“She and her mom moved in down the street.”
“Ah.” Hard to tell whether Ty thought this a good thing or a bad thing.
“She likes to hang out with Jilly,” Ty said.
“And Jilly’s your friend.”
“Yeah.”
So, not something positive in Ty’s mind. Ty and Jilly had bonded in the days Ty and his family’d lived out here during the mess of last year.
“Jilly never cared about girl things before.” Ty leaned down to peer under the boom, keeping alert. “I mean, she was just like one of the guys. And now she wants to go off with this Brisa whenever Brisa shows up.”
Clay wished he knew the right thing to say. “Doesn’t Jilly want to hang out with you anymore?”
“Sure, but when Brisa comes, she wants to do girl things, even if Jilly and me are already doing other stuff. Seems to me Brisa wants Jilly for herself.”
“Makes it hard.” He wouldn’t correct the boy’s grammar. Annie Mac did that, and today wasn’t for English lessons.
“Yeah.”
Ty let a little of the main sheet slide between his fingers when a gust filled the sail.
“Don’t you have guy friends you like to hang out with? Do things you don’t do with Jilly?”
“Mostly just Andy.”
“Maybe Jilly likes having a girl around who’s close to her age. It doesn’t mean she likes you any less. The same way you don’t like Jilly less just because you also like Andy.”
“I guess.” Ty checked his bearings again. “Coming up on mark one.”
“Can you find your second marker? You want to think about it as you round the first one.”
“I see it.”
“Take us there, skipper. You’re doing a great job.”
The joy on the boy’s face every time Clay gave him a compliment made Clay’s heart swell almost to bursting. It wasn’t right, Annie Mac keeping them apart. The boy needed him.
And, yeah, he needed the boy.
Ty soaked up that day’s lessons along with bottles of water and tuna sandwiches. When they got back to the dock several hours later, Clay touched his cap. “Skipper,” he said, “that was some fine seamanship.”
“Can we do it again? Maybe next time I have off school? Like Saturday?”
“Well, that’s going to depend on the weather. We’re nearing full-on winter, which doesn’t give us many balmy sailing days. As a matter of fact, I normally put this little boat in the barn, remember? But we could find something else to do, if you’re game.”
A stab of anger hit Clay. Again. If only Annie Mac weren’t so stubborn, he and the boy could do this and other things all the time, after school and after work. This way, he got to be a part-time uncle and always just outside their family. On the perimeter of their life.
He’d been so sure she loved him. So sure she’d have him.
He’d been a fool.
5
Louis
He’d been in a hurry the night they’d left the trailer, because no telling when one of the neighbors would come half-tumbling out his own sorry excuse for a home and see them. Yell at them. Make him say why he was hauling his sister off that time of night.
But he’d gotten them away to this old storage barn that belonged to that church across the field. While he’d been thinking where to go, trying to fix things to hide him and Linney, he’d remembered exploring the woods behind the barn and finding that loose board at the back just wide enough to let them sneak inside. He could barely see the trailer park from here, and he was pretty sure no one would think to look in a place belonging to a church that was stuffed full of junk and rusted farm equipment. Besides, the front doors to the barn had a big padlock, and a light came on if anyone got near, but he could come and go out the back with nobody seeing, as long as he didn’t go when people were at the church or when those construction workers were in the lot on the barn’s other side.
He’d been able to clear enough junk out of the way to make room for a kind of fort. He put some of his and Linney’s stuff on top of stacked pallets and hid things he didn’t want found, like the money from Mama’s jar, behind the pallets or under a couple of bricks. Some light came through cracks in boards, giving him a view out the back and to the church side.
A freeze must have killed off the tangles of weeds in the woods, leaving nothing but a pile of pine needles and dying or dead stuff. He gathered a bunch of it for a bed and covered it with an opened-up garbage bag—like Mama used to use on Linney’s bed—before putting one of the blankets he’d brought on top of the plastic.
Linney kept her stuffed lion close, even though it had lost one eye and half its mane was a mess. She sniffed it a lot, like a dog checking out a scent. It probably had something of Mama still on it, on account of Mama hugging both Linney and her lion at the same time. Back when she still hugged all the time.
Only, the lion wasn’t Linney’s baby doll. She missed that baby so much that she asked for it and woke up hunting for it. She used to carry it all the time and try to feed it, to put it to sleep. She called it Baby.
Sometimes Linney whimpered for Mama and sometimes for Baby, but Louis couldn’t give her either one—Mama ’cause the dead don’t live again, and Baby ’cause the doll must have fallen out of Linney’s arms when he was trying to get all their stuff, along with Linney and her full arms, down the rutted cinderblock steps of the trailer and away from that life.
They mostly hid inside during the day, except sometimes when the construction workers all went to lunch and he didn’t see anybody moving near the church office. He’d discovered the workmen had a portable bathroom on a trailer, and they didn’t lock it. It stank, but it had a potty and a sink with a hose hooked up to it that trailed out its back and toward some kind of pipe sticking up out of the ground. The water was kinda cold, but at least it was water. When the men went off for lunch, he sometimes used it, but he waited until night to take Linney and get her cleaned up.
When they had to stay tucked away inside the barn, he read his social studies book in what light he could find, and Linney talked to her lion or played with some of the sticks and twigs he’d found so she could pretend they were blocks for building. She liked him to tell her stories, and he tried to remember some from his old books. When she got tired of those, he made up new ones.
He sometimes watched out the cracks and brought Linney over to show her squirrels racing at the woods’ edge, stopping to scratch at the bed of needles to hunt for nuts or maybe berries. One night, he even heard an owl. A few birds, mostly black or brown ones, showed up and made him long to be free to roam. Free to go.
Each time he thought of taking off, he just had to look over at Linney to know he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
He’d brought enough food with them for a few days, cans of soup, bread, a package of hot dogs, but it was running out, which meant he had to go to the dollar store today. Linney wasn’t going to be happy.
He needed to get some cereal and maybe that milk that came in cartons so it didn’t have to be in a refrigerator. Linney didn’t complain much, but eating cold soup and hot dogs was pretty awful.
Still, it was food. And they weren’t in any old foster homes.
He moved over next to his sister. “Linney.” He waited for her to stop what she was doing and look at him. When she did, he tried to make his voice happy. If he seemed happy, she’d be happy. And maybe she’d stay happy until he got back. No way he could take her with him on account of her being so recognizable, especially if she was hanging onto him. By himself, he could tuck his hair under his cap and pull his collar up high—long as it was cold out—and he just looked like another kid running errands.
“I’ve got to get us more food.”
She nodded. She liked to eat.
“That means I have to go over to the store.”
She smiled at him and started to get up. “I go, too.”
“You can’t, Linney. Someone might see you and take you away. You’ve got to stay
with your lion and wait right here for me.”
“I go.” She stuck out her bottom lip.
“You have to be a big, brave girl and not make any noise. Remember when I used to go to the store when we lived at home?”
She nodded. “Wit’ Mama.”
“I didn’t take too long, did I? When you were waiting for me to come back with some good things to eat, you were a good girl and you played like you were supposed to and then I was back.”
Another nod. “Cookies for Linney.”
“If you’re really good and quiet, I’ll bring you back some cookies.”
“’kay.”
He made his smile real and big and got one back from her. “Good girl. You go lie on your blanket, and I’ll be real quick.”
She picked up the lion. “Linney be good.” And as he neared the loose board, she called, “Cookies for Linney!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Emerging from the barn, he checked that the coast was clear before sneaking into the woods. He stayed at its edge until he got to the road and then crossed to the dollar store. He found a carton of milk and some more cereal and the other items they needed, along with a box of vanilla wafers and two bananas.
By the time he headed back, the light was fading. He risked walking parallel to the woods instead of in them, figuring he could keep going on past the barn if anyone saw him.
No one did.
Linney was asleep when he pushed himself and his bags inside. He turned on his flashlight to see where to put things, and she woke.
“Luce?” she said quietly.
“I brought you cookies.” He opened the box and tore the bag. “Want one?”
“Un-huh!”
Cookies, a half a can each of vegetable soup, and an apple for dinner. They’d live.
6
Annie Mac
Annie Mac stared at the stack of envelopes on her counter. She hated that pile. It would only be more bills, bills she could barely keep up with on her substitute’s pay. The superintendent said he thought she might be given permanent status at the first of the year, but that “might” weighed her down with its possibility of a “might not.”
With Ty not expected home for a couple of hours and Katie down for a nap, the time had come. She pulled out a chair and sat at the Formica covered table, mostly so she wouldn’t collapse under the weight of bad news. Then she took out her financial planner.
The electric bill seemed inflated, but she jotted the figure on the minus side of the ledger. Cable stayed the same every month. It provided a landline, access to the Internet, and television, although she’d only signed up for the basic channels, along with PBS for its nature programs and educational shows for children. Because she budgeted well, she had the cash for those bills and her rent and groceries, but barely a penny extra for incidentals—or accidentals. She whittled away at the hospital bill left from her stint with a broken body. The hospital had been kind enough to let her pay a little at a time, but it seemed as if she’d be whittling away on it for the rest of her life.
The debit side of her finances made her fist curl around her pencil as she finished adding in these latest bills. It was Christmas. She wanted so badly to buy new things for her children, to make a fuss and decorate lavishly. If only she could get ahead and figure out how to save money.
She dropped her head to her folded arms. Ty had begged for a new bike, one that wasn’t rusted. And Katie? She was old enough to learn with training wheels. But once Annie Mac wrote checks to all those dunning her, she might have ten dollars to spend on each child.
They knew there was no Santa Claus. Or fairy godmother. Or magical being to drop gifts at the foot of their bed. She’d tried to help them know that God was ever present and a help in time of need. But right now? After all those nights of praying? All those days of being grateful when recovery had begun and new friends had emerged?
She would not cry. She would not.
Soon, Ty would come racing up the stairs, and Clay would follow, his man steps trooping along behind Ty’s boy steps. Annie Mac had already changed into a peach-colored long-sleeve shirt that went well with her coloring. Now she drew a brush through her hair and dabbed a smidgen of gloss on her lips—and paused mid-swipe.
What was she thinking? Who, exactly, was she trying to impress? Nothing was ever going to happen between her and Lieutenant Clay Dougherty.
If only she weren’t a sucker for the smile that made her knees weak and her heart do a little flip or for the voice that could do the same thing.
She was pitiful.
Pressing her nails into her palms, she whispered to her reflection. “You really need to get a grip. Probably a life.”
Fine, she had a life. And two kids. And a job. And a place to live. She was good. As long as she kept focused and, as the counselor put it, centered.
Katie wandered in from her room and held out a book. “Mommy, can we read this?”
Annie Mac looked at it. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. “That might be a little old for you,” she said. “See? There aren’t any pictures.”
Pointing to the cover, her daughter said, “That’s a picture. And Ty likes it.”
Which, of course, made it good enough.
“We’ll give it a try.”
Katie hurried to the couch, climbed up, and patted the place next to her. Annie Mac loved the story, but her eyes saw the words, and her lips spoke them, while her mind kept trying to even out her breathing. At any moment, there’d be a knock at the door.
Three pages in, there was. Katie slid down and rushed to twist the door knob. Annie Mac stood, smoothing her shirt and taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, while Katie scooted around her brother, who was first in the door, and held up her arms to Clay.
Annie Mac smiled and would have given Ty a hug, but he shifted his duffle bag and hefted it in front of him toward the living room and the chair into which he flopped, extending his legs over the bag. Exactly, Annie Mac decided, as if he were already the teen he was close to becoming. He hadn’t even paused to speak.
She might as well have been invisible.
“Hey, there Katie-did,” Clay said, swinging Katie up and planting a loud kiss on her cheek, which of course made her daughter giggle. “How’s my best girl today?”
“We’re reading the lion book. Mommy said it was too old, but it’s not. It’s just right.” She shifted in his arms to look at her brother. “Isn’t it, Ty?”
Ty glanced at the open book and nodded.
Clay set Katie back on the floor, finally smiled at Annie Mac, and held out an envelope.
“What’s this?” she asked, taking it.
“Don’t know. Found it taped to your railing.” He angled his head toward Ty. “That boy of yours is one fine sailor. I couldn’t have done the job better myself.”
Ty’s face glowed—at the man, not at her. “It was fun.”
She fiddled with the envelope. “What can I get you?” she asked.
“Not a single thing. Ty and I had a snack, so I’m set.”
“I really appreciate all you do for him.”
“No need to thank me. We’re pals. We happen to enjoy the same things, don’t we, buddy?”
Ty grinned, nodded.
“What about next weekend?” Clay said. “I need to work on getting the Sunfish put up for the winter.”
Ty turned to his mama. “Can I?”
“May I.”
He sighed. “May I?”
“I thought we’d go shopping for Christmas gifts. And you both have pageant practice.”
“Do I have to go shopping? You know I hate to shop.”
“Pageant practice?” She hesitated.
Ty shot Clay a pleading look. Clay smiled and said, “I could take him, meet you at the church. They’ve corralled me to work on sets.”
Annie Mac wanted to dig in her heels, but that would make her sound churlish. “Fine. I see I’m out-voted.”
“Thanks!” Ty turned to Clay
. “We’ll get a lot of work done.”
“I can help. I’m good,” Katie said, releasing her thumb long enough to speak.
Clay knelt down to Katie’s level. “I know you are. And I was thinking maybe one day soon you and I can do something, just the two of us. What do you think of that?”
“Yeth, pwease,” she lisped around the thumb she’d tucked back in.
“You and your mama come up with a day and a time. I’m afraid you’d be bored silly with the things Ty and I will be doing. You know how guys get when they’re messing around and dirty. But when it’s the two of us, you and me? We’ll do all sorts of fun things. Besides, we’ll see a lot of each other at play practice.”
Katie stared at him as her lips worked around her thumb. Finally, she nodded, released the thumb, and said, “Guess so.”
“In the meantime,” Annie Mac said brightly, “you and I can do something just for girls.”
“Ah,” Clay said. “Girl time. I’ve heard about that.”
“Bor-ring,” Ty said from his perch on the chair. He pointed to her hands. “What’s that? Aren’t you going to open it?”
Katie bounced on her toes. “Open it!”
Annie Mac looked helplessly at the white rectangle. Should she open it now, while she had a policeman on hand, or should she wait until she was alone?
When she set it on the table, Ty bounded up, grabbed it, and held it to the light as if that would give him a clue to its contents. “Come on, Mama. It could be something exciting. There’s no return address, only your name. You gotta open it.”
“I don’t gotta do anything.” She glanced quickly at Clay, but he just stood there grinning. A blush—she hated those blushes of hers—flooded her cheeks.
“Plea..se.” Ty held it out to her.
“Pweese,” his sister echoed.
Annie Mac poofed out a loud and very impolite sigh. “Fine. Give it to me.”
She tore at the seal and flicked the sheet open. A minute later, all she could do was collapse back onto the couch.
Twilight Christmas: A Carolina Coast Novella (Carolina Coast Novels Book 3) Page 3
