The Big Picture (4 page)

Millie blots her mouth with a napkin. “And I’d also like to know what you’re doing in terms of drug rehab.”

I choke on my java.

My mom blanches. You
know
she’s dying for a cigarette right now.

Mom’s mouth opens then closes. “Er . . . um . . . I . . .” She runs a hand through her brassy hair. First thing we’re gonna do when we
get to her trailer is touch up those roots. “I had some recovery classes in . . . prison.”

I wince at the word and imagine my mom in an orange button-up suit and handcuffs. A total fashion don’t.

“And I’m in a support group back home.”

Millie slowly nods. I can tell she’s not impressed. The Scotts’ twenty-five-year-old daughter, Amy, has drug issues, so Millie’s familiar with the road my mom’s on.

“Mrs. Scott, I know I have not been a model parent. But over the course of this year, I have realized things need to change.” My mom sniffs. “And I’m ready to make that change.” She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “For my daughter.”

An awkward silence descends on the room.

I hate awkward silences. I’m always overcome with the urge to hum. Probably not appropriate though. Humming solos rarely are.

“I appreciate breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. Scott.” My mom scoots her chair back and stands up. Rocky leaps to attention, eyeing her like she’s a potential source of danger. “I have to check out of the hotel by ten, so I guess I’d better go.” Harsh lines fan around Mom’s brown eyes as she studies my face. “I don’t have a phone yet, but I’ll try and call often. I’ll keep you posted on coming back home. I guess I need to contact Mrs. Smartly.”

“You didn’t finish your breakfast.” I drop my gaze and stare at her hands. “You don’t want to spend the day with me? I have some play videos I’ve been wanting to show you.”

Mom fidgets with the watch on her wrist. “I think the best thing is for me to just get back home. I didn’t think this through very well. Besides, I have to be at work in the morning.”

“On a Sunday?”

“I clean the shop on Sundays.” She smiles. “See? Your mom’s got a job. A real job.”

Real
meaning one that doesn’t involve making deals behind a dumpster in the trailer park. Still, it’s progress. And there’s hope in that.

“I was kind of hoping we could hang out.”
I was hoping you’d
want
to hang out.

“We’re gonna have all the time in the world for that — time for just you and me. I’ve got to go home and get the ball rolling and get my kid home. But I am glad you’re being well taken care of.”

She pulls me into a hug, and slowly I wrap my arms around the new and improved Bobbie Ann Parker.

My brain is absolutely numb, but one thought manages to form.

She doesn’t smell like Millie.

“Okay, kiddo, I’ll see you soon.” She kisses me on the forehead, a move totally unlike my mom.

James and Millie shake Mom’s hand, and we all migrate toward the front door.

“You take care of my girl now.” And Bobbie Ann, former inmate number 19840981, slips outside and back out of my life.

But for how long?

“You all right, Katie?”

James rests his arm on my shoulders.

“Sure.”

“Well, I’m not okay,” Maxine barks. “Katie’s not going anywhere. Millie, tell her she’s not going anywhere.”

Silence.

I look at Millie, who still says nothing.

“Don’t stress over this yet.” James pulls me close. “You know my motto.”

“God is in control.” I parrot the words my foster dad has tattooed on my brain. “I’m not stressed.” I look him square in the eye. “Really.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope.” I brave a smile. “I am cool as ever.”

“Is that so?” He grins. “Well, if you’re so cool, then why do you still have your biking helmet on?” He raps the top of my headgear.

“All I know is something smells.”

“Mother, we will all reserve judgment on Katie’s mom. Keep your
comments to yourself.”

“No.” Maxine swats me on the behind as she sails past. “I mean your foster kid needs a shower. Woo-wee!” She laughs as she hits the stairs. “Race you to the shower, sweet pea.”

I follow in the trail of Maxine’s perfume, but stop when Millie calls my name.

I turn around. “Yeah?”

James drapes his arm around my foster mom. “We love you, kid.”

I nod. “Same here.”

Yet I know — nothing will ever be the same here.

Chapter four

MAYOR THREATENS TO CONDEMN BUBBA’S Big Picture.

My spoon of organic oatmeal halts midway to my mouth as I catch a glimpse of the front page.

“What is that?” I thrust my finger into James’s Sunday paper.

“
Hmmm
?” With his mind already on the sports section, my foster dad doesn’t even look up.

I grab the paper out of his hands and scan the article. “It says unless improvements are made on the drive-in, the city is going to shut it down.” Above the article is a picture of the current owner, Buford T. Hollis. Looks like he pulled out his best white T-shirt for his big moment.

Millie refills her coffee mug. “This has been going on for years. Mayor Crowley threatens to shut down the drive-in, Buford touches up some paint and gives the mayor some movie passes, and then the whole argument is dropped. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“That man’s a tyrant. Who voted for him?” James growls.

Millie laughs. “We did.”

“The article says Buford has a few weeks to make fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of repairs. That doesn’t sound like an idle threat.”

Millie pats me on the back. “I’m sure it will be fine. The mayor’s just full of hot air.”

Their nonchalant attitudes do little to calm me. I text Frances as soon as I hit my room and fill her in. If anyone can get more information about this, it’s Frances.

An hour later, I walk into the youth building at church. I allow myself the luxury of basking in my friends’ hugs and hellos. If I go home with my mom, I won’t ever have this again. Not like my In Between church friends. I’ll miss their smiles, the house band, and Pastor Mike and his bald head. These people brought me to Christ. And now I could lose them forever. I’m sure I can find new friends in a new church, but it won’t be the same.

“Hi, Katie.”

I turn around and there stands Charlie. Looking totally yum in khakis and a polo. “Hey.” I take a deep breath. “Charlie, I just wanted to apologize for — ” My mouth shuts and my eyes narrow to slits. “Hello, Chelsea.”
Grrrr
.

My nonboyfriend’s face pinkens.

“Charlie brought me to church this morning.” Chelsea looks at him like he just saved her life instead of giving her a lift. “Isn’t he the best?”

Oh, he’s the best all right. The best at walking all over my heart. The best at being a total jerk. “Yeah, very nice of him.”

“I’m gonna go save us some seats, okay? Don’t be long.” Chelsea flounces off in her cute pink skirt that probably cost more than my entire week’s worth of outfits.

Charlie leans in, and I catch a whiff of his shampoo. I may be mad at him, but that boy smells
gooood.

“Chelsea’s car got taken away.” He frowns.

“Oh, what happened? Let me guess, it was time to change the oil in her Beemer and Daddy just bought her a new one instead?”

“No . . . I mean her car got
permanently
taken away.”

“What are you talking about?” I lower my voice to match his. “What’s going on with her?”

“Chelsea’s dad — ”

“Hey, Charlie. I forgot my Bible.” Miss No Car appears between us. “Get me one from the back, would you?” She pats his bicep and smiles.

Okay, God, I’m sorry, but I cannot stand this girl. I know the Bible says you love all of us, but seriously, don’t you sometimes just want to make some exceptions?

“Er . . . right. I’ll get that now.” Charlie smiles sheepishly. “I’ll talk to you later, Katie.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” He hasn’t even asked me about my mom. I roll my eyes and go off in search of Frances.

I find her standing in a corner surrounded by a motley crew of friends. She jerks the front page of the paper out of Nash’s hands. “Can you believe this?” She pushes her trendy black glasses up on her nose. “This is an outrage! This demands action.”

“James and Millie say it’s gonna blow over.” I stand next to my friend Hannah, who twists her hair, deep in thought.

“Blow over? Like they think there will be another tornado?” Hannah pops her gum.

Frances and I stare at our friend then continue our conversation. We’re quite used to these Hannah moments. There’s a big blank spot in her head where things make sense only to her.

“We have to do something.” Frances jabs her finger in the air. “I know. We’ll start a petition.”

“A petition for what?” I ask.

“To save the drive-in. We’ll get people to sign it. If we have a lot of signatures in support of preserving the drive-in, then the mayor will think twice about shutting it down. He won’t want the whole town mad at him.”

“I don’t know, Frances.” Couldn’t she come up with anything better? She’s the brains among us.

“It’s a start,” Nash chimes in.

“Um . . . Katie?” Frances looks beyond her boyfriend and glares. “Is
that Chelsea Blake sitting with Charlie?
Your
Charlie?”

I follow the path of her stare and see Chelsea giggle at something Charlie’s said. She whispers in his ear, and he smiles. My hands ball into fists. “Yes, on the same night my mother rolls back into town, Charlie tells me he’s decided to renew his connection to Chelsea.”

Nash shakes his head and sends his long hair dancing. “What? Dude, that stinks.”

“Yeah.” I purse my lips. “He said something about how he couldn’t really explain, and he just needed me to be understanding. But” — Chelsea’s lilting giggle carries over to our corner — “I think I’m all out of understanding.” That skinny little Dooney and Bourke–carrying, feather-brained —

“Charlie’s a decent guy though. I’m sure he has a good reason for hanging out with her again,” Nash says.

Frances gasps and throws her arm around me. “Men! You’re all clueless. Your friend has left Katie abandoned and alone.” She pulls me closer. “Destitute and distraught. Crying out for help as the vultures swoop and circle around the decaying remains of her dying relationship.”

Hannah twirls her hair. “Huh?”

“Charlie’s a jerk, Hannah. That’s all I’m trying to say.” Frances lets me go and motions us toward some seats.

Right behind Charlie and Chelsea.

I shake my head in spastic jerks.
No!
I would rather go sit alone in the church basement than sit here.

Frances takes her seat and clears her throat. “So, Katie, you were telling me Joey Farmer asked you out?”

I blink. “Huh?”

Charlie swivels around in his seat. “Who?” Seriously, that boy is even hot when he scowls. When I scowl I just look constipated.

Frances’s dark eyes laser into mine. It’s that “smile pretty and just go with it” look.

“He’s
such
the catch.” Frances elbows Nash. “You hang out with him sometimes, don’t you?”

“I have no idea who —
oomph!
Right. Love the guy. An absolute . . . um, stud. If I wasn’t a dude, I’d date him myself.”

Charlie’s gray eyes lock onto mine. “You have a date?”

I open my mouth to deny it, but Frances stops me.

“He’s so cool. He taught Nash everything he knows about music. Isn’t that right?”

Frances’s boyfriend glares. “Yes, Johnny Filmer is a genius in the music world.”

“Joey Farmer,” Charlie corrects.

“Right. Well . . . uh . . . sometimes I forget . . . and use his stage name.”

No, this has got to stop. It’s dishonest! We’re lying in the house of God. Lightning bolts are going to shoot through the ceiling at any moment.

Must put an end to this. “Actually, Frances was just — ”

“I think it’s sweet you have a boyfriend, Katie.” Chelsea’s cat-who-just-ate-the-canary smirk unravels all my righteous intentions.

“He’s not a boyfriend.” I smile right back. “He’s just a . . .” I pretend to consider this. “Friend.”
And you know all about those special “friends,” don’t you Charlie?
Jerk face.

“You should invite him to go bowling with us after church,” Charlie suggests, his expression unreadable.

“Uh . . . I can’t. He’s . . . he’s . . .” I send a silent message to Frances for help. “He’s . . .”

“Doing trigonometry.” Frances nods.

I openly gape at my normally bright best friend. She didn’t just give me an imaginary boyfriend but an imaginary
dork
boyfriend. He’s doing trigonometry? Who
says
that? How about he’s lifting weights? Or he’s volunteering at the local soup kitchen? Or he’s home waxing his chest for his next modeling gig?
Anything
but he’s home crunching numbers on his TI calculator!

“Nash’s band is playing at my birthday party next weekend. Invite him. I’d like to meet your new
friend.
” A challenge gleams in Charlie’s eyes.

“You say that like I’m lying.” Suddenly I’m mad he would think I would lie. Even though I am. The
nerve
of that boy.

“I didn’t say that.” Charlie shrugs. “If he exists, then I’ll meet him Friday night.”

“Oh,” Chelsea says. “You should have him play with Nash’s band, Charlie.”

“Yeah. Great idea. Tell him we’d love to hear him.”

I swallow. “He’s pretty busy.”

Charlie lifts a brow. “With all his trig homework?”

“Right. Er, no. With his music. And . . . stuff.” Sometimes when you dig yourself in a hole, your only option is to just keep shoveling.

“If he’s such the musical genius, then he’ll love the opportunity to play. Can’t wait to meet him.” And I’m totally dismissed as Charlie turns around.

Pastor Mike jumps on the stage and the room settles into silence. My head buzzes with raging thoughts.

“Welcome to church, guys.” The pastor’s diamond earring sparkles under the stage lights. “Today we’re gonna talk about honesty.”

I reach into my purse and pull out a pen.