CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
BETWEEN THE FALL CONCERT AND JIM DIS-COVERING US IN THE CHURCH BASEMENT, OUR LIVES HAVE reached a turning point. When I returned to school the next day, nearly every kid I passed in the halls knew me. Where before they might nod or say hi when they’d see me with Zach, now kids I don’t even know call me by name. Surprisingly, when kids found out I was on Facebook, my friends list exploded from about ten to nearly four hundred. I’ve gone from being popular as Zach’s girlfriend to popular for being me.
Despite my new notoriety, my core group of friends is the same: Zach, Scott, Josh, Wendy, and Tera. We eat lunch together most days, and hang out between classes. I even went on a group date with them last weekend, ending in another sleepover—this time at Tera’s.
With Jim’s help, we joined the multi-church interfaith hospitality program. This week we’re guests of the St. Catherine’s Catholic Church, and we’ll move to Glory Lutheran Church next week. For the first time since becoming homeless, I’m seeing other homeless kids, but so far they’re all closer in age to Amber than me.
Mom followed Jim’s advice and listed with a temporary agency, but it was mostly a bust. On the plus side, she scored two interviews through Jim’s contacts and was offered the office manager position at the law offices of Hammert, Howard and Higdon. She starts next week, and I’m secretly thankful she won’t be teaching at my school.
Nick still doesn’t have any new job leads, but he and Jim meet regularly to explore his options. Yesterday, at Jim’s suggestion, Nick dropped his application at a car dealership, an auto parts store, and an appliance repair company. Changing directions seems to have pulled him out of his rut and his mood is so much better.
It’s now the Saturday following Thanksgiving. We spent the holiday with our host family at St. Catherine’s where we helped prepare a turkey with all the dressings. That night, twelve inches of snow dumped on Rochester, and the temperature has dropped again into the single digits. If not for the many churches of the interfaith network, we’d still be in the van. I know we wouldn’t survive.
I’m excited to be back at the Presbyterian Church for the Saturday Community Kitchen. In the last six weeks, these people have become more than friends—they’ve become extended family.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Mrs. Cummings greets us, her smile warm. She holds her arms open for Amber, who wraps her arms around the older woman’s waist. “Well hello, Miss Amber! I’m so glad you made it!”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Linda,” Nick says.
Amber pulls out of Mrs. Cummings’s arms and beams up at her. “What’s for lunch, Mrs. Cummings?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” She ruffles Amber’s hair and turns her attention to Mom, Nick and me. Her smile lights up her whole face. “We have turkey and dressing on the menu today. Eight turkeys were donated, so I’ve been scrounging around these last few days looking for roasters so we could cook them all at the same time. I don’t know how we did it, but we did!”
“It smells wonderful,” Mom says.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Cummings agrees. “In twenty-two years, this is only the second time we’ve been able to provide turkey for Thanksgiving—and today we have eight!”
“We better get out of your way, then.” Nick laughs.
Mrs. Cummings pats his arm. “Yes—I have some things to finish up, but you’re never in the way. Go—find a table and enjoy dinner.”
We select a table in the middle of the room, and Mom and Nick greet people as they stop to say hello. Among them is Mrs. Mowdy, an elderly woman who is a complete enigma to me. She attends most weeks with her granddaughter and she’s always dressed impeccably without a stain or wrinkle in sight. Her face is a roadmap of lines, but her clear green eyes shine from behind a set of nondescript glasses. Her granddaughter seats her in one of the empty chairs at our table and her smile warms me.
“It’s good to see you, Abby,” she says. “How’s school?”
“Good, thank you,” I tell her.
Before we can say more, Mrs. Cummings calls us to attention. “If everyone would please find a seat. I have a couple of announcements then we’ll serve dinner.” The room quiets and she continues. “First and most important, Katrina, Rian, and Karolyne are celebrating birthdays this week, so we have a small gift for each of you. Please come see me after dinner, and I’ll make sure to get those to you.”
Katrina, a middle-aged woman with long gray hair tied back in a low ponytail, smiles her thanks. Two tables over, Rian—a man I guess to be in his thirties—raises a work-calloused hand and waves. Next to him and about his age, Karolyne’s face flushes red. She dips her head until her long brown hair cascades around her, hiding her features from view.
“In addition,” Mrs. Cummings continues, “I’m pleased to announce that Alisa had her baby on Thursday morning—a little girl she’s named Nevaeh. Mom and baby are doing well and expect to be back with us next week. And finally, Landyn, Wesley, and Jacksyn have leads on seasonal work for the holidays, so see them after dinner for more information.”
At the table to my left, one of three brothers waves a hand in the air. “We’ll set up over in the east corner, Linda.”
Mrs. Cummings nods. “Thank you, Landyn. Now, as I’ve already mentioned to many of you, we’re serving turkey with all the fixings. There’s plenty for everyone, so enjoy yourselves and see me after if you’d like leftovers to take with you.”
The room buzzes with excitement. For some, this will be the only meal they’ll get all day. Others might not have had a real Thanksgiving meal in years. This is a big deal.
Mrs. Cummings smiles. “If you’ll give me your attention for one more minute, I’ll introduce you to our servers, then we can say grace and begin. With us today are members of the Rochester South High School Key Club, who are fulfilling their club’s service requirements by assisting with today’s meal. Please make them feel welcome.”
My heart stops and fear races through me. No! Please not now!
I stare at my lap, terrified to discover whether I know any of the volunteers. It’s not that I know everyone at school—far from it. But the Fall Concert drew a lot of attention, and the odds of someone recognizing me are high.
I sit statue-still while Mrs. Cummings leads grace, but my ears buzz with dread. When I’m sure all heads are bowed, I lift my own and peek around the room. I almost sag with relief until my roving eye stops and backtracks four faces. The first tendrils of panic slither below my skin and I can’t breathe. My heart skips several beats and bile rises until I taste nausea on my tongue. Directly across from me are two girls. One has her head bowed politely in prayer, but the other has no respect for anyone or anything. Trish’s eyes meet mine. She lifts an eyebrow that clearly says, “Well, this is interesting.”
The buzzing in my ears increases until it eviscerates all other sound. Heads lift around me, and lips move in what can only be “amen,” but it’s inaudible above the buzzing. I’m paralyzed and can’t move my gaze away from Trish’s wicked smirk.
Amber nudges me. Her lips move, but I can’t understand her words. Instead, I’m focused on Trish as she releases my gaze and begins serving a nearby table. My trance lifts and I bow my head, close my eyes tight, and pray dinner will end quickly.
A hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes gently. Lifting my head, I gaze into the sympathetic eyes of Zoë. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
My face flames. I open my mouth to respond, but no words escape. So I nod and look back down at my lap. Though I was hungry ten minutes ago, the idea of food makes my stomach revolt. I push the food around my plate as guilt at the waste wars with humiliation.
“Abby?” Nick touches my arm and my eyes meet his. “You okay?”
I shake my head.
“Claire?” he says, getting my mother’s attention.
Mom looks at me and her eyebrows draw together. “Abby?”
My eyes go wide and I shake my head to stop her questions. She studies me t
hen looks to Nick for direction.
He takes my hand under the table and gives it two gentle squeezes. “Do we need to go?”
Finding my voice, I whisper, “No. Please—just try to be normal.”
Nick releases my hand then turns to Mom and says softly, “Let’s eat and go.”
We focus on our meals while Amber, completely oblivious to my distress, keeps a running monologue. The second dinner is over, Nick stands and pulls my chair out for me, then does the same for Mom.
“I’m sorry to rush you,” he says casually, but loud enough for those around us to hear, “but I have to get to work early.”
Mom and Amber gather their things, and move toward the exit doors. We’ve almost escaped when Mrs. Cummings stalls us.
“You’re leaving?” she asks, surprised.
“Yes,” Mom says. “Nick has to be at work early. Thank you for the meal, it was delicious.”
“You’re welcome. Did you want to take some leftovers?”
“No thank you!” My abrupt interruption startles Mrs. Cummings. “I mean—Nick always says to take only what we need, and I’m sure there are people who need it more than us.”
Mom smiles. “Abby’s right—we’re good. Thank you, Linda, for a delicious meal.”
“Okay, then—if you’re sure. We’ll see you next week?”
Nick grins. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
We bid her goodbye and walk the maze of quiet hallways to the van. Nobody speaks until we’re safe behind the locked van doors.
Mom spins around and faces the back seat. “Abby! What is going on?”
“Remember Trish from McDonald’s?” I say. “She was here and she hates me. It’ll be all over school by tomorrow.”
“Surely not,” Mom scoffs. “I can’t imagine the administration would stand for that.”
“Really, Mom? Like the administration didn’t stand for the bullying I got when you were caught with Coach Hawkins?”
Mom’s face flames and she swallows hard. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I bite my lip and shrug. “It’s whatever. It was bound to happen—I just wish I’d had more time. We were almost there…”
“Can we do anything?” Nick asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “Let’s just go.”
Nick drives to the library, where he and Mom deviate from their pattern and take Amber to a presentation in the auditorium. I escape to the only place I know—the teen media room.
My entire body is stiff and my head thrums with a headache. I’m awash with anxiety and can’t pull in a deep breath. It’s like having a panic attack in slow motion—except instead of outright hyperventilating, I can’t breathe at all. Somehow I have to head this off—run interference and tell my story before Trish does. I sit at my favorite carrel and log onto Facebook, wishing once again I could post on Instagram. Twenty-seven new notices await my attention, along with three new friend requests. I open the first notice and find I’ve been tagged in a photo. I click the link and I’m taken to Trish’s Facebook wall. My heart squeezes and I gasp. The first post at the top of the page is a picture of me sitting with my family at the church only an hour earlier.
It’s too late—it’s already out there!
The image is panned out to include several of the surrounding tables and there can be no mistake: I’m sitting square in the middle of the town’s most needy. Beside the image, the caption reads: “Abby Lunde eating at a soup kitchen? Is Rochester South’s new ‘It Girl’ homeless? Has she lied to us all along?”
Zach. It’s the first thing that pops into my head. What will he say? I’m supposed to hang out with him tomorrow, but there’s no way I can go now. I never told him we’re homeless, and my omission is as much a lie as lying outright. There’s no way he’ll forgive me—I can barely forgive myself! I can’t see him tomorrow—I need time. Time to decide how to handle the situation.
I pull up his Facebook page and find the same photo of me at the top of his timeline. Someone has shared the link on his wall, so there’s no way he’ll miss it.
Oh no! This isn’t happening! My body erupts like an earthquake and I shake so violently the mouse pointer jumps all over the screen. I find the message link and write only one line.
MESSAGE TO ZACH: I can’t come tomorrow. I’ll explain later. I’m sorry.
I log off before he sees and responds. I’m not sure how soon he’ll see it; I only know I can’t talk to him right now.
My head falls onto my folded arms and I sob. Will he ever forgive me? What about Josh? Or Tera and Wendy? Why didn’t I tell them? But I know exactly why I didn’t tell them. There was never a way to tell them because they’d hate me like the kids in Omaha hated me when Mom screwed up. And like last time, they’ll hate me for what isn’t my fault. Only this time it’ll be worse because I deliberately kept it secret.
I’m thankful for the empty room and the seclusion offered by the study carrel. I cry until my body runs dry, then wipe away the last of my tears. A hand touches my shoulder. I turn and Zach stares back at me through eyes the color of onyx. His eyebrows are drawn together, his expression holding a mixture of hurt and anger.
My heart thuds hard in my chest. I knew this day would come: the day when Zach would find out and he’d drop me in disgust. I just hadn’t planned on it happening so soon. Just a few more weeks and we’d have been in the clear.
I open and close my mouth several times as I search for the right words. Finally, I settle on only one: “Zach.”
He stares at me. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“How’d you know I was here?”
He breathes out a sigh. “You’re always here. I guess now I know why.”
I stare at him. I won’t lie to him again, but the truth seems much worse. So I just look at him and say nothing.
“Where do you live, Abby?” he asks.
I open my mouth but shake my head. I have no defense.
“Where does Nick work?” he demands. “Your mom?”
I stare at my lap, hoping the words will come easier if I don’t have to see the hurt in his eyes. “Why are you asking?”
“Why do you think I’m asking?” he demands. “Social media has blown up! I want to know what’s going on. Why’ve I never been to your house?”
“I—I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know where to start.”
“Why don’t you start at the truth? I can’t even defend you if I don’t know what that is.”
I gawk at him. “Why would you defend me? I don’t need to be defended!”
Zach’s eyes go round and glisten with unshed tears. “Why would I defend you? Seriously, Abby? How can you ask me that? I love you!”
He loves me? No! He’s lying! He pities me!
“No you don’t,” I say, my voice flat.
He runs his fingers through his hair and clutches his head. “We need to get out of here. We need to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk. I just want you to go.”
“That’s a bad idea, Abby.” Mom stands in the doorway, her lips drawn down. “I think you should talk to him. He obviously cares, and your whole world is about to fall apart. Again. Go—talk to him.”
I’m startled by Mom’s presence. How much has she heard?
I shake my head. “Mom! I—I—I can’t.”
She moves away from the doorframe, picks up my backpack and hands it to Zach. “Bring her back to St. Catherine’s Church when you’re done? She knows where it is.”
“I will.” Zach nods.
“Wait!” I gasp. “No! I’m not going! I can’t.”
“Yes, you are.” Mom’s voice is a command. “Learn from my mistakes, sweetheart. Dishonesty only breeds distrust. Tell him the truth—all of it. You’ll thank me later.”
Zach throws my backpack over his shoulder and reaches for my hand. “Thanks,” he tells Mom.
Reluctantly, I allow him to lead me out of the library, but my eyes shoot daggers at Mom until we step out of the building. When w
e reach his car, Zach opens the passenger door and waits for me to be seated and buckled before walking around and getting in on his side. Though he says nothing, his body radiates tension. He looks through the rearview mirror then pulls away from the curb and into the flow of traffic. Silence stretches between us, but is interrupted briefly by the insistent buzzing of his phone. Zach glances at the CallerID then buries it deep in his pocket. I attempt a deep breath, but my chest is constricted and I can barely breathe at all.
He drives to the north side of town and pulls into an empty parking lot overlooking a series of soccer fields. Throwing the gearshift into park, he leaves the engine running for heat. I wait for him to say something—anything—but he doesn’t even turn to look at me. His phone buzzes again, and he reaches inside his pocket, sending the caller to voicemail.
Silence envelops us, broken only by the tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel in rapid staccato. I hate the guilt that swallows me. I turn my head and stare out the passenger window through a thick film of unshed tears.
“Tell me,” he finally says. “I want to know everything.”
I take a shallow breath and swallow through a lump in my throat. “You already know everything there is to know. What more can I say?”
Zach stares out the front window, refusing to look at me. His phone buzzes again, but he ignores it this time. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
My eyes shoot wide open and raw anger displaces my fear. I turn toward him. “You’re kidding, right? What would you have said if I’d told you we were homeless—that we were sleeping in our van or at the local homeless shelter? That I ate breakfast at school because I’d go hungry otherwise? What would you have said if I’d told you we were squatting in the basement of a church, or that we’ve been floating from church to church these last few weeks just so we’d have a warm place to sleep? What would you have said, Zach?”
His anger meets my own and he turns to face me. “I don’t know what I would’ve said, but I wouldn’t have abandoned you!”
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