On the Loose (35 page)

We watch the video three more times, and my stress lightens on every viewing. Free at last. Thank God for technology, I’m free at last.

After his second helping of my dessert (I actually offered him the next round), I walk Charlie to his car.

“Thank you, Charlie. You didn’t have to do that for me, but I’m glad you did.”

He shrugs and opens his door. “Like I said, that’s what friends do.”

“I’m glad you did.” Why is this awkward? Boy just saved my behind, and I can’t even put two sentences together.

“I’m glad you decided to go to the campout.” His eyes meet mine and we just watch one another for a brief moment. “Well, I gotta go.” Charlie shakes his head and climbs into his car.

“Yeah, see you on Monday morning.” I wiggle my fingers in a small wave. “Thanks again.”

His eyes never leaving mine, he waves back, and shuts his door. I stand in the driveway and watch his car rumble out of sight.

Okay, God.
I look skyward to the canopy of stars hanging overhead.
Thanks.

I push open the front door. “Can you even believe that? I can’t wait until—”

Four pair of eyes stare back at me, wide and unblinking. Millie steps forward, her fake smile wobbling.

“What’s wrong?” Ice blasts through my veins. “What?”

“Katie.” James stands next to his wife and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Iola Smartly just called.”

No, no, no! I am
not
going back. They can’t make me. I will throw myself in front of a moving bus of sumo wrestlers before I go back to Sunny Haven. “She can’t come and get me. Millie’s gonna be fine. You said you were gonna be fine.”

“It’s not about Millie.” James squeezes my shoulder. “It’s your mom, Katie.”

My mouth opens but nothing comes out.

“She’s been released.”

Dear Mrs. Smartly,

What do you mean my mother’s case got overturned? She got caught selling drugs. What part of the evidence was tampered with? I was there, am I not evidence? Who did this? I want names.

It’s not that I don’t want my mom out of prison. I do. But now is not a good time. Millie needs me. I have to stay here in In Between—at least for a little while longer.

James said you mentioned you and mom might come to my play. It’s just a minor part. No big deal. Nothing worth driving six hours for. Well, actually, I am pretty fabulous in it. Minus my glue-on nose. But I’m sure I can send you two a DVD of the performance. I’ve heard the camera adds ten pounds, but I’m willing to risk that to save you some wear and tear on your old Sunny Haven minivan.

I better go. I have thirty more minutes until I leave for church camp, and I still have to eat breakfast. Yes, that’s right I said church camp. Me and the churchies. Doing church things. For five whole days. And yes, I wrote my name in my underwear. I will go to any lengths to protect my Victoria Secret undies. I’m sure you understand.

Or maybe not.

Much love,

Katie

I fold the letter and stick it in a pink polka-dotted envelope.

I cannot believe my mom is out of prison. My head pounds from my lack of sleep. Questions and thoughts did battle in my head all night, and this morning I woke up certain of nothing. Except that I needed some Tylenol. If Millie hasn’t thrown it out.

Mrs. Smartly told the Scotts Mom was released last week. Why hasn’t she called me? Maybe she’s forgotten she had a daughter. That’s nothing new. She can’t take me away from the Scotts yet, can she? Shouldn’t I get a say in it if she tries?

And then when I’m not raging with anger and fear, I’m swimming in guilt. This is my mom. I should
want
to go home. I should be happy she’s out and free. I should be thrilled at the idea of returning to life with her. But I know our trailer is gone. My cat—gone. And it’s not like I had been in my old school long enough to make many friends. The old me—is there anything left of her?

And I can’t figure out if that’s good. Or bad.

Knock. Knock.

Millie pokes her head in the door. “Katie, are you up?”

At six o’clock in the morning only Millie Scott would be in full makeup.

“I’m up.” I lick the envelope and scribble Mrs. Smartly’s address.

“Time for breakfast.” She glides across the room, her steps muffled by the white shag rug. James follows in behind her and sits down on my bed.

Millie drapes her arms around my shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay. You’ll see.”

I blink back tears. “We’re talking about my life.
Nothing’s
ever okay.”

Her soft laugh tickles my ear, and she kisses my cheek. “Don’t worry about anything until we get more details, all right?”

James swabs his glasses with his polo shirt. “You just go to camp and have a good time.”

I turn in my desk chair and grab onto my foster mom. “I don’t want to go.”

“Oh, honey, it’s just until Friday night. And we’re only five minutes away. You know we’re gonna call you every night.”

“Nooo.” My voice breaks. “I don’t want to live with my mom.”

“Oh.” Millie pulls away and smiles down at me. “We’re not at that point yet, all right? You’re not going anywhere right now.” She brushes away my tears with her thumb. “Except for camp. And you don’t want to be late. Lots of people in In Between depending on you.”

Me and all my misery join the Scotts and Maxine downstairs at the breakfast nook table.

Millie slides something out of a skillet and onto my plate. “Scrambled tofu.”

I sniff. “Thanks.” I’d even eat this to be able to stay. I push my plate aside. Just not today.

A lumpy mixture falls out of the pitcher as Millie pours her concoction into my glass. I raise my brows in question.

“Guava juice.” She pats me on the head.

Oh, to be like normal kids and drink Sunny Delight for breakfast. And have a mom who hasn’t done time.

Maxine, her head cocked, blows on her coffee and stares at her plate.

“I’ll pray for us.” James eases into the chair on my left. “Dear Heavenly Father, Lord, we praise you for this day. Thank you for Katie, and for her willing heart to serve her community and spend time with the church youth. We pray you would keep her safe. Lord, we ask you would speak to her this week. Give her guidance as well as assurance. Let her see you this week and see where you need her to be. Give her comfort, for we know all things work to your glory. We trust her to you, God, and pray you’d bless her. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

My head lifts, but my heart still sags.

Maxine gets up and shuffles into the kitchen, sticking her head in a cabinet.

“Mom, if you’re looking for your secret stash of Fruit Loops, I tossed them yesterday.”

I can see Maxine’s eye twitch from across the room. I laugh despite the fact that my world is spinning out of control and about to implode.

Later I hug Maxine good-bye in the driveway and crawl into the Scott’s backseat. Anxiety pounds on my head as we drive to the church. The car lurches to a stop at the youth building entrance, and we bail out.

“Well, here we are.” Let the party begin. Whee. “Millie, if you guys need me just—”

“We won’t.” Millie puts her hand on my cheek. “We’ll give you all the details of the week when you get back Friday night. I promise.” She holds onto me for a few seconds before I’m released, only to be picked off the ground and squeezed by James.

“I’m putting two Pop-Tarts and a can of diet soda in your pocket right now,” he whispers.

I’ve never had a dad. Until now, never knew I wanted one. But as we share a grin, and I pat down my lumpy coat pockets, I know I’ve been missing out all this time. This guy braved Millie’s wrath to bring me processed foods and an acidic, artificially sweetened, chemically-loaded beverage. I couldn’t ask for more.

James unloads my suitcase and sleeping bag from the car, and we walk into the youth building.

“Hey, Katie! Glad you’re here.” Pastor Mike’s wife Laura checks my name off her clipboard. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

With a final good-bye to James and Millie, I watch them walk away, the door shutting behind them.
Don’t run after them and make a total fool of yourself. Eat your Pop-Tart and think happy thoughts.

“All right, guys. Just put your stuff against the wall. We’re gonna head out into town and get started.” Pastor Mike checks his watch. “We’ll come back here at noon for lunch and pitch our tents. Then go back out and work for a few hours, start the shower rotation while we prepare dinner, feed some folks, and have our evening service. Any questions?”

Silent, sleepy stares are his only response.

“So today we’re working on a house that was badly damaged. Some guys from the church repaired the roof and hung new sheetrock last week. And today we’re cleaning and painting.” He waves us onward. “Load up on the bus.”

I sit next to Frances, who’s sipping on a mocha despite the jostling ride.

“Did you have a good weekend?” She asks, strategically slurping between bumps in the road.

“Good doesn’t quite describe it.”

The brakes screech in protest as we jerk to a stop on Marshall, one of the hardest hit streets in town.

We file out, and Pastor Mike leads us to the yard of a small, yellow home.

“Half of you will come with me and work here, at Mr. and Mrs. Dobbs’s house. The rest of you will need to follow my wife to that home.” He points across the street. “And she’ll put you to work.”

Too tired to take the ten extra steps across the road, I stick with Pastor Mike’s group. Frances joins me as we walk into the house.

“Welcome!” A small, stooped African-American woman greets us at the door. She shakes every hand that passes by her. I hold her gnarled hand in mine and feel her fragile bones. “I’m Sarah, and this is my husband, Elmer.” She gestures to a man sitting in a sheet-covered chair, breathing into an oxygen mask. “I’ll be popping in and out to help, but Elmer’s going to visit the neighbors, aren’t you dear?”

Elmer, a man probably in his early eighties, nods his bald head and smiles. “Praise the Lord.” He continues nodding. “I sure do praise the Lord for you.”

Pastor Mike gives us the ground rules for painting then turns us loose.

I follow Frances into a small kitchen and inspect the paint cans.

“Sunshine yellow, that’s right.” Mrs. Dobbs hobbles in behind me. “Isn’t that a lovely name for some paint?” Her rusty laugh fills the room. “Lord knows we could use some sunshine in this old house.”

Frances hands me a paint roller and smiles at the woman. “When do you expect to be back in your house, Mrs. Dobbs?”

“Oh, child, you call me Sarah.” She pushes a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. “Well, we’ve been living with the neighbors for over five weeks now, but we’ll be able to move back in when you children get done and the fumes clear out a bit. But we’ve waited this long, we can wait some more. No hurry.” Mrs. Dobbs pats me on the back. “It’s all in God’s timing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” I nod like I mean it. “Do you have family here?”

“No, our family’s all gone, except for Elmer’s brother in Ohio. The Lord didn’t bless us with children, so it’s just me and Elmer.” She grins toward the living room. “But God gave us good neighbors and a good church. He always provides. Yes, indeed. Don’t you agree, child?”

My head lifts as I realize she’s directing her question at me. Again. “Um . . . yeah.”

She leans in closer. “I didn’t get to be this old without knowing what I’m talking about, you hear what I’m saying?”

I swallow. “Yes, ma’am.”

“When you paint my walls the color of sunshine, you think about what the Lord has brought me through. Would you do that for me?” Mrs. Dobbs pats my shoulder with her bent hand. “This wasn’t my first tornado, you know what I’m saying?”

She waddles away, chuckling to herself.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. Christians are a weird species.

“Hey, guys.” Charlie walks in carrying two brushes and some painter’s tape. I see he brought his attachment, Chelsea, who, for whatever reason, wears ballerina flats, a denim miniskirt, and some rich girl shirt that was probably seen on the red carpet just last week.

Frances and I grab a roll of the blue tape and help Charlie tape off the room. Chelsea leans against the kitchen table and watches.

“I think that should do it for now.” Charlie surveys our work. “Let’s get started. Chels and I will detail, and you two use the rollers.”

I paint in small areas like I’ve seen on HGTV, and soon the wall looks cleaner and brighter. Like sunshine.

“Are you kidding me?” Chelsea shrieks and holds up her dainty hand. “I can’t get this paint off my fingernails.”

I try not to laugh but totally fail. “It’s not permanent. It’ll wash off with soap and water.”

She curls her lip. “I just got my nails done. So no, I don’t think it’s just going to wash off.” She gazes mournfully at her fingers. “I’m gonna have to leave and get this fixed.”

Charlie puts his brush down. “Chelsea, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Her mouth drops. “Not a big deal? Going like this—” She sticks her hand in his face. “For five days is
not
a big deal?”