Stay

by Bobbie Pyron

  Mama comes out of the bathroom, braiding her wet hair. “That’s wonderful, honey. Let’s put it in an envelope and take it down to Mrs. Bailey. She’s the one handling the business end of this.”

  Riding the elevator down with Mama, I sing over and over in my head, only three hundred more, only three hundred more. I curl my toes inside my shoes. Our plan might actually work!

  “Guess how much money Daddy gave me from brownie sales at work today?” I ask Karina, snapping my fingers with excitement when we get to their room.

  Karina shrugs. She’s doing her homework on her bed like I do. “Sixty dollars?”

  Her little sister, Chloe, bounces on the other bed. “A million dollars!” she shouts.

  I laugh. “More than sixty and less than a million.”

  I hand the envelope to Mrs. B. She looks at the amount Mama wrote on the outside of the envelope and whistles. “That’s fantastic!”

  “Yeah,” I say, “and Daddy says he thinks he can sell that much again on Monday if you can get more brownies.”

  Mrs. B smiles. “I just got off the phone with the district troop leader. She’ll be bringing over a bunch more boxes and order forms first thing tomorrow.”

  She takes the envelope and puts it in a metal lockbox. “This is a great start, Piper, but don’t forget, we only get to keep a portion of our brownie sales money.”

  My heart drops down ten floors on the Elevator of Disappointment. I’d conveniently forgotten that little fact.

  I look from Mrs. Bailey to Karina. Karina shakes her head. “The National Firefly Girls Council keeps sixty percent of what we raise to cover things like the cost of the brownies, vests, badges, craft supplies, that sort of thing.”

  How could I have forgotten that? “Forty percent of one hundred thirty-eight dollars isn’t much.”

  “All the more reason to keep selling brownies,” Mama says.

  Mrs. B touches my cheek. “Don’t you worry, Piper. I’ll let you know as soon as those boxes come in. We’ve just started.”

  We don’t have time, though, to “just start.” We’ve got to be over halfway done.

  50

  Just in Case

  “You’re one special boy,”

  the woman at the front desk says

  into Baby’s ear

  as he sits on her lap,

  head peeking over the top of the desk,

  watching people

  and dogs

  and cats

  come and go.

  There is a very big cat who is also special enough

  to not be in a cage.

  He sleeps in a sunny window,

  and lets people pet him

  even though Baby can tell

  he doesn’t like it.

  This cat comes and goes as he pleases.

  This cat does not think,

  however,

  that Baby is special

  at all.

  Baby remembers the cat named Lucky

  who lived with his person

  in the park.

  Now that was one special cat.

  The man named Brandon,

  the man who has taught Baby

  Sit

  Stay

  Down

  Heel

  Come

  Off

  says being special enough

  to be in the front office

  around all kinds of people

  is part of his training as

  Jewel’s helper.

  Baby has been around many different people,

  sounds, smells,

  while he and Jewel lived in the park

  and on the streets

  and once,

  under a bridge.

  All dogs who live outside with their people

  know they must be good dogs, special dogs

  to stay together.

  The door opens.

  The smell of winter rushes in.

  A man and a small boy smile

  when they see Baby at the front desk.

  “Who’s this special boy?”

  the man asks, holding out his hand

  for Baby to sniff.

  “This is Baby,” the woman holding him says.

  “I want him!” The little boy bounces up

  and down

  up

  and down

  on his toes.

  Baby sees how hungry the man’s

  and the boy’s eyes are.

  How their hands reach for him.

  Baby shrinks back against the chest of the woman

  holding him.

  “He’s not up for adoption yet,” she says.

  “We hope we can reunite him with his owner

  soon.”

  Soon.

  The woman takes Baby off her lap,

  sits him on another chair,

  slides open a drawer and

  pulls out a piece of paper.

  Baby watches

  full of worry as

  she hands it to the man and the boy

  reaching for Baby.

  “But just in case,” she says. “Fill this out.”

  51

  The Power of Story

  It’s chicken soup and grilled cheese sandwich night at the Sixth Street Community Kitchen. It’s funny how normal it feels to eat here now. Everybody says hello, the volunteer servers know us by name. Even Daddy doesn’t seem to mind as much as he used to.

  Just then, Rick, the guy who works at the front door, comes over to our table. “I heard what you’re doing for Jewel.”

  “You did? How?” I ask.

  “Everybody on the street’s talking about it. Never had something like this happen before.”

  He reaches into his pocket and presses a twenty-dollar bill into my hand. “This is from me for Jewel.”

  I feel a prickle of guilt. I always thought Rick was mean, not to let Baby and Jewel come in to eat. “That’s really nice,” I say.

  He shrugs. “I wish I had more.” Then he smiles and says, “But the volunteers are going to take up a collection. I should have more for you soon.”

  “Soon like tomorrow soon?” I ask.

  Mama gives me a look and a little shake of her head.

  Rick nods, though. “Hopefully.”

  I cross my fingers under the table and knock on one of the wooden legs.

  It’s snowing that light, drifty kind of snowfall when we walk home. I like this kind of snow.

  “Should have brought the car,” Daddy grumbles.

  Mama looks up at the sky and smiles. She loops her arm through his, “I don’t mind,” she says. “This is much more romantic.”

  Daddy snorts but he smiles too.

  Dylan skips ahead, weaving in and around the snowflakes.

  We come around the corner and there, standing under the streetlight in front of Hope House, are Ree and Ajax.

  My heart stops with my feet. Ree’s never come here at night. Ever. Has something bad happened to Jewel or Baby?

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  Ree glances at Daddy and shakes back her dreadlocks.

  Dylan wraps his arms around Ajax and rests his cheek on top of the big dog’s silver head.

  “Hi, Ree,” Mama says with a smile—a real smile. Daddy nods.

  Ree digs deep into her coat pocket. She stretches out her hand to me. “I brought you this.”

  Into my palm she drops a wad of crumpled up bills.

  Daddy frowns. “Where’d that come from?”

  Ree narrows her eyes. A mantle of snow rests on her shoulders and covers her long, black dreadlocks. She looks like an ice queen.

  “It’s not stolen, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Mama gives Daddy her hardest glare. “Of course that’s not what we think.”

  Ree rolls her eyes. “I told Piper all of us who fly signs are going to give some of what we make every day for Jewel and Baby until they leave for Idaho.”

  Mama presses her hand to her heart. She
takes the money from me and hands it back to Ree. “We can’t take this, honey. Y’all need it too.”

  I think Ree is going to roll her eyes again, what with Mama calling her honey. But instead, she smiles with that one corner of her mouth. “We’re survivors, Mrs. Trudeau.”

  She stuffs the money into my coat pocket and, before any of us can say anything about it, she turns and walks away into the snowy night, Ajax trotting along beside her.

  Dylan pulls on my hand. “Come on, Peeper, it’s movie night! Free popcorn!” We hurry inside Hope House. The whole place smells like salt and butter. Have I mentioned that popcorn is just about my favorite thing on earth?

  We grab bags of popcorn and bottles of water and find four seats together. I wave to Karina and her family sitting on the other side of the room with Daria and her little brother.

  “You can go sit with them, if you want,” Mama says in my ear.

  I shrug. “No, that’s okay. I think I’ll just hang out with y’all.”

  Sitting in the dark room, Dylan staring wide-eyed up at the screen, Mama and Daddy smiling and holding hands, I think about how different things are from a few months ago. When we lived in Cyprus Point, it was no big deal to go to a movie. I just used allowance money and went with one of my friends. Mama usually took Dylan and one of his friends to see something that was more for little kids. Daddy didn’t care much for movies. He’d rather watch football or baseball on the TV.

  Now that I think about it, except for eating dinner together, we didn’t do a whole lot as a family. I had my friends and my Firefly troop. Mama was either working or busy with Dylan, and Daddy worked or watched sports.

  These last few months since we lost our house and had to move have been hard. Really hard. So hard, Mama sometimes cried and she and Daddy got into fights. So hard, Dylan wet the bed and took to sucking his thumb again. So hard, sometimes I’ve hated my life and was ashamed of what people thought of me and my family.

  But sitting here in the dark like this, laughing together, sharing popcorn in our hand-me-down clothes, it’s nice. It’s good. I’m not ashamed of who we are and where we live.

  We feel like home.

  52

  The Dog Next Door

  The dog in the kennel next door to Baby

  is new.

  She walks slowly in on a leash.

  She is too big to carry.

  She has long ears,

  one blue eye and one brown eye.

  Baby can’t help but notice that she has

  a long tail with lots of long hair

  that curls up at the end.

  Black and brown with spots and

  white paws just like Baby.

  Baby pokes his nose through the wire

  that separates them

  and reads her story with his nose.

  She is old.

  She is sad.

  She is confused.

  Like his friend Ajax,

  her joints hurt but

  unlike Ajax

  her heart hurts too.

  The dog next door

  circles once, twice,

  three times and

  curls up with a groan on the floor,

  her side pressed against the wire.

  Listen, Baby says, curling up as close as he can

  to the dog next door.

  Hands are kind here.

  The food is good and

  the water clean.

  They will bring you a blanket.

  And even though it smells too sweet

  it is warm and

  they mean well.

  The dog next door

  sighs a long, trembling sigh

  and closes her eyes.

  Listen, Baby says,

  putting his nose close to hers.

  They will take you out into the sun

  and the wind,

  not far but still

  you will hear the geese fly overhead and

  feel the warm sun on your fur and

  smell all the delicious scents

  the wind brings

  and the earth holds.

  And you will know there is more than

  this hard floor and

  wire walls.

  The dog next door opens her eyes,

  wags just the tip of her tail and asks,

  will they come back for me?

  Baby studies the dog.

  Dogs can hope

  but they cannot lie.

  He picks up his little bunny,

  the one whose fur is worn away

  from love and worry,

  the one who is still beloved

  even though it is old and missing an eye.

  He pushes it under the wire wall.

  The dog next door sniffs it,

  smells the comfort it holds.

  She rests her silvered chin on the small bunny,

  sighs

  and closes her eyes.

  53

  Best Medicine

  Only four days left until they make Jewel leave the hospital and go into the emergency shelter.

  Angel, Alexa, Carmen, Luz, and Desiree bring the brownie money they collected on Sunday. “That story you wrote out for us made all the difference,” Alexa says. “I couldn’t have ever told it the way you did.”

  I hold my breath while Mrs. B counts the money we’ve brought in so far. She scribbles on a piece of paper, takes out way too much money, and then recounts what’s left.

  “Well, Piper,” she says, “looks like you’ve cleared a little over two hundred dollars.”

  I quickly add in my head the money Mama’s keeping that’s come in separate from the brownie sales—Rick’s donation and the money Ree brings at night from the others. That’s another eighty-six dollars.

  Two hundred and eighty-six dollars. That means we still need to raise at least one hundred and seventy-four more dollars by Thanksgiving.

  Now we just have to hope and pray that people who ordered brownies at school bring in their forms and their money, and the people from church too. One thing I’ve learned over the months is what people say they’ll do and what they actually do are often two different things. Mama says you can’t let bad things make you lose your faith in humanity, though. “There are good people and bad people out there,” Mama says. “Mostly good.”

  We’ll see.

  Mama comes into our room with a big smile on her face. She’s been downstairs in the Resource Room filling out more job applications.

  “Guess what I have, Miss Piper?” she asks, pulling my finger out of my mouth. I hadn’t even realized I was chewing on my nails. There’s not much of them left.

  “A job?” I guess.

  “Not yet,” she says, “but almost as good.”

  She digs into the pocket of her jeans and hands me two envelopes. They both hold brownie order forms and money.

  “Mama,” I say, carefully stacking the bills, “where did these come from?”

  She sits down on the bed beside me and studies my bitten-down fingernails. “One is from Dylan’s teacher, Mrs. Harris, and the other is from Byron, downstairs. He and his husband ordered brownies for both their families. They went ahead and paid up front.”

  My heart lifts as I lay out the stacks of fives and tens and even a twenty. I recount again and add the two piles in my head. “I think the two orders together come to seventy-eight dollars,” I say. It sure looked like a lot more when the money was in piles.

  Mama must have heard the disappointment in my voice. She tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and says, “I bet your daddy will bring home more brownie money tonight.”

  “I sure hope so,” I sigh. “Time’s running out.”

  Mama slips an arm around me. “And I bet you’re going to get lots of money for orders from your school.”

  “You really think so?”

  Mama nods. “I really think so, Piper.”

  “But what if we don’t get the money in time, Mama? What then?”

  Mama
frowns and gives me a very serious face. She shakes her finger at me. “Now Piper, what have I said?”

  I blow out a breath. “I know, I know: look at the doughnut instead of the hole.”

  “Right,” Mama says.

  Mama takes my hand. “I tell you what, let’s take that money and the order forms up to Mrs. Bailey and check on Dylan. He’s playing with Chloe. Then,” she says, “we’ll go over to the Humane Society. I think you need some Baby time.”

  I jump off the bed and grab Mama around the waist. “Really and truly? We’re going to see Baby?”

  Mama laughs. “Really and truly, baby girl. I’ve got the car today. We’ll go see Baby and then pick up your father.” She touches the tip of my nose with her finger. “How does that sound?”

  “It sounds like the best medicine!”

  54

  Baby and Piper

  Baby’s heart leaps with joy

  when he smells the girl

  coming toward his cage.

  His white paws dance

  Tap tap tap

  on the cold concrete floor.

  A tremble of excitement starts

  at the tip of his tail and,

  by the time it reaches the tip of his nose,

  his body wiggles and waggles all over.

  The girl! He yips with happiness.

  My girl! He barks for all to hear.

  The girl smiling, reaching out to touch his nose.

  “Hi, you,” she says. “Hi, Baby boy.”

  He remembers when she came here

  when he was scared and lost.

  She said his name,

  then too,

  reminding him who he is and

  who has his heart.

  Now she comes inside his cage.

  He crawls into her lap

  and covers her face with kisses because

  he is so, so happy to smell her and

  because he can feel

  the worry in her heart.

  His Jewel had that worry in her heart too

  and it was Baby’s most important job

  to take that worry away.

  Baby leaps from the girl’s lap and

  twirls on his back legs.

  Just like Jewel, the girl laughs

  and claps her hands and

  just like that

  the dark smell of worry

  is gone.

  A woman

  not much taller than the girl

  with a similar scent

  says, shall we go out into the sun?