On the Loose (3 page)

I’m frozen to the spot, knowing I just got busted talking about my foster mom. Millie’s a very private lady, and I know somehow I’ve just broken a rule.

“We still need to go by the church and the Valiant.” James enters in behind his wife and closes Maxine’s suitcase. “Are we ready?”

The rain has picked up, and we race to the car. Rocky sits between Maxine and me in the backseat. I hold my nose to block out his offensive smell, but Maxine croons to the mutt and scratches his chin all the way to the Valiant.

I drum my fingers on the car door, and anxiety swims through my gut. This theater is really important to me. It’s a part of our makeshift family.

Though I was concerned about my foster mom, I’m also worried about the theater. That place has become my home away from home . . . um, away from home. When I’m not at the Scotts, I’m usually there, at the Valiant, working. Last fall I even performed in a play. Most girls my age are crushing on some boy. But me, I’m madly in love with an old stage.

The car can’t go fast enough, and my stomach sinks as we pass all the storm damage. Houses with windows out like Maxine’s. Roofs ripped apart. Trash and miscellaneous items lining the streets. A car turned on its side. Dogs running loose. A trampoline bent over a fence.

Very little in this town was left alone. I hope the harm is minor to the theater, but our odds aren’t good. I slump down in the seat and close my eyes, trying to block out the images in my head, the possibilities for a damaged Valiant.

The car turns the final corner and the theater comes into sight.

There, illuminated by streetlights, is the mighty Valiant, whole and solid, as if the history and love in the old nails and mortar held it together against the wind.

We hop out of the car. James and I walk around the building.

“Not even a shingle out of place.” His disbelief mirrors mine.

The Valiant stands in perfect condition. Every window, every door.

My foster dad throws an arm around me. “How do you account for that?”

My eyes travel over every square inch of my beloved theater. I shake my head in awe, and the words tumble out of my mouth before they fully form in my mind. “It has to be God.”

“W
ell, good morning,
Sunshine.”

Tying my robe as I enter the kitchen, I shoot daggers at a smiling Maxine. Chirpy, happy morning people really bug me. Especially ones who do it on purpose.

Last night after we checked the church and found it had barely been rattled, we came back home. Tired and drained. And I got a new roommate. Since it was too late to clean out the spare bedroom for Maxine, she spent the night in my room in the extra bed. Yes, just a big ol’ sleepover with the grandma.

Except there is no sleeping when Maxine is around. I’ve heard semi-truck horns that weren’t as loud as the sounds coming out of her mouth last night. Between her nighttime Donald Duck impressions and my fretting over Millie and the Big C, I think I slept a grand total of five minutes.

“Looking a little rough today, Dumplin’. How about some of my special juice cocktail?”

With one swollen eye, I regard my foster grandmother. I look like I just walked out of a police lineup, and she couldn’t be any more rested and refreshed. Her overly blond hair is tied back in a neat bun, and her pink lipstick matches her sweater set perfectly.

I reach for the juice she’s poured and mumble a few syllables that hopefully sound something like thank you.

“Drink up, Sweet Pea.” Maxine nods toward the glass. “Does a body good.”

So does eight hours of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep.

I toss the glass back as James enters the kitchen. His eyes land on my juice, and he lunges for me. “Katie, no!”

Too late. I swallow the contents. My throat immediately constricts around the slimy concoction.

Gonna. Hurl.

My eyes water, and I run to the sink, gagging all the way. I jerk on the tap and hold my tongue under the faucet like a dog, desperate to wash away the taste.

Wiping my mouth, I turn on Maxine with murder in my eyes.

“What,” I growl, “was that?”

“My morning specialty. Prune juice and egg whites.”

“Here, drink this.” James pops the top on a Diet Dr. Pepper, and I down it in three gulps. Ah, the beverage of champions. My eyes close as I feel the familiar burn that could only belong to a drink capable of dissolving nails.

I pull another can out of the fridge. “That was disgusting. Are you crazy?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” James’s hand goes up. “Because if it’s not, I’d like to answer.”

Maxine chuckles mischievously. “Woke you up, didn’t it?”

I throw a bagel in the toaster, wondering where Millie is. She’s usually the first one up and around in the kitchen. “Actually, Maxine, it didn’t wake me up. And you want to know why? Because I never
went
to sleep!”

“My, my, aren’t we grouchy this morning. When does your charm kick in? Ten a.m.? Noon-ish?” Maxine tweaks my nose.

James unrolls the paper and hunts for the sports section. “Didn’t you sleep well, Katie?”

“You mean you didn’t hear it?” I ask.

“Hear what?” Maxine’s eyes narrow.

I open my mouth and make the loudest, most obnoxious noises I can. I try to duplicate Maxine’s snoring, but end up sounding like a choking pig instead.

“I do
not
snore!” Maxine gasps, clutching her chest dramatically.

“Whatever!” James and I yell simultaneously.

I point my finger at Maxine. “You kept me up the entire night.”

“I am a refined woman, and I do
not
snore. Take that back!”

“Take that back?” I laugh. “I’ll take that back when you
give
me back my eight hours of sleep!”

“Well, I never—” Maxine fans her flushed face with a napkin.

“You may think you never,” James interrupts. “But you would be wrong.” He looks at me with understanding, like we’re united in our pain. “Maxine’s gone on some trips with us, and we always make sure our room doesn’t adjoin hers. It sounds like that storm last night—only multiplied times one hundred.”

Maxine hands me my bagel. “I don’t find this topic funny. Occasionally I do have some sinus issues. Perhaps we could talk about something else this morning.”

Setting my plate next to James, I poke him in the ribs. “It was like sleeping in a sawmill.”

“If she could snore her way into heaven . . .” James shakes his head.

“I don’t find this appropriate breakfast time conversation. If I did snore, and I’m
not
saying I do, it is not that loud. Barely a rumble.”

“Like the rumble of a Harley-Davidson convention?” I smirk.

“Good morning.” Millie shuts the back door, entering the kitchen. She lets the dog off the leash, and Rocky, spying Maxine, runs into the living room.

All teasing stops.

I suddenly feel awkward. Do we talk about Millie’s situation? Do we pretend like we’re not all thinking about it? What exactly is the breakfast etiquette for potential cancer conversation?

“Where’ve you been, Mil?” James gets up and takes his wife’s jacket.

“Rocky and I went for a walk. I wanted to see some of the damage in the daylight. We better get on over to the church, James. We need to rally our resources and see what people need.”

“I need a new roommate,” I grumble. “Maxine tried to poison me with prunes this morning.”

“Poison you? I did no such thing. The things this girl says.”

“I could have died.” I look to Millie for support. “From an overdose of . . . fiber.”

Maxine’s glossy pink lips slip into an innocent smile. “Nonsense. And we’re gonna be great roomies. You and me, Katie. We are peas and carrots. Tom and Jerry. Pickles and ice cream.”

I tear into the last bite of bagel. “Tom tried to
eat
Jerry.”

Maxine clears her throat loudly. “So, Millie. When’s that mammogram?”

My eyes bug out of my head. James loses his grip on the paper.

“Well . . . I . . . uh . . . I guess . . .” Millie falters on her way to the fridge. “I haven’t made the appointment yet. It’s only seven. The doctor’s office won’t be open for another thirty minutes.”

Millie gives her mother a warning look then plants a smile on for me. “Did you know school is closed today? Part of the roof was damaged, and it leaked pretty badly overnight.”

“Yes!” I pump my fist in the air. “How bad are we talking here? Like bad as in you need waders to get to class and we’ll be out for the next month? Or bad as in enjoy the day off and see you tomorrow?”

Millie smiles. “It doesn’t look very serious. I’m sure we’ll find out today.” She leans down and kisses her mother’s cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, she did.” I answer. “Now when is she moving to the spare bedroom?”

Silence. “James, you didn’t tell her?” Millie’s eyes soften with sympathy.

My foster dad is suddenly very interested in the classifieds.

“Looking for a job there, James?” I pull the employment section out of his hands and prepare for the bad news.

“Um . . . yes, I was gonna tell you . . . eventually. See . . . we found some leaks in a few rooms. Yup, we’ve got leaks in the downstairs bathroom, the laundry room, the garage, and . . .”

I sigh. “And the guest bedroom.”

Millie pats my hand. “The carpet is pretty wet in there. We’re going to have to get the roof replaced and the flooring cleaned and—”

“And Maxine and I are bunkmates.” My eyes cut to Maxine, and she waggles her manicured eyebrows at me.

“Katie, it’ll be great. You’ll see. You’ll never even know I’m here.”

I accept the inevitable. But not without some ground rules. “You’re not gonna play your Sinatra music on my computer.”

Maxine bobs her head in agreement. “Frank and I could use some time apart.”

“And you’re not washing your Spanx out in my sink.”

“Well, now, really. I have no need of such things, dear,” Maxine says for everyone’s benefit. Then in my ear, “You won’t see a single scrap of spandex.”

“And I’m not getting up and getting you a drink of water every time you ask. Last night was a one-time deal.” The woman can really push it.

Maxine catches her daughter’s disapproving stare and blushes. “Well, my mouth did get a little parched last night. A few times.”

“And you are
not
wearing my shoes.”

My foster parents both bend under the table where I know they will see my most recent pair of vintage heels on the feet of one Maxine Simmons.

Millie rises. “Mom, you don’t even wear the same shoe size as Katie.”

“Roomies are supposed to share things! That’s the fun of it.” Maxine throws an arm around me. “You share your shoes, maybe a blouse or two, and I’ll share my . . . um . . . well, you can wear my . . .”

“Control-top pantyhose?” I throw her arm off and take my plate to the sink. “Fine. Whatever. I’m sure your apartment will be fixed soon anyway.”

I look to my foster parents for confirmation. Millie intensely studies her manicure. James’s eyes are transfixed on the ceiling. Great.

“Well, then I’m sure your room here will be ready in no time.”

Maxine explodes in rusty laughter as she stands beside me. She gives me a smacking kiss on my cheek. “Right. It’ll be ready in no time.” More laughing. “Don’t worry. You won’t even know I’m here. This will be fun.”

This will be fun. Famous last words. Probably what the Wicked Witch of the West said to all her little monkeys.

Things could not get any worse.

T
hings just got
worse.

“Let’s go camping,” James says as soon as I pick up the phone.

My mind races. My foster parents left hours ago when Millie went to get her tests run at the doctor’s office. Do they have bad news? Does he feel like this news could best be delivered over burnt hot dogs and bug zappers? Is he wanting a family getaway so we can be together one last time?

“James . . . where are you? What did you find out?”

“We’re still at the clinic. I’m in the waiting room. But I did find out your school is closed for repairs. A week’s vacation for you Chihuahuas.”