Hideaway

by Nicole Lundrigan

  “That’s Telly’s decision. He’s still angry. We’re talking about it, but it’s up to him.

  “Telly has to choose. When he wants you out, you’ll be out.

  “You’re going to stay right here…Telly and I…we’ll figure out the story.

  “I told him everything. I did. I told him everything and it didn’t matter.

  “He has a new life now. A better life.

  “He doesn’t care.”

  He doesn’t care.

  I scratched my new spot. I knew the answer. Telly might not have spoken, but he still said plenty.

  “Rowan? I know how hard this is, but we want to get at the truth.”

  “Yes,” I said. “He knew I was down there. They were trying to teach me a lesson. Both of them decided on it and talked about it. Gloria and Telly. Telly and Gloria. They may seem like they’re apart, Detective Aiken, but their minds are always together.”

  The detective blinked. Then he took a big breath and blew it out. I tapped the rose fabric, smoothed it, tapped it again.

  “In all my years,” the detective said, “I’ve never come across anything like this. It’s—it’s…I can’t imagine a person who—” He put his notebook back in his pocket. “Thank you, Rowan. You’re a courageous young man.”

  I nodded, but it wasn’t a matter of courage. When those words had come out of my mouth it was the first time I felt strong. As though something solid was clinging to the shell that surrounded me. It would stick there and spread out. A thickening layer. Maybe I would stop dreaming about the basement. Stop dreaming about Gloria and Telly’s plan to get rid of me. Maybe, someday, I would forget.

  The detective asked a couple more questions. I told him everything I could remember. Then I saw Gran’s gray hair in the corner of the glass door again. Next her worried face. She knocked gently. Chicken was beside her. He pawed at the doorknob, and when the door swung open he rushed in, sat on my feet. Chicken was my dog now. One hundred percent.

  “Your grandmother’s right. We’ve spoken enough for today. I appreciate how much you’re helping us, Rowan. It’s not easy.”

  It wasn’t hard, either. Doing this. Being here with Maisy and Gran. It wasn’t hard at all.

  MAISY

  “Gloria always gave me medicine, too.”

  “Did she?”

  “It was green with vitamins because I could get a cough.”

  “Well, this is pink with no vitamins. But the doctor said it will help your lungs get all better.” Gran put a spoonful in my mouth.

  Gran’s place was different from home. It was too warm and had soft carpet and smelled like flowers, same as Mrs. Spooner’s. She let me sleep in Uncle Rick’s blue room because Uncle Rick lived far away. Rowan was in the room next to mine. Chicken didn’t have a corner downstairs, so sometimes he slept in with Rowan and sometimes he slept in with me. Gran said he didn’t play favorites.

  Gloria’s old bedroom was at the end of the hall. Gran kept that door closed, but when I peeked inside there was striped wallpaper and a huge bed with a top part, and a little white table with a mirror, and a whole shelf of dolls.

  Gran caught me being sneaky, but she didn’t get mad. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, real soft, “Don’t know why I kept them after your mom took off. Silly, really. Trying to hold onto better times.”

  I nodded.

  “Your mother was such a beautiful child.” Gran took a big breath. “Maybe I never told her often enough.” Then she put her other hand on her cheek. “Or maybe I told her too much.”

  She let me go in and pick out a doll. I found one that looked just like Jenny the Head, but she had a real body and arms and legs that moved. I liked that she had a place for her heart.

  “Hey, Turtle, what’s her name?” Rowan was standing at the door.

  “Little Jenny,” I said, and then I went out of Gloria’s room and into Uncle Rick’s. I closed the door.

  I couldn’t look at Rowan. Gran said he wanted to be friends, but he had to be angry about what I did. I didn’t let him out. I kept Gloria’s secret while he nearly burned up in the basement. My middle hurt so bad when I thought about it, and I thought about it all the time. That lady, Susan, came to see me at the hospital, and she said I saved his life, but I didn’t believe her. The firemen saved Rowan. I couldn’t even open the lock.

  Gran came into Uncle Rick’s room. She had an envelope in her hand.

  “It’s from someone named Sharlene? Was she your friend back in Little Sliding?”

  I nodded, and Gran gave me the letter. When she closed the door I tore open the envelope. The paper inside was purple with a kitten and string on the bottom.

  “Dear Maisy,” it said. “When are you coming back? Your house is all black, but Aunt Erma won’t let me go over. She makes it so boring here. Everyone at school wants to know what happened and what you did. Aunt Erma told Mrs. Murtry the cops caught your mom getting on the bus that night. She was trying to run away. Is that true? Mrs. Murtry’s mad she ever let your mom use her car.” I read as fast as I could. She told me to write her back and “tell her the whole story” so she could explain it to the girls. “They won’t stop asking! They think I should know everything cuz I’m your best friend!”

  There was a tiny note on the bottom of the page from Darrell. He said he hoped I was doing okay. He drew a smiley face with two little horns. So that was nice, but I still crumpled up the letter. I liked the one Rowan got from Mrs. Spooner a lot more. He left it on the kitchen counter and I could read almost all the words. She kept saying she was sorry, again and again. She said she knew something was wrong when she saw that sign with THEIF painted on it. “In the pit of my stomach, I knew.” She was “riddled with guilt” because she never did nothing. Never pushed. Then she said she prayed Rowan would never experience another moment of suffering in his entire life. He was a gifted writer, and she hoped he’d always keep his creative spirit. Those were her wishes for him. I read it twice, and even though I didn’t understand everything she meant, I knew for sure she didn’t mention me at all.

  “So?” Gran said when I went downstairs. “Do you want some fancy paper to write her back?”

  “No,” I said. “No, thank you.”

  Then Rowan was next to me, and it was hard to breathe.

  “Hey, look what I found in the attic.” He was holding a shoebox. “Uncle Rick’s old toys. Plastic boats.”

  Gran laughed. “Don’t I throw anything away?”

  “You’re too old to play with boats,” I said.

  “Says who? Let’s go put them in the pond.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to go outside with Rowan.

  “Yes, go on, Maisy,” Gran said. She was wearing an apron and holding a wooden spoon in her hand. It was covered in chocolate.

  “Do I got to?”

  “Yes, you do. It’s a beautiful day, and the doctor says you need fresh air.”

  Rowan took the shoebox full of toys and we went out the back door. Gran had a big backyard with a tall fence all around it. We went to the bottom of the yard and Rowan opened up a gate. There was a path behind it, and woods, too.

  “I don’t want to go in there.”

  Rowan took my hand and tugged me. “You can’t be afraid of everything, Maisy.”

  The gate clicked shut behind us.

  Some of the trees had sharp needles, but the other ones were tall and leafy with white trunks. When I looked up I saw some of the leaves were turned yellow. The woods felt kind of sleepy and quiet. I still didn’t like it.

  “Guess what?” Rowan said. “I made a buddy yesterday.”

  “How?” I said.

  “One of Gran’s friends. She has a grandson. We grabbed burgers, and his little sister happened to come along. And guess what? She’s the same age as you.”

  “Oh.” I kicked some pebbles, and dust came up.

  “I bet you’d like her. And don’t worry, she’s the exact opposite of Shar.” Rowan smiled. “Would be good to have
a friend for when you start school.”

  “We’re going to school here?”

  “Of course we are.” He bumped me on the head, but not hard. “We missed a few weeks, but it’ll be okay. And we’ll be in the same school, Turtle, if anyone bugs you. It goes all the way to grade twelve.”

  “Oh,” I said again.

  We walked along a wide path. It turned through the woods and at the end there was a small pond. Soft grass went all the way around it, and lily pads floated on the top. It wasn’t very deep and I could see all the way to the bottom.

  “There’s glass in there.” I pointed at the water. “Broken bottles.”

  “Who cares, Turtle? We’re not getting in.”

  Rowan found a stick on the ground and he went over and poked the trunk on one of the trees with needles. Then he came back and scraped shiny gunk onto the back of the boats.

  “Now watch.”

  He squatted down and I squatted down next to him, and one by one he put the boats in the water. They rushed away and rainbow lines spread out behind them.

  “Nice,” I said.

  “Yeah. Nice is just the right word.”

  A branch cracked behind us. I jumped and twisted to see.

  “It’s just the woods, Maisy,” he said, and he put his hand over my shoulder.

  I looked at the boats. They were still going.

  “And besides, you’re brave, remember?”

  I’m not brave, I whispered in my head.

  “Yes, you are,” he said and squeezed my arm.

  I put my face against Rowan’s shirt. My middle got a tiny bit warm.

  ROWAN

  I had to argue with Gran about it, and even though she was uncomfortable with my idea, she finally gave in. We didn’t tell Maisy. I knew she’d never want to go, but I didn’t want her to be afraid the entire time I was gone. It was better if I did this by myself.

  We dropped Maisy off at one of Gran’s neighbors and then drove onto the highway. It seemed like forever before I saw the sign Welcome to the Town of Little Sliding. When Gran turned onto Pinchkiss Circle I looked at where our house once stood. All I could see was a black scar. We crunched down the gravel driveway until Gran stopped the car on the grass. She shut off the engine and we both got out. Gran drew in a breath, put her hand to her mouth. I just stood there.

  With the exception of the red brick fireplace, our house was just a bunch of darkened stubs. The ground was littered with charred wood and ash and shards of exploded glass. Posts were hammered into the earth, and caution tape was tied in a rectangle around it all. A bright yellow bulldozer sat next to it. I guess someone was going to demolish what remained. Crush the walls of the basement. Eventually, a new house might rise up. Maybe new children would live there. A fluffy yellow dog with a full belly. A mother and father who were kind.

  I took a step forward, but Gran touched my arm. “Don’t,” she said. She pointed at the security tape. “It’s not safe.”

  I knew she wasn’t only talking about the ground beneath my feet. She also meant the memories. Of being trapped. Of being starved. Of nearly being burned alive by the ones who were supposed to love me best. Those memories weren’t safe.

  I looked out over the backyard. The trees behind the burned-out house were bright and alive and full of orange and red leaves.

  “I’ll be back,” I said to Gran.

  “And I’ll be waiting right here.” She reached out and touched my fingers. “Try not to be disappointed. Keep your expectations at bay.”

  I took my time walking through the woods. I touched the moss hanging from the trees. A short distance ahead, I watched a rabbit hop into a clearing. It paused for a moment and wiggled its ears. Crouching down, I noticed a rust-colored centipede tucked inside a groove on a fallen log. So many feathery legs. I took care to step over it. The air was fresh and cool, and when I closed my eyes I could hear the rustling wind pulling at the leaves and the electric hum of insects hiding in the canopy.

  After a while I reached the bridge. I pushed through the bushes that blocked the archway this side of the creek. A low fire burned. A man sat beside it, long gray beard, hood covering his face. He drove a stick into the flames.

  I stepped toward him. “Carl?”

  He glanced up at me. Not Carl. His face was skeletal and his mouth was a dark hole. “Leave off,” he yelled. “Leave off!”

  I stepped back. My stomach seized. Not with fear, but with something else. Almost hunger. Or maybe emptiness, which wasn’t quite the same thing. What was I thinking? The whole idea was pointless. After everything that had happened to him, why would Carl ever come back? But still, I’d had to check. Just in case he was there. In case he was waiting.

  A nip on my neck, and I slapped away a mosquito. I looked at my palm—a dot of wings and legs and blood marked the middle. I wiped it on my jeans. “Sorry,” I said to the man by the fire. “I’m not here to bother you. I was hoping to find my—to find my friend.” The man grumbled and stabbed the fire again.

  I was about to turn when I saw someone else squat down near the cement wall. An enormous rounded back covered by a familiar heavy coat that was dragging on the ground.

  “Carl?”

  “Urh.” The hulking mass shifted, but he didn’t turn his head. When I went closer, I could see it was him. His hands were digging through a pile of garbage. Cans and plastic wrappers and chicken bones and greasy boxes and newspapers and curled-up magazines.

  Above him, I noticed the graffiti was still there. Almost.

  “It’s me, Carl,” I said.

  “It’s me, Carl,” he repeated.

  “Yes, me.” I wanted him to look over. I wanted him to recognize me. To hear him call me Magic Boy.

  He mumbled something.

  “Carl?” When he stood up, his shoulders were stooped. His head hung down toward his chest at an angle, as though it was too heavy for his neck. He wouldn’t meet my eye.

  “No, no. You’ve got to. It’s not, urh, a big transitory period.” He scratched his beard. “When the birds come. Too many feathers and sometimes they get wet. Don’t have the exact documents, urh, for domestic flights.”

  None of what he said made sense. “Where’s Girl?” I interrupted.

  He froze then, patted his leg once, twice, but nothing came running toward him. “Gone. Gone. Government took her. When they took me. After I killed that boy.” He tapped the side of his head with his finger. Left a streak of something red. “Didn’t listen to me when I said the truth. Had to send him away. Keep him from getting harmed. Stan didn’t trust him.” He rubbed his pink eyes. “And then they turned me out. She wasn’t in the sunshine. Wasn’t snapping at the flies. Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t, urh, give her back when they turned me out, too. Don’t deserve her, they said. Don’t deserve her. All the metal bars and the fleas in the mattress and hair in the plastic glass of milk they gave me. And I don’t deserve her. Put her down, put her down. Government put her down.”

  My throat got tight.

  He knotted his swollen fingers, pushed them into his chest. “No protection from the Workers. No one, urh, watching out. Gone. Gone.”

  Tears pooled in my eyes. “I’m sorry, Carl. Girl was a good dog.”

  The man by the fire threw something heavy in among the flames. Sparks flew up. “Leave off!” he yelled again. “No-good bugger. Leave off, will you.”

  The dull ache in my stomach spread. My skin was warm, but inside I was cold. Girl was gone. How could they take away the one thing that made him feel safe? Guarded him? Called him back when his mind traveled too far toward darkness? He seemed so much worse than he was before. Rambling and twitching his fingers. Blinking like there was salt in his eyes.

  So much had happened to me, but so much had happened to Carl, too.

  “I—I just came to see if you were here,” I said. “To say hello.”

  “To say hello.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m going to go now, okay, Carl?”

&nbs
p; “Go.” He sat on the rocks, legs crossed, and wiped his hand underneath his nose. “Urh. Do you want to see your cards?”

  “If it’s okay,” I said. I sat opposite him. In one of these fine chairs. “That’d be great.”

  He dug his handkerchief out of his pocket and smoothed it on the ground. Then from another pocket he retrieved the cards. They were the same old ones. Faded and bent, the image of a woman in a flowing dress on the back. I chewed my lip. They’d destroyed his dog, but saved his deck of cards.

  “Urh,” he said. He shuffled the pack, held it out to me, and I tapped it three times with my pointer finger. Then he began snapping cards down in a row. Four, then five.

  “What do they say, Carl?”

  Gently, he touched each card with his finger. He didn’t hide them as he’d done before. “Bright times. Bright, bright, urh, bright times.”

  “For me?”

  “They say you’re going to be okay.” For a single moment, he looked me straight in the eye. Shy and uncertain. “You’re going to be okay. Now.”

  Carl plucked up the cards and tucked them away in a pocket. Then he stood up, turned his massive back to me, continued digging through the mound of trash. He found a can and shook it into his palm. Something plopped into his hand and he put it in his mouth. I stood there, waiting.

  “Thanks,” I said, but he didn’t answer. “Carl?” He kept picking through the garbage. I don’t think he heard me. “Bye, Carl. Goodbye.”

  I turned around and walked through the woods toward Gran. All I could think about was Carl’s last word. Now. It might have meant absolutely nothing, or it might have meant that somewhere deep inside of him, he knew me.

  I lowered my head. That was all I wanted, really. The same thing as most everyone else. To be out in the open. To be regarded. To be seen.

  MAISY

  “She’s still claiming some legal right,” Gran told Dr. Westerly. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

  I was waiting outside Dr. Westerly’s office, but the door was open just a bit. I visited her two times every week. Susan called Gran before I started school and told Gran it was a good idea. The first couple of visits I didn’t like it, but Dr. Westerly already taught me some things. I learned how to “read my middle.” That way I knew when I was getting upset, and I could do things to calm down. She also made me talk to “the girl from Pinchkiss Circle.” At first I thought it was dumb, but the more I talked to that girl, the more I talked back. It was a big surprise when I told myself I was scared all the time. I got even more scared when it was just me and Gloria, and Rowan was gone and Telly was gone. Then I was scared every single second. Dr. Westerly said being afraid made my heart go fast and my head go sparkly. “But now that we know, Maisy, we can figure out ways to make things better.”