by Amy Allgeyer
I was alone in the apartment, packing up all our crap so the movers could take it to the storage place the next day. The last thing I needed was to waste time listening to her justify things. Not that that stopped her.
“Lib, I’m so sorry about all this,” she said. “It wasn’t supposed to go down that way. Perry went off book and screwed the rest of us.” She sighed. “If I could go back and undo it, I would. I totally would.”
I dumped the silverware into a box, thinking, Duh.
“And, Lib … I feel really bad about your college money.”
That was a stake through my heart. Thanks to her incredibly stupid decisions, the money Granny and Granddaddy squirreled away, dollar by dollar, year after year, for my college had been magically transformed into something called a retainer, cashed out and handed to a trial lawyer from Upper Marlboro.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’ll pay back every cent.”
That’s when I flipped out. “Oh really? You’ll pay back the money. Great! How do you plan to do that from prison?”
“I’m innocent,” she says. “The judge will see that.”
“Right. And what about the rest of it?”
She paused, not understanding as usual. “The rest?”
I wanted to yell at her, to say, “Yeah! The volleyball games you missed. The teacher conferences I went to alone. The dentist appointments I made for myself. The plays I starred in that you never saw. And the dinners. What about all the dinners?” I wanted to scream that at her and see if she had even an ounce of remorse. But I didn’t. I just hung up and kept packing.
Granny is looking at me with concern. “Is it true you ain’t even writ her once?”
“It’s true. Are you done with your dinner?”
She nods. “You’re at least reading her emails, ain’t ya?”
I put her still nearly full plate onto my tray. “No, Granny.”
“Aw, now. That ain’t right. It costs money for her to be sending those.”
“Then tell her to stop emailing and send us the money instead. God knows we could use it.” I take her tray into the kitchen and start cleaning up.
Before I moved here, I had no idea how bad Granny’s finances were. The little bit of Social Security she gets barely covers her own expenses, much less the extra food and school stuff for me.
That’s been worrying me more and more. All these medical bills will be adding up. If Granny’s cough is something serious, like cancer, we could be looking at thousands, even tens of thousands of dollars. There’s no way she could pay that off, and Medicaid won’t cover it, not all of it.
The only thing of value Granny has is this house. I don’t know the rules—can they take it and sell it? Kick her out? Kick us out? Would they? What would we do then?
I watch the orange water swirling down the drain. I have no answers.
Twelve
After a few weeks in Ebbottsville, I’m embarrassed to admit that lunch is now my favorite thing about school. Thanks to the Plurd County School District and some generous funding from the U.S. government, kids from poor families get free lunch. For some of us, it’s the only meal of the day. I guess I’m one of the lucky ones. Our canned-soup dinners aren’t exactly square, but they’re something.
Cole winds a strand of my hair around his finger. “Are we doing something tonight?”
I nod, my mouth full of fish stick. I never expected to enjoy processed seafood, but four days of ramen can readjust a person’s taste buds. So can an empty stomach. I’m seriously considering eating the cardboard lunch tray. And the milk carton. And maybe the spork.
“What’s on the agenda?” I ask. “Any parties?” Specifying parties is a bit stupid, since there’s never anything else going on. There’s no theater, no clubs, no museums or decent restaurants. No … nothing. Just windy roads, hormonal teenagers, and acres of unsupervised mountains. It’s no wonder the senior class boasts seven expectant mothers.
“No parties,” Cole says. “I thought we’d just go to my house. Maybe watch some TV?”
“Oh. Cool.” I haven’t been to Cole’s house yet. We’ve mostly just hung out after school and, obviously, at parties. Baseball season started last Thursday, and I stayed late to watch the first game. But that pretty much covers the landscape of our relationship.
“Pick you up at seven?”
“Seven’s good,” I say. “That’ll give me time to go by the library and make dinner for Granny before I go.”
“The library again?” says Cole. “C’mon, Lib. When are you gonna admit you’re wrong about the water?”
Despite the research I’ve shown him, Cole refuses to believe the mine has anything to do with people getting sick. Maybe it’s because his dad works there. Maybe it’s because Cole’s odd jobs at the mine pay for the missing parts of his car. Whatever the reason, he’s absolutely sure I’m falling prey to some liberal media conspiracy. I’ve found it’s easiest to change the subject.
“It doesn’t make sense for you to come and get me tonight,” I say. “I’ll just drive Granny’s car over.”
“I don’t mind.”
I should probably let him. He always seems to have money for food and gas. But inefficiency bugs me. “No,” I say. “You’d make four trips instead of me just making two.”
Cole shrugs. “Whatever you want.”
He turns to Dobber and starts talking about yesterday’s practice. His fingers are still wound into mine though. I run my thumb across his knuckles, listening to the baseball talk and thinking about other things.
The appointment for Granny’s x-ray is Monday. I wish I could fast-forward through the weekend and get the x-ray over with. I hate the not knowing. Plus, Granny’s definitely been getting worse. She sleeps more, coughs more, eats less.
“I can’t,” Dobber says, interrupting my worry fest. “Daddy’s gotta meet with his parole officer.”
I’ve only heard a little about what Mr. Dobber did to warrant the bling on his ankle. But asking Dobber about his law-breaking father seems unfair, considering I wouldn’t want him asking about MFM.
“You’re missing practice, then?” Cole asks.
“Yeah, I gotta drive him into town.” He glances at me then down to his log pile of fish sticks. I wonder if he pays extra for those or just flirts with the cafeteria lady. “Ain’t you gonna ask?”
“What?” I’m trying to recall what they were talking about as two very ambrosia-looking fish sticks disappear into Dobber’s mouth.
“Come on, new girl,” he says. “Somebody goes to jail, what’s the first thing ever’body wants to know?”
If Dobber only knew how well I knew the answer to that question. “You mean your dad. Do you want to tell me?”
“He beat somebody up.” He stares across the table like he’s daring me to ask more.
I like dares, and he’s the one who brought this up, so I ask, “Who was it?”
“Robert Peabody.”
“Peabody?” I wasn’t expecting that. “Why?”
Cole taps Dobber on the arm. “That’s ancient history, man. Don’t go dragging shit up. You got a future to think about.”
Dobber shrugs. “I ain’t dragging nothing. Just thought she might want to know.” He downs the last fish stick and starts piling trash onto his plate.
I’m wondering why Dobber wants me to know this. I mean, I’ve heard some of it already. That Mr. Dobber attacked a guy and nearly beat him to death. The only new information is who it was. “What’s your dad got against Peabody?”
“He’s a shit,” Dobber says quietly.
“That’s enough,” Cole says.
Dobber’s eyes shift from me to Cole and back again. They’re lighter than his father’s, but I can see some of the same anger there. It’s the first time he’s reminded me of his dad. It’s a little scary, that kind of mad in a package that big.
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“Lots of people are shits,” I say.
“Yeah, but Peabody’s a special kind of shit.”
“Bullcrap,” Cole says. “If it weren’t for Peabody, this town would dry up and blow away. Mine jobs are the only jobs worth having around here. You know that, Dobber.”
It’s weird to see Cole and Dobber on opposite sides of an issue. “Did Peabody do something to your dad?” I ask.
Dobber leans forward, tilting his chair.
Cole says, “Drop it, Dob.”
Dobber’s chair thuds against the floor as he drops back. “Why?”
“’Cause you’re wrong. And it doesn’t do any good for you to be talking about it,” Cole says.
“Don’t do no good to not talk about it either. Does it?” Dobber stands up and sort of addresses the tables around us. “We been not talking ’bout this for years and ain’t nothing changed.” People pretend not to notice, but I can tell they’re all listening. “He’s still making his dollar. He’s still shitting on the men.”
Next thing I know, Cole’s in Dobber’s face, pushing him back into his chair. “Shut up and shut up now,” he whispers. “They’re already watching y’all. You’ll end up with a rope dog if you’re not careful.”
The hairs on my arms are standing on end from all the testosterone in the air.
“Fuck you, Cole. I ain’t afraid of Peabody.”
I’m wondering what the hell a rope dog is as Dobber slams out the cafeteria doors.
“Well,” I say. “That was interesting.”
Cole turns to me, his eyes still angry. “Look, you need to back off this.”
“Back off what? I’m not the one who started talking about—”
“That research you’re doing, saying crazy stuff about the water—”
“It’s not crazy,” I say. “There are scientific studies that prove mountaintop—”
“Studies my ass. That’s nothing but a pack of lies.”
“Right. A million web pages, a thousand different sources all got together to fabricate and disseminate the same fake information. Just for fun.”
“Just drop it, a’ight?” He flops into his chair. “It’s for the best.”
“Best for whom?”
“For you. For everybody. Especially Dobber.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Dobber doesn’t seem to care what Peabody thinks about him.”
“Well, he needs to. And he knows it.”
“Why?”
“Think about it, Lib. You and me are outta here in a couple years—college, careers. Probably neither one of us will be coming back to Ebbottsville.”
I wish I could see that far into the future.
“You think Dobber’s got the cash for college? You think he’s ever getting out of here?”
“I don’t know. I guess I assumed—”
“It’s not happening. And if you’re stuck in Ebbottsville, there’s only one way to make a decent living.”
Mine jobs are the only jobs worth having.
“Dobber’s daddy might be on Peabody’s shit list, but Dob’s not. Not yet anyway,” Cole says. “He’s strong and he’s smart. My dad’s been putting in a good word for him, so he might have a chance at a job there after graduation.”
“I don’t think Dobber wants that job,” I point out.
“Dobber needs that job. He just doesn’t understand how bad.”
“You can’t orchestrate people’s lives for them,” I say. “No matter how well-meaning you might be.”
“It’s for his own good,” Cole says.
He seems to say that a lot.
“How come Mr. Dobber’s on Peabody’s shit list?” I ask.
“I said to drop it.”
“No. I need to know. And either you can tell me or I can start asking around.” I glance around the cafeteria like there’s anyone who’d give me the time of day.
“For God’s sake. Fine.” He pulls his chair closer and leans in. “Peabody fired Dobber’s dad a few years back. Told people he was doing drugs.”
“That’s not hard to believe.”
“It was back then. Dobber’s dad wasn’t always a meth head. He used to coach my Little League team. He’s a great ballplayer. Was, anyway.”
“What happened to him?”
“After he got fired,” Cole whispers, “he couldn’t get another job since everybody knew why Peabody fired him.”
I’m trying to figure out where this information fits with the pieces I already know about the water and the mine. “Why did Peabody fire him? If it wasn’t really for drugs?”
“I dunno, Lib. But there must have been a good reason. Anyway, Dobber’s dad hasn’t had a job for three years now. Things have been really bad for them. They lost their house. Everything. I guess Mr. Dobber saw Peabody in town and just went off.”
Three years of a shattered life could make a person pretty pissed. Three years of living in that trailer, with no money to change things and no hope for a different future … watching your son grow up the same way.
“If Mr. Dobber can’t get a job, how do they live?” I’ve seen Dobber eat and there’s no way he’s surviving like Granny and me … on food stamps and twenty bucks a week.
“Disability.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. The state pays him disability ’cause he’s addicted to drugs?”
Cole snorts. “’Course not. He gets disability because he’s got cancer.”
Thirteen
Cole’s house is at the end of a cul-de-sac in one of the nice neighborhoods on the west side of the valley. I feel a little conspicuous parking Granny’s beat-up El Camino in his driveway, but he doesn’t even glance at the car.
“What took you so long?” he asks as he opens the door.
“Sorry. I got an extra thirty minutes on the computer so I stayed longer at the library.”
He rolls his eyes. “Lib, I’ve been waiting for you for an hour.”
“I know. I’m really sorry. I would have called but my cell battery’s dead and Granny’s phone is out.” We couldn’t pay the bill. This month’s money ran out before the month did, but Cole doesn’t need to know the specifics. “Forgive me?”
It takes a few seconds, but he finally smiles. “I guess.”
“Good.”
As he closes the door behind me, I look around at the blue walls with tiny sea horses and starfish and suddenly realize—I’m probably about to see his parents for the first time in five years. I’m wondering if that means anything. And if I should have dressed up.
“You look nice.” Cole wraps his arms around my waist from behind. “Smell nice too.” His fingers are linked across my stomach and his thumbs are caressing the skin just under the edge of my shirt.
I spin in his arms and stand on tiptoe to kiss him hello. Just a quick peck, since I know his parents might be watching. “You smell nice too.”
He grins and pulls me closer. “Why’d you stop kissing me then?”
I whisper into his ear. “Potential parental interruption?”
“No worries,” he says. “We have the house to ourselves tonight.”
“Oh.” So that’s why we’re here instead of out at some party. “Nice house,” I say. And it is—clean, well kept, and plenty big. Cole’s mom did a nice job with the decor. There’s a landscape painting on the wall over the fireplace, cute pillows with screen-printed elephants, an antique buffet stacked with matching china—all the benefits of a job with Peabody mining.
Cole walks across the living room into the kitchen and opens the fridge. “You want a beer?”
“Um, sure.”
I take the can Cole hands me and he pops the top, misting me with Wittbrau Light. “Thanks.”
“Cheers.”
We clink cans and each take a swig. Ergh, fizzy bread water
.
“You wanna watch TV?”
“Sure.” I settle on the edge of the couch as Cole grabs the remote from the coffee table. Something about tonight feels awkward. We’ve been out a lot and together at school every single day, and it’s been great. But tonight, something seems different and slightly off. He plops down next to me, and I snuggle under his arm, trying to find the comfort zone.
He flips channels, stopping on Cartoon Network.
I raise one eyebrow. “Rocky and Bullwinkle?”
He grins as he drops the remote on the floor. “I hadn’t planned on actually watching.” Running his finger up my throat, he tilts my chin up. My lips part and his mouth closes over mine. His lips are so soft. I slide my hand around his neck and pull him into me. He tastes minty, like toothpaste, and hoppy from the beer.
Cole pulls his tongue across my lip, shooting tremors through my body. I sigh as his lips move down my neck, onto my chest. I lean backward … and accidentally dump my beer in my lap.
Gasping, I jump up as ice cold Wittbrau pours out on my jeans. I’m now wearing about half a can of lager. “Dammit!”
Cole runs to the kitchen for a towel, laughing.
“I’m so sorry.” I blot off as much as I can. “Is there any on the sofa?”
“No, I think you soaked it all up.” He grins. “How ’bout we get those pants off you?”
“What?”
“Rinse ’em out and put ’em in the dryer.”
I’m not completely sure how to answer that. Am I supposed to stand here in his living room in my underwear for thirty minutes? Or is he proposing something else?
“You can’t go home smelling like beer,” Cole says. “Your granny’d kick my ass.”
“That’s for sure.” She’d love a reason to ban Cole from my life. Of course, getting half-naked with him is probably an even better reason for banning than beer.
“I’ll get you somethin’ to put on.” He jogs down the hallway and ducks into the first door on the right.
I feel stupid. Of course he wouldn’t expect me to stand around half-naked. Who knows when his parents might get home? They wouldn’t be any happier with that than Granny.
