Sheltered

by Debra Chapoton

  Chuck gave a sullen nod and headed back to his room, leaden and defeated.

  Ben waited until Chuck closed his door and the music blared again before he went to the utility room. He threw his hockey bag on top of the chest-style freezer and put in all the equipment that he had laid out on the workbench. Gloves, mask, blades.

  He made a quick stop in the basement bathroom. This room, like the basement bedrooms, was a previous homeowner’s DIY project. The gray concrete floor was spattered with paint; colored lines snaked to the shower drain: blue and yellow, white and pink, with streaks of red and brown overlaying the older stains. It looked like dried blood.

  Ben checked Chuck’s pill bottle and counted out the number of meds left. There was one too many. Oh, great. Chuck probably wouldn’t come out of his room tomorrow. Missing a dose always had consequences. Ben should say something.

  But maybe Chuck would still take his pill tonight before bed. Ben decided to check at 3 a.m. when he came back from hockey, if he remembered.

  ***

  Emily sat on the floor in her darkened room, door locked, blanket wrapped around her. She made a nest near the window so she could watch as Ben drove off. She prayed for his safety.

  The storm let up and the city snow plow had gone down their street, leaving a mound of snow at the end of the driveway. Ben’s car bumped over it in reverse and then headed off toward the arena.

  She waved, unseen. How she wished she could watch him play hockey. She imagined him skating fast around the rink, slamming into other players, raising spurts of ice chips as he turned sharply or braked near the goal. Face offs, slap shots, backhands, saves, power plays . . . and in her fantasies he would wave at her where she sat in the stands, his focus more on showing off for her than on his opponents.

  Emily sighed. Then it occurred to her that she could do something nice for Ben while he was gone. She could shovel the driveway and clear an adequate path to the side door.

  A gust of wind swirled some snow off the roof. It eddied at her window, blurring the glow from the corner street lamp. She sensed a draft, smelled its freshness, and shivered.

  Ben always borrowed the neighbor’s shovel. She rose up and unlocked the door. She padded down the hall to the new girl’s room and went to the window. The neighbor would usually clear his drive and leave the shovel by his side door for Ben, but their lights were out, the driveway thickly blanketed, and there was no shovel to be seen.

  There was nothing she could do for Ben tonight except pray. Emily had become quite regular in her praying. Every night she begged for her mother and brother’s return. Every night she forgave her mother for abandoning her. Every night she asked for forgiveness for herself for all the lies. Every night she prayed for Ben. Emily knew what he had done. It made her grateful. And scared.

  ***

  Cori was only half-drunk. The party in the tattoo parlor where she worked was small this Friday night, probably because of the snow storm. Jason picked her up and brought her back to the small building only because she promised him something she had so far managed to avoid. Jason was twenty-five and had opened the parlor a year ago. He had run away at fifteen, lived on the streets and made money doing tats with a second-hand tattoo gun. He morphed into an artist, a con man, and a sometimes druggie. He cleaned up his act after he spent a year at the alternative school and then six months in the juvenile hall. Cori knew all that from their daily chats. For some reason she could talk to him without getting bitchy or snarly or angry. They clicked.

  She sat on the love seat in the front room, her boots off, her feet tucked up under her short black skirt. She played with the toe ends of her shredded black tights, twirling her fingers around and around the seamed tips. Her usual air of indifference melted with alcohol-produced mirth. Laughter was a reaction she forced herself to avoid at home and school. Her trademarks were moodiness, anger, and resentment. But after the second beer she began to giggle. Jason liked it.

  The parlor was his home as long as he wasn’t caught living there. A few months ago he took on Cori as an apprentice and was glad of it. Business picked up. Kids were coming in younger and younger. According to Michigan law Jason was prohibited from tattooing or piercing a minor without the parent watching and signing a consent form, but with more and more adults caving in to their kids’ demands he was turning a considerable profit. He was able to shell out rent, pay Cori, and make daily trips to the bank. He gave a discount to the emancipated minors; they were the ones who brought him paying customers more often than not. And then there were the trendy twenty-somethings, the silly brides, and even the hip grandmas.

  Jason, sitting half slumped in the client’s chair, grinned at Cori and tapped his pierced tongue twice on his upper teeth. The other couple with them wandered to the back room where Jason had a sofa bed. One more beer each for himself and Cori and then he’d tell Jake and Sue that the party was over.

  “So what did you do after you tied them up?” Jason asked.

  Cori laughed too loud and took another slurp. “I watched Dawn of the Dead and told them that if they said anything to their folks their next babysitter wouldn’t be as nice as me.”

  “But they told?”

  “Yup. Everything I ever did . . . somebody narked on me . . . or a camera caught me.” She laughed again and pulled at her toes. “What are they doing back there? I thought we were going to party?”

  “Is that empty?” Jason reached across for her can, crushed it, and handed her a new one.

  The city plow scraped along the street outside, its lights making the dark interior flash and glow with reflections that danced from mirror to glass framed samples to shiny displays of nipple rings and silver doodads. Cori popped the tab and rose up unsteadily; she settled back down on her other hip, leaving one foot on the floor.

  Saturday

  Chapter 3

  Ben got in at 2:45 a.m., tired, aching, but wide awake. There were two sets of tracks going from the street to the front door, then the tracks doubled back to the driveway and continued to the side door. A third set of tracks went straight back to the street.

  The door was unlocked, but that didn’t alarm him. Cori was careless, believing their safety lay in the stupid theory that no burglar would enter a totally dark house . . . or a house with the TV on . . . or a house with all the lights on. He locked the door and threw his hockey bag down the steps. The TV was glowing but there was no sound. He tip-toed to the living room and found Cori sprawled on the couch, coat and boots still on. He bent low and sniffed.

  He picked the remote control up off the floor where it had dropped from Cori’s fingers. She had missed the off button and muted it instead. He flicked it off. It wasn’t too big a waste of electricity, but he was trying to pay all the bills without dipping into his account. Maybe he should have Mrs. Kremer charge them for utilities. He dropped that thought as soon as it entered his head. The only one who would understand was Emily and he didn’t want to punish her for the others’ wastefulness. She was such a pitiable little kitten. Poor thing.

  He looked down at Cori. Kind of like a stray feral cat. Also a poor thing.

  ***

  Megan was both excited and apprehensive to make the move. There was a tearful string of goodbyes with the family that had helped her through a most demanding time. She was afraid and more than a little uneasy to take such a huge step, a step that put her closer to being with Simon. She stuffed the rest of her things into two large black trash bags and threw them in the backseat. Her friend’s dad, Mr. Felker, was going to drive her to the rooming house. He said he wanted to meet Mrs. Kremer.

  “When is she arriving?” Emily’s curiosity trumped her timidity; she spoke softly at Ben’s back. He was dishing up some cereal for breakfast though it was nearly noon.

  Ben shrugged his shoulders. “Sometime today.” He stood at the counter, answering her in equally soft tones so as not to wake the mulish fiend sprawled on the couch.

  Emily wondered what they should do about Co
ri. She was sure to wake up loud and angry, hung-over and mean, especially if the new girl made any noise at all moving in. Even big old Adam had crept carefully past her to plant himself in the den first thing this morning.

  “Oh, she’s here.” Emily breathed out the announcement in one excited breath.

  She watched from the dining room archway as a man lugged two garbage bags behind a girl with long brown hair. She’s pretty, Emily thought, and tall. She stared as Megan walked with purpose and confidence toward the house. She won’t be shy. Ben will like her more. Emily swallowed a lump of jealous fear.

  “What the f–!” Cori was awake.

  Ben and Emily exchanged glances then rushed to the living room at once.

  “Are you okay?” Ben asked. “You need anything?”

  Emily stood still, staring at the raccoon-like mask that was Cori’s smeared face. Black eye-liner ran in streaks down her cheeks; there were dark smudges on the backs of her hands where her face had rested for lack of a pillow.

  Cori clunked her booted feet to the floor and swore again. She put her head in her hands and groaned. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  “Take her to the bathroom,” Ben ordered. “I’ll get the door.”

  Cori swatted away Emily’s hand and stood up, then clutched at Emily for support as she teetered forward. Emily helped her to the bathroom, closing the door behind them. Ben grabbed the remote, turned the TV on, and raised the volume just as there was a knock at the side door. He could only hope that the silly rerun would mask the gross sounds Cori was making.

  Megan smiled at Ben with hidden emotion as he opened the door. He stood back so they could enter. Megan made a hasty introduction of her friend’s father as he dropped her bags onto the kitchen floor.

  “I’d like to meet this Mrs. Kremer,” Mr. Felker said as he reached back to close the door. “It’s wonderful what she’s doing for all you kids.” He glanced down the basement stairs and then into the kitchen. “A rooming house, huh? Kind of like a fraternity or sorority, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so. Uh, Mrs. Kremer isn’t available right now.” Ben took a big chance and added, “She’s got the flu or something. She’s in the bathroom.” He nodded in that direction and Megan took another step through the kitchen. Mr. Felker followed. The toilet flushed and a string of expletives were only partly muffled by the sound. They all could hear Emily repeating sorry, sorry as there was more banging, coughing, wretching and cussing.

  “Sorry ’bout that,” Ben said. “I’ve never heard Mrs. Kremer swear before.” That was certainly a true statement.

  Megan shifted her gaze from the hallway back to Ben and then to Mr. Felker. “I’ll be okay, really. Don’t worry.”

  The man’s frown didn’t fade, but he gave Megan a quick hug, promised to check back with her before they left town, and shook hands with Ben.

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” Ben said.

  Meg smiled at his politeness and hid her relief that Mr. Felker was as accepting of Ben’s genuine maturity as she was. She wanted to judge his character correctly; he acted older than the boys she was used to.

  She was sorry to hear that Mrs. Kremer was ill, but glad to avoid all that adult-talk with Mr. Felker asking probing questions. He could spot a lie still between your teeth. Although Mrs. Kremer treated her nicely enough when she met her last night, she didn’t fit the stereotype of a sweet and charming housemother. It didn’t actually matter if Mr. Felker approved of this whole rooming house thing, though. He wasn’t family and even if he was, her own parents had pushed her out, signed the papers, and made it legal for her to make her own decisions.

  “Well . . . call if you need anything.” Megan nodded at the offer and said another goodbye as he ducked out the door and tramped through the snow.

  She turned back to Ben. “So . . . uh, Mrs. Kremer is sick?”

  She knew he was staring at the freckles on her face and she self-consciously rubbed at her nose. Boy, his eyes were blue, so blue. A really, really clear baby blue. Like Simon’s, she thought, only . . . sexy.

  “Uh,” Ben held back for a second, deciding, “uh, no, not really. She’s not here actually.” This was a questionable but true statement. “I wasn’t sure if Mr. Felker was gonna let you move in to a house of teens, so . . .”

  “That’s all right. I understand. So who’s sick?”

  The bathroom door burst open at that moment along with the door to the den. Suddenly there were five teens assessing one another.

  “Who is she?” Cori demanded.

  “The new girl,” Emily murmured.

  “Shut up! I didn’t ask you! Who is she, Ben? What’s her name?” Cori leaned against the bathroom doorframe effectively screening Emily from view.

  “I’m Megan, Megan Blakeney. I’m moving into the third bedroom upstairs. You must be Cori,” she said taking a couple steps toward her. Ben reached for her arm and held her back.

  “And why must I be Cori? Did somebody tell you the black sheep was Cori?” She ignored Adam and passed him to first knock and then pound on Mrs. Kremer’s door. “Hey, bitch!” She pounded again. “We don’t want another messed up kid here. Tell her she can’t stay!”

  Ben went straight for Cori who was starting to weaken the old door with her incessant battering. “She’s not in there.”

  Cori swatted at him. “She’s never in there! She hasn’t been in there in three months!”

  Ben glanced back at Megan whose face was two shades paler. Emily slinked back into the bathroom and Adam tilted his Fedora forward over his eyes.

  “Cori!” Low yet forceful, Ben’s voice found purchase in Cori’s hazy brain. She took a step toward Megan then turned and made for the bathroom again, whisking past Emily and shoving her out. Emily pulled the door closed and stared at her feet.

  “Guys,” Ben motioned Adam and Emily toward the kitchen, “Adam, Emily, this is Megan. Megan, meet Adam and Emily, the two quietest people on the earth.”

  Adam stepped toward her and swooped his hat off, making a low bow like an English actor. Emily lifted her eyes and raised her hand.

  Megan couldn’t help but smile as she nodded to Adam and returned little finger waves with Emily. “Nice to meet you.”

  Ben tried for more damage control. “Don’t pay any attention to anything Cori says. Em, why don’t you help Megan with her bags?” He looked at Megan. “Guys aren’t usually allowed upstairs. Especially when Cori is in one of her moods.” He opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a brown paper bag. “Some locks. You can guess what for.” The deep dimples appeared. “I’ll help you later.”

  Megan took the bag and followed Emily.

  ***

  Emily led the way, dragging one of the bags sideways up the narrow staircase. She stepped aside at Megan’s bedroom door and let her enter first. Quickly she explained, “I hope you don’t mind.” Her voice was soft and Megan gave her a questioning look. “I hung your things up.”

  “Thank you.” Megan tried to remember what Ben told her about Emily. Quiet and shy? Yes, definitely. “Did you make the bed, too?”

  Emily nodded and looked like she had something else to say. Instead she dragged the bag toward the closet and worked on untying the yellow plastic knot.

  “It’s nice of you to help.” Megan hoped she’d be able to get more words out of Emily, but maybe she had reached her limit. She thought of a number of questions to ask, starting with what was going on with Cori. Cori was the one Ben said was incorrigible, a word she hadn’t heard before he used it. She thought she knew the meaning now. Ornery wasn’t a strong enough word.

  “So . . .” Megan chose a safe question first, “do you like living here?”

  Emily only shrugged her shoulders and worked harder to loosen the knot. She stretched the mouth of the bag and pulled out an armload of carefully folded clothes.

  “Do you like Ben? He seems nice.” Megan worked on opening the second bag but watched Emily for a reaction. She wasn’t going to give much away with words but he
r body language was easily readable.

  “He’s okay.” Emily crossed her arms over her chest. Megan thought she might be hiding her feelings with a lie. She watched her closely. Emily said, “The guys here are okay, but–”

  “But what?”

  “Cori . . . she went through your things.”

  “What?”

  “If anything is missing . . . she took it. It wasn’t me.”

  Megan was afraid to get angry; she didn’t want to upset Emily who suggested such fragility. Now she understood why Ben had given her the bag of locks.

  “It’s all right. I don’t think we’re the same size any way. She’s looks as big as a horse.”

  That made Emily snort and then she giggled. It broke the ice and both girls laughed and relaxed. Megan talked and drew Emily more and more out of her shell as they hung clothes and arranged items in the room. Megan tucked a small yellow photo album and a packet of papers in her top drawer and wondered if any of the locks Ben provided would allow her to bolt the drawer closed.

  “What did Cori mean,” Megan finally asked, “about Mrs. Kremer not being here for three months?”

  ***

  Ben stood back as Cori took over the kitchen, pulling several things out of the fridge to make herself a sandwich. She took it into the dining room and shoved aside the books on the table and used a paper towel as a plate.

  “What’re you staring at?” She took a bite of her sandwich, not bothering to lift her head to Ben.

  Ben sat down at the table with her. “Cori, what are you trying to do? Don’t you want to keep things like they are?” He watched her pull a piece of crust off, her black fingernails contrasting with the soft white bread. He didn’t expect an apology, but he had to make her regret her outburst. “Do you have anywhere else to live?”

  Cori’s eyes went dark, as bitter and malicious as ever though she had washed off the streaks and shadows. “You think you’re kicking me out? Who put you in charge?”