Stacy’s guts twisted as she knocked on the door to Ms. Freeman’s office. The summons could only mean one thing. Ms. Freeman knew. And if she knew, other people would know, and they’d all look at her that way people did.
She didn’t want their pity or disgust. She wanted to be normal and pretend the last twenty-four hours had never happened.
They’d been eating supper, glued to the TiVo’ed Bachelorette premiere. Onscreen, a hot guy in a suit jumped out of a giant shipping box, showering packing peanuts everywhere.
“Too goofy,” Ma had said, chewing mechanically.
As if a guy like that would look at you twice. This is so lame.
Stacy rolled her eyes at Lynn and Connie. Movement outside the living room window caught her eye. A cop car eased into a space across the street. A second cop car parked in front of the house, followed by a van and an SUV.
She stopped breathing.
They’re coming for me. I have to get out of here. She picked up her plate and stood. “I’ll start on the dishes,” she told the room.
Ma tore herself from stuck up Hannah Brown in her silver spangle dress, her eyes narrowing at the uneaten fish sticks on Stacy’s plate.
“Sit your ass back down and finish your dinner. You’re not throwing out good food.”
Connie and Lynn kept their eyes on their TV trays, hoping to be forgotten if Ma’s temper blew.
Behind Ma, red and blue lights flashed while a line of cops headed down the side yard. More cops, coming up the front walk, followed by two men in suits. Detective Dourson, and a cute guy who looked like he should be handing Hannah Brown a dozen roses.
I’m doomed. She couldn’t stop the panic on her face, even knowing it would piss Ma off. On the screen, a guy wearing a tux handed a baby seat to Hannah.
“Sit down now or you won’t—”
Banging on the door.
Too late.
“Joyce Bender, open up, we have a warrant.”
Surprise, then fury on Ma’s face. Stacy cringed.
“What the hell have you done?” Ma hissed, pasting a neutral face on as she stood. She cracked the door, leaving the chain in place.
“What seems to be the problem, officer?”
“Please step outside.”
Ma frowning, calculating. Outside the window, the neighbors stood in their yards and lined the street, talking and elbowing each other. She was going to jail, and they were laughing. Prime time entertainment.
After a pause that lasted too long, Ma stepped out, pulling the door behind her. Voices too low to be understood, the sound of a scuffle.
Through the window, Ma shouting obscenities as they frog-marched her to the van in handcuffs, surrounded by cops like she was the Hulk or something and they thought she was going to break out an Uzi and shoot everyone.
The lights, flashing. Red, blue, red, blue.
Ma?
Asshole neighbors on the sidewalk, cheering as if this was an episode of Cops. A lady cop with a blank, zombie face, herding her and her sisters into the kitchen.
More cops tromping through the house. Connie and Lynn scared to death. Trying to calm them down while her heart pounded. She felt like bawling herself.
Then it got worse.
Detective Dourson came and said Ma was helping Jamal sell stolen goods, and they were going into foster care as soon as the social worker showed up.
Stacy couldn’t wrap her head around it. She tried, choking down cold fish sticks with her sisters while the zombie cop lady stared at them, waiting for the social worker to arrive. She kept trying during the hours of limbo before they found a place for her.
It was after eleven when she’d been dumped at a stranger’s house with mismatched clothes in a garbage bag. She didn’t know where her sisters were. Maybe she’d never see them again.
Fussy Mrs. Gertz in her fussy house, fussing over her until she could scream. Mrs. Gertz said she didn’t have to go to school. But Stacy didn’t want to be stuck in the fussy house, and school was the only place she knew where she could pretend her world wasn’t falling apart.
Taneesha in the hall, giving her a hard stare. She must have looked guilty because Taneesha mouthed, “I’ll get you,” before disappearing into class.
Then Ms. Freeman sent for her.
This is not happening. It’s not happening. It’s not.
The door opened.
Ms. Freeman, dressed in her pretty suit, smiling as if the world was a nice place.
“Stacy, come in and have a seat. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
The woman sitting in the visitor’s chair was a drab sort of woman, overweight, with short, iron-gray hair of no particular style. Somehow she looked happy and worried at the same time.
Stacy sat, backing into the chair while she kept her eyes on the woman watching her so strangely. She looked up at Ms. Freeman, waiting for an explanation.
The woman said, “Do you remember me?”
Stacy, mute, could only shake her head.
“You were only three. Joyce hasn’t spoken to me since then. I’m Dee. I’m your grandmother.”
Stacy blinked. “You’re dead.”
The woman bit her lip. “Dead to Joyce, I’m sure. There’s a lot of water under the bridge, but I want to look after you, if you’ll let me. Your sisters, too. Will you let me?”