Chapter Seven

Maggie

The weeks pass quickly and before I know it, I’ve gotten my first report card. Not only is it all A’s, but it’s all hundreds. That doesn’t show on the report, but I know I have perfect scores in every subject.

Most of my teachers love me. My counselor’s cool too. Mr. Hendricks wants me to go apply for early admission to college. He says with my grades I could try to get a waiver on my last semester and start college in January. How I’ll pay for classes he brushes off with a dismissive wave of his hand. If my SAT scores are good, I can get scholarships.

Life at home is decent. Not great. The boys get on my last nerve. Jane’s relentlessly cheerful and in her goofy way makes living here worth the aggravation. It’s just till May I tell myself when the oldest of the monkeys, Michael, bangs on my door for the third time in an hour.

I’ve lived with all sorts of foster parents. Hippies, born-again Christians, old people, young people. None were really normal. Wes and Jane are dull. Complete sticks in the mud, but they’re actually normal.

Jane never loses her temper. Not with me. Not even with the monkeys. Wes doesn’t either but I’m not giving him points for that since he spends his day in an office where I assume it’s nice and quiet.

Jane’s running from the moment she wakes up until late in the evening. Even with the boys in school, she’s got a thousand things to do, so after a month of watching her run like a gerbil on a wheel, I offer to help her with dinner.

She’s so grateful, it makes me feel bad I didn’t offer sooner. In fact, it feels good to be helpful. It feels so good that I decide to help her every evening.

As November nears, she makes heartier stuff, like meatloaf and stews. Dinner menus and recipes ideas are listed on the whiteboard. I have my homework done by five and start prepping stuff for dinner. I like the quiet of the kitchen.

I get little flashes of my mom, making something special for dinner. She loved French cookbooks and made dinners that were several courses for the two of us on Sunday nights. I can barely remember, but I recall soups as a first course. Roasts and special vegetable dishes… my mother telling me to keep my elbows off the table. Something about working in the kitchen relaxes me and makes me feel like I’m actually contributing. Such a drag to always be the charity case.

A few times one of the boys wanders in, trying to start up a conversation, but I give them my best “go away” look and they scuttle back to cartoons and wrestling in the game room. Mostly they give me a wide berth, but every so often they forget I’m a bitch. Especially Michael, the oldest. He thinks the two of us are buddies for some reason I can’t understand.

Tonight, is Sunday and Jane’s written chicken tetrazzini on the menu. I start with a salad, something she insists the family eats each evening. Next, I shred the left-over chicken from last night’s meal. I don’t want to be just useful. I want to show Jane I can handle a job. Something part-time that will bring in a little money. I’m about to age out of the system and I don’t want to live here getting handouts.

All day I’ve planned on how I would bring up the subject. I have good grades, I don’t party, much. Last week I went to see a movie with Kyle and we sipped out of a flask he snuck in but I hardly ever do anything like that. No fights at school. I’m allowed back on the bus, even though I haven’t told Trig. I let him think I need a ride to and from school because who needs to get up an hour earlier to catch a freezing cold bus?

Jane’s busy sewing outfits for someone’s Thanksgiving pageant or some fucking thing, so I make dinner by myself. When we sit down at the table, Wes says a prayer and Jane starts bragging on my cooking. I give Trig a narrow look but he ignores me. I don’t know why I want him to compliment my cooking or efforts. Naturally he says nothing and Wes isn’t much better, just saying a few oh’s and ah’s.

Whatever. I don’t care. That’s not what’s on my mind. As the meal winds down, I wait for a chance to bring up the subject. There’s a break in the near-constant noise and Michael starts with something that happened at recess.

“Hey, guess what happened on the slide this afternoon?” he says, a huge lump of pasta tucked in his cheek.

I kick his shin and purse my lips. The kick isn’t hard but he gets the message.

He blinks a few times and chews slowly. “Actually, never mind, I forgot.”

Trig turns to look at me, one eyebrow raised. It’s like he’s psychic, I swear.

Clearing my throat, I ignore him and start on the small speech I prepared. “With Christmas coming up, I’ve been thinking of getting job. I have some presents I want to get the boys and could use the extra money so I could get them something extra-special.”

Jane’s hand flies to her chest, she gasps and with her other hand she clutches Wes’s forearm. “That is so darn sweet of you, Margaret.”

Wes nods, smiling. I can feel Trig’s stare boring holes into me and I can’t bring myself to look at him. I know he’s got a tracking app on my phone, but it’s like he’s tapped into my brain too and knows exactly when I’m bullshitting. I have no intention of buying even so much as a candy cane for the monkeys, but if nothing else sways them, that will. I don’t need to convince Trig, just Wes and Jane.

“Also,” I say, my voice faltering as I bring up the real reason I want a job. “I turn nineteen on the first of December.”

“I know,” Jane says, tilting her head the way she always does when she finds something poignant or meaningful, which happens to be all the time. “Such a big, big moment in your life.” She sighs and her eyes get misty. “I remember when I was nineteen, my first semester in college, trying to pick a major.”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Jane is pretty dense.

“My situation is a little different,” I say, trying like hell not to use a cutting tone. “The Bridge Program won’t give you any more money when I turn nineteen. Funds stop.”

No one says a word. The boys stare wide-eyed. The littlest one, Thomas, is in kindergarten and still isn’t talking more than about ten words, but he manages to break the silence with a soft, uh-oh. His favorite phrase. There’s a kid with issues. He gets so mad sometimes he passes out from pure, flat-out rage. Also, he bites. He’s even bared his teeth at me a few times.

“I don’t know what you get for room and board for me.” A lie. I know down to the penny. “But I’d like to pay you back for my expenses, as much as I can.”

Wes takes Jane’s hand in his. “It doesn’t matter if the program pays us or not. Jane and I are committed to you graduating from high school.”

Sure you are, I want to say. I’d love to believe that but I never allow myself to put faith in things like that. The harder you hold on, the worse it hurts when it’s ripped away.

“Why does someone pay for you to live here?” Michael blurts, his eyes round as plums.

I shake my head and he lowers his gaze to his plate.

Wes goes on. “If you want to get a job for the holiday season, that’s fine, but no more than a day on the weekend. You have the rest of your life to work. High school is a time to be a kid. We might want to go to church a time or two over the holidays and that’s more important than work.”

I paste a smile on my lips. They’ve been talking about going to church for a long time. Apparently, they’re Catholic and Christmas is the bare minimum for church attendance. I do not want to go to services with them, especially if it means spending time in a pew with the monkeys. Jesus, I thought the born-again Christian family’s two hour services were bad, but at least I wasn’t trapped with four hyper-active children.

Jane nods her head. “Exactly. We’d like you to come along to Mass with us. And you don’t need to worry about the money.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Shoot, we don’t even spend the money we get for you.”

I wonder If I heard them correctly. Each family I’ve been with has obsessed over every penny they got for their kids. They’d scrimp and save and lose their shit if someone didn’t finish the food on their plate or spent more than thirty seconds in the shower.

“Pardon me?”

Jane beams at me. “The money we get on your behalf, Wes puts into savings. A little something to help you with college.”

“College,” I half say, half ask. My voice cracks. I know I’m all worked up and having a hard time turning it back down.

Thomas sings out another uh-oh. I’d scowl at him if he weren’t immune to my dirty looks but even more, I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach. I grip the seat of my chair. I don’t expect people to do nice things for me. It’s easier when they don’t and really a lot easier when they don’t promise stuff.

“I don’t… believe you,” I manage.

Jane looks wounded. “Why would I lie?”

“It’s absolutely true,” Wes says. His eye twitches, like it does anytime a conversation becomes strained.

“How do you know I even want to go to college?”

Jane’s discomfort is evident she looks to Wes for help and then back to me. “You’re so smart. I figured…”

“What did you figure?” I snap. Me going to college is like me becoming a ballerina or an astronaut and I hate her for a minute or two. Or more.

Wes grins. “I thought you could become an accountant.”

Oh well. Fuck me sideways. An accountant. Doesn’t every single little girl dream of growing up to be an accountant?

“Hey, ya know what?” Michael asks.

No one says anything, so Trig, quiet till now, answers. “What buddy?”

“I got a list!” he says, his whole face lighting up. “All of us got a list.”

What he’s talking about is anyone’s guess, but he jumps down off his chair and bolts from the dining room. The other three little warts race after him. A minute later they’re back with little scribbled bits of paper with their Christmas list. Thomas, who can barely even freaking speak, has two lists.

Trig starts talking to Wes and the whole conversation about me getting a job just stops. I’m forced to sit there and pretend to read the ridiculous things on the boys’ lists while they eye me for my reaction. One of them wants a baby sister. I am so going to put the hurt on whoever wrote that. I hope Jane hasn’t looked at these.

Jane gets up and asks the boys to help clear the table. Wes hops up to supervise the chaos.

Trig leans his elbows on the table and smirks. “You walked right into that one.”

His eyes twinkle. Little gleams of happiness. He’s as impossible as the monkeys, I swear.

“Oh, shut the hell up.” I snarl at him. It’s just the two of us in the dining room but I don’t cuss in front of Wes or Jane or the boys. Just Trig, and not often. He still scares me, some, but what’s the worst he can do here in the dining room?

“Want to see my list?” He lifts his brow and gives me what might be interpreted as a lascivious look. Can the evening get worse?

“You can’t say gross stuff to me.”

He looks affronted. “Who said it was going to be gross? Jesus, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t you have a girl friend?”

“I do not.”

Michael comes in to pick up a couple of plates and heads back into the kitchen.

“Why not? Is it because you have trouble in that department? Is that’s what’s on your list? A prescription for little pink pills?”

“Hold on, now. You can’t say gross stuff to me either. Besides, it’s a blue pill, dumbass. Pink!” He snorts.

I snicker, my dark mood suddenly lifted. “So you know something about those little pills do you?”

“It’s common knowledge, Maggie.”

I shrug. “So, why don’t you have a girl-friend?”

“I like to keep to myself.”

I roll my eyes and I’m about to fire something back before he interrupts me.

“If you’re job hunting, you’re going to have to wear something other than your nasty black armor you always have on. People don’t want to hire some emo-girl. You’ll scare the customers away.”

He’s a dick but I’m pretty sure he’s right. The way I dress scares some of the kids in school. For the first month, no one besides Kyle talked to me.

“You still have that money I gave you?” he asks.

My breath stalls in my lungs and I’m praying he doesn’t say anything about that day. The memory is always right there but I’ve never brought up how he held me and said those awful things while looking down into his dark basement. That scared the shit out of me.

“If you don’t, I can give you some more. You could go buy some non-black stuff and get yourself a little job.”

“I never spent it,” I say quietly. He’d given me two hundred and fifty dollars that morning when he picked me up on the side of the road. I assumed he’d forgotten about it and that’s why he hadn’t asked for it back. I keep it in an envelope under my mattress, so if he ever asked I could hand it right back.

He takes out his wallet and drops two hundred on the table cloth.

“Is that my Christmas present, Uncle Trig.” I halfway manage a sneer but it doesn’t come out the way I intended. It sounds whiny. Lame.

He gets up from his chair, circles the table and bends down. “It’s a Christmas present for me, Maggie. For Christmas I want to see you in something other than black.”

Stepping into the kitchen he thanks Jane for dinner and says goodnight. The monkeys all shout and clamor, telling him about their school stuff coming up and will he come watch them be a pilgrim or a turkey or whatever. He grumbles, good-naturedly, promising to be there.

Gritting my teeth, I think how none of the monkeys asked me to go, but then again, that’s a good thing. Some stupid Thanksgiving pageant would just remind me how much I don’t belong with this family or any family. I don’t like kids, so I can’t imagine going to see a bunch of them toddle around a stage in stupid outfits. I’m freaking glad they didn’t ask.

Trig says good-bye to each of them, along with Wes and Jane. He walks out of the kitchen, crosses the dining room silently, stealthily, and as he passes behind me, he gives a strand of my hair a soft tug.

His footsteps fade. The door of his truck slams, the engine roars to life and he backs out of the driveway. I watch the headlights recede in the fog until he reaches the end of the drive, and he guns the engine and disappears into the dark night.