Donny barked out a laugh. “Kiddo, both legally and scientifically alcohol is a drug, and your mom had quite a bit more than, ‘a little too much to drink.’”
I felt like Donny was rebuking me, and it ticked me off, and then, suddenly, all of the anxiety and tension I’d felt the past several weeks came bubbling up, and I began to yell angrily at him. “It’s like you’re happy she’s in jail!” I told him. “And why wouldn’t you be? You never cut her a break, Donny. You always give her a hard time about everything! There’s nothing she can do that’s good enough for you! Even when she tries, you put her down!” I railed some more insults at my uncle, accusing him of never liking Ma, of wanting to get me away from her just to hurt her, of never being there for us. All lies, and I knew it, but I couldn’t stop. At last I fell silent, squeezing the phone, not sure if he’d hung up or not.
“You done?” he said curtly.
My lower lip trembled. I knew I’d gone way over the line and I should apologize, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So I didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched out between us.
At last Donny said, “I’ll be up on Wednesday. We’ll talk then.” There was a click, and he was gone.
I moped on the couch after that, trying to work up the courage to call Donny back and tell him that I was sorry, but I didn’t. Belatedly, I realized I’d forgotten to tell him about the truck. That seemed a stupid thing to bring up now in light of our fight.
I went out to the kitchen and rummaged around in the fridge for something to eat. Mrs. Duncan had sent me home with so many leftovers that I wouldn’t need to go shopping for anything more than milk for at least a week. And while I was taking out a container of leftover turkey, I noticed the pecan pie she’d given me as I was leaving her house the day before.
It was encased in plastic wrap, and Mrs. Duncan had tied a sweet plaid bow around it to make it look like a gift. Stubby loved pecan pie, and in that moment I missed him so much that I could barely stand it. I knew I couldn’t visit him, but maybe I could visit his mom and his brother and sister. Maybe hanging out with them would take a little of the guilt I felt for yelling at Donny away.
A few minutes later, I was out the door, pecan pie in hand.
Mrs. Schroder (5-11-2052) answered the doorbell before the echo had faded away. “Maddie!” she said when she took me in. Before I knew it I was wrapped in her arms and she was squeezing me tightly. “Oh, Maddie. I’ve missed you so much!” And then she was crying. Like, seriously crying. I felt so bad for staying away as long as I had. After pulling me inside, she cupped my face and said, “I’m so glad to see you!”
I held up the pie. “My neighbor baked it,” I told her. Then I noticed how puffy Mrs. Schroder’s face was and how swollen her eyes were. She’d been crying for some time.
“It’s beautiful, sweetie,” she said, accepting the pie. “Come in, come in!”
I followed her into the kitchen, and through a doorway that led to the playroom I could hear Stubby’s younger twin brother and sister arguing over a video game they were playing. “I thought about calling you so many times,” Mrs. Schroder said, putting the pie on the counter at the same time she reached for her coat and purse. “I’m so sorry I didn’t. But you’re here exactly when I needed someone, like an angel sent to me this morning.”
I was super confused. “Did something happen?” I asked.
Mrs. Schroder shrugged into her coat. “An officer from the jail called me fifteen minutes ago.”
I sucked in a breath. “What’s happened?”
“He said that Arnold has been involved in some sort of disturbance, and they’d like me to come down there.” Her voice became hoarse as she said the words.
I bit my lip. “Disturbance? What does that mean?”
Stubby’s mom wiped her eyes. “I’m not sure. I’ve called your uncle several times, but it keeps rolling right to voice mail. So I’m heading downtown to see if I can find out what happened. I didn’t have anyone to watch Sam and Grace; would you mind staying with them for a bit?”
I blinked, “Oh! Sure, I’ll watch them, Mrs. Schroder, don’t worry. Please go see Stubs and tell him that I said hi and I miss him, okay?”
Mrs. Schroder stepped forward to hug me again. “Thank you. I will.” And then she was rushing out the door.
I spent most of the afternoon with Stubby’s younger brother and sister. Sam (4-25-2092) and Grace (3-17-2048) were nice enough kids, but they were also a little bit of a handful. By the time Mrs. Schroder got home I was pretty relieved. Until I saw her face. “Is it bad?” I gasped.
Stubby’s mom was crying, but trying to turn her face away from Sam and Grace so they wouldn’t see how upset she was. I had the sense that she’d held it together until she walked through her own door, and it all came crashing down on her. I coaxed her to a chair, got her a box of Kleenex, and waited for her to collect herself. Finally, she seemed to settle down, and I asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Arnold was taken to the hospital,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “The disturbance was that his cellmate assaulted him. He broke his nose, re-fractured his hand, and he has a severe concussion. Enough that they’re keeping him overnight for observation.”
I bit my lip, near tears myself. “Did Donny call you back?”
Mrs. Schroder nodded. “He’s trying to get Stubby moved to solitary confinement—which sounds awful and extreme, but it would keep him separated from the general population and he’d be safe there. Still, your uncle says the warden is in tight with the FBI, and they’re pushing to keep him in that same cell block with all those murderers and drug dealers.”