Jess stood in the middle of the quiet kitchen. After the chaos of the past few days, a slice of alone time might restore her equilibrium. There’d been a bite in the air on the way home from the market. She opened the refrigerator door and pulled out ingredients for chili. Making dinner would occupy her hands and mind.
Her thoughts went to Star. What had she eaten on the streets? Where did she sleep? When she thought of the girl alone and probably terrified, she found it hard to breathe. How had she survived at all? Jess peeled an onion and slid the knife easily through its layers. It stung her eyes. She used her shirtsleeve to wipe the tears away, and with her eyes closed she wasn’t in Lucy’s kitchen anymore. She was in the apartment she’d shared with her son, standing in the tiny kitchen with the single fluorescent bulb that flickered and buzzed whenever Mrs. Rodriguez from next door dried her hair.
Why do you have to go to work so late, Mama?
She didn’t want to leave him, especially on the night of his birthday, but Mrs. Rodriguez—who usually stayed with Chance—was at the hospital with her husband, who’d had a heart attack two days before. She could have told Tony she couldn’t take the shift, but she’d missed so much work when she got the flu in January and then more when it morphed into pneumonia. Saying yes tonight would put her back in Tony’s good graces, at least until the next crisis.
Chance had sat at their tiny kitchen table in his Transformers pajamas, his chin resting on his forearms, yawning. He could come with her, but the sidewalks were slick with ice, the night black and moonless and cold. He was eight, old enough to stay alone for a little bit. Jess had when she was his age.
Don’t answer the door. She’d always made him promise.
I won’t.
And don’t leave the apartment.
Never.
She smiled and kissed the shallow dimple on his cheek, inhaled the sweet scent of chocolate, tasted a light dusting of sugar. He ate the hot chocolate mix by the spoonful when he thought she wasn’t looking, but she didn’t say anything. Happy birthday, handsome. I love you.
I love you too, Mama.
She remembered hesitating at the door so clearly it pierced her heart; something had twisted deep in her gut, mother’s intuition. Don’t go. But then she eyed the stack of envelopes in the middle of the table—rent, electricity, water—and stepped out into the hallway, closing and locking the door behind her.
A sharp pain made her eyes fly open; the knife had slipped over the wet skin of the onion and bitten down into the bony part of her finger. “Ow!” she cried, and sucked on her finger, the sharp bitterness of the onion and the tang of her blood mixing on her tongue. She grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it around her hand before collapsing into a chair. Her breathing was shallow, stuck in her throat while she tried to keep from crying.
Despite what her son had promised, he had opened the door that night and left the apartment, and she never knew why, because the next time she saw him he was in the middle of the road outside her apartment building. She leaned over her knees, gripped her head between her hands, and willed the memory of that night to go away.
But she saw him in the face of every child she passed on the street, or standing by her bed when she woke up screaming from a nightmare, or in the mirror just beyond her reach.
“Is the chili ready, dear?”
Jess’s head shot up. Lucy stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her head tilted to the side and a look of such compassion on her face that Jess had to look away.
She smoothed her jeans, tightened her ponytail, and stood. “Not quite.” She held up her hand. “Had a little medical emergency.” Lucy had a faraway look in her eyes, and Jess noticed how she leaned heavily against the doorframe. “Is everything okay?”
“I think the better question is, are you okay, dear?”
“Me? I’m fine.”
“It’s okay to cry, you know,” she said.
Jess wiped at her face, tried to laugh but couldn’t. “That was the onions.”
“If you say so.”
Lucy had caught her crying twice now. Trying to change the subject, she said, “The little boy who keeps showing up . . . what do you think he wants?”
Lucy wagged her finger toward Jess. “That is the right question.”
Jess muffled a groan. “He acts so odd. Do you know him?”
“No, dear, I don’t know him. Or not very well, I should say. But I am surprised he keeps coming to you.”
“For what?” Food, maybe. Could he be hungry? Poor, like Ben’s family had been?
“That’s what I still don’t know.” Lucy smiled. “But don’t worry. He’ll be back.”
Jess nodded, thinking she understood. Sometimes at the diner Tony would leave out day-old rolls or sandwiches for a homeless woman who slept in the alley. Was the boy homeless like Star? She felt a twinge. Maybe next week she’d leave a few muffins out back. “I’ll keep an eye out for him, then,” she said.
Lucy nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll take my dinner in my bedroom tonight, if you don’t mind.” She turned and started up the stairs, her back stooped, fingers white from her grip on the railing.
A little while later, the simmering chili filled the kitchen with the sweet tang of tomatoes, garlic, and cumin. Jess filled a bowl and took it upstairs to Lucy, passing Star’s door along the way. It was cracked open, light from inside falling in a rectangle on the hallway floor. Jess couldn’t help but glance inside. The unmade bed was empty, her clothes scattered across the floor by the door. Jess snorted. Teenagers.
The walls popped, and from behind the closed bathroom door the rush of water stopped. Thinking of how filthy Star had been when she showed up yesterday, Jess understood more than most how the girl must feel to be clean again. She could still recall her first shower after her homeless stint in a car when she was just a girl herself. The warm ribbons of water slipping over her soapy skin, the way it turned brown before gurgling down the drain, leaving her skin a light pink. She smiled to herself. Star deserved to shower as much as she wanted.
Jess sat with Lucy while she ate her chili, then turned down her bed. Lucy insisted that it was unnecessary, but Jess enjoyed spoiling her when she could.
“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” She was closing the door when she heard a rustling sound from the direction of her bedroom. A heated mist floated from the open bathroom door. She squinted. Were those wet footprints on the wood floor? She took a step down the hallway. Why would Star be in her room?
“Jess,” Lucy called, “I’d like a glass of ice water, if you don’t mind.”
She poked her head inside Lucy’s room. “Of course,” she said, and started down the stairs, then hesitated. She thought about knocking softly on Star’s door, but the girl probably needed her own bit of alone time.
A deep tiredness had sunk into her bones, and suddenly all she could think about was bed. After giving Lucy her water, Jess cleaned up the kitchen, left some food out for Star in case she came down later, and headed back upstairs to her room. A good night’s sleep would clear her thoughts, help her to focus on the more pressing needs. Like Lucy’s health and Star’s future.
CHAPTER TWENTY
STAR
She lay on the bed, reading, thoughts about the day crowding her head until she finally rested the book on her stomach with a sigh. Her mouth watered at whatever Jess was cooking, but she stayed in her room, not ready to go downstairs and risk Jess asking her questions about her past. She was interested, Star could tell, and not because she was curious. Star snorted. Poor clueless Jess. She must think there were “Missing!” posters with Star’s picture and a mom and a dad waiting for her to come home and feed the golden retriever.
It had been awkward sitting in the kitchen with Jess after the market. Star was curious about the woman, and she found herself wanting to ask questions. Instead, she bit her tongue and stayed silent.
She kicked off the thick comforter, suddenly hot under its weight. There was something about Jess t
hat seemed motherly—not that Star had much experience with that—but it was in the way she cared about stupid things. Like at the market today, Jess had taken the time to show Star how to fold the can of blueberries into the muffin mix. So they won’t break apart, she’d explained. Here. She handed her a plastic spatula. You try. She did as Jess instructed and tried to ignore how her wet eyes made the blueberries blur into a thick glob.
A faint odor rose from her armpits, and the smell darkened her mood. It reminded her how gross she’d feel in only a couple of days on the street. While she was here, she might as well stay as clean as possible.
In the bathroom she sat on the edge of the claw-foot tub, dipping her fingers in and out of the flow of water. When it was warm enough, she took off her dress and stepped in. The water slipped smoothly over her skin, and she slid down until it rose to her neck, the warmth giving her the sensation that she was enveloped in a cocoon. She’d locked the door as always, but she wasn’t staring at it like someone might try to open it at any moment. An unfamiliar feeling let her eyes droop closed, and she breathed out. She felt . . . safe.
Her jaw clenched. She couldn’t let herself get too comfortable here, no matter how much she wanted to. It wasn’t permanent. Lucy was old, and Jess thought she belonged back in foster care.
Besides, Lucy knew things she shouldn’t. Star shivered despite the heat of the bath. How could the old woman know about the accident? Star’s memories were pitted, fuzzy from lack of details surrounding that night and especially the days and weeks that followed. Had anyone else seen the two of them running across the street? Did Star tell someone? She had never thought so, but Lucy’s note made her realize that there was so much she didn’t remember.
Star slid farther into the tub until the water closed over her head. The longer strands of her hair floated around her face, caressing the skin of her cheek like fingers. Everything that had happened that night was her fault. She’d gone down to visit Jazz because she wanted to do something nice for his birthday. She didn’t have anything to give him, except for one of her mother’s two remaining bonsai trees, and she couldn’t think of anyone who deserved it more than Jazz. He’d been her best friend when nobody else cared.
She held her breath, letting little bits of air escape through her nose. Small bubbles floated to the surface. The water darkened, and then a face appeared above her, distorted by the water so that the angles of his cheeks sloped down, his brown eyes pulled apart at the corners. She opened her mouth to scream, and water rushed in, filling her lungs. Shooting up from the bath, choking, coughing, she squeezed her eyes shut, gasping for air. Her skin crawled with the feeling that someone stood beside her, and in her panic she slipped on the wet floor, cracking her knees when she fell on the hard ceramic tiles. Her eyes flew open, and she scrambled to her feet, pressing her back against the door, fists raised.
The bathroom was empty.
Her heart raced so fast she could feel it pulse in her throat. Why did she keep imagining him? With all her talk, Lucy was making her see things. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her shaking body.
Something rubbed against the door, and she flinched, goose bumps spreading down her arms.
“Yeah?” she called out.
From somewhere down the hall she heard Jess’s muffled voice, and Star opened the door, hoping that if she saw Jess then she could forget whatever she thought she saw in the bathroom. The hallway was empty, but Jess’s bedroom door, which was directly across from the bathroom, stood wide open. She tiptoed across the hallway and peered in. The air inside her room was cool, making Star keenly aware that she stood in the hallway in nothing but a towel.
She shivered and turned to go, and then she noticed a dresser drawer, the one Jess was trying to fix yesterday, hanging from its rails. She hurried over and shoved it in all the way, making the dresser wobble on the uneven floor.
Her hand brushed something pointed. One of Jess’s bonsai trees. She stared at the little tree. After her mother died, there had been nothing left. No money, no house, her father broken. But she’d been able to keep something when they left the mint-green house with the white trim—two bonsai trees. The ones her mother had nurtured for as long as Star could remember.
Inhaling, she felt a current of anger rush from her chest and down to her toes, and her fingernails bit into her palms. Fucking bonsai. She moved one of the plants close to the edge of the table. Closer still, until the curve of the pot hung over space. One more nudge and the tiny plant would fall to the floor and the ceramic planter would shatter, spilling dirt and leaves.
From outside the room came the creak of a door opening and Jess’s voice from the hallway. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
She jerked her hand back. What was she doing? Star pushed the plant back onto the table and balanced on the balls of her feet. Should she hide or stay where she was and face Jess? If Jess found her in her room, what would she think? Her jaw tightened. She’d think what everyone always thought—that Star was a thief, a liar, a bad seed. Being a foster kid had been a stamp on her forehead that warned everyone: Beware, not to be trusted.
Her heart fluttered painfully. It felt different here. Special even. The way Lucy wanted to help her, even how Jess treated her like she was a regular kid. It was the most comfortable Star had felt anywhere. Almost like she was meant to be here. She bit her lip hard. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Then Lucy’s voice. “Jess, I’d like a glass of ice water, if you don’t mind.”
The stairs creaked as Jess went down. Star bolted from the room, eyed the puddles of water she’d left in the hallway, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, and swiped it across the wood planks. Good enough. Her bedroom door clicked behind her, and she slid to the floor, breathing hard, cold beads of water sliding down her wet hair and dropping onto her shoulders.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
STAR
The clock on the bedside table said it was only nine o’clock, but Star was used to crawling under a bench soon after the sun went down, and in the dead of winter that could be early. Tonight it didn’t seem to matter, because the face from the bathroom hovered behind her eyelids, and she tossed and turned until finally she gave up and pushed the covers to the side.
Jess had come up the stairs a half hour ago and paused to check on Lucy. Star heard their murmurs through her door. Then Jess had done something that felt at once familiar and uncomfortable all at the same time: When she’d left Lucy’s room, her footsteps made the wood floor creak. They stopped outside Star’s door like she stood on the other side, hesitating. But for what?
Star’s heart pounded, and she stared at the door. Her skin warmed with the faint memory of her mother doing something similar. Except her mother would have walked inside her room and pressed her lips to Star’s forehead in a quiet kiss while Star pretended to be asleep.
The floor creaked again, followed by the soft click of Jess’s door closing. Star wiped a hand across her eyes. Stupid memories.
The aroma of cut onions and minced garlic from earlier hung in the air. Her stomach rumbled almost painfully. She’d been hungry a long time.
She tiptoed down the stairs, feeling like an intruder in the dark and quiet house, the only light a dim bulb above the stove in the kitchen. She’d planned to scavenge the pantry for chips or cereal, but she spied a bowl of chili sitting on top of the stove. Small serving bowls of shredded cheese, sour cream, and green onions sat beside it. Her mouth watered.
It took only minutes before her spoon scraped the sides of the empty bowl. She drank a glass of water and sat back in the chair, her belly full.
After washing the dish and setting it to dry on the rack beside the sink, she remembered Lucy’s invitation to borrow a book. Her old one lay on the bedside table in her room next to the rock and note. She should throw the note away. She didn’t need it anymore, but something made her keep it. Like it was a golden ticket that gave her permission to be here.
She ran upstairs and grabbed
the book. She’d add it to the collection and take one of Lucy’s in return. The thought of snuggling underneath the covers tonight with a new story made her smile. She wandered down the hallway to the left of the staircase, her bare feet slapping across the wood floor. She kinda liked having the place to herself. At the end of the hallway was a door with a slim gold plate that said LIBRARY.
She pushed open the door, flipped on the light switch, and gasped. The room was huge, rising two stories above her head. From the center of the domed ceiling hung a tiered chandelier that bathed the space in a soft rainbow. She’d never seen anything so . . . rich.
The walls were covered in dark reds, forest greens, matte whites, and other colorful spines of books lining every inch of vertical space. Attached to rails that ran the length of the wall was a brass-handled ladder with wheels that rolled it back and forth along the shelves.
Star thought of where she’d slept only two nights ago, and the difference in her surroundings made her giggle like a little kid. She moved lightly across the rug to the nearest wall, running her fingers along the books, pulling out one, then another, finally settling on a silly children’s book of poems—one she remembered reading over and over when her dad didn’t come home or the noises outside their apartment door made her hide under the covers with a flashlight. She sank into the deep cushions of a worn leather couch and read until her eyes grew heavy and she fell asleep.
She was a little girl again, sitting cross-legged on her cot in the living room and staring at her father. His skin had gone yellow like a banana, and the color crept up his cheeks, turning the whites of his eyes dull. There was a knock on the door that made the entire apartment shake. Her body went rigid at the sound because it meant her father had a visitor, and his visitors scared her.
The Secrets of Lost Stones Page 13
