by Leanne Davis
She grabs her phone off the table, rising upwards. “Well, I have to get back.”
“Me too.”
My gaze lingers on her as she turns and disappears through the swinging door to start serving. I watch her a few times, all sweet and polite smiles, but she quickly and efficiently serves. She is well beloved by all the other adults in the café and is also the youngest employee working there. She has my undivided interest. She helps me keep the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped at bay. I’ll focus on her and let the sense of isolation and the resentment that feeling causes in me become more manageable. I hate losing control and not having access to my worldly goods. I’m anti-materialistic, until it comes to that pack and then I’m very protective and obsessive about it.
I know Tara’s done me a solid. I know what I did. I’m in the wrong. But it doesn’t stop my resentment of having to serve people in a setting I don’t fucking want to. And then having to live in a place where I’m not wanted.
It makes my stomach twist. I spent the first half of my life living in places I knew I wasn’t wanted. I was shuffled around a lot. Sometimes, it was okay. Sometimes, it wasn’t. Nowadays, I don’t live where I don’t like the vibe. I don’t sleep where I’m not wanted. Only where I want to. Until this. It’s a compromise, I suppose.
Damn Jacey.
But I’d do it all for her again if she asked. I have few people who earn my loyalty, but once they have, it’s for life and extends to anything at all. I also need to get more money to her. Money that Tara and Ryder have inside their gun safe.
After work, I wait outside. The walk home would be a breeze without a pack, but Tara insists she’ll take me home. I spot Dani leaving, getting into a little car, older but reliable and modest. She backs up and leaves before Tara comes out.
“Well, you impressed Chloe. Her husband used to do your job, so she has high expectations of it. No one ever meets them. They are too slow. Too idle. Waste her time. Stupid. Annoying. Won’t work fast and reasonably efficient. You did well, she said. So that’s good.”
I nod. “Look, Tara…” She insists I call her that. I tried to stick with Mrs. Kincaid, but she stopped that right off.
“Yes?”
“I lied. I didn’t take the money to pay a phone bill. I took it to send to a friend. She messaged me saying she needed my help. I still… I still need to get her that money.”
She nods, her lips tightening. I know she wants the story. But she also understands I’m not going to tell it. “A hundred was enough?”
“It was better than what I had before I robbed the charity.”
“Which was?”
“Twenty-two dollars. It was time to start working again. I followed the Pacific Crest Trail and it was cheap living.”
“Is she in trouble?”
“Yeah. She needs to leave the situation she’s in.”
“The money was to help her do that?”
“Yeah.”
“Is she a minor?”
“Tara… she’s a friend. I promised to help her.” I don’t answer her direct question. She knows it, too. “Can I have the money? We’ll add it to what you think I should earn. You can watch me send it.”
“You can have the money.” She plops into her car, and I do, too, before she hands me something in an envelope.
“You remembered I mentioned needing to send money somewhere.”
“I did.” I give her a long look, and nod with appreciation at her decency. It’s above and beyond. I stick the bills in the envelope and take the pad and pen Tara also hands me. Inside the post office, I scrawl a brief message to Jacey. I buy a stamp, close it all up and stick it into the mail box, hoping the cash arrives there safely.
When we get home, Ryder’s truck is already there. So is Wyatt’s. Wonderful. Super fun family night at home, huh?
I follow Tara inside. She calls out hello and sets the stuff in her hands down as she kisses Ryder on the cheek. Ryder’s already making dinner. These people are all about food, or so it seems. Wyatt sits sprawled in one of the recliners, staring at the TV. He raises his gaze at me with a hard glare. I give him a mock salute and a rude eyebrow lift. Fucker. He has the whole world at his feet and can’t even see it. The parents, the house, the girl. Never suffering any kind of abuse ever, I’d wager. Doesn’t like sharing when he’s got it as good as that.
I have no idea what to do with myself. Do I go upstairs? Or sit here and chill next to angry Wyatt? Walk out to the kitchen? Maybe I should help somehow. I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ve ever participated in the preparation of a family dinner. Stupid, baby Wyatt doesn’t even glance up to see all the grown-assed people preparing his food for him. I turn towards Ryder, and Tara returns from the room past the kitchen, wearing different clothes than before. “Can I help?” I ask. I fidget and stare at my feet. I’m not being sarcastic or mocking them. I really mean it. Which startles me. I’m not usually sincere with any adults or older people and never with authority types like cops. Oh, I’ll be respectful and civil and polite even, but usually internally, it’s all with a raised middle finger and a sneer.
It’s the unfortunate byproduct of a lifetime spent in the foster care system, a system that didn’t even halfway met my needs and certainly wasn’t fair or kind. The people in it were either physically abusing me or mentally and emotionally neglectful, unless they just didn’t care. I was fine now, but as kid, so eager to please, and be loved and wanted, to feel helpful, that was who I was. I thought if I were agreeable enough, polite, helpful, and friendly—the very best behaved I could be—I could make one of the foster parents and later on, the group home guardians, want to keep me. To care about me. And be nice to me. They say it takes one person to make a difference in a child’s life. Well, I never even got that one person. And here, look at Wyatt—he has two.
Why am I offering my help to the same people who are virtually holding me prisoner here? Because they are more decent to me than any other people I’ve ever stayed with.
Ryder glances up. He’s sizzling something on a skillet. “Working on stir fry here. You eat that?”
“I eat anything.” Some people must be picky. Any meals that are cooked are a luxury to me.
“I’m about done. How about cleaning up after dinner? You can relax now, it’ll be ten minutes or so.”
“Okay.” I turn and flop down on the couch, staring at the TV, silent near Wyatt. Ryder calls out that dinner is ready. I shake my head. Dear God, this experience is something else.
We enter the kitchen, which is large and roomy with a table in the window-lined nook. It overlooks the distant river with lush fields and trees much closer. I have walked past places like this, but I never lived in such a setting.
I pull out a chair, noticing the table is all set. Matching silverware, plates, cups and even a cloth napkin underneath my utensils. Okay. New level of freaky shit to me. This is as foreign as it would be if Ryder and Wyatt were sitting down to eat the dinner they scrounged out of a dumpster on a street curb in the middle of Silver Springs.
We all sit. Wyatt flops down, his displeasure at my presence communicated in his dramatic sigh and sprawl. He picks up his fork and stabs the heap of chicken stir fry on his plate without a thought about how spectacular it is that someone has provided him with warm food, utensils, and a napkin. I can’t get over the set table for adult kids! It’s so ridiculous.
“How was work, Wy?” Tara asks. So pleasant. Obviously, she is ignoring his scraping fork and pointed silence as he stares down with a scowl.
“Fine.” Grunt. Dude, asshole, respond to your mother, I feel like saying to him. She cares. I could kick the ass under the table. His damn mom, a stepmom, treats him so nice and is genuinely interested in his freaking day. I can’t even comprehend it. She has no legal responsibility to Wyatt and still she’s like that?
She glances at me. “He’s working at the local tugboat company for the summer. Helping maintain the boats’ upkeep and tying up the barges. He’s a junior at the
University of Northern Oregon.”
Wyatt lifts his scowling face. “He doesn’t need to know our life’s details.”
“Wyatt.” Ryder snaps. “We can be polite. He’s staying here.”
“He’s a criminal you should have turned in when you caught him. I can’t imagine the rules and laws you’re violating. I’d think you’d worry more than anyone about what he does while under your unofficial care.” Wyatt stands up, trying to be dramatic, but slamming his napkin to his plate, totally loses his badass card for me. “He shouldn’t be here!”
“It’s our house. We decide that.” Ryder’s tone is calm but authoritative. Judging by the stony look on the cop’s face, I gather his prized prodigy doesn’t often speak to him like that or question him so defiantly.
Wyatt rolls his eyes. “Well, I hope he doesn’t rob your house blind.” He turns and stomps out the front door all dramatically. He again tears out of the gravel drive in his vehicle exactly as he did last night. So surprising… Not! What a stupid ass! Baby didn’t get his way. Has to share a room in a house for what? A month? Kids born to caring parents… yeah, we’ll never have any understanding of each other. My dislike of Wyatt’s poor-me, judgmental attitude is enough to make me wish for my pack and the ability to leave here. But I remind myself, once again, how lucky I am to have no family to hold me back, piss me off, or make me do things I don’t want to do, like Wyatt. And I don’t have to accept the glum reality that no matter what, your family will never fail to ruin your expectations. And hurt you. At least I don’t have to grow up before that shocking reality is thrust on me. I’ve known it now for over a decade.
Lord, I want my freedom back. I itch for it. It’s been barely a day. How do I survive multiple days? Weeks even?
No. I can’t start thinking about it. Not just now. Maybe I’ll have to look at this “family” living as one of life’s challenges and adventures.
For me it is.
Ryder glares after Wyatt and then turns to me. I tense, ready for the reprimand, or reneging on the agreement. That’s been my total experience in the past. No one keeps their word. No one puts me over their own comfort. Of course, these loving parents would put their beloved son over me. It’s new to see anyone whose son is beloved to them.
But Ryder’s lips compress into a wry grin. “Please don’t rob our house blind. However, I wouldn’t have gone along with this plan if I thought you’d do that. Chloe said you assisted at the restaurant quite well today.”
“So did I,” Tara interrupted. It obviously annoyed her that Ryder needed Chloe’s commendations.
“Yes, but she’s a neutral third party. So that’s good. I’m pleased you completed your work to their satisfaction. That earned you fifty dollars, straight up. Keep it up and you’ll be square with us in no time.” I hate myself for the odd rush of… of what? Warmth? Is that what I’m feeling? From a passing compliment from a stranger? A dad-aged dude? A cop? Oh, hell no! Do I care what he thinks of me? Never mind if I appreciate his compliment.
“Why did you agree to do this?”
He puts a scoop full of stir fry into his mouth. I do, too, if only to hide my embarrassment for asking. The damn question just popped out unfiltered. Usually, I don’t bother questioning anyone because hell, no one answers me truthfully anyway. Over the course of my life and my experiences with foster families, my conversations were few and far between. Partly why I love traveling so much. I meet so many interesting people who ask about my lifestyle and I constantly have conversations now. But before I ran away, I never did.
So maybe as a kid and young teen, I was particularly lonely. The traveling kept me alone, but at least I got to engage in some conversations with new people. My rare take on homelessness often makes me far more interesting than the usual homeless people that folks typically deal with. In ways, it makes me more interesting, and before traveling I was just another unwanted foster kid, a burden to society, a nothing. I guess I value the identity my lifestyle gives me, just as much as the actual freedom.
“Because Tara is a pretty compelling speaker and I respect her opinion.” Ryder answers me as he shakes his head. “Years ago, when I discovered her history, I didn’t react in a way that made me real proud. I tried to learn from that. Be less judgmental. Be bigger. Be better. This is me being bigger and better. I deal with a lot of shit from people on the job. I guess… I decided to give you a chance because I saw signs that suggested this was a more practical punishment and a better use of time and also a life lesson.”
I flip a glance to Tara and wonder at her history. I can imagine. More than Ryder. I can see it. Smell it. Hear it. But Ryder or Wyatt could never picture my life because there isn’t any reality based to it. They could never rely on their senses to wonder what it might be like.
“So, what do you think of working a day at a job?”
I roll my eyes with a little laugh, piling more food into my mouth, chewing, and then saying, “I’ve worked before. Lots of jobs in fact. I usually work a few days, or a week, whatever the job calls for or I agree to. I’ll have you know that I’ve never stiffed a person who hired me. I have no real schedule or place to be so there’s no reason for me not to finish. If I say I’ll do it, I will. I get a fourth of the payment up front, halfway through, another installment and all of it when I finish. I’ve been stiffed for half my pay once. But I still did my share. I always live up to my word.”
“You have an interesting work ethic.”
“I don’t really. I ignored it when I grabbed the box from the old lady. My friend, I thought, was in that much need of it right away.”
“A friend?”
“He did send money somewhere today,” Tara adds.
“A fourth of which I’ve worked off.”
“All I said is don’t disappoint us. Be what you claim to be. We’re trusting you to do that, despite our initial introduction to you. Give us the same respect.”
His words make me sit up straighter.
“And you are a guest here now—”
“You have my stuff locked up in your safe,” I point out.
“Well, you’re not exactly a prisoner.”
“No.”
“So anyway, you’re free to move about. Show up for work hours, but the rest are your own. The traveling lifestyle you live, well, you’re welcome to live in the woods or any meadow here. I don’t think we mean to keep you under house arrest. But you’re also welcome to stay in the room and eat all the food we provide.”
“You’re calling my bullshit. I’m not going to sleep in your fields.”
Ryder grinned, getting up to take his plate to the sink. He turns back towards me, leaning on it. “Yes. Enjoy the bed. The hot meals. Don’t rob us blind, or anyone else. Use basic common sense and decency. If you can do that and are willing to, we’ll get along fine. But yeah, I’m a cop, and this is way beyond the usual protocol and yes, I’d only do it for my wife.”
“Decency. I can do that.”
Ryder puts his hand out to me. I’m startled, confused. What? Like man to man? A deal? An agreement? An unwritten oath and contract. So new for me.
I rise up and put my hand out and we shake. No one’s ever shaken my hand before. He had no reason to make a “deal” with me. We both know they hold all the cards. The power. Yet, they allow me to pretend I do.
Ryder slaps my shoulder. “All right then, I have a lawn to mow.”
And off he goes out the front door to the barn. Minutes later, the buzz of a riding lawn mower starts as he steers a green John Deere lawn tractor.
Tara and I exchange pleasantries while I help with the cleanup. I escape to my bedroom and flop down. There’s a TV so I watch some random shows I’ve never seen before. I don’t bother with much TV, given my lifestyle to date. But it’s relaxing to veg like this. Is this what other people do? I’ve never relaxed in any home I’ve ever stayed at. I was usually on edge and always ready to bolt. It’s strange being here, but I feel welcome and safe, too, given the agreement we made
, which for some reason, seems legit. I actually think the two people I made it with plan to hold up their end of the bargain. Which makes me shake my head. When in my experience have I ever seen people actually do what they say they are going to do?
Why should I trust this couple? The cop? The stepmother. The black son. It’s all surprising and confusing, yet I’m relaxed in ways that just don’t happen very often for me.
Chapter 5
WESLEY
When I wake up the next morning, I again take a long shower. Wow, I’m really enjoying that luxury. But when I jerk open my bedroom door, there at the base of it is freshly folded laundry. The jeans, underwear, and t-shirt I wore yesterday. I left them on my bed. Tara must have taken them. There is also the towel I used and some clothes I don’t recognize. I glance up. Tara has just opened her bedroom door.
“Oh. I hope you don’t mind. You only had a couple of outfits laid out. I was doing a load of laundry, so I threw yours in.”
“I—I don’t need you to wash my clothes.”
She shrugs. “Well, I know that. It’s nothing. And Wyatt had some extra stuff. I know you two are circling each other like wild stallions, trying to establish dominance, but you’re also about the same size, much to Wyatt’s chagrin—”
I raise my eyebrows, surprised that she’s confronting this issue so early. She laughs at my look. “Well, you two aren’t exactly subtle. Anyway, I loaned you some of his clothes.”
“He’ll try to rip them off me.”
“He won’t. I already warned him not to. He listens to me.”
“Thank you, Tara. All unnecessary, but I do appreciate it.”
She waves her left hand around, obviously blowing it off. “Oh, it’s really nothing. A few more garments to add to the load I was already doing. Save the big thanks for something impressive.” She grins and saunters down the stairs. I stare after her.
It is actually a grand and original gesture.
