Grover G. Graham and Me (11 page)

B
lank. Blank. Blank.

I willed myself to continue floating in sleep. Un-awake. Unaware. I squeezed my eyes against morning; the light pushed at my lids. I tried to shut out birdsong, the clatter of dishes. But to shut them out completely meant I’d have to close the bedroom door and window, which meant I’d have to push myself up from the too soft mattress, feel the wood floor under my feet, feel Charmaine’s nubbly rug, walk. I’d have to be awake. Aware.

I opened one eye, then the other. The trophy guys stared back at me; the little flashlight gleamed. The curtains stirred at the window. I could feel sweat on my back, the heat weighing me down. Everything was the same as before Mr. T. and I went to town.

The last two days could have been a dream.

But they weren’t.

The clock on the table said 9:05. I got out of bed and dressed, then pulled my suitcase out of the closet,
smoothed the brown vinyl, quickly unlocked the second pocket. I counted out one ten-dollar bill, six fives and seven ones: $47. Exactly what I had paid for the bus tickets and supplies for Grover, minus the nineteen cents in change that had been mine. Here was the money I still owed Mr. T.

I slipped it on top of the cluttered desk in the Torgles’ empty bedroom. I was going to write a note but I couldn’t think of any words.

Blank. I blanked out all thought of packing my suitcase. I knew I’d have to do it soon. I was temporary. Besides, after what had happened, why would the Torgles want me to stay?

As I slipped down the stairs I heard Mr. T.’s mumble from the dining room, then Mrs. T.’s voice, tired and without any tone. “I still don’t understand why Ben didn’t return Grover to Tracey. Or call us.”

I froze on the bottom stair.

“What if the baby had gotten sick?” asked Mrs. T. “What would Ben have done?”

Both of you could have hurt
Grover, Jenny had said.

Not me, I wanted to cry. Never. Never.

“Stealing, kidnapping,” Mrs. T. continued. “Of course, Ben will never be able to visit Grover. Tracey won’t allow it. He’s lucky Jenny talked her out of pressing charges.”

I turned quickly and retraced my steps. Tracey was free to hurt me any way she could. Let her press charges. Let her damage my record. I didn’t want to be grateful to her.

Were you trying to protect the kid? Or get back at the mother?
I blanked out McDevitt’s words as I sat on Jake’s bed. I focused hard on my rules.
Blend in. Keep cash in a safe place. Keep secrets to yourself. Keep holding on to that
mind-picture of you at eighteen, leaving the system. Walking away from it all.

I’d let myself get mushy, that was the problem. Kissy-kissy. Huggy-huggy. If you care in the system, you’re a goner. Leave me alone, that’s all I ask.

From the open window came the jibber-jabber of the twins. I bet they were playing their usual silly game of princess under the sweetgum tree.

I heard “Bang” and “Aargh” and then Kate said, “You’re under arrest, Ben.”

The twins were acting out what had happened to me.

Cop Barbie and Outlaw Barbie. Guns, shooting, blood, handcuffs.

I wanted to yell at them. I wanted to tell them they had the story all wrong.

Instead I continued to sit. I’d rather go to the juvenile home than stay here any longer, I decided. I’d rather go back to sorry Saint Stephen’s. If the Torgles thought I’d stick around, weeping and wailing and waiting for the boot, they had another thought coming.

I’ll call Ms. Burkell. I’ll pack my suitcase right now.

Thump … thump.
Mr. T.’s Frankenstein footsteps stopped outside my door. “Ben, do you want any breakfast?”

When I didn’t answer, I heard him
thump … thump
away.

After a while, I got up and turned all the trophy guys to face the wall. All those eyes—it was too much. I didn’t want anyone staring at me. I wished I could just blend into the brown-plaid bedspread.

I heard another set of footsteps. A rap at the door.

“Ben, may I come in?”

My social worker.

She
would have
to come nosing around. And I knew Ms. Burkell wouldn’t leave till she had Ben-ed me at least a hundred times and clicked her beads a hundred more. I might as well get her yak-yak over with, I figured, opening the door. I’d just blank out everything she said.

Of course she opened with a question—“May I sit down?”—and waited till I gave a teeny nod before settling into a chair. She rested her hands on the notebook in her lap.

Ms. Burkell asked me to tell her what had happened, and I gave her the facts. It didn’t take very long.

She leaned forward. “And now you want to go to Saint Stephen’s?”

“Yes.”

“Ben.” I could tell she was working up to some meaningful contact. Her beads trembled. “Is that what you
really
want?”

What I
really
wanted. What
did
I really want? Well, it sure wasn’t this. Chaos with a capital
C.
Two motormouth girls. An old Frankenstein and his flea wife and their needy-greedy mutt. A baby who wasn’t even there.

I didn’t want anyone giving me flashlights or eating my pancakes or reaching up to hold my hand. I didn’t want anyone hollering, all happy, “Beh! Beh! Beh!”

I crossed my arms tightly. My heart felt ready to bust with all I didn’t want.

And another thing I didn’t want. I didn’t want anyone to ask me what I really wanted. Like it mattered. Like it would make a difference. And I didn’t want any more
questions—not one more—from this woman. This woman with her talk of fairy god-awful mothers. With her stupid-looking hair.

All those
didn’t wants
built and built in my chest.

I opened my mouth. “I hate your beads!” I yelled.

M
s. Burkell blinked. She touched one of her hair beads. She glanced down at her notebook like it held the right things to say. Her face was still in meaningful-contact mode but her lips twitched.

“So, what you want—let me get this straight—what you
really
want is for me to remove my beads?”

Why was she smiling? Didn’t she realize she’d just been insulted?

I looked away. I didn’t care what she did with her dumb beads. Leave me alone, that’s all I ask.

And that’s what I told her I wanted.

When Ms. Burkell left, taking her notebook and her cheery beads, I went back to sitting on Jake’s bed. Why did she have to come? If I was down before, now I felt lower than the floor. What did Ms. Burkell know about wanting? Wanting was like blabbing and boo-hooing. Never changed a thing. It just busted you up inside.

I tried to blank out all my
didn’t wants
before they could
mess with me again. I bent my mind to some plans. School would be starting in about two weeks. And I’d be leaving soon for Saint Stephen’s. I should start blanking out both Torgles now. Right this minute. Blank. Blank. And the twins. Kate. Blank. Lenora. Blank.

I tried to hold on to that mind-picture of me at eighteen, walking away from Greenfield. Walking away from it all.

The next day I stayed in Jake’s room as much as I could. Mrs. T. wouldn’t let the twins tease me out. “Ben needs his privacy,” I heard her explain outside my closed door.

“But I have to show him the Roman dress I fixed for my Barbie,” Lenora said, adding loudly: “It goes with the shoes he made.”

Toga, I wanted to explain, though I kept my mouth shut. A Roman dress is a toga.

“Ben’s busy, dear.”

“Doing what?” asked Kate.

“He’s packing, isn’t he?” asked Lenora. “I heard you talking to that lady with the beads.”

“We don’t know—” began Mrs. T.

“Packing?” Kate cried. “Why?”

“He’s leaving,” Lenora said flatly. “Everyone does.”

Yeah, kids, I thought. Welcome to the system.

Strays. We were all strays. Actually, we were lower than strays. We were gumballs. No-good-to-anyone gumballs. Plopping down at one home or another. Stepped on and kicked and carted away.

Riding high on that Greyhound bus, I had thought Grover and I had shaken the system. Right. Our escape had been pitiful. And I hadn’t helped Grover at all. He was right back with Tracey.

Well, boo-hooing wasn’t going to help. I gave myself a shake and jumped off that plaid bedspread. If I was leaving for Saint Stephen’s in a day or two, I might as well clean Jake’s room now. Get it ready for the next gumball kid to plop down.

I got out my suitcase and counted my money. I wanted to make sure the count was accurate before I brought my hard-earned cash anywhere near those light-fingered Saint Stephen’s boys. Then I checked under the bed. A few dust bunnies, one sock, and two books:
Where Eagles Dare
and Dr. Spock’s
Baby and Child Care.
The first was weeks overdue and the second … well, I almost tossed it. But twenty-five cents was twenty-five cents. I decided to resell it to the library.

I could hear Kate and Lenora tiptoeing up and down the hall. There were a few whispers and a rustle. A piece of paper slid under the door.

I let it lie for a minute; then I picked it up.

At first that note made no sense at all. The page was covered with big, loopy writing and more exclamation marks than a houseful of shouts. Each letter was a different color. That page looked like some fool rainbow had spilled over it.

I read the note again. I pictured the girls choosing each crayon. Fighting over whose name should go first.
Lenora and Kate.
Well, it was clear who had won that fight. Maybe
the old Barbie-biting Jango had ditched both her nickname and her place as Kate’s shadow.

Bon voyage.
The girls must have remembered the message on Grover’s party balloon.
We miss you.
That busted-chest feeling was back. I tried to blank it out. I’d never thought of being missed when I moved on. Of someone feeling sad. Sure, I’d gotten a good-bye present from Myron the Chihuahua, but that was just Mrs. DeBernard acting cute.

I folded the note and tucked it carefully into its very own pocket in my suitcase. It might be nice to have at Saint Stephen’s.

Over the next few days, I tried to call Ms. Burkell but ended up leaving messages on her answering machine. Why was my move taking so long? Saint Stephen’s was bound to have an opening. After all, foster families might be scarce, but the juvenile home could always cram a kid in.

Finally Ms. Burkell called. My paperwork was completed. I’d be moved in two days.

Good, I told myself as I listened. Good, I repeated as I passed the phone to Mr. T. at Ms. Burkell’s request. Good. Good. Good. I marched up the stairs and into Jake’s room and started packing.

And in less than ten minutes, here came Mr. T.’s
thump … thump.
He insisted I come to town with him. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.

As he drove I gave him a side-eyes glance. What could he want? He didn’t say a word. The only sound was the hot wind whipping through windows, the usual rattles, the jiggling door.

I remembered his silence after he picked me up from the police station.

He was going to get me alone and give me the boot.
Bye, Ben. The summer was nice. Here’s our address. Keep in touch.
I’d heard it all before.

Well, I planned to say good-bye first.

Digging into my pocket, I closed a fist around my money. I had chosen the twenty-dollar bill from the second pocket of my suitcase. If we stopped for lunch, I wanted to pay my own way. I’d
insist
on paying, to use Mr. T.’s words. I didn’t want to take anything more from him.

We made the rounds. The hardware store, with not one customer inside. Safeway. I didn’t feel like going to the library, so we passed by.

Then Mr. T. stopped at Uddleston’s. No big deal, right? A cheap treat for the foster kid.

Except Uddleston’s was right next to the Greyhound station.

I knew why Mr. T. had insisted I come. To remind me of all the trouble I’d caused. What better place to give me the boot?

We entered Uddleston’s, chose red stools at the counter. Mr. T. ordered two milk shakes.

“Ahhh,” he said when they arrived. He poked a straw into his cup. “Nothing better than a cold shake”—he slurped—“on a hot summer day.”

I watched a silver bus pull up. That feeling was building in my chest again. I tried to blank it out. I’d do it again, I thought fiercely. I’d steal the money, the kid. I’d run.

You … could have hurt Grover
, Jenny had said.

Suddenly I put my head on the counter. My chest was heaving. It was busting for sure. I cried, and under my folded arms the tears made a little pool. I heard the
chuggety-chug
of the milk shake machine.

Then I felt Mr. T.’s big hand on my back. Pat-pat-pat.

I tried to shrug it off, but the patting continued. Slow, steady. I didn’t want the man treating me like a baby. Ben Watson could take care of himself.

I tried to stop but the tears just came worse. All Tracey’s crying in the police station—had she felt this way, too, when she thought Grover was gone?

I thought of the kid’s almighty big grin on the whirl-go-round. The way he squeezed Lambie Pie when he was scared. How he shared his Cheese Nip with me.

Pat-pat-pat.

I cried for a long time. When I finally stopped, the counter under my cheek was warm and wet.

Mr. T. pushed a napkin close to my hand. Without raising my head, I squished it over my nose and blew.

The man continued to pat, then started talking in that slow way of his. “I did love the way Grover ate,” he said. “Happy to have the food outside and in.” Mr. T. chuckled. “Remember the time he plopped mashed potatoes on top of his head?”

Those potatoes had looked like a lumpy cap. White, lumpy cap on his Tweety Bird head.

“What did you like?” asked Mr. T.

I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want the tears to come back.

Finally I whispered from the cave of my crossed arms, “I liked how he said ‘Beh.’”

“Ahhh,” said Mr. T. “He said ‘Beh’ a lot. Grover sure singled you out.”

I blinked back tears. To the kid I’d been more than a camouflage fish. More than someone just blending in.

Mr. T. and I sat quiet as the counter dried and the tightness eased in my throat. I raised my head, blew my nose again.

Mr. T. was gazing at a silver bus through the window. “Your social worker says you want to leave.” He fiddled with his straw. “She said you want to go to that juvenile home.”

I fiddled with my straw, too.

“I know things are different with Grover gone,” Mr. T. continued. “But won’t you stay with us at least till the social worker gets you a new family?”

“No,” I said quickly. I wanted to leave. Now.

We watched as folks slowly boarded the bus. I saw one woman wave to another.

Mr. T. suddenly spoke. “Hello. Good-bye. Remember how Grover’s wave used to stand for both words?”

I nodded.

“Sometimes a person’s good-bye can be a big wish for hello.”

Were we still talking about Grover? I wasn’t sure.

“Maybe,” Mr. T. continued, “a person has heard goodbye so many times the word just jumps out of his mouth. Maybe it is the first thing he thinks to say.”

I puzzled over Mr. T.’s words. They were as confusing as his talk about taking and giving that day we fixed the torn card. As confusing as that stuff about people
destroying what they wanted most. The man better watch it. He was starting to sound like Ms. Burkell.

Mr. T. smiled. “Just think about it,” he said. “Now, would you like to split a sandwich or something?”

After we had eaten, I tried to pay my share but Mr. T. closed my fingers over the twenty-dollar bill.

I didn’t even fight him. I tried to dig up that old feeling, that feeling of refusing to take. But somehow—it was strange—all that crying must have rearranged my insides. I couldn’t make the hardness come back.

We settled into our usual quiet as Mr. T. drove, heading not home, but out on Route 3. When he stopped at the new shopping center, I could see why this place was taking the business from Greenfield. The shops downtown were tiny and old compared to these gleaming stores.

When Mr. T. had parked, he sat, hands on the steering wheel, checking out that hardware store. It stretched out, all shiny clean, with lumber stacked neatly outside. “Why don’t you check out the toy store,” he said, not turning his head, “while I pick up a part for the mower?”

“Why don’t you buy it—,” I began, then cut myself off. Most likely Mr. T.’s dusty store didn’t carry the part.

Staring at this nuts-and-bolts mansion, I realized—and maybe Mr. T. did, too—that the old store downtown wouldn’t last long. Sooner or later Mr. T. would have to move on.

“Thirty-eight years,” he said.

Jeesh, the man had been working at that poor hole since way before I was born. He’d never had Job Number Two or Five or Seven. He’d been at Number One all this time.

It must be hard for him to blank out and move on. I
thought about patting his back—but didn’t. Instead I borrowed some of Mrs. T.’s tone. “A part for the mower,” I said. “You mean something’s going to get fixed?”

My joke worked. Mr. T.’s face lightened. “Now, don’t you start,” he said, shooing me out the car door. “Bad enough there’s Eileen.”

I headed to a huge toy store. The doors parted, just like Safeway’s, and then the noise hit. Whirring, beeping, buzzing, popping. And kid squeals like Kate at her loudest. I’d never seen so many toys crammed into one place. Video games, action figures, stuffed bears, cars. And Barbies. Stacks and stacks of Barbies. Pink Ice Barbie, Hula Hair Barbie, Cool Shopping Barbie. The shelves gave off a glow like a UFO.

Maybe I’d get a present for the twins. A good-bye present. I remembered the yellow Lambie Pie ribbon they’d given Grover. They might like something fancy for their dolls.

I checked out the shelves. Barbie clothes, skis, shoes, phones, and cars were stacked in pink boxes clear to the ceiling. I grabbed a box with a long gold dress, long gold gloves, and teeny gold sandals. The whole getup glittered like the crown of a princess. Kate would love it.

Shopping for Lenora’s Barbie took more time. Those chewed-on feet were a challenge. But after thumbing through about a thousand boxes, I found one called Swinging in the Rain. It held a yellow slicker, umbrella, and best of all, high yellow boots. This footgear sure beat those rubber-band shoes I had made. Now no one would know that Lenora’s pitiful Barbie once had doubled as a thumb.

After paying, I still had some time, so I decided to check out the little-kid toys. Talk about pint-sized. The play
rakes were hardly bigger than forks. I touched a green bucket with a grinning sea horse. I’d had one like it at my Number Two.

Suddenly a banshee yell came from the next aisle, followed by “Po! Po! Po!”

And then I heard “No. Give it to Mama.”

G rover.

And Tracey.