I stared out the window. The shhhh in my ear. The tic-tic-tic of my heart. The mention of a gun. It was all too much.
“Sorry,” Dereck told me after a moment.
“It’s okay.”
“Have you been back there? The church, I mean? I saw the way you barely glanced at it when we drove by before.”
I shook my head. The conversation had nudged my mind back to what I should have been focusing on. I remembered that note about Uncle Howie inside the folder and wondered if that’s why we had stopped hearing from him.
Dereck fell silent next to me, and not long after my sister emerged from the building. When she climbed into the truck, Rose tossed the envelope with her check on the dashboard. On our way to the bank, Dereck asked her about the safety cone still in the back. It belonged to Sheila, Rose told us, a woman who also worked at Dial U.S.A. “Sheila claims to have dibs on the spot. She throws a hissy if anyone even looks at it. It’s not a handicapped space but may as well be because it’s so close to the front door. That’s why she wants it to herself. She’s as lazy as they come.”
“So how did she get her hands on a safety cone?”
“Her husband works road crew. And the woman has the balls to leave it in the spot to keep everyone away, like it’s reserved parking.”
“Not anymore,” Dereck said. “Now that you have it.”
“Oh, trust me. She’ll have a new one tomorrow. Sheila pops them out like a chicken laying eggs. One of these days I’ll shove them all right back up her ass.”
Dereck laughed. Since we were pulling up to the drive-through window at the bank, and I was about to get paid, I should have felt happy enough to laugh too. But I couldn’t manage it. Soon, Rose was scooping an envelope with cash from the teller’s drawer. She asked for a lollipop they normally gave to children and popped it in her mouth, not bothering to get any for Dereck and me. I watched her suck on the thing while counting the bills before setting the envelope on the dashboard. As we pulled away from the bank, loose coins chattered inside.
I cleared my throat and asked, “Rose, can I have my seventy-seven dollars now?” The question came out just as she pumped up a song; a scratchy-voiced singer wailed about shaking someone all night long. Once more, Rose beat her hands on the steering wheel and crooned away. As we picked up speed, wind rushed through the windows, whipping her hair. I watched Dereck bat it away as the envelope slid back and forth across the dashboard with every turn. At last, the shaking all night long wound down, and Dereck smiled, showcasing his wolfish teeth. He said quietly in my good ear, “Must be morning.”
When the inside of the truck grew silent, I knew I didn’t have much time before the next song started. I used my most mature, survey-taking voice to say, “Rose, can I please have my seventy-seven dollars now?”
“Sorry, squirt. But you aren’t getting that money just yet.”
“Why do we have to wait until we get home? I want—”
“I’m not talking about waiting until we get home. I’m talking about you contributing to the expenses for a change.”
“But that’s not the deal we made.”
“Well, it is now.”
“I’ll give some toward expenses, Rose, but not all. I have plans for that money.”
“What plans?”
I shouldn’t have told her how my savings had been wiped out after that summer Abigail came to live with us. I shouldn’t have told her about the cookbook for Boshoff. But I did, and it ignited a rant about the people she had to waste money on too. “One is named Mr. Maryland Light and Power. Another is named Mrs. Baltimore Oil and Heat. They’re bills, Sylvie. Bills we need to pay. So if you think buying a book for some crap counselor takes priority over keeping the lights and heat on, or putting food on the tab—”
“What food?” I could not keep from saying. “You mean Popsicles?”
“Surprise! They cost money too, and I don’t see you complaining when you’re shoving them in your face!”
“Calm down,” Dereck tried, but nobody was listening to him anymore.
His leg felt too heavy against mine all of a sudden, and I shoved it away. “I worked hard getting those surveys, and I deserve the money!”
“Sorry, Sylvie. But the answer is no.”