“Like the what?”
“The cavalry. It’s a kind of army that rushes in and saves you.”
“I’m glad I saved you,” he said.
“I’m glad you saved me, too. I don’t know how you did it. But thank you.”
He didn’t answer.
He was sitting with his hands between his bare knees, twisting and fidgeting with his fingers. He seemed to enjoy her gratitude at the same time as it made him squirm. He looked unable to hold it all up.
“How did you do it?” she asked when it was clear he did not plan to speak.
“I made a sign telling everybody she stole. And I took it down to her work at the pharmacy. And she got scared she’d get fired over it, so she took the car back to where she bought it and gave me back the money. She wasn’t very happy about it. She doesn’t like me anymore. Or maybe she never really did. I don’t know. It kind of seemed like she never really did. Anyway, she got mad, but I don’t really care. It was the truth. And it was her own fault for stealing in the first place.”
“It was brilliant,” Marilyn said.
It made him twist his fingers around and fidget again.
“It was?”
“Absolutely. A very smart way to handle the thing. Now I know why you asked me where she worked. You’re a very intelligent boy.”
She expected more squirming. Instead his body went still on the bench.
“One thing, though,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“You stole, too. Right?”
Marilyn felt herself pull in a big, deep breath. She let it out in a noisy sigh.
“Yes. I’m afraid I did.”
“Why?”
“I suppose . . . because I felt they’d taken away my freedom. My children, and a judge, and the people here at Eastbridge. And it meant something to me. It was all I had. I had no more money because my Social Security went directly to them. I guess I felt that without my own home and my own money I had no power. No say over my own life. I felt helpless. And I don’t like feeling helpless. I never have. It was the only way I could see to get back what I’d lost.”
“But you don’t have your freedom now,” he said.
“No.”
“You lost it again.”
“Yes.”
“So that’s bad.”
“It’s not very good, no. But it’s better than prison. I have you to thank for that. I just feel like . . .”
But then she wasn’t sure how to go on.
“You feel like what?”
“It’s hard to say it. I’m not sure how appropriate a feeling it is.”
“You should say it, though. Know why? Because it turns out there are no wrong feelings. I thought there were. But then it turns out I was wrong. There aren’t.”
“I guess I feel as though I should’ve been nicer to you all along.”
“You were nice enough.”
“I could have done better.”
“Everybody can always do better.”
“Yes. I can. And I will. Why aren’t you in school?”
“It’s out for the summer.”
“Oh. Well. If you’re willing to ride the bus, you should come out and see me here. We could go on with the reading lessons.”
“That would be good. Stacey wants me to have a tutor. I’d be a lot happier if it was you.”
“It’ll be me.”
“I’m sorry you lost your free . . . whatever. Again.”
“Not your fault.”
“I know. But I can be sorry anyway. Right?”
“I suppose so. Thank you.”
She reached across the bench and rested a hand on his shoulder. And left it there. He didn’t seem uncomfortable with the arrangement.
“We could go have breakfast in the cafeteria,” she said. “I haven’t really eaten. Have you eaten?”
“No. I was in a hurry to get here.”
“They don’t cook the bacon very well. And you won’t like their eggs at all, because they’re not fresh like yours. But you should get something in your stomach.”
“Do they have oatmeal?”
“Oatmeal and Cream of Wheat. Both.”
“That’ll work.”
Without further discussion they rose, and moved off toward the main building, side by side. He reached over and took her hand. She allowed it.
Chapter Twenty-One
How Lucky You Are
Stewie
He had escorted her back to her room after breakfast, just to be gentlemanly. He figured that’s what a young gentleman should do with his grandmother, adopted or not. He should escort her places.
As he stepped out of her room again and into the hall, a hand gripped his shoulder. Hard.
“Ow,” he said.
For the second time in just a couple of days, he was reminded of the talons of a big bird. Reminded of the time he saw a ground squirrel being lifted, shrieking, from their corn patch by a red-tailed hawk. But it wasn’t a big hand. Just strong, and insistent. Not afraid to dig in.
“Who are you?” the voice asked.
It was a woman doing the asking.
“Could you let go of my shoulder, please?”
She did, and he turned around.
The woman was about fifty, as best he could figure, with a thick waist and reddish hair. She held her eyebrows knitted down, and she stared at him as though she were about to shoot lasers out of her eyes.
“I’m Stewie Little,” he said.
“That doesn’t help even a little bit.”
“Well, I don’t know what more I can tell you about who I am,” he said.
“What were you doing in my mother’s room?”
“Just walking her back after breakfast.”
“But why? How do you even know her? What’s your relationship to her?”
“She’s my grandmother,” he said.
The look on the woman’s face changed. She no longer seemed to want to vaporize him with eye lasers. Now it seemed as though proving him wrong would be good enough.
“She’s not your grandmother.”
“She is. She said so herself. You can ask her if you don’t believe me.”
“Look. Sonny boy. I’m her daughter. I’m the mother of three of her grandchildren, and my brother is the father of her fourth. If she had another grandson, don’t you think I would know it?”
“Well,” Stewie said. “Adopted. She said I was her adopted grandson. But that still counts.”
Stewie watched the woman’s face grow alarmingly red as he spoke.
“She can’t adopt a grandson!” she shouted, her voice sounding sputtery.
“Why can’t I?” Stewie heard a different voice say.
He looked up to see Marilyn standing behind him—hovering over him, as if to protect him from harm, such as the wrath of a relative. He felt one of her hands rest on his shoulder. It was a comforting feeling.
“Because you have grandchildren of your own!”
“And if I want to adopt another, I just will. I don’t even know why it upsets you. I owe him more than I owe you. He helped me when you wouldn’t lift a finger to try. Why, I’d be on my way to jail right now if not for this young man.”
“I don’t even know what all that means, but I know you have four grandchildren you never pay attention to as it is! How do you think my sons would feel if they knew you just picked a new grandson after all this time of not seeing you? Not even knowing where you were?”
She was raising her voice as she went along, Marilyn’s daughter. By the end, she had crossed the line into yelling. It made Stewie uncomfortable. Yelling always did.
“Oh, like they would even notice!” Marilyn said, raising her voice in return. “Like they even care. They’re so busy with their noses in their expensive little electronic devices. They don’t care one way or another about me.”
“How dare you say that, Mother!”
It was full-on shouting now. It made Stewie rise up onto his tiptoes and open his eyes wider. He could feel it.
“We had no idea if you were alive or dead!” the daughter added. “You don’t get to tell us what we felt about that!”
“Stop!” Stewie shouted.
Everything fell silent. It was such a relief.
A young woman in an Eastbridge work uniform swung around the corner and raced down the hallway in their direction, one raised finger to her lips.
“No yelling!” the woman said in a terse whisper. “If you want to have a conversation at that volume, you’ll have to take it outside.”