My Cousin's Keeper (5 page)

I put a lot of thought into where Julia might live, and her jeans and riding boots told me — a farm. Julia had to be an out-of-town girl whose parents had bought one of the horse or alpaca properties that spread themselves across the green hills outside our town. Some of the kids at school were from farms; I had been to a couple of birthday parties at houses that I felt quietly envious of afterward: huge backyards, land big enough for trail bikes or horses, dams deep enough to swim in and wide enough for paddling canoes. This, I wanted to think, had to be the sort of house where Julia would live.

While just about every other kid on the playground wore a blue-and-red school uniform, Julia always wore jeans and those brown riding boots. I imagined that as well as having a big house on a beautiful farm, Julia was the sort of girl who might have her own horse, and that I would one day see her mom dropping her off at school in a luxury SUV that towed a horse trailer. But Julia's mom didn't seem to fit this picture at all. I had seen her walking Julia to the school gate each morning, and she was there every afternoon as well, meeting Julia and walking her away. There was no car that seemed to be theirs, and I never saw them having a conversation with each other. Julia's mom walked quickly and anxiously and kept checking that Julia was keeping up. Watching this, I couldn't quite imagine them going home to a beautiful farm.

At the southern edge of our town, near the stockyards and warehouses, was a small knot of streets and houses that I'd heard Dad nickname Dodge City. The houses were all boxy and scruffy, and some of the rough kids at school came from here. So did a couple of the wilder guys Dad played soccer with.

Two Saturdays after school had started back, I trailed along with Mom and Gina for a morning of going to garage sales. One was at a house in Dodge City. I felt uncomfortable being there. There was unlikely to be anything I wanted, and in a town as small as ours I would probably bump into at least one kid I knew from school. Mom was always on the lookout for old teapots and plates, Gina usually found a doll, a toy, or some clothing, and I always hoped for — but never found — old soccer collector cards, or better still, something with player autographs. This sale, as far as I was concerned, would have nothing I was interested in.

The people had spread a few old pieces of furniture, toys, a lawn mower, and a jumble of car parts across their front lawn. Against a tree rested a tangle of old bicycles. Everything looked shabby and sad. Then a little kid came out of the house in her pajamas and exclaimed, “Mom, here's someone from my school. It's Gina and her big brother.” I realized then it was the Pearsons' house, and sure enough, when the big brother appeared at the door, it was Troy from my class. He said an awkward hello, then waited hopefully in case I wanted to buy one of his old toys. I wasn't going to, but spent a few moments looking anyway. Then I saw someone else's feet come and stand near to mine.

“Hi —” I began, running right out of voice when I looked up and saw who it was. I tried again. “Hi, Julia.”

“Hi,” she replied, not using my name.

“Kieran,” I reminded her, feeling weirdly nervous.

“I know. I haven't forgotten — Kieran.”

I glanced back at the street, thinking I would see the fancy European car or luxury SUV I'd imagined Julia might have arrived in. No sign. “Does your mom like garage sales, too?” There were other adults looking at the bargains as well, but none of them was Julia's mom.

She looked at me and frowned a little. “No, I walked here.”

“Do you live around here?”

“No,” she replied firmly. “Over there.” And she pointed vaguely at the edge of town that led to the highway. I tried to follow her finger and figure out exactly where she meant, but all I could see was the truck stop and the trailer park. I wanted a more exact answer.

“You live over
there
?”

Julia ignored or didn't notice my amazement. “Well, I wouldn't call it living there. My mom and I are staying at the trailer park for now.” She paused and added, “Same as your cousin.”

I sighed. So she knew. “For now?” I asked. “Won't you be around for long?”

She tilted her head to one side. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Where did you live before?”

“Another town a bit like this. Out in the sticks.”

“But where?”

“I can't remember the name. Just the look of the streets and the color of the school uniform.” She looked at me. “You ask a lot of questions, for a boy.”

It sounded strange not to remember the name of a place where you had lived. But I had run out of questions, and it seemed she was through all the answers she wanted to give.

I glanced behind and saw Mom already holding a couple of things she was going to buy. I could tell they were things she didn't really want, that they were being bought because she felt sorry for the people selling stuff on their front lawn. I'd seen Mom do that before, had heard her say why afterward.

Julia had stepped away from me to look at magazines piled in a cardboard box. I started to follow her so she'd talk to me some more, but she was already striding over to the tangle of bikes against the tree. She noisily separated them. Behind three others and right against the tree was a purple bike I hadn't noticed.

“This looks OK,” I heard her say, and she wheeled it away from the tangle. She lifted and spun the wheels, tested the brakes, tried sitting on it.

I followed her. “That's a boy's bike,” I remarked.

“I don't care.” She laughed. “I've always wanted a bike.” She looked at me, and a challenge of some sort crossed her face, stayed set in her eyes. “And now I've got a bike. My mom is going to be
really
mad.” Her face brightened then. She paused and read the price tag that was stuck to the frame. “But it's worth every cent.” Julia rummaged in her pocket and pulled out some crumpled bills. “Now I can go wherever I want,” she murmured.

“What do you mean?” I asked, but was ignored. I tried something else. “Do you like our school?”

It was a short reply. “The kids are OK.”

“Nicer than the kids at your old school?”

“I don't know,” she answered quietly. “I never actually went to school there.” Her pale-blue eyes met mine. “Now you're asking too many questions.” She stood close enough for me to catch a soft fragrance of soap or shampoo, close enough for me to see the patterns on her earrings. “You hang around with those boys who think they're too cool for school. What are their names? Mason and Lucas.”

I raised my shoulders in a slow shrug. “Yeah . . . I guess.”

“How come you don't hang around with Bon?” she asked. “He's your cousin, after all.”

I shrugged uncomfortably, glancing across to where Mom was searching through boxes of odds and ends.

I was disappointed that the conversation had turned to Bon.
Because he's weird. Because he steals things
, I wanted to say.

“I thought you guys would be friends,” Julia told me. She raised one eyebrow a little and waited for me to reply.

“You're already his friend,” I said.

“But I'm not his cousin. And you live here. You'll always be here, even if I'm not.”

“Kieran!” Mom called from nearby. “We've finished looking. How about you?”

“I'd better go,” I said, a little relieved I'd been called.

“Bon told me about his cousin Kieran, so I knew about you before I'd even met you,” Julia said.

“How?” I asked.

Julia ignored the question. “Bon needs someone who cares about him,” she told me. “And that's
you
.”

I opened my mouth to ask what Julia meant, but she looked at me as though I should already know. Mom and Gina were waiting at the roadside for me. “I have to go,” I told her, sighing. “See you at school.”

Suddenly, Julia's hand was gently grasping my arm. Her other hand held the seat of her new bike, and in a whisper she added, “You should buy something, too. Before you leave. I think these people really need the money.”

She let go and watched as I rummaged in my pocket for coins. It was as though one of my parents had told me to do something, rather than a girl about my age. I chose a plastic robot that transformed into a truck and then back again, and gave Troy Pearson more of my precious spending money than I really wanted. By the time I'd paid, Julia was walking toward the gate with her purple bike. I realized then that it was actually an OK bike, and with a cleaning up it could even look pretty cool. But Julia already knew that, because she had paid her money and was launching herself onto the seat. She turned to me and raised her hand in a single wave — and smiled. Surprised, I waved back and watched her ride away down the street. She had
smiled
at me.

So — she didn't live on a farm with rich parents. There was no fancy car, or a pet horse in a paddock. A camper at the trailer park didn't seem right to me, somehow, but then neither had her mom when I'd first seen them at school. It was as though they didn't fit together the way my family did. I didn't know where Julia had come from, and how long she was going to stay. Somehow, she and Bon had met before they both started school on the same day. Then I realized they would easily have found each other at the trailer park.

Bon needs someone who cares about him.
I didn't want to understand why she had said this.

I thought you guys would be friends.
I didn't want to be told this. Talking with Julia hadn't quite gone the way I'd expected.

“That's a face I haven't seen before,” Mom commented as we climbed into our car. “Is she new at school? Does she have a name?” Working at the only supermarket in town meant Mom got to know most of the faces from around town.

“Julia,” I replied.

“Julia? Julia who?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Julia Someone.” But I was tumbling last names around in my head.
Barrie, Barlow . . . Barrett. Julia Barrett.

Without looking, I could tell that Mom had found something humorous and was smiling at me. “Julia Someone,” she repeated. “Hmm.”

I tried to ignore her, staring out the window as we left the streets of Dodge City and headed back into the main part of town. I thought of Julia's wave and that single last smile, and I wondered if she would have anything to say to me back on the playground at school.

I knew, though, that I wasn't about to start looking after Bon. And I sure wasn't going to be his friend.

Dad was leaving me behind again.

Once more he had chosen Guthrie Street, with the steepest hill, and I launched myself at the slope with all the energy I could muster. Dad stopped long enough to smile at me before jogging away toward the old train station, leaving me to catch my breath and then stumble after him. I was determined to keep up.

Finally, after jogging past the old bridge alone, I caught up, but only because Dad had paused to talk. Lenny and Danno, who worked for the town, were on their early-morning rounds and had stopped to empty the sidewalk trash bin outside the convenience store. I could hear their laughing voices above the utility truck's idling engine.

“Watch out, Tony, the young fella's catching up!” one of them said, laughing. They both wore official town hats and fluorescent safety vests, and I could never remember who was who.

“Time to get going, then,” Dad replied, glancing back at me and making it sound like a cheerful family joke.

Lenny and Danno cheered me on as I jogged past, and I managed a wave and a grin that I hoped made it look as though I had buckets of energy left over. I was so close behind Dad now that I could smell his sweat and hear his puffs of breath. And then I spotted Bon.

Although the Tealeaf Café still had a
CLOSED
sign on its front door, Bon was inside and seated at one of the tables. A tall mug steamed gently on the table in front of him. He was reading something, a comic or a magazine, and lifted a slice of toast to his mouth. He didn't see me outside, although I'd come to a stop to look at him and try to size up what was happening. There was no sign of his mom.

“He's having breakfast,” I mumbled. “The café's not even open yet.”

Bon kept reading, taking slow bites of toast and then a sip from the mug. Though he sat at an angle away from the front window and the sidewalk, I could see that his silly braid was frizzed out from being slept on, and the clothes he was wearing were the same ones he'd worn to school yesterday.
How
, I wondered,
can Bon's mom afford café breakfasts for him, but not a new pair of sneakers without worn-out toes?

Then Kelsie Graney, who worked at the café, walked over to the table beside Bon. I could see her asking him something and then his head shake an answer. Kelsie sat at the table alongside Bon. She didn't talk, but simply watched him as he read his comic and ate his toast. Her eyes found mine from across the road, and she raised a hand to me and waved hello, before walking to the front door and turning the sign over so that it read
OPEN
.