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I don’t go to school on Tuesday or Wednesday. I left the hospital at two to walk down to the square for work on Wednesday night. When Rob saw me coming through the front door, he came over from behind the counter and gave me a hug. It felt very odd to be touched like that, but not really bad. He’s a good guy. I let him hug me, but I do it with my left arm crossed over the front of me. He lets me go to arms’ length and put his hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
I laugh a little with the intensity of his gaze. “Yes.” He nods, looking relieved. “Faye came by the hospital yesterday. Mom really was glad to see her.” She was, too. Actually, I was even glad to see her. She talked to my mom for a long time, and when she left, she asked me if there was anything I needed.
“She cares about your mom a lot.” He nods.
“I know she does.”
“She cares about you, too.” I snort and tug loose from his hands. “Really, she does.” I know he’s probably right. I’m sure she cares, but I don’t know how to respond.
“I know. She told Mom that we can stay with you until we find a place,” I say. “That was real nice.”
“Well, I think Mr. Billups has something better worked out for you.” I raise my eyebrows to him. “Yeah, he wants to see you.”
“Oh.” There he is, looking very Santa Claus as he comes out of his office, his suspenders just the right shade of red.
“Alison.” He nods and beckons me toward his office.
“Yes sir.”
“How is your mother?” he asks, closing his office door behind me.
“She’s going to be okay.” I rub my hand down my thigh.
“Good. How are you?”
“I’m okay.” I shrug and look down at my fingernails. He is quiet for a half a minute. There is a sour feeling in my stomach, a knot or a ball that has been with me for days, and I swallow, trying to dispel it.
“Did you really get hit by a truck?”
I laugh and all the tension drains out of me. It’s crazy, and I still hurt from it, and I know it shouldn’t be funny, but every time I think about being hit by a truck, I hear Warren asking me what kind of truck, and I can’t stop laughing.
“I did.” I contain my laughter. “It’s been a really shitty week.”
He takes a deep breath and says, “Well, I can make it a little better,” he says and then tells me that he has a small, two bedroom apartment that he would like to let us have until we can replace the trailer or decide what to do.
“We can pay,” I say, feeling the hint of charity and feeling nauseated by it.
“No. It’s been empty for a while. Alison, you are a great kid. You have a lot of potential, but you’ve been dealt a rotten float.” I don’t know what that means, “float,” but I don’t bother to ask. I’ve been dealt something rotten for sure, so I get his meaning, “You’re a hard worker, and I know sometimes people just need a little help. This is not costing me anything for you and your mom to stay in the apartment, so don’t think of it like I’m giving you something. I like the work you do here, and it will make your life a little easier for a little while. That’s all.”
Mom is out of work officially now, and I know I can’t get free of her, so I have to make the best of it and get through the next couple of years until I am eighteen and can leave her behind. “I can work full time,” I say abruptly. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon, that I will drop out of school and get a GED. I can go to work full time and take care of us.
“How are you going to do that?” he asks, his brows knitting together, almost touching.
“I’m done with school. I’m not going back.” I can’t go back. How can I go back and face people who hate me and hate my mother and think we are the same? How can I go back after Derrick tried to kill me? And he did . . . I know he did, even if I don’t know how it all happened. Call it a moment of insanity or whatever, but he wanted me dead for that minute, just like I wanted my mother dead when I set fire to the trailer. I’m not even angry at him. I understand.
“No,” he says, and my stomach drops. “Alison you can’t drop out.” He leans back in his chair, staring intently at me. “Can I be frank?”
“Of course.” His word choice has me smiling in spite of myself. Who says that, really?
“You’re that horse that can’t get into the starting gate because of a bur under its saddle. You’ve had a rough road, especially here lately . . . God knows. But just ’cause you have a hard time getting up to that gate, you’re gonna get there. If you don’t get to the gate, you can’t run the race.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but how else am I going to do this?” My voice shakes, and I feel that damn pucker in my chin.
“It’s not always going to be like this. You just need a little something to get you to the gate. Take the apartment. It’s been empty for months, so I am not missing anything by you being there. Say three months, time for your mom to get back on her feet, then you can move on if that’s what you all want.”
“I can’t just take your apartment.” I don’t want to be pathetic. “We don’t want charity.”
“It isn’t charity.” He steeples his fingers and looks at me through them. “Think of it as an investment. I’m investing in your future.”
“I can pay. How much does the apartment cost?” I start to open the pack for my wad of money. But he puts his hand out and stops me.
“Stop,” he says and I look at him. His face is sad, and his hand takes mine. “Listen. Life is not easy. We all have terrible things that we have to deal with at different times. This is one of your terrible times. Let the people who care about you do this.” He smiles. “I talked to your mother earlier this afternoon. It’s already arranged. I’m just telling you. It’s not your job to take care of this.” Tears suddenly well down my cheeks, whether because of the kind words he has said, the gift he is giving, or the simple sensation of a kind hand touching mine . . . I do not know. “Your mother and I have already worked this out. You don’t need to worry about it. It’s settled.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know that he had spoken with my mom. “When did you talk to her?”
“Around three. She’s already getting settled in.” He talked to her while I was out walking. How did he find her, how did he know how to get a hold of her?
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” He leans forward and adds, “But listen to me, Alison, you have got to finish high school or you will spend the rest of your life trying to get to out of the hole that somebody else dug. Understand?”
I nod. He stands, I stand, and we go back to work.
The little weave of our life has at least a few nice patterns. There are people who are good and who care about us—the Winthrops, Mr. Billups, Rob, and even though I don’t like her, I have to admit that Faye is one of the good guys. Even Cal, who is definitely not one of the good guys, picked us up and dropped us at the hotel on Route 16. He’s paid for our room for the week. He is probably helping her “get settled.” I hope he is. I don’t want her to be alone, but I couldn’t stay with him there, his slick eyes moving over me like I was the mouse and he the snake. I spent the afternoon walking through town until it was time to come to work. I’m still carrying my backpack, with all my money. No way in hell I am leaving that behind. I have to admit it was a kindness that Cal picked us up when my mom called him. Dylan would have done it, but I really am done sucking him down this drain. He’s had enough ugly in his life before I even knew him, and his is good now. My mom and I, we have a long way to go before we are ever good. Maybe someday, when I’ve done something decent in the world, I will find Dylan again, and then we can be equals, and maybe I will fall in love with him all over again.
***
I am taking care of the register and restocking the impulse display when in walks Warren. I pop up with about the closest thing to happy I have left. “Hi.”
“Hey.” He smiles that radiant, sensual smile. “How are you?”
“Good.” My hand goes involuntarily up to the knot on the back of my head. It is beginning to go down, but it still hurts. “What you need today?” Feeling my cadence slip to the speech patterns I hear from the men who work here at Billups.
“Nothing.” His lips quirk into a half smile.
“Nothing?” He shakes his head. He just came to check on me. Really. A small fire begins to glow beneath my skin, and I reach out to touch his arm.
“Nope, just wanted to see you,” he says.
“Wow. That’s . . . nice.” That electricity that he draws through my body is crackling along my spine.
“Creepy?” he asks in a low-slung voice. I’m not sure why it should be creepy. Even if he is a good ten years older than I am, he doesn’t seem older in any way that matters.
“No. Not at all.”
“Good. We still on for Friday?”
I nod, drawing my lip into my mouth, remembering suddenly the sensation of him doing the exact same thing.