Paper Things (15 page)

We haven’t had dinner, but we are on our way to Lighthouse anyway; West only works until eight and it must be getting close to that now.

About half a block away from Lighthouse, we stop in front of a parking garage so that Gage can call West. Only, for whatever reason, West doesn’t answer. Gage tries again. Nothing.

“What’s tonight?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. “West should be working.”

Sleet starts to fall. I pull up my hood. My toes, especially the ones in the flappy shoe, are numb. I jump up and down to wake them back up. I’m hungry, but I don’t say so. I wonder what the snack will be at Lighthouse tonight. I might ask West if he can grab me two shares before he leaves. That will make Gage mad, but I don’t care; I was so busy making snowflakes that I hardly ate anything at Head Start.

“Arianna!” a man’s voice calls from across the street.

I look around to see who might be calling me. For a moment, I’m convinced that this has something to do with West, that we’re in trouble for trying to sneak into Lighthouse, though I know that’s crazy.

And then I see who it is. Reggie, the airplane man, waves to me from across the street. Amelia is with him and she wags her tail when she sees me.

How lucky is this? “Hey, Reggie!” I call. “I was hoping to see you! I have something for you!”

Reggie crosses the street, and I try to introduce him to Gage, but Gage is concentrating on his frantic texting.

In a confetti toss of words, I tell Reggie about his plane, the cupola, Gage’s new job, and Fran’s bike plane, but he notices my teeth chattering and interrupts me to ask where we’re headed. “I could walk with you while you tell me the whole story,” he says.

“We’re kind of hoping to stay there,” I say, pointing to the shelter. But I can tell from Gage’s eyes that he heard me and he wants me to shut up.

“Shelter full?” Reggie asks when Gage finally looks up from his phone.

Gage nods. I wonder what the real story is.

“Look,” says Reggie, “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I’ve got a place you can stay tonight. It’s not the Taj Mahal, it’s not even Motel Six, but it’s warm.”

“We appreciate the offer, sir,” Gage starts to say, pulling his wool cap down lower. But Reggie interrupts him.

“You’d actually be doing me a favor. I’m hoping to stay at the men’s shelter tonight — have a shower and maybe watch a little TV — but they don’t allow dogs. If you could stay at my place and watch Amelia for me, I’d be grateful.”

I look at Gage with pleading eyes, but he hesitates.

“It’s pretty modest,” Reggie says apologetically. “There isn’t even a proper bathroom, though I make do with a camping toilet. But it’s dry and warm and no one will bother you.” He goes on to explain that the place he rents is a heated storage unit down on Marginal Way. “I moved all my stuff in when I lost the house,” he says. “It’s a little crowded, but I’ve managed to set it up almost like an apartment.”

“And you’re not planning to stay there tonight?” Gage asks, sounding almost suspicious. I want to scold him for being so rude, but I remind myself that he doesn’t know Reggie and Amelia like I do. Besides, Gage has never been one for trusting new people.

“I will if I have to,” Reggie says. “I can’t very well abandon this old girl,” he says, reaching down to scratch Amelia behind the ears. “But I had been looking forward to that shower and to seeing some of my buddies at the shelter.”

The wind picks up speed, and the sleet hits my face like a million tiny pinpricks. Finally I can’t take it any longer. “Please say yes!” I shout, tugging on Gage’s arm. “Please?”

Gage looks down at me, shrugs, and mutters, “OK, then. Thanks.”

We follow Reggie across town to the storage units. First Reggie has to tap a code on a keypad clipped to a tall metal fence. After we go through the gate in the fence, he has to type the code into a box outside the door of a
très
big brick building, which looks kind of like a garage. Once we’re inside, he leads us down a brightly lit hall of shed doors until we arrive at number 26. Then he taps in another code, and the door opens to reveal . . . boxes. All I can see is a wall of boxes. Boxes that seem to go all the way up to the tall ceiling.

I try to hide my disappointment, because I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I think Reggie was stretching the truth quite a bit to describe this place as apartment-like. To me it just looks like a storage shed. A very crowded storage shed.

But then Amelia leads us on a small path through the boxes — a path I hadn’t even seen. Reggie motions for us to follow her, and so we do, and lo and behold, we come out into a long, skinny room set up just like an apartment!

Along the wall to the left is a camp cot. Next to the cot is a nightstand with a big flashlight on it, and beside that, a camouflage-print dog bed. Along the wall to the right is a long, narrow table. On the table is a plastic jug of water, a small coffeemaker, a cooking burner, and a toaster oven. Next to the table is a little refrigerator, the kind you see in back-to-school flyers advertising stuff for dorm rooms. On top of the refrigerator is a cooking pot, a cup and plate, and a pitcher full of cooking utensils. In the middle of the room sits a handsome coffee table. Right now, there’s a model airplane being built on the coffee table — a plastic one, not a paper one. Reggie sure has a thing for planes.

A camping porta potty sits in the corner at the foot of the bed. “Like I said, it’s pretty modest.” Reggie sounds almost embarrassed.

“It’s
wonderful
!” I say. Amelia wags her tail in agreement.

Reggie blushes and takes a mattress pad from a box and places it on the floor. He also retrieves a rolled-up sleeping bag and a few quilts, which he tosses onto the cot. “You guys hungry? I’ve got corned-beef hash or tuna noodles.”

I nod, eager to see Reggie prepare a meal in this secret house. But Gage bristles.

“Hey, man,” Gage says. “You don’t have to feed us, too.”

“It’s my pleasure,” says Reggie. “I’d rather eat with the two of you than some of the slobs at the shelter.” He winks at me, and I smile in return.

While Reggie mixes up the Tuna Helper, he tells me where to dig for more dishes and cups. Mixed in among the boxes are a bicycle tire and pump, a pair of ski boots, and a plastic sled. The boxes themselves are filled with tools, pictures in frames, and candles. The candles make me think of electricity, and when I ask about it, Gage points out the outlet on the overhead light that powers this room.

“This place is great!” I say. “How much does it cost a month?”

“Ari,” Gage snaps.

But Reggie doesn’t seem to mind the question. “It’s cheaper than renting an apartment,” he says, “even Section Eight. But I don’t recommend living in a storage unit if you can help it. It’s hard to live without plumbing. Besides, it’s technically against the law for me to sleep here. But it’s against the law for me to sleep in the park or at the bus station, too, so what’re you gonna do when the shelters are full?” he asks with a shrug.

“What’s Section Eight?” I ask.

Gage speaks up. “It’s like that apartment we saw tonight — units that are set aside for people who income-qualify.”

I want to ask Reggie why he isn’t living in the house where all this furniture came from, but I’m worried the question is too rude, and I don’t want him to change his mind about letting us stay here.

Instead, I polish off my Tuna Helper and pull Fran’s bicycle ad out of my backpack — along with her three dollars — and ask Reggie if he would make her an airplane, too. I tell him again about the wish I made on my plane and how it came true.

“She’s paying me to make her a paper airplane?”

“Yup,” I say. “But if you don’t want to —”

“Oh, I don’t mind doing it, and the money will come in handy for dog food.” He hands me back a dollar. “This one’s for you, though,” he says. “For being my business partner.”

I shake my head. “Oh, no. She wanted you to have it.”

“But I wouldn’t have this job if not for you. You were the one who told your friend about the plane I gave you, and you were the one who came up with the idea of making a wishing plane.”

I look at Gage, who nods that it’s OK. “Thanks,” I say, reluctantly taking the dollar. I can’t help remembering that Reggie needed money for Amelia and wonder how he bought the tuna and how he pays the rent for his storage unit.

“Disability check,” says Reggie, as if he’s reading my mind. He begins to fold Fran’s plane. “I get a check each month, but it’s not enough to make it through thirty days.”

“Were you in the service?” Gage asks.

Reggie nods. “Air force. A pilot.”

“Our dad was in the army,” Gage says.

“He was killed in Afghanistan,” I say.

Reggie nods. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Did you lose your house because of your disability?” Gage asks.

Now it’s
my
turn to shoot
him
a look for being too nosy.

But again Reggie doesn’t seem to mind the question. He hands me Fran’s plane and says, “Yeah. You might say my disability led to the loss of a lot of things.” Reggie is quiet, but then he looks up and smiles. “But I’m luckier than a lot of folks, and you can be sure I’m grateful for all that I’ve got — like new friends.” He raises his cup of water to us.

“To new friends,” Gage and I say together.

After dinner, Reggie takes Amelia for a short walk and then says he’ll be leaving for the shelter now but that he’ll be back in the morning to pick up his girl.

He shows us how to keep the door locked from the inside, and then gives Gage the security codes to put in his phone, cautioning us not to leave without them.

After Reggie leaves, I call dibs on the mattress pad so I can cuddle with Amelia all night. There’s no better feeling than looking into a dog’s eyes. It’s like they fetch all the love you can possibly throw out and then they give it back to you. That, and they seem to know all your secrets.

“Can we get a dog?” I ask. “When we get an apartment? It doesn’t have to be a big dog like Amelia; it can be small like Leroy.”

“No way,” says Gage. “You heard Reggie. Dog food is expensive . . . and dogs need licenses and shots and a bunch of other stuff, too.”

“But I’m collecting change —”

“Do you have homework tonight?” Gage interrupts. I can tell that he’s tired and not in any mood to argue.

I do, but I lie. I’m tired, too. Too tired to work on my report, too tired to do my math, too tired even to play Paper Things. Besides, I’ve started rubbing Amelia’s belly, and now she won’t let me stop.

Gage turns out the light, and as I lie back on the mattress pad, I remember that I don’t have a clean shirt in my backpack. My already-dirty shirt probably smells even worse after all the running around we did today. I guess that’s another downside of living in a storage unit — no washing machine.

“No clean shirt tomorrow,” I whisper to Amelia in the dark. It’s just one more secret to her.

“You can wear the white one Briggs loaned me,” Gage says, apparently still awake. “The one I wore to my interview.”

“It’ll be huge!” I say.

“It won’t be
that
big. Wear it under your Tigers vest. It will look cute,” he says. “I promise.”

What choice do I really have? I can’t very well wear a smelly shirt to school again, not after all the nasty comments Sasha and Linnie made last time. Though I’m sure I’ll get an earful about how silly I look wearing a man’s shirt.

Sometimes there’s just no winning,
I think at Amelia, rubbing her belly till my eyes drift shut.

Gage’s new phone rings at some ridiculously early hour — or at least I think it’s a ridiculously early hour; who can tell when you’re sleeping in a box without windows?

“Who?” growls Gage into the phone.

I think it’s a wrong number, but then he hands the phone to me.

“Hello?”

It’s Daniel. “Have you looked outside?”

“No, I —”

“It’s snowing!”

In Maine, snow in April, especially at the beginning of the month, is no big deal. I remember one time we got snow in June. So it takes me a moment or two to realize what he’s suggesting.

“Will we be ready?” I ask. “I made some snowflakes yesterday at Head Start, but probably only fifty or so.”

“That’s perfect! I made a bunch last night, too. I think we must have known snow was coming!”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say, though really, I was just happy to have a new activity to share with the Starters.

“Can you meet me at the school in half an hour?” Daniel says. “That should give us plenty of time to set things up.”

“What time is it, anyway?” I ask, glancing at Gage, who is moaning under his pillow.

“Six. Let’s hope the building opens this early, or we’re sunk.”

Gage isn’t too keen on letting me leave the warehouse without him — though it’s far too early for him to show up at work. He offers to walk me to the bus stop, but I remind him that we can’t leave Amelia alone in the storage unit (if she barked or howled, she’d be discovered and taken away from Reggie — and he’d probably lose the storage unit, too), and Reggie might be really upset if he got back and not only were we gone but so was his dog. “Besides,” I add, “I’m eleven. That’s old enough to walk to the bus stop by myself.”