| |
Zoe
When Zoe woke up on Saturday, the room was warm and the sunlight was strong through the window. What time was it? She groped around on the floor till she found her phone. Nine-thirty. She sat up. Whoa, Gramma had let her sleep late. She looked around the apartment. Where was Gramma?
“Hello?”
No answer.
She got up and went to Gramma’s open bedroom door. Her bed was empty and neatly made. She turned to go to the kitchen and realized she was sore. Not hungover sore, not fell-down-and-smashed-her-knee-into-the-tar sore, but cleaned-out-a-church-basement-for-hours sore. Her back was tender, her quad muscles were tight as a drum from going up and down those stupid stairs, and her arms were killing her.
Yet, she felt great. She had worked extra hard and extra long the night before. Her motivation had begun as a way of trying to make up for her mistakes, trying to redeem herself in Rachel’s eyes, but the more she worked, the better she felt, and the more she wanted to work. She’d continue pitching, lugging, bagging, sorting, and stacking until Rachel had forced her to quit at ten o’clock.
Gramma had left a note on the fridge. Zoe plucked it off. “Good morning, honey. Thought I’d let you sleep. Rachel told me how hard you worked, and I am so, so proud of you! Roderick is at the church with the pickup, so I’m heading over to help. Come when you want, if you want. Love you!”
Who was Roderick?
Zoe leaned ahead and rested her head on the fridge. Rachel hadn’t tattled. That was amazing. She owed Rachel big time—in so many ways. It occurred to her that if Rachel hadn’t force-fed her pizza, then she wouldn’t have gone on her big cleaning spree and then she wouldn’t be feeling so good right now.
She decided she wanted this good feeling to continue. She swigged some orange juice and then hurried to get clothes changed, face washed, teeth and hair brushed, and feet dressed. Then she headed outside.
Brr. It was cold out this morning. She could see her breath. The church lawn was bustling with activity. A man stood in the back of a pickup, and she recognized him immediately. Oh, that guy. The one with all the kids. His name must be Roderick. Several of those kids were helping to hoist what looked like a broken dresser into the back of said pickup, which was almost full.
By the time Zoe got there, the dresser was loaded, and Roderick had hopped out and was slamming the tailgate shut. Sure enough, his bed was chock-full of junk. Yet there was still a neat row of furniture along the sidewalk. A few people stood examining the offerings as if they were at a yard sale. She supposed, in a way, they were. A yard sale where everything was free.
“Good morning, Zoe,” Roderick said, surprising her that he knew her name. “I’ll be back soon for another load.” He looked at the closest boy. “Jump in, Peter.” The boy jumped into the truck.
Zoe looked around for someone she knew, and her eyes landed on Emma. “Where’s Rachel?”
“In the basement. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Zoe followed Emma back into the church and down the stairs. Someone—presumably Roderick—had fixed the third step, so it was no longer a deathtrap.
The basement was packed full of people. Zoe found her grandmother and had an urge to hug her. Instead, she said, “I didn’t know we were having an official workday.”
“I didn’t either. I came to help because Rachel had asked the Puddys for help. Vicky must have caught wind of it somehow and sent Emma and her mom.”
Emma overheard her. “No, it wasn’t Vicky this time. Mary Sue invited me.” She grinned.
“Oh.” Zoe looked around the large room. They had cleared out a lot of space. “What do you want me to do?”
Gramma shrugged. “You know more about this process than I do. Just do what you’ve been doing.”
“Okay.” Zoe turned to Emma. “Let’s find something to lug.”
