The Year We Hid Away (23 page)

A half second later I was out of the car and up the walk. Lucy flew out and down the steps. She launched herself at me, landing full force in my chest. I dropped the bag I was holding to catch her, to lift her up.

She shoved her face into my jacket and howled.

“Whoa, Lulu,” I said, fighting for breath. For some reason my lungs did not want to expand properly, and my vision went blurry. “Hey, now,” I choked out, rubbing her back.

While Lucy sobbed, the woman picked up the bag I’d dropped, and nudged me toward the porch steps. Somehow I climbed them, carrying Lucy into the house. A cluttered living room was just inside. I staggered over to an ottoman and sat on it, holding Lucy tight. I took a few deep, slow breaths until I had myself back under control.

Lucy’s sobbing had progressed to the drippy, hiccupping stage, and I wiped her face with my hands. She was trying to calm down, but her fingers still had a vice-like grip on my jacket. “I’ve got you,” I said, even though it was only half true, and both of us knew it.

“She d…d…died,” Lucy stuttered, still drowning in her own tears.

“I know, buddy. I’m sorry about that.” My throat threatened to close up again, so I cleared it.

“We should have…” she choked on her own words. “…The hospital, maybe. We didn’t…” Lucy shoved her face into my jacket again.

Oh, fuck.

I pulled her head out where I could look her in the eyes. “No, buddy. Listen to me.” Those green eyes were wild and scared, and it took a second before I had her attention. “She was sick, but she wouldn’t go to the hospital. This is not your fault.”

“She wouldn’t go?”

I shook my head rather than lie again. It was true that I’d brought up treatment to my mother many times, and she wouldn’t discuss it with me. Whether I could have made a difference by actually hauling her selfish, bitchy ass to some kind of facility somewhere, we’ll never know. By the time I was sure she needed some kind of violent intervention, I had Lucy on my hands. There was nothing I could have done.

At least, that’s what I was going to keep telling myself. Probably for the next sixty years.

My sister seemed to have worn herself out from crying. Now she just lolled against me, and I got the feeling that both of us were catching our breath.

“I’m Amy,” the foster mother said after a few minutes. “Are these Lucy’s things in here?” she pointed at the bag.

“Yeah.” My voice still thick. “Lulu, I brought you some clothes, and your PJs. And I brought Funny Bunny.”

“I don’t want to sleep here,” she said into my t-shirt.

“I know you don’t.” I closed my arms around her. “But it’s just temporary, until I get a chance to tell the judge that I should be the one who takes care of you.” I chose my words carefully, making no promises.

“Why does the judge care?”

“When somebody’s parent dies, they want to make sure you have a good home to live in.”

“We can move back into the house,” Lucy said. “You and me.”

It made me swallow hard to hear Lucy trying to come up with a solution. That’s all I’d done all semester — mentally rearrange the cards, trying to come up with a winning hand. I’d never managed it. “You’re going to stay here with Amy until I can figure out what we’re doing,” I said.

“I have a room just for you,” Amy said softly, from where she stood in the corner. “You can have some dinner and a bath. You’ll go to school tomorrow, so your teacher doesn’t miss you too much.”

“No,” Lucy said, her voice rising with a fresh wave of hysteria. “I just want to go
home
.”

I took another slow breath. “I’ll bet there’s a bathtub,” I said. One of Lucy’s many complaints about Beaumont House was that she had to take showers.

“Don’t care.”

“Maybe your brother would fill it up for you,” Amy hinted.

I scooped Lucy up and stood. Carrying her was still no problem, weight wise. But she was getting so big, she dangled down to my knees. It seemed like just last week when she was just a little lump on my hip when I carried her.

Following Amy, I headed upstairs. We passed a bedroom, where a man was sitting across a desk from another child, a dark-skinned little girl. They seemed to be bent over a sheet of homework. The man looked up as I passed, and winked.

Okay. So the place wasn’t exactly a scene out of
Oliver Twist
. But I still couldn’t believe that I was supposed to
leave
Lucy here. Christ.

Lucy didn’t let me leave the bathroom while she bathed. I think she worried that I’d slip out, even though I’d promised not to. So I rinsed her hair with a plastic cup, and tried to get her to stop looking so scared.

We figured out afterward that while I’d remembered her toothbrush, I’d forgotten to bring her socks.

“It’s no problem,” Amy said. “I’ve got some.”

Of course she did. Because Amy’s house was set up to accommodate other people’s nightmares.

While I cajoled Lucy into eating exactly one chicken nugget and two tater tots, Amy gave me a little of her own story. She was a daycare provider for years, but now she took in emergency foster kids, because it seemed like she could do more for them.

I wanted to hate her, but she made it impossible.

Her husband Rich came through to shake my hand. To his wife he said, “Sheena is in bed, and waiting for you to say goodnight to her.”

“If you’ll excuse me a minute,” Amy said, leaving the room.

They were perfectly nice people. And so even though I knew Lucy would be safe here, it didn’t warm me to the idea of letting the state do its thing. Because not all foster parents were Amy. And at eight years old, Lucy had a decade before she would be out of the state’s clutches. Even if I liked Amy, there was no guarantee that she could stay here. If the wind blew a different direction, Lucy could end up in some godawful place, with people who took in too many foster kids as a paycheck. And there wouldn’t be a thing I could do about it.

Eventually the dreaded moment arrived.

“It’s bed time, Lucy,” I said softly. “I’ll come back tomorrow after school.”

“Can you pick me up?” Slowly, I shook my head. I was pretty sure that Amy would have to do that. Social services had allowed me “supervised visits” with Lucy. And I wasn’t about to fuck that up.

As I watched, Lucy’s eyes filled again.

“No, little buddy,” I whispered, hugging her. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I just want to go with you.”

“I know,” I said into her hair. “I’m working on it.”

“Tell them I want to live with you.”

“I’ll tell them.”

“Tell them I don’t care where it is.”

“I’ll say it a hundred times if I have to.”

“A thousand.”

“Okay, I’ll say it a thousand
times
a thousand. Which is a million. Or a hundred times ten thousand. Or…”

“Shut
up
, Bridge,” she hiccuped.

Amy tried to insert herself, maybe hoping that Lucy would release me. “Is there a book you’d like to read with me now?”

“We’re reading Harry Potter,” I said, trying to be helpful.

“No.” Lucy turned to Amy with a grimace. “
You
can’t read me Harry Potter. Only Bridger. He does the voices.”

I eased Lucy back, so she was standing on her own. “Amy probably has a lot of books,” I suggested. “Why don’t you pick one out?”

She didn’t budge. And a single tear dripped down her cheek.

“I have to go now,” I said, my voice cracking again. “You can wave to Scarlet. She’s waiting for me in the car.”

Lucy’s eyes traveled toward the door. So I made my move, one foot in front of the other. She followed me, but I kept going until I’d reached the front of the house, my hand on the door.

“No!” Lucy yelped, and I had to take a big breath in through my nose.

“Tomorrow, Lulu. I’ll be back.” I dropped a kiss onto her head, and then pushed the door open. “Now wave at Scarlet. See?”

At that, I stepped onto the porch. I knew I should shake hands with Amy or whatever, but I didn’t think I could do it. So I kept moving, opening the door to Scarlet’s Cayenne, sliding in. My girlfriend started the engine. She lowered the passenger window and leaned across me, waving at Lucy.

I raised a hand too, forcing myself to look up then. Waving, I met Lucy’s red eyes one more time. Tears ran down her brave face as she waved.

“Just drive,” I choked out. Mercifully, the Porsche pulled away from the curb. Seconds later, we were half way down the block. And I could give up the charade. I put my elbows on my knees and let my head fall into my hands. My throat pooled and my hands dampened.

I just stayed that way, trying not to totally lose it, as the car glided through the little streets, accelerating as smoothly as all that German engineering allowed. When the car finally came to a stop, I mostly had my shit together. I looked up and out the windshield. “Where are we?”

“Whole Foods in Milford,” Scarlet said, her voice quiet. She reached over and squeezed my knee. “We missed dinner. And lunch. When’s the last time you ate?”

“I don’t know.”
Yesterday
.

“Do you want to come in with me, or shall I go?”

I blew out a breath, not wanting to answer. I wasn’t exactly fit for public consumption.

“I’ll be right back,” Scarlet said, reaching back between our seats for her pocketbook.

I slid my hands around her torso, pulling her towards me. “Thank you,” I said into her shoulder, my voice rough.

She dropped her pocketbook and slipped her arms around me. “Anytime, Bridge.”

“Sorry I left you out in the car so long.”

“It’s nothing,” she whispered, holding me tightly. “It was awful?”

“Worst hours of my life.” And I said that knowing that it could still get worse. There was a very real possibility that I’d have to sit in front of Lucy sometime soon and tell her that I’d failed. That the judge ruled me unfit. That the bank took our house. That the school put me on probation for breaking their rules. The possibilities sat like a cartoon anvil on my chest.

Scarlet trailed her fingers into my hair and gave me a single kiss on the neck. “Don’t go anywhere,” she said, releasing me. “I’ll be back in five. Or ten, if the lines are brutal.”

“I’ll be here,” I said. Because that was the largest promise that I was capable of keeping today. Only that.

Sitting in her car, we ate a startling quantity of overpriced sushi out of little plastic containers. And I actually began to feel better.

“There are two more pieces of California roll,” Scarlet said, offering me the tray.

“I’m out,” I had to say, rubbing my stomach. “Honestly, that was great, though. I haven’t had sushi in forever.” It was out of my price range. Lucy and I ate a lot of sandwiches that I made on my desktop. What judge would consider that a meal?

“It was the first thing I saw,” Scarlet admitted. “But I haven’t had it in a long time, either. The Turner dining hall doesn’t do sushi.” Her eyes flickered into mine. “I just wish I could do more, Bridger. Seriously. Feeding you is all I could think of.”

Well, shit. I had to reach out then, cupping her face in my hands and pulling her in. Her lips were so soft against mine. I dropped kisses onto her lips, her jaw, her neck. I stroked her lip with my thumb, then kissed her again, gently asking her to open for me. I’d missed her so much. And even with my whole life falling apart, showing a little love for her was something I needed to do.

But she ducked my deeper kisses. “What?” I asked.

“I probably have dolphin breath,” she said, aiming her mouth over my shoulder.

“Dolphin breath?”

“You know… I smell like a tuna.”

I began to chuckle. And maybe it was because we’d been fighting, or maybe it was because this was the most stressful day in my life. But I found that hysterical. I laughed so hard my gut hurt. I laughed until my eyes were wet again, and Scarlet was sweeping her hands across my cheekbones, chasing tears away.

For the tenth time that day, I fought for control. “I don’t really care if you have dolphin breath,” I said, my stomach still tightening with ripples of laughter.

She put the car in reverse and turned to look over her shoulder. “Noted,” she said, maneuvering out of the parking spot. “Let’s just get back. Then you can prove it to me.”

—
Scarlet

When we got back to Beaumont house, Bridger’s room was dark and quiet. Lucy’s mattress sat in the middle of the floor, broadcasting its emptiness. Wordlessly, I stepped into him, wrapping my hands around his waist. He put his chin on my shoulder and sighed. “Stay with me?” he whispered.

“Of course.”

While Bridger returned a couple of calls, I went next door to fill Andy in on all the horrible things that had happened that day.

“You’re shitting me,” he said, his eyes widening behind his glasses.

“Nope.”

“Why can’t he just catch a
break?
”