Becoming Ellen (13 page)

As he was speaking, without saying a word, or seeming to respond to the volatile situation, Temerity set down the French press and walked around the counter. She sat down on the stool next to Ellen and leaned her elbows on the countertop. She didn't speak, she didn't touch. She just sat there.

It helped a lot.

T
o distract herself from the gaping black hole of possible police involvement, Ellen spent some time working out a plan for Seth with Justice and Temerity before she went up to bed. Because of Ellen's tenuous hold on her comfort zone, Temerity did not grouse about being left out of the developments so far, but Ellen could tell that her friend had felt excluded. By the time they had made the sign to post in the alley, Ellen had settled down and couldn't keep from yawning.

“Okay,” Justice said, holding up their handiwork. “I'll post this, and Temerity, you man the phone.”

Temerity's mouth twisted sarcastically. “Are you sure
manning
a phone isn't an obscene gesture?” she asked. Justice ignored her. “Well, I wouldn't know, would I?” she said. “You can't hear a gesture.”

But Ellen thought if anyone could, it was Temerity.

Ellen looked at the small flyer. It read
Delivery person needed to run local errands. Please call . . .
then there was a phone number. It was to the point, and they had decided to place it near the edge of the main avenue, but on the alley side, so that Seth would be sure to see it, and hopefully not too many others.

Ellen was exhausted by now; it was almost nine a.m. She dragged herself up the narrow flight of stairs and stood for a moment, watching the apartment windows across the street. Her eyes swept the checkerboard of windows until she spotted the one directly across and below hers. At first glance, the window looked empty, and then Ellen saw that the woman's upper body was slumped along the sill. Her eyes were open and she was facing in Ellen's direction, but there was no acknowledgment. There never was.

Too tired to keep at it anymore, Ellen made a note of the scene in her notebook then climbed into bed.

When she woke up later, Ellen got dressed and went downstairs.

As she came into the main room, Temerity's phone rang and she pulled it from her pocket. “Yes?”

Though she couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, Ellen could tell immediately that it was about the sign they had put up that morning. Temerity said, “Yes, I am looking for help with deliveries. You said your name is Seth? When can you meet, tomorrow morning? Great, eight o'clock, then.” Temerity gave the address and the loft number and hung up.

“Operation Antibiotic, stage one, complete,” Temerity said with a content but sober grin. “That poor kid, I can hear how hard it is for him to breathe. Maybe I should have met him tonight?”

“No, it wouldn't do any good,” Ellen said. “We have to wait for Thursday. In the meantime, you can get him to pick some stuff up for you.”

“I'll send him to the drugstore,” Temerity said, “and I'll have him pick up some cold medicine that I'll make him take. I'd have to be blind
and
deaf not to know he needs some mucus relief. It'll only help the symptoms but it'll be something.” She seemed pleased with this idea. “Okay, get dressed, we're going back to see Maddy.”

Ellen did not want to see the comatose woman again, but she knew that once Temerity had decided, they were going.

So within an hour, the pair was walking through the lobby of the hospital. Temerity stopped at security and said that she was visiting her friend, and they went right through. It was a short trek to the third floor, but then they had to stop and review.

“Now this part is up to you,” Temerity told Ellen. “I think it would be best if we didn't run into that nurse again. She wasn't the friendliest.”

“True,” Ellen agreed, more with not wanting to meet the woman than with her general disposition. They crossed through the glass passageway without incident, and seated themselves in the waiting room across from the ward. Only when they were absolutely sure that it was empty except for the patients did they make their way cautiously to the bed where they had found Madeline Carson.

It was empty.

Ellen stood looking at the bed. The rumpled linens were still on it, as though the woman had been there recently. She noticed a corner of a sheet of paper that had fallen to the floor, halfway under the bed, and without even thinking, she stooped to pick it up. It was a copy of a transfer order, including the name and address of a state care facility.

Foiled and slightly shaken, the women retreated to the cafeteria, where they bought cups of hot tea.

Temerity broke the silence. “Do you think she's dead?” she asked.

Ellen said no, and told Temerity about the transfer order she had in her pocket. But she had another fear, one that had been growing since she had watched the happy Lydia surrounded by safety and warmth and good things.

She cleared her throat. “From that paper we found, she was probably moved into a state facility for the long term, so she was alive when she left, at least. But in a way, it might not be terrible if she did . . . Well, what I mean is, if her mom gets better, even partially better, then Lydia will go back.”

Temerity's mouth made a little O and she said, “I hadn't thought of that. But I mean, it's her mom, and she'd want to, right?”

Ellen shrugged and said she didn't know that either. She'd only seen them together for a few minutes, and it had been impossible to judge. Lydia hadn't seemed frightened of her mother, and that was something. “I mean, I think that even if she does, if her mom is, you know, in a wheelchair or something, Lydia will be the one who has to take care of her.”

“But she's only six!”

Ellen looked at Temerity and told herself that her friend just didn't know. “Who else is there?” Ellen took a sip of her cooling tea. “It happens a lot.”

Temerity's eyes had filled. “How horrible,” she said. “All of these things I never even thought of before I met you.” She reached out and found Ellen's hand, which she patted and then drew back. “I just assumed that when a kid went into foster care, they found a new home and were taken care of. I mean, I know it can't be easy, but foster parents must
want
to care for these kids. Right?”

That, Ellen thought, was most definitely
not
always right. But she couldn't see what could be done about Lydia. She didn't want to hope that Maddy was dead or dying. On the other hand . . . if she stayed alive, Lydia would not become eligible for adoption. “Come on,” she said. “There's not much use in staying here, let's go home.” It was interesting to call it that, not that Ellen didn't think of the loft as home, but openly claiming it as their shared home felt new. Temerity didn't seem to notice.

They had arrived at their door when someone called out behind them. “Excuse me!”

Ellen shifted her weight into the deep recess of the doorway and looked cautiously back around it.

From the street, a man was rapidly walking toward them. He was dressed in jeans and a red leather jacket, his blond hair was slicked back around his ears, and the immediate overall impression Ellen got from him was
fraud
. She had known so many.

But Temerity couldn't see the smile that did not extend to his eyes, or the heavy gold chain around his neck, or the pointed cowboy boots with the silver tips. She turned and asked, “Can I help you?”

“I hope so.” The man waved disarmingly and stopped a few yards away. “I'm looking for a boy, a blond boy, twelve, but small for his age. He was seen in this neighborhood.”

Ellen held her breath and, leaning back hard against the cold metal door, she watched her friend's face.

It was twisted by a crooked smile. “Not by me,” Temerity said. “I'm sorry.” She switched her stick to the hand on his side.

“Oh, sorry,” the man said, but Ellen could tell he didn't mean it. She peeked, just barely, around the lip of the bricks. The man was now coming closer, and his eyes were roaming freely over Temerity's body so leeringly that it might have existed for his personal pleasure. Ellen tensed.

“Do you live here?” the man asked, still watching Temerity. “Nice place.”

“No, I'm visiting a friend,” Temerity told him. “And I'm late. I'm sorry I can't help you.”

“Well, could you maybe do me a favor?” the man said. “If your . . . friend has seen a kid, blond, small for his age, kinda thin, could you maybe let me know? He's my nephew and he's been missing for a few days. We had an argument, my fault, and he took off. I'm really worried about him.”

In all her years of watching humanity, of observing behavior, good and bad, Ellen had never been more sure that a person was lying, and there was no way that Temerity could miss the false ring in every word. This was a man for whom the word
honesty
had no meaning.

“If they know anything, I'll have them call the police,” Temerity said firmly. “You've notified the police, I assume?”

“Well, no, they aren't really very motivated by teenagers who haven't come home for a couple of nights.” The man faked a sad laugh. “Can I give you my number?”

But Temerity took a step backward and said, “No, you can stay there. Don't take it personally, but I have to be a bit cautious around strangers, seeing how I don't know you and can't see you.”

“No problem, no problem, I don't mean to scare you. Tell you what, I'll put some flyers in the mailboxes, so if anybody sees the boy, they can call me. Can you tell your friend?”

“Flyers. Sure.” Temerity made a show of ringing the bell. Justice's voice came through the speaker box. “Hello?”

“Hi, Justice, it's your friend, Temerity. I'm here for the dinner you promised to cook me.”

“What?”

“Are you going to buzz me in or not?” Temerity said pointedly.

There was one second of static, and then Justice said, “I'm coming down.” The buzzer sounded.

When she heard the click behind her, Ellen leaned against the door and the two of them stumbled in. With a last, narrow-eyed stare, the man turned and moved away as the heavy metal door started to close. Above them, on the fourth-floor landing, they could hear the door to the loft open. Justice called out, “Tem? Are you okay? What's going on?”

Temerity locked the door behind them and exhaled hard. “We're okay!” she called upward.

Justice came all the way down, and Ellen told him about the man.

“It's the uncle, gotta be,” Justice muttered. He told them to go up while he checked the alley and the grating to the basement. Both were deserted, he reported, when he came back up.

“Should we warn Seth?” Temerity asked.

“I'm not sure how, without telling him we're watching him,” Justice said. “The kid's pretty savvy, maybe he already knows.”

“You think it's true someone told him Seth was in this neighborhood?” Temerity asked.

Ellen frowned down at the floor. “It's possible. You'd be surprised how much some of the homeless people know about what goes on.” She fidgeted a bit. “I know most people think all of them are crazy, but they aren't. Could have been one of them.”

“True.” Justice sighed. “For someone whose home is the street, a new youngster in the neighborhood would be as obvious as someone sitting in our living room would be to us.”

“What can we do?” Temerity asked.

Justice paced a bit. Then he said, “Nothing for tonight. He's coming over tomorrow, right?”

“Eight o'clock,” Temerity confirmed.

“Well, we might just mention that someone was asking about a kid his age, you know, give him a heads up, but not let on that we know it's him.”

Ellen thought that was probably smart, there didn't seem to be much else they could do. “I've got to go to work pretty soon,” she said.

“And I'd better start dinner,” Temerity said, moving toward the kitchen. “You want me to make you a sandwich to take?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Ellen said, thinking that she would leave it for Seth, if she could. She went upstairs, showered, dried her hair, dressed, and collected her things. When she went back down it was dark outside the big windows. She entered the open area and came to a stop.

Justice must have retreated to his room to work, because Temerity was alone in the room, in the middle of the large open space. Ellen canted her head, and in a moment the sound of music found her lesser ears. Searching for the source, she saw Temerity's small tape recorder on the coffee table, playing back an unfamiliar piece of violin music that Ellen guessed she'd recorded earlier. Her face was rapt, her eyes were half closed, and she was dancing where she stood, her arms raised, like they were resting on a partner's shoulders, and her body turned in a graceful circle. Ellen slunk through the room and left as quietly as possible, leaving her friend to dance alone to music only she could read.

O
n the way to work, Ellen leaned her head against the window of the bus and thought about Lydia. She remembered the way it had felt to have Lydia in her lap, trusting her. She imagined the slight weight on her chest and experienced it as a spreading warmth.

Ellen got off the bus and walked across the huge parking lot, then around the giant block of a building, and took her usual route through the docks toward the locker room. Hearing voices inside, Ellen stopped just outside the break room. She leaned an ear against the door and made out a constant flow of words in a man's voice, not one she immediately recognized. She drew herself inward, took a quiet breath, and opened the door soundlessly.

At one of the tables across the room, two men were sitting. The talker, who Ellen now recognized as Daniel, the dockworker who had shared Eric's mean-spirited opinion of Thelma, was leaning forward across the tabletop at a forty-five-degree angle, while the guy across from him leaned away from it proportionately, his chair tilted back, seemingly determined to keep an even distance between them. Ellen couldn't blame him, the flow of babble from Daniel was incessant and not particularly coherent. Neither of the men noticed Ellen, or even glanced at the door, as she slipped through the room.

She disappeared into the ladies' locker room, put her bag in her locker, took out the small package she had borrowed the night before and placed it in the pocket of her smock. When she was ready, she went back to the exit. She listened but heard nothing. Wary, she pushed the door open a crack and looked out.

The second man had fled, but Daniel was still there, muttering in a constant stream, though now under his breath. As Ellen watched, he took a small baggie from his pocket and a popsicle stick, which he used to scoop out some of the powder. Then he sniffed it up his nose. He made a harsh sound and shook his head, as though it burned, and returned the baggie to his pocket with a glance at the entrance. His movements were both furtive and nervously manic.

Ellen let the door to the locker room slip back two inches, concealing the crack and her presence, and waited until she heard Daniel leave. With a sigh of relief that she hadn't walked in on him—
Always have a plan
—she went to collect her supply cart and check the work assignments. She had the produce section tonight, but she let her eyes wander on down the list until she found
dock restrooms
. They had been assigned to Irena, a Russian immigrant for whom Ellen had done a small favor nine months ago. She was one of the only people in this work environment to whom Ellen had ever willfully spoken.

Knowing that Irena, like herself, felt like an outsider and preferred to arrive early and not deal with too many other people, Ellen waited for her in the supply room. As she waited, her eyes roved around the stacked shelving and she spotted a folded stepladder slotted into a narrow space between the shelves and the wall, like a slice of bread in a toaster. Ellen would have liked some toast with butter and a thick smearing of strawberry jelly. When the door opened a few minutes later, Ellen saw the tall, thin Irena come in, and for the tenth time, she thought how much difference a few months and the demise of an abusive husband could make.

Irena had filled out and the dark circles under her eyes had faded, but the changes weren't just physical. She no longer stooped and scurried, mouselike, in terror from place to place. Ellen remembered coming in on Irena and their then boss in this very room almost a year ago, when the boss had been attempting to molest the terrified woman. Ellen had enjoyed anonymously putting a stop to that. She had been happier still when Irena's murderous husband had gotten what was coming to him.

Ellen braced herself and said softly, “Irena?”

Irena jumped and turned toward the corner where Ellen was standing behind her cart. “Oh, Ellen, you startle me.” The woman's use of English was growing more solid, but the finer points were still slippery.

“Sorry, uh, I have a favor to ask you.”

Irena smiled at her. “Your face, it is good, almost healed completely. Only, a bit red, but good.”

“Uh, thanks.” Ellen had no idea how to react to a positive remark about her physical appearance, as up until now they had been uniformly hurtful. “Listen, would it be all right with you if I took the dock restrooms tonight? You can spend an hour in produce instead.”

The eyebrows above the high cheekbones went up. “You . . .
want
to clean there?” Irena's nose wrinkled. “Okay by me.”

“Thanks.” Ellen started to push her cart away and then felt that she should make some sort of reference to their frightening, shared experience months before. “Uh, how's, uh, the baby? Do you ever see him?”

Irena shook her head but smiled broadly. “No, but Susan, she send me pictures sometimes. Ivan is big and has six teeth now! A very healthy boy.”

Ellen thought about the sickly child that had been dumped on Irena, while his cruel father ran off with another woman. It was good to hear that the child was healthy now and safe with his adoptive mother. “Oh, that's . . . uh, good.”

“And your friends, they are well?” Irena asked.

“Very well, thank you. I'll tell them you asked.”

“Yes please, thank you.” Irena's Russian accent still rumbled her consonants heavily in the back of her throat.

“Well . . . bye.” Ellen scooted out as quickly as she could, searching her pockets for a stashed chocolate Power bar, which she ate to restock the nervous calories it had cost her to interact. The carbs took effect almost immediately, settling her quivering anxiety and smoothing her jitters with their fluffy-stuffing comfort.

She made her way to the docks and found a safe, dark corner to wait in until the shift changed and she could get to work. At 10:02, she'd been watching the restroom doors for so long that she knew it was safe to go in the men's room, which she chose first.

She put out her
BATHROOM
CLOSED
sign and went in. Normally, she propped her cart in the doorway of the restrooms to discourage any attempted entry, but tonight she took it all the way in and shut the door behind her, then pushed the cart up against it. She pulled the stepladder off the top, where she had precariously balanced it, and set it up below the automatic scent dispenser. In a few minutes, she had replaced the contents and snapped the cover back on. Then she climbed back down to the reassuringly flat floor and went on to clean the rest of the room.

It was amazing how disgusting thirty or so workers could make a bathroom in a day or two, but Ellen worked diligently and soon the smell of pine cleanser was sharper in her nostrils than urine. She mopped her way out after checking that the space outside was clear, did a quick cleanup in the women's room, and was pouring the mop water down the sink when she heard the scream.

It was followed by shouting. Ellen left the bucket on the floor and went to look out the door. At first she couldn't see anything but crates, but she moved cautiously forward until she had a view of the commotion.

It was bad. One of the dockworkers, who had been wearing a headset, she noticed, had been hit by a forklift. The lower part of his leg jutted at a strange angle from below the knee, and he was grimacing in pain and clutching at his thigh. “Don't touch my leg!” he screamed as Thelma dropped to her knees next to him.

“I won't, don't worry, Bruno,” she told him, putting a hand on his shoulder instead. “Somebody call 911,” she called out. All around them, people were either moving eagerly forward to see the drama or standing stupidly and doing nothing. Picking a face out of the crowd, Thelma barked sharply, “Eduardo, 911, do it now!” Eduardo peeled away and ran for the office.

Eric was there, too. He leaned down over the injured man and said, “Okay, buddy, just lie still. You'll be okay.”

“‘Okay'?” Bruno opened his mouth in a silent scream that muted him temporarily. When he could breathe again he said, “I am
not
okay. Christ.” He grimaced again and whimpered, dropping his head forward and baring his teeth against the pain. “What the . . . ?! That hopped-up idiot ran right into me!” The man gasped between clenched teeth. “How could he not see me? Ahhhh!” He let his head fall back.

Ellen looked at the forklift. No one was in the driver's seat, but standing next to it, twitching, was Daniel. As she watched, Ellen noticed Eric checking to make sure no one was watching him, then he jerked a thumb toward the open edge of the dock. Daniel nodded fearfully, slipped backward, step by step, and then bolted down the stairs and into the darkness.

The Crows arrived, elbowing their way to the front of the crowd. Rosa and Kiki looked thrilled as they took in the carnage, memorizing details for future use. Ellen knew that a few minutes of listening to them throughout the night would keep her up-to-date on any of the ensuing details.

While everyone was distracted, Ellen retrieved her cart and escaped to the main floor. She went to the produce section and began to clean out the emptied bins with a ferocious energy. Something was driving her to stay busy, to scrub and focus here, only here. Her busyness was fueled by the need to avoid a prickling, stinging feeling. She did not hear the ambulance arrive, or see the injured man taken away. She did not know who was questioned or blamed, she did not listen to the other workers whispering or exclaiming openly about the “accident.” She didn't want to, not yet.

She felt that she'd been stung by a wasp on the inside and the insect was still buzzing furiously in her chest, searching for more tender tissue to assault. Only if she kept busy could Ellen avoid the inevitability of it landing and piercing her again and again with its stinger. But she couldn't. All her well-trained practice in not feeling, in pushing aside the nagging awfulness, was not working. This was something different than the hurt that had happened
to
her in the past.

The Crows came back and headed into the wine section, their heads close together, talking fast. Ellen followed them down the parallel aisle to listen.

“Snapped the leg, twisted it almost all the way around,” Rosa was saying. “Bruno was lucky he wasn't crushed.”

“And Daniel just ran off, and you know why!” Kiki was almost ecstatic with the adrenaline rush of insider information. Ellen watched them through the cases of wine.

Rosa gasped and put a hand to her chest. “You mean he did it on purpose?”

Kiki shook her head, pursing her mouth into a prissy little pout. “No, but he's always
on
something. Can't you tell? If you listen to him talk for two minutes, you will. Why he hasn't been fired, I don't know.”

“I do!” Rosa's brown eyes were huge and sparking as if static electricity was being repeatedly discharged. “I told you that I caught Eric giving Daniel a package and taking money from him one day! When Eric saw me watching, he said Daniel was returning money he'd lent him and told me to mind my own business. Then he made a point of mentioning that my nephew's son, Jimmy, works for him. Like a threat!”

Kiki nodded. “Maybe you should tell Billy. I heard him talking to the police. They said that Daniel will be in trouble for fleeing from the scene of an accident.” The tall, sharp-faced woman seemed pleased with her assessment.

“Hit-and-run,” Rosa agreed. “And with a forklift! Those things scare me. They weigh tons! I don't even like to go out on the dock, and when they come in
here
, I stand clear.”

“Well, you've got some sense. Those guys out there are always trying to prove how macho they are.” Kiki huffed.

Rosa and Kiki looked at each other knowingly, then at the same time they both said, “Men!”

The two women cackled, and then went back to whispering, but Ellen could hear no more as they moved to the far side of the aisle.

It was a full hour later, as Ellen paused to wipe the sweat from her brow and straighten her aching back, when she finally recognized the sensation she had been feeling. With a searing hot slap of shame, she called it by name.
Guilt.
She could have prevented the pain that man Bruno was feeling. The pain he would most likely suffer for the rest of his life had been caused by someone whom Ellen had known was incapable of being safe. More, she knew why he'd been in that state and who was responsible. If Ellen was someone different, if she was a person with the ability and the courage to speak up, the accident would not have happened.

For the first time that she knew of, Ellen understood what it was like to feel guilty for
not
doing something.

But what else
could
she do? It just wasn't possible for her to be other than she was. She thought about this long and hard as she threw herself back into her work. If Eric was selling drugs to the other workers and encouraging them to use them, something like this, or worse, was certain to happen again. The thought made her feel frayed all the way down her spine. She did not have the courage it took to speak up, and she knew it. But, she reminded herself, she had other . . .
talents
, as Justice put it, and in that moment of recognition, she decided that she would make up for her failings. Ellen was an observer. She would catch Eric at his own game, and, like Temerity had said, he would never see her coming.

That
she could do as well as anyone else.