Becoming Ellen

by Shari Shattuck

  Unfortunately, the metal trash can went flying. It clanged across the floor, crashed noisily off the stall partition, which made its own distinct booming sound, and clattered back at her, every hit and smack reverberating like the steel drum it was, until it came to rest on her lap. Ellen’s ears were ringing with the echoing din.

  She sat for a few seconds, mortified at the commotion, and then tested her legs. They worked. She was moving the trash can off her lap when the bathroom door opened.

  Horrified at the possibility of being confronted by one of the coarse dockworkers and being subjected to their cruel taunts, Ellen had to fight the impulse to pull the trash can over her head. Sheepishly, she looked up at the face in the doorway.

  She was not looking at one of the callous men, but at Thelma, who was looking back at her with nothing but concern.

  “Are you okay?” Thelma asked. “I was next door and I heard a crash.”

  “I’m fine,” Ellen mumbled, rolling onto her knees and then struggling to stand. Thelma was next to her in a flash. With one hand under Ellen’s arm, she helped her to her feet. Ellen stepped away the second she was upright. “Thanks,” she stammered, staring at the floor. Pretending to wipe herself down, she swiped at the spot where she’d been touched, brushing away the contact.

  “What happened?” Thelma asked as she picked up the trash can and turned it upright.

  “I was changing the deodorizer,” Ellen lied.

  “Well, next time get a ladder. Safety first!” Thelma smiled at her recital of one of the many posters distributed around the employee-only areas of the store. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should file an injury report—”

  “Nothankyou,” Ellen said in a one-word rush. “I’m fine.”

  Though she wasn’t looking at Thelma, Ellen could tell that Thelma was watching her. “I know who you are,” the produce manager said. “You’re the one who . . . well, got shot last year. But I’m sorry, I forget your name.”

  As invisible as Ellen could be, getting shot was a surefire way to get yourself noticed, a pun that Justice had enjoyed. As friendly as Thelma was, Ellen was desperate to escape the tiny bathroom and the scrutiny, so she said, “Ellen.”

  Thelma nodded. “Right, of course, well, I’m Thelma, I’m the produce manager. I haven’t seen you since that night, you just get back?”

  She’d been back for more than five months, but because it was the path of least resistance, Ellen said, “Yes.”

  Thelma held out a hand. Trapped, Ellen extended her own to take it. The shake was firm, confident, and mercifully quick.

  “Nice to meet you, Ellen,” Thelma said. “Listen, if you want somebody to check you out, my girlfriend is a doctor, she has offices in the Venture Medical complex, and she takes our insurance. She’s there every day but Thursday, that’s the one day a week she works at the free clinic in midtown, at the Good Samaritan.”

  As trying as the encounter was for Ellen, some small part of her felt a thrill of recognition. “I know it. I live near there,” Ellen found herself saying. She did know the clinic, it was only a few blocks away from the loft, toward the harder part of town.

  Thelma wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t recommend going there, but if you don’t have a doctor, Beth’s an awful good one. If you come by my office, I’ll give you her card.”

  “Or maybe you could just leave it for me, like on the door or something, then I won’t have to bother you.” It was the best way to get the card and avoid further contact that Ellen could come up with at a second’s notice.

  Thelma nodded. “Sure.” To Ellen’s great surprise, Thelma’s strong hand slapped against her back. “Okay, you, if you’re sure you’re okay, then we should both get back to work.”

  Without another word, Thelma turned and left the men’s restroom, striding out as confidently as if she owned the place. Ellen was filled with admiration. If she had been seen coming out of a men’s room, even with the excuse of cleaning it, she would have been mortified.

  Of course, it wasn’t much better getting caught crashing to the floor from an upturned metal trash can in a men’s room, she thought as she gathered up her things onto her cart. Well, at least I fell after I mopped. That’s something.

  She checked carefully out the door, scanning the dock to make sure no one was lurking, before she scurried out, packed up her BATHROOM CLOSED sign, and hurried back to the store floor.

  Though her next assignment was cleaning the glass of the huge sliding doors on the front of the store, Ellen went first to the outdoor section. Glancing up, she noted the location of the security camera for this aisle and was annoyed to see that it pointed directly at the area she needed to visit.

  Oh well, she’d have to risk it. Pulling out her duster, Ellen began to run it across the displays of camping supplies and sporting goods. When she came to the item she was after, she took out her box cutter, turned her back to the camera, blocking her movements, and slit open the clear-plastic inventory control packaging. She removed the contents and shoved the plastic behind the other packages. Then she turned toward the camera, and feigned “finding” the trash, putting the mutilated packaging into the designated bin on her cart for damaged merchandise to be recorded by the night manager at the end of the shift.

  She wasn’t really worried. Ellen had watched the security guards in their little glass cube with the monitors. Mostly they dozed, and Ellen wasn’t even sure that she would show up on a camera when she was invisible, she’d never tested it.

  The contents of the package weren’t cheap, it would take her more than two extra hours of work to “pay” for it. She patted the big pocket of her work smock. The bulge her prize made was small, about the size of two boxes of kitchen matches.

  13

  When Ellen got home early, Justice was having a breakfast of whole wheat pancakes and turkey bacon. Ellen eagerly agreed to a portion of her own. Though secretly she felt that turkey bacon was a poor substitute for the real thing, it was still . . . well, bacon.

  As he reheated the pan, Justice asked, “So, how did the trip to the suburbs go?”

  “Fine.” Ellen wanted to say more. Justice was the easiest person to talk to whom she had ever met, and she liked listening to him, so she added, “There were lots of trees.”

  “Nice,” Justice said. “Did Temerity tell you that Highland Park isn’t far from where we grew up?”

  Ellen sat up a bit at that. “Really?” she asked. “In that neighborhood?”

  Justice laughed and tested the pan with a sprinkle of water from the sink; it sizzled. “No, about twenty minutes farther out, but that direction anyway. My parents still live there, in fact. It’s a little bit more open where they live, not subdivisions, more land, and the houses are all different. Not like those housing developments with a choice of three floor plans.”

  Watching as the batter was poured into the skillet, Ellen thought about that. The idea of having even more land was daunting to her, but she liked the idea. “It’s private, right?”

  “Very.” Justice nodded and lifted a corner of the pancake to test its doneness. Not ready. He let it fall. “The house is surrounded by woods, and they can’t see another house from theirs. I mean, there are other homes nearby, you just can’t see them.”

  She thought about being able to go outside without worrying that anyone else would be there to see her and with no threat of interaction. It sounded like bliss to her. “I think I’d like that,” Ellen said.

  “You would like it!” Justice told her, and then he put down his spatula and came to stand across from her. “And I’d like to take you.” Ellen recoiled, leaning back and crossing her arms, but Justice went on. “They still haven’t met Amanda. She’s been so busy with her residency that I barely get to see her. It’s no big deal, just dinner with the folks, it would only be them, and they’d really like to meet you.”

  “Why?�
�� she asked. “Why would they want to meet me?” The idea of being anticipated was even more alarming than the prospect of meeting people.

  Justice turned away to flip the pancakes. Over his shoulder he said, “Because they’ve heard such good things about you. And, complete disclosure, because they are both psychiatrists and they are fascinated by your story.”

  A story? Did she have a story? Ellen didn’t really think so, but Justice thought about things differently, being an anthropologist. So she asked, “What story?”

  With a sigh, Justice explained. “The way you were brought up, or rather, the lack of being brought up. The fact that you’ve been through so much, almost all of it on your own, and still become this rather remarkable person, is unusual. You must know that.” Justice flipped the pancakes onto the plate next to three strips of bacon and carried it over to her.

  Ellen could feel a frown on her face as she thought of the hundreds of other kids she’d crossed paths with, though she could recall only a handful of their names. She said, “Lots of people have grown up like me.”

  “True, though I doubt any of them can move through life invisibly, and I really doubt if any of them have thwarted a robbery-slash-murder attempt.”

  But Ellen didn’t feel that those things were exceptional, just what she had done to survive, or because the moment had required it. “I’m boring, and you know it,” she told him.

  Mouse made a vocal appearance and would not be silenced without his share of bacon, though he sniffed at the turkey version suspiciously, as though he, too, detected an inferior substitute. Then he ate it.

  “You think you’re boring, huh?” Justice asked, propping his face on his hands across from her. “Let me ask you something. How’s the kid from the bus—Lydia?”

  “It looks like she really scored a nice family.” Ellen poured syrup to cover her blush when she realized she’d just told him where she and Temerity had gone.

  “Mm-hmm,” Justice hummed. “And how many boring people have an undercover detective drop by to talk to them?”

  Ellen’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “A Detective Barclay. He came by to thank you, he said. I told him you were at work. It seems like you both work nights.”

  That, at least, was a relief.

  “You didn’t tell me you helped him save the bus driver.” Justice was beaming at her. “And you karate-kicked a three-hundred-pound, six-foot-four attacker who was high on meth cut with animal tranquilizer when he was about to go after the good detective, who was, apparently, trailing him because he’s trying to find the source of the drugs.” He shook his head and smiled. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but they wanted to give you a citation. You know, get your picture taken for the paper and whatnot.”

  Ellen actually put her hands to her throat because she had stopped taking in air, but Justice hurried on. “It’s okay, I told him you would much rather not. Actually, I said it was against your religion. Which is privacy.”

  Ellen sucked in a gasping breath and let her hands fall.

  But Justice wasn’t done. “And how boring is it that you’re helping the kid who lives in the basement?”

  “Wha . . . who?” Ellen feigned ignorance.

  But Justice waved a finger at her. “You think I didn’t know about that? I spotted him going through the grate when I got home from work about a week ago, but I didn’t let on. I’ve been leaving him food and blankets. Of course, he doesn’t know that either, I just left them in the dumpster, and made sure I forgot to lock it. I even talked to him, twice. His name is Seth.”

  Ellen’s head felt as soaked with syrup as the pancakes on her plate. “And you didn’t call the police, or, uh, anyone?”

  Justice shook his head and looked concerned. “Before I met you, I would have, but now I decided to wait and see. No. I think where he came from is worse than where he is. I can’t tell you why exactly, it has to do with some of the things he said about his uncle. But he’s terrified to be sent back.”

  Her appetite left the room without excusing itself and Ellen pushed the plate away. “I thought it might be . . . I was sure it must . . . What should we do?”

  Justice tilted his head sideways and regarded her. “I was kind of hoping you could tell me.”

  Stunned to find herself the resident expert on anything, Ellen tried to give it some thought. “Uhm, well, if he’s fifteen, and he doesn’t have a legal guardian, then he can choose—”

  “He’s twelve, and his uncle has custody. From what I can guess, the guy is a shyster, but capable of hoodwinking the forces-that-be when interviewed. And it sounds like he’s the one who is . . . making money off Seth.” Justice’s face twisted. Ellen was afraid he might throw up or punch someone, or both.

  “Is there anyone else?” Ellen asked, expecting a no.

  “There’s a mom, apparently, who ‘signed off’ on him, is the way he put it. And Mom’s got a boyfriend that . . . I think that might be where the . . . trouble started.”

  Ellen nodded, her stomach twisting into a mass of knots. “So she relinquished custody and is out of the picture. Well, that means he has to wait at least three years, or find a way to get the uncle arrested and convicted.” She felt hopeless. So many of the kids that had shared homes with her had been there for only a short time—the time their guardian had stood trial for abusing them. Only to be sent back when the overworked court system let the abusive parent walk. And if the child had said anything against them in the meantime . . . She couldn’t bear to think about it.

  “Arrested, huh?” Justice was thinking, tapping the fingers of one hand on the countertop. “I’m pretty sure Seth won’t want to give us any information. Is there some kind of protective custody?” he asked hopefully.

  Ellen stared past Justice. “There’s supposed to be.” The simple sentence was infused with sadness. Justice simply nodded his understanding.

  Ellen elaborated. “To get away and stay away from the uncle, he’d probably have to testify against him, and that doesn’t always work, especially if the uncle has a good lawyer. I’ve never seen it myself—I mean, I’ve never been to court—but I’ve heard about it . . . after. The kids tell their stories, you know, testify, and then the lawyers make them look like liars. Some of them do have juvenile records, so that’s not too hard, but it doesn’t mean what they said wasn’t true.” Ellen didn’t add that one of the kids, whose story she’d overheard as he told it to another boy in the household, was the one who had taken his own life instead of returning to the abusive father.

  “He’s sick,” Ellen said. “I think he needs medicine, and not the store-bought kind.” She was hopeful. “Can Amanda get it for him?”

  Justice shook his head. “I thought of that, of course, but here’s the thing. Because he’s a minor, the hospital would notify Seth’s uncle. They’d have to.” He sighed. “Plus, Amanda’s legally required to report incidents of abuse, and I don’t want to put her in the position of lying. She could lose everything she’s worked for.”

  “I have another idea,” Ellen said. As she shyly outlined it to Justice, her appetite returned and she pulled the plate back to her and took a forkful.

  When she was done with the pancakes and the plan, Justice just stood smiling and nodding his head at her. “It could work,” he said. Then he got her two more pieces of bacon from the pan and slid them on her plate. “And it is not boring.”

  Encouraged, Ellen ventured, “What do you know about illegal drugs?”

  “You mean, like, meth, or heroin?” he asked. He blew out his cheeks and puffed. “Not much. I mean, I’ve never used anything harder than weed. Why?”

  Ellen wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him everything, not yet, he would worry too much. So she just said, “I think that this guy who works on the dock might be using the trucks to bring in . . . something . . . I don’t know what it is. And I know he and some of the other gu
ys are smoking . . . you know . . . weed when they are working.”

  Justice sighed. “Way too many people do. At least they’re not driving.”

  “Yes, they are. I mean, forklifts and machinery and stuff.”

  “Ooh, not good. And you won’t report this?”

  Ellen just tilted her head and looked at him. They’d been through all this a year ago. The prospect of facing management, security guards, and then police and detectives was as repellent to Ellen as the idea of pole dancing naked.

  “No, I know,” he said. “Well, I suppose someone else needs to see it. You’re still not connecting with anyone at work?” He asked this question as though it were completely normal, because for Ellen it was, which made it easy to answer.

  Ellen opened her mouth to say no, and then she thought about Thelma introducing herself and shaking her hand. “Not really,” she admitted, then amended her answer to “I mean, no.” For all practical purposes—which is what this would be—“no” was accurate.

  “Okay, so that limits our options,” Justice said. “Are you sure this person is dealing drugs?”

  Ellen thought about that. She’d seen Eric get high on the job, receive a shipment of what was pretty clearly some kind of illegal substance, bully Thelma, and lie to the general manager about the death of his own mother. “Pretty sure,” she said.

  “Then you need to probably stay out of it.” Justice raised his eyes to the ceiling far above. “Like my telling you that is going to do any good. Does Temerity know about this?”

  Ellen shook her head.

  Justice said, “Well, then involvement isn’t yet imminent. What about Seth?” Another shake. “Are you going to tell her?”

  “I’m not going to lie to her.”

  The handsome man smiled at Ellen. “I don’t think you should. In fact, I think she might be very useful for your particular plan. And you know how she loves to be useful! Ah! Here she comes now.”