Fostering Death (25 page)

“Can you call the doctor and check on those yellow pills?” I asked. “And see if he’s supposed to be taking the thyroid stuff? They’re almost gone. And the other bottle has the other kind in it.”

“That could be a problem,” Mrs. Williams said. “The doctor won’t be able to discuss Dennis’s medications with me. Confidentiality laws, you know.”

“But Mr. Coleman isn’t in any shape to figure out all these meds.” I looked at the assortment in dismay.

“A common problem. I would imagine he’ll end up in a nursing home one of these days soon. The church ladies will ultimately have to call social services.”

I felt a pang in my chest. Wasn’t a nursing home kind of like a prison? Maybe the people there pretended to be nicer, but a resident would have even less control over his life than any convict.

“And you said you’re one of the Colemans’ foster children?” Mrs. Williams asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I guess Mildred couldn’t have children of her own. So she took in the foster children.”

“I think she had one son, didn’t she? Before she was married to Mr. Coleman?”

Mrs. Williams stopped what she was doing and stared at me. “I never knew that.”

I probably shouldn’t have told Mrs. Coleman’s secret. After all, if she’d wanted the world to know, she would have said something. “I just thought so,” I said meekly. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

“Back then, of course, if it was before she was married, the baby would have been placed for adoption.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I wonder if that’s why she was so compulsive about taking in children without homes. She wanted so badly to be a mother.”

“Mrs. Coleman was the closest I ever had to a mother,” I said.

Mrs. Williams raised her eyebrows. “Did you live here for long?”

“About five years.”

“I thought the Colemans mostly did emergency foster care. Short term.”

“I was an emergency placement when I was eight,” I said. “But I had no place else to go, and Colemans kept me until my father could take me back.” All he’d really wanted were the social security payments from the mother who’d died when I was a toddler, the food stamps, and the eligibility for Section 8 housing, I thought bitterly.

Mrs. Williams’ brow was creased as she tried to remember. “I can only recall one long-term boy,” she said. “A boy who went back to his own family when he was maybe fourteen or so. Mildred thought the world of him. Said he would amount to something despite the background. But then he killed somebody or something and went to prison. Tore her up something fierce. I think his name was Jesse.”

I looked at the table top. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re
that
Jesse.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She clutched the edge of the table, her knuckles white.

I got up. “I’ll be going, ma’am. Thank you for the meal. And I hope you can see Mr. Coleman gets the help he needs.”

I went out the door and headed back into town. I should’ve grabbed another biscuit on my way out.

Chapter 18

I
SAAC
W
AS
S
ITTING
on the dirty asphalt in the alley, his hairy, spindly legs sticking out from under his saffron robes, the ends of which lay in a dank puddle. A cardboard box covered with a towel sat next to him on the cold pavement. His face was buried in his hands, and his shoulders shook.

Hesitantly, I went up to him. “Isaac?” I said. “You need some help, buddy?”

He didn’t look up. “No.”

“Well, man, you can’t just sit out here in the alley. It’s cold. Besides, it’s gonna get dark soon. Somebody’ll run you over.”

“I don’t care. Go away.”

I looked at him for a minute, trying to figure out if I should just do as he said.

This was the guy who’d gone out of his way to make sure I got out of this same alley when I was too hurt to help myself.

I reached down and grabbed his arm. “Come on,” I said, dragging him to his feet.

He didn’t resist. I pulled him upright. He was a sad sight. The wet robes hung limply. His cheek was bruised above his beard, and he had a cut on his forehead. His bleary eyes swept over me. “I see you got your jacket back,” he mumbled.

“What?”

He shivered. “Nothing.”

“What about my jacket?”

“I guess I’m just confused.” He swayed slightly.

I took hold of his arm, which trembled under my hand.

“What’s in the box?”

“None of your business.”

I pulled aside the towel. The cat huddled on the bottom, the kittens next to her. They’d grown quite a bit since I’d last seen them. “Why’ve you got them out here?”

A single tear rolled down Isaac’s cheek. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, they can’t stay out here. Neither can you.”

Holding his elbow with one hand and tucking the box under my other arm, I propelled him out of the alley and down the stairs to my apartment where I deposited him on one of the decrepit chairs next to the kitchen table. I stuck my hand inside the box to see if it was wet, but the dampness hadn’t yet seeped through the folded newspapers and piece of blanket in the bottom.

Isaac’s eyes opened wide. “How come you can put your hand in there?” he asked.

“What d’ya mean?”

“She growls at me if I try to touch her. She’ll bite if I don’t move my hand quickly.”

I shrugged and put the box on the floor, partway under the bed.

Isaac collapsed miserably, resting his head on the table. A shuddering sob escaped from deep in his narrow chest.

“You hungry?” I asked. I didn’t know what or how much the cult ate, but it was pretty evident from the bony feel of his upper arm that Isaac, at least, didn’t overeat.

He looked up hopefully, then lay his head down again. “No.”

I opened a can of chili, dumped it in a pan on the stove and got out two bowls. When it was hot, I gave him a bowlful and tore open a loaf of bread, placing it on the table. I stuck spoons in each bowl and sat in the other chair. I began to eat.

Isaac sniffed. He lifted his head up and looked at his bowl.

I gestured with my spoon. “Go on, man. Whatever you decide to do, you need to keep your strength up.”

Isaac reached over and pulled the bowl closer to him. He slowly put a spoonful in his mouth, then shoveled the rest of it in faster. He stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth and eyed the rest of the loaf.

“Have another piece,” I said, getting up to make two mugs of instant coffee.

He took another piece and sopped up the remaining bits of chili in his bowl.

I made the coffee and put the mugs on the table. I sat down again and said, “So what’s going on?”

Tears filled Isaac’s eyes. “I got kicked out of the Tabernacle.”

I scratched my chin. “I didn’t know they did that.”

“Oh, yes. I know I’m not the best disciple. But I try. And I
did
recover our goddess. You’d think that’d count for something. But they kicked her out, too.” His eyes filled with tears.

I took a sip of the too-hot coffee. “I noticed. Why’d they do that?”

“Father Peter said she was losing her powers.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. See, she used to have this bracelet or something on, like a collar. Father Peter said it concentrated the powers of the universe into her body. But when I brought her back, she didn’t have the collar.”

I remembered the collar. I’d taken it off the cat because it was so heavy, and she didn’t seem to like it. I didn’t remember taking it to the Tabernacle when we brought the cat and her kittens up there. It was probably still around here somewhere. “So what happened then?” I asked.

Isaac gulped. “Father Peter was praying about the collar. I know I should have kept my mouth shut. I have a lot to learn about humility. But I told Father Peter that the goddess seemed perfectly happy without the collar, and wasn’t having the goddess back more important than the collar? We could maybe get her another one.”

Made sense to me. “What’d he say?”

“He didn’t say anything at first. Just hauled off and smacked me. I was surprised. He always says fasting and meditation, not violence, bring us answers. That’s why he’s always telling me I need to fast and pray.”

I blew on my coffee. “I can see where that
would
be a surprise.”

Isaac picked up his mug and warmed his hands on the hot sides. “Then he explained about the jewels on the collar concentrating the powers. And said that without the collar, the goddess might just as well be a regular cat.”

I was pretty sure she
was
just a regular cat. I nodded.

“Then he accused me of
stealing
the collar. I said I hadn’t seen it, and he hit me again.” Tears overflowed his eyes and dripped down his cheeks. “He asked, if I pawned it, and he said that was stupid—it’s a one-of-a-kind piece, and I’d get in trouble if I pawned it. He said I’d better get it back right away. I shouldn’t come back to the Tabernacle until I had the collar to give him. He told me to leave. And to take the goddess with me. If I come back with the collar, he’ll decide what my penance should be.”

“Why penance? You didn’t do anything wrong. Wasn’t it Xavier or somebody who was there when the cat got out? And that’s when she lost the collar, isn’t it?”

“She didn’t ‘get out.’ She faded away out of sight and reappeared somewhere else. And I was supposed to be there, watching her.” Isaac bowed his head. “It was my turn to worship her overnight. She might not have left if I’d been where I was supposed to be.”

It seemed to me that if the cat
had
faded away and reappeared somewhere else, she wouldn’t have chosen a freezing outdoor stairwell. “But didn’t you say Xavier told you he’d take care of it?”

“Yes. We didn’t tell Father Peter, though. He’d’ve been mad.”

“I’d think he’d be madder at Xavier than he was with you.”

“You’d think. But Xavier gets away with
anything.
”

“Why is that?”

“Well, he’s Father Peter’s natural son. And Father Peter says it’s hard enough he has to share with the rest of us, he
should
get some breaks. Parents owe something to the children and grandchildren born to them. It’s their natural right. And Xavier just wants what’s due him. He said he and Xavier have been shortchanged all their lives by their natural parents.”

If I looked around I could probably find the collar and give it to Isaac to bring back. But I wasn’t so sure that would be the best thing for Isaac to do. “If he treats you bad and don’t trust you no more than that, you sure you want to be a disciple or whatever?” I asked him.

Isaac took a deep breath. “Maybe not. But what else can I do?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe get an honest job and support yourself?”

He stared toward the single window where the daylight was fading. “Maybe. But how do I do that?”

I looked at him. He was skinny and probably poorly nourished. His hair hung below his shoulders, and his beard was overgrown and tangled. He was dressed in filthy robes and sandals. If he was kicked out of the Tabernacle, he had no place to stay. I doubted he had any money or ID or social security card. “You got no family you can go stay with?” I asked him.

He looked down at the table and shook his head. “My Mom died,” he whispered. “OD’d, actually. There was nobody else. And now I’m eighteen, so I couldn’t go into a foster home at this point. Even if I wanted to.”

A dilemma I could sympathize with. “Look,” I said. “First you got to decide whether you want to go back to the Tabernacle or not.”

“They won’t take me back unless I can find the collar,” he wailed.

“I get that. That’s what
they
say. What do
you
say?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you
want
to stay in the Tabernacle or not? Completely apart from finding the collar or whether they’d ever take you back. Do you really want to live like that?”

He blinked rapidly. “They really aren’t very nice to me, are they?”

“
I
don’t think so.” I took a swallow of my coffee. “But this isn’t about what I think. It’s about what you think. And what you want to do.”

“And they’re not likely to get any better, are they?”

“I’d bet not.”

“So I’d be foolish to try to get back in.”

“Your choice.”

He leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin in them. “Not much of a life there, is it?”

“I don’t see it, myself.”

“And no future to speak of.”

“Not so’s I can see.”