“I know,” he said. “I got caught on the security camera one day, pocketing two bottles of nail polish that Dandy wanted. They called our parents, and I had to confess everything. They were shocked about what Dandy and I were doing. They thought we needed a new environment, one without the temptation of stores and shoplifting.” Loam paused. He was rubbing his hands together. “My dad knew the Coopers from way back, and the Coopers talked to Mr. Norton, and he let us all come live here.”
“But you kept stealing,” G said.
“I didn’t at first,” he said. “But Dandy and I shared this room, and she started making her rainbows with her own stuff, and then one day, we were in the dining hall and she was staring at this blue coffee cup, clapping her hands.”
“So you took the cup?” I said.
He nodded. “And then I took other stuff for her, and then her rainbow got bigger and bigger, and she moved it all to the bookshelf in our closet, and now I just can’t seem to stop.”
I knew right then that Loam had a bad ogre inside him like Pop, and I knew just how hard it was to keep that ogre away. Pop would fight his ogre for weeks and months, sometimes longer, but that ogre was mean and strong, and he kept coming back.
“Loam,” G said, “people are missing all that stuff. I don’t understand.”
He sniffed and wiped the sleeve of his shirt across his nose. “I’m sorry, Gertie. I really am. I know you can’t understand.”
But I did. I understood completely. Loam and Dandy were matching socks.
Sometimes you just had to do things for someone you loved, even if it might get you in trouble, even if you knew that other people wouldn’t understand.
Sometimes you just had to.
“Gertie, please don’t tell anyone. Please,” Loam begged.
“I don’t know if I can keep this a secret. I’m the town record keeper. And besides, with everyone leaving soon, you’re going to get caught.”
“I’m begging you, Gertie.” He folded his hands together, like he was praying. “I’m your friend. Please keep it a secret for just a while until I figure out what to do.”
“I’ll keep it a secret,” I said. “But me and G need your help with something.”
My brain amazed me at times because right at that very moment, even though I was sitting in Loam and Dandy’s rainbow vortex of stolen stuff, I managed to think of a plan to get into Willis and see Pop.
Dirt boy was going to join our team.
This plan was going to be foolproof.
Day Six
On Our Way
I woke up early the next morning, but it wasn’t because of bad me-and-Pop dreams, or because I was worried about our Willis plan.
I woke up early because my hand was throbbing worse than ever. I gazed at it in the dim morning light and gently peeled back the tape and gauze. Yucky goobers blobbed up on some of the red marks. I ran my pointy finger along my skin and cringed, squeezing in the cries of pain that wanted out real bad.
Officer D was still sleeping. That was good. I couldn’t let her see my burn. She’d get her worry face on and probably take me to a doctor which would ruin all my plans for getting to Pop. I had to handle this.
On the table next to my couch was fresh gauze and the white goopy stuff Officer D had been using each day. I managed to squeeze some of the goop into my good hand and I rubbed it on, slowly, ’cause it stung worse than a fuming wasp each time I touched those burns. Then I unwound the clean gauze and spiraled it around my hand and wrist, taping it down as best I could.
By the time Officer D woke, I was dressed and sitting on the couch organizing my plans and worries inside my brain.
“Officer D, look what I did.” I held up my arm so she could see my handiwork.
“You taped it up yourself, Jane?”
I nodded, trying to smile and hide all the serious, throbby achiness I was still feeling.
Officer D inspected my first aid. “Not bad. Did you remember the cream?” She lifted a corner of the tape and readjusted it. I pulled back my arm just a bit so she wouldn’t unwrap it all.
“Yes. I did it just like you. I thought it was time for me to start doing it myself. Pop always says that’s important—doing stuff yourself, I mean.”
“I agree. Building independence is important,” she said. “How’s the pain this morning?”
Now it was time to lie. “Oh, not bad, but maybe one of those pills would be good.”
Officer D went to get my medicine. I breathed out a tiny sigh of relief that she didn’t question me more.
She dropped the pill into my good hand and set a glass of water on the side table. “Jane, I’m heading into Willis early this morning to visit a few folks, so I won’t have breakfast with you today. You can sit with Gertie’s family again.” She lifted my chin like she had before and gave me a little smile. For a moment, I felt a fuzziness inside me.
“Okay,” I said because this was good news. Having Officer D out of my way this morning could be perfect—as long as Loam stuck with our plan.
Just a bit later, I headed downstairs to the dining hall for some breakfast. Maybe some of Chef Noreen’s grub would make my burn feel better.
Not a lot of folks had arrived for breakfast yet, but Loam was sitting with G at the end of one of the long picnic tables, just like we had discussed yesterday. His hair was a disaster. His eyes were sleepy.
I stepped over the bench and parked myself right next to him. “Any changes?” I said, grabbing a slice of bacon.
“No,” Loam said. “My dad is leaving at his normal time, eight o’clock.”
“Do you have the key?” I whispered.
“It’s already in your pocket.”
And sure enough, like the slick, secretive klepto he was, he had managed to slide that car key into my hoodie pocket without me even noticing.
He was good. No wonder he hadn’t been caught.
“And the blanket? It’s in the car?”
He nodded. G nodded too.
“And your dad said you could go with him to Willis? He’s not suspicious?” I crunched another bite of bacon.
“He’s cool,” Loam said. “He lets me go into work with him once a month.”
“And, G?” I said. “You talked to your pop?”
“Yes. He thinks that you and I are spending the day working on our nature project.”
I knew that lying to Mr. Biggs was hard for G. I wasn’t going to let her down by getting caught. Our plan was foolproof.
I guzzled some orange juice and chomped one more piece of bacon. I looked up at the clock on the dining hall wall.
7:35. We had to move.
Me and G slipped out the front door and jogged down the crooked path. The twigs from the low bushes scratched at our legs. My wrist was screaming loud, but I kept going. G ran ahead of me, her backpack bouncing on her shoulders.
When we got to the grassy parking lot at the end of the path, just a few cars were left. Officer D’s banged-up truck was gone, which was a big relief. I slipped the key into the lock of the old silver boat car and opened the doors. Me and G climbed into the back seat, locking all the doors before we crouched down on the floor of the car. The long bench seat in the front was perfect for hiding us.
For a nanosecond my hand didn’t ache at all ’cause having G with me made me feel better. She’d been my company since I arrived in crazy Three Boulders. Actually, I think she’d been my friend, and I’d never had too many of those.
I spread the blanket Loam had left for me in the back seat so it covered both of us. We were tucked in little balls, thighs against our chests, chins between our knees. I thought this would be a good time to practice my new silent praying skills, the ones I learned in Three Boulders church. I prayed that we wouldn’t get caught, and I prayed that I would be able to see Pop, and I prayed that my hand would get better.
The driver’s door opened. I felt the car dip to the left as Mr. Moonbeam climbed inside, giving the door a solid slam. Then Loam climbed into the
right side.
Mr. Moonbeam revved up the engine. He clicked on the radio to some talk show and cranked the volume.
I closed my eyes tight as we slowly backed up, the tires rolling over the weeds and grass.
I was on my way to Willis.
On my way to see Pop.
Mission
I was relieved when Mr. Moonbeam turned off the potholed road and onto the highway. My hand was hurting again, bad enough to scream the lungs out of my chest, but I sucked up the pain with deep, quiet breaths. I wondered what was going on inside G’s head. I couldn’t see her face, only her dirty sneakers and bare legs. She was probably thinking of all the laws in her black journal that we were breaking. Or maybe all the things that she hadn’t written down as town record keeper since I’d been here, like finding Noreen’s alcohol and Dandy’s rainbow. I was proud of G though. She was as still as a boulder. She was one good stowaway.
I noticed a narrow scar on G’s shin, and I knew that soon I’d probably end up with a serious scar on my hand and wrist from this burn. Pop had a bunch of tiny polka-dot scars on the back of his calves. I asked him once how he got them, and he said he was attacked by a blackberry bush when he was a kid. I wasn’t too sure I believed him, though. It didn’t seem like blackberry prickles would leave marks like that. Maybe I needed to come up with my own blackberry-attack story since I wasn’t planning on telling anyone the real truth about my scar.
“We’ll be lugging in the summer annuals this morning, Loam. This was a good day for you to join me,” Mr. Moonbeam said. “Why didn’t Dandy come?”
“Oh,” Loam said.
I hoped his brain had woken up and he would have a good answer to that.
“Well, I just . . .”
“You needed a break. I dig.”
I was glad his pop didn’t need an explanation. This plan was working like a lucky charm.
They didn’t talk much more. Mr. Moonbeam switched the radio to a station that played all rock songs, and he and Loam sang along. When I felt the old car slow, I knew we were getting close. Finally, we stopped, and Mr. Moonbeam turned off the engine.
“I gotta put my boots on, Dad, so I’ll meet you by the loading truck, okay?”
I heard the car door slam, and then Loam said, “You can get up now. He’s gone.”
G exhaled long and loud, lifting the blanket off her frizzy head. I pulled myself onto the back seat and rolled my neck a bit.
“You two okay?” he said.
“Just stiff and hot.” G moaned.
“You know where we are, right, Jane?” Loam asked. “The Willis nursery?”
“Of course. This is a good spot. It’s not too far from the hospital.”
Loam opened his door. “Okay, make sure you are back and hidden by four.”
“Hey, Loam. Thanks,” I said.
He gave me a fist bump as G and I climbed out of the back seat. I felt a little dizzy when I stood, and a burst of pain in my hand made me lean over and grab the side of the car.
G put her palm on my back. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “I just crawled out too fast. I’m fine.”
When I felt all the swishy dizziness leave, I led G along Bandon Street. Today, I was the tour guide.
We passed the side street where Pop and I lived. “Look, G.” I pointed toward the second house from the corner. “That’s my house.”
It didn’t look at all like the tidy cabins in Three Boulders. The paint was a shabby, faded blue, the roof had a few missing shingles, and moss grew everywhere. Pop did the best he could with our little house, keeping the lawn mowed and the driveway swept, and all that important, good neighbor stuff. A year ago when we moved in, he had to rebuild the cracked porch steps. He taught me how to put the screwdriver heads in his drill. I loved that whirring sound of the drill and how those screws twisted straight into the wood. Just last month, Pop put a pot of petunias next to the door, which I helped him plant. Right now, those purple petunias didn’t look so great.
“That’s where I’ll be in just seven more days, if I can talk to Pop.”
“I’m not sure where I’ll be in seven more days.” G sighed.
“Chin up, G. We’re collecting money, remember? Three Boulders is going to be saved.”
I knew G’s frizzy-headed brain hadn’t stopped worrying about leaving Three Boulders, but I couldn’t think any more about that today. I took one last glance at my house. As long as I had a chance to talk to Pop and get our story straight, I’d be back with him in that little house next week. Then I could water those sorry petunias.
“Jane! A police car!” G hollered.
I grabbed her arm and we ducked behind a small hedge next to the sidewalk. The cruiser floated past us, but I couldn’t see the driver to find out if it was Officer D. I made sure it was well out of sight before I stood up. “Come on. Let’s move.”
Ten minutes later, we arrived at the hospital. Automatic glass doors opened for us. G stayed close by my side, but her head turned up, down, left and right, still searching for cops.
“Where do we go?” G asked.
Actually, I wasn’t sure. There was a sign between the two elevators listing the important hospital places.
G walked toward it, pressing her pointy finger on the glass, moving it up and down the two lists.
“I don’t see Rehab anywhere, Jane. There’s Radiation, Reproductive Health, Respiratory Therapy, but no Rehab.”
I was doing my own search of the board. “There it is.” I pointed.
“‘New Paradise Clinic’?” G read aloud.
“Yep. That’s it. Third floor. Suite 327.”
“How do you know that’s it?”
“Because they don’t call these places rehab centers. They always give them fancy, dreamy names, like Hope by the Ocean or Lakeshore Oasis. Names that make you think you’re on a vacation or something.”
“Oh.” G followed me into the elevator. “I guess that makes sense.”
When the doors slid open, we stepped out and made our way toward suite 327. The waiting room of the New Paradise Clinic smelled like the pine trees surrounding Three Boulders. There was a long hallway off the waiting room, and I wondered if Pop was somewhere in a room down that hall.
“Excuse me,” I said to the lady at the counter. She wore a blue scarf around her head and had speckled green glasses that she peered over to look at me.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“I’m looking for my pop.”
She took her glasses off and moved her hands away from the keyboard. “Did you get separated from him? I can have the hospital public address system help you locate him.”
“No.” I shook my head. “He’s right here in the New Paradise Clinic.”
The lady adjusted the scarf on her head. She whispered to me, “Sweetheart, I’m not allowed to verify if your father is a patient here, and even if he was, he’s not allowed to have visitors.”
I knew that perfectly well. That was the case at every clinic. The truth was that I’d never had the urgent need to see Pop while he was in rehab . . . until now.
It was time to work some serious charm on this lady. “My name is Jane,” I began. “My pop is Jeremiah Pengilly. He’s been here since Saturday night. He’s a real nice man. You’ve probably met him, pretty tall and thin with reddish-brown hair that’s a bit grown out right now, unless he got a haircut here.” I checked her eyes for a reaction, but she was only looking at me with a pleasant, TV-ad smile.
“I just need to talk to my pop real quick. Don’t worry, I’m not contaminated or anything. No bugs or head lice or anything like that, just a bandaged hand.” I lifted my arm to show her.
She smiled again. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I wish I could help you.”
“Please? It’s terribly important that I see him. Please?” I felt G’s arm on my back.
Right then I heard several voices. One sounded just like Pop. I turned my head, but I couldn’t see anyone. The unhelpful desk
lady stood up. “Excuse me for a moment.” She walked through the white door to the right of her desk.
I glanced down the empty hallway and whispered to G. “Stay here and cover for me. I’ll be back.”
G gripped my good hand like a vise. Worry was seeping out of her skin. “Be careful.”
I tiptoed down the hallway, turning doorknobs as I went. The first one was locked. So was the second. I crept toward the third door and turned the knob, hearing the release of the latch.
I had the door open just a tiny inch when I heard desk lady say, “You’re not allowed back there.”
Oh, serious crud!
I slowly walked back to the counter. G mouthed “sorry” to me.
“I was just trying to find a restroom,” I fibbed.
Desk lady sat down. “I’m sorry that I can’t help you.” She rummaged through a drawer and grabbed something. “If you go back to the main hallway and turn right, there are restrooms four doors down, and here are some quarters. Treat yourself to something in the vending machine. It’s just outside the door.” She dropped a handful of quarters on the counter, but I was too disappointed to even bother grabbing them.
G and I stepped into the hallway. I suddenly didn’t feel so hot. My head was swirly and swishy like it had been earlier, and my wrist was once again throbbing and burning. I leaned against the wall and lowered myself to the floor, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Now what?” G asked, scooting down next to me, but I didn’t answer. “Jane? Are you okay?”
I wasn’t okay at all. I thought it would be easy to see Pop for just a moment, to learn what had spilled from his mouth about that night. My brain was flitting around like a fly caught in a jar. What had he told social services Fran? Why did she need more time to investigate? My brain flitted back to that night, to Pop’s face in the kitchen, to that look he gave me, that look of . . . No. No. I couldn’t think about that. I pushed my hand hard against my belly. It was hurting worse than ever.
Mostly the Honest Truth Page 8
