A Hole in the Universe (28 page)

When he got to his porch steps she opened the door and ran across the street. “Gordon! You mad at me?” she asked with a big grin. She could tell he was.

“No.” Even though his eyes held steady, his face, as usual, revealed nothing.

“I’m sorry for all that, but that guy, your boss, he, like, went psycho on me, and what was I gonna do, just, like, ‘Oh, okay, here I am—have me arrested for looking through your friggin’ garbage’? That’s all I was doing. You saw me, right? What was I doing? Was I doing something wrong?”

“The Dumpster’s private property. You shouldn’t have been in it. Plus it’s filthy. What if there was a rat in there or something?”

“What do you think, I’m scared of rats?”

“You should be, climbing into a Dumpster. They could bite you.”

She laughed. “I was looking for a bone, that’s all. A friggin’ bone for Leonardo.”

“How’s the cut? I hope you put something on it. Ointment or something.”

“Oh yeah, that.” She lifted her sleeve and licked the scab. “See? That’s all you have to do. It’s like some kind of natural, antigerm juice in your mouth. Hey, you got anything good in there?” Something smelled good. She sniffed at the bags. Apples. Or maybe bananas. Her stomach was getting that weak, wavy feeling again. And the worst of it was, once she ate anything it would only feel even emptier right after, but she couldn’t help herself. He held his bags close, as if he were sure she was going to grab something. Spooky guy, all he wanted was to do his own thing, same as her. She wasn’t afraid of him like most people were. When he was out in his yard, Inez wouldn’t leave her apartment, and the old lady, Mrs. Jukas, would move from window to window the way she was now, peeking out at him. Last week, when Polie tried to pull her inside the SUV, she told him Gordon was watching out his window. Then, to make it even better, she said Gordon told her to let him know if anyone tried to mess with her. Polie made some dirty remark about her and Gordon, but he’d let her go real fast.

“Here.” He handed her a peach. “They’re small, but they’re really ripe. They’re sweet.”

She ate it so fast, it had no taste. She moved the pit around in her mouth, sucking on it as if it were hard candy.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you.”

“Well, yeah! I mean, it’s suppertime, right?” She took out the pit and nibbled off the stringy bits caught in the grooves, then stopped when she saw how he was looking at her. As if she were disgusting him. She put the pit into her pocket.

“How’s school?”

“It’s school.” She shrugged.

“Do you get good grades?”

She just laughed.

“School’s important, you know that, right?”

“Did you like school?”

“I tried to.” He seemed to be struggling with a thought.

“But there were too many assholes around, right?”

He laughed. “I guess so. Something like that. But I did like it when I was older. I got a lot more out of it then.”

“I had this one teacher, Mr. Cesster, once he gave me all these books to read. And I’d try, but it was like,
Little House on the Prairie
! Give me a break, will ya? I mean, stuff like that—I can’t get worked up because little Laura forgot to lock the gate and the friggin’ goat gets out. I’m like, yeah? There’s a lot worse things that can happen. How come nobody writes about those?”

“Well, maybe you should. Why don’t you?”

“Yeah, right. Hey, can I have another one?” She tried to eat more slowly. This peach was so delicious it made her ache inside. “Hey, how’s that friend of yours? That lady, the one that helped me with Leonardo.” She wished she hadn’t said anything about her mother being gone, but Delores had been cool about it.

“Delores?”

“Yeah, how’s she doing?” She chewed each little piece.

“Good. She’s doing good.”

“I like her. She’s a nice lady. And she really loves dogs, but where she lives she can’t have one,” she said between tiny bites. “She used to have a dog. When she was the same age as me, but then it bit one of her sisters, so she had to get rid of it. She said her father took it someplace and she cried for two whole weeks, and everyone kept getting mad at her and saying she felt badder about the stupid dog than she did her own sister. Which wasn’t true because she loved her sister. What she really felt bad about was that it wasn’t the dog’s fault in a way.” She held out her hands. “Because he was a dog! You know what I mean?”

“I remember that dog! Everyone was afraid of him.” He smiled yet looked troubled.

“So what’s the story? Are you and her going out?”

“We’re just friends.”

She didn’t believe him. Not with the way Delores looked whenever she said his name. “Next time she comes over, will you let me know? I like talking to her.” She dropped the second pit into her pocket.

Behind her a car door slammed. Gordon’s eyes sank low again. Feaster was getting out of the SUV. Polie was at the wheel. Feaster called for her to come down off the porch. Just for a minute. He had to talk to her. No, she called back, enjoying his anger. She could hear him just fine from up here, she said.

“It’s about your mother!” he shouted.

Thinking he’d seen her mother, she hurried down.

“Look,” he growled, his unshaven face at hers. “You better tell me where she is.”

“She went out. I don’t know where.”

“Don’t tell me that. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You just did.” She shrugged, then started off in the cockiest strut her shaky legs could manage.

“Little bitch.” He spun her around. “You think it’s funny?” His fingers were almost cracking her arm in two, but she wouldn’t cry. “Here!” he snarled, squeezing harder. “Here! Go ahead, laugh some more.”

She did. She threw back her head and laughed. As loud as she could, even though he was just about breaking her arm, the bastard.

“Let go of her,” Gordon said, and Feaster tightened his grip. “I said, let go of her.”

“Fuck off! You just fuck off!” Feaster warned Gordon, who was on the top step, still clutching his bags. “This has nothing to do with you! This is business! This is
my
fucking
business
, you hear me?” He hissed in her face now. “You hear what I’m saying? You better tell me where she went or I’ll cut her name all over that monkey face of yours.”

She sucked in deep, then spat right into his face. The back of his hand hit her with such board-blunt force that her teeth clamped onto her tongue and her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the men only purplish shapes in the yellow glare, their dark voices too low to grasp as she staggered into the thorns. Blood trickled down her chin.

 

 

It was the middle of the night. She got up again to see what the noise was. This time she curled up on the couch and stared at the window. Someone was out there. She heard footsteps, then a scraping like something being dragged across the sidewalk. She crawled to the window, nose against the sill. No one was out there. The few parked cars were empty. Maybe it was an animal, a raccoon or skunk dragging garbage around. Yeah, that must be it. But then why wasn’t Leonardo barking instead of sound asleep still on the bed? A truck was coming down the street. The Navigator. Polie was in it alone. He parked near the corner, then got out and came quickly along the sidewalk, carrying something by his side. She ran into the bedroom, opened the window, then grabbed Leonardo and slid down the pitched shed roof. Holding his snout so he wouldn’t bark, she edged along the side of the house. Above her on the porch, Polie grunted as he tried to pry open the door with a crowbar. She sprang across the street, down Gordon’s driveway, and onto his back porch. There wasn’t any bell. She tried to turn the knob, but the door was locked. The second-floor window was open. She picked up a small rock and tossed it at the screen, but it hit the side of the house. “Gordon! Hey, Gordon!” she whispered, and threw another one.

“What’re you doing down there?” He peered from the dark window.

“Shh,” she whispered, struggling to keep Leonardo quiet.

“What do you want?”

“Polie’s tryna break in my house.”

He opened the back door. She followed him into the dark living room, where they watched Polie through the window. Now he was trying to pry open the window. Gordon asked if her mother was in there. She said no.

“Do you want to call the police?” he asked.

“Jesus, no! Then he’d really kill me.”

“What do you want to do, then?”

“Stay here. Just till morning,” she added quickly. “Then me and Leonardo, we’ll go home.”

“No! You can’t stay here!”

“Please, please,” she begged.

“Why? What does he want? Why’s he doing this?”

“It’s Feaster. He says my mother owes him money and he wants it back.”

“Look,” Gordon said.

The front door opened and Inez’s husband came out with his son, Carlos, the burly truck driver. The two men shouted at Polie. He yelled back, then hurried toward the Navigator. Lights had come on in the adjacent houses. The men watched until he drove off.

“This was my brother’s bedroom.” Gordon turned on the light. It was a small, perfect room with a bed, bureau, desk, and chair. The walls were the same beige as the curtains and bedspread. As he closed the door, she thanked him again, then curled up in the clean sheets and pulled Leonardo close.

She lay awake for a long time until she heard snoring; then, taking Leonardo with her, she tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator. She had never seen so much food, most of it leftovers, a few string beans, half a chicken wing, a scoop of mashed potatoes. She stood in the glare of the open door and ate from the bowls, a little bit of everything. She tried to reseal all the plastic wrap. She was thirsty, but if she used a glass, then he’d know she’d been down here snooping around, so she drank the milk right out of the bottle. She crept back upstairs, into bed. Leonardo lay with his back to her, sound asleep. She struggled to stay awake. If she fell asleep, then it would be morning and she would have to leave this clean, quiet place. She didn’t know how much longer she could last on her own. A few more days, maybe. The last time she’d been in foster care, her mother’s rehab had taken five months. Pretty soon she’d have to be running crack full-time for Feaster. And one of these times Polie was going to get the thing he really wanted. Maybe she should just close her eyes, hold her breath, and let him, pig that he was. “Do you love me?” she whispered, and Leonardo squealed a little in his sleep. The wind stirred the leaves at the window. Hearing a creak, she sat up and listened. Was it a door? No, probably a branch in that old tree. No matter what was out there, she was safe in here.

If only Gordon would let her stay. She wouldn’t be any trouble. She’d clean the house, and every night when he came home from work she’d have his supper ready. On weekends they’d cook out on the grill, then maybe go to a movie after, and people would say, Well, will you look at that Jada Fossum—she’s certainly taking good care of that poor Gordon guy. . . .

All she could see from the doorway was a mountainous white sheet. She tiptoed to the side of the bed. He slept with the pillow over his head like she did. She lifted the sheet and slipped in, inching closer until the heat of his body met hers. He groaned, then muttered something and turned. His ragged breath blew on her neck. She curled into the hollow of his long torso. He muttered again and she froze, then smiled when he sighed against the back of her head. She lay perfectly still while he huddled closer, pulling his legs up under hers. “What do they want?” he groaned softly. She felt him stiffen against her thighs. She reached back to touch him, and his hand clamped over her belly. He moved, then sat up so suddenly that he almost knocked her off the narrow bed.

“What? What’re you doing? What’re you doing in here?”

“I got scared.”

“Get out! Get out of here!” he shouted.

“I heard a noise and I got scared.”

“Get out of here! You get out of here right now! Just leave! Leave! Will you please leave!”

“I’m sorry. Don’t be mad. Please don’t,” she begged, but he continued to demand that she leave as he stood in the corner, clutching the sheet around him. Leonardo charged in, barking at him. “I’ll go downstairs,” she said, picking up the dog. “I’ll wait there. On the couch. Just till morning. Please?”

 

 

Thick, milky clouds massed in the dawn sky. There was a damp, stony chill in the room. Maybe it had been a dream, but he knew it hadn’t been. He sat on the edge of the bed, afraid to go downstairs and find her here. He stared down at his hands. A girl, a child. He felt empty inside and numb.

T
he priest was still talking about his family. He had been the youngest of six brothers. Before her marriage his mother had been a Broadway dancer. A real hoofer, he said, and laughed, recalling her annual performance in the parish musical. “The sweetest little lady, but the minute the spotlight came on—oh boy, talk about Ethel Merman.”

“Really?” Gordon murmured again.
What’s the point? Why is he here?
Now Father Hensile was telling him his own vocational call had come as a seventeen-year-old lifeguard at Salisbury Beach when he had rescued a woman from a riptide. It was in that ferocious struggle to get her back to shore that he realized how much help we all need just to survive.

Of course: saving and taking a woman’s life. I shouldn’t have answered the door.
Such terrible aimlessness, the priest was saying.
Need, such great need.
The need for youth activities. The parish was renting a gym for basketball and volleyball games. With enough donations they hoped to buy weights and a Nautilus machine.
So it’s money he’s after.
The smell of unwashed supper dishes hung in the air. All he wanted was to clean up the kitchen and watch television. And to be alone. He glanced toward the window and saw Jada Fossum crossing the street. His face flushed with shame. He had made her leave as soon as the sun came up this morning.
No, don’t come here. Not now.