My gaze flits around the room and lands on seven adults eating together. Though they sit side by side with shoulders nearly touching, they don’t speak. They must know each other—why else would they sit so closely together when there are other tables?—yet they don’t interact at all. I wonder what their stories are. Why sit together, but not share conversation?
To my left, a glass falls to the floor and shatters. An old man sits alone at a long table, his long gray hair hanging in matted dreadlocks around his shoulders. His skin is smudged with filth, and his clothing is nothing more than thin rags hanging off his skeletal frame. He rocks in his seat, his eyes dashing around the room. A volunteer with a dustpan and broom steps close, and the man lets out a high-pitched screech. His eyes widen and he whispers to himself, his rotting teeth now biting the nails on his fingers. Like with the nursing mom, I know I should look away, but I can’t. He seems so pathetic sitting there all alone. My stomach drops—as bad as I think my life is, his looks so much worse.
The rest of the room is filled with people who look normal—reasonably groomed, though clearly struggling. While there are some grizzled vagrants, most aren’t too different from me. My face burns and my fingertips tingle with mortification.
“Hey, Abby? You with us?” Mom nudges me.
“Yeah. Sorry,” I say. “I just—I was just thinking.”
Nick throws me a curious look then picks up the conversation where he left off. “So we have a few options, but it may take time. The Dorothy Day House will take us for two weeks, but they’re full right now.”
“The Dorothy Day House?” I ask.
“Ah. You’re back with us,” Nick teases. “The Dorothy Day House is a homeless shelter. If we can get in there, we’ll have a place to sleep at night, then we have to leave by nine o’clock each morning. They serve a dinner at night and breakfast in the morning. For lunch, we’re allowed to pack our own from what’s available in the kitchen. They close the doors from nine to three thirty, and we’re supposed to use that time to find jobs.”
“What kind of jobs?” I narrow my eyes. “Mom is not going back to teaching—not at my school!”
“No.” Mom’s voice is strained and she looks irritated, as though she is having to explain something to someone who doesn’t understand English. “I can’t go back to teaching. Not yet anyway. I don’t have a Minnesota license, and we don’t have the money for me to get one right now. And until we get a cell phone, I can’t even substitute teach. With my background, though, I thought I’d look at preschools. It’d be a pay cut, but it’s a foot in the door and might help me make connections in the community until I can update my license.”
I roll my eyes and my chest tightens with anger. How dare she get angry with me! How dare she treat me like I’m the immature one! It was her immaturity—her thoughtless and selfish actions—that got us here in the first place!
“Yes, Mother,” I bite back. “I am painfully aware of your situation.”
Nick pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers and breathes out a long sigh. I’m pushing too hard, so I close my eyes and level my voice into a more conciliatory tone. “So how long until we can get into the…um….Daphne Day House?”
“Dorothy Day,” Nick corrects. “And hopefully by next week. There are several people whose time is up soon, so maybe as early as Monday or Tuesday.”
“So what do we do until then?”
“For now, we sleep in the van. It could be worse,” Mom offers, reticent.
I ignore her and direct my next question to Nick. “What about showers? I’m gonna need to wash my hair, and we’ll all start smelling soon if we don’t bathe.”
“We’ve got that figured out, too,” Mom interjects. “Walmart has two family bathrooms with locking doors. We should be able to use the sinks to wash our hair and take sponge baths. That’s the best we can do for now. If we’re quiet and move quickly, we shouldn’t get caught.”
“But I don’t wanna sleep in the van again,” Amber cries. “I wanna go home.”
“Honey, we can’t go home,” Nick says. “This won’t last forever, but it’s the best we have right now.”
“How’re we doing on money?” I interrupt.
“We’re okay for now, but we have to spend carefully,” Nick says. “You girls will get free breakfast and lunch at school, and your mom and I will get by on PB&J sandwiches until dinner. We’ll eat here on weeknights and Sundays. On Saturdays, the Presbyterian Church downtown offers a free meal. We won’t starve at least.”
I nod. “And laundry?”
“We have enough clothes to see us through a week, then we’ll find a laundromat on the weekends,” Mom says. “We’ll only wash what we have to, so be careful and plan to wear your clothes at least twice.”
I scowl at the idea of wearing dirty clothes, but keep my mouth closed.
After dinner, we return to Walmart. Nick parks between two other vans and turns off the engine. We sit quietly for several moments, each lost in our own thoughts.
“Now what’re we gonna do?” Amber asks, breaking the silence.
“Why don’t we check out the bathrooms and wash up?” Mom suggests.
The last thing I want is to bathe in a Walmart bathroom, but I snatch a tiny bottle of shampoo from Mom’s offered hand and toss it into my backpack along with a towel and a washrag.
“Where’d you get the shampoo?” I ask.
“The Salvation Army gave us some provisions to get by,” Mom says.
I nod, all kinds of snarky comebacks flying through my brain, but I stomp them down. I’m too tired and just want to get this experience over with.
Together we walk into Walmart, where Nick grabs a cart and pushes it down the aisles. We follow, but none of us places anything into the basket. After awhile, Mom taps my elbow, indicating I should follow. Out loud she says, “Let’s go find the bathroom, Amber. It’s been a while since you’ve gone.”
To Amber’s credit, she doesn’t argue but takes Mom’s hand and we leave Nick standing in the sporting goods aisle. I assume they’ve planned this in advance, and Nick will meet back up with us.
Mom leads us to one of two family bathrooms and locks the door. Along one wall are two toilets: a regular-sized one for adults, and a small one for children beside it. Mom flips the faucets on to warm the water, then pulls a large plastic bowl from her backpack and hands it to me.
“What do you want me to do with this?” I ask.
“Use it to rinse your hair, then we’ll fill it with water for sponge baths,” she explains.
I hate admitting it, but the bowl is a brilliant idea. In no time, we’re bathed and ready to leave the bathroom.
“Here.” Mom holds out a fleece hat. “Put this on.”
“I’m fine,” I say, ignoring her and heading toward the exit door.
Mom huffs out an angry breath. “Why must you argue everything? It’s to hide your wet hair. We can’t very well hide the fact we’ve just bathed in here if we walk out with wet hair. Put it on.”
“Whatever.” I catch the hat Mom tosses in my direction and tuck my long hair under it, hiding my ginger locks from view. I glance in the mirror to check for stray strands of hair. When we’re ready, we step out of the bathroom and head to the van, where Nick will join us.
“I’M COLD,” AMBER whines.
“Scoot closer and we can share our warmth,” Mom says.
We’re settled down for our second night in the van and, though we’re all exhausted, none of us can sleep. Besides the bright light streaming through the windows, it’s also colder than last night.
“It’s only early October,” I mumble. “We haven’t even seen cold yet.”
“That’s enough, Abby,” Mom scolds.
“It’s true, though. Why are you yelling at me? Amber’s right—it’s friggin’ cold and it’s only gonna get worse. What’ll happen in November or December when it really gets cold?”
“We’ll have something figured out by then. In the meantime, I
’m still your mother and you will not use that tone of voice with me. I don’t ask much of you, but I expect your respect.”
I snort out a bitter laugh. “Respect? You’ve got to be kidding! How much respect did you give us—give Nick—when—”
“Enough, Abby. Not another word.” Nick’s voice cuts right through me.
“Seriously, Nick? You’re going to defend her after—”
“I said enough, and I meant it. It’s over. Your mother’s apologized countless times. We have to move on if we’re going to get through this.”
“But—”
“No buts, Abby. If you still need to get this off your chest tomorrow, we can. But we’ll find an appropriate place and time. Now is neither, and you know why.”
I glance down at Amber, who stares at me with wide eyes, taking in every word. He’s right. Now isn’t the time. If any of us escaped Mom’s humiliation unscathed, it’s Amber, and it’s unfair to discuss something in front of her she can’t understand.
“Fine,” I say quietly.
For the next five minutes, the van is silent but the air is thick with anger and unsaid words. I lie beside Amber, seething over everything I wish I could say, when her tiny hand finds mine.
“I love you, Sister,” she whispers.
And just like that, my anger lessens and my heart aches with a raw intensity. I look down into Amber’s huge blue eyes and smile behind tears. “I love you, too, Am.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“HOW CAN YOU FORGIVE HER? WHY DIDN’T YOU LEAVE HER WHEN YOU FOUND OUT? IT’S WHAT I would’ve done.”
Nick and I are waiting in the van while Mom and Amber make one last bathroom stop inside Walmart. I barely slept a wink all night, instead seething over my argument with Mom.
Nick runs his fingers through his dark hair. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”
“I’ve been wanting to, but I didn’t want to upset you. I hate her, Nick! Everything that’s happened—the whole reason we’re here today—is because of her.”
“You don’t really hate her, Abs. You’re just angry and deeply hurt.”
“Maybe. But right now the anger is still so raw it feels like hate. I can’t even look at her without remembering. Why didn’t you leave her when you found out? Most people would’ve.”
“It crossed my mind, but I couldn’t when it meant leaving you girls behind.”
I choke on a sob because he’s cut to the heart of my biggest fear—if he leaves, he might take Amber and leave me behind. Though he’s the only dad I’ve ever known, he’s not really mine because he’s never legally adopted me—and not because he hasn’t tried. He wanted to after Amber was born, but Mom wouldn’t contact my sperm donor to sign away his rights.
“But how do you stay, knowing what she’s done?” I ask. “Especially now. I mean, you could just leave and not have to worry about the rest of us.”
“I could never do that, Abby.” Nick stares at me until my eyes meet his. “You’re my daughter, Abs. Not by blood, but because I love you. I would never leave you behind. When everything first happened—when people found out about your mom—I thought about leaving. But you girls are my family—you’re everything to me. So in those first few weeks, I stayed because I couldn’t let you go.”
“So what happens in a few months when I graduate high school? Will you leave then?”
Nick shakes his head. “No, I won’t. Your mom and I have talked a lot since everything happened. Our marriage isn’t perfect, but I love your mother and I believe she loves me, too. Sometimes love means swallowing your pride and forgiving, so I’m staying.”
“But how could you after what she did?”
Nick blows out a sigh. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, Abs, but every situation isn’t black and white—there isn’t always a right or wrong answer. Sometimes there are shades of gray, and adults aren’t perfect. Sometimes we do stupid things for reasons we don’t understand. In your mom’s case, I think she was flattered by the attention. She’d just turned forty, and that’s a hard age for some people to deal with. We’d been arguing about money for weeks after the garage cut my hours, and it was just one of those things that happened. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully understand how she could do that, but I’ve forgiven her. And she is sorry, Abs. You need to talk to her and hash this out, because you can’t go on like this. You two used to be so close, remember?”
At this, my thoughts drift back to the day I came home with a seven out of twenty-five on a tenth grade science test. Mrs. Monson had used a red marker to write a huge F at the top of the page, a fat circle surrounding it like an exclamation point. I was devastated—not only because I’d studied so hard for that test, but because Alicia Adams had seen it and teased me relentlessly. I was sure Mom, being a teacher at my school, would be livid. My face flaming with shame, I held out the piece of paper, then closed my eyes and waited for the lecture and grounding I was sure would come. Mom studied the paper for a long moment, then set it down on the coffee table between us and took a seat on the sofa. “Sing to me,” she said. My eyes widened and I couldn’t believe I’d heard her correctly. Where was the yelling? The disappointment? I’d mentally prepared my defense, but I hadn’t prepared for this reaction. Seeing my confusion, Mom smiled softly at me and said, “You’ve shown me your weakness, Abby. Now show me your strength.”
Nick was still talking. “…so talk to her and fix it while you still can.”
I steeled myself. “I don’t know how. She didn’t just cheat on you—which was bad enough—but she ruined all of our lives in the process. Then she got to quit and walk away as though nothing happened. But I couldn’t—I had to stay and face my friends, only to find out I didn’t have friends anymore. How can I ever forgive her?”
“That’s something you’ll have to figure out, and I hope you will. All I can tell you is forgiveness isn’t about the other person, it’s about ourselves.”
“What do you mean?”
Nick studies me, then turns his attention toward the main doors of Walmart. “I think I’ll let you think on that awhile. Right now we need to get you girls to school.”
THERE ARE COUNTLESS things I never imagined about being homeless—so many things I’d taken for granted. Like having a bathroom available in the middle of the night, running water to brush my teeth, and even a mirror to judge whether my clothes look okay. All of these things are a luxury when your home is your vehicle. Maybe worst of all is the lack of privacy, especially for dressing. We resolve this issue by taking turns inside the van while the rest of us stand guard outside. For everything else, Nick drops me at school early so I can use the semi-privacy of the school bathrooms. It keeps us from drawing extra attention by reducing our trips inside Walmart.
I close the van door, then enter through the students’ entry at Door Six and slip quietly down the empty hallways. I keep my eyes downcast, searching for the bathroom I know is here somewhere. My heart pounds in my ears. We aren’t allowed in the building this early without a pass, and the last thing I want is to get caught.
I find the bathroom and sneak inside, where I select the farthest stall and hang my backpack on the hook. I grab my toothbrush, run it under the sink’s faucet, squeeze a dab of paste onto the bristles, then secure myself inside the locked bathroom stall. I’m still brushing when the outer door opens and the chatter of two girls stops my progress.
“You should’ve seen how she was hanging all over Zach yesterday after school. Like she’d ever have a chance with him!”
Trish! Apparently I’m not the only one who breaks school rules. I’m frozen in place with a mouthful of toothpaste. Spitting will draw attention so I lower myself onto the seat and wait with the minty foam in my mouth.
“She seemed nice enough to me,” another girl replies.
“She would. She wasn’t coming onto your boyfriend! And besides, everybody seems nice enough to you, Zoë.”
“I thought you and Zach broke up?”
“We’re on a
break. He just hasn’t realized how much he misses me yet,” Trish coos.
I peek through the crack in the stall door. Trish is peering into the mirror, applying a glob of lip gloss to her full lips. She smacks loudly, then hands the tube to her sidekick from yesterday—Zoë, she called her.
“C’mon,” Trish says. “I wanna find Zach before school starts. He still doesn’t have a date for Homecoming.”
The two girls exit the bathroom and I count to ten before throwing open the stall door and spitting my toothpaste into the sink. I cup my hands and rinse my mouth with water.
Wonderful! Trish really does have it in for me!
A glance at my watch reminds me to hurry—only three minutes until the first bell. I retrieve my brush from my backpack and run it through my hair. When I’ve brushed the snarls smooth, I separate it into three sections and braid it down the back.
With only one minute remaining, I wait until the high-pitched peal of the bell before opening the bathroom door. At its cue, I step into the mad rush of students, seamlessly blending into their ranks.
MY FIRST CLASS is political science with Mr. Zagan, a class I missed yesterday. I find the room easily and spot Josh seated in a middle row.
“Morning, Ariel.” He grins.
“Good morning, Walt. Or is it Flounder? I can’t remember.” I smile and slide into the open desk beside him.
“Hey now!”
“What? You give everyone else nicknames.”
“Humph!” It’s the first time I’ve seen someone scowl through a grin.
The bell rings and Mr. Zagan marches inside like a drill sergeant. Though not a large man, he carries himself with enough arrogance to compensate for his size. His expression is dour with no trace of humor. “If you’re out of your seats, come see me now for a detention slip.”
Several students groan but approach his desk, where he furiously signs the promised detentions. Slumped over, pen in hand, his orangey-yellow hair falls over his forehead, and I wonder if he’s the victim of a bad dye job. He lifts his pale blue eyes as a student asks a question, his expression holding so much malice, goose bumps rise on my arms. I despise him immediately.
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