Stealing Our Way Home Read online

  Of course I understand. I understand perfectly.

  Do whatever it takes. Promise me, honey.

  I understand more than perfectly. It actually makes complete, logical sense.

  So why have I never been more terrified in my life?

  I hold out my arms as Nibs piles things into them: a large plastic bag filled with green pepper chunks, tomato slices, and jalapeño peppers; another plastic bag filled with Italian dressing and strips of raw chicken; two whole lemons; and a large bundle of wooden skewers.

  “All right,” she says, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. “Take that out and put everything on the table next to the pit. I’ll be right behind you in a minute or two.”

  But I don’t move. Nibs didn’t say anything earlier about vegetables or raw chicken. And she certainly didn’t mention anything having to do with lemons. I hate lemons. They make my eyes water and the inside of my mouth pucker.

  “You can wipe that pout right off that pretty face of yours,” Nibs says, already bustling around the kitchen again. “I know you’re waiting for the s’mores ingredients, but I’m not pulling any of them out until you have a decent dinner. Meats before sweets, my mother always said, and she was absolutely right. Besides,” she continues, nodding at my knee, “your body is in recovery mode. Do you expect it to do all its fixing and healing if you’re only running on sugar?”

  I give her a look. But I already know I can’t argue with her. I hadn’t thought about my body needing good stuff in it so that my knee will heal. I hate it when adults are right. It’s so annoying.

  “We’ll have them after dinner,” Nibs says, giving me a pat on the butt. “Don’t you worry. Now get on out there.”

  Nibs’ fire pit is much smaller than ours, but it’s prettier to look at. Pizza-sized stones have been arranged neatly around the edge like seats, each one painted a different color. My favorite is the light red one, which is not quite pink but close enough, and it is just wide enough for me to sit on with my legs crossed. Nibs has already gotten a small fire going; it crackles and sputters, shooting tiny red sparks high in the air.

  I set the bags of vegetables and chicken down on the little picnic table and look out on the lake. The sky is a pale lavender color, but it won’t be dark for another two or three hours. The only movement on the water is a red motorboat pulling a lady on skis. She’s wearing a green bathing suit and a bright orange life jacket. A sheet of dark hair flies out behind her as she skims over the surface of the water. I watch for a moment, marveling at how easy it looks from here. I know very well, of course, that getting up on those things and then balancing yourself behind a boat that’s moving thirty miles an hour without falling over is a whole other story.

  Dad used to water-ski all the time, although I can’t remember the last time I saw him out there. He and Mom didn’t have enough money for a boat of their own, but they would rent one every summer, and Dad would be up behind it every chance he got. He was good, but my favorite part was being on the boat with Mom. She drove those boats so fast that sometimes I was afraid I’d fly out, my arms and legs cartwheeling in the air like one of those cartoon characters you see on TV. My hair would slap my face like tentacles, and I would lose my breath whenever she made a sharp turn. But it was magic, flying and floating like that, all at the same time. Like being suspended over the top of a gigantic plate of water, just under a blue bowl of sky.

  The lady behind the red motorboat disappears around the bend in the lake. The water in her wake rocks and shifts and then quiets again. Somewhere in the distance, a bird shrieks. My stomach tenses, but I know it’s not Mr. Thurber. He only makes noises in the morning, and they sound like a frog snoring. Or the faint pitter-patter of stones flung into the lake. Nothing like a shriek. Nothing like a bird at all, come to think of it.

  I turn to go back inside when another movement catches my eye. Shelby is sitting on the Andersons’ dock, just like she was this morning, with her legs dangling over the side. This time though, her legs are bare, and she’s chewing something and then spitting it into the water. I creep over to the large pine tree that separates Nibs’ house from the Andersons’ and peek out.

  Thwoot! Shelby spits again, this one higher and farther than the first. I’m impressed. I’ve never been able to spit very far, but I sure would like to. I move to one side, trying to get a better view of her, and step on a twig. It makes a sharp cracking sound. Shelby turns her head at the noise and waves in my direction. I duck back behind the tree.

  “Pippa?” she yells. “Is that you?”

  I don’t move. My cheeks are hot. I feel stupid that she caught me spying. Especially after everything she did for me today. Maybe if I walk straight back, she won’t see me. If I can get over to Nibs’ house again, I’ll just—

  “Pippa?”

  I jump as Shelby appears, striding toward me across the Andersons’ lawn, and clap my hand over my mouth. She laughs, showing small, white teeth, and fingers a small bag of sunflower seeds. Her orange flip-flops practically glow in the fading light. “What’cha doin’ behind a tree, silly?”

  “Hi, Shelby!” Nibs says, coming out of the house. “We’re cooking out tonight. Would you like to join us?”

  I look at Nibs and then back over at Shelby. They know each other?

  “That’s real nice of you,” Shelby says. “But I don’t want to intrude. If you and Pippa are—”

  “Don’t be silly!” Nibs waves her off with one hand. “We’d love to have you, wouldn’t we Pippa?”

  I nod.

  “All right!” Shelby grins. “Thanks. Let me just tell Aunt Leslie.”

  Nibs frowns as she looks at me and puts a hand on her hip. “Now what did you just get all over yourself?”

  I look down at the smear of dried sap across the front of my shirt. It must have rubbed off when I was leaning against the tree, spying on Shelby. “Go change right quick,” Nibs says, pointing to the house. “We still have a few minutes before dinner. And bring me that shirt. You’ll never get that sap off if you don’t soak it first.”

  I head into the house. It’s cool and dark inside. No lights, I remember. No electricity. But a blob of red in the middle of the living room floor catches my attention. Is it one of Jack’s shirts? A pair of Dad’s shorts? I walk over, thinking what slobs they both are, how many times Mom used to tell them when she …

  But it’s not one of Jack’s shirts.

  I bend over and pick it up. Hold the silky material in my hands, studying the black pattern along the front.

  It’s not a pair of Dad’s shorts, either.

  I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at the Spider-Man mask in my hand. I have the weirdest feeling then, like a bell ringing somewhere in my head, but it’s so far back I can hardly hear it.

  I slip my fingers through the eyeholes and wiggle them around. It must be Jack’s. He used to have all the superhero suits when he was younger, from the Hulk to Aquaman, before Mom packed them away in the attic. But why would it be out here? He doesn’t play with them anymore. The last time he even mentioned superheroes was, like, five years ago. Way before Mom got sick. And even back then, the one he really used to be obsessed with was Superman. He was always kind of lukewarm about Spider-Man.

  “Pippa! You change your mind about dinner?” I jump a little as Nibs’ voice sails through the window. “Come on, sweets! Chicken’s almost ready!”

  I toss the mask on the couch and head upstairs to get a clean T-shirt.

  Dumb boys and their superhero costumes.

  They don’t know anything.

  “We’re not going to kill anyone, are we?” I try to laugh after the question, but my mouth is as dry as sand. I need water. I need air. I need a paper bag, in case I have to puke.

  The car swerves sharply to one side. “Kill anyone?” Dad repeats. “No, Jack. Of course not. What kind of person do you think I am?” He reaches out and grabs the top of my arm until I turn and look at him. “No,” he says again. “No, no, no.
”

  “Okay. Well you said it was bad. I just didn’t know how bad.”

  “It’s not murder-bad, for Pete’s sake.” Dad drops his hand from my arm. Beads of sweat have formed a small ridge along his upper lip. “I’d never hurt someone.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, I’m not sure he’s heard me. His gaze, locked on something in the horizon beyond the windshield, is so intense that, for a split second, it reminds me of the way Mom’s eyes looked on that last day in the hospital. She’d taken one last gasp and then stopped breathing altogether, and even though I knew she wouldn’t start back up again, that this was really it, I felt the tiniest bit relieved that the terrible rattling sound that had been coming out of her chest every time she inhaled had finally stopped. The thing I didn’t expect was the way her blue eyes sort of froze into place right afterward, wide and unblinking. It made her look frightening. Like someone else. Someone I didn’t know.

  Suddenly, Dad blinks.

  “We’re going to take money,” he says slowly. “Out of a bank.”

  “But I thought you said you didn’t have any money,” I say stupidly.

  “I don’t,” Dad says. “That’s why we’re going to take it.”

  A long, silent moment passes. Something inside my chest lurches. “You mean without asking?”

  Dad nods.

  “You’re going to rob a bank? That’s what you’re saying?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  I reach for the dashboard. Press my fingertips against it. Try to laugh, which doesn’t work. Again. “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious, Jack.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

  Another long moment passes. The taillights of the car in front of us look very red for some reason. Almost as if they’re not real.

  “I don’t have any other choice, Jack. I’m completely out of money. I can’t get a loan because my credit stinks. And I—”

  “Tell Grandma and Grandpa!” I burst out. “I know you hate talking to them, but just tell them. They’ll help you. You know they will.”

  “I already did.” He shifts in his seat. “Right after I lost the car lot. It just about killed me, but I called them up and explained the situation. They sent me some money and I … I went and invested it in those stupid vitamins because the guy promised me I’d triple my money in a month’s time.” He winces, as if someone has just pinched him. “You know how that turned out. So I can’t call them again. I won’t.”

  “There’s got to be someone else then,” I try. “Someone you—”

  “There isn’t. Jack, I’ll lose your mother’s house if I don’t get this money, and I won’t be able to live with myself if that happens. I know it’s wrong. Believe me, I do. It’s completely, one hundred percent wrong.”

  “Then don’t do it! Dad, you could go to jail!”

  “I’m not going to go to jail. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t absolutely know that I wouldn’t get caught.”

  “How can you say that? Of course you can get caught! They have guards and stuff. Inside. With guns!”

  “Not the bank we’re going to.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I checked.”

  “Dad.” Oh my God. This can’t be happening. He’s not actually saying this to me. I’m not actually in this car, sitting next to him, because this is just some crazy, warped dream, and it’s not really happening.

  Right?

  “Jack. I know. Believe me, I know. Nothing you can say to me right now isn’t something that I haven’t already said to myself. But I’ve got to protect my family. I’m only doing this for my family.”

  My nose is tingling. Bad. Like on both sides and all the way up and down. For a second, I don’t even care if I start crying; I really don’t. Maybe it will stop him. Maybe if I throw a fit, it will …

  Do whatever it takes, Jack. Promise me.

  I look out the window. A brown-and-white cow is standing in the middle of an enormous pasture, chewing grass. Dumb cow, I think to myself. Dumb, stupid, lucky cow.

  “We have an hour before the bank closes,” Dad says. “So we’ll go in and just look around for a few minutes. Get our bearings.”

  “Right now? Today?”

  “As soon as we get there.”

  “Dad, I can’t.”

  “You don’t have to do anything, Jack. Just look around. Get the lay of the land. See how things are set up, where the tellers are sitting, where the exit is.”

  The tellers? The exit? I feel dizzy. My stomach is churning.

  Whatever it takes, Jack. Please. Family is everything.

  But not something like this, right? Mom would have never agreed to something like this!

  Dad’s voice drifts in from somewhere in the distance. “I’ll do everything. It’s a very small bank. There are only two tellers: a man and a lady. All you have to do is distract the guy so I can do my business with the lady.”

  “What do you mean distract them?”

  “Make a scene or something. So he’s not paying attention to me.”

  “What kind of scene?”

  “Well, let’s talk about it. What would you feel comfortable with?”

  “NOTHING!” My voice cracks, shooting up an octave. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable with anything, because this is completely crazy! You sound like a lunatic! I can’t even believe you’re considering this, let alone asking me to—”

  My voice, which has been at a near scream, starts to fade as Dad pulls off the highway and slows the car. He puts it in park, pushes the hazard lights on, and turns so that he’s facing me. “Jack.”

  “NO!” I kick the underside of the dashboard. Once. And then again. “No, no, no, no, no!” Each word is followed by another kick, until Dad reaches out suddenly and grabs me.

  “All right!” he says. “Enough!”

  His hands are gripping the tops of my arms so hard that I can’t move. I always forget how strong he is. And then I look at his face. It’s all crumpled up, and for a second, he looks like he might cry. Like really cry, the way I saw him do at the potluck dinner after the funeral, when he walked outside by himself and stood on the front porch. The house was still full of people, and Mrs. Murphy was yammering away in the middle of them and it had gotten too hot, almost unbearably hot, no matter what room I was in, and so I started to follow him. But I stopped when I saw him lean against one of the porch posts, his hands shoved deep inside his pockets, his head low against his chest. Without warning, his shoulders started to shake, very lightly at first, as if he had sneezed, and then gaining strength, until he covered his face with his hands and sank down heavily against the porch railing. His whole body trembled and heaved and I wanted to go to him, I did, but something told me not to. Something held me in my place.

  But Dad doesn’t cry in the car. He lowers his head instead. Breathes in hard through his nose. Raises his face again. “I don’t have any other choice right now, buddy.” His voice is calm and steady. “I’ve got nothing left in the bank.” He lets go of one of my arms and forms the letter “O” with his fingers. “Zero. You know how the electricity got turned off yesterday? Well, the same thing is going to happen to the water. The bank has given me two more weeks to get some money together before they take the house altogether, and I just can’t let that happen. Okay? I won’t let it happen, Jack. Not to us. Not to your mother.”

  Behind him, the headlights from passing cars swell, illuminate the car, and then fade again. Every time one of the lights passes over Dad’s face, I see something different in it. Something I’ve never seen before right there, in his eyes. It frightens me. So much that even though I want to start kicking again, I sit still. I sit very, very still and don’t move, not even when he lets me go, turns the hazard lights back off, and pulls the car back onto the highway.

  We’re silent the whole rest of th
e way, which is only about ten more minutes, until he pulls off at the Middlebury exit and turns into a wide parking lot. To the right is a brick building with tall windows and white shutters. Pink rhododendron bushes line the sidewalk in front, and a wrought-iron lamppost stands still as a guard. Hanging from the lamppost is a wooden sign, with the words MIDDLEBURY BANK in neat black print. Panic fills me again, like a flash of heat.

  “Dad, please. Don’t do this.”

  He shuts off the car. Turns to look at me. “I already told you, buddy. I don’t have any other—”

  I lurch as his eyes flick up, glancing at something over my shoulder, and whirl around. A guy is coming out the front door of the bank with an envelope in his hand. He doesn’t look too much older than Dad, but he walks with a limp, his right foot trailing a little behind him. For a single, crazy second, I think about running out of the car and asking him to help me. But what would I say? My dad’s lost everything, including his mind, and he’s about to go inside and rob this bank? He’d probably laugh in my face. Tell me to go take a hike.

  “That’s the guy I told you about,” Dad says, watching in the rearview mirror as the man takes a left and limps down the sidewalk. “Which means just the lady should be in there. I’m going in.” I turn back around as Dad checks his watch. “We’ve only got about thirty-five more minutes until they close.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, stare straight ahead. “I’m not going.” It’s my last card. Hopefully, if I refuse, he’ll change his mind. He wouldn’t do it alone, would he?

  Dad hesitates, scratching behind his ear.

  I hold my breath. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.

  Then he reaches into the backseat and pulls out a pillowcase. “You shouldn’t go,” he says, riffling through the pillowcase. “It was wrong of me to ask you. I’ll be fine.”