Stealing Our Way Home Page 5

  I’m doomed.

  “She’s here just for the year, isn’t that right, doll baby?” Mrs. Murphy asks. Shelby nods without taking her eyes off me. “The Andersons are Shelby’s aunt and uncle,” Mrs. Murphy continues. “And since I’m such good friends with Mrs. Anderson, we thought keeping our girl busy for a few days a week until school starts might be good for her just now.” She rubs the side of Shelby’s arm. “Help keep her mind off things.”

  Shelby drops her eyes when Mrs. Murphy says that. “It was nice to meet you both,” she says, pulling out from under Mrs. Murphy’s arm. “I’ll see y’round.”

  Mrs. Murphy watches her walk back to her place in the boys’ department and then leans over the counter. “You didn’t hear this from me,” she says confidentially, “but Shelby comes from a real troubled family. She’s just here for a spell until things can get worked out at home. If they get worked out.”

  I don’t know why this bit of information makes me angry. Maybe it’s because it changes the way I’ve looked at Shelby up until that moment. That golden glow around her has just faded a little. Or maybe it’s because the personal stuff about her wasn’t Mrs. Murphy’s information to give. She just took that away from Shelby, without even asking. Whatever it is, I just want to get out of this stupid store. Now.

  “Can we finish checking out?” I ask, hurriedly adding, “Please?”

  “Oh, of course!” Mrs. Murphy says, shaking her head. She starts tallying price tags again, tapping the numbers into the register. “Here I am, going on like a runaway train, while you two probably have a million other things to get to. I’m so sorry.”

  Between Pippa’s six outfits, my shirts, and four pairs of shoes, the total comes to 236 dollars. It’s a little bit more than I’d expected, but Dad said to get what we needed, and that’s what we did. I still need to get some pants, but I’m not doing it today. No way, no how. I hand Mrs. Murphy the credit card and watch as she swipes it through the little black machine.

  “It’ll just take a moment,” she says, smiling broadly.

  I look away, stare down at the plastic earrings and shell necklaces beneath the glass counter. They look like little eyes glaring up at me. Accusing me of spying on Shelby.

  “Hmmm … ” Mrs. Murphy says, frowning. “This is saying the card’s declined.”

  “Declined?”

  “It just means something’s off.” She flutters her hand. “It’s probably nothing. This is an old machine. It happens every once in a while. I’ll try again.”

  I can feel myself start to sweat under my T-shirt.

  Pippa tugs on my sleeve, but I don’t look at her. “Hold on, Pip.”

  Mrs. Murphy’s forehead furrows as she swipes the card again and taps on the side of the machine. I close my eyes. Beg silently for the machine to work. Hope that Shelby doesn’t hear what’s going on. Pray that what I think is about to happen doesn’t happen.

  I open my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Murphy says. “There must be something wrong with the card, Jack. I’ve run it through three times now, and it keeps telling me it’s declined. Does your dad have another one I can use?”

  My heart plummets into my stomach. I take the card from her, shaking my head while simultaneously reaching for Pippa’s arm. This is Dad’s only credit card. And the only thing wrong with it has just hit me like a fist right between the eyes.

  We have officially just moved from bad to worse.

  I’m scared. I haven’t seen Jack this mad in a long time. He’s even madder than he was inside Murphy’s when I wrote the question about Shelby in my notebook. And he’s hurting my wrist. I hang back when we get outside the store, twisting my hand until he lets go.

  “Get on your bike,” he says, already swinging a leg over his own. “And try to keep up.” His voice is mean, which is scaring me even more. Jack hardly ever talks mean to me, unless something’s really wrong.

  It’s hard to keep up. Jack’s fast on his bike even when he’s not mad. He swerves around people on the sidewalk, races through two stop signs without looking, and almost hits a lady walking her dog. “Hey!” she screams as he flies on past. “Where’s the fire, buddy?”

  I might have been more scared if I didn’t know where he was going. But I know as soon as he turns into the alley next to the Poultney Flower Shop that he’s headed toward the car lot on the other side of town. Mom always used to take us to visit Dad at work whenever we came into town, but it was Jack who showed me the shortcut.

  Every few minutes, he checks on me, looking over his shoulder as he crosses a street or comes to the end of another block. But every time he does, he looks irritated, like he’s mad at me for being so far behind. And even though there’s so much distance between us, he doesn’t slow down. Not once.

  I don’t understand what just happened. Mrs. Murphy told Jack that declined meant that something was off. Does that mean something fell off the card because it was broken? It didn’t look broken to me. It looked perfectly flat. Maybe it was her machine, like she said, and she just didn’t try enough times. Three doesn’t sound like enough times to me. I think you should try at least five. Maybe I can write that in my notebook when we get to the car lot. Tell Jack to go back and let her try it a few more times.

  Jack turns hard on Webby Road and starts pedaling to the top of it. Webby Road is a long, gigantic hill. At the top of it is Dad’s car lot. I can already see the big red sign overhead: KENDALL’S AUTO SALES. I haven’t been to Dad’s work in a long time, not since Mom got sick, but the same proud feeling whenever I see our name up there rises in my chest. Dad started the car lot all by himself, when he was first married. Mom always said he was the best salesman in Vermont. I bet he’s sold a thousand cars since I was born. Maybe even more than that.

  I’m almost to the middle of the hill when I notice that Jack’s gotten off his bike. But something’s wrong. He’s thrown it to the ground instead of leaning it on the kickstand. And he’s just standing there, staring at something. My heart starts to beat real fast as I keep pedaling. The steepest part is right before the top, and by the time I get there, I’m panting. Jack still hasn’t moved from his spot. But he’s put his hands on top of his head, and he’s pulling at his hair.

  I look over to where he’s staring. Something seems weird, but I don’t know what it is. I look more carefully. Dad’s office, which is just a little white building off to the right, looks the same as always. There’s the blue rocking chair Mom gave him for the front stoop and the gigantic stone flowerpot next to it. The blinds in the front window are closed, just the way I remember, and the American flag, which Dad hangs every morning, is flapping in the breeze.

  “Where are the cars?” Jack whispers. His face is white. “Where are all the cars?”

  That’s when I realize what’s wrong.

  The parking lot next to Dad’s office, which used to be filled with rows and rows of clean, shiny cars, is completely empty. Actually, that’s not true. A blue Cadillac Eldorado is parked next to Dad’s office. But that’s Dad’s car. The one he’s been driving for the last ten years. Everything else is gone. Missing. Like some gigantic tornado came in and just swept everything away.

  “There’s nothing here.” Jack starts walking toward Dad’s office. “There’s nothing left!” His voice is getting louder and angrier, and even though I’m scared, I run to catch up with him.

  Because I don’t know what’s worse: being alone in an empty car lot, or staying with Jack to find out why.

  I knew something was wrong even before I got to the top of that stupid hill. I could just feel it. It was like the day Mom got the news about being sick. I was right outside the screen door to the kitchen, just about to come in, when I saw her hang up the phone and lean her forehead against the wall. She pressed her hands against it too, one on either side, like she was trying to hold herself up, and held still for a minute. I held still too, staring at a wrinkle on the back of her green-striped shirt, waiting. I knew something was wrong
, but I never would have guessed in a million years that I would hear the word cancer when she told all of us about the phone call later that night.

  And that’s the same feeling I get when I crest the top of the hill and see Dad’s car lot. Dad’s empty car lot. I just stand there for a minute, staring at it like some kind of idiot. A weird sensation of dreaming comes over me, as if I’m in some long, airless vortex. The ground feels light beneath my feet, and my arms are tingling. Am I imagining this? Are there really no more cars in Dad’s car lot? Does KENDALL’S AUTO SALES technically no longer exist?

  My feet start moving with a mind of their own. And as they do, it’s like the rest of my brain starts moving too. Where have the cars gone? Who took them? What has Dad been doing all this time?

  I can hear Pippa behind me, trotting to keep up, and for a second, I think of turning around and telling her to go home. She doesn’t need to hear any of this. She worries so much already; adding this to her pile will only make things worse. But I don’t turn around. I don’t tell her anything. Because another part of me wants her here with me. I know she’s only ten and she doesn’t even talk, but right now, having her next to me while I go find out the truth about this crazy situation might be the only thing that’s keeping me from falling over.

  Dad’s sitting behind his desk when we walk in. He’s talking on the phone and it sounds like he’s trying to make a deal, but the way his face changes when he sees us tells me all I need to know. I’m so scared that I want to cry, which makes me so mad that I’m afraid I’ll start screaming. And then, all of a sudden, just like that, I remember something.

  It was Mom’s last week in the hospital. Dad had taken Pippa down to the cafeteria to get her something to eat, and it was just Mom and me in her room. I was sitting on the ledge in front of her window, my feet propped up against the wall, watching her as she slept. She slept constantly that last week, but all the while she would moan and her lips would move, like she was having a bad dream. There were tubes everywhere, in her arms, below her nose, all attached to these stupid machines around her bed that beeped every few minutes. Her hair was gone then, but Dad had bought her a blue-and-purple silk scarf that the nurses tied over her head and fastened in the back so that the extra material draped over her shoulders like little ponytails. Blue and purple were her favorite colors, but I thought it looked terrible on her, like she was some kind of old person. And yet for some reason, despite the ugly scarf and the machines and the way her face would twist up while she slept, I thought she looked beautiful. I never took my eyes off her when I was there. Not once.

  Which was probably why I almost fell off the ledge when I saw her eyes flit open suddenly and settle on me across the room. She smiled and patted the side of the bed next to her, and I went over and sat down as carefully as I could so that I didn’t bump her or sit on any of the tubes. My heart was pounding out of my chest. I was scared that this was going to be it. You know, the end.

  “How’s my guy?” Her voice was just a whisper.

  “I’m okay,” I said, although it was the dumbest answer ever because first of all, it wasn’t even remotely true, and second, I had no idea how I was anymore. Or how I might ever be again. I slid my hand under hers. “How do you feel?”

  “Tired.” She closed her eyes and then opened them again, searching my face for something. “I love you so much, Jackie. You know that, right?”

  My nose was in full prickle mode, but it didn’t matter. I could already feel the tears on my face as I nodded.

  “You’ll have to help Dad out as much as you can when I’m gone, okay?”

  “I know, Mom.”

  Her fingers tightened the tiniest bit around mine. “It might be hard for a little while. But do whatever it takes. Promise me, honey.” She paused, her index finger barely brushing mine. “Remember, Jack, family is everything.”

  It’s the tiniest burst of memory, a flick of the wrist, but as it flashes through my brain again inside Dad’s office, the anger that’s been rushing through me seems to slow and then fade. Family is everything. Promise me, honey.

  “Dad.” My voice sounds hollow in my ears. “What’s going on? Where are all the cars?”

  “Terry,” Dad says into the phone even as his eyes lock with mine. “I’ll have to call you back, all right?” He puts the phone down slowly, inhaling through his nostrils.

  “Where are all the cars?” I ask again, because it’s the only thing I can think to ask, and he still hasn’t answered me.

  Dad stands up from behind his desk. Seeing him in his dress pants and shirt and tie makes me want to cry again, because I don’t understand why he would get dressed for work if there’s no work to go to. “They were repossessed,” he says. “Taken away.”

  “When?”

  He bites his lower lip. “About a month ago.”

  “A month?” That was right around when the blue vitamins showed up.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Why?”

  He shrugs lightly. “That’s what they do when a company goes out of business.”

  “So there’s no Kendall’s Auto Sales anymore?” I have to push the words out of my throat.

  “No.” Dad steps out from behind the desk and comes around to where we’re standing. He takes Pippa’s hand and puts his other hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t want to tell you guys because I didn’t want either of you to worry. But I’m on it, okay? Things are a little tough right now, but I’ve got a few things cooking on the back burner, and we’ll be okay. I promise.”

  I look down at the rug. It’s an ugly yellow-and-brown checkered pattern that Mom picked out when Dad first started. I don’t know what she was thinking. It’s hideous.

  “Your credit card was declined,” I hear myself say, even though I know it’s probably the single worst thing I could say right now, like throwing gasoline on a fire. But something in me doesn’t care how big the fire might get or even how badly we all might get burned. I want answers. I need answers.

  Dad looks startled for a moment, like someone’s just pinched him. “The credit card I gave you last night?” he asks finally. “Are you sure?”

  I nod. “Mrs. Murphy tried it three times, but it didn’t work.”

  “So you didn’t get any school clothes?” His face goes from shocked to angry in about three seconds. “Not one thing?”

  “We couldn’t.” I shrug. “The card didn’t work.”

  “Oh, and I bet Mrs. Murphy had a ball with that information, didn’t she?” Dad starts pacing around the office, and since it is about the size of a shoebox, that means he only takes two steps, turns around, and then takes another two steps. “I give it until four o’clock this afternoon for everyone in Poultney and the lake to hear about this one.”

  “Who cares about Mrs. Murphy?” I say, hoping he’ll calm down. Even if he is right. Next to me, Pippa slips her hand into mine.

  “Nobody cares about Mrs. Murphy!” Dad’s face is getting red. “She just makes it her business to care about everyone else!” And just like that, the fire moves from a flicker to a whoosh of flame.

  “Dad, listen … ” I’m trying to remember what Mom used to say when he’d get mad like this around her, but nothing comes. Maybe it’s because he never got mad like this around her. They were always laughing. He always had his arms around her, his nose in her hair. My brain feels like a vacuum, like it’s just a tornado of whooshing hot air in there.

  “No, you listen.” He stops all of a sudden, mid stride, and whirls around. “You go back right now and tell Mrs. Murphy … ” He breaks off for a moment, thinking. “Actually, you know what?” He opens one of his desk drawers, pulls out a phone book and rips it open. Then he starts punching numbers into the keypad of his phone. His nostrils are white around the edges, and his eyes look wild. The fire is crackling, threatening to spread.

  “Dad,” I say, taking a step forward. “It’s okay. It really is.”

  “Oh, I know it’s okay,” he answers, and his voice trem
bles a little around the edges. “I’ll make sure—Hello, Mrs. Murphy? This is Sam Kendall calling. I understand my chil—” He pauses, listening for a moment. Something pulses in his jaw, and he rubs a hand over his face, as if scrubbing it clean. “Yes, they told me all that. I’m not sure what the problem is just yet, but I’d like to ask you to keep the clothes they picked out so that I can come in later and settle the bill. Yes. Yes, that’s right. Thanks very much. Yes, I appreciate that. Yes, Mrs. Murphy. Yes, absolutely. Thank you. All right. Good-bye.”

  He hangs up the phone, flicking his eyes up to meet mine. And in that moment, I see something that I’ve never seen before. He looks frightened. More than frightened, actually. Terrified. Which makes me more scared than I’ve ever been in my life. Even more than when I knew Mom was dying. As terrible as it was, there was an end to things when Mom died, a closing of a door. Dad is standing just inside his door. And there’s no telling if he’s going to keep it open—or slam it right in my face.

  “Dad?”

  He blinks twice and just like that, the frightened look vanishes.

  “Don’t you worry,” he says, coming around the desk and putting his arms around the both of us. “I’ll find a way to figure all this out.” His hand tightens on my shoulder. “I promise.”

  I don’t let go when Dad drops his arms. I know something’s wrong, and it scares me. I love him so much. And I know that he will take care of everything, just like he said. He’ll find a way to make it okay again. I know he will. He always does. He promised.

  But Jack just stands there looking at him with a strange expression on his face. “How’re you going to figure all this out?” he asks. “You don’t have a job. We don’t have money.” There’s a weird tone to his voice. It’s not shaky. It doesn’t crack. It almost sounds like he’s daring Dad to answer.

  I squeeze my arms around Dad even more tightly. Don’t get mad, I want to say. Jack doesn’t mean to give you a hard time. He’s just scared. He loves you. He does.