Dr. Gustino shook his head. “No, school has just started, Ben, and this year needs to be better than last. You missed so many classes.”
“I can stay with Uncle Steve,” Ben said, his face brightening.
“Oh, right. I’m really going to leave you with that idiot. He’s been such a fine influence on you in the past.”
Ben glowered at his father. “You just don’t like him because he fixes cars. What’s the difference between putting your hands in an engine and putting your hands in somebody’s mouth? You think your job is so much better?”
“My problem with Steve has nothing to do with cars—”
Izzy’s mother tried to intervene. “Ben, your father is very stressed right now. Is there a friend you could stay with?”
“I don’t trust his friends either!” Dr. Gustino shouted. Then he put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I know you’re trying to help. I’m just at the end of my rope—it’s been one crisis on top of another, the past few weeks.”
Izzy wondered what the other crises were. The tattoos, probably, and then whatever Ben did to be grounded.
From the far end of the table came a small voice. “He could stay here, couldn’t he?” They all turned and stared at Oliver.
What? Izzy had been watching with interest as this family drama played out in front of her eyes, but all of a sudden Oliver had stuck them right in the middle of it. Oh no, that wasn’t going to happen. “We don’t have any more rooms here, Oliver,” she said. “You and your dad got the last ones.”
“Wait a minute,” her mother said. “That’s not a bad idea. There’s a futon in the basement, and a bathroom down there too. It wouldn’t take long to clean up the space.”
Izzy stared at her mother, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. Read my face! Do not let this obnoxious kid stay with us. But her mother was paying no attention to her.
“Oh, Maggie. That’s too much to ask,” Dr. Gustino said. “Thank you, but—”
“It’s not too much. I’ve already got a houseful—what’s one more? And Oliver likes Ben. I think it would be good for Oliver to have an older boy around.”
Maybe if the older boy weren’t Ben Gustino! And how about your own daughter, huh, Mom? Is it going to be good for her?
Dr. Gustino looked kind of defeated. “Well, it would only be for a few days. I just have to figure things out back there.”
“Is it okay with you, Ben?” Izzy’s mother asked.
Ben leaned back as far as possible in the spindly-legged dining-room chair. “Not really, but then, what is? Adults make all the decisions, don’t they? Sure, stick me down in the basement.”
His father sighed. “Ben, please. You have to curb that attitude of yours. Ms. Shepherd is doing us a favor! And if I hear that you’ve gone to visit Uncle Steve, you’ll be grounded when I get back.”
“I’m already grounded,” Ben mumbled.
“Yes, you are. And if you go see your uncle, you’ll be grounded for the rest of your life!”
“Okay, okay. Jeez.”
“Can we have ice cream now?” Oliver asked. He looked happier than Izzy had seen him in days.
Her mother winked at him. “Sure we can. Why don’t you go get it?”
While her mother booked a ticket on a plane leaving for St. Louis at ten o’clock that night, Dr. Gustino and Ben went to their house to pack suitcases.
Izzy was so woebegone, even ice cream didn’t help. Could her life get any worse? Her aunt’s suicide. Uncle Henderson walking around in a coma. The Boston baby. The silver slippers that got her into trouble and didn’t even fit. And now Ben Gustino living in her basement! Maybe Jerry Seinfeld or Melissa McCarthy would be able to see the humor in it, but Izzy certainly couldn’t.
She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her fists. Her mother gave her a tense smile over the top of the computer, and even though her mother didn’t say a word, Izzy knew what she was asking of her. Rise to the occasion, Izzy. Rise to the occasion.
Izzy vacuumed the old rug her mother had unrolled next to the futon in the basement, while Oliver stretched sheets onto the mattress. The three of them cleaned up the room as much as possible in the forty-five minutes that the Gustinos were gone, and replaced the old, dim bulbs with light you could actually see by, but the space still smelled like a combination of mold and dryer sheets.
As soon as Ben and Dr. Gustino returned, Izzy’s mother led everyone down to the basement. Dr. Gustino started sneezing after about thirty seconds.
“Sorry,” he said. “I have allergies.”
“I know the accommodations aren’t princely,” Izzy’s mother said apologetically, “but I hope you’ll be comfortable here, Ben.”
Ben shrugged, then glowered at the washing machine in the corner. “I don’t have allergies. I can sleep anywhere.”
He hadn’t brought much, Izzy noticed. A duffel bag, a computer, and a skateboard. He obviously didn’t intend to stay long, which was good news.
“So, Ben,” Dr. Gustino said, his mouth forming a tired smile, “be a good kid, okay? Be a help to Ms. Shepherd, if you can.”
Ben smirked. “You know me, Dad.”
“Yes, I do.” Dr. Gustino looked sad. Izzy could tell by the way he leaned toward Ben that he thought he ought to hug his son but was scared to actually try it. “I’ll tell your grandmother you send your love.”
“Okay. Tell her I’m sorry she had, you know, a heart attack.” Ben stared at his shoes. “So, aren’t you in a big hurry to get to the airport?”
Dr. Gustino checked his watch. “Right. I should go. Are you sure this is okay, Maggie? I know it’s an imposition.” He rubbed at his nose to stop another sneeze. Izzy’s mother assured him it was fine, then took his arm and pushed him up the stairs in front of her. Oliver followed, and Izzy was close on his heels.
“Hey, you,” Ben called after her. “What’s your name again?”
Izzy turned to face him. If he was going to live in her basement, she guessed she’d have to speak to him eventually. “Isabelle. But everybody calls me Izzy.”
“Dizzy Izzy,” he said with a smirk.
This kid sure has a lot of nerve, Izzy thought. She stuck her nose in the air so he knew she wasn’t afraid of him. She stared right into those sharp eyes. “What did you do to get grounded?”
Ben picked up the pillow Izzy’s mom had just put a clean pillowcase on. He squeezed it into a ball and held it against his chest. “None of your business. You tell me something. How come your uncle and your cousin are staying here? I mean, I know there’s something wrong with that guitar-playing dude. At first I thought he was just a stoner, but now I think it’s worse than that. I mean, your mom wouldn’t ask me to break down the door just because the guy was smoking weed.”
“Wow, you’re a genius,” Izzy said.
Ben chuckled. “You’re kind of a smart aleck yourself, aren’t you?”
Izzy guessed Ben was going to find out the whole story soon enough, since he was living here. She might as well be the one to tell him and to lay down some rules too. Just because he had a bad reputation didn’t mean Ben could get away with acting like a jerk in their house.
“They’re staying here because my aunt Felicia killed herself this summer, and now Uncle Henderson hardly talks or even gets out of bed anymore, and somebody has to look after Oliver.”
“Whoa, the kid’s mother killed herself?” He whistled. “That’s major.”
Izzy forged on while she was feeling courageous. “If you make fun of Oliver or hurt him or anything, I’ll hurt you back. I don’t know how, because you’re obviously bigger than me, but I’ll figure out a way. So don’t do it.” Her heart was banging around in her chest like it was looking for an escape hatch, but she was glad she’d told him.
Ben stared at her, his eyes filling with anger. Finally he said, “What do you think I am? A monster?”
Izzy yanked on a strand of her hair. “No. But I heard you w
ere kind of…mean.”
A growly laugh bubbled out of Ben. “Oh, you heard that, did you? I guess I’m famous.”
Now that she’d delivered her warning, Izzy was eager to leave. She took a few steps up the stairs and then said, “I don’t think scaring people is anything to be proud of.”
“Don’t you?” One corner of his lip lifted as Ben snarled at her. “Why should I give a damn what you think, Dizzy? Get out so I can have some privacy down here in my dungeon.”
“It’s not a dungeon. It’s a perfectly good basement, and you should be thanking us for letting you stay here!”
“Oh, thank you, Your Highness,” Ben said, his eyes glittering, “for letting me stay in this moldy coffin. Now leave me alone immediately, or I’ll bite you!”
Izzy tried to return his stare, but his anger sliced her like a knife. She shivered, then bolted up the stairs two at a time.
“I can give you a ride to school,” Izzy’s mother called after Ben. But he was already out the door, skateboard in hand.
“I’m good,” he called back.
“You’ll be here for dinner, won’t you?” she asked. He probably heard her, but he didn’t answer.
Izzy and Oliver sat at the kitchen table, slowly spooning up cereal. Izzy was so tired, she was pretty sure the pain from the blister on the back of her heel was the only thing keeping her awake. “I thought Ben was grounded,” she said. “Doesn’t that mean he has to come right home after school?”
Her mother’s eyes were drooping too, but she shook off her sleepiness. “Michael doesn’t expect me to police him. Normal life is suspended for the next few days. We all have more important things to worry about than Ben breaking curfew or some other minor crime.”
Izzy couldn’t believe her mother wasn’t taking Ben’s sentence more seriously. “How do you know it was minor? Do you even know what he did?”
“I don’t care what he did.”
“I do. Maybe he stole something or hurt somebody.”
“Michael would have told me if it was anything that serious,” her mother said. “Don’t look for trouble where there isn’t any, sweetheart. I thought Ben seemed to be in a good mood this morning.”
“Yeah,” Oliver piped up. “He high-fived me when he came upstairs.”
“He must not have been awake all night like the rest of us,” Izzy grumbled. “I should have taken the basement and given him my room.”
“Oh, Izzy. One night of interrupted sleep won’t hurt you.” Her mother was, however, already on her third cup of coffee, and her eyeballs were threaded with jagged red lines.
“I thought it was kind of nice to hear Dad singing again,” Oliver said. “I guess talking about the tattoo reminded him.”
“I was glad to hear him too, Oliver,” Izzy’s mother said. “Now if we can just get him to branch out from that one song.”
“Yeah, and get him to play in the daytime instead of the middle of the night,” Izzy added.
When her uncle had first started playing and singing, probably around midnight, Izzy had been kind of excited too and had made herself wake up to listen. He had been singing “Be Always Tender,” which used to be one of Izzy’s favorites. But now, when she listened closely to the words, they seemed a little spooky. She knew Uncle Henderson had written it for Aunt Felicia when they first met, but after what had happened, the words took on new meaning.
She’s a footprint in the sand
that disappears beneath a wave;
a leaf that in a breeze
lets go the branch.
At first, Uncle Hen’s voice had been kind of creaky, as if he hadn’t been using it much. Which he hadn’t. But after a minute or two, he had started to sound more like Izzy remembered, only sadder.
She can’t be stopped,
she can’t be saved;
she wants to wander,
wander farther.
She wants to wave a fond good-bye
over her shoulder.
Izzy used to like that stanza. She’d pictured her aunt flirtatiously walking away from Uncle Henderson, daring him to follow her. But Izzy certainly didn’t want him to follow Aunt Felicia now. Last night, she’d sat up in bed and leaned forward to hear the refrain and the end of the song, the part she liked best.
She calls to me,
“Be always tender,
a little fragile.
It’s not a weakness
if your heart breaks
just a little.”
I grab her hand to keep her close,
but what she feels is a demand.
She says, “I can only love you
if you’re tender.”
She can’t be stopped,
she can’t be saved;
she wants to wander
wander farther.
I kiss her cheek; I lay my hands
upon her shoulders.
I call to her,
“Be always tender,
a little fragile.
It’s not a weakness
if your heart breaks
just a little.”
Her uncle had repeated the last stanza several times, the way he did on his CD, getting quieter each time. Then he’d paused for a few seconds and started the song over again. And again. And again. And again. Until Izzy didn’t think she could take it anymore. It was a sad song to begin with—the good-bye wave and the breaking heart—but when you knew that the person it was written for had killed herself, it was just about unbearable. How could Oliver stand it?
Oliver had seemed okay at breakfast, but as soon as they got into her mother’s car, Izzy could see him wilt. He let his head fall against the glass of the back-seat window and stared out with glazed-over eyes.
Izzy’s mother pulled the car into the circular driveway at Hopkins Elementary. “Don’t forget, Oliver, I’m picking you up after school today so we can go see Cassie Clayton,” she said. “I think you’ll like her.”
Oliver made no move to get out of the car. In fact, it seemed to Izzy as if he’d melted into the leather of the back seat.
Her mother turned to look at him. “Is something wrong, honey?”
He shook his head, then slowly leaned on the door handle. Watching him move his arm, you’d have thought it was made of lead. The back door opened, and he slid out.
“Good luck today!” Izzy yelled after him, but Oliver didn’t look back. They watched him trudge toward the front steps of the school.
“I hope he’s all right,” Izzy’s mother said. “With all the excitement last night, I didn’t have time to talk to him about his first day, but he said school went fine, didn’t he?”
“Yup, that’s what he told me.” I am an excellent liar, Izzy thought.
Her mother sighed and pulled the car back out onto the street. “It can’t be easy for him. I wish I could get Henderson to see a therapist. Oliver really needs his father right now, and Hen can barely get out of bed.”
“Don’t worry. I’m watching out for the kid,” Izzy said. Was she? What could she do about Liam?
“Sweetheart, I don’t want this to fall on your shoulders,” her mother said. “It’s not your responsibility.”
“I know,” Izzy said. “But Oliver’s lucky he’s got a cousin who’s had problems in her own life. If anybody can get him through this, it’s me.”
Her mother took one hand off the wheel to ruffle Izzy’s hair, which was not the kind of thing you did to a seventh grader.
Cookie lived close enough to the school for them to walk to her house, but Cookie’s mother picked them up because she was nervous about girls walking around town alone.
“You aren’t alone if we’re with you,” Pauline pointed out. They sat on Cookie’s bed with a platter of homemade cupcakes between them. A pitcher of lemonade sat nearby on the bedside table. Cookie’s mother didn’t have a job other than housewife and mother, but she worked so hard at those two that Izzy felt bad she couldn’t get promoted to something more fun.
“Plus there
are tons of kids walking around right after school gets out,” Izzy said, even though she was secretly glad that Cookie’s mother had given them a ride. She’d put a Band-Aid on her left heel this morning, but by noon the right shoe had started to rub too, and she was tired of limping everywhere.
“I think that’s what she’s worried about,” Cookie said. “Some of those older kids can be mean.”
Izzy had been avoiding telling her friends about the newest visitor at her house, but they were going to find out sooner or later. “Speaking of older kids,” she said, “Ben Gustino is staying at our house for a few days.”
Cookie’s jaw dropped in exaggerated horror. “What? Why?”
A cry escaped Pauline’s lips. “No!”
“Yeah. They were at our house for dinner last night, and his dad got a call that Ben’s grandmother had a heart attack, so Dr. Gustino had to go to St. Louis right away. It was Oliver’s dumb idea for Ben to stay with us while his dad’s gone.”
“Oliver’s idea?”
Izzy shrugged. “I think he kind of likes Ben. He was interested in his tattoos.”
Cookie shivered. “Well, he’ll be sorry. I hope that creep doesn’t pick on him.”
Izzy didn’t mention that she’d threatened to beat Ben up if he bothered Oliver. She had a feeling Cookie would find that idea funnier than any of the comedy bits she tried out on her.
“Is he scary?” Pauline asked, chewing a fingernail instead of a cupcake.
“No. Well, a little bit, I guess. He looks scary with all those tattoos. And he kind of growls at you when he talks. He doesn’t seem to like us much, so maybe he’ll just stay down in the basement, where he’s sleeping.”
“How long will he be there?”
Izzy shrugged. “A few days, I guess.”
“God, Izzy, who else is going to move into your house? You barely have room for yourselves anymore!” Cookie said.
“My mom likes taking care of people,” Izzy said. “I don’t mean like your mother does, Cookie. Mine never remembers to do the laundry, and we eat takeout at least half the time. But she likes to try to fix people. You know, when they’re broken.”
Someone Else's Shoes Page 6
