by J. S. Puller
You’re not answering. What’s up? That’s not like you.
She knew me a little bit too well sometimes.
I sent back the quickest reply I could think of:
Things are weird.
That would have to do. Honest, but not too emotional.
I’d find a way to explain it to her later. When I knew what to explain.
Violet returned, her arms filled with granola bars, bananas, juice boxes, and bags of cookies. We spread out a plastic tarp and then put down a blanket and ate in the spot, using her lawn chair as a table between us. The blanket was a beautiful patchwork quilt that Violet’s mom had sewn out of old dresses and shirts.
“This,” she said, pointing to a silvery blue square, made of fake velvet, “was the dress I wore to last year’s Winter Wonderland Dance. My sister spilled grape juice on it two months later. We couldn’t get the stain out, so it got donated to the quilt. And this”—she pointed to a patch of peachy pink—“is from a bridesmaid dress my mother wore when she was in college. I saw a picture of it. One sleeve. Kind of looked like a shower curtain. Very, very ugly.”
“What about this one?” I asked, pointing to a square of liquidy gold.
“My sister’s Halloween costume from three years ago. I think she was supposed to be a Greek goddess or something, but she was so shiny that, really, she just looked like a baked potato wrapped in foil. Not the best-quality fabric, but as long as I’m careful when I wash it, it shouldn’t dissolve.”
The block flowed around us as we sat there. Kids came out and ran around. We watched the working crowd return home. I took pictures of the shadows as they swept around the pavement, changing directions. When Violet’s dad drove up, we cleared away the picnic so he could slide his car into the spot, parallel to the curb. Then he gave Violet the key, to let us sit in the car with the windows open.
“Now it’s a real stakeout,” Violet said, pointing out the windshield, to the front door to Uncle Toby and Aunt Lisa’s building.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
Except for the part where we were sitting in the back seat. In the movies, the undercover cops usually sat in the front.
Also, I was pretty sure that undercover cops didn’t listen to Dina and the Starlights. But Violet was so excited to play their latest single for me:
Some people walk with giants
Others look like demigods
Some laugh into the lightning
Me, I felt like a fraud
Couldn’t find the way
To get my life off the ground
But you can’t really lose
What was meant to be found
A little after seven, we saw the door to Uncle Toby and Aunt Lisa’s apartment building open. We both sat up, leaning forward with our chins pressed against the front seat headrests. And there he was. TJ. Walking down the front stairs and turning right, in the direction of Squeaky Green.
“This is it,” Violet said, reaching her long, spindly arm between the seats to turn off the music.
“Yeah,” I said.
We slipped out of the car, closing the windows. And once Violet locked it up and tucked her notebook under her arm, we started hurrying along the sidewalk, jumping over puddles and out of the way of several dog walkers.
I was going to get some answers tonight. I was determined.
And then I would use them to help TJ.
And then TJ was going to talk to everyone again.
Things would go back to normal.
CHAPTER SIX
It helped that TJ was following the exact same path as the night before. It made it easier for us to stay far back, to move at a leisurely pace. I only wished Violet hadn’t worn flip-flops. True to their name, they flipped and flopped with every step she took. The noise was so loud I couldn’t believe that TJ didn’t hear it. But he wasn’t the one trying to be sneaky. He was completely carefree, his arms swinging at his sides.
He was holding something. It was in his left hand, his fingers curled so tight around it that I couldn’t tell what it was.
Just that it was something red.
We followed him around the corner and out into the business part of the neighborhood. A train had just rolled into the station, and there was a chime as the doors slid open. Dozens of people got off, but even more seemed to get on. With another chime, the doors slid closed. I was amazed that they were able to shut, with all the people jammed inside. But somehow, they managed.
When TJ drifted under the train tracks, I held out an arm to stop Violet.
Together, we slipped up against the steps to the train platform, looking behind the bike racks.
“Hey, little man,” Morgan said, giving TJ his big, wide grin. He was in the same matching hat and apron as the day before, but this time, instead of an off-white shirt, he was wearing a shirt that probably used to be blue but had faded to gray.
“Hi, Morgan.”
That sweet voice again. It hadn’t been a dream.
He was talking.
I felt Violet squeeze my shoulder. I reached back to grab her arm. I wasn’t gripping her arm because I was feeling emotional, or anything like that. I just needed to keep her from talking.
“Bring something for me today?” Morgan asked. He was just peeling off a pair of plastic gloves. With all the people swarming around the station, he didn’t have any customers. I guess it was too late in the day for doughnuts.
“Yup,” TJ said. He uncurled his fingers, revealing a bright red bottle cap.
A bottle cap?
I was pretty sure that’s what it was. I’d managed to accidentally stumble on Uncle Toby’s secret supply of orange pop. It really wasn’t so secret. He’d just stashed the bottles in one of the drawers of his desk in the study. They were lined up like little soldiers, with gleaming red caps, stamped with logos.
Morgan took the bottle cap with a little chuckle. “You can never go wrong with something sleek and red, in bottle caps or cars.” And he let the bottle cap tumble over his knuckles, his fingers rippling.
“Why is your cousin handing out trash?” Violet hissed in my ear.
I shook my head slightly.
“Thanks, little man,” Morgan said, slipping it into the big front pocket of his apron. “This guy is a classic.”
“Glad you like it,” TJ said.
“Got anything else for me?”
“Um, I’m not sure yet,” he replied. “I have to go check first.”
“Go check?” Violet said. “Go check what?”
It was a very good question. An amazingly reporterish question, I was sure. But I didn’t know why she was asking me.
I didn’t know.
Morgan chuckled. “That’s okay, little man.”
“I’ll see you later, Morgan,” TJ said.
“See you later.”
TJ smiled and waved his hand and went back to the sidewalk, passing through to the other side of the tracks, on his way to Squeaky Green. I assumed, anyway. Morgan watched him go. And his shoulders seemed to deflate a little bit when TJ was gone. With a sigh, he reached behind the counter and pulled out his milk crate, sitting down heavily in front of the shop.
No customers.
Violet looked at me. “Well. That was strange.” She sat in silent deliberation for a moment. And then she nodded. “Let’s find out more.”
“Find out more?”
“Yes. Fiiiiiiiind oooooooooooout moooooooooore.”
With that, she walked under the bridge.
And I realized what she was doing.
“Violet!” I said. “Wait!”
But Violet didn’t wait. She walked through the bike racks, dodging a couple of guys who’d just claimed their bikes. With her head up and her shoulders back, she made her way over to Morgan.
I let out a soft groan.
What was she thinking?
“Hi,” Violet said, looking down at Morgan.
He looked up at her, a small smile playing across his lips. “Hello, hello. What can I
do for you this evening?” He started to stand up. “Did you want some doughnuts?”
“No, no.” Violet shook her head and Morgan sat down again. She took out her notebook, flipping to the page with all her notes about TJ. “Who was that little boy you were just talking to?”
“Violet!” I hissed, crossing under the tracks. I lingered by the bike racks. Morgan seemed harmless, but apparently, I was the only one who payed attention to the lessons we were taught in school about talking to strangers. Especially grown-ups.
“Oh, relax,” Violet said, barely even glancing my way. “It’s just Morgan.”
“What?”
“Everyone knows Morgan.” Violet waved her hand dismissively, as she continued her interview. “The little boy,” she said. “How do you know him?”
“Little man?” Morgan asked. “Oh, he comes around here for a visit every day, about this time.”
She scribbled a note. “He does?”
“Sure. Sure.” He wiped his hands down over the curve of his knees.
“Does he always talk to you?” she asked.
“Most nights. Usually brings me something, too.”
He was talking.
“Brings you something?” She paused, the tip of her pen touching the paper, leaving a smear of ink.
“Bottle caps.”
“Bottle caps?”
“I collect them,” Morgan said, taking the one TJ had just given him out of his pocket to show her.
Violet wrinkled up her nose. “Oh.”
Morgan looked over at me, squinting his tired, deep-set eyes. “You look just like him. Are you little man’s sister?” he asked.
“Cousin,” I said, shrinking back half a step.
He chuckled. “You don’t have to be shy, Cousin. I won’t bite.”
He said “I won’t,” not “I don’t.”
I tried to laugh. It didn’t sound terribly convincing.
“Morgan! Morgan!”
It happened too fast for me to stop it.
TJ came racing back under the bridge from out of nowhere, waving a fist in the air like he was carrying the Olympic torch. He was running straight for Morgan. But then he saw Violet. And then he saw me.
In some ways, it felt like the first time he’d seen me—really, really seen me—since I’d arrived. It wasn’t with his glossy-eyed, colorless stare, tucked in the shadows of his bedroom. He was alert. Awake. Alive. And we both knew it.
The surprise only lasted a second.
And then the anger replaced it.
“What are you doing here?” he asked me.
“TJ.” I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. This so wasn’t how I’d wanted our stakeout to go. It was all wrong. So wrong.
“You followed me?” he said.
I didn’t know what to say.
But, naturally, Violet did.
“Of course we followed you,” she said, planting her hand on her hip. “Your cousin’s been worried about you.”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice cracking.
TJ glared at us, first Violet, then me. “You shouldn’t be following me, Leah,” he said.
“Hey, little man,” Morgan said. He’d slipped the bottle cap back in his pocket and was shaking his head, arms folded across his chest. “Don’t be hard on your cousin.”
The reminder that Morgan was there seemed to soften TJ’s temper. A little bit, anyway.
“Here,” he said, brushing past Violet to go to Morgan. “I brought this for you.” He was holding another bottle cap. This one was green and yellow. I saw a logo on top but couldn’t read it.
Morgan laughed and wheezed, almost at the same time. “Hey,” he said. “Thanks, little man. You’re a pal.”
“So are you two friends, then?” Violet asked, looking between them.
“You know me,” Morgan said. “I’m friends with everyone.”
“But how long has TJ been bringing you bottle caps?” she asked, writing again.
“Oh, a little while.”
Violet’s pen paused, and she looked over at me. I knew we were both wondering the same thing: Why?
Morgan took the bottle cap from TJ, his hands shivering a little bit as he dropped it in his pocket. “Don’t you be upset,” he said to TJ. “It’s not nice to be upset with ladies. It’s bad luck.”
“She’s not a lady,” TJ said, shrugging one shoulder up against his ear. “She’s my cousin.”
“And what am I?” Violet asked.
“Nosy,” I said, trying to make a joke out of the whole thing. I didn’t like the way TJ was glaring at me.
Violet snorted.
TJ did not.
“You going to Squeaky’s place?” Morgan asked.
TJ tucked one foot behind the other, shifting his weight back and forth a little bit. “Well, I was,” he said, nipping at his lower lip.
“You go on,” Morgan said. “And you take these fine young ladies with you.”
The suggestion made TJ gasp, ready to argue that there was no way he was going to bring us along.
“You heard the man,” Violet said, before he could say anything. “We’re fine young ladies. You should take us to Squeaky’s.”
TJ looked at me. “Are you going to tell on me?”
I held up my hands. “Hey, if I get you in trouble, I get myself in trouble,” I said. “I’m not supposed to be out here, either, Hedgehog.”
He gave that a moment’s consideration. And then nodded. It was true. We were basically locked into each other’s secrets now, whether he liked it or not. Obviously, he didn’t like it. But he accepted it. Because after a moment, he sighed, his shoulder deflating a little bit. “All right,” he said. “You can come with me.”
“Great!” Violet said, clapping her hands together.
TJ looked like he really, really didn’t want to bring Violet along. But Violet wasn’t going to give him the chance to argue.
She flashed a big smile before nodding to Morgan. “Thanks, Morgan,” she said.
Morgan smiled at her. “Thank you.”
Violet walked over to me, looping her arm around mine. “Let’s see what there is to see at Squeaky Green.”
“Fine,” TJ said. “But you better be nice.”
I looked at Violet, wondering if she understood what he meant by that. But Violet just looked back at me. The same question was written on her face.
Nice to who?
I supposed we would just have to find out together.
With TJ leading the way, we left Morgan behind and walked out from under the train tracks, down the block, heading to Squeaky Green.
CHAPTER SEVEN
There was a little bell that jingled when the door opened. It rang again when the door swung shut behind us. It was my first time in a coin-op and, almost immediately, I loved everything about it. There was a warm, lingering scent in the air. Fresh laundry and clean sheets. Soap and mountain rain. It was amazing. Like being wrapped up in a blanket, or my mom’s arms when she was wearing a new sweater. Safe and loved and content.
I remembered once reading on Wikipedia that the sense of smell was connected to your emotional memory.
For the first time, I realized it was true.
So many happy memories.
I thought of our old house and lazy Sunday mornings and the days when my dad would—
Well. This wasn’t about me.
If TJ had told me right then and there that the smell—and the way it made him feel—was the only reason he was spending so much time in Squeaky Green, I probably would have believed him.
At least, for the moment.
Even Violet, who never really seemed to run out of things to say, paused for a second as we crossed over the threshold, raising her chin and breathing it in. “Mmm,” she buzzed on the exhale.
There were three back-to-back rows of washing machines across the middle of the room. Most of them were empty, their lids yawning open, waiting to be filled. The few that were running rumbled in place, laundry spinning in the little
windows on front, like portholes of a shipwrecked vessel.
The wall of dryers across the back of the coin-op were stacked two high. The doors were all shut, creating a white, glossy surface. Like a sheet of ice. There were a few benches in front of the dryers, where customers were sitting. Chatting on their phones. Scrolling across the screens of tablets. Doing crosswords in the newspaper. None of them seemed that interested in us. Not at first. But when one woman looked up and saw us standing there, she grinned and waved. “Hey, TJ,” she said.
Several more looked up from what they were doing. A chorus of greetings descended upon us.
“Hi, TJ.”
“How’s it going, TJ?”
“Good to see you, TJ.”
Why was it strangers seemed to know my cousin better than I did?
Not that it bothered me or anything.
Well. Maybe it did. A little bit.
TJ smiled and waved back at them as a group, but he crossed the room, straight to the back left corner.
Violet and I exchanged a look and followed him.
There was a door tucked away, between the edge of the wall of dryers and the washing machine in the last row. The sign in front read STAFF ONLY, but that didn’t stop TJ. He knocked. And then turned to look at me and Violet.
“You better be nice,” he muttered again.
A warning.
“You said that before. Nice to who?” Violet asked.
It seemed like a reasonable question.
But TJ didn’t answer.
“Niiiiiiiiiiiiice toooo whoooo?” she asked again.
On the other side of the door, there was a quick knocking pattern—three quick knocks, two more, and then three again. When it finished, TJ repeated the pattern on his side. The knocker on the other side gave a second, more complicated pattern—four knocks, one, five knocks, and then two. TJ repeated it flawlessly.
Violet glanced over her shoulder at me.
I shrugged. “Secret code?”
The door swung open.
TJ disappeared inside. Violet and I ran to catch up with him before the door closed on us.
I don’t know what we were expecting, but I wasn’t expecting anything quite so… normal.
The room behind the dryers was nothing more than a little white kitchen. Counters ran along the left-hand and back walls, with cabinets of white plastic. There was a beat-up, old table against the right-hand wall, with four mismatched chairs around it. One was a metal folding chair. One was black plastic, with little square-shaped holes in the back of the seat. One was a squashy chair with a pattern of flowers, like you might find in a living room. The final chair was wooden, with a cracked leather seat. Piled high on the table was laundry. Stacks and stacks of laundry. In every color imaginable.
