Rock and a Hard Place (9 page)

They talked all evening. Peter’s family
interrupted off and on throughout their marathon conversation.
Somewhere around 2:30 in the morning, their energy began to wane,
so they agreed to hang up and begin again the next day. They would
try texting throughout the day, since she had school.

Libby fell asleep with the phone snuggled up
against her, a symbol of the soul mate she’d found.

# # #

“
Libby, you’re wanted in
the office.” Ms. Dorsett, her Math Chem teacher, held a pink slip
of paper.

Libby closed the heavy text book and grabbed
her papers. As she passed Ms. Dorsett, she took the note. She’d
never been called to the office before and couldn’t imagine why it
happened today. As she walked through the vacant halls, her mind
searched for a reason. Then it hit her.

Dad.

He said he’d be back for her. Finally she
could escape Rockville. She hurried the remainder of the distance.
Wait until he heard about Peter. Libby burst through the office
doors searching for her father’s loving face. He had been her rock
and strength before the accident broke him.

The grey-haired secretary glanced up from
her work. “I’ll be right with you, hon.”

Libby’s heart beat in anticipation. She went
around the corner and peeked into Miss Orman’s office. No Dad
enjoying a nice visit with the counselor while he waited for her.
Miss Orman glanced up from a call, her smile forced.

Libby returned to the main office,
disappointed.

“
Principal Harried will see
you now,” the kind secretary said.

Was her dad in with the principal? Something
didn’t feel right. She moved past the counter and down the short
hall to the open door of the principal’s office. She paused, unsure
if she should knock or walk right in.

“
Ah, Miss Sawyer, please
come in and take seat. Close the door behind you.”

As Libby obeyed, dread pressed in. She shut
the heavy door with a solid click and took a seat in a worn chair
facing the principal’s desk, her hands in her lap.

Principal Harried closed the folder in front
of him and removed his glasses from his pointy nose; his bulging
eyes reminded her of a mouse. The kids called him Rat.

“
It appears we have a
problem.” He leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes,
delaying the news.

Libby gripped her hands. Her mouth went dry
as words eluded her.

“
Last Friday you sold bus
tickets for the away football game. Is that correct?” His eyes
pierced hers.

Oh shit. He knew.

The heat of guilt climbed her neck. “Yes
sir.” She swallowed.

“
One of the women working
in the lunch line saw you take money from the cash box and pocket
it. Is that correct?” He spoke slow and quiet.

More than anything she wanted to lie. The
only time in her life she’d ever taken anything and now she was
caught. Panic hit. Deny it, lie. Don’t admit it. She could taste
the words on the tip of her tongue. She wasn’t a bad person, she
just needed the money.

“
Before you answer, I want
you to know that the same cash box came up short seventeen
dollars.” He tapped his finger against his temple, he had her
cornered.

“
Yes, sir.” She crossed her
arms, hugging herself tight.

“
What was that?” Principal
Rat asked.

“
Yes, sir. I took the
money.” Libby’s head hung low. She never meant anyone to find out.
No wonder she always followed the rules. Breaking them and getting
caught sucked.

“
Would you like to explain
yourself?” He crossed his arms, his voice tight.

“
No, sir,” she
mumbled.

“
Excuse me?” Apparently he
wasn’t used to hearing no.

“
No, sir, I wouldn’t like
to explain.” If she confessed about her CD, he’d ridicule her and
probably take it away.

“
I see.” He rubbed the
bridge of his nose. “Well, young lady, we have zero tolerance for
stealing in this school. Let me spell this out so you understand
the full consequence of your actions. You will serve an in-school
detention, you will return the money and your guardian will be
notified.”

“
Please don’t call her,”
Libby interrupted in a full panic. Calling Aunt Marge was the worst
thing he could do. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t plan to do it. I’ll
do whatever detention you want, but please don’t call
her.”

“
We have strict policies in
this school and perhaps this will help deter you from stealing
again, and I’ve already called her. You can expect to be
disciplined at home as well.”

Why did life always have to be so
complicated? Could nothing ever go her way? How could she go home
and face her aunt? Her belly began to hurt.

“
Miss Orman will oversee
your detention and you can return the money to Mrs. Keller at the
front desk.”

“
I don’t have it any more.
I spent it.”

He leaned back in his chair again, glanced
at her file and sighed a deep breath, clearly annoyed. “I assume
that would explain your unexcused absence Friday afternoon.”

She nodded.

“
Well, we’ll be sure to
find a way for you to work the money off. Let this be a strong
message to you not to repeat your crime. If this should happen
again, you will be looking at a suspension. You may go.”

Chapter 8

Entering the gloomy farmhouse felt like
walking into a prison. Libby always worked hard to avoid
confrontations with Aunt Marge. The woman had a warped sense of
right and wrong. Libby couldn’t figure out where her thinking came
from. Thank God for Peter and her new phone. She texted him
throughout the day and on the bus ride home; it made this crummy
day tolerable. His humor gave her the courage to face Aunt
Marge.

Libby peeked into the filthy living room,
empty except for her aunt’s clutter of beer cans and old copies of
the Enquirer. As quiet as possible she stepped into the kitchen,
then startled.

Aunt Marge closed the fridge and popped open
a beer as she spotted Libby. Her frizzy grey hair stuck out around
her wrinkled face.

“
Well, well, well. The
little criminal shows her face.”

Libby fixed her gaze at the floor hoping to
prevent a fight then slunk over to the stairs. The best solution
was to disappear in her room.

“
Where do you think you’re
going? Get back here. Your principal thinks we need to have a
talk.” She folded her arms across her faded hippy shirt.

Libby lowered her school pack to the floor
and returned to the kitchen doorway.

“
So what do you have to say
for yourself?” Aunt Marge asked with the voice of an evil
witch.

Libby knew a trick question when she heard
it. No matter what she said, it wouldn’t change the temperature of
the hot water she was in.

“
Speak up, don’t play your
shy game with me, I know better.” Aunt Marge leaned against the
counter, which was cluttered with days worth of shriveled up French
fries, piles of dishes with dried ketchup and stacks of junk mail,
sales flyers and unpaid bills.

“
I’m sorry.”

What more could she say? If she had money,
she wouldn’t need to steal. Her parents would have given her an
allowance, or at least let her get a job and earn her own
money.

“
Sorry? Do you really think
you can make this go away with a simple sorry? Hah!” she spat.
“That arrogant principal dared pull me away from my work to preach
about the value of integrity and discipline. He seems to think I
haven’t been firm enough with you.” She glared resentfully at
Libby.

Libby stood silent, waiting for the storm to
hit full force.

“
So what are we gonna do
about this?” Aunt Marge took a drag of her beer; the smell of hops
hung in the air. “Your stealing shows your need for attention. What
was so important you needed seventeen bucks?”

Her aunt eyed her like a cat about to pounce
on a tiny mouse. Libby couldn’t tell her about the Jamieson CD,
she’d take it away or ruin it. No way, the CD belonged to her,
regardless of how she got it. What could she say? Her mind darted
for something, anything to explain it.

“
I bought perfume,” she
blurted. “From the drugstore.” Hopefully that would appease
her.

Aunt Marge’s eyes narrowed. “Perfume, what
for?”

“
I just wanted to smell
good. I always smell like smoke.” Oops.

“
Is that so?” Aunt Marge’s
lip curled in distaste. “You saying it stinks in here?” Libby
watched her aunt peer around the kitchen as if seeing it for the
first time. Piles of dirty clothes stunk in a corner, bags
overflowing with beer cans spilled onto the floor and the kitchen
table strained under the weight of more junk and
clutter.

“
Well, we can’t have your
royal highness unhappy. Tell you what. Since you’re so upset about
the way you smell, this is the perfect time for you to clean up
this place.” A cruel smile appeared on her face.

“
But I have homework.” It
would take hours, maybe days to clean this disaster. Plus she
wanted to get back to Peter.

“
You can start with the
kitchen today and we’ll have you work your way through the house, a
new room every day. You’ll smell fresh and clean like lemon pledge
when you’re done.”

“
But . . .” Libby
interrupted.

“
Uh, uh, uh.” Her aunt
pointed a tobacco stained finger at her. Her voice crooned
innocence, but darkness threatened below the surface. “You are not
in a position to argue. I do not
ever
want to hear the voice of your
principal again. You have a lot of work to do here.” She tilted her
beer can and poured it onto the kitchen floor. “It’s a real mess in
here,” Aunt Marge sneered as she trailed out of the kitchen letting
the remainder of her beer trickle throughout the house as she
went.

# # #

Hours later, Libby was plotting the fifty
ways she’d torture her aunt. One way was to wring the wicked
woman’s neck, but she could never stand getting that close to her.
Rat poison in her beer would be nice, or maybe hit her on the head
with a Bourbon bottle.

Despite her anger, Libby dove into her
punishment with fervor, beginning with the mountain of dirty dishes
and utensils. It took forever, since dried food cemented itself to
the surface of every item. While dishes soaked, she tossed out
half-empty bags of stale doughnuts, fast food bags and dozens of
other partially remaining food items. She wiped up the stained
countertops and returned kitchen items to their rightful place.
Libby looked at the pile of dirty clothes. What did her aunt do?
Strip in the kitchen? She took them to the laundry room, then
hauled several loads of trash out to the burner behind the
house.

The room began to resemble a normal kitchen,
except the table still overflowed with god knew what. It surprised
Libby the pride she felt cleaning up the pig sty. She dragged the
trash bin to the table and took a seat. Libby began to sort through
the piles. She tossed newspapers and junk mail, discovered more
dirty dishes and coffee cups as well as a long forgotten loaf of
bread growing penicillin for anyone brave enough to touch it. She
scooped the bread into the trash bag with a newspaper.

She stacked bills and unopened mail in a
growing pile, then grabbed another empty envelope. As she tossed it
in the trash, something caught her eye. She paused, and stared down
at the familiar handwriting on the envelope. Her heart raced as she
reached in and retrieved it.

Libby Sawyer.

Her name was printed on the envelope in her
father’s neat penmanship. He wrote her. Libby’s breath caught in
her throat. He hadn’t forgotten her. She looked inside, but the
envelope was empty. She scanned the messy table for the letter then
returned to the envelope. The postmark read May 16th, Atlanta,
Georgia.

Atlanta? Why was he in Atlanta? Thoughts
rushed through her mind. Did he have a new job there? Did he live
there? Was he coming to get her soon?

Libby set the precious envelope aside and
turned back to the mountain of trash on the table before her. She
rifled through it, tossing odd items to the floor, heedless to the
new mess she created. Where was the letter? Her urgency grew as her
fingers touched item after item.

Hidden under a plate of fossilized pizza,
Libby discovered another envelope. This one contained a letter. Her
heart soared as she pulled out the single sheet and read.

Dear Libby

I hope this letter finds you happy in
Rockville, enjoying the carefree days of high school. I’m sorry I’m
not there for you, but losing your mother and Sarah has sent me to
a painful place I don’t know how to escape.

The last months I’ve driven the back roads
of the south, trying to find myself and make sense of all that has
happened. One day we had it all and the next it was gone. No one
ever taught me how to survive such loss. Part of me wishes to see
you again, but the other part knows that every time I look at you,
I will see your mother looking back. It breaks my heart. Please
forgive your old man for his weakness.

Here are a few dollars, go out with your
friends and catch a movie or buy something nice. God knows you
deserve better.

Dad

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She traced his
signature with her finger. Touching the ink was the closest she
could get to him. Didn’t he want her anymore? Libby picked up the
envelope and flipped it over. The faded postmark read Tatum, New
Mexico, June 29th. Where was that? She’d never head of such a
place. He had abandoned her at Aunt Marge’s. How could he do that
to her when she needed him so much?