A Deeper Love Inside (29 page)

I looked down at my feet. They really were sinking. I ran to the tree, turned around and walked out the combination that I would never forget. I started digging at the right spot.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Siri sang to me over and over again, but I was worried about her. She didn’t have on a rain hoodie.

When my shovel hit the metal I knew it was my moneybox. I used my fingers to push away the rest of the mud. Siri and I pulled the thin handle of the box together, until it moved some. Then we wiggled it and pulled it out.

“You got it!” Siri said, clapping with soft excitement. I started to run.

“Walk, don’t run,” Siri reminded me. “Even though we’re soaked we have to walk,” Siri said calmly. Even though her hair was soaked and her clothes were drenched and clinging to her pretty skin, she walked the same as if it were a sunny day. We both ignored our feet squishing in all of the dog poop piles, which had become a part of the soil. We left out the backyard and through the gate, which was left opened. The metal box was concealed beneath my poncho.

The car door was unlocked. We crawled into the backseat from
squatting down and laid on the backseat both shivering. The car started, although I didn’t see Riot. I lifted my head to peek over the seat. Riot was sliding up from the floor.

“You got it?”

“We got it. Siri helped!” I said.

“Where’s the shovel?” Riot asked. She was looking back at us, as she drove the car in reverse out of the driveway.

“We left the shovel?” Siri said.

“Did you forget the shovel?” Riot asked.

“Yes,” I told her, sitting up.

“We gotta get it,” she said. Because of the way Riot spoke those words, I
knew
we had to get the shovel. As she rounded the corner to my house, driving at a low speed through the downpour, two police cars were coming from the opposite direction. Me and Siri ducked down. Our hearts were beating so fast it felt like an attack. It was as though someone was throwing rocks at my chest. No, like someone was burying me and Siri. Smothering us with pounds of rock and gravel. Siri began stroking my hair like Momma would when I was little. Riot wasn’t saying nothing. She wasn’t stopping or slowing down the Volvo. She didn’t slam on the brakes.

In the back, in the uncomfortable small space on the floor, we were shocked into silence. The cold plastic poncho was pressed against my already wet clothes. My lips were shivering. My head was pounding. I smelled shit. I knew I hadn’t shitted. I peed on myself all the time, but never shitted. My sneakers were covered in dirt. “It’s dog shit,” Siri whispered. Her lips were pressed against my ear. We held hands. All of our fingers were dirty. Mud was caked beneath our nails. Momma must be right, I thought to myself.
I ain’t shit either.

• • •

Storm turned to drizzle. The gray-black clouds still churned. We were parked. “We’re here,” Riot said. I unfolded my legs from the locked position I had held them in for the more than an hour drive. I peeled off the poncho and still shivered in my damp clothes.

“It’s a holiday. We can leave the car here as long as we move it before 6:00 a.m. tomorrow morning,” Riot said. “Are you okay? You look like you caught a cold.” She placed her palm on my forehead.

“You got a fever,” she said calmly, like a mother in thought. “Go ahead up. I’ll get you some medicine and be right there.” I couldn’t argue or even tell her I didn’t want no medicine. I felt drained of all of my power, even the energy to talk. I used whatever strength remained to hold the handle of my metal money-box. As I walked down the street to our motel room, I thought about how people would mug me if they knew I had five thousand dollars cash. But they didn’t know. This is New York. I’m a shitty little girl wearing skips soaked in watery dog poo and someone else’s cheap ugly clothes.

When I opened the door to our rented room, Momma and Honey both had angry faces. “Porsche, get over here,” Momma said. I had not explained to her not to call me “Porsche,” that my name is Ivory. I didn’t even tell her why I needed a new name and that I’m an outlaw. She never asked where I came from or how I got my way back to her. Through my feverish eyes, I looked a little closer and seen Momma and Honey were handcuffed together at the feet and Honey was also handcuffed to the bed.

“They won’t leave, I promise,” Riot had said to me when we left out this morning. “A promise is a promise,” she had said just last night. I thought to myself, this bitch is crazy, smart, loyal, and very scary.

Chapter 28

Down by the dirty-ass Hudson River where the water was still, black, and greasy like oil, we grilled chicken breasts and roasted corn and marshmallows. Honey drizzled on some borrowed barbeque sauce from some Latino men who were playing dominoes among the Labor Day evening crowd, which swelled after the rainy afternoon. Momma was grooving to someone else’s throwback jams. She was wearing one of the summer dresses that Riot had brought in her pile this morning.

Riot, the vegetarian, was eating marshmallows and so was I. I tried the corn but it didn’t taste no way as good as the organic corn on the cob at the reservation. I couldn’t pretend to like it or eat it. So I laid it to the side and left it in the flimsy paper plate, while Momma and Honey began grubbing like this thrown-together meal was gourmet.

“What made you buy that stack of chicken breasts? I was surprised to see you with a bag of meat,” I asked Riot.

“Oh, it was for the dogs in Long Island,” she said casually. I didn’t say nothing for some seconds. I was thinking of how she was feeding Momma dog’s food.

“Luckily, I didn’t have to use the chicken breast, my dog whistle, the stick, the bat, or the pizzas. When the radio predicted rain, and then there was a Long Island area afternoon flood warning, I knew they would pull their dogs out of the yard until it all cleared up. I used it as an opportunity,” she said softly like it was nothing.

“The pizzas?” I asked. “You were gonna feed the dogs pizza, too? I never heard nothing like that,” I said. Riot laughed a little. “Remember the flyer you pulled out of the mailbox? The one advertising pizza deliveries in that neighborhood? Well, I kept it. If the weather prediction was wrong, I would’ve used the pizza delivery guy at that exact shop to get onto your property. While he and I created a distraction at your house by delivering pizzas to them that they hadn’t actually ordered and then opening the gates and letting the dogs escape, you would slip in the yard and grab the money tree.”

I just looked at Riot. Was she serious? There so many things that could’ve went wrong. “That wouldn’t have worked,” I said.

“Sure it would’ve. I had a slice of pizza with that delivery guy while you were asleep in the car. I convinced him I was looking for a job, and he agreed to let me ride with him for a few hours,” she said, straight-faced. “I had another plan, too. I would watch the house to see what time the owner or one of their kids walked the dogs. I would’ve followed them and delayed them with my talk about how much I love dogs and dog training my Rottweiler. We would’ve traded training tips, while you slipped in and grabbed the money tree,” she said confidently. “That’s how I found out how to open their front, back, and driveway gate anyway. I watched till someone came out. I saw a boy push some buttons right before he left your house.” I liked that she kept calling the property my house and not theirs. She was right. It is mine.

I could also see that she was going to get us onto my family’s property no matter what. She was a girl who it was best to have on your team. Once she started scheming against anyone, anything was possible. I knew she was down for me. I knew she was down for us getting money and making moves. But was Riot against Momma? The question raced around my mind, and I started feeling red.

“And the clothes. Where did you get all those clothes?” I asked.

“From the charity. There was this all-night church. They let anybody shop. Well, it wasn’t really shopping. The cost was “a small donation,” for however much you could grab and hold without a bag. The clothes are used, but I got all that for three dollars.” She smiled, impressed with her find.

Riot had Momma eating food she had brought for some meanass attack dogs, and wearing somebody’s thrown-away dress. She obviously didn’t understand how I felt about Momma or about my family. Not to mention she had cuffed my momma like a mangy mutt. I didn’t know what she thought about Momma after all she had seen last night in the old Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, park. What she saw wouldn’t change my heart. I’m gonna rescue Momma the way I wanted someone to rescue me. I’m gonna get her back to where she used to be, looking like a million bucks. I’m gonna take her to see Poppa, proudly.
I will prevent him from seeing her broken.
I am going to get the twins
and love them. I want them to see that I am a good big sister. I can protect them. Moreover I’m gonna get back all of Momma’s stuff, one by one, over time. When I help Momma in this way, she is gonna see me clearly and love me deeply. It won’t matter that I’m the middle daughter. Like in a game of freeze tag, Momma is gonna unfreeze me.

Black-eyed Honey and Momma in her yellow wig were exchanging words with two older guys with the grill next to us. We could easily see that the guys had lured them over with a bottle of Ray and Nephew Rum. Momma’s press-on fingernails were wrapped around a Dixie cup. Her thin arm was extended, as a man Momma would never be attracted to, or never even talk to, poured her a drink. So what, I told myself. It’s a holiday and Momma is celebrating. That’s a good thing.

“Riot, we got to talk some,” I said. I was mixed with feeling red, feeling shame, feeling pride, and feeling anxious.

“I wanted to talk, too,” she said. “I wanted to wait until your fever broke and your mind had cleared. Also, when it was only you and me speaking and hearing.”

“I understand,” I said. “About you cuffing my moms to the bed like that . . .”

“Hold on. Who am I talking with right now?” she interrupted me and asked strangely, staring into my eyes. “Am I speaking to Porsche the little girl, Porsche the big girl, or Siri? Which one?”

“What?” I asked automatically, buying time to figure out exactly what Riot was trying to pull now.

“If I’m speaking to little Porsche, my son, I know I gotta hide all of the information that I’m sure she can’t handle and ain’t ready for,” Riot said. “If I’m talking to big Porsche, I can give it to her straight, no bullshit, no tears. We can make some decisions and take action right away, like I’m used to doing,” she said stone-faced. “If I’m talking to Siri . . .” She leaned in, staring closer into my eyes. “Where is Siri?” she asked me. I paused. I didn’t want to be the first one to blink my eyes and break our stares. Riot was definitely trying to test me. I didn’t know why. I did know that Siri wouldn’t want to speak directly to Riot. Siri only likes to speak to me, and that’s how it had been for all eight months since we got ganged up in the Diamond Needles.
So why was Riot asking about Siri all of a sudden and threatening to speak with Siri directly, instead of me?

“What are you doing, some freaky shit?” Momma asked, breaking up me and Riot’s close-faced intense feeling. Riot stepped back and away. Even that insulted me. Why was she walking away as though Momma stunk or something? Momma was clean. I had cleaned her myself, and she was wearing the clothes Riot brought in.

“Momma, I need to talk to her for a few minutes. We gotta make some decisions,” I said.

“You too young to make decisions,” Momma said. I knew she couldn’t see me clearly. I’m young but I can do so many things and had made so many decisions, alone, already.

“I gotta get back to Brooklyn, check on my little space, get my handbag. You got some money, so give me some. I’ll leave and you and that crazy bitch can talk all you want to,” Momma said.

“Don’t leave. Give me ten minutes, Momma. I got the money. Don’t worry.”

“Well, you should’ve told me you had more money in the first place. Then we had no business sitting around playing with her,” Momma said, nodding her head towards Riot.

• • •

Seated in the backseat of the rented Volvo, separated by nothing but my closed moneybox, which I was leaning on with one hand, me and Riot began our meeting. Momma and Honey sat on the hood of the parked car beneath a tree.

“You’re talking with me, Porsche L. Santiaga, eleven-year-old girl who feels like she been living, fighting, hustling for twenty-two years. Say whatever you want to say. Don’t leave nothing out and make sure it’s all true,” I said.

“Your mother . . .” Riot’s first two words came out quick and forcefully. Then she slowed down some. “Your mother and Honey are addicts, users, crackheads,” she said.

My little body tensed up. My mind told my fist and legs to relax.

Riot continued, “I can’t carry them. I can’t work with them. I can’t fuck with them. They will get us caught. They’re not smart. They at
tract too much attention. I’m down with you, Porsche, me and you,” she said slowly and clearly. I could feel her sincere emotion.

“But you
been fucking with Honey
,” I told her.

“I
used
Honey for her identity. I’m still using Honey for her identity. I can’t use your mom, because she is your mother. I can see you don’t think straight when it comes to her. I cuffed her to the bed because she is a fiend. Fiends can’t be trusted. They go with whoever got the product, crack, coke, weed, alcohol, whatever. Every one of their secrets and our secrets are for sale for the price of that rock. They don’t care about nothing but feeding their habit. They’re weak, Porsche. Even if they’re relatives, we gotta treat ’em like an infected finger, that gotta get cut off, or it will kill the whole hand.” Riot was using all her energy to convince me.

I refused to cry. Holding back my tears felt the same as the feeling of not shitting when you absolutely have to. But I did not cry.

“What do you want to do?” Riot asked me. “We can put your mother in the rehab until she gets better. I’ll help you to find the best place. I’ll stay down here till we set that up.” Riot was wide-eyed, searching me for my answer. “Or, we can let her go back to Brooklyn like she wants to. Me and you can go back to the reservation. If you give her any money from five dollars to a thousand she’ll smoke it in one or two days and be back to square one,” Riot said like she would even bet her life on it. “We can move her out of that Bed-Stuy area where we found her and set her up somewhere where at least she don’t know everybody and no one knows her. Then she can try to start over. But you saw how quick her and Honey find what they looking for even in an unfamiliar location. What do you want to do, Santiaga? Whatever it is, me and you are Diamond Needles, sisters for life,” Riot pledged. I was grateful that through her words, she had promoted me from son to daughter to sister.