“I can only imagine,” says Patrice.
“Gloria doesn’t know how to take care of babies.”
Patrice makes a big smile with her teeth and lets out a breath. “Right, well—”
I interrupt. “She doesn’t remember to change diapers. Or give it food.”
Then Patrice interrupts me. “I know Gloria was abusive and neglectful when you were with her,” she says. “You kept Krystal with a K alive. You kept her safe and fed. You were a really good girl, Ginny, and I’m proud of you. But things are different now.”
So I say, “How are things different now? Gloria used to get really, really mad. She forgot to bring food home.”
“I know it,” says Patrice. “I remember how thin you were when we first met at the hospital.”
“They put a needle and tubes in me,” I say. “Plus a cast on my arm. Then they let me eat a lot of food.”
“I’m sorry that you still remember all that,” says Patrice. “It was a scary time. But like I said, things are different now.”
I remember that Patrice didn’t answer my question. So I ask it again. “How are things different now?”
“There are two reasons,” she says. She looks up at the ceiling and counts. “Actually, three.”
I wait.
“The first reason is that Crystal with a C did a good job of taking care of Krystal with a K. She made sure she had plenty of food after you left.”
I wait for the second reason.
“The second reason is what I already told you. There weren’t any marks on little Krystal with a K’s body when she went to the doctor’s,” says Patrice. “The doctor couldn’t find any signs of physical abuse.”
“There were signs on my body,” I say.
Patrice touches her eye. “Yes, there were,” she says. “And now that we know about Krystal with a K, we know why. Little babies cry a lot. You were protecting her.”
“Gloria used to come downstairs to yell and hit when there was too much noise. And Donald—”
And then I stop talking.
Now Patrice is crying. I don’t know why. “You were a good girl, Ginny,” she says. “You kept the baby safe from them. And all this time we didn’t know it. Thank goodness your aunt stepped in and took charge. Did you know she kept the baby for a few months after you left? She took care of little Krystal with a K while Gloria got some help. Then a few years passed, and—”
Patrice stops.
“How many years have passed since you were taken out of the apartment?” she says.
“Five years,” I say.
“Five years?” says Patrice. She is still crying. “Are you sure it’s been that long?”
“Yes,” I say. “Crystal with a C took care of it after I left but now she’s in jail. I need to go keep it quiet or—”
“Ginny,” says Patrice, “it’s time to tell you the third reason. I’m going to tell it to you straight.”
I listen.
Patrice swallows. “I know it’s a lot to take in all at once. I know this is probably the worst possible time for you to have something else to deal with, but it’s causing you a ton of stress. So I have to tell you.” She stops and her face changes. “Ginny, your Baby Doll is six years old.”
I don’t say anything. I am thinking.
“Does that make sense?” says Patrice.
“My Baby Doll is a baby,” I say.
“No,” says Patrice, “she isn’t. She’s a big girl now. She doesn’t wear diapers anymore. And if there’s food in the apartment, she can get it herself.”
I shake my head. “That’s not true,” I say.
“It is true. A baby who was one year old five years ago needs to be six years old today. Because five years have passed. Right?”
In my brain I check the math.
5 + 1 = 6
But I also know my Baby Doll is way too little to be six.
I shake my head again. “No,” I say. “Crystal with a C said she’ll always be your little baby. It needs me.”
“Ginny, that’s just an expression. Krystal with a K is six.”
“No, she isn’t!”
I cover my face with my hands. Crystal with a C knows I don’t like expressions. She doesn’t lie. She’s the one who tells the truth. If the truth is that my Baby Doll is six then I’m too late to stop all the things that happened to me from happening to it. Because Gloria is completely unreliable and Crystal with a C does her thinking for her.
And now Crystal with a C is in jail.
72
EXACTLY 5:14 AT NIGHT,
TUESDAY, JANUARY 18TH
“The Special Olympics basketball tournament will be on Sunday, January 23rd,” says Maura. “Then, the day after that, we’re going to Saint Genevieve’s. We’re really hoping you like it. The pictures Sister Josephine sent sure are nice.”
That wasn’t a question so I don’t say anything.
“Ginny?”
“What?” I say.
“Are you...excited about going to Saint Genevieve’s? It will be nice to meet some new kids. Kids who are special like you.”
“The kids at Special Olympics are special like me,” I say. “And Room Five.”
“That’s right!” says Maura. “It will be a lot like Special Olympics. Everyone will be special.”
I look at Brian. He is sitting across from me at the table. Not talking. Maura stays downstairs now with Baby Wendy during the day and Brian stays home too. He is taking it easy until he gets 100 percent better, Maura said on Sunday when he got home.
Brian drinks some wine. He drinks red wine every night at supper now. And doesn’t eat things with lots of salt. He isn’t going back to work this year. “I’m looking forward to the basketball tournament, Ginny,” he says. “It will be nice to see the team again.”
“Rick said in his email that we should take pictures,” I say.
“Oh, I’ll take lots of pictures,” says Brian. “And I promise I’ll send some to good old Rick.”
I wonder if Rick will come up to Canada with me and Gloria. I don’t think he will but I really want to thank him. Because he gave me Return of the Jedi and Gloria’s phone number. I wanted to call Gloria last night but I know people can hear me when I talk in my room. So I need to find a quiet place when no one is around. I need to find a place that’s private. There aren’t any private places at school. There aren’t any private places here at the Blue House. There’s always someone here.
“Ginny?”
“What?”
It is Brian. “What’s on your mind tonight? You seem awfully distracted.”
“Is everything all right at school?” says Maura.
“Yes,” I say.
“It’s the trip to Saint Genevieve’s, isn’t it,” says Brian. His voice didn’t go up so he didn’t ask a question. Then he says, “How do you feel about going there?”
“We are going there on Monday, January 24th,” I say.
“Yes, but how do you feel about maybe going to live there?”