“Child neglect? Delinquency of a minor? Come on, I’m fine.” A sense of dread choked her. Things weren’t so bad here. Didn’t they see how clean she kept her room?
“Look at where you’re sitting right now. A responsible adult would not have put you in this situation.” Officer Decker pierced her with a knowing look. Libby slumped against the seat, temporarily out of words to argue.
The officer turned forward, picked up her radio and clicked the side button. “Officer Decker at number 4319 County Road T. Need Dell County Social Services for system placement of a sixteen-year-old female.”
The radio crackled. “Local placement isn’t possible until after the holiday weekend. You’ll be looking at transfer placement to a group home in Milwaukee County.”
Libby shot forward, grabbing the metal divider that kept her from the horrible radio. “What do you mean group home?” She gripped the thick metal and shook it to get the officer’s attention. “You can’t send me to a group home. Please, I can’t go there.” Her dread exploded into full-scale panic. Bad things happened at those places.
“Headquarters, have Social Service contact me on the private line.” The officer glanced at Libby as she spoke, then replaced the radio piece to the console.
“Please listen. My dad needs to know where I am. If I’m not here, he won’t know how to find me.” She rattled the divider, wanting to crawl through to the other side and knock sense into the stubborn woman.
“I’m sorry, but there’s no other way. You said yourself there isn’t anyone else to step in. No family, no neighbors, no friends. You’ll be fine,” she said in a tone that told Libby she didn’t believe her own words. “Sit tight, I’ll be back after finishing up your transfer arrangements.” She opened the door to the patrol car.
“Wait! Don’t go.” She needed to convince the officer to let her stay at the farmhouse. She couldn’t let them send her away.
Officer Decker offered a strained smile but exited the car, shutting the door firmly. Libby pounded on the metal divider like a criminal gone berserk. She imagined she’d live with her aunt until graduation or until her dad came back. This was beyond horrible. Her life was spinning into a total disaster. How could her dad leave her to this?
Chapter 17
“Pass the gravy, would ya buddy,” Peter said to his young cousin Ryan.
They’d gathered around the Thanksgiving table with the large extended family. Peter wondered about Libby stuck with her crazy aunt. He doubted a turkey dinner was involved. All he could picture was her alone thinking he dumped her. He tried to call her using another phone, but the asshole, Garrett, had canceled the cell service to her number. Now Peter had to wait until the next day to get Libby’s service reinstated and to replace his phone.
“This one’s empty.” Ryan looked up at him with angelic eyes.
“Here, Peter. There’s plenty in this bowl.” Carly, his Uncle Steve’s stepdaughter, offered another bowl of steaming turkey gravy. She delivered a coy smile and all but batted her eyes. Peter pretended not to notice. He didn’t want to encourage her.
Determined to bury his worry about Libby, he stuffed himself with food. Usually he loved Thanksgiving, but this year, the gathering of twenty odd people was more than he could handle. He took the bowl from Carly’s eager hands. “Thanks.” He forced a smile and ladled the rich gravy over his second helping of turkey, stuffing and cheesy potato casserole, turning the contents on his plate into a thick stew.
“Where does he put all that food?” Grandma Jamieson commented, looking at his mounded plate. Peter smiled at Grandma and shoveled in another mouthful.
His mother looked at him warmly. “Ever since Peter turned fourteen, he’s always eating; and he runs everyday, so that boosts his appetite even more. It’s near impossible to keep these boys fed.”
Peter responded with a black look. He didn’t feel like making nice with his family. They still seemed like traitors.
“I can’t imagine your grocery bill,” Becky, Uncle Steve’s new wife, commented. “My Carly eats like a little bird. I swear she forgets to eat some days.” Aunt Becky bragged about her daughter’s ultra skinny body. The girl wore her clothes so tight they left little to the imagination. Carly took a tiny bite of green bean and feigned embarrassment.
“Girls are too skinny these days,” Grandma said. “Look like they could blow away in a strong wind.”
At the other end of the table Garrett sat next to Uncle Steve, Mom’s cool older brother, who always drove hot cars and dated even hotter women. Aunt Becky finally landed him last spring and became his second wife. She could pass for under thirty, but Carly was seventeen, so it wasn’t likely.
“Now that we’ve inhaled most of this meal, who wants to start with their thanks?” his mom asked. Every year she forced them to participate in this ritual. Peter and his brothers groaned, while Carly glanced around the table, confused at the mention of this unknown tradition.
His mother eyed them. “Boys, you disappoint me. This year, more than any other, we have so much to be thankful for.”
Peter scraped potatoes from the side of his plate and stuffed his mouth. He looked directly at his mother and shrugged.
“Fine. I’ll start.” She wiped the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin then set it aside. “I am thankful for the amazing doctors and medical staff at Cedars-Sinai.” She reached out and took her husband’s hand. “Without their dedication and talent, I might have lost you.” She gazed at his dad; tears welled in her eyes.
“And I thought you were going to say you were thankful to get a few days freedom while I was in the hospital,” his father said. His mother shot him a wry expression.
“I’m thankful we get to go swimming after dinner,” Ryan chirped in.
“But not until half an hour after dinner,” Grandma said.
“Aw,” Ryan responded.
“Mom, that’s an old wives’ tale. Leave the kid alone,” Uncle Steve said.
“Nonsense. If the rule kept you alive all these years, it obviously works.”
“I’m thankful for video games,” Ella, Ryan’s older sister, offered, successfully getting the conversation back on track.
Each person in turn offered up something to be thankful for. Next came Garrett.
“I’m thankful, Peter’s got such a weak left hook.” He rubbed his bruised cheekbone for effect.
Their mother pierced Garrett with a powerful stare. Carly looked from Peter to Garrett and back again, intrigued. Peter set his fork down, his jaw clenched. He’d love to slug him again. The asshole deserved it and much more.
“What are you thankful for Peter?” Grandma asked, oblivious to the tension between the two brothers.
Peter looked from Garrett to his father and mother. “Absolutely nothing.” He controlled his anger. He didn’t want to upset Grandma.
“Peter,” his father warned. “We all have something to be thankful for. Try that again.”
Inside he fumed. He was thankful to have Libby, but then Garrett derailed that and he still hadn’t been able to get a hold of her. They’d tracked down her aunt’s phone number, but there was no answer. All he could think about was his need to talk to her and clear everything up. He wanted Libby with him. Other than that he only felt anger; anger at his family’s interference, anger at being stuck in this fake happy holiday celebration and anger at the clueless girl sitting next to him star struck over his every word.
All eyes focused on him, including his father’s.
“All right. What am I thankful for? Let’s see. I could say our sold out tour or our platinum album, but no, that’s pretty shallow.” He gave a pointed look at each of his brothers and his parents. He thought of Libby and how alone she must feel. “I’m thankful to have a family I can be mad at. Even though they make my life a living hell, at least they exist.” His words were clipped and short. “Because if I didn’t have a family, I’d be all alone in the world. Can you imagine how lonely and difficult a life would be if I di
dn’t have Mom always hovering or Dad caring enough to stay on our asses, or brothers to piss off and fight with?”
Peter set a defiant stare at his parents driving home the sad reality of Libby’s life. His mother looked down at her plate.
“That’s enough,” his father said. A silent void filled the room as the relatives shared uncomfortable looks. “Why don’t you make yourself useful. There are a lot of dishes on this table that need washing. Perhaps that’ll help clear your head.”
The guests watched the awkward battle. His young cousins looked confused.
“Fine with me.” Peter shoved back from the table, grabbed his dishes and went to the kitchen.
“I’ll help you.” Carly popped up and chased after him.
# # #
Peter’s waterlogged hands sank deep into their third round of dishes. Now it was the serving pieces. Despite his pleas to be left alone, Carly stuck with him and dried every piece. Stacks of clean, dried china and silverware lay as evidence of their work.
“What did I do to make you hate me?” She leaned against the kitchen counter, an irritated expression on her face.
“Huh?” Peter looked up from the dishwater.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you all day and you treat me like I’m diseased. What’d I ever do to you?” She folded her arms across her chest, the damp dishtowel in hand.
“Nothing. Sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” He turned back to his sulking and dunked another serving bowl.
“Guys can be such jerks. Steve said you were really nice, but I think he must have been talking about Garrett.”
Peter’s head snapped around, he eyed her closely. “That’s a good one.” He fought the smile that threatened. She’d been trying to crack his defenses all day and had saved him a ton of work by helping out. The least he could do was be nice.
“What’s got you so pissed?”
Peter glanced at her, an eyebrow raised.
“Hello, you’ve been brooding all day and your little speech in there just proves you’ve got major attitude. You mad you got stuck with family all day?”
“I’m stuck with family every day. Today’s better than most. With more people around, it helps distract them.” He rinsed another platter and placed it with the mounting pile of china stacked in the drainer. “You’re falling behind.” He pointed to the waiting dishes.
Carly glared at him, then resumed her chore. After that Peter finally allowed himself a smile. He found it easier to be nice to Carly. He joined in the conversation and they talked about their favorite movies, what music they most recently downloaded and their dream cars. As Peter refilled the sink, Carly placed another plate with the huge pile of clean dishes on the island counter.
“God there’s a lot of dishes. Your dad is nasty to make you do all this.”
“Yeah, Jett’s real good at doling out punishment.”
“What do you do for fun around here?” Carly asked.
“Oh, I don’t know.” With the faucet on, Peter grabbed the spray hose and turned it on her. Carly shrieked in surprise and tried to block his water assault with the platter in her hands. He shot the spray across the room as she tried to dodge it. By the time they were done, both were laughing from the water fight and Carly’s skilled towel snapping. He ended up having a good time despite himself.
And after all, Carly was pretty cute.
# # #
Karen Jamieson’s heart warmed as she watched Peter play cards at the table with all the kids. Up until this afternoon he’d been angry and sad. It hurt to see him so heartbroken after Garrett’s little stunt. While she wasn’t exactly proud of what Garrett had done, she wanted the best for Peter and thought it better for him to move on. Clearly, Peter didn’t agree.
“Take that!” Peter slapped his last card on the pile and won the hand.
Carly sat next to him soaking in his every word. She glowed each time Peter looked her way. Her brother’s stepdaughter did a great job of distracting Peter. The timing couldn’t be better. Libby seemed like a nice girl, but her situation was complicated. Perhaps Carly could help him forget her. Peter grinned at Carly again. Karen’s hopes inched up another notch.
“Ready for pie?” she asked. Hungry voices cheered. How these kids could be hungry again so soon amazed her. “It’s ready in the kitchen. You can join the adults in the living room.”
The mob of kids bustled past; Peter and Carly shared a joke as they walked by.
Fifteen minutes later everyone sat in the great room. The huge room overflowed with comfortable furniture and oversized potted plants; a baby grand stood in one corner. The boys often used the room to practice or just sit and play whatever instrument they were in the mood for. She loved listening to their music. It amazed her to have such gifted sons. On one side of the room Adam’s camera sat on a tripod waiting for the traditional family photos.
“Peter, would you play something for me? It’s been so long.” Karen’s aging mother-in-law asked.
“Sure, Grandma.” Peter said from his seat next to Carly. He stood and placed his empty plate on the coffee table. He smiled at Carly as he stretched his fingers. Carly looked pleased.
Peter sat behind the piano. “What would you like to hear?”
“How about something new? Are you working on anything?”
“Mom, Peter is always working on something new. The kid can’t seem to turn his writing off.” Jett shared a proud glance with her.
“All right, play something pretty for me.” Grandma said.
Peter rewarded her with a loving smile. The two of them always shared a special connection. Karen recalled when she was in the hospital delivering Adam several weeks too early. Tiny Adam stayed in the hospital for more than a week while Jett’s parents took care of Garrett and Peter. During that time four-year-old Garrett watched television and played outside with neighbor kids. Peter, however, stuck by his Grandmother’s side. If she worked in her flowerbeds, three-year-old Peter was with her. When she did laundry and made beds, little Peter tried to help, chattering away. He loved to help her make cookies and insisted that Grandma teach him the piano. When they picked him up, the young boy already mastered Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.
Peter drew in a breath and released it. He looked thoughtful for a moment then began to play. At first his fingers barely touched the keys. A beautiful melody rose from the piano. The room quieted as he artfully mastered the instrument.
Karen watched him transform before her. He became one with the music, and it warmed her soul. His body moved gently as he played, lost to the world around him. She recognized the tune, but couldn’t place it. It wasn’t from anything they’d ever recorded or practiced together, yet the tender piece touched her with its beauty and the loving way he performed.
Even the young kids in the room snuggled in with their parents as Peter’s playing built in strength and power. His hands moved over the keyboard effortlessly. The instrument became an extension of him. Grandma watched and listened, pride beaming on her aged face. Karen noticed Carly sitting alone on the love seat in obvious awe.
When Karen looked at Peter again, sadness filled his eyes. Now she recognized the melody. This was the song he wrote for Libby, “Angel Kisses”. The energy of the music intensified as the angst of the tune built and Peter laid bare his broken heart. Karen bit the edge of her lip. Music is what feelings sound like. As she watched her beautiful son, she could see how deeply he loved Libby and that every note of music written was for her.
She glanced at her husband who shared a concerned look. This was no simple crush that would easily pass. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get Peter together with Libby for just a day before they left for Europe.
The beautiful music slowed and returned to the beginning melody. Peter’s emotion filled the room. He was a master at moving an audience. When his long fingers struck the final chord, his head dropped to his chest. First the room echoed in silence, and then burst with applause.
Peter reached up and brush
ed away a single tear.
Little Ryan turned to him mother. “Why’s Peter crying?” he asked.
Carly looked despondent on the love seat, her joy and awe, replaced by reality.
Peter’s heart was already taken.
Chapter 18
Libby stepped quietly through the door of the Milwaukee group home. Could she be lucky enough that her housemates would be asleep?
“Yo, girl. You got me anything good tonight?” Darnell, a tall skinny black kid, asked from the couch where he lay watching a reality show featuring rappers and drug dealers.
“This is all they had left.” She tossed him a white take out-bag. “Maybe there’ll be extras from the fish fry tomorrow.”
Days after arriving at the group home, Libby got a job working at a restaurant in the mall. If she was going to be stuck living in this hell hole, she planned to avoid it as much as possible. Only two weeks passed since her arrival on Thanksgiving Day. It felt like months.
“Hot damn, you done nice girl, but where’s my rings?” Darnell stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth. He ate constantly, but was the skinniest guy she’d ever seen. The first time she laid eyes on him she’d been terrified of his gangster appearance--baggy pants, metal chains and mega attitude. Now she knew his image was mostly an act, probably for survival’s sake. He talked smack but so far was harmless.
“Sorry, no onion rings tonight. Maybe next time.” In an effort to blend in and not make enemies, Libby always brought back leftovers from work.
She walked down the hallway, her grip on her bag tightened like a vise as she approached the bedroom. Silently, she opened the door to the room she shared with Juanita, a volatile psychopath, whose single goal in life was to terrorize Libby; and Kelly, a pale girl who dyed her hair the color of death, wore dark eye makeup and dressed in black. Juanita sat on her messy bed sheets cleaning her fingernails with a switchblade as she rocked to an iPod. Kelly slept soundly in her depressed state.
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