In Sickness and in Death

In Sickness and in Death - By Lisa Bork



For Adam and Chelsea





I heard the baby crying, soft whimpers punctuated by fearful wails. My feet slipped off the bed and hit the floor, carrying me across familiar ground even while my eyes remained closed, exhaustion hanging on my body like a shroud. I pushed open the door and crossed to the side of her crib. My arms reached out for her. They met empty air. I searched the mattress, my hands skittering from the center to each vacant corner. The sheets were cold. A cloud of dust tickled my nose. I sneezed. My eyes flew open.

The room stood bare, as it had for almost four months, waiting for the child who would never return. She lived with her birthmother now, only a bittersweet memory for us.

I heard Ray in the doorway behind me. “Are you all right?”

“I heard Noelle crying. She was afraid.”

Ray’s warm hands cupped my shoulders. He leaned close. “She’s happy and healthy. You’ve got to let her go.”

I stiffened. “I did.”

Ray released me. “Not really. You’ve had the dream twice this month already.”

I tried to ease the tension with a joke. “I’m making progress. That’s half as many times as last month.”

The rocking chair creaked as my husband lowered his six-foot-three, 220-pound frame into it. I turned toward him in time to see his hand rub his temple. “Darlin’, Noelle didn’t die. We took a chance on the adoption, and we lost out. We were lucky to have her as long as we did. But we have to move on.”

I slid down to the floor, too tired to support my weight. “I moved on.”

Ray buried his forehead in his hands, his dark hair falling forward and hiding his face. “Not true. When was the last time you went into the shop? Cory doesn’t even call here anymore to ask your opinion or your permission. He’s running the whole show alone.”

I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hardwood floor. “Maybe I should offer to sell out to him. Hawking used sports cars doesn’t help the world. I should find something to do that helps people.”

“First you have to help yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ray raised his head from his hands, his expression etched with concern and something I couldn’t quite name. “You don’t shower. You don’t get dressed. You don’t clean or grocery shop. We don’t have sex. You don’t even know your sister is making a fool of herself all over town. All you do is watch television or stare out the window. It’s not normal and it’s not healthy, Jolene.”

When Ray used my given name, for the most part he was pissed or feeling the urge. I bet on pissed this time.

I fingered my over-sized sleep shirt. It smelled of body odor, and the yellow stain on the area covering my belly button showed up even in the moonlit room. My scalp itched. My toenails were like daggers. I didn’t care. My baby was gone.

“Here’s the deal, Jolene. Tomorrow morning you are going to get out of bed, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and go to work, where you will remain at least half the day. Then you’re going to go to the grocery store. I made the list up already. And when I get home, you’re going to have dinner on the table. If you don’t, I’m calling Dr. Albert and asking him about treatment programs.”

“Ray!” Okay, so I’d been a little down lately. He was overreacting, wasn’t he? But the creases edging the corners of his brown eyes had deepened over the last few months, giving him the perpetual worried look of a bulldog. Was that my fault?

“I’m serious, Jolene. This shit has got to stop.” The rocking chair banged into the wall as he left the room.

Seconds later, our bedroom door slammed.

I stretched out, the floor cool against my flushed cheek.

Resentment simmered inside me. I didn’t like being told what to do. Normally I would go out of my way to do the exact opposite, but Ray meant business this time. Worse, he was right.

He wouldn’t be enrolling me in any mental health programs. No way. I’d spent too much time in the mental health community while my sister Erica received treatment for her bipolar disorder, suicidal tendencies, and a myriad of other things, including shooting a man four months ago. Not to mention I’d spent three days in the psychiatric wing at the age of twelve after finding my mother’s dead body in the family garage. I feared a return engagement. They might never let me out again.

Ray’s comment about Erica bothered me. She hadn’t been around much lately, but I hadn’t given it much thought. Then again, I hadn’t given anything much thought for the last few months. I assumed she was working and dating one of the many men who crossed her path at the restaurant bar where she waitresses. She’d held the job for over six months now, a lifetime achievement for her. It seemed like when she got her act together, my world had fallen apart.

What was I missing, hiding out here at home? Had she lost her job and failed to inform me? Was she having public sex, the final frontier for her? Would the word robbery soon be mentioned in the same breath as her name, as it had been more than once in the past? Or some worse crime?

I stretched out farther on my stomach, trying to work the kinks out of my spine. It had compressed with all the months of sitting around doing nothing but staring out the window. I might not even be five-four anymore.

Something brushed my cheek. I swatted it away. As my fingers tangled in it, I realized it was a dust bunny. I’d let more than myself go over the last few months. Our bungalow needed a thorough cleaning. So did Ray’s pipes.

I reached for the baby quilt draped on the side of the crib. I could handle Ray’s ultimatum. It was time to resurface. I wouldn’t even bother to point out to him that tomorrow was Monday and my sports car boutique would be closed. But first I needed a few more hours of sleep.

____


Ray banged the cabinet doors in the kitchen. When I rose onto my knees, my whole body ached. The floor hadn’t made for warm, restful sleep.

I snuck past Ray and hit the bathroom. Ten minutes later I’d nicked my legs five times while shaving and washed my hair twice. I was pleasantly surprised to find the brown locks had only a few new strands of gray to betray my thirty-eight years. I could use a haircut though. It took me twice as long to blow dry the wavy hair that fell to my shoulder blades. Then I tackled my overabundance of eyebrow and toenail.

Getting dressed proved more difficult. I hadn’t eaten much in the last four months, and my size eight clothes hung on me. I found a long black skirt with an elastic waist, slit the waistband, hacked off several inches of elastic, and safety-pinned the edges together. When I teamed the skirt with a white sweater and my favorite black dress boots, I didn’t look too bad. A touch of blush made me look less wan. Mascara made my eyes pop.

I approached the kitchen with trepidation, hoping Ray wouldn’t pick up yelling at me where he’d left off last night.

Instead, one of Ray’s famous Belgian waffles awaited me, drenched in syrup and whipped cream. He used to make them every Sunday, but I couldn’t remember the last time he had. For an all masculine male, he could be very Betty Crocker.

He looked up from the paper, his gaze raking me from head to toe. “You look gorgeous.”

I felt immediately forgiven as I slid onto the stool next to him at the breakfast bar. “Like Valerie Bertinelli?” Ray had a thing for her all through high school, with her pictures adorning his locker. My resemblance to her had attracted him.

He twirled my long hair in his fingers. “Exactly. Gorgeous.” He tipped my chin and kissed my lips. “Too bad I’m late for work.”

He stood and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his perfectly pressed county sheriff’s department uniform. Deputy Ray Parker. God, I loved a man in uniform, especially this handsome dark-haired stud. I blushed, happy to think this for the first time in months. Then I noticed a few more gray hairs at Ray’s temples and worried I had caused them. Or had all his cases been preying on his mind while I’d sat, unwilling to listen?

He smiled at me, clearly pleased to see me up and about and ready to go. “I’m sorry, Darlin’. No strawberries for the waffles. It’s not the right season for them, anyway. Here’s the shopping list.” Ray leaned in for another kiss, lingering as he stroked his thumb over my lower lip. My nether regions tingled in response—not that I felt like doing anything about it. It was just good to know I was still capable of excitement. “Make sure to invite Cory and Erica for dinner Thursday.”

My eyes bulged. “Thursday?”

“Yeah, it’s Thanksgiving.” Ray disappeared out the kitchen door with a wave.

I looked at the list. Turkey. Stuffing bread. Canned cranberry sauce.

My armpits felt damp. I licked my lips. Not only did I have to face the world this morning, but I had to entertain in three days. Although Ray always did the turkey and the stuffing. Maybe I could manage mashed potatoes and a frozen pie. Cory and Erica would bring something. It might work out.

I ate two bites of waffle. Then two more. Then I finished the whole thing. My stomach felt bloated, but I wouldn’t need to expand the elastic in my skirt anytime soon. I loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the granite countertops before stuffing the list in my purse and heading out the door.

Driving my Lexus for the first time in weeks reminded me how much I loved the feeling of independence and control behind the wheel. Traffic was light on Main Street, since most of the shops in Wachobe didn’t open until ten. Only Asdale Auto Imports opened at nine a.m. Tuesday through Saturday as it had for the last four years under my ownership and the prior forty or so years when my dad ran his garage at this address.

I pulled into the parking lot behind the building and found Cory’s BMW parked there. Strange for a Monday.

A cold front had settled in overnight. I held the collar of my white wool coat tight to my neck as I walked along the edge of my cedar-shingled building. The shingles and the white trim could have used a touchup this past summer. I hoped the town fathers hadn’t noticed as well. They considered my building an abomination amongst their prized Victorian brick and clapboard storefronts, and my pre-owned but pristine sports cars too modern for their desired tourist town image. In fact, almost a year ago, they tried to force me to relocate to a back street, away from Main Street and the lakefront that attracted thousands of summer residents and cottage rentals. I refused. The Asdale automotive tradition would carry on at this address. If I could get my act together, it might even do so under my leadership once again.

The bell jingled, announcing my arrival. Cory appeared in the showroom, wearing his mechanic’s overalls, booties, and plastic surgical gloves smeared with grease.

“Jo. What a great surprise.” He stripped off the gloves and threw them in the wastebasket. His arms bruised my ribs as he lifted me off the floor. “I’m so glad to see you.”

One whiff of his cologne and I felt the same way. Friends like Cory were hard to come by. “I missed you, too.”

He set me down inches from the 2006 F430 Ferrari Spider that had become the bane of my existence. It rested in the middle of my showroom floor, Rosso Corsa paint gleaming under the pin lights, no longer desirable to anyone after I found a murdered man in its front seat almost a year ago now. All my inventory dollars were tied up in the car. Unable to add to my stock on the lot, my only option was to offer customers my ability to locate and broker deals for a sports car of their choice. With the popularity of the Internet and cars readily available for sale online, not many customers took me up on my offer. Without Cory’s steady maintenance income, I would be out of business.

I searched his face. “It’s Monday. Why are you working?”

He avoided my gaze. “I’m a little behind.”

That wasn’t like Cory. He always finished his work on time or earlier. I opened my mouth to ask why then thought for a moment. Obviously, it was my fault. He’d been doing his work and mine for months. “I’m so sorry, Cory. I should have been here.”

Cory waved his hand as if to say “don’t worry about it.” He led me into my office and pushed me into my chair. “Good news.”

“You sold the Ferrari.”

He tipped his head to the side. “Ah, no. But we have two new customers, and one of them needs your expertise.”

My throat swelled shut. What expertise? Everything I touched turned into tragedy. “Tell me about the other customer first.”

He dropped into the chair beside the desk, looking like I’d punctured his tires. “Okay. Brennan Rowe bought a turbo-charged Mazda Protégé. He hopes to race it this spring, and he wants me to be the crew chief and mechanic for his team.” He leapt to his feet. “It’s in the garage now. Want to see it?”

Race car support would be a new niche for our business, but not one I wanted to pursue. Too much time at the track. Too many last-minute hassles. Too much tweaking of sensitive engines, brakes, and transmissions. Too hard to hold down expenses. Still, Brennan Rowe reeked of money, especially after the successful construction and lease of his much-contended office building, and he was a lucrative customer with a significant car collection. If Cory had agreed to provide race support, I’d go along with it for now. “Maybe later. Tell me about my new customer first.”

Cory stuck his hands in his pockets and swayed on the balls of his feet. Small but wiry at five-one, he always had a lot of energy. Maybe that was why his auburn hair curled poodle-tight. “She’s different.”

A woman. That was different. Most of my customers were men looking for the power, luxury, status, and speed a fine automobile provided. “How so?”

Cory’s girly eyelashes blinked four times in rapid succession. “She read an article on the Internet about the cars that turn men’s heads; cars that make men think a woman’s hot. You know, a Mercedes 300SL roadster, a Porsche 911, cars like that. She decided to buy one of the cars on the list. She wants to get this guy’s attention, and he likes sports cars.”

“So which one of the ten did she pick?”

Cory scrunched his eyes as if fearing my response. “The Caterham Seven.”

I wished I was home in bed with the covers over my head. “You’re kidding me. Aren’t they only available in England?”

“They have dealerships in the U.S. now.”

“They’re kit cars, aren’t they?”

“You can buy them and build them. I offered to do that for her, but getting a kit car registered and insured is a hassle. We decided that purchasing a used DeDion model would be the best way to go. It’s got the newer Ford Zetec engine, improved suspension, and meets most emission standards.”

“Does she know it’s an open car, best driven wearing a helmet? Does she think getting soaked in rainstorms and picking bugs out of her teeth will attract this guy?”

Cory sank into the chair again. “Jo, she’s not an attractive woman. She’s big-boned with hair dyed the color of the Ferrari. Crooked teeth. It’s not pretty. But she knows this guy loves the Caterham Seven. He saw it in some Japanese animated cartoons and got all hot for it.”

“If she’s that big, will she even fit in the car? It’s designed for racing.” Wouldn’t the town muckety mucks be delighted to have Wachobe turn into the new road racing street course? I didn’t think they’d send me roses in appreciation.

“Yeah, but it’s built for living. She’ll fit. I can make her fit, if you can find the car.”

I stifled a sigh. “All right. I’ll start in the Sunbelt, where people can drive a car like that year-round.” Unlike here in New York’s Finger Lakes region, where maybe a handful of days over a couple of summer months would be suitable.

“Great.” Cory fumbled through a stack of note pads on my desk. “Here’s her brother’s number. She’s staying with him until Christmas. I told her we’d call once we located a car for her.”

He sprang out of the chair, ready for action. “I’ve got a Fiat to service this morning and a Land Rover coming in this afternoon.”

I held up my hand to slow his departure. “Cory, one more thing. Did you want to come over for Thanksgiving dinner?”

His eyes misted. “I do, but can I bring a date?”

A date. Cory’s life had been busy in more ways than one since I dropped out of sight. “Sure. Who?”

“I’ll let you know after I ask him.”

How mysterious. Cory had learned the man he loved was a big fat liar in the worst way just a few days before we lost Noelle. He’d handled his depression better than me, pouring his energy into his maintenance work and letting out all his emotion in amateur theater performances at the Broadway-quality theater one town over from Wachobe. Too bad I hadn’t taken a page from his book.

I powered up my computer, smelling smoke as the dust burned off. The website for Hemming Motors News came up a second after I typed in the address. They didn’t have any Caterhams listed.

A little more searching uncovered two for sale from sports car dealerships in Florida and Arizona. No one answered the phone numbers listed on their websites. I left my name and numbers, office and cell. What more could I do today?

Cory had the bills paid to date, and he’d invoiced all his maintenance customers in a timely manner. An order for parts and supplies went out last week. He didn’t really need me here. I’d become superfluous in my own business.

I tried to think of a way to become more important. I stuck my head in the three-bay garage. “I’m going grocery shopping. I’ll bring you back lunch around noon.”

Flat on his back and smiling, Cory shot out from under the Fiat on his mechanic’s creeper. “Can we have pizza?”

____


The grocery store proved to be a nightmare. I couldn’t decide between a fresh turkey, a Butterball, or the store brand. Jellied cranberry sauce or sauce with berries? One loaf of stuffing bread? Or two, if Cory brought a guest? Maybe Erica would like to bring a guest as well?

I dialed her cell phone number and waited. She answered on the eighth ring. She sounded half-awake.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. I worked until two a.m. What do you want?”

“I want to make sure you’re planning on having Thanksgiving dinner with us.”

“I’m surprised you care enough to ask.”

I deserved that. I hadn’t called her in weeks. “I care. Did you want to bring a date?”

“Are you kidding me? I’m twenty pounds overweight. I look like a cow. No one wants to poke a cow, Jolene.”

“That’s a nice picture, Erica.”

“Better than the picture of all my flab being sucked out. Have you ever seen them do that on TV?”

I had. It grossed me out for days, and the mere memory of it made me want to vomit. “Why are you so gory today? What’s wrong?”

“Everything. Not that you care.”

“I care, Erica, I care. Why don’t you come for dinner tonight and tell me all about it?”

“Fine. But don’t serve chicken. I hate chicken.” She hung up.

I couldn’t decide what to serve for dinner. Ray’s list only covered Thanksgiving dinner and a few other staples. I pushed the cart from one end of the store to another, frustrated with my own indecisiveness and shocked at the anxiety this simple responsibility induced. When I saw another woman reach for lasagna noodles, I seized on the idea, purchasing the supplies for it, salad fixings, and a loaf of Italian bread. Only after I was halfway home did I realize I hadn’t purchased dessert. Ray liked dessert every night.

I ordered pizza for Cory and me while I unloaded the groceries at home. I didn’t feel like driving back to the shop, but I knew he expected me to eat lunch with him today. And I could run into the bakery down the street for a dessert. I would have much rather taken a nap.

But I soldiered on, picking up the pizza and returning to the shop in time to catch a phone call from Ray.

“How’s your day going?”

“Okay. I shopped. We’re having lasagna for dinner.”

“Excellent. Can you set one more place?”

“I’ll have to set two extra. I invited Erica.”

His silence unnerved me.

“Is Erica a problem, Ray?”

“No, but I have someone I want you to meet.”

“I don’t need a psychiatrist, Ray. I’m doing everything you asked me to do.” Not with any enjoyment or enthusiasm, but I was doing it.

“He’s not a doctor, Darlin’.”

“Who is he?”

“His name is Danny Phillips. He’s twelve.”

“Twelve? Where did you meet him?”

“His father was arrested this morning for grand theft auto.”

“Not good.”

“It gets worse. He’s Danny’s only parent, and he’s not going to make bail. When he’s proven guilty, he may be incarcerated for a while.”

I noticed Ray said “when” not “if.” The Sheriff’s Department must have an airtight case. “So why do you want me to meet him?”

“We’re his new foster parents.”





Erica arrived at our home before Ray. I was in the kitchen talking to myself, or, rather, talking to Ray, saying all the things I wouldn’t have the courage or stamina to say to his face. Nor would I voice them in front of this twelve-year-old boy, who needed a loving home. Too bad I didn’t feel capable of loving him. I wasn’t even sure I would like him.

“What are we having?”

“Lasagna.”

Erica plopped onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “Great, I wore a white blouse. I’ll probably get sauce all over it and look like someone stabbed me.”

I stopped slicing the bread, holding the knife in midair. “You’re very graphic today and not in a good way.”

“Nobody wants me anymore. I’m fat and used up.”

“You don’t look so bad to me.” Her hair could use styling. She could button up her blouse a couple more buttons. Okay, maybe she had a slight roll at the waistline, but nothing crisis-mode. On a good day, she could still give Kate Hudson a run for her money with her sparkling blue eyes and natural blonde ringlets.

“My thighs rub together.” She yanked on the blouse. “This is size eight. I’m an elephant.” Her eyes raked over my body. “You stole my figure and gave me yours in return.”

I resumed slicing so I wouldn’t be tempted to turn the knife on her.

“Can I have a beer?” Erica slid off the stool and helped herself to a Corona.

“You shouldn’t drink with your medication.”

She took a long swing. “I’m not taking it anymore. Mom said I’m cured.”

I nicked my finger with the knife. Thankfully, no blood oozed out to ruin the bread.

Erica claimed our dead mother gave her advice all the time. I didn’t know exactly how these exchanges occurred since Erica never even visited Mom’s grave, but I did know from experience that their supposed conversations tended to precede disaster. “When did you take your last pill?”

Her shoulders hunched. “I don’t remember.”

“What does Dr. Albert say about it?”

“I haven’t seen him lately.” She headed toward the living room. “I’m going to watch the news.”

Erica had stopped taking her medicine before, claiming to be cured. Her bipolar disorder would never be cured, just tempered to a dull roar. Tomorrow morning I would drag her to Dr. Albert’s office and force her to start taking her medication again. She’d come so far in the last year. I didn’t want to see her backslide. I rolled my shoulders and my neck. I’d need to go to bed early tonight to have enough energy to win that battle.

When I set the breadbasket on the table, Erica was watching a talk show. Two women were attacking each other on a stage, pulling hair and screaming while a man held a microphone up to their faces.

Erica pointed her beer at the television. “Women are animals. No wonder men think we’re just a receptacle. And when the receptacle shows too much sign of use, they move on.”

My lips parted, but no words came to mind. Tomorrow. I’d tackle her tomorrow.

I heard Ray come through the kitchen door and turned to greet him. A mop-headed boy stood next to him, barely waist-high compared to Ray but chin-high compared to me. The sleeves on his red ski jacket were an inch above his wrist bones and his baggy jeans had a hole in each knee. He had on some pretty expensive high-tops, though.

“Darlin’, this is Danny.” Ray looked at him, reached over and swept the dark hair off the kid’s face. I got a glimpse of angry brown eyes before the hair flopped back into place. “Danny, this is Jolene.”

“Hi, Danny. Nice to meet you.”

The kid muttered an unintelligible reply.

Erica bumped into my back. “Who’s the kid, Ray?”

“This is Danny. He’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

“No shit.”

My elbow slammed into her belly roll.

“I mean, that’s great.”

While Ray hung up their coats in the living room closet, Erica trailed me to the stove. “What’s up with the kid? Does Ray want to adopt him? He looks like the Shaggy Dog.”

“He’s our new foster child. It’s only temporary, until his father gets out of jail.”

“His dad’s in jail?”

I had no doubt that both Danny and Ray had heard her shriek. “We’ll talk about it later, when we’re alone, okay?”

“Okay, but you better count the silver.”

When we sat down to dinner, Ray’s glower confirmed that he’d heard everything, and Erica was in trouble. Or maybe I was.

I tried to make amends. “I hope you like lasagna, Danny.”

“It’s okay.”

It must have been more than okay, because he shoveled it into his mouth in seconds flat. Ray smiled at me and served the kid a second helping.

Danny didn’t touch the salad I put on his plate. I decided not to press the issue.

Ray made most of the dinner conversation, explaining that he’d delivered Danny’s school transcripts and made an appointment with the principal of Wachobe Middle School to register Danny the next morning. Danny would start school the Monday following Thanksgiving.

After dinner, while Erica and Danny watched SpongeBob on the television in the living room, I whispered to Ray in the kitchen.

“Where are his clothes?”

“His father didn’t provide an address at the time of arrest. I don’t know where their stuff is.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “Then how did you get the kid?”

“His father told me he needed to be picked up from school.”

“Didn’t the school have an address for them?”

“Yes, but it was his father’s ex-girlfriend’s place. All she said was that they moved out six months ago.”

“What about Social Services?”

“Danny’s been on their radar before, but they’re happy to have us shoulder the burden for now.”

“Even though shots have been fired in our home?” This fact had contributed to the judge’s decision to return Noelle to her birthmother four months ago. Or maybe it had been the man’s blood spattered all over our walls, looking kinda Jackson Pollack, but not in a good way.

Ray frowned. “That wasn’t our fault. Let’s just say Danny is not the type of kid to be in high demand.”

I didn’t have the energy to explore this revelation. “Where’s he going to sleep?”

“On the couch for tonight.”

“Then where?” I started to load the dishwasher.

“We do have a spare bedroom.”

A plate slipped out of my hand and shattered on the floor. “Are you talking about Noelle’s nursery?” Tears filled my eyes. It was my last link to her. Sometimes I even thought I could smell the No More Tears from her hair.

Ray got the broom and swept up the shards. “I know it’s hard, Darlin’, but it’s time to move on. You said yesterday you wanted to help people. Here’s a kid who needs our help.”

Words failed me. Ray always liked to take control of a situation and make decisions for me. It was a side to his personality I could live without, but I didn’t have the strength or inclination to fight it today.

He took my silence as acquiescence. “I’m on the day shift tomorrow. I’d appreciate it if you took Danny over to school to meet with the principal. Then maybe you could do a little clothes and supply shopping with him? He’s looking forward to it. Can you do that for me?”

Before I could tell him I already had my day planned around straightening out Erica, she let out another shriek. Ray and I charged into the living room to find her waving her purse in the air.

“I went in the can and came out to find Danny Boy helping himself to my cash.”

“I was looking for a Kleenex.” Danny rubbed his nose. “I got boogers.”

“Liar! The kid’s a thief.”

Ray held up a placating hand. “Settle down, Erica. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding, my ass. I’m out of here.” She grabbed her coat from the closet. Her slam reverberated in the front door glass.

Ray perched on the edge of the couch next to the boy, whose head had sunk into his shoulders. “We have some rules in this house, Danny. If you’re going to live here, you have to follow our rules. No stealing, no lying, no swearing, no drugs, no smoking of any kind, no playing with matches, no going anywhere without telling us, and no talking back. We expect you to do your homework and help out when you’re asked.” He reached his massive hand up and brushed the hair out of the kid’s face. “Will you promise to follow those rules, Danny?”

“Yes.” But his sullen tone and his failure to look Ray in the eye bothered me.

Erica could wait another day. This kid needed me more. But I couldn’t let this opportunity pass. “I have one more rule.”

Danny and Ray looked at me.

“No hair in your eyes. Tomorrow we’ll get you a haircut, too.”

____


The principal at Wachobe Middle School, Mrs. Travis, projected warmth in her smile, her handshake, and her guiding hand on Danny’s shoulder. I squared away the paperwork with her while a teacher gave Danny some placement assessments. Then the principal took us on a tour. I’d seen the building before. Ray and I both went to school here, and the brick exterior and tan interior hadn’t changed much. The library had new blue carpeting, and the gym had a springy newfangled floor made out of recycled rubber. I recognized the smell of Pizza Day wafting from the cafeteria.

With hair masking his face, I couldn’t tell what Danny thought of the school. He sat outside in the hallway for a few minutes after our tour while the principal reviewed his assessments with me.

“He tested at grade level, although the teacher thought he showed more potential. I’m going to place him in Mr. Matthews’ class. He’s a young teacher, and boys seem to relate well with him.” Mrs. Travis fingered Danny’s transcripts. “Danny’s file indicates he can be a handful. I think Mr. Matthews will be up to the task.”

I knew why Ray brought the documents over here himself yesterday. He didn’t want me to read the kid’s transcript. Did he think a twelve-year-old could scare me?

On second thought, Erica at ten had been pretty frightening.

Mrs. Travis didn’t seem to notice my involuntary shudder. She kept right on talking as though I was the natural choice to fulfill Danny’s needs. “This is the list of supplies we require for fifth graders. It would be helpful if Danny could bring them on his first day.”

Maybe she and Ray saw something in me that I didn’t. In any case, I was in no shape to argue with either of them, or Danny, for that matter. I rose and picked up my purse. “We’re going shopping now. He’ll be ready to go on Monday.”

The principal shook my hand again and wished us well. I stepped into the hall outside her office, but didn’t see Danny. I headed to the left down the hallway in search of him, the click from my dress boot heels echoing off the walls.

I glanced into the classrooms filled with hard-at-work children. At the next hall, I gave up and turned back only to find Danny standing three yards behind me. “There you are. Are you ready to go?”

He nodded and took off at a fast clip. I had to hustle to keep up with him.

The hour drive to the nearest shopping mecca passed without a word from Danny. I commented on how nice the principal seemed and tried to talk up his new teacher. Danny turned his face to the window. I chalked up his silence to natural apprehension about new people and places.

I found a barbershop that catered to sports enthusiasts with televisions tuned to the games while stylists did their magic. Danny didn’t express any opinions as to how he would like his hair cut, so I asked the woman to give him a popular cut. His hair ended up covering his ears but not his face. Now I could see he was quite a handsome little fellow with high cheekbones and eyes like a mournful puppy dog. His right cheek had a nick in it the size of a pinhead just underneath his eye.

He picked Wendy’s for lunch, but refused to make any sort of conversation, despite my half-hearted efforts. I picked Wal-Mart for shopping. He picked dark-wash jeans and T-shirts with motorcycles on them. Boxers, not briefs, and white crew socks. Pajamas with sports themes. The dark blue parka I picked seemed satisfactory to him. He refused a hat, mittens, or boots, even though I pointed out the snowfall predicted for Thanksgiving Day.

I read the school supply list while he selected the items off the shelf, showing a preference for all things blue and red, especially a red backpack. When we moved to the linen aisle, he selected a twin bed quilt with a sports theme. I got him all the accessories to match. We did all this with minimal conversation. Sometimes I received only a jerk of his head in reply to my questions. I attributed this to his being twelve years old and a boy, who had to shop for his new underwear and sheets with a strange woman.

We bought a bedroom set at a store that promised “zoom delivery” the very next day and no payment for a year, the only kind of furniture I knew for sure we could afford. He liked the walnut. So did I. He picked out sky blue paint at Sherwin-Williams. I was okay with that, too. But Ray would have to roll it over the pink I’d lovingly painted on Noelle’s walls. My heart would break if I had to do it myself.

All in all, I considered it a good day. I planted Danny in front of the television when we got home, put the leftover lasagna in the oven, and debated calling Cory. I decided in favor of the nap I’d been craving instead. Cory and I had agreed yesterday that I would return to work full-time next week. This would be a slow week, given the holiday.

The phone rang as my head touched the pillow.

“Mrs. Parker, this is Mrs. Travis. We met this morning at school.”

I sat up. “Yes, of course.”

“We have a little problem. One of the children brought his Nintendo DS to school this morning in his backpack. That’s against school rules, because we do have a theft problem from time to time. Anyway, he reported it missing at lunchtime. We talked to the teachers, and they suspect a boy they saw in the hallway this morning. He matches Danny’s description.”

Shocked and embarrassed, I couldn’t think of a reply.

“I was wondering if you could talk to Danny. The school is closed for the holiday beginning tomorrow, so if he does have the Nintendo, maybe you could bring it in on Monday morning. And of course I’ll want to meet with both of you.”

I was being summoned to the principal’s office for the first time at age thirty-eight. My face burned with shame as I set down the receiver. Although I’d become Erica’s surrogate mother at age twelve, her real troubles hadn’t begun until after her school years. I’d never had to deal with an irate principal. I felt like an instant failure as Danny’s foster parent. What had Ray gotten us into?

Danny was still on the couch where I’d left him. He didn’t look up when I sat down or acknowledge my presence in any way. After opening my mouth a few times then closing it just as fast, I decided to set the table and let Ray deal with it when he got home.

I served dinner as soon as he walked in the door. Danny ate two servings of lasagna again, but tried to leave the table without eating the green beans I’d prepared.

I put my hand on his arm. “Another rule. You have to eat vegetables. The vitamins in them are good for you.”

He looked to Ray for help.

“Jolene’s right. Eat them and you can have two pieces of pie.”

Danny ate them and the pie. “Can I watch TV now?”

I shook my head. “I got a call from the principal this afternoon, Ray. After Danny and I left, they discovered a boy’s Nintendo was missing. The teachers saw a boy matching Danny’s description near the backpack where it was last seen.”

Ray got his “good-cop, bad-cop, whatever-you-need-me-to-be cop” expression going, his poker face showing a hint of intimidation this time. “Danny?”

“I found it on the floor. Finders keepers.”

“Go get it.”

He slinked away from the table and returned minutes later, holding the shiny black box in his hand.

“I’m very disappointed, Danny. I told you in this house we don’t steal.”

Danny slid his hands into his pockets. “It was on the floor.”

“Then you should have taken it to the lost and found. You’ll have to take it to the principal on Monday and apologize to the kid you took it from.”

I decided not to tell Ray we’d been summoned to the principal’s office. Most weeks, he didn’t work on Mondays. I could tell him then and let him have the pleasure of facing Mrs. Travis.

Ray pushed his chair back from the table. “I think you should help me clear the table and do the dishes tonight, Danny. Maybe we can assign you some regular chores and pay you an allowance. You could earn enough money to buy your own Nintendo.”

I could see Danny mulling this concept over. Ray handed him his dish, and he carried it to the sink. I decided to make myself useful by cutting the tags off Danny’s new clothes and washing them with his new sheets.

I could hear Ray’s voice murmuring to Danny and the occasional soft reply. Ray would be good for Danny. He was a rock when he needed to be, and a real softie the rest of the time. But what would I do all the hours Ray was at work? I didn’t think I could keep up with both Danny and Erica, and tomorrow I had to get my sister in hand.

Over the noise of the washing machine, I heard the phone ring. Ray hung up as I entered the kitchen. I looked at him in question.

“I have to go out.”

“You got called in?”

“No.” Ray’s face was a thundercloud. “Gumby called me. Your sister is drunk and disorderly. She’s singing at the top of her lungs at The Cat’s Meow and—” he shot a glance at Danny who averted his interested gaze “—flashing people. He said if I hurry, the owner won’t make him take her in.”

Steven Fellows, better known as Gumby, worked as a county deputy sheriff, too. His wife, the lovely and talented Briana Engle, stripped at The Cat’s Meow. The strip joint was located well outside the township of Wachobe but still a pimple on our image.

I pressed my hand against my temple, fearing what tomorrow would bring. “Erica stopped taking her medicine. If you bring her back here for the night, I’ll call Dr. Albert and schedule an emergency visit for tomorrow. Do you have to work tomorrow?”

Ray grabbed his car keys and headed for the door. “I do.”

I looked at Danny, who’d been swinging his gaze between us. “Then Danny is going to have to go with us to the appointment.”

His eyes widened.

I hated to expose him to Erica at her worst, not to mention the rest of Dr. Albert’s patients. But then, on the other hand, it might be good for Danny to get a look at the state mental facility. After all, it was a lot like a prison.

And if he didn’t stop following in his father’s footsteps pretty quick, that just might be his next home.