Shadow Girl (8 page)

Eileen was staring at her.

Stop it! I’m not some freak! All I want is to go back home. Be with my dad. Don’t you understand?

“I know how hard all this must be. You might blame yourself for what’s happened. But that would be wrong. I know you love your father and he loves you, but you deserve to be a child and to not have to worry about all the things you’ve had to worry about. You don’t deserve to be afraid or hurt or alone. No one does.”

I’ve never hurt this much, and I’ve got a lot more to worry about now
.

“Why can’t I just be with him?”

“We’re going to work hard to make that happen. I’ll be meeting with your father right away to talk over everything and see how we can get you back together. Your dad and I also have to go to family court.”

“Court?”

Court equals police equals arrest equals prison
.

What have I done?

“Please, don’t be upset, Jules. Family court’s not
what you think. I’ll explain more about it as we drive to the foster home. I’m going to take you there now.”

Am I supposed to say yes?

“I wish I could have set up a visit with your dad sooner, but it’s a hectic time for everybody – the foster parents, the Chapmans, in particular. And your father’s not … at your place. So he’ll be coming over around eleven-thirty Christmas morning. After Mass. Everything’s all arranged with the Chapmans, and he’ll stay for about two hours. But he can phone you anytime, Jules. He said he’s going to call tonight around seven.”

“Why can’t I just go home?”

It was Eileen’s turn to look as if she didn’t know what to say. “Your dad … he said that he’s moving, and –”

Moving? Hell!

“We’ve had to move before,” Jules interrupted. “Lots. We can find a place.”

“He’s staying at his friend Tracie’s for now.”

Who’s Tracie?

“So this is the best we could work out until he’s more settled.”

Christmas is over. Over
.

“I have a few days off for the holidays, Jules, but next week, I’d like to plan for us to talk again.”

Don’t bother
.

Eileen tried to talk about court again, about what would happen there, but Jules stopped listening.
Eileen changed the subject to school and friends.

School and friends don’t matter. I want my dad
.

“Here we are.”

Eileen parked the car in front of a red-brick, two-storey home on Botfield Avenue, not far from Our Lady of Peace school. It was a large house with big windows surrounded by elaborate white wooden shutters. Evergreens grew on either side of the house, and burlap covered the front yard’s small shrubs.

I’m not getting out of the car
.

After her experience at Mrs. Currie’s, Jules didn’t want to be in any foster home. Getting out of the car meant she agreed with being in one, meant she agreed with what was happening to her.

But after five hundred times saying no to Eileen, Jules finally got out of the car.

Eileen was a good person, Jules could tell. But she could make her voice and words commanding, like a teacher’s, and Jules knew she had to obey.

She followed Eileen up the five concrete steps that led to the small open porch. Eileen rang the doorbell.

An older woman answered it. “Oh, hi. C’mon in. Is this Jules? How
are
you? I’m Mrs. Chapman. Good to have you.”

Mrs. Chapman was a short and stocky woman who spoke in a singsongy, happy voice. She had a bright smile on her face – but it disappeared as soon
the introductions were over. Her short white hair was tightly permed, and she wore a striped housedress in pink, green, and gold.

“The girls are out shopping. They’ll be back in the afternoon, so that gives us time to get you settled,” she said as she bent down and pushed her face close to Jules.

“The girls” better not be elementary school students
.

“So this is our home. We’re busy with Christmas, of course, but we’re happy to have you,” Mrs. Chapman said cheerfully as they entered the hallway.

“I’m so glad you could manage it, Eleanor,” said Eileen.

“Yes, well … in one door and out the other. That’s usually how it goes. We’re used to it.” Mrs. Chapman turned to Jules. “All right, hon. Let’s just put your things in your room, and I’ll show you around quickly. Okay?”

Okay, okay, okay! Can’t I ever say no?

Mrs. Chapman led them around, upstairs and down, talking nonstop. Jules’s “room” was on the second floor. The girls’ bedroom was beside it. Mr. and Mrs. Chapman’s bedroom was on the main floor.

“Eleanor,” said Eileen after the tour, “I have to go soon.”

“Sure thing. Start putting your things away, Jules, while I talk to Eileen for a minute.”

Eileen turned to Jules. “If you have any problem, you can call me at this number.” She gave Jules her card. “Or just let Mrs. Chapman know what it is,
and she’ll help you with it or get in touch with me.” She gave Jules a hug and said good-bye.

Jules carried her small suitcase up to the bedroom she’d been assigned. It was bright and sunny. Spotlessly clean. Smelly clean. Old-fashioned flowered curtains framed the window, which faced the house next door. It gave a partial view of the street. A crib was against the opposite wall. There was a large empty closet, a small rocking chair in one corner, and a battered dresser. The bed had a large wooden headboard, and a worn white bedspread covered the small mattress. A doll rested on top of a pillow. Not a play doll. It was made of cloth, a Raggedy Ann.

Jules heard Eileen say good-bye to Mrs. Chapman.

I’m back with strangers. Although Eileen’s a stranger, too
.

Mrs. Chapman came upstairs and stood in the doorway. “All right,” she said in a businesslike way, looking around. “Oh, shoot. Forgot about that crib. We usually have much younger kids. I’ll get Mr. Chapman to move it to the basement later. Now, let’s see what you’ve done. Hmm. Why don’t we arrange your clothes a bit better? We’ll put some in the closet, others in the dresser.”

I don’t want to put anything away
.

“Now, have a seat there on the bed,” Mrs. Chapman said once the clothes were unpacked. “I’ll run through a few things. It’s as good a time as any, isn’t it? We’ve got some basic house rules I’d like you to
obey.” She took a deep breath. “No helping yourself to food in the fridge or cupboards, no staying up late, no making a mess in your room – or anywhere else in the house, for that matter. Friends can’t come around without permission, and there’s no going anywhere on your own without checking with me. And no going into anybody else’s bedroom or messing around with my daughters’ things.”

What
can
I do?

“They’re such busy girls. Marilyn’s fourteen and Veronica’s sixteen,” Mrs. Chapman said with obvious pride. “And with schoolwork, clubs, friends – well, they don’t need us bothering them, do they? And I expect you to help out with chores. Just like my girls. Like any member of the family.” Mrs. Chapman looked at her watch. “Right. Almost lunchtime. Let’s go downstairs and get something to eat.”

Mrs. Chapman made Jules a sandwich and some soup, but Jules found it hard to swallow. While Jules was eating, Mrs. Chapman went to the basement and brought up a few books and games.

“Something to read and play to pass the time. Most of it’s old stuff the girls don’t want.”

When Jules had finishing eating, she reluctantly picked up the pile of books and games and went upstairs.

Around three o’clock, she heard a door slam.

“Hey, Mom, we’re home!”

“Jules! Jules!” Mrs. Chapman called. “Why don’t
you come down? I’d like you to meet Veronica and Marilyn.”

Marilyn was taller and thinner than her sister, even though she was younger. They both had big, backcombed hairdos and wore lots of makeup. Their duffle coats were open, so Jules could see the puffy mohair sweaters and pleated skirts they were wearing.

“Hi,” they said together.

“This is Jules.”

“Neat name,” Marilyn said.

“Do you kids want to watch TV together?”

“No, Mom,” Veronica said. “We’ve got to wrap Christmas gifts.”

“Okay. Dinner’ll be early today. Right after Dad gets home.”

“Why don’t you watch TV, Jules, while I make dinner?” Mrs. Chapman asked as she watched her daughters head upstairs.

Anything to feel normal
.

Sitting in one corner of the big sofa in the living room, though, Jules felt anything but.

This can’t be happening
.

Mr. Chapman came home at four-thirty. He was short and stocky, too, with a bald head and pleasant face. He wore a simple suit and tie. “Welcome, welcome,” he said to her quickly as he popped into the living room and popped out again.

He must be used to having strange kids in the house ’cause he’s sure not surprised to see me
.

After a few minutes, he came back to the living room wearing an old check shirt and faded black slacks. Without saying anything more to Jules, he started reading the newspaper. Jules kept her eyes on the TV.

Across from her, in the huge front window, stood a large aluminum Christmas tree. Mrs. Chapman had told Jules they put it there so that people on the street could see it lit up at night. It was adorned with only blue lights and golden bells, but the rest of the room was decorated with Christmas knickknacks of every size, shape, and color. A dish on the coffee table held hard Christmas candies.

It’s like being inside a Christmas display window in a department store
.

At dinner, in between eating mouthfuls of meat-loaf, Marilyn and Veronica asked Jules what grade she was in and what kids and teachers she knew at school. Nobody asked about her family or her dad, as if they already knew. Jules didn’t want to talk about her cruddy life, but not talking about it made her feel like she didn’t have one.

Veronica left the table quickly after dinner to get ready for a Christmas party.

Marilyn sulked in the living room because she wasn’t going to one of her own.

Mr. Chapman watched TV.

Mrs. Chapman washed the dishes.

Jules stood in the kitchen like a piece of furniture and dried them.

Six-thirty.

Dad. Can you forgive me?

Six-forty.

Please don’t be mad
.

She forced herself to watch TV when the dishes were done.

Please call, Dad
.

“Jules! It’s your father!”

The phone hung on a wall in the kitchen. Jules managed to walk there without breaking apart.

“Dad?” She could barely get the word out.

“Don’t cry, honey. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Dad, oh, Dad –”

“I know, Jules. I know, hon. I’m sorry.”

He’d never said sorry to her before. She couldn’t breathe.

“C’mon, Jules. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“I want to come home, Dad.”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

Jules held on to the phone cord as she sank to the floor. Her cries were catching in her throat.

“Enough, hon. This is just a huge mix-up, you know? I mean, you’ve been on your own before. I knew that.” The sadness in his voice was thinning out. “I don’t believe what’s happened. I just don’t. What business does anybody have calling Children’s Aid? You didn’t steal anything, did you?”

“No, Dad. Never. I’d never do that.”

“So why’d somebody call? I don’t get it. And why at the plaza?”

I can’t tell you
.

“One day … one day, Dad, I didn’t go to school. Maybe –” She didn’t know how to finish.

I’m going to throw up
.

Her dad didn’t seem to know that Mrs. Adamson had been the one to call.

“Geez, you’ve always been okay on your own. Weren’t you, Jules? You’re a big girl.”

That wasn’t the problem
.

“Yeah, Dad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Words and cries came out together.

“I know you can look after yourself. Hey, you’re almost twelve, for God’s sake. Jules, you still there? Jules!”

“Yes.”

“C’mon, honey. Calm down.”

“I’m trying.”

I need to know. I need to ask him
.

“Where were you, Dad?”

“Didn’t they tell you?”

“You were at Hank’s, then somebody else’s.”

“Yeah, you know how it is. Been away lots of weekends.”

You didn’t want to come home
.

“But there was a party, and I met somebody,” he went on quickly. “Thought I’d just stay with her a day or two. Her name’s Tracie. And before you know
it … geez. I get home, you’re not there, and social workers are after me. Christ! Here I am talking to you at some goddamn stranger’s place!” Then lower, softer, he added, “Are they treating you okay?”

Please take me away from here
.

“Answer me, Jules.”

“Where are you now, Dad?”

There was a moment of silence. “Tracie’s. I guess the social worker … what’s her name?”

“Eileen.”

“She told you I came here, right?”

“She said you called her from home.”

“It’s so weird, don’t you think? I never heard of kids getting picked up by Children’s Aid at a department store.”

“I didn’t mean it to happen.”

He let out a long, deep sigh. “Well, what’s done is done. Here they are thinking you’re all by yourself. And as if that isn’t bad enough, now the greedy landlord’s squawkin’ at me ’cause I can’t pay the rent. I gotta be out of our place on New Year’s Eve, if you can believe it. Good riddance is all I can say. Right, Jules? I mean, it wasn’t the best place to live, eh?”

“No.”

“So … I’m gonna stay here for a while.”

“At Tracie’s?”

“Yeah.”

“What about me?” she whispered.

“Don’t worry, hon. We’re gonna sort it all out. I just need time to catch my breath. And I have to go
to family court. Did Eileen talk to you about that?”

“Yeah, but I don’t understand. She said Children’s Aid can’t take … a kid without going to court and telling some judge why they did it. But I … we don’t have to worry. They won’t put you in …” Jules took a breath. “You’re supposed to go and talk to the judge, and you and the social worker, everybody together, decides what to do. But you’re my dad. Why do we have to? Why can’t I just come home?”