Strays Like Us Read online

  I gritted my teeth. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “What am I doing?”

  “You’re trying to make me feel bad about my mother.” My voice choked on the last word. “You’re trying to use your story to make me feel like I’d be better off without her!” I stood up, my hands clenched into fists.

  “No.” Margery’s forehead creased into a map of lines. “I’m not doing that at all. I swear to you, Fred, that was not—”

  “Don’t you swear on anything!” I was screaming now, and I didn’t care. “I know exactly what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work because I’m smarter than you or any judge or any stupid person at Children and Youth Services! I’ll be back with my mother before any of you can blink! And you know what else? I’m glad I wrecked your stupid statue!” I shoved the chair with both hands, banging it into the table. “And if you think I’m spending one second fixing it up for you, you can guess again. I wouldn’t do anything for you if you paid me ten million dollars. So get someone else to do your stupid sanding jobs, and put your dumb whatever-it-is back together yourself, because I won’t. Do you hear me? I won’t!”

  Margery sat perfectly still, even as my voice cracked. And when I realized that nothing else I said was going to make her talk or even look at me, I turned and ran out of the room.

  I raced up to my bedroom and threw myself on my bed. The stars shone through the skylight overhead, and as I stared at them, I could feel some of the shaky rage inside start to leak out a little. I tried to breathe, squeezing my eyes shut as I counted to ten in my head. But I couldn’t stop thinking about what Margery had said about her sister. About how she was an addict. About keeping her distance and staying away. That was just stupid. Anyone with a brain would know that creating space between people who needed each other just made things worse, not better.

  Trying to love someone who can’t be honest with you is always a no-win situation.

  My eyes flew back open.

  I jumped off the bed, grabbed my coat and boots, and yanked open my bedroom window. I had to get out of here. I didn’t know where I was going to go, and I didn’t know what I was going to do when I got there. The only thing I did know was that I couldn’t stay here.

  Not for one more second.

  Dropping from the second-story window wasn’t half as scary as I thought it would be. Hitting the ground, though, knocked the breath out of me, and I struggled for a moment to catch it. When I felt okay again, I ran down Margery’s long driveway and made a left. Even with the streetlights overhead, it was dark as a cave. I followed the white line along the edge of the road so that I wouldn’t fall into the side ditches, but even that was hard to see. And, man oh man, was it cold. It couldn’t have been any more than thirty degrees, and when the wind blew, it felt even colder than that. When I finally slowed to a walk, my teeth began chattering so hard I could hear them clicking against each other. I wasn’t sure if I could feel the tips of my fingers, and my toes were already starting to cramp up inside my sneakers. But I didn’t care. I hugged my arms tightly around myself, ducked my head down low against my chest, and kept moving. Away from that house. Away from the voice inside that house. Away from the voice inside my head.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d walked before I noticed suddenly that things looked different. A lot different. I slowed a bit so that I could look around. I was standing on the sidewalk of a wide, tree-lined street. A small barbershop with a red-and-blue awning sat on the right-hand corner of the intersection, and across from it was a redbrick library. Even in the dark, I could make out the words on a white banner strung across the front door: SO MANY BOOKS, SO LITTLE TIME. Libraries weren’t exactly the kind of places where I hung out, but as I blew on my stiff, chapped hands I found myself wishing that I could dart inside this one. At the very least it would be warm. And out of the wind.

  I couldn’t imagine what time it was. There was no way of knowing how long Margery and I had talked after dinner, or how long it had been since I snuck out of her house. But it had to be late. I looked up, but there was no moon in sight. I shoved my hands in my pockets and kept walking. The wrought iron streetlamps threw long shadows on the street, and the faint smell of burning leaves lingered in the air. I passed a hardware store, a post office, and two pizza places. All dark. Shut tight and locked up for the night. I stopped for a moment when I got to the end of the block and tried to think. By now, my feet were so cold that I couldn’t feel my toes. The skin on my face was numb, and when I tried to wiggle my nose, it wouldn’t move. I knew the practical thing to do would be to turn around and walk back to Margery’s. But I couldn’t bear the thought of making that long, dark trek in the freezing cold again. I wasn’t sure I’d make it. I wasn’t sure my feet would make it. One more block, I told myself. I’d go one more block and if I didn’t find anything open, I’d head back.

  I was halfway down the next block when I heard the dull sound of knocking. At first I thought maybe my feet had actually turned into blocks of ice and were thumping against the sidewalk, but when I stood still for a moment, I heard the sound again. This time, the knocks were louder and they came in quick succession, like a drum beating. I looked up. And there, waving frantically behind a brightly lit window across the street, was Delia.

  The inside of Sweetie Pie’s smelled like frosting and chocolate and warm bread, all mixed up together. It was so small that it only fit five or six tables, and three of them were already taken. The walls were covered with copper measuring cups in different sizes, each one hanging from a piece of black ribbon tied with a bow. The light hit the copper in such a way that it seemed to glow throughout the room. But the best part about Sweetie Pie’s was that it was warm. Man, was it warm. I sat in the little chair opposite Delia and shoved my hands under my legs, hoping I’d be able to regain feeling in them before too long.

  “Holy cannoli, Fred.” She sat forward in her seat and bounced up and down a little. “I can’t believe I ran into you.”

  I shrugged, although the truth was that I’d never been so happy to see someone in my entire life.

  “How’d you get here?” Delia asked. “You didn’t walk, did you?”

  I nodded, staring down at the table.

  “You walked?” Delia’s eyes widened. “But that’s like three or four miles! At least! And it’s so cold!”

  “The cold doesn’t bother me,” I lied. “And I just needed some air.” I could feel her eyes on me and I knew she realized something had happened, that something was wrong.

  “How late is it, anyway?” I asked quickly, gazing at a glass case behind her. It was filled with dozens of different pastries, some topped with sugared cherries, others decorated with green frosted leaves.

  Delia pulled out her cell phone. “Nine fifteen. They close at ten, but that’s how long we have anyway till my mom comes back. She’s visiting some lady across the street who’s making drapes for the living room.”

  I nodded, wondering if Margery had noticed my absence yet. Maybe she was still sitting at the kitchen table, finishing her tea. Or maybe she’d gone out to check on Toby. What would she do when she realized I wasn’t there? Would she panic and call the police? Or would she wait me out? Set her heels until I came back again?

  “What time do you have to be home?” Delia asked.

  “Whenever.”

  “Does Margery know you’re gone?”

  “Sure.”

  Delia looked at me hard for a moment. “She’s nice, Margery.”

  I nodded absentmindedly.

  “Is she a friend of your mom’s family or your dad’s?”

  “What?”

  “You said she was a friend of your family’s,” Delia said. “Like, on your mom’s side or your dad’s?”

  Man, she was nosy. Why couldn’t she just talk about school? Or the weather? Anything but me. “My mom’s.”

  “Where’d they meet?” Delia asked. “Did they go to college together?”

  I almost laughed. Mom had barely
graduated high school. She’d crossed the stage to get her diploma in a big black gown that hid her swollen belly underneath. Four months later, she’d had me. “I don’t remember,” I said. “But they go way back.”

  “Well, she’s a nice lady,” Delia said again. “So your mom must be, too.”

  “She is.”

  Delia nibbled on the edge of her thumb. “Maybe I’ll get to meet her someday.”

  “Maybe.” I could feel the tightness in my belly ease a little as an old guy came over, holding a notepad. He had a big white mustache and a white apron over his clothes. “Hi, Amelia Bedelia!” He grinned broadly at her. “I thought that was you over here. Who’s your buddy?”

  “This is Fred.” Delia sat up a little straighter. “Fred, this is Lorenzo. He owns Sweetie Pie’s.”

  “Nice to meet you, Fred.” I shook Lorenzo’s hand as he looked back over at Delia. “Let me guess. You two are here for the last few slices of my chocolate chip cookie pie.”

  Delia nodded, giggling a little. “Yes, please.”

  “Ice cream on top?” Lorenzo asked. “And caramel sauce?”

  “Just like always,” Delia said. “Thanks, Lorenzo.”

  “You must come here a lot,” I said as Lorenzo left.

  “Yeah.” Delia fiddled with the edge of the votive holder. “I love it here. And Lorenzo’s so nice. He knows what I like. And everything he makes is so, so, so delicious.” She studied me for a minute, as if looking for something. “So. Are you going to tell me what happened tonight, or what? Did you and Margery have a fight?”

  The strangest thing happened then, which I still can’t really explain. Maybe I was tired. Or maybe everything that had just happened finally caught up to me. Whatever it was, all my anger at Margery and now at Delia for being so nosy again just sort of came and then went. And in its place, I felt nothing but sadness. Pure, silver sadness, without any anger or worry or fear mixed in with it. It was a heavy feeling, like maybe how sinking underwater might feel, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

  Delia reached out and cupped my folded hands inside hers. “Fred?”

  I nodded my head.

  Her hands tightened a little bit around mine. “Can you tell me about it?”

  I stared at the candle sitting on the table between us. The edges had long since melted, and the sides of it drooped. How much longer did it have, I wondered, before it burned down to nothing?

  “Just try,” Delia whispered.

  I lifted my eyes. Delia nodded encouragingly at me, and when she did, I could feel some air coming back into my lungs. “I can’t,” I whispered.

  “Okay.” She squeezed my hands a second time. “It’s okay. When you’re ready, you can tell me.” She nodded. “I’ll be here.”

  I nodded okay, but I didn’t mean it. I couldn’t tell her why I’d yelled at Margery. And I’d never be ready to talk about Mom.

  Not with her.

  Not with anyone.

  After we finished our chocolate chip cookie pie, Delia’s mother drove me back to Margery’s. She was a small woman with short, streaky hair and a long nose. A large gold ring with a red stone glittered on her right hand. She smiled and nodded as Delia introduced me, but she didn’t say anything. I thought her eyes flicked over us in the rearview mirror once or twice as we headed down the street, but that was all. She stayed in the car as Delia walked me up the front steps, and waved goodbye from the window. I hadn’t asked Delia to come in with me, but I was kind of glad she did. There was no telling what state Margery would be in, or what she might do when I showed up again.

  We didn’t even get to the top of the steps before Margery, dressed in a nightgown and one brown work boot, burst out of the house. Her eyes were wild as she grabbed me around the shoulders. “You’re okay?” she gasped. I nodded dumbly, staring at her hair, which hung down loose around her face. It made her look a little bit like a witch. “Oh, thank God,” she said. “I didn’t even realize you were gone until I went in to tell you good night. I thought maybe you’d snuck out back to sit with Toby again, but when you weren’t there, either …” She gripped me harder around the shoulders, and for a minute, I was afraid she was going to hug me. “I was just about to go down to the police station and file a report.”

  “In your nightgown?” Delia asked.

  Margery looked startled, as if she’d just noticed Delia standing there next to me. “You’ve been with Delia all this time?” she asked. “That’s where you went?”

  Delia and I took turns telling her the story. Margery glanced at Delia’s car. “Is that your mother there?”

  “Yes,” Delia said.

  Margery walked down the steps, and as Delia and I watched from the porch, Delia’s mother rolled down the window. We stood there without saying anything as they talked. Finally, Margery looked up at us. “Will you guys come over here for a minute?”

  Delia and I exchanged a glance. “This could be really, really bad,” Delia muttered as we made our way down the steps, “or really, really good.”

  I didn’t know what to expect, either. It turned out, though, that Margery had asked if Delia could spend Friday here with me. “That is, if you want her to.” Margery nodded at me. Delia gasped and grabbed my arm, and when I nodded and she squealed, we all laughed a little.

  Even Delia’s mother smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. “Thank you both. I can drop her off in the morning.”

  After they left, I got a little nervous again. I wasn’t sure if Margery was still angry with me for running off the way I had. Or maybe she’d let it go now that I was safely back.

  I had just turned off the lights in my room and slid under the covers when the knock on my door came. I closed my eyes and braced myself. “Come in.”

  Margery opened the door. Her hands were in the pockets of her fuzzy purple robe, and she’d plaited her hair back into its usual braid. For a long moment, she just stood there, looking at me. “Do you mind if I sit down?” she asked finally, nodding toward the bed.

  Oh, man. This was going to take a while. “Go ahead,” I said, moving over to make room for her.

  Margery eased down, taking her hands out of her pockets and folding them in her lap. The bed creaked under her weight, but she didn’t seem to notice. “It frightened me, thinking you’d run off,” she said quietly. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve ever felt anything like that.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She looked at me again, and her eyes squinted the way they did when she was thinking about something. “May I ask you something personal?”

  I shrugged.

  “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  “Okay.”

  “Does your mom have an issue with drugs?”

  “No.” I could feel the flare inside my chest light up again. “No. She doesn’t even take drugs.”

  “Okay.” Margery was staring at me so hard that I had to look away.

  “She takes pills,” I said before I could stop myself. “But they’re just normal prescriptions. You know, that people have to take for normal stuff. Like sleeping and being anxious and stuff. And they’re from a doctor.”

  “Pills are drugs, too,” Margery said, and her voice was so gentle when she said it that I felt like crying.

  “I know they are, I guess. But it’s not what you think. She doesn’t have a problem.”

  “Can you tell me why she got sent to jail?”

  “Because the dumb manager at her work told the police she stole some pills.” I narrowed my eyes. “Which she totally didn’t. She just put them in her pocket to take up front and she forgot about them. He’s a jerk. He just has it out for her because she’s late for work sometimes.” By now, my chest was so tight that it hurt to take a breath. “Why are you asking me all of this anyway? Didn’t Carmella tell you everything?”

  “She told me your mother was in jail,” Margery said. “But that was it. I didn’t ask, and she
didn’t say any more.” She shrugged. “Besides, that part isn’t really any of my business. You are.”

  I stared down at the quilt. Up until that point, I realized, I’d thought of Margery as one of the people who were Out to Get Mom. The other ones were Carmella, Mr. McCormick, all the people at the jail, and the judge who would be presiding over her hearings. But that shifted suddenly when Margery said that Mom was none of her business. And that I was the only part she cared about.

  “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” I kept my eyes down. “You know, about your sister and my—” I stopped talking as Margery put a hand over mine.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “I understand why you said those things. I probably would have said them, too, if I were in your shoes.”

  For some reason, that stupid crying feeling came back then. I swallowed hard over a knot in my throat and dug my thumbnail into my palm.

  “You know,” Margery said, “I was just so … angry that I couldn’t help my sister. That she didn’t want to be helped. I was even angry with my dad, who’d sort of given up on both of us before we even had a chance.” She nodded. “But all that anger was starting to eat away at me. And I knew I had to do something with it, you know? Because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have anything left inside.” Her hand was still over mine.

  “And working with the junk helped?” I asked softly.

  “A lot. But it’s solitary work, as I think you’re starting to realize.” I smiled. “And people can only do so much alone. Then a few months ago, someone at work mentioned how there was such a need for foster parents, and I went home and thought about it and I decided that I wanted to give that a go, too. That maybe if I could give a little something to a kid who carried all those big feelings around the way I did, it might help both of us.”

  I stared at her large hands, the way the calloused knuckles poked up under her skin like wide, dusty mushrooms. I wondered if she ever felt lonely the way I sometimes did, as if she’d been left behind somehow, or forgotten by the whole entire world.