Invisible Ellen

by Shari Shattuck

  When Temerity ripped away the paper from the smaller bundle, Ellen saw a two-inch-thick stack of bills, and she couldn’t stop a gasp; she’d never seen so much cash except at the Costco. “It is money, isn’t it?” Temerity said. “Is it ones or twenties or what?” She held it out for Ellen to investigate.

  Ellen squinted at it. “It looks like mostly twenties. There are some tens and—wait.” She took the bills and flipped through them. “There are quite a few hundred-dollar bills. This is a lot of money.” She handed the cache back to Temerity. “Was it J.B.’s, you think?”

  “More likely it’s the money the kid was supposed to buy the drugs with, but he thought maybe he’d keep them both. That’s the occupational hazard of dealing with someone whose business ethics aren’t exactly exemplary.”

  “What do we do with it? Give it to the police?”

  “Mmm, I don’t think so. It makes J.B. look pretty guilty of selling drugs. He says he’s going to start a new life, and while going to jail would certainly be different, I don’t think it’s the change he had in mind.”

  “I don’t want it,” Ellen said.

  “Me neither.” She hummed. “Maybe we’ll give it to a drug rehab charity. I do love irony. I’ll take it home and hide it for now, we can figure out what to do with it later. First, though, the gun. We need to put it somewhere obvious, then we can call the police and tell them where it is. We’ll say we spotted it, but we don’t want to touch it, something like that.”

  Ellen took a deep breath. She just wanted the nasty thing out of her house. “How about under the back steps? He could have dropped it and they could have missed it. Do you think they looked there?”

  “Even if they did, so what? They need to look again.”

  “I’ll do it, just give me a little more time to . . . stop shaking.”

  Temerity set the stack of money aside and felt for Ellen’s leg. “You were magnificent,” she said. “I’m sorry about what that guy said.”

  Ellen shrugged, but it was more of a spasm than a gesture. “I got used to that a long time ago.”

  But Temerity shook her head. “Nobody gets used to that. I had a few times . . .” Her hand tightened on Ellen’s shin, and Ellen sensed a shift from offering strength to drawing it. “I don’t like to talk about it, or even remember those things; besides, not many people can relate. But this is you, so I’ll tell you about this one time because I want you to know I understand. I mean, sort of, at least.

  “I used to take swimming lessons at the Y, and there were swim teams that practiced there.” She cleared her throat and shook her head before she went on. “Anyway, one day I went into the locker room to change after my lesson, and the girls’ team was in there. One of the girls started talking to me, being friendly, I thought. She was thirteen, my age. I remember I was excited that I might be making a new friend.” She snorted a sad laugh. “Anyway, I got in the shower, and then, while I was washing my hair, I heard laughing.” She paused again and tears welled in her eyes. She brushed them away angrily with her free hand. “Boys laughing. The girls had brought in the boys’ team to watch me take a shower.”

  Ellen put both hands over her mouth. Blue-hot anger sparked in her again, all the more frustrating because this had been long ago and there was no way to defend her friend. “They all started making these horrible comments,” Temerity went on, “and . . . I couldn’t get away, or find my clothes. They’d taken them, and my towel. Finally, my instructor came in looking for me. They all got in trouble, but I never forgot it, and I never went back. I wouldn’t leave my house for a month.”

  For Ellen, who had a mortal fear of anyone ever seeing her naked, this was a manifestation of a nightmare. She knew firsthand how cruel adolescent girls could be. Her frequent moving in the foster care system had made her a constant outcast and forced her to repeat the sixth grade, which labeled her as “stupid” to some particularly vicious specimens. She’d been using the toilet in a stall at her new overcrowded public elementary school when a small group of popular sixth-grade girls had kicked open the door and begun pelting her with wet paper towels, calling her names and laughing at her. She had actually tried to crawl into the small space behind the toilet to hide, which had provided the girls with a wealth of excrement-based nicknames to call her. Those names, ridicule, and cruel taunts had followed her when she slunk through those hated hallways, praying to disappear, to not be there.

  Remembering that Temerity had used the term to describe Ellen’s own past once, she selected it now and said quietly, “That sucks.”

  “Yeah. It did.” Temerity shook her head as though it would loosen the memories and send them flying. “But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “Those little bitches were petty and mean, probably still are, and I don’t believe that cruel people are ever happy. Do you?”

  Ellen considered it. It made sense. Her mother had been cruel and miserable. She thought about the Loretta woman she had seen pick a fight with the nice mom at the thrift store, insisting on smoking in the entrance of the door when she could have easily moved away. That was clearly a wretched person, and her resulting behavior was vile. “No,” Ellen said, feeling stronger. “No, I don’t think they are. If they were happy, they wouldn’t even think about being mean.”

  “Exactly.” Temerity smacked her leg. “Enough of this pity fest. Let’s get busy!”

  “Wait.” Ellen looked down at the largest item on the floor in front of them. “What about that?” she asked, and picking up Temerity’s hand, she set it on the bag of dope.

  Temerity smiled. “I’ll ask Justice, but I think I know what he’ll want to do. There’s a hospice where he sometimes volunteers. I know they use marijuana to help people who can’t eat and are in chronic pain; I’m guessing he’ll drop it off there.”

  “It that legal?” Ellen was surprised.

  Temerity tilted her head to one side and smiled wryly. “‘Legal’ becomes more of a suggestion when someone is in constant pain with no hope of getting better. If something can relieve their suffering, and it certainly can’t hurt them any worse, then obeying an antiquated law might be considered more of a luxury than they can afford.”

  This logic sat easily on Ellen. So they decided what to do. Using rusty barbecue tongs to carefully lower the gun into a paper bag, Ellen carried it down the stairs, around the back of the building. She stopped at the edge of the curtain lady’s apartment. It was completely dark inside; no light seeped through from behind the fabric. She must have gone out—that was unusual. Ellen heard a scratching at the base of the back door and a pathetic whining. It sounded like curtain lady would have a little extra cleaning to do if she didn’t get back soon. She moved out into the courtyard and slipped the gun out of the bag next to J.B.’s steps, then kicked it underneath. She pounded back around the building, up the stairs, and slammed the door behind her.

  “Done?” Temerity asked.

  “Done,” Ellen said, breathing hard.

  “Good. I’ll call from a pay phone and say that my kid thought they saw a gun when they were playing, but I don’t want to get involved. That must be common enough around here.” Ellen said she thought that was probably right, both the not wanting to get involved and the seeing the gun parts.

  “The last thing is this”—Temerity put her hands on her hips—“will you be all right here tonight?”

  Tonight. Work. “What time is it?” Ellen looked at the clock as she said it. It was the first time she had ever forgotten about work. Almost eight. “I won’t be here. I have to go to work.”

  “Perfect. After that guy saw you, I don’t really want you here alone until he’s safely tucked into the back of a patrol car.”

  Ellen hadn’t considered this, but she still didn’t think she was in danger, and she didn’t have anywhere else to go anyway. “I know he saw me, but I don’t think he’ll come back now. There’s
no reason for him to. He knows we have this, and this is what he wanted.” Ellen rustled the bag a little so Temerity would know what she was referring to.

  “Yeah, I’m still not all right with that. At least not until the cops find the gun tonight and hopefully pick him up. I’ll wait for you, then we can take the bus together and I’ll have Justice meet me at the stop, since I’ll be carrying contraband. Do you have a few plastic bags? We’d better zip-lock this up airtight or I’ll either be arrested or smoked before we get to the corner.” She too referenced the brown paper bag around which waves of rich, skunky scent rose, clung, and refused to disperse.

  So they repackaged the cash and wrapped the marijuana in several layers of plastic grocery bags, then Ellen put the whole thing into a canvas tote bag. “There, that should do it.”

  They walked to the corner and while they waited for the 12, Ellen took repeated deep sniffs over the grocery bag but she couldn’t detect the telltale odor.

  The ride was uneventful, though Ellen couldn’t help feeling that everyone on the bus was watching Temerity suspiciously. It’s my guilty conscience, she thought. My perspective.

  Justice was waiting for Temerity at the stop. He gave Ellen a little nod through the window but his face was drawn and concerned. As the bus pulled out, Ellen could see the siblings launch into a heated discussion. Temerity looked both annoyed and abashed.

  Ellen’s knees were beginning to ache. She had put some ointment on them when she changed into dry clothes but she could feel the scrapes stiffening up as they scabbed, making bending and straightening excruciating. When she stood to exit at her stop, she could only rise into a crouch, so she had to walk in a crooked, bent position, which made her feel like a fat spider.

  Fortunately, the more she moved, the easier it became. The pain lessened and by the time she reached the loading dock she was limber enough to function almost normally. Inside Costco, Ellen was going through her usual preparations when she saw Irena. This surprised her; she hadn’t expected the woman to be there. And the Crows were obviously thinking the same thing.

  “What are you doing here?” Rosa asked her. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital with the baby?”

  “I cannot stay there.” Irena hung her head and focused on her locker. “I must to work. And doctor says he must go home in a few days, maybe.” She leaned into her locker and pulled out her battered CD player.

  There was something in the way she said the word “maybe” that caught Ellen’s attention. It wasn’t a “maybe he can go home,” more like a “maybe I’ll take him home.” Kiki hadn’t missed it either. Her eyes narrowed and she said, “You don’t want him, do you?”

  Irena shot a glance at Kiki, fear of discovery in her eyes. Kiki pursed her mouth, waiting for the answer. She crossed her arms and drummed her long fingers against her elbow. Irena tried to draw herself up but the attempt failed and she collapsed forward, exhaustion and worry folding her like an accordion. “He is not my baby. I do not have money to take care.” Her hopelessness was hard to witness.

  Except for the Crows. This year, Christmas had come again right before Easter.

  Rosa said, “I’m sure the hospital can contact social services for you.” Elbowing Kiki aside, she patted Irena’s shoulder. “They’ll find him a nice foster home while they work out the legalities. Don’t you fret, sweetie.”

  Ellen clenched her jaw and ground her teeth. Maybe it wasn’t fair that Irena had been deserted by the father and was stuck with the baby, but discarding the child to what, even with her limited knowledge, was almost certainly a grim fate touched Ellen’s rawest, bleeding nerve. She didn’t know much, but her time in the foster care system had taught her a few of its legal obstacles. Without the birth father or mother to sign off, the baby couldn’t be adopted and would most likely be sent back to Russia and an orphanage. She wanted to shout at Irena, Don’t do it!

  “But I cannot give him up. If the father find out,” Irena continued in a terrified whisper, “he will kill me.”

  “Now, why would you say a thing like that?” Kiki asked as though reprimanding a child for exaggerating.

  “Because he did before.” Irena had spoken so softly that Ellen almost didn’t catch it.

  For just a second, the Crows were speechless. This was more than entertaining gossip. This was scary and real. “He killed someone?” Rosa asked in a horrified whisper. “You can get a restraining order, it’s the law—”

  From her crumpled depths, Irena laughed mirthlessly. “Georgi don’t care for law,” she said. Ellen’s ears pricked up at the mention of the father’s name. “He do what he like,” Irena said.

  “Can you go somewhere he won’t find you?” Rosa asked almost timidly, clearly out of her realm.

  Irena’s hands, limp by her sides, rose an inch then flopped hopelessly back to the bench. Ellen was reminded of the death throes of two small, pale fish desperate for water.

  Kiki cocked her head at Rosa, indicating that they should move on. “Well, try not to worry. Something will come up.”

  Irena sighed and nodded weakly. She lifted her earbuds and inserted the tiny speakers, canceling out the world. Then she slammed the locker shut and left without acknowledging the other women further.

  The Crows watched her go, clucked a bit, and then Kiki said, “Poor thing.”

  They’d said it before, but this time Ellen believed that they meant it.

  They retreated from the locker room. Ellen sat motionless until she thought the other three would be done in the supply room, and then she pulled herself up, wincing at the pain in her knees.

  Checking the assignment list, she saw that she had the front. That meant the checkout registers, followed by the public restrooms. She wrinkled her nose. The “public” was habitually disgusting in its bathroom abuse. The extra-strong cleaning supplies would be necessary.

  The last few checkers were finishing up their final counts when she got to the registers, so she started with the lanes that had been shut down. Staying away from the balding, red-haired manager and the two slowest cashiers adding their totals at the far end, Ellen swept out under and around the register station farthest from them. She cleaned the conveyor, which she enjoyed, because it involved using the foot pedal to make it turn as she wiped. She emptied the trash bin, then moved on to the next register station. When she’d finished it, she made her way toward the customer restrooms. She’d start those while she was waiting for the area to empty of employee habitation.

  She blocked the restroom door open with the cart and was pulling out the toilet cleanser when she saw the Boss rounding the camping display. He called out, “Billy,” and raised a hand in greeting. Following his gaze, Ellen saw the red-haired manager look up in surprise from the register.

  The Boss waited until he had closed the distance between them. In the doorway of the women’s restroom, Ellen wasn’t more than twenty feet from them, and the small anteroom that led to the bathroom made a perfect sounding board for their voices.

  “Hey, maybe you already have tickets, but one of our suppliers gave me two for Saturday’s game, and I don’t want them, thought maybe you might.”

  “Really? Oh damn! I work Saturday.”

  The Boss pulled the two tickets from the breast pocket of his suit and slapped them against his hand as he regarded them thoughtfully. “Ah, too bad. They’re supposed to be really good, and I don’t want to give them to just anybody.”

  Billy took the tickets from him and peered at them through squinted eyes. “These are courtside!” he exclaimed. “You have to wait for somebody to die to get these seats. Why don’t you go?”

  “Oh, never liked basketball. They’d be wasted on me, and besides, with all this, you might have heard, divorce stuff going on, I’m just not up to going out, especially in crowds, you know.”

  “Yeah, I heard. I’m sorry, man.”

  “Well, too bad. I gu
ess I can try to sell them online.” The Boss took the tickets back and started to turn away, and Billy’s face had the look of a kid who’d had his all-day sucker ripped from his sticky little hands.

  “Wait, maybe I could get someone to cover for me,” Billy suggested.

  “Hey, hold on,” the Boss said, turning back. “I don’t work this Saturday, but I could come in for a few hours. Better than sitting in a hotel room alone.” He shrugged, making a show of shaking it off. “So—just an idea—if you want, you could leave early, in time to get to the game, and I can come in and cover for you. You usually get out of here about, what? Ten thirty, eleven? Hell, that’s an early night for me. I mean, if you thought I could handle it.”

  Billy grabbed at the suggestion. “It’s just collection and deposit. The checkers give you the totals from each register, you add them up, record them on the master ledger and put the cash in the safe.”

  “Whoa.” The Boss’s hands went up as though Billy had pulled a gun. “I don’t know if I want to be responsible for the safe combination.”

  The balding man laughed. “It’s on a time lock. You just open the slot in the top, drop the bag in, and when you release it, it rolls back up, like a mailbox, only made of two-inch-thick iron. I can give you my key card for the office door. Are you sure?”

  The Boss laughed sadly. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’d just be miserable, might as well work.”

  He handed over the tickets, got a grateful slap on the back, and strode away toward his domain in the back of the store.

  Saturday, Ellen thought. That was no coincidence.

  And speaking of coincidences . . .