“I don’t think there are.”
Stewie took a big, deep breath and raced through to the end. It seemed like the only way to get there.
“I felt like I missed my mom.”
“Well, that’s certainly normal,” Dr. Briggs said, scribbling on a pad of paper with his nice silver pen.
“But I told you I don’t remember her. I tell everybody I don’t remember her. And I’m not lying.”
“But you were inside her body, Stewie. You survived on the blood she pumped through your own body as it formed. You felt her heart beat every minute of every day for nine months. Some part of you knew her intimately, whether you consciously remember her or not.”
“That’s how it feels!” Stewie shouted. He was growing excited now, but it was a scratchy, uncomfortable sort of excitement. “I feel like there’s part of me that remembers her, but it’s not the brain part of me.”
“I’m very pleased that you told me that, Stewie. I’m afraid our time is up for today, but I think we made good progress this session.”
“You do?”
“Absolutely I do. You shared a lot with me.”
“I don’t see what it changes, though.”
“I’m sure you don’t, but it will become clearer over time. It takes time, Stewie. Most things worth having take time.”
He was in the car with Stacey, on the way home, when he decided to tell her. Though actually “decided” was not quite the right word—not quite what happened. They were just driving along, Stewie staring at his bare knees, when he noticed that some truth was about to arrive.
“I have a confession to make,” he said.
He looked over in time to see her furrow her brow and twist her mouth around.
“That’s a weirdly adult way to say a thing,” she said.
“It means I need to admit to something.”
“I know what it means. It just seemed odd.”
“You want to hear it or not?”
“Of course I do.”
“I’m not a very good reader.”
“Well, I know you’re having trouble with your schoolwork these past couple of years. Since things got bad with Gam. I sign your report cards, so it’s not like I don’t know. I feel bad that I’m not doing more to help, but . . . you know. I’m trying to support us and all.”
“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I figured you’d feel bad. Like it was your fault or something.”
“Well, it kind of is my fault, Stewie. I’m more or less asking you kids to raise yourselves.”
“You’re doing good, Stacey. Really.”
“Well, thank you for telling me, anyway.”
He watched the fence posts flashing by outside the window. Maybe for a minute. Maybe for two. His neighbor’s black-and-white cows came into view. That always made him feel better. It struck him that he could just let the whole thing drop, leaving it right where it had fallen. Then another part of him said no, he couldn’t.
“I don’t just mean I’m falling a little behind in class,” he said. “I mean I can hardly do it at all. I can read some things. I’m not saying I can’t read anything. I just can’t really read the kinds of things kids my age usually can.”
She didn’t answer, so he braved a glance at the side of her face. She looked as though she had a headache.
The car lurched to a stop, and Stewie looked through the windshield to see that she had pulled into their dirt driveway and into her usual parking spot in front of the garage. They just sat a moment, saying nothing. Stewie wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. Well, that’s not entirely accurate—he knew it was a bad sign. He just wasn’t sure how bad.
“Did you already know that?” he asked.
“I did and I didn’t,” she said.
“Marilyn was helping me catch up. We were taking lessons for reading.”
“That was nice of her. I’m sorry I didn’t give her more credit.”
“But now she’s gone.”
“True.”
Stacey turned off the car’s engine and pulled on the parking brake. Then she unbuckled her seat belt and threw her car door wide. Stewie did the same.
He followed her into the house, hoping she would say she’d find the time to teach him. He had no idea where she would find the time. But he still wanted to hear her say she would try.
She said nothing until they had reached the kitchen door. Until she had her hand on the knob.
Then she said, “Maybe we can get you a tutor.”
They stepped inside, Stewie nursing a sharp sense of disappointment in his chest. It felt like swallowing something a person was never meant to swallow.
He heard Theo say, “Oh, here he is.”
He looked up. Theo was holding the phone out to him.
“Who is it?” he asked in a too-loud whisper.
“It’s that lady.”
“Marilyn?”
“Yeah.”
He took the phone. “Hello,” he said.
Then he instinctively spun around to see if Stacey was hovering over his shoulder, listening to the call. But instead he only saw her back, retreating into her bedroom.
“Hello,” Marilyn’s voice said on the line. “Maybe I shouldn’t have called.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to seem like I’m pressuring you.”
“It’s okay.”
“Is it?”
“I think so,” he said. “I mean, I don’t mind if you call. I don’t have the best news, though.” He instinctively scanned the room again, this time to see if Theo was listening. But Stewie was in the kitchen blessedly alone. “I don’t think I can probably get it back. She bought a new car. Well, not new exactly. But nicer than what she had.”
A long silence fell on the line. He listened to it as though it had something to tell him. But the only thing that came through was how much he hated to be the bearer of bad news. Especially twice, with two people and two pieces of bad news in just a few minutes.
“Do you know where she got it?” Marilyn asked, startling him a little. He had just gotten used to the silence.
“What, the car?”
“Yes. The car.”
“No, how would I know that?”
“But do you know if she bought it from a car dealer or from a private party?”
“What kind of party sells cars?”
“A private party just means a person selling their own car. Like a neighbor or someone like that.”
“Oh. I think she bought it from a car place, because it had those numbers on the windshield.”
“Then she has three days to take it back. By law they have to give her three days to change her mind.”
“But what if she doesn’t change her mind?”
“Well,” Marilyn said, and then paused. Her voice sounded dense and heavy, like something that weighs more than you’d expect it to. “Then I guess I’d go to jail. I suppose I was hoping you could talk her into changing her mind. Though I realize that’s an awful lot to ask a young boy to do. I shouldn’t ask. I didn’t want to. But I’m just so desperate. I’m only suggesting talking to her. If it doesn’t go well, you can always leave.”
“Will you be mad if I can’t?”
“Of course not,” she said. “Sad, and a little disappointed. But not angry. It’s a big job, and it’s really not your job to do.”
But it felt like Stewie’s job. Because there was nothing worse than telling somebody something that made them sad and disappointed. Anger would have been a step up.
“Where does she work?” Stewie asked.
Theo came into his room and looked over his shoulder, silently at first, watching him make the cardboard sign. It was unlike Theo to wander into his room for no special reason, so Stewie figured Theo must have noticed his sign-making activities from the hallway.
“That’s not how you spell stole,” Theo said.
Stewie looked down at his sign.
He was making it from one panel of an extra-large cardboard box. He had written the words SYLVIA STOLL in big block letters with a bright-red marker.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Well, how do you spell it, then?”
“S-T-O-L-E.”
“Hmm,” Stewie said, feeling his forehead scrunch up. “I guess I’ll have to start all over then.”
“Or just add two lines to the second L. What are you doing, anyway? And who’s Sylvia?”
“She’s a lady who stole money from Marilyn. I need to try to get her to give it back.”