into bed, turning the radio on close to my ear to cover my parents’ voices. I lay awake for a long time, finally drifting into an uneasy sleep around dawn.
***
I slept until almost noon. When I ventured out for breakfast, the first thing I noticed was the armchair propped against the front door. Except for a few dents, the door itself seemed intact; but the frame around the latch was all splintered away. It looked like Walter had used a crowbar on it.
I found Mom in the kitchen, dusting and reorganizing the pantry. “What happened?” I asked.
“Oh, not much. I threw his beer out and he’s mad. I’ll fix the door later. Say, how’d you like to go out to eat? Turkey and dressing and everything?”
Her offer surprised me. With all the trouble, I had forgotten it was Thanksgiving. “Sure. That’d be great,” I said.
“Good. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready. Oh, and don’t forget the mouse. We’ll stop by the farm on the way.”
Back in my bedroom, I pulled on a nicer sweater, brushed out the tangles in my hair, and lured Genevieve into her nest box with a piece of walnut. Taping the lid down securely to prevent mishaps, I hurried out to the car where Mom sat waiting.
Light rain spattered the windshield as Mom turned the car around and started down the driveway. But almost immediately, she slammed on the brakes. I looked up. My breath caught in a gasp. Coming up the driveway right at us was Walter’s truck. The left headlight was smashed out and the fender badly dented. He swerved only inches in front of us and parked crosswise in the driveway.
“Where do you two think you’re going?” he demanded, leaning out the window.
“None of your business!” Mom yelled back.
Rage leaped into Walter’s eyes. He flung the door wide to jump out. It scraped the hood of the Grand Am and caught fast. Mom jammed the car into reverse. With a squeal of metal, the vehicles separated, leaving a deep scratch on the hood of the otherwise sharp-looking car.
Walter was livid. He ran up and pounded on my window. Mom hit the gas, and we tore out through the front yard, crashing right through the patch of wild raspberries that bordered the road. Once on the blacktop, she floored the pedal.
I was shaking, and it wasn’t from the crazy ride. “Think he’ll follow us?” I asked.
Mom’s face was pale. “Who knows. I’m not taking any chances.”
That she wasn’t. From where I sat I could no longer see the needle on the speedometer, which told me she was going at least seventy-five. I felt dizzy. I’d never gone this fast on the back roads, even with Walter.
Several miles down the road, she eased up. “Look at that,” she announced, casting one final glanc
e in the rearview mirror.
“What?”
“We did it. Thanksgiving dinner coming up, and no Walter in sight.” She slowed the car to negotiate a left turn.
I tried to laugh, but fear choked the sound. I didn’t want to see the fight this would cause. My hand touched the box on my lap. I could feel a quivering inside it, and it made me want to cry. Oh, why wouldn’t Mom let me keep the mouse?
Mom pulled into the gravel driveway of the old farm and parked in front of the steel gate. “No Trespassing,” she read. “Well, who will know. Go on, Tess.”
The rain was coming down harder now, pelting the car roof. I pulled my jacket closer around me and stepped out into the cold. A gooseberry bush clawed at my sleeve as I scooted around the gate. A squirrel nosing through the thick carpet of leaves dashed for a tree, chattering noisily. I kept walking. Ahead of me, half hidden by a giant box elder tree, stood a pole shed full of junk cars. Maybe Genevieve could live in there.
I ducked under a low-hanging branch and stepped inside. The shed smelled of musty hay and generations of mice. I skirted an old tub heaped with tires, stumbled over a rusty bucket full of chains, and squeezed around a station wagon with a smashed windshield as I made my way toward a row of dusty hay bales along the wall.
Setting the box on a bale, I raised the top. Genevieve sat still for a brief moment, her ears flat and her eyes bright with mischief. Then she scurried over the side and disappeared behind the bales.
My eyes filled with tears. “Bye, Genny,” I said softly. “You be careful now. Live a nice long life and have lots of babies.” Turning, I slipped out and ran all the way back to the car.
17
Dinner that day turned out to be quite different from what I had expected. Mom had found a church in Northford that was advertising a free meal to whoever wanted to come. By the time we arrived, the parking lot was jammed. We had to park on the street and walk. Just inside the main entrance, a large sign directed us to the basement, where we joined a double line of at least a hundred people.
The line crawled along, giving me time to observe the people around me. There was the older man in a tattered jacket, carrying a dirty canvas gym bag. The lady with a tight-fitting bandanna on her head, herding three young children ahead of her. The girl my age wearing baggy sweatpants and an oversized pink coat. The short man behind us who couldn’t stand still and laughed at the slightest amusement.
I felt seriously uncomfortable. I knew Mom had been fussing a lot about money, but we couldn’t be this hard up.
Beside me, Mom kept fidgeting and shifting her purse. I leaned close and whispered, “What are we doing here?”
She just raised her eyebrows. “You wanted dinner, didn’t you?”
“Well yeah, but . . . here?”
“You know a better place?”
She was skirting my questions again, the way she usually did. It was frustrating. “I thought you didn’t like churches,” I faltered.
Mom’s face reddened. She shrugged and faced ahead toward the kitchen, where several ladies were busy dishing up plates of food.
The truth hit me hard. All that arguing about unpaid bills wasn’t just Mom’s attempt to coerce Walter into working. It was real. We could have stayed home and had another meal of condensed soup and tuna fish sandwiches. But we were here because Mom wanted to give me the Thanksgiving dinner I’d asked for.
A lump filled my throat. Mom did care about me. She just didn’t show it in the ways I usually wanted.
Like everyone else, Mom and I received foam plates heaped with roast turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, and squash. There was even a spoonful of cranberry sauce. I paused to pick up a glass of punch before taking a seat at one of the long tables in the next room.
As I dug into my plate of food, I began to relax. Nobody was paying us any attention. Lively music poured from the speakers at the far end of the room, blending with the din of conversation. Across my mind flashed the thought that Walter would never find us here. I was safe.
A crushing weight lifted from my spirit. I’m safe. I repeated the strange words to myself. I’m really and truly safe. Walter cannot get me.
Happiness bubbled up inside me. I found myself smiling. Is this how everybody else feels all the time?
The wonderful feeling stayed with me until we got in the car and started home. I didn’t dare say so to Mom, but somehow I knew the peace I’d felt had come from God.
18
Five inches of fluffy snow fell in Northford the night of December first, ushering in winter and the beginning of the holiday season. I forced myself to laugh and joke with my friends at school, but a sense of foreboding plagued me. Every time someone mentioned Christmas, I got a cold feeling inside, as if it wasn’t going to happen this year.
“Guess what Mom’s getting me for Christmas,” Sandy boasted over lunch one day. “A digital camera – one of those fancy ones – and all the lenses.”
“Don’t you already have a camera?” I asked.
“Yeah, but it’s junk. The pictures it takes are all grainy. If I’m gonna be a professional photographer, I need the right equipment.”
Lois sighed dreamily. “You’re lucky. I want so many things I don’t know where to start. What I would really like is a snowmobile, but Dad’s been tough to convince. He keeps saying I’m not old enough.” She rolled her eyes. “How about you, Tess? What do you want?”
“She needs a smart phone,” Sandy pronounced. “Poor Tess, stuck somewhere back in the Stone Age. Wake up.”
I laughed, though the comment stung. “I can’t help it. My dad thinks I’m not old enough.”
“Are you serious? Even my three-year-old brother can work those things. Last night he got on his monster site with Mom’s phone and downloaded something. She’s still trying to figure out how to get rid of it.”
“Good grief, don’t tell that to my dad or I’ll never get one,” I said. “Do you know what he gave me for my birthday last spring?”
“What?” Lois leaned forward eagerly.
“A Barbie doll.”
“Yuck. What’d you do with it?”
“What do you think? I didn’t even take it out of the box; just threw the whole works in the garbage.”
Lois’s face fell. “Aww. That’s so lame. You should have saved it to play tricks on him. You know, wait til Christmas when all your relatives are there, then wrap it up and give it to him as a present. Wouldn’t that be funny!”
I couldn’t see much humor in Lois’s suggestion. Playing a trick that made Walter look stupid in front of others would be akin to teasing a mama grizzly bear. But both my friends were laughing, so I joined in.
Sandy put her hand on my arm. “Hey, listen. A bunch of us are going to Alyssa’s place tomorrow night for a slumber party. Why don’t you come too? We’re gonna watch movies and play games and–”
“Laugh so hard we throw up, probably,” Lois finished.
I shook my head. “I’d really like to,” I said. “But…”
“But you gotta ask Mommy,” Lois teased.
“I didn’t say that. What I meant was I’m busy tomorrow night.”
“Aww, come on,” Sandy groaned. “Doing what? Sharpening your stone tools?”
My face burned. Having to turn down invitations was painful enough without being teased on top of it.
“We’ve got people invited over,” I lied. “I have to help with dinner.”
“So tell your mommy you got something else going on. Come on, Tess,” Sandy coaxed. “It’s gonna be loads of fun. Doesn’t your mom ever let you do anything?”
“I tell you what,” Lois said. “Don’t say anything to her. Tomorrow I’ll lend you my cell phone, since you don’t have one, and you can call her up and tell her what you’re gonna do. She’ll have to say yes.”
“I guess it’s kind of short notice for you,” Sandy apologized. “Alyssa sent all of us a text last night.”
“See?” said Lois. “Tell your mom she has to get you a phone for Christmas, or you’ll never speak to her again. I should have saved my old one for you; it would be better than nothing.”
I forced a smile as I shoved my chair back and picked up my empty tray. Inside I felt like punching someone. My friends had parents who gave them pretty much whatever they wanted – within reason, anyway. Mom never gave me anything. Oh, sure, she supplied me with basic necessities, and she saw to it that I had presents at Christmastime – stuff like sweaters and candy and cheap jewelry. But when it came to the important things, smart phones and fashionable clothes and blank checks, I was sunk before I even asked.
“Wait, Tess.” Lois caught my elbow. “Before you disappear for the afternoon, you’ve got to answer my poll question.”
“What question?”
“You know. What are you hoping to get for Christmas?”
I shook my head. “For Pete’s sake, Lois, that’s still weeks away. Give it a rest.”
“But I need your answer so I can finish my class project.”
“Well, then just come up with something.”
Lois looked hurt. “Tess, please. Everybody else is giving me feedback. What’s eating you anyway? I thought we were friends!” She turned her back and began questioning the next student passing by, who happened to be Janet. I lingered a moment, curious what her answer would be.
“My parents always surprise us,” Janet said. “I haven’t the faintest clue what they’ll get me.”
“If you had to pick something, what would it be?” Lois pressed her.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a box of chocolate truffles.”