It’s a beautiful room with a knotty pine bed frame and a matching rocker. The queen-sized bed has a plaid comforter in navy and red. There are pictures of mountains on the walls and a four-foot-high teddy bear sits in the corner. I laugh when I see him.
“We wanted a big bed in this room for guests, but unfortunately that means the dresser has to go in the closet. It’s crowded enough without it.” She walks in after me and slides open the closet door.
Inside is a matching dresser. The wood is so rugged and beautiful; I rub my hand up and down the bedpost.
“The Bible says,” Janet whispers and I stand straight. “That whenever a sparrow falls to the ground, the Lord sees.”
It sounds a little rehearsed, like she has said it a thousand times.
She smiles and reaches around me. I don’t return her hug. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. Use the bathroom, freshen up...”
Before she leaves the room, she turns and smiles one more time. For all her effort, I finally return a smile I don’t feel.
Imagine thinking that “the Lord” sees anything.
The image of my flute flashes in my mind. All of a sudden I’m just thinking about it—picturing it. Did “the Lord” know where my flute was and take me there? Seriously, how random was that? It does seem like the universe brought me back to it.
Hayden eats dinner with us and stays for a game called Scattergories. I win. Leah’s parents seem to be waiting around awkwardly. Hayden announces that he will be back for me in the morning with his friend. I’m glad he doesn’t say “the detective.” But I get the feeling the Jones family already knows. It feels like the first night when the social workers dumped me at Thom and Lorna’s. Except tonight I got dinner.
I want to tell Hayden not to leave me, but it becomes obvious that Leah’s parents are waiting for that very thing so they can go to bed. Leah and I walk him to the door. I wish I could say good-bye to him alone. Leah seems to want the same thing. I settle for standing behind her and wonder: to which one of us is he waving?
When he climbs into his truck, Leah turns to me and says, “His Asperger’s is really mild around you.”
“Oh?” I don’t know what she means, but I hate that she knows more about him than I do.
“I’m going to put on pajamas.” She takes the stairs two at a time.
At this point, I realize I never brought in my clothes from the back of Hayden’s truck. I don’t have anything to sleep in, or to wear tomorrow. I won’t even think about how my mouth will feel without brushing. I go to the kitchen and pour myself a drink of water. It feels clean and quiet, only lit by the numbers on the microwave. 9:13. It has been dark for more than an hour. The perfect order in this room makes me linger.
Not sure if I can take water into my room, I drain the glass and set it in the sink. I leave the kitchen and meet Leah back in the living room. She wears a matching flannel pajama set with stars and clouds in a pale blue background. In her hands is a pink and orange, paisley suitcase.
“I don’t need it anymore.” Leah lifts her arm. She won’t meet my eyes, but her smile is sincere. “My parents got me a matched set last Christmas.”
What is she talking about?
“Um, your clothes are just in a trash, er, bag…I thought you might—Hayden brought your stuff in for you. It’s on your bed, in your room.”
Leah said, “your bed.” My bed. I lived in the trailer with Thom and Lorna more than eight years, and the last thing Lorna said to me was that the room—the dresser weren’t mine.
I walk to the bedroom without answering her. Hayden did bring my trash bag. It mars the middle of the beautiful comforter.
Hayden.
Leah’s soft voice sounds behind me. “Could you use it?” She holds out the suitcase. It has a little silver circle on the front with the letters “L” and “J” in script. I start to shake my head.
“I was just going to give it to the second hand store, really, I don’t need it.” She pushes it into my hands. “Wanna stay up and watch a movie?”
“Sure.” I test the zipper and trace one of the paisley swirls. “Let me change out of these jeans, get ready for bed.” I try to hurry when I repack all of my clothes in the lovely bag.
The room is so comfortable, not just because of the nice furniture. Lorna probably spends more on decorating and knickknacks, so it isn’t money. There’s something else, something ethereal. What would it have been like to grow up in a place where you were protected? That isn’t the right word. I was never hit again, once I moved in with Thom and Lorna. But take this suitcase for example, it’s almost symbolic of how Leah’s parents provided for her in every way.
I mean, you could conquer the world with that.
Just for a minute I pretend the room is mine and that I never have to leave, that the initials on the suitcase were chosen for me. Then I slip out of my jeans and see the ugly underneath. Brody’s teddy. Billboards, signs on taxicab roofs, fliers. Soon everyone will see…
Halfway through a black and white movie called, “Father of the Bride,” Leah falls asleep. I don’t mind, it was stupid. I return to my room and close the door. The zipper on the paisley suitcase is taut. It won’t last long if I stress it so I take all of my clothes out and repack them to fit neater. The bag looks unused. I’ve never owned anything like it. It won’t replace my Jansport backpack though, because I have had that since I lived in Oklahoma with my dad. A few pieces of clothing end up in my backpack with my flute and the book I borrowed from Cori.
I pull out Cori’s Steinbeck and rub my hand across the cover. Life for poor Kino and Juana has only gotten worse since Kino pulled up the enormous pearl—the one thing that should have made everything perfect.
The house is silent and my body aches from lying on my side. Sleep would help, but I want to know what happens. And reclaim the time the old movie took.
A pearl diver finds a pearl, so benign.
As I read, I start to fear the pearl—maybe it really is an agent of evil. What else has brought the wickedness out of everyone around them?
At the end, I want to cry when Kino throws it back into the sea, but I’m not sure if it’s from loss or relief.
Chapter 16
My dreams were not escape last night but jumbled, incomplete images—I still danced, only not on a mountain. Feathers and bits of white music did not rain on me like the good dreams lately. I danced dirty—in the cold—and no amount of movement warmed me.
“She’s a mature girl.” Mrs. Jones’s muffled voice pleads more than declares.
Where is it coming from?
“What fellowship has darkness and light?” Leah’s dad’s words are clearer.
I lay on my back with my hair fanned out and my arms wide open, afraid to move. Their fears blow through the heater vent, hot little puffs of insult.
“Bad influence.”
“Freeload?”
“Stripper.”
“Worldly.”
“Drugs?”
“Protect our daughter.”
The pillow provides a nice block. I smash it into the side of my face when I roll over. The radio alarm clock says 6:03 a.m. Is this how early they get up to go to church?
Why am I surprised? Hayden promised they would take me in; he didn’t promise it would last. All I agreed to was one night—now I’ll talk to the detective friend of Hayden’s, and tonight I’ll be in my own place.
In a weird way, it pleases me. Leah is soft and generous. She should be sheltered. Thom and Lorna never asked if I had friends. Never asked where I found a job. Her parents love her.
It could be worse. My life isn’t like Kino’s. The check that sits in my wallet will provide a home for me. Freedom.
It’s ten o’clock when I wake again, this time to the doorbell.
I slip on my clothes and race to the front door before it rings a fourth time. Hayden stands on the doorstep with a cardboard cup holder that balances two paper cups. In his right hand is a small bag.
His grin is crooke
d and questioning. “Espresso and scones?”
“Coffee?”
His scarred lip lightens. “Don’t you like espresso?”
“You brought one for me?”
One of his eyebrows arches a little higher than the other and his eyes widen. Hayden teases me.
“Come in.” I’ll learn to like espresso.
I close the door, and he locks it with the hand that holds the scone bag.
“Everyone else is gone?”
I don’t think he looks afraid when he asks this, but he is definitely uncomfortable.
“Yeah, I think they all went to church.”
“Of course.” He looks from side to side as if considering where to go.
“That’s the garage,” I point to our left, then the right. “And I believe that is Leah’s parents’ room.” He still acts self-conscious, even though he knows the layout of the Jones’ house better than me.
“Up is the only place we can go.” I lift my whole hand to point to the stairs.
Hayden just says “Um.”
“What?”
“We’re alone.” He mumbles it. Those words, from anyone else, would sound like an invitation or a prelude to fooling around. But from Hayden, they sound like a warning.
“What time is your detective friend coming?”
“Between ten-thirty and eleven.”
“Well, unless you brought enough for him, we should go eat.”
Hayden follows me up the stairs. When I get to the top, he says, “Being alone together…your reputation.”
I block him from leaving the stairs and put my hands on his shoulders. He smiles at first, but then stiffens. I lean forward and kiss him gently on his scar. There, I have done it and I don’t have to obsess about it forever. He doesn’t respond, except for a slight blush on his neck and ears.
“Hayden, anyone who knows you would not make a consideration about my reputation. It’s yours that you need to worry about.” I smile. I may be in control. But right now I’m not sure that I always like it.
I walk to the kitchen and wait by the table.
Hayden sets down the cups and bag. “What do you mean anyone who knows me?”
Tingles prick at my temples, but I don’t look down. I challenge him with my gaze. “You don’t even know how to respond when someone kisses you, so what makes you think I’m worried about my reputation?”
Hayden takes a deep breath. I can tell he’s calculating his words carefully and will respond in the most appropriate, righteous…
His mouth presses mine and my lips part involuntarily. I never imagined a kiss could feel like this. He trembles like restraint is warring against power. My knees bend a little, but he holds me up so that our lips don’t have to separate.
The doorbell rings and we part. I can hear my own breath and I see his broad chest rise and fall in sync. His unblinking amber eyes connect with something inside me and we stare at each other in mutual surprise until the doorbell rings again. Hayden turns and leaps down the stairs.
Detective Graves is only an inch or two taller than me. He doesn’t look like someone who would be a friend to Hayden. His nails are perfect, filed ovals; his frame is smallish but has an almost distended gut, as if he has been naturally thin his whole life but recently started gaining weight. His dress shirt has a crease from shoulder to wrist, and there is another starched fold down the front of his slacks. I wonder how he drove here without sitting down. There are no wrinkles on him.
“Sparrow, I’m Detective Graves.” His voice is higher than I expected. He knows my name—what else does he know?
I realize I haven’t looked in his face yet and when I do, I see the pockmarked cheeks first. Second, eyes like Hayden’s. Different color, but still…assessing, sharp. I know he evaluated every superficial thing about me while I was noticing him. Can he even tell my lips were just kissed? I lick them on accident and glance at Hayden, then back to the detective.
Detective Graves could pick me out of a lineup now, just like Hayden could the waitress. I close my eyes and can’t remember a detail about his face. What good is it to know he is fastidious and uptight? He intimidates me and Hayden says to notice more rather than less when that happens.
“I work with Reno P.D.” He holds out a badge with a steady arm. I stare at the gold word, “DETECTIVE,” riding a tiny blue banner at the top of a real looking sheriff’s star. Like in the old west. Only, it doesn’t say sheriff. It says “Reno Police Department.”
“The other detective never showed me a badge.”
“Yes, Hayden said that you thought you were interviewed.” The detective proceeds to scrutinize the room like he did to me.
Thought?
I ease onto the couch and arch my back. It takes help from my hands to stop my knees from shaking but I indicate for him to take the seat next to me. He flinches a little. But I sat first, before he could make a decision. “I was interviewed.” The words weren’t meant to be disrespectful—at least I didn’t mean to show it. “In the hospital.”
Detective Graves sits on the couch so close to the edge that it looks like he is hovering.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Recounting the events becomes difficult because they blur together like a bad dream. I hear the music. It strikes my eardrums in time with my heartbeat, the song Lexi danced to—I can’t understand the words. The truck driver, or undercover cop I guess, has blond, stringy hair and wears a flannel shirt. He has a bloody wound which leaks where he lays. Cassie’s face: horror. Even Buzz is afraid. His greasy, curly hair is short in the front and long in the back. Brita needs help—she begs me for it with her eyes. Huge hands, kind of fat. He reaches for me.
“Sparrow?” How does Hayden shine so? He is the sun’s rays, a lighthouse—he always breaks through. My cheeks are wet. Hayden looks to the detective. “Get her some water.”
Detective Graves leaves the room. I try to sit up, away from the couch, but Hayden holds my shoulder. “Rest.” His warm hand cups my face. Will he kiss me again? His thumb does in a way by erasing the tears on my cheek. I need your light, Hayden.
Behind him, Graves grips a cup of water so tight his dark fingers lighten. I want to block my vision of the detective, but it’s like viewing an accident. His chest swells and I hear his breath escape through his nose. Black, trimmed eyebrows arch, but then overcompensate his surprise by lowering. I see only half of the black pearls of his eyes. His lip tightens on one side, working together with his eyebrows to hide his nose. He has a very round face, with almost no chin, but it curves into his chest. Now the white of his eyes are gone.
“He is a thundercloud, Hayden.”
“Yes, well…” Hayden doesn’t turn to look at the detective. Maybe he already knows.
Detective Graves looks for a place to set the water. It takes a minute before he finds a coaster.
“Thank you for your time.” The detective dismisses us both.
When Hayden stands to walk with him, I feel weak. I want to rise and follow, but find myself staring at ripples in the glass of water made by their retreating steps. The detective must be stomping.
When the door downstairs closes louder than necessary, I’m finally able to stand. I walk to the window in the kitchen, over the garage.
“You think your relationship is ethical?” I can’t hear Hayden’s voice, but the detective flings his composure with his flailing hands. “Sorry, not a credible witness, not even a stable mind.”
Hayden has one hand on his hip and the other wipes from his forehead to his crown.
Detective Graves seems to relax and puts a hand on Hayden’s shoulder. There is a familiarity of friendship. “As your brother in Christ…”
Hayden shakes his head.
“You can’t save Sabine.” Detective Graves puts his hand up like a traffic cop.
“That’s not what this is about,” Hayden says something in Spanish and crosses his arms.
Detective Graves looks away and says, “Isn’t it
?” I can’t hear how he finishes, so I move the curtain. The detective’s dark eyes shine in my direction. Again, I’m caught, unable to look away from his stare.
“Hayden.” He pretends his words are for Hayden while he stares at me. “You’ll lose credibility, maybe even your job. And if you continue to gallivant around with a stripper, you can remove my reference and you’ll never get hired with Reno P.D. I won’t stick my neck out for a professing Christian who dates hookers.”
My head spins and I can’t distinguish Hayden’s reply. I have to use the kitchen counter for support as I step back. I thought Hayden was my light, but the curse follows. It taints everything I touch, everyone who touches me.
Adrenaline is a good thing, if you know how to use it. I intend to master this strange body function. When my heart races and my hands shake, I breathe. Slow and steady. Counting my steps helps, too. The front door slams.
With my backpack slung over my shoulder and my new bag in my other hand, I peek out the living room. There’s a beep in the kitchen; maybe Hayden reheats the coffee we didn’t drink. There won’t be any breakfast for us. Water rushes from the faucet in the kitchen.
I take the stairs two at a time.
The sidewalk is bright under today’s sun. There was a park on the way into the subdivision. Fortunately, I paid attention yesterday. Two days ago, I wouldn’t have. Now I have Hayden to thank for that. At the park, I rest on a green bench, sitting on my new bag. My face tingles from pleasure as I face the sun. I would be content to live outside, in a park, if only it would never turn dark. This is so rejuvenating from the Detective Graves ordeal. Why do I have these panic attacks?
Would Thom be able to come and get me? Probably not, even if I could find a way to call him. When I was a child, there were still payphones at parks. Not anymore.
It only takes a few minutes—of course, I have no idea what time it is—before I’m uncomfortably warm. Really, the mid-seventies is an ideal temperature, but the weight of my luggage and backpack combined with the sun makes me think about the last time I had water. It was before I went to bed. Okay, so I’ll add to my list today: an apartment, a cell phone, a watch and a water bottle. I’m not sure how far my money will go, since I have never had this much to spend before. But I do have a little over sixteen-hundred, counting the six-hundred and thirty-three dollars left from the two weekends I actually danced.
Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) Page 12