Pieces of Me (6 page)

I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Okay, what the heck should I do? Tell Dylan to get in the van and stay there till his mother came back? Take both kids to the Honda?

Dylan reached over and slid his hand into mine. It struck me that to him, I was a grown-up who could fix everything. Right. I was sleeping in a car and keeping my money in the bottom of my shoe.

His little hand was warm in mine. “Dylan, what kind of an owie did Summer have?” I asked.

“I dunno,” he said.

“Did she fall?”

He shook his head. “No. But she cried a lot last night and she kept pulling at her ear. Do you think her ear is broken?”

I shook my head. “No. I think she just needs some medicine to make her feel better.” It was Saturday night. Dylan's mom had probably taken the baby to the emergency room. It could be hours before she came back. Why hadn't she taken the other two kids with her?

“Dylan, how come you stayed here?” I asked.

He made a face and looked at me like I was stupid. “I told you, I'm babysitting Luke,” he said hotly.

“I know,” I said.

“And Daddy is bringing supper. Do you think he'll be here soon? I'm hungry.”

Daddy
? I'd figured Dylan's mom was all by herself with the kids. There was a dad? So where the heck was he?

“Was Daddy here when your mom took Summer to get her owie fixed?”

He kicked a rock under the van and bent to see where it went.

“Dylan,” I said.

“Daddy was supposed to be the babysitter, but he said I'm a big boy and I could do it.” His voice was muffled against the front of his jacket.

I blew out a breath. Even at her worst, my mother had never left me by myself. I looked around uncertainly. Dylan was on his hands and knees, peering under the old van. Then I spotted Q. He had just crossed the street and was coming up the grass to the parking lot. He was carrying a cardboard pizza box. I stepped out away from the van and waited for him to look in my direction. When he did, I waved, and he changed direction.

“Stay there,” I said to Dylan. I took a few steps forward to meet Q.

He looked from me to the van and back again. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Remember I told you about meeting that mom and her kids a few days ago?”

He nodded slowly.

I could smell the pizza, and my stomach rumbled with hunger. “Well, two of the kids are here.”

Dylan had gotten up and was standing by the front wheel of the van, watching us.

“Where's their mother?” Q asked.

“I'm guessing the emergency room. It sounds like the baby has an ear infection.”

Q put a hand on top of his head. “And she left two kids here.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “As far as I can figure out, the dad left them here by themselves.” I tipped my head toward Dylan. “That's Dylan. His little brother is asleep in the van. He says his dad went to get supper and left him ‘babysitting.' ”

Q's mouth pulled into a thin, tight line. “Shit,” he muttered.

“What do I do?” I asked. “I can't leave them here.”

“It's okay,” Q said. “You said the kid's name is Dylan?”

I nodded.

He leaned around me and smiled at the little boy. “Hi, Dylan. I'm Maddie's friend, Q.”

“Q isn't a name,” Dylan said. “It's a letter.
Q
,
R
,
S
,
T
,
U
,
V
.”

“You're right,” Q said. “But it can be a name too. You know, I knew somebody once whose name was Seven.”

Dylan scrunched up his nose. “That's just silly,” he said.

Q nodded. “That's what I thought.”

“Is that pizza?” Dylan asked.

“Uh-huh,” Q said. “You hungry?”

“I'm not supposed to take stuff from people I don't know.”

Right. Teach the kid not to take stuff from people he doesn't know, and then go leave him in the parking lot at the mall. There was good parenting.

“That's a really good rule,” Q said. “So I'm going to get Maddie to give you a piece of pizza, because you know her.”

That seemed to make sense to Dylan. Q pulled some napkins out of his pocket, and I opened the pizza box and pulled out a slice, setting it on a couple of the paper napkins. I handed it to Dylan. “Be careful,” I warned him. “It's hot.”

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said.

I watched him take a careful bite from the end and, for a second, I almost burst into tears.

Q fished a small bottle of water out of his other pocket and handed it to me. I unscrewed the top and gave Dylan a drink. Again he thanked me.

I leaned over to check on his little brother in the front seat. He was still asleep. My stomach made another loud rumble.

“Have something to eat, Maddie,” Q said softly. “It doesn't do the kid or anyone else any good for you to go hungry.”

He handed me a couple of napkins and I pulled apart two slices, one for myself and one for him. I squatted down next to Dylan and ate mine. Q put the pizza box on the hood of the van and leaned against the side to eat his.

I was wiping sauce of Dylan's face when his father came back. “Hey!” he shouted. “What the hell are you doing with my van?”

Not
What are you doing with my kid?,
but
What are you
doing with my van?
I felt my chest tighten, and at the same time I put an arm around Dylan, who was looking wide-eyed and scared in his father's direction.

Q pushed himself upright. “Stay here,” he said quietly. He stepped forward to intercept Dylan's dad, standing with his feet apart and his hands in his pockets.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” the man said. He made a move to get around Q, who stepped in front of him and put out his hand.

I couldn't hear what Q was saying, but even from the back, I could see the tension in his body. He was maybe a bit taller than Dylan's dad, and I got the sense if it came to a fight, Q would win. Now there was a good idea, them getting into a fight while Dylan watched.

“My dad's mad,” Dylan said softly.

I gave his shoulders a squeeze. “I think he was just worried about you and your brother.”

He shook his head and stared at his feet. “No, it's my fault. I was supposed to stay in the van.”

I didn't know what to say, so I gave him another squeeze.

In a minute or so, Q turned around and he and Dylan's dad walked over to us. “Maddie,” Q said. “This is Michael.”

“Hi,” I said. Michael was a bit heavier than Q, with short dirty-blond hair and a couple of days' stubble. He had the same blue-gray eyes as Dylan, but there was a mean glint to Michael's gaze. Or maybe I just thought that because I already didn't like him. I kept my arm around Dylan. I'd decided if his father did anything mean, I was going to scoop the kid up and run like hell.

Michael looked at Dylan. “Is your brother still sleeping?” Dylan nodded. Michael shot Q a quick sideways glance, no more than a flick of his eyes. I probably wouldn't have seen it if I hadn't been watching his face so closely. Michael leaned toward Dylan, who leaned back against me just a little. “You did good,” he said.

“I did?” Dylan looked up at me for confirmation, and I nodded slightly.

I noticed then that Michael was carrying fast food. At the same time it was registering that it shouldn't have taken so long for him to go get some greasy hamburgers, I realized I could smell alcohol on the man. He'd been somewhere for a drink. Or two. He was a crappy father cliché.

Michael handed the bag to Dylan. “Here,” he said. “Wake your brother up and give him something to eat.”

Dylan took the food, at the same time reaching for my hand and squeezing it. I squeezed back, then opened the door and helped him climb into the driver's seat of the van.

“See you, Maddie,” he whispered.

“See you,” I whispered back.

I turned around to find Michael watching me and Q watching him.

“You know my wife,” Michael said. He didn't look like he smiled much.

“A little,” I said.

“Man, I'm sorry about the misunderstanding,” Q said.

“It's just, Maddie loves kids.”

“Shit, you want one?” Michael asked. “You can't get a break, you know?” He wiped a hand across his face. “First I lose my job, and then the kids need so goddamn much crap, you know? You have any idea what diapers and all that shit cost?”

“Lucky for me, I don't,” Q said.

What the heck was he talking about? I shot him a glare, but his expression didn't change.

I saw Q look to see if the kids were okay in the van. “We gotta get going,” he said to Michael. “You need a babysitter, like I said, Maddie loves kids.” He reached for my hand. I grabbed the pizza box, thinking I was going to beat the crap out of Q with it the first chance I got.

“And sorry about before,” Q added.

Michael shrugged. “Not a problem.”

Q and I walked away, and I waited until we were out of sight of the van before I stopped and let go of his hand. “What was all that crap?” I said. “That guy's a jerk.”

“I know,” Q said evenly.

I glared at him. One of my hands was clenched in my pocket. The other was crushing the pizza box. “You know? So what was all that ‘Maddie loves kids' and ‘Sorry about before'?”

Q started walking again, and I had to scramble after him. “Maddie, if I get into a pissing contest with that guy, who do you think's gonna pay for it?”

I had to take a bunch of deep breaths before I could say anything. “You think he'd…” I couldn't finish the sentence.

“I know he would,” Q said. “Better he thinks he got the better of me than he thinks he looked like a fool.”

I looked back over my shoulder. “We can't leave them with him.”

Q caught my arm. “Yes, we can. He's their father.”

I tried to pull away, but Q held on to me. “He left two little kids by themselves. And don't say you didn't smell him, Q.”

“Let it be, Maddie,” Q said. “I know Michael was drinking. I know everything someone like Michael does. Believe me. But he's their dad, and you're just a kid living on the street. Who do you think anyone's gonna believe?”

I finally yanked my arm out of Q's grip, but I didn't bolt back to the van. “So I'm just supposed to do nothing?” I blinked a couple of times because all of a sudden there was something in my eye.

“No. We're going to be here for a few days, and so are they. You heard me tell him you could babysit.”

“Yeah.”

“So maybe you'll get the chance. And maybe you'll be able to find out how Michael treats the kids.”

I looked at him then. He was rubbing a hand up and down his arm. “Look, Maddie, I don't want to see those kids with a dad who…” He shook his head and didn't finish. “But taking them away and putting them in foster care? That's sending them to hell.”

I turned away, scraping my shoe on the ground.

“Let's go back to the car,” Q said.

We walked the rest of the way to the Honda, which was parked about three quarters of the way down the row of trailers, tucked in between a big
RV
and a much smaller Volkswagen van. I got in the passenger side, leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes. Q took the pizza box out of my hands and set it on the dashboard.

“I hate not being able to do anything,” I said.

“So someday you'll become a doctor, and you
will
be able to do something.”

“That's too far away.”

I could hear Q moving in the driver's seat, probably trying to get his long legs into a comfortable position. “Dylan knows he can trust you,” he said finally. “That's something.”

I thought about all the adults in my life. My mother. The guidance counselor who'd shaken her head when I'd said I wanted to be a doctor. Evan. Maybe Q was right. Maybe Dylan's knowing he could count on me was something. I opened my eyes.

Q was sitting cross-legged on the seat watching me. “You all right?” he asked.

I nodded.

He gave the pizza box a poke. “You want a slice? It's cold and probably stuck to the cardboard. Yummy!” He did the spazzy eyebrow thing.

That made me laugh, even though I didn't feel like it. “Okay,” I said.

Q opened the mashed-in lid of the box and got a piece of pizza for each of us. The cheese was chewy, kind of like a pencil eraser, and the crust was soggy. “Yummy,” I said to Q, mimicking his eyebrow thing. That got me a smile.

After we ate, Q collected the garbage. “You're a good person too, Q,” I said quietly.

He stopped but didn't say anything, I reached out and caught his hand. He gave it a quick squeeze, the way I'd done with Dylan, and then he got out of the car.

six

When I woke up, I could hear Q moving in the backseat.

“Hey, I'm sorry,” he said. “Did I wake you up?”

I pushed my hair back out of my eyes and sat up. “Nah, my arm's all weird.” I stuck out my right arm, rolling it from the shoulder until it made a loud snap.

Q shuddered.

One of my blankets had slipped to the floor. I opened the car door and got out, stretching my arms over my head. Q climbed out of the backseat. “If you make that noise again, I'll puke,” he warned.

“You're such a wussy boy,” I teased.

“I'm not a wussy boy,” he said. “With those shoulders, you should be in a freak show.”

“How do you know I wasn't?”

He laughed. “You win. I got nothing.” Then his face got serious. “We'll have to go to Tim's to get cleaned up. They don't open the mall until eleven.”

“I'll buy you a breakfast sandwich,” I said. He started to object, but I held up a hand. “It's my bottle money, and besides, you got the pizza last night.”