Tommie had no homework—there was never homework in first grade, thank God—so after she handed him an apple, they did a bit of exploring around the property. Not that there was much to see other than the barn that was definitely off-limits, which looked older than the house and would likely fall down as soon as the next storm hit. Still, they eventually found a meandering creek shaded by dogwood trees. She wasn’t sure how she knew what kind of trees they were, just as she wasn’t sure how she knew they bloomed in the spring. She assumed she must have read it somewhere. When Tommie tossed the apple core into the water, she had an idea, something from her own childhood.
“Let’s see if there are any tadpoles, okay? Take off your shoes and socks.”
After Tommie’s feet were bare, she rolled up his pant legs, then did her own. They walked into the water, not far, but the bank was shallow.
“What’s a tadpole?” Tommie asked.
“It’s a baby frog,” she said. “Before it gets legs.”
Bending over, they walked slowly, and Beverly spotted the familiar black wiggling creatures. Tommie wasn’t sure how to catch them, so Beverly bent lower, making a cup with her hands. She scooped one out, holding it for her son so he could see. For the first time since they’d been at the house, she saw what seemed to be excitement and wonder in his expression.
“That’s a tadpole? And it’s going to turn into a frog?”
“Soon,” she said. “They grow pretty fast.”
“But these aren’t the frogs I heard last night, right?”
“No. Those were grown-up frogs. But maybe we should let this guy go, so he can get back to the water, okay?”
She let the tadpole go while Tommie hunted for another one. It didn’t take long before he tried to scoop one into his hands, only to have it escape. On his third effort he was finally able to show her. Again, his expression warmed her heart, and she felt a surge of relief at the idea that he would eventually get used to living in a place like this.
“Can I bring some to school for show-and-tell? On field day?”
“Field day?”
“The teacher said that instead of school, kids stay outside all day. And there’s a big show-and-tell.”
Beverly dimly remembered such days when she’d been in elementary school: There were races and games and prizes, and the fire department brought a truck, and parent volunteers brought cookies and cupcakes and other snacks. She recalled that her mom had shown up for one of them, but for whatever reason she’d been asked to leave, and Beverly could remember how she’d stomped off, shouting at everyone.
“When is field day?”
“I’m not sure exactly. But it’s this week for sure.”
“You’ll have fun. I used to love field day, because it meant I could play with my friends all day long. But as for bringing the tadpoles, I suppose we could put them in a jar, but I don’t know how long they can live that way, especially if they’re in the sun for hours. I’d hate for something bad to happen to them.”
For a long moment, he was quiet. He let the tadpole go and scratched at his cheek with a dirty finger. “I miss my old room.”
Whoever had slept in his current bedroom obviously wasn’t a child. The closet and chest of drawers were still full of clothing for an adult, and the bed was oversized. There were paintings, not posters, on the walls.
“I know you do,” she said. “It’s hard moving to a new place.”
“Why couldn’t I bring more of my toys?”
Because I couldn’t carry them. Because people at the bus station would have remembered. Because running meant we had to travel light.
“We just couldn’t.”
“When can I see Brady and Derek again?”
They were his best friends, also left behind. She smiled at the irony. When she was little, there were kids in her class with exactly the same names.
“We’ll see,” she said. “Probably not for a while, though.”
He nodded, then bent lower, looking for tadpoles again. Barefoot, with his pants rolled, he struck her as a throwback to a different generation. She prayed he wouldn’t ask about his father, but he seemed to know that it wouldn’t be a good idea. There were, after all, still bruises on his arm from the last time Gary had grabbed him.
“It’s different here,” he finally said. “I can see the moon through my window at night.”
Because it was more than he generally volunteered, she couldn’t help but smile again.
“I used to read you Goodnight Moon. When you were little.”
He knitted his small brow. “Is that the one with the cow jumping over the moon?”
“That’s it.”
He nodded again, then went back to searching. Caught one, let it go. Caught another and then let it go, as well. Watching him, Beverly was suffused with love, glad she had risked everything in order to keep him safe.
After all, Tommie’s father was, on average days, a very angry, dangerous man.
But now, with his wife and child gone, he was likely even worse.
The rest of the afternoon was quiet. Tommie watched cartoons, and Beverly examined the paint cans stacked near the washer and dryer before locating not only a can of primer but at least half a can of yellow paint called Summer Daisy, which might not be the exact tint she would have chosen but was a thousand times better than god-awful orange. There was a beige she might be able to use in the living room, even if it was a bit bland, and an almost full can of glossy white for the kitchen cupboards. Kind of mind-boggling to find so much paint, but in a good way, like the house had been waiting all along for her and Tommie to claim it.
She took a closer look, too, at the paintbrushes and rollers. On closer inspection, they were obviously used but looked clean enough to suffice. And unless she wanted to make a trip to the hardware store and spend money she didn’t have, they would have to do.
She brought everything she thought she’d need to the kitchen before starting dinner. Tonight would be chicken, boiled carrots, beans. She added extra carrots to Tommie’s plate, but when he didn’t finish them, she reached over, eating them one by one. Though Tommie wanted to turn on the television again after dinner, she instead suggested a game. She’d spotted a box of dominoes in the cabinet in the living room, and though it had been a long time since she’d played, she knew the rules were simple enough for Tommie to grasp. He did; he even beat her a couple of times. Once he began to yawn, she sent him upstairs for a quick bath. He was old enough to do it alone—he’d lately started reminding her about that—so she let him be. Since he didn’t have pajamas, he slept in his underpants and the shirt he’d worn to school. She thought again about kids at school beginning to tease him and knew she’d have to find him something else to wear, as long as she could find bargains.
Money. She needed more money. Life always came down to money, and she felt her anxiety suddenly rise before forcing the feeling away. Instead, she sat with Tommie on his bed, read Go, Dog. Go! before tucking him in, and then retreated to the rockers on the front porch. Residual heat lingered from the day, making the evening pleasant; the air vibrated with the sounds of frogs and crickets. Rural sounds, country sounds. Sounds she remembered from her own childhood. Sounds she never heard in the suburbs.
As she rocked, she thought about the years she’d spent with Gary and how the sweet and charming demeanor that she’d fallen in love with changed within the first month of marriage. She remembered him sneaking up behind her to kiss her neck after she’d just poured a glass of wine. White wine, not red, and she’d collided with him when she turned. The wine splashed onto his shirt, one of his new ones, and though she’d apologized immediately, she’d laughed, as well, already planning to rinse the shirt before dropping it off at the dry cleaner’s the following morning. She was about to flirt with him—I guess I’ll have to get you out of that shirt, handsome—but even as the thought was forming, he slapped her across the face, the sound deafening and the sting intense.
And after that?