Cages

by Peg Kehret

Wayne glared at her. “You think you know all about it,” he said. “Well, you don’t know anything. You hear me? You don’t know anything.” He took a step toward her, swaying slightly. He spoke deliberately, as if choosing each word from a thesaurus. “You—are—nothing—but—an—animal.”

  Always in the past when he had called her an animal, it had infuriated her. This time, when she heard the word animal, she thought of all the animals she had worked with at The Humane Society. She thought of wagging tails and purring kittens, of caged puppies who licked her fingers, delighted to see her. She thought of Lady, with the love light shining in her eyes.

  “You’re an animal,” Wayne repeated.

  “Thank you,” Kit said.

  Wayne looked astonished. “I called you an animal.”

  “I know. It’s the nicest compliment you could give me.” She smiled sweetly at him. For the first time in her life, Kit felt in charge when Wayne was drinking. She couldn’t make him stop but she would control her own reactions. He had lost his power over her.

  “But . . . you . . .” Wayne sputtered.

  She went to the phone and dialed Tracy’s number. “Could I stay with you tonight?” she said.

  Kit packed quickly. When she came downstairs, Wayne still stood exactly where she had left him. As she opened the front door, Kit almost felt sorry for him. “Goodnight,” she said. “I’ll be at Tracy’s house.”

  Wayne did not respond.

  MRS. Shelburn drove Kit to the hospital, insisting that Kit should visit her mother. “Tracy and I will wait for you in the lobby,” she said. “Take your time.”

  Kit was grateful. It was bad enough for Dorothy to learn that Wayne was on another binge; she knew it would be even worse to get the news with other people present.

  When Kit walked into the room alone, she saw instant fear in Dorothy’s eyes.

  “Where’s Wayne?” Dorothy asked.

  Kit sat beside her mother’s bed. “He’s drunk again,” she said.

  The look of concern turned to dismay. Dorothy was quiet for several seconds. Then she said, “When you get home, go in our bedroom and get the car keys. After he falls alseep, try to get his wallet, too. Hide them someplace where he can’t find them.”

  “I’m not going home. I’m staying at Tracy’s. Mrs. Shelburn is waiting for me downstairs.”

  “But we can’t let him . . .” Dorothy stopped. “Yes,” she said. “It’s better for you to be with the Shelburns.”

  She doesn’t need this, Kit thought. Wayne should be the strong one now. She shouldn’t have to worry about anything except getting well.

  “Maybe the doctor will discharge me early,” Dorothy said.

  “So you can go home and wait on him?” Kit said. “That’s the most disgusting thing I ever heard.”

  “When he’s sick like this,” Dorothy said softly, “I need to be there.”

  “You’ve had major surgery. He should be taking care of you.”

  Dorothy went on as if she didn’t hear. “I’ll need to call his boss in the morning,” she said.

  “If you didn’t cover up for him,” Kit said, “maybe he would be forced to admit he has a problem. Maybe he would do something about it.”

  “I can’t let him lose his job. I have to call his boss.”

  Kit felt sad for her mother but she didn’t argue. If Dorothy wanted to stay in her cage, there was nothing Kit could do about it.

  Later that night, Kit and Tracy made popcorn and read fashion magazines. Then Tracy gave part of her sibling rivalry speech for Kit.

  Sharon Shocker announced, “EINSTEIN BRAIN TRANSPLANT REVEALED! GIRL GENIUS GETS A+ ON SPEECH.”

  “It is a school night,” Mrs. Shelburn reminded them, “and you’ll be up late tomorrow night, with your dress rehearsal.”

  Kit and Tracy promised her that they would go right to sleep, with no talking.

  “That will be an historic first,” Mrs. Shelburn replied.

  Half an hour later, Tracy whispered, “I have to ask you something personal.” Her voice, from the other twin bed, was so soft that Kit had to strain to hear the words.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “Oh, sure,” Kit said. “Several dozen.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “If I had a boyfriend, don’t you think you would know about him?”

  “Would I?” Tracy sounded wistful.

  Kit realized that this wasn’t a joke question. “What are you getting at?” she asked.

  “You’ve been so secretive lately. I feel like you’re hiding something from me and I’ve tried to figure out what it could be and the only thing that seems to make sense is that you’ve found someone else you want to be with, someone you like better than me.”

  “Oh, Tracy.”

  “Let me finish,” Tracy said. “If you do have a boyfriend, it’s OK. I understand. You don’t have to tell me who it is; I just want to know if that’s what’s going on. Is it?”

  “No. I do not have a boyfriend.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I can’t imagine ever finding anyone, male or female, that I’d like better than you. Even when I do have a boyfriend, if I ever do, it won’t mean that we have to stop being friends.”

  There was such a long silence that Kit thought Tracy had fallen asleep. Through the bedroom window, Kit watched the crescent moon play peek-a-boo with the clouds.

  Tracy whispered again. “My birthday party. The Good Citizen Award. Something is wrong, Kit. What is it?”

  For a moment, Kit was tempted to tell her. Here in the dark, snuggled deep in their beds, Kit and Tracy had divulged dozens of secrets in the past. They had confided their crushes on various boys, and their fears that they were ugly, and their dreams for the future. They had confessed problems, both real and imagined, and had learned that talking about a fear sometimes makes it less threatening. Over the years, they had cemented their friendship by sharing their worries as well as their fun.

  But those worries were different from Kit’s current problem. Never before had Kit faced a predicament that was entirely her own fault. It was one thing to complain when Wayne did something she didn’t like or to confide that she thought a certain boy was cute. It was quite another to admit that she had broken the law. TRIK Club members were honest.

  Kit said nothing. Her twenty required hours at The Humane Society were nearly finished. The shoplifting would eventually be erased from her record. She saw no reason to tell Tracy now.

  “I know you aren’t asleep,” Tracy said. “I can tell by your breathing.”

  “I told you before,” Kit said, her voice sounding sharper than she intended, “I don’t have any problem.”

  Tracy did not reply.

  The next morning, Mrs. Shelburn insisted that Kit stay with them until Dorothy was released from the hospital. “You can borrow anything you need from Tracy,” she said. “There’s no reason at all for you to go back home.”

  Kit gratefully accepted the offer.

  That night when they went to bed, Tracy turned out the light, said, “Goodnight,” and that was it. No whispered conversation. No giggling. No sharing of secrets. It was the first time that they had spent the night together without any talk in the dark before they fell asleep. Kit missed it but she could think of nothing to say.

  When Kit got to the hospital after school the next day, Dorothy was not in her room. Kit looked in the bathroom and in the hallway. Finally, she inquired at the nurse’s station.

  “She’s downstairs,” the nurse said. “In Emergency.”

  “Emergency?” Kit cried. “What happened? She was supposed to go home tomorrow.”

  “Nothing happened to her,” the nurse said. “She’s still scheduled to be released tomorrow. Are you her daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it wasn’t you. She was afraid it was you.” Seeing the blank look on Kit’s face, the nurse went on, “We got a call from Emergency, saying that a member of Mrs.
Gillette’s family was being admitted. That’s all I know.”

  Kit didn’t wait for the elevator. She ran down the stairs and followed the signs to the emergency area.

  She found Dorothy sitting alone in the waiting room, crying. She wore her yellow terrycloth bathrobe and her slippers. “Wayne had an accident,” Dorothy explained. “He went off the road and ran into a light post. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt and he was thrown out of the car.” She blew her nose.

  “How bad is it?” Kit asked.

  “Concussion. Probably a skull fracture. Broken left arm. Maybe internal injuries.”

  He was drunk, Kit thought. Usually his binges lasted three or four days, which meant he would be at his worst about now.

  “There was a police officer here a little while ago,” Dorothy said. “Wayne’s been ticketed for driving while intoxicated.”

  Kit wasn’t surprised. It was bound to happen, sooner or later.

  “We’re lucky he didn’t kill anybody,” Dorothy said. Her face was pale and when she wiped her eyes, Kit noticed that her hands shook.

  “Are you OK?” Kit asked. “Shouldn’t you go back to bed?”

  Dorothy wilted against the chair. “I’m tired,” she admitted. “I’ve been so worried. Ever since you said you were staying with the Shelburns, I’ve had the feeling that Wayne would get into trouble. Always before when he was like this, I was there. I took care of him. I always hid the car keys, so he couldn’t drive.”

  Kit felt a rush of sympathy for Dorothy. She could only guess how hard Wayne’s binges must be on her mother.

  “You were right,” Dorothy said. “He does have a drinking problem and if he lives through this, I’m going to insist that he get some help. I should have done it years ago, but each time I hoped he had learned his lesson. Each time, I thought it wouldn’t happen again. And you know how stubborn Wayne is.”

  Kit helped Dorothy back to her own room and into bed. She stayed at the hospital until six o’clock. Then, after stopping at the small florist shop next to the hospital, she rushed back to school. She didn’t take time to eat dinner.

  It was opening night of the play and she didn’t want to be late. Kit sat in the front row, cradling six red roses. She planned to give them to Tracy during the curtain call.

  The auditorium was full. Kit knew her posters had helped. She had put them in store windows all over town.

  As she waited for the curtains to open, she read the program. When she saw, “Kennedy School presents The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers, starring Marcia Homer as Frankie,” she felt a sharp twinge of longing but she no longer hoped that Marcia would forget her lines. Everyone had worked too hard to make the play a success. She wanted it to be perfect.

  It was electrifying.

  Marcia was magnificent. She was no longer Marcia Homer. Even to Kit, who knew her well, she was transformed. She was Frankie.

  At the end, Kit applauded until her hands stung. During the second curtain call, she went forward. Impulsively, she gave only three of the roses to Tracy; she gave the other three to Marcia.

  Afterwards, backstage, Marcia thanked her. “And I also want to thank you for helping me get Pansy. It’s super to have a dog again. She sleeps in my room. She’s always there when I get home and she thinks I’m wonderful.” Marcia looked down. “I never quite measure up to my parents’ expectations. I try, but I’m not as smart as they want me to be or as good looking. Pansy doesn’t care; she thinks I’m fine just the way I am.”

  Kit was incredulous. From what she had seen, Marcia’s parents both thought their daughter was wonderful. How could Marcia not know that?

  Before Kit could say so, other people gathered around Marcia, telling her how good she was in the play. Kit listened as Marcia accepted their praise gracefully. Now that she had a reason to brag, Marcia sounded downright modest.

  She needed this, Kit realized, and then wondered if Miss Fenton knew that when she picked the cast.

  ONE week. That’s all the time Kit had left to prepare her final speech. She couldn’t put it off any longer.

  “What’s your cousin’s phone number?” she asked Tracy. “I want to interview Glorie for my shoplifting speech.”

  “It’ll be an expensive call,” Tracy said. “She and her family are living in London this year.”

  Kit groaned. She had counted on Glorie to be her original research. Now what was she going to do? She had plenty of library references for her speech but Miss Fenton required at least one personal interview.

  Reluctantly, Kit telephoned Pierre’s and asked to speak to Hannah Rydecker. While she waited, she took deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

  When Mrs. Rydecker answered, Kit told her who she was and what she wanted. She spoke fast, anxious to get it over with. She half expected Mrs. Rydecker to hang up on her. Why would the security guard want to spend time talking to Kit?

  “I’ll be glad to meet with you,” Mrs. Rydecker said, when Kit had finished her explanation. “Can you come tomorrow at four?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember where my office is?”

  “Yes.” Do I remember? I will never in my whole life forget where your office is.

  The next day, Kit almost chickened out. When it came time to actually walk into Pierre’s and go to the security office, she wasn’t sure she could go through with it. She had to walk past the pianist. She had to walk through the jewelry department. The memories of that night were so strong that for a moment she even imagined she saw Marcia and Mr. Homer.

  Mrs. Rydecker was waiting for her. She asked what had happened when Kit met with the Juvenile Court Committee and Kit told her about The Humane Society.

  Then Kit got out the list of questions she wanted to ask and Mrs. Rydecker talked for half an hour about her job. She told Kit that shoplifting costs the store thousands of dollars every year.

  “Of course, the store passes those costs on to the consumer,” she said. “Every time you or I buy something, we pay more for it, to help offset the cost of stolen merchandise.”

  By the time the interview ended, Kit had scribbled two pages of notes on her tablet. She knew she had plenty of solid information for her speech.

  “Thanks for your help,” she said, as she prepared to leave.

  “I hope I see you again,” Mrs. Rydecker said. Then she added, “But not with a badge in my hand.”

  “No badge,” Kit vowed. “Not ever again.”

  As Kit left Pierre’s, she gave a huge sigh of relief. After dreading the interview all day, it had turned out to be a breeze.

  If she had not done it, she would have felt uneasy in Pierre’s, afraid she would see Hannah Rydecker again.

  She wasn’t afraid anymore.

  All she had to do now was get through her final speech. After that, if she never heard the word “shoplifting” again, it would be fine with her. Her twenty hours of time at The Humane Society were history; her debt to society was paid. She had managed to keep the whole affair a secret. As soon as her speech was finished, Kit could forget that it ever happened. Forget the night in Pierre’s; forget the court committee; forget that she had ever stolen a gold bracelet.

  On the second day of the final speeches, Miss Fenton called on Kit. Kit had practiced her speech over and over the night before. She was prepared and she wanted to get it over with but she still dreaded it. She jumped when Miss Fenton called her name and when she faced the class and announced her topic, she began trembling.

  Despite her anxiety, she managed to remember what she had rehearsed. She used all of the statistics that Mrs. Rydecker had given her and then ended her speech by telling the class, “If you’re caught shoplifting, your parents are notified, and the police come, and the juvenile court decides your punishment. It’s stupid to take such a chance.”

  And that’s when Arthur challenged her. That’s when he and Phil said it’s easy to shoplift. That’s when Miss Fenton said, “Do you want to defend your speech, Kit? This minute is passin
g.”

  As Kit stood with all eyes on her, the rest of that line from the play came back to her. “. . . this minute is passing. And it will never come again. Never in all the world. When it is gone, it is gone. No power on earth could bring it back again.”

  She realized that if she sat down now, Tracy would ask her why she didn’t defend her speech and Kit would have no answer. The barrier between them, built of secrecy and lies, would grow stronger. She would have to keep on hiding what she had done and she would always worry that Tracy might somehow find out about it.

  If she told the truth, everyone would know what she had done but she would never again have to worry that her secret would come out. She could prove Arthur wrong and she might prevent someone else from making the silly, tragic mistake that she had made. She could eliminate, once and for all, the fence that separated her from Tracy.

  Right then, in that singular, fleeting moment, Kit knew she had a chance to free herself.

  Kit threw back her shoulders, turned, and marched to the front of the room.

  “Yes,” she said. “I want to defend my speech.”

  Miss Fenton nodded her approval.

  Kit faced the class and began.

  “Three months ago,” she said, “I stole a bracelet from Pierre’s.” Someone gasped.

  Except for the part about Wayne, Kit told the whole story. Every detail. How she’d been upset, how she put the bracelet in her pocket, and how she got caught. When she told how scared she was and how her mother cried, the room was still as a tomb; no papers rustled, no one shifted in their seat, no one coughed or whispered.

  “I tried to hide what I did,” she said. “I was so ashamed that I didn’t even tell my best friend. I missed her birthday party because I had to appear that night before the Juvenile Court Committee—and I didn’t tell her why I couldn’t go to the party. I was afraid that if she found out, she wouldn’t like me anymore.”

  She glanced at Tracy. Tracy looked like she was going to cry.

  “Sure,” Kit continued, “I didn’t go to jail. But I had to pay three hundred dollars and I had to do twenty hours of community service work. Worst of all, I had to live with a terrible secret. I told lies to keep people from finding out what I’d done and then I had to tell more lies to cover up the first ones. Through it all, I felt like scum. I regretted what I had done and I hated pretending all the time but it was too late. Once I took the bracelet and got caught, I couldn’t go back.”