Sleeping in My Jeans

by Connie King Leonard

  Before I knock, I glance across the scrap of front yard to the shrubs at the end of the building. Meg is too hidden for me to see her, but just knowing she’s there gives me strength. I shake my head to clear away my fears, ball up my fist, and bang on the door.

  “Darren.” I hit the door again and again. “I know you’re in there.” A week’s worth of stress and worry pours into my fist. I bang harder. “You low-life, bottom-feeding pig. Open the door.”

  I pound and pound. “I’m going for your truck.” I let out every bit of rage I feel for the guy who dumped us in the street. “Look through your window if you don’t believe me.”

  I hold up my keys and rattle them even though Darren can’t hear it. “I’ll scratch that big, fancy truck of yours until you can’t even recognize it.”

  I keep pounding. Keep yelling. George sticks his head out the next window and yells, “Shut up, for God’s sake!”

  I ignore him and pound the door again. “Here I go, Darren, right for—”

  The door flies open. Darren grabs my right wrist, twists my arm behind me, and rips the keys out of my hand. I don’t have a chance to kick or run or even scream.

  “What do you want, Mattie?”

  He’s behind me, so I can’t see him, but I can smell the beer on his breath. I try to twist out of his grasp, but the more I wiggle and squirm, the tighter he grips me. Pain shoots from my shoulder all the way to the tips of my fingers. My wrist is already sore from fighting for the Whopper, and my arm aches like it will snap if I keep trying to wrench it free. I stop struggling.

  Meg scrambles out of her hiding place and races down the sidewalk. When she gets up to us, she kicks Darren hard in the leg, over and over again. Darren growls but doesn’t let go.

  “Go to George and Edith’s, Meg,” I yell. “Ask them to call the police.”

  Meg spins away, but Darren grabs her just as she tries to slip behind him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he says.

  Meg’s foot flies out and lands another kick to Darren’s shin. “Give us our mommy, you big bully,” she yells. “Give us our mommy!”

  Darren looks shocked, “What are you talking about?” He drops my arm so suddenly I fall forward, stumbling to keep from landing on the cement.

  I swing around, my left fist flying. He steps back and dodges to the side. My knuckles connect with nothing but air.

  Darren leans over and grasps Meg by the shoulders. “Where is your mom? Why isn’t she with you?”

  Meg quits wiggling, sticks out her chin, and crumples her nose. “Because you took her, you old meanie.”

  My arms drop to my sides. Prickles of pain shoot through my right one, making my hand tingle. “If you hurt her, I’ll tear you apart,” I say. My threat is stupid. Childish. There’s no way I can overpower him, and we both know it.

  Darren lets go of Meg, straightens up, and turns to me. “Mattie.” He pauses, studying me with super sad eyes. “I haven’t seen or heard from your mom since you left.”

  Reality sinks in. Cold and hard and scary. He’s telling the truth.

  “I shouldn’t have hit your mom.” He looks away. “I was drunk. It was stupid. It was bad, and I’m sorry.”

  I pictured him a monster. Built him up to be a kidnapper, a criminal to be sent to prison forever. He’d never acted that terrible in the two and a half years we’d known him, but I made him into a demon. A hateful, awful, ugly thing. Now I see he’s just a drunk and an abuser with too many problems of his own.

  Meg tilts her head up to study him. “Mommy’s not here?”

  Darren shakes his head.

  Meg’s disappointment is so apparent that her whole body slumps. I can barely look at her. She doesn’t ask the question, but I can read it in her eyes because it’s my question too. If Mom’s not here, where is she? I reach over and take Meg’s hand. She melts into me, the two of us so used to being together we can hardly function alone.

  Darren’s eyes look dull and gray. His sharp features sag. The lines in his face turn into deep crevices. “But where’s Rita?”

  I press my lips together and shrug my shoulders. “We don’t know, but we’ll find her.” I turn to go.

  “Don’t go.” Darren grabs my arm. “You can’t leave without telling me what happened.”

  A fresh wave of pain stabs me in the shoulder. I give him the quick version, telling him about last night, not the whole week.

  “You’ve reported her missing?” His eyes search my face.

  I shake my head. “We’ve got to go, Darren.”

  “Stay here. In the apartment.” He lets go of my arm and glances at Meg. “Please.”

  As if we’re one person, with one mind, Meg and I turn to leave. Darren steps in front of us, his eyes never leaving my face. “What do you need, Mattie?” His voice cracks with emotion. “Please. Let me help.”

  “Food.” The word pops out of my mouth before I can pull it back.

  I don’t want anything from him. He caused all of this. All the hurt and anxiety we’ve gone through. All these awful things are his fault. Or at least, he’s easy to blame for everything that’s ever gone wrong in our lives.

  And now Mom is gone. Lost. Living through who knows what kind of hell. Darren’s eyes tell me he knows what he’s done, but I can’t forgive him. Not now, and maybe not ever.

  “Wait.” That’s all he says before rushing into his apartment.

  Meg and I stand on the sidewalk and look through the open door. The living room is a wreck. Beer cans, empty pizza boxes, and McDonald’s wrappers litter the coffee table and couch. A pile of dirty clothes covers the chair.

  Darren hurries back with a plastic grocery bag in his hands. “Here. It’s all I’ve got.”

  For an instant, I think about throwing it in his face—showing him I’m brave and strong enough without his charity—but that’d be adding stupid on top of stupid. I take the bag. “Thanks.”

  Darren takes his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls out every bill he has. He holds them out to me, but I don’t take his money. He shakes the bills. “Take it. Please, take it.”

  There is so much pain in his face. So much hurt in his eyes. He needs me to take it, maybe just to relieve his guilt. I open my palm—this is for Meg and me, not for him—and Darren places the money in it. I stuff the bills deep into the pocket of my jeans.

  Darren shoves his hand back into his pocket and takes out all the change he has. He turns to Meg and offers it to her. Meg glances at me. I nod. She holds out both of her hands and Darren dumps it in.

  Meg stares at the money before offering it up to me. “You keep it, Mattie.” I take the coins out of her hands and slide them into my other pocket.

  Meg glares at Darren. “You better not get rid of my dollhouse, Darren, because I’m coming back for it.”

  Darren nods. “It’s still in your room, Meg. I’ll keep it until you come.” He leans toward me, his eyes burning with emotion. “I’ll unblock your number so you can reach me. You call. Anytime. I’ll come and get you. Understand?”

  Those are the kindest words Darren ever said to me. Does that mean he cares about us? Did he always? Or is this sudden softness just heaps and heaps of guilt? Meg and I grab hands and head for the bus stop.

  Darren stands on the sidewalk, watching us. When we get to the end of the building, he says, “Call me. I’ll come,” before stepping into his apartment and closing the door.

  Chapter Twenty

  A jar of peanut butter that’s almost full, half a loaf of bread, a bag of potato chips with the top rolled down, and one dried-out doughnut is not the healthiest of lunches, but it’s food. I’m grateful to Darren, even though I don’t want to admit it. Meg and I sit on the bench at the bus stop and plow right through the doughnut and potato chips. I twist the lid off the peanut butter jar so we can dip our fingers in and
scoop out the rich, creamy treat, popping it straight into our mouths.

  Our bus arrives. I screw the top back on the peanut butter and pull change out of my pocket. Meg and I step on, find a seat near the front, and settle in for a trip back to the library. Where else can we go? At least there, Meg can sit and read and I can charge my phone while I figure out what comes next.

  I slump on the bus seat, sad and tired. My nervous energy is gone. Wasted on Darren. Used up on a dead-end, childish idea that I should have known was ridiculous from the beginning. I am embarrassed at my flailing attempts to find Mom.

  The bus turns onto River Road and heads downtown. I stare out the window, letting the landscape blur together with no form or structure. My mind is groggy, but I work at pulling my thoughts together. We’re near St. Vinnie’s, where Mom works with Carly and Jen. I don’t have their phone numbers, but if I could talk to them, they might know where Mom took Ruby for repairs.

  Did we go by the bus stop closest to the store? I glance around, but it takes me a minute to orient myself and see we’re a couple of blocks past it. We could get off at the next stop, but we’d either have to walk the extra distance or wait for the next bus to take us back to the right stop.

  If I knew Carly or Jen was working, it would be worth the trek, but if they aren’t there, I would waste valuable time. The minutes I bought for my phone still haven’t been added, and I don’t want to use the last of my data time to look up the phone number for St. Vinnie’s.

  Because of my indecision, the bus is now several blocks away. I lean back against the bus seat. When I get to the library, I’ll look up the phone number for St. Vinnie’s. Carly or Jen should be able to take a call, especially if I say it’s an emergency.

  I close my eyes and let the motion of the bus lull me back into a state of half-consciousness. Darren gave us enough money to keep looking for Mom, so I should be relieved, but instead, a huge wave of sadness washes over me.

  What if spending this long, weary day is the last time Meg and I have together? The sun will set, and if we haven’t found Mom, Meg and I will go into foster care. The caseworkers won’t have any trouble finding a home for a cute little girl with good manners, but what about a teenager?

  I try to concentrate on what to do next, but it’s useless. I open my palm and look at Jack’s phone number. The blue ink is smeared and faded, the numbers illegible, but it doesn’t matter. I know them by heart.

  Jack’s easy manner and the softness of his voice when he talked to me were a lifetime ago—so far away it’s hard to remember if they were real or just stories from another world or a different time in history. Still, the warmth I felt with him hangs on, seeping through my body and deep into my very bones.

  Do I text Jack and thank him for lunch yesterday? Until I find Mom safe and alive, my life is shattered. Is it fair to drag him into this chaos, or do I fade away, maybe never to see him again?

  Jack offered to help if I needed anything, so programming his number into my phone is a safety precaution for Meg and me, not just a personal one. I slide my cell out of the front pocket of my pack and stare at it for a long time. If his cell number is easy to call, I don’t have to think. I can just tap the screen if Meg and I are desperate. My fingers fly across the numbers, programming Jack into my phone—and maybe into my life.

  I go one step further and tap out a text. Thanks for lunch yesterday. The food and company meant a lot to Meg and me. Mattie. If I hit send, Jack has my phone number and can call or text me. Do I want that? Sharing my number with Jack makes me more vulnerable to him. Can I handle the pressure, or will I lose sight of my own goals? Before I change my mind, I hit send, then stare at the screen long after my message has flown through the air to land in Jack’s back pocket.

  Jack doesn’t respond, which I’m glad about. He’s busy, and I don’t have to lie and say we’re fine, or spill out the sad tale of my life and drag him down into my problems. I slide my phone back into my pack, zip it in, and hook the straps through my arms even though it sits on my lap, just to make sure it can’t be stolen.

  I squeeze my fingers over the inky smear on my hand, lean my head back, and close my eyes. I don’t wake until the driver stops the bus and yells, “End of the line! Everybody off.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Meg and I go back to the library’s young adult section. The area is quiet, with only a few kids at the computers and a couple more searching through the stacks. Meg climbs onto the window seat with her books like it’s the couch in our living room.

  I go over to the computers and look up the phone number for St. Vinnie’s, dialing it into my phone. It rings a couple of times before it’s answered by a guy with a rapid, “St. Vincent de Paul. How can I help you?”

  “Hi.” I duck behind a bookshelf and try to keep my voice low. “Is Carly or Jen working today? It’s an emergency. I need to talk to one of them.”

  The guy doesn’t hesitate. “Let me check.”

  I glance around while I wait, nervous that precious minutes are ticking off my phone. A couple of kids are hanging out in the back corner, and an older woman looks at the books on the stack across from me. I turn my back to her so I won’t draw her attention.

  The guy comes back on the cell. “Jen moved to Portland. Carly was supposed to work today, but she had to take her brother to Medford. Sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  I go back to Meg, plug in my phone, and drop next to her, leaning against the window. Disappointment seeps through me. Why do I get my hopes up? I should know better by now; every time I get an idea of how or where to find Mom, the plan is ruined before I get anywhere. I stare off into space and try to think through every tiny detail from yesterday.

  My phone dings, and I reach down and pick it up. Jack. More decisions. Do I respond? Maybe I should wait until Meg and I have found Mom and I am back to living a seminormal life.

  I open his message. Glad to see your text. I’m at Gram’s house with parents and family. Mom threatened to take my phone for a month if I took it out of my pocket so had to wait for a chance. Are you okay?

  Tears spring to my eyes, and my mouth quivers. Jack lives that perfect life with two parents, a grandmother, and a houseful of family—the life that I want so badly I dream about it. Does Jack know he’s lucky to have a family to turn to if something goes wrong? Does he appreciate the roof over his head and the money in his pocket? I swallow the ache in my heart and avoid his question. Where are you that your mom won’t catch you?

  Jack texts, In the bathroom 

  A picture of Jack sitting on a toilet lid in his grandmother’s house with his thumbs flying across his phone dances in my head and brings a twitch of a smile to the corner of my mouth. Go back to your family. I can’t talk now.

  Jack’s response is quick, Are you okay?

  I stare at the text and wonder if I should lie, just evade the truth, or not text back at all. I’ll call if I need help.

  Jack replies, Good. I’m here.

  I plug my phone back into the wall and sit back against the warm window. Texting Jack broke my concentration, and I vow not to open another message or take a call until I’ve exhausted every possibility of finding Mom.

  Mapping out where Mom was during her day and what she did might help me focus. I reach for my pack and dig around until I find my notebook and a pencil. Mom left work on time. I draw little pictures and diagram her route. I make a graphic list along the side, crossing out the hospital, a car accident, and Darren kidnapping her. I sketch a garage near the 7-Eleven and Mom walking to it.

  Picturing Mom walking along a dark street all alone sends my heart racing. How often did she tell me not to get caught out by myself like that? A stranger could have grabbed her on the way to the garage.

  I lean forward on the window seat, suddenly alert. The garage. Meg glances at me, but I don’t do anything but stare straight ahead.
I’m so excited and nervous I can hardly breathe. The mechanic. Why didn’t I think of the garage before? Mom called somebody to work on Ruby. He might be the one who kidnapped her.

  Officer Rodriguez told Mom to get Ruby fixed right away. My fingers clutch at the notebook in my lap. Mom would have to take Ruby somewhere close to her job so she could drop her off on a break and pick her up after work. My excitement grows so quickly I can hardly keep from screaming. I’ve got to check every garage close to the 7-Eleven.

  “Stay here, Meg,” I whisper. “I’m going over to the computers to check on something.”

  My fingers move across the keyboard so fast I make a ton of mistakes and have to remind myself to slow down. My search gives me three possible garages, maybe four. All have websites, but each lists their hours from eight to five, Monday through Friday. No Saturday hours. No emergency numbers. I copy their numbers anyway and hurry back to my phone. I squat down and tap in the first number. After five rings, an answering machine kicks in, listing the hours the garage is open and asking the caller to leave a message at the beep. No emergency number. I hang up and call the next garage on my list. Same drill. No emergency numbers. I try every garage and come up with nothing.

  I sit back on the window seat beside Meg and go over my map. I start at the beginning of Mom’s day, when she kissed us goodbye and walked into work. I draw a little picture of Ruby, with Mom heading into the 7-Eleven and Meg and me hanging out in Ruby reading stories until we caught the bus to the mall.

  Off on a tangent, I draw Meg and I going to the mall on the bus. My step-by-step reasoning gets sidetracked with Jack taking us to lunch. I quickly draw a picture of Meg and I going back to the library and bring my focus back to Mom. To concentrate on her day, not mine.

  I draw a picture of Mom at work, standing behind the counter fitting calls to garages in between customers. She’d find all the garages were closed like I did, so what would she do then? The internet? Craigslist? Mom uses the website all the time for good deals on everything from kid’s clothes to furniture to laptop computers. She’d be looking for somebody cheap. Somebody open on Saturday. But does Craigslist even advertise for mechanics?