Tessa (From Fear to Faith) (14 page)

27

T
he remainder of the week passed without event. I had to laugh at myself for imagining so many awful scenarios, although I wondered if Walter’s accident had played a part in preventing them. Mom picked me up for school every morning and dropped me off again in the afternoon like clockwork. She deflected questions such as how long I’d be staying with Tom and Patty, but she did keep me abreast of Walter’s condition. He was doing well and would be coming home on the weekend, she said.

I didn’t dare ask, but I hoped Mom would continue to let me stay with Tom and Patty. I felt safe with them. Sure, they had rules, some of which were stricter than Mom’s. I had to go to bed by ten thirty, and there was no watching TV or videos unless all my homework was done.

But Heather’s companionship more than made up for the annoying rules. She played CDs for me while we did the dishes, kept me company as I struggled with my never-ending barrage of homework, and even gave me one of her hand-crocheted pillows for my bed.

“I always wanted a sister,” she confided one evening, after trying to explain for the third time why adding two negative numbers would not give me a positive. “So this is actually kind of fun for me.”

Patty welcomed me in her own way, whether it was buying a nightlight for my room or inviting me to help make muffins for supper. At bedtime, she would tuck me in and pray for me. Afterwards, she’d often stay a few minutes and talk to me about God. I didn’t follow everything she said, but I did notice I wasn’t having nightmares anymore. Could it be that God was looking out for me like she said? It seemed preposterous, but I had no other explanation for my calm nights.

Saturday morning I slept in until ten o’clock, the way I always did. As far as I knew, everyone slept in on the weekend. To my surprise, when I got up I found the breakfast table cleared and the dishes already washed. Heather sat at the table in a patch of sunshine, working on a pen sketch of Sadie.

“Hey, you’re pretty good,” I complimented her. “Did you leave me anything to eat?”

“There was a bowl of oatmeal for you. Grandma must have put it in the fridge.”

“Oatmeal.” I made a face. I’d been hoping for pancakes again.

Heather’s pen made short, fast streaks as she filled in Sadie’s thick ruff. “Yup. It’s good for you.”

I made a growling sound. “If I eat oatmeal one more day, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Heather chuckled. “Nah. You’ll get used to it. You’re just spoiled.”

“I am not.”

Heather shrugged. Picking up a different pen, she began to add in the finer details on the face.

Spoiled, my foot. Bet she wouldn’t survive even one night at Walter’s farmhouse.
I pulled a box of raisin bran from the pantry and poured myself a bowl.

Heather glanced up from her dog portrait. “See, you are spoiled.”

“Shut up.” I pulled out a chair and sat down across from her.

“Fine. Next time I’m not making you anything. You don’t show up for breakfast anyway.”

“I never asked you to make me anything! And by the way, I can sleep as late as I want, and you don’t have anything to say about it.”

Heather stood up. “You know what? You’re a brat. A spoiled, lazy brat. I hope your mom comes and gets you pretty soon.”

“And you’re little Miss Perfect, huh? You’re nothing but a smart aleck and a showoff.”

“Girls, girls,” Patty chided from the living room.

Heather shoved her chair into place and grabbed her unfinished drawing.

“Not gonna argue it, huh?” I said.

Heather spun around, her face red. “I’m not gonna argue with you because it’s a sin!” She stomped into the bathroom.

“I don’t care!” I fired after her, as the door slammed. Man, was Heather in a bad mood this morning, picking a fight with me like that. Oh well, at least I could enjoy my breakfast in peace now.

But a peaceful breakfast was not to be that day. About the time my flakes lost their crunch, the phone rang. Patty answered in the living room. “Tessa, it’s your mom.”

I groaned as I reached for the kitchen phone. “Yeah?”

“Can you be packed and ready to leave in half an hour?”

My head spun. “Uh . . . I suppose.”

“Good. I’ll be over to pick you up. We have a lot of work to do before Walter comes home.”

I hung up without saying goodbye.

“What did she want?” asked Heather, appearing from the bathroom as if nothing had happened.

“None of your business, nosy.” I upended my bowl and gulped down the remaining milk and cereal. Then I hurried down the hall to my makeshift bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Angry thoughts tumbled through my mind.

Leave it to Mom to do this to me. Why couldn’t she have said something yesterday, when any other decent person would’ve mentioned it? But no, she had to keep me hoping til the last second, then drop the bomb and whisk me away before I could protest.

I seized one of the black trash bags and began shoving clothes into it so violently that it tore. The
stupid, cheap bag! I kicked it, punching another hole in the side.

“Tessa! What’s going on?” Patty poked her head around the door.

“Nothing. Mom’s coming to get me.” I continued stuffing clothes into the bag as fast as I could.

Patty walked in and sat down on the unmade bed. “I thought that might be it. Need help packing?”

“No, I’ve about got it.” I kept my back to her as I dumped the box that held my dirty clothes into the second black bag.

“We’re going to miss you.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset. I’m in a hurry.”

Patty walked over to where I stood at the chest freezer, pretending to examine a hole in one of my socks. She put her hand on my shoulder. “Tessa, do you know why we care about you?”

I shook my head and stared harder at the torn sock.

“Because God cares about you. You’re so very precious to him. He made you. He loves you deeply, and he causes us to love you too.”

I blinked rapidly, determined not to cry. My throat felt like it had a block of wood stuck in it.

“I wish you could stay here longer because I know you’re hungry for love. It’s harder to believe God loves you when the people around you don’t love. But if you’ll open your heart to God’s love, he promises to come and satisfy that deep longing inside of you in a way no one else can.”

The tears were coming faster than I could blink them away. Whatever she was talking about, something inside me desperately wanted it.

Patty hugged me. “That’s all right. Don’t fight it, just cry.”

“Sorry,” I said, when I could talk again. I glanced at Patty. Tears glinted in her eyes as well.

“How come you’re crying?”

Patty shook her head. “I couldn’t help it. If you ever want to talk or anything, just call me, okay?”

“Okay.”

She gave me another hug, and this time I hugged her back. It felt good.

“Come on, I’ll help you get this stuff to the door,” she said.

Heather trailed me to the back closet. “Hey, Tess. I’m sorry for what I said to you. I didn’t mean it. Can you forgive me?”

I kept my face turned away as I zipped up my coat.

“I-I have some things I can’t stand to eat either,” she faltered. “Like dill pickles. So I’m sorry for picking on you for yours.”

I looked at her then. Her face was earnest and sad.

“So can we still be friends?”

“Okay.” I managed a smile. Then, on impulse, I reached out and gave her a hug. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Me too,” Heather said. “But I’m really glad you could come.”

Outside, a horn honked. Did Mom expect me to be standing there ready to run out the door the instant she drove in?

Patty grabbed one of my bags, and together we walked out to the car. Mom limped around to open the trunk.

“Thanks a million,” she said to Patty. “Sorry we’ve been such a bother to you guys.”

“It’s okay,” Patty said. “Take care now.”

Then Mom slammed the trunk, and Patty turned back to the house. We drove home in silence.

28

T
he kitchen was a mess, with muddy boot prints on the linoleum and last week’s dirty dishes still scattered on the counter. A heap of laundry lay on the table. But it wasn’t until I stepped around the corner into the living room that I understood Mom’s urgent need for help.

Mud had been tracked onto the carpet and the couch, then left to dry. Food wrappers and crumbs littered the floor. A pair of filthy blue jeans was thrown across the arm of the chair. Beer cans were scattered everywhere. But strangest of all, a piece of paneling had been ripped from the wall behind the TV, exposing chipped plaster in hideous shades of green and olive.

“Pretty bad, huh?” Mom came to stand beside me. “Looks like Walter stayed a night or two. I just found it this morning.”

“This morning? But he’s . . . I thought you said…”

“I haven’t been here,” she said. “I’ve been staying in town with Steve and Wendy all week.”

“Oh.”

“I paid the phone bill and most of the back rent on Thursday. We should have phone service again soon.”

So that was why the phone didn’t work.
Things would go more smoothly if only Mom would tell me things like that. I cast a glance down the hall toward my bedroom. The door hung partly open. “So . . . did he actually break into my room or what?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. I wasn’t in no shape to stop him. I wish I could’ve called the cops right then.”

“I thought of it, but I didn’t have a phone.”

“Of course. What I’d like to know, though, is why you didn’t call them when you got to Erickson’s.”

I stared at her. “You . . . you wanted me to?”

“Well of course! What the hell did you think was going on back here?” Then her voice softened. “I’m sorry. It’s been a hard week. Why don’t you put your stuff in your room, and then you can help me clean up this mess.”

I was surprised at the fear that gripped me as I started down the hall toward my bedroom. As I drew nearer and observed the multiple dents in the door and the wall, the fear intensified. Maybe Walter was still inside, hiding behind the door or in the closet with that iron fry pan.

Silly thought.
I reached out and with one quick motion shoved the door wide. Floor boards creaked as I stepped into the room. Someone had closed the window, but the ruined screen was just as I had left it, the jagged corners protruding outward like rusty metal wings. A piece of red fuzz from my sweatshirt clung to the bent wires. I turned away. Maybe later I could cut the screen out. I did not want to remember that night!

After checking the closet to reassure myself that Walter couldn’t possibly be there, I carried in my bags of clothes and dumped them at the foot of the bed. On my way out, I tried to close the door, but the frame was too splintered to hold the latch. I gave up and returned to the living room, where Mom set me to sponging mud off the carpet with a rag and a bucket.

Cleaning the mess up took several hours, and then we had to rearrange furniture to make the walkways wide enough for a wheelchair. Sometime around two, we finished and ate a quick lunch.

“I sure appreciate your help,” Mom said, as she ladled hot tomato soup into two bowls. “All I have to do now is take care of him. That’s gonna be interesting.”

“Can’t he do anything for himself?”

“Not much.” Mom crumbled a handful of crackers into her soup. “The broken leg would limit him enough, but he had to smash his arm too. So he can’t use crutches, and he’s not going to be lifting himself into or out of his wheelchair or the car or anything else without help. He can feed himself, but beyond that he’s practically an invalid. And a very angry one at that.”

“He’s mad about the accident?”

“Oh yeah. It’s all my fault, he says.”

“Huh?”

“Sure. I called the cops on him, supposedly, which got him upset, which led to us having a fight, which led to him getting really jazzed up on whatever all he takes, which led to him swerving over the center line in broad daylight and hitting a dump truck. You get the idea.”

I groaned. “Maybe you should put him in one of those drug rehab places, like the doctor said.”

“It wouldn’t do any good. He denies everything, even when the doctor’s standing right there with the test results.”

“Oh wow.” I finished off the crackers, then ran my finger along the bottom of the empty wrapper, collecting the loose salt and crumbs.

Mom rose and began to stack the dirty dishes. “Say, I was gonna ask you. Do you have any idea where he keeps that gun of his?”

“Which one?”

She stared at me. “What do you mean, which one?”

“He’s got several of them.”

Mom’s frown deepened. “Great. How long has that been going on?”

“I don’t know. Couple months, anyway.”

Her shoulders sagged, and she shook her head. “Well, go see if you can find me one of them.”

“What are you gonna do, terrorize him?”

“Of course not.” She dumped the dishes into the sink and turned on the water. “But I might need it to chase away those so-called friends of his.”

I snickered. “Yeah, when they drive in you can just stick the barrel out the kitchen window and shoot ’em.”

“I’m serious. I do not want any of them in here. Go see if you can find me something.”

“Okay.” I pulled on a jacket and stepped out the kitchen door. The bright sunshine had melted some of the snow, exposing patches of ice in the driveway. I steadied myself on the car as I crossed to Walter’s shop.

The pungent odors of varnish and paint thinner met me as I unlocked the door. I flicked the lights on and glanced around the room. Mom was right; nothing significant had been done in here for several months. Directly in front of me stood a desk Walter had started last summer, still unfinished. On top of it was an open can of varnish, its contents hard and cracked. Nearby, almost buried under a heap of dusty newspapers, stood an antique china cupboard Walter had picked up at an auction at least a year ago. On the bench lay a pile of rough planks that might have been destined for Mr. Vick’s bookshelf. Stacked on them were three new cases of beer. No wonder Walter couldn’t get anything done.

I shoved an overflowing trash can out of the way and ran my hand along the high shelf above the window where he used to keep his rifle. Dust showered down upon me, but otherwise the shelf was empty. This was going to be harder than I had expected.

Starting near the door, I searched every drawer and shelf and piece of machinery in the room. Last of all, I pulled myself up onto the bench and checked the cobwebby space between the top of the highest shelf and the ceiling. My fingers brushed something smooth and cold – the barrel of his old .22 rifle. I grinned in triumph as I lifted it down. Mom would never have found it up there.

As I crossed the shop with the rifle, an odd gap in the stack of folded rags on the utility shelf caught my eye. I reached in and withdrew a black .45 pistol about eight inches long. A strange mixture of terror and fascination gripped me as I stared at it. This was the gun Walter had threatened me with. I was sure of it.

Maybe one of these days it’ll be my turn.
I pointed the gun toward the door and tried to aim it one-handed, but I couldn’t hold it steady.
She’s some heavy
.
But hey, maybe it doesn’t matter how well I can aim.
I grinned, picturing the fear in Walter’s eyes if he saw me wielding this thing. I’d have to pay close attention to where Mom put it.

Carrying a gun in each hand, I returned to the house. Mom met me at the door. “Wow, you are well armed. Keep them pointed down, Tessa.”

“Oh, yeah.” I quickly tipped the rifle down. “I guess they’re probably loaded.”

Mom took the pistol first and examined it. “Nice gun. Yep, she’s loaded. I think I’ll just take that out.”

Watching her remove the bullets, I realized how stupid I’d been to point the gun toward the house. Suppose it had gone off?

The rifle seemed to be empty. Mom dusted it off and laid it on the table next to the pistol. “I’ll find a good place to hide these. Say, one more thing. You don’t still have the keys to that old house, do you?”

“Not anymore. He made me give them back.”

“I thought so. I’ve been looking everywhere, but I can’t find them. They’re probably with him. Which reminds me, I need to go get him. Want to come?”

“No thanks. Maybe you can conspire to crash into something on the way home.”

“Tessa!”

My face burned. “Well, you know what I mean.”

“Listen, I know he’s been a real jerk. But we’re not gonna take him out, okay?”

“How about accidentally?” I tried to hide my smirk.

“Absolutely not.” Mom slid the rifle onto the top of the refrigerator and then stood back critically.

I had to laugh. “That’s kind of noticeable.”

“I’d say.” She took it down and tried it on the shelf in the coat closet, with much better results. Then she slipped the pistol into her purse and prepared to leave.

“Don’t you need some kind of permit to carry a concealed weapon?” I had to give her that jab.

“To tell the truth, I don’t remember.” She pulled on her gloves and picked up the purse. “See you later.”