Chapter Nine

Maggie

“A perfect score,” Jane gushes, later that night as we clear the dinner dishes. “Everything’s coming together for my girl, even better than I imagined.”

Last week I finished Driver’s Ed and passed the driving test. When they handed me my little, temporary, paper license, you’d have thought I’d won the Nobel Peace Prize or something. Jane’s enthusiasm is so over the top on every little achievement, it’s exhausting. Everything is cause for celebration. Thomas made it a whole week in kindergarten without biting anyone. Woo! Let’s have a parade! Michael got a hundred on his math quiz! Let’s make cupcakes!

Wes brings a stack of dessert plates. He’s shaking his head, still in disbelief about the perfect score. “I’ve never known someone to get an eight hundred.”

Trig appears in the doorway. His head clears the top of the doorframe by only a few inches, his shoulders span the width. He spends the day working on trucks and semi-trucks but you’d think he breaks rocks for a living. Crushing them with his hands or something. I don’t notice his height and build as much when he’s sitting at the table or driving me to school.

The grin on his face tells me he’s got some little jab for me.

“Now if we could just get her to have a little common sense and wear a coat.”

“That’s such a nice coat you got her Trig. I feel awful she didn’t have one,” Jane clucks. “It takes a village.”

“It’s the wrong color for me. I need to exchange it,” I tell him.

Trig’s smile widens. “Too bad they don’t have black.”

I open the dishwasher and start loading water glasses. “I need anything but red.”

The box lay on my bed, and I found it when I got home. At first, I didn’t notice because Jane and Wes had stuffed about two thousand balloons in my room. They floated and bobbed along the ceiling, a dozen different colors. The coat is cherry red, down-filled and goes almost to my knees.

“Do the boys have coats?” Wes asks.

Jane nods. “Coats, hats, boots and mittens.”

Trig frowns at me. “What’s wrong with red?”

I shrug. “Redheads can’t wear red. I’m a redhead.”

Michael walks into the kitchen, licking birthday cake icing from his fingers. “You’re not a redhead. You’re a blackhead.”

No one else speaks. Wes, Jane and Trig all stare at me like I just told them I’m a Russian spy or something. Trig’s brows lift and his smirk shifts into a bemused smile.

“I put stuff in my hair to make it black.” I tell Michael.

He screws up his face with evident disgust and wanders out of the kitchen, probably to steal more icing from the cake, if the other monkeys haven’t beaten him to it. Leaving cake or anything sweet unattended in this house usually results in it being devoured by the boys. They’re like locusts.

Jane breaks the silence. “You shouldn’t dye your hair. Red is so pretty! Maybe you’d stop getting turned down for jobs.”

I draw a sharp breath at her words. Embarrassment twists inside me. I’ve applied at three different stores in the last week and each of them turned me away with some vague, we’ll call if we have a position come open.

At the last one, some stuck-up blonde Barbie doll curled her lip while she gave me a once over. I told her to go fuck herself and walked out.

“Hey, maybe you could work for Trig,” Jane exclaims. Her eyes light with excitement. “That would be perfect! She could answer the phone or something.”

I keep from rolling my eyes. Barely. Jane doesn’t have a bad bone in her body, but she does this thing. Like I’m an idiot and can’t figure stuff out for myself. Her suggesting I work for Trig makes it so much worse. I don’t need pity for fuck’s sake and I sure don’t need a hand out from Trig. The man who sees me as nothing more than a project. Or a problem.

Trig’s eyes darken. “I don’t hire girls.”

His tone grates. I’m pissed at him for how superior he acts, and pissed at myself for how much I care.

“I’m nineteen, Trig. Today’s my birthday. Remember? Not a girl.” I set the next glass down on the dishwasher tray with a little too much force and it clangs against the others.

He snorts. “Yeah, well, I don’t hire women either. I have a dozen mechanics working in the shop.”

Jane’s eyes widen. “Ooh right. Their language is a little salty.” She whispers like she’s divulging a state secret.

Trig snorts. “Not as salty as Maggie’s. It’s not the cussing. She’d distract them.”

Jane waves her hand, dismissing his concerns. “Maggie can take care of herself. Besides, you’ve said it yourself. She doesn’t dress to attract attention.”

I stop loading the dishwasher and stare at him for a long moment before going back to work. He can think whatever he wants. What do I care? I’m not trying to get attention from anyone. I should go get a face piercing just to flip him the middle finger. Asshole.

I’ve thought about it plenty of times, but Wes asked me not to get tattoos or piercings when I first moved in. He said it would be a bad example for the boys. I can tell he hates Trig’s ink. I know they regard me as some sort of role model, but I promised Wes. Now I have to stand by that promise even though I’d love to see Trig’s expression if I sat down to dinner with a ring stuck through my brow or lip.

I want to tell him I don’t even want a job at his damned garage, but out of respect for Wes and Jane, I don’t swear.

“I’ll figure something out,” I say quietly.

After the dishes are done, Jane calls everyone to the den. Wes starts a fire in the fireplace. The Christmas tree stands in the corner, with presents piled below. The boys haven’t been allowed to come in here because all the gifts. Even Michael likes to shake the presents and guess what’s inside.

There’s a stack of birthday presents on the couch. For me. I honestly don’t know what to say. The boys jump around, their eyes shining with happiness, like it’s their birthday.

The gifts are ridiculous. Embarrassing. As I tear open the paper on each present my disbelief shifts into outright shock. Jane, as usual, has gone way beyond anything I would imagine. The presents are perfect. A Pandora bracelet and a charm in the shape of a heart. Pink flannel pajamas. Scented lotion. Slippers. A thick bathrobe. Everything’s girly. Jane’s probably never bought anything black in her life.

She sniffles and wipes a few tears. “I’ve never shopped for a girl. I had so much fun.”

Wes pats her arm, comforting her. Everyone’s looking at me with a weird, faraway expression, even Trig who’s sprawled on the loveseat across from me.

“I feel like I should give a speech or something,” I joke.

The boys roll around on the carpet, wrestling, but none of the adults say anything. It’s uncomfortable but not completely unpleasant. The last time I had a stack of presents to open, they came from my mother, so I don’t have much practice being gracious.

“I’ll keep it short,” I quip. “Thank you. Jane. Wes. Trig. It’s nice to be here.”

Michael looks up from tussling and snickers. The little twerp knows I’m feeling awkward and don’t know what to say. It’s not a problem he ever faces. Most of the time he doesn’t know how to stop talking.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Trig says.

His eyes hold mine and I understand his meaning. He’s referring to the day he found me and hauled me back home. His gaze is hard. Stern. No one else knows about that day, I’m the only one who would understand the depth of his meaning. Jane and Wes have been wonderful, but knowing Trig watched me and watched over me was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

Over the last few months, it’s helped me. A lot. Not that I’ll ever tell him. He’d just gloat.

The way I feel for him is complicated and overwhelming. He makes me mad on a regular basis with his over-bearing ways. But there’s another side to my feelings for Trig. Sometimes when our eyes meet, it steals my breath. Maybe I’m imagining things but his gaze is different. Warmer.

I’ve had a few dreams about him too. And I’m not talking about innocent dreams, like Trig giving me grief about school or my clothes. My dreams are heated. His mouth on mine. Him pinning my hands to the bed while he kisses me. I both love and hate the dreams. My face heats and I’m sure I’m blushing at the memory.

I tell Jane how much I like the bracelet as she helps me put it on. When she hugs me, I can feel my heart ache a little. Sometimes it’s all too much.

The little party winds down and Trig says good-bye, one by one, to each of the boys. Telling Jane how much he loved dinner he hugs her and Wes too. He says goodnight to everyone, and gives a lock of my hair a tug just before leaving.

Later, when I’ve put on my new pajamas and crawled into bed, there’s a knock at my door. It’s late, so I imagine it’s Wes or Jane.

“Come in.” I snap on the light.

Michael and the rest of the boys file into my room. He holds a coffee can and gives it a shake. Coins clunk loudly.

“Shh… what are you doing?”

“We have money to pay for you. It’s our allowance. You can have it.”

I peel off the plastic lid and see wads of dollar bills stuffed inside.

“Since you can’t get a job, and you need money to live here, we thought we’d give you all of our money.”

The four of them stand at the side of my bed, gazing at me with sympathetic looks. All of them have rumpled bed-heads, not because they’ve been sleeping, but because they always look tousled. They’re wearing flannel pajamas. Seth and Jimmy both have cowboy PJ’s and Thomas has astronauts floating on his. Michael, all seriousness, as usual, wears PJ’s that are navy with pinstripes.

“I don’t know what to say, guys. This is… very kind of you.”

I really don’t know what to say or do. This isn’t a lot of money but I can’t take it from them. Then again, I don’t want to hurt their feelings and reject it either.

“It’s because you’re a girl.” Thomas pats my knee and gives a long and tragic sigh.

It dawns on me they don’t really understand how the foster system works. Or, maybe they don’t even know they are foster kids. Thomas was three when he came to live with Wes and Jane. The kid probably doesn’t even remember his first few years.

“Poor Maggie. Poor girl,” he says shaking his head.

I give a huff of surprise not just because they’re all clueless about their existence here, but because Thomas, the non-talker, is talking – summing up what he believes my main problem is. Being female.

“Well… yeah. It’ll be okay though.” I hold up the can. “This is going to help a lot. But I’m going to pay you back. When I get a job. Deal?”

Michael nods solemnly and the three other monkeys follow suit, bobbing their ruffled little heads in unison.

I toss back the blankets and herd them out of my room. “Be super quiet, so we don’t wake up Jane and Wes.”

Amazingly, they actually follow my directions, padding off to their rooms without a sound. I make sure each one gets into bed, tucking them in. Thomas insists on kissing me. I’m never sure if he’s really over that biting episode he went through in September, so I’m pretty relieved when all he does is give me a sweet little peck on the cheek.

After I get them all tucked in, I return to my bed and it’s not long before sleep comes for me.