Perfect Glass (A Young Adult Novel (sequel to Glass Girl)) (17 page)

“Holton’s enormous,” I said. I’d learned from snooping around on their website they were into all facets of industrial construction.

“What are you guys doing in Nicaragua?” Sam said, perking up when he heard Patrick’s line of work. Like me, he’d probably launched a train of thought that barreled down a track toward an easy supply drop for our flex building. Heck, at this point, I was picturing a cargo plane flying over and pushing out a solid ton of supplies that would land neatly next to our courtyard. Freely donated and wrapped in a red bow.

“What’s any American company doing in Nicaragua?” Patrick said, grinning. “Looking after the bottom line.”

Sam and I both grunted an acknowledgment. A lot of American companies came to Nicaragua looking for cheap labor.

“Personally, I don’t think we ought to be anywhere but the United States of America right now,” Patrick said. “But I see the luster of the shiny money we’re saving, same as my CEO.” He picked up a picture of John and Kate on their wedding day and used his sleeve to clean the dust off the frame before setting it back down.

“The ink just dried on a deal I made for a huge piece of property right outside of San Isidro,” he said. “Which is why I was poking around here, hoping to help find a way to keep Quiet Waters viable.”

“We’ll take any help you can give us,” I said.

“I’d like to see you guys stay here. I’m going to be doing a lot of hiring here and moving some Oklahoma transplants down when we get our place built out. We can all play poker or something.”

“Drink eggnog at Christmas,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” Patrick said, opening his arms wide. “Look, we’re already celebrating Thanksgiving together.”

I crossed my legs and leaned back in my chair. Patrick’s presence here seemed part of a bigger plan set into motion the day we met in Managua.

“Back to your earlier question,” Sam said. “Right now, we’re tightening up all our loose ends. I’m working on clarifying the backgrounds of every kid living here. You don’t have to look far to see they’ve got nothing to return to. Some of the families that turned over their children to us have since moved and I can’t find any trace of them in the country.”

“From what I understand, that doesn’t mean the government won’t take them and put them in foster homes,” Patrick said.

All of us sat in silence for a while. What could we say to minimize the threat or improve the outlook for these kids?

I cleared my throat and changed direction, pointing through the dusty window to the shell of a building directly across the courtyard. “We’ve got this project going over there. We’re trying to finish up what we’re calling the flex building, which will give us more dorm space or classrooms. We’ve run into a few snags finding materials here.”

“Oh, yeah?” Patrick stood to look out the window. “It’s a bit smaller than our usual projects but I might be able to piggyback some supplies onto another shipment.”

His wry grin made me laugh. “Do you have the men to get it built?” he said.

“I’ll be doing it,” I said. “With help from some of the bigger kids here.”

I felt Patrick studying me, with eyes that seemed to know me, trying to decide if I had what it took. “You a farm boy?”

I nodded. “I grew up farming and ranching in Wyoming.”

“You’re rangy, but I’d bet you’re strong as an ox,” Patrick said. “We’ll see what we can scare up for you.”

“Anything you can do to help would mean the world. It feels a bit like we’re on a sinking boat here and I’d like to patch up the holes before it’s too late.” I shook his hand and Sam leaned in to shake his hand, too.

Patrick stayed for lunch and joked around with the kids. He had an easy way about him that the kids seemed to get. Later I walked him to his car, both of us with hands in our pockets, feet kicking at the dirt. He’d thrown me a lifeline and I didn’t want to see him drive away.

“No one told you this would be easy, did they?” he said.

“Nope. No promises made on that front.”

“It’s such a shame this is the fight.” He stopped and turned a full circle, surveying the property. “Survival, right? The fight ought to be something with a shorter shelf life. Like how to scare up enough textbooks for your school. Or how to hire enough people to take care of more babies. Or, heck, how to feed these kids something other than beans and rice. It’s messed up, brother.”

Patrick lifted his chin toward my construction project. “Email me your list when you get a chance. We’ll see what
Papa Noel
can do.”

He spat into the dust at his feet. Without another word, he clapped me on the back, climbed into his sedan and drove away, taillights blinking briefly as he bumped over the huge pothole at the end of the drive.

I’m no dummy. I headed straight in and grabbed my laptop. I had my materials list attached to an email and fired off before you could say sweaty desperation.

meg

I
checked again to make sure the kitchen shades were down so the neighbors couldn’t see me, then dipped my hands into the hair in the sink where I’d just poured the dandruff shampoo Jo normally used.

“Dang it,” she said. “Take your rings off, Meg. You’re pulling every last hair I have.”

Jo the dynamo laid on her back across the tiled kitchen counter with her head hanging over the sink so I could wash her hair. She’d convinced me this was a good idea because it’s how her mother had done it. She closed her eyes while I ran warm water over her scalp.

Jo’s hair had a yellow cast to it when wet and it sort of freaked me out. I was always afraid if I was too rough, it would wash right off her scalp. Like slimy yellow seaweed.

Once I had the shampoo and conditioner rinsed away, I wrapped her head in a towel and helped her sit up. She rolled her shoulders, rubbed her back where it hurt, and held her arms out to me like a child.

The first time she did that, I didn’t know whether to turn around and let her ride on my back or to lift her down. She took the decision out of my hands when she launched herself at me. I slowed her descent, at least.

“Comb it, braid it, and we’ll be all ready to go,” she said.

I nodded and followed her down the hall to her bedroom where she waited for me on the edge of the bed. I stood in the doorway for a second, catching my breath.

For a couple of weeks now, this scene had played out after school on a daily basis. I followed Jo around, did what she asked, and tried to keep smiling. Sometimes I flinched when her thin hand reached out for mine.

What struck me, in the fading afternoon light while Jo looked at me expectantly, was that I wanted to sit down. I wanted to be still for a minute. Think my own thoughts. I wanted to stop smiling and be…just…less agreeable. I wanted to read a book start to finish in one sitting. I’d been lifting and cleaning and listening and nodding for days and days.

“Meg?” Jo said. “Did I hurt your feelings somehow?”

My head snapped up at the unusual softness in Jo’s voice. “Of course not, Jo. I’m just tired.”

Her hands turned nervous circles in her lap. Immediately, whatever hardness had been trying to work its way into my heart melted. I picked up her comb from the dresser and moved her way more willingly.

I’d noticed over the last couple of days that Jo’s demeanor was changing, becoming more dependent and less hard. I worried this meant she was slipping into an “episode”—her word for spells of dementia.

I sat behind her on the bed, cross-legged, and carefully combed the knots from her hair. Once I had it perfect, I gathered it with a band and began braiding the pencil-thin ponytail.

“Henry seems like the kind of man who will braid his daughter’s hair one day,” Jo said. “Do you let him braid yours?”

“He never has,” I said. “I think I’d get addicted.”

Jo chuckled. “He’s always been a nice looking boy.”

I swatted her shoulder. “I’m telling him you have a crush on him.”

She turned her head to look at me. “No, don’t do that.” Turning back around she whispered, “Because he looks just like his grandfather and I did have a crush on him.” Her gaze panned her room. “Look where that got me.”

I looked, too, at the abundance of landscapes and the absence of faces. She didn’t even have family pictures scattered around like a normal person.

“Do you want to talk about that?” I unbraided half her hair so I could braid it again, giving her time to talk. I was extremely curious about this love triangle involving Henry’s grandparents.

“I shouldn’t. We never know when the Whitmires will show up here. And you’re practically part of that family now.”

“But I’m
your
friend,” I said. “And if you need to talk about anything, you can trust me.”

We were quiet for a long moment. And then she gasped like she was strangling.

“At night,” she started. “At night, I feel like I’m going to float up out of here. And my mind….” She held a shaky hand up to her temple. “I feel so dizzy even lying there on my back. Like my head is filled with sand and it’s draining out of my ears.”

She turned and held my hands. “One of these days, you’ll come by and I won’t know who you are. I feel it coming and, as hard as I try to concentrate, things just dissolve right in front of my eyes. They just swirl away like mist. I’m not sure where I am sometimes in my own house.” She leaned toward me like she was sharing her deepest secrets.

My heart twisted inside me. “Jo, maybe you need to hire someone to stay here with you. All the time now. All the time—”

But she ignored me and rushed on. “Sometimes, I go to my studio and I paint things I can’t even imagine. And I feel so hollow. Like I’m hungry. I swallowed some dry paint pigment because I thought it was food. I had powder all over me and in me. And it’s poison, Meg. But if I told someone else, they’d think I wanted to die and they’d put me in a straightjacket.” She swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t be able to paint.”

I thought of the dream I’d had after I met Jo—the one where she’d been reaching for me, her lips covered in brown dust. Paint pigment.

“Let’s go to town,” Jo said. “Take me to eat dinner at the hotel.”

I sucked in a breath and stared at her for a minute. Here she sat, her hair still wet, although neatly braided, wearing an old Kiss sweatshirt, the one with the red mouth and tongue, red sweatpants, and ridiculous red pumps with black scuffs on the toes and heels.

And she wanted me to take her to the Hotel Wyoming, where the rich tourists hung out. I smiled. Because it was possibly the greatest thing I’d ever heard. “Yeah, let’s go to the hotel. Grab your purse and I’ll find your coat.”

***

While Jo locked up, I sat in the Jeep blasting the heat and texting Thanet—

Meet me at the hotel dining room for dinner with Jo. You’ve GOT to meet her. She’s wearing KISS
.

He texted back quickly—
Abby and Quinn are here. Hold on
.

My stomach lurched a little. Quinn’s invitation to the winter formal had blown me away. Who asks a girl to a dance this far in advance, anyway? I hadn’t responded then and he hadn’t given up. He’d left notes in my locker and bugged Thanet about it. He’d even pulled out the big guns and convinced Thanet to ask Abby. Now we’re all supposed to go together.

I’d reminded Thanet that he was Henry’s best friend.

“We’ll check it out with Henry,” he’d said. “It’ll be okay because you’re just friends with Quinn and it’s your senior year.”

My phone vibrated as Jo sat down in the passenger seat—
Good news. We’re all meeting you there. Booyah!

***

My dad greeted us at the front desk, where he’d been talking to the night manager.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek. “I saw Thanet and your friends at one of the back tables.”

“Okay,” I said. “Dad, I’d like you to meet Jo Russell.”

Dad took her small hand in both of his and smiled his most charming smile, complete with one dimple. The one that probably melted my mom’s heart the first time he used it on her. “Ms. Russell, it’s a pleasure. I’m Jack Kavanagh.”

Jo actually looked ten years younger as her face softened into a… flirt. I looked away before my eyeballs ignited.

“Meg’s a good girl, Jack,” Jo said, feisty as always. “Lousy in the kitchen. But a good girl otherwise.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Have you tried her PB&J?”

Jo’s laugh sounded like a wheezy cartoon dog. She immediately covered her mouth with her hand. I shook my head at Dad, took Jo’s arm, and steered her toward the dining room. Dad chuckled as we walked away.

Thanet, Quinn, and Abby watched us as I tried to send a silent message to Thanet and Quinn about minding their manners. When we got closer, the boys surprised me by standing up.

Thanet looked awkward, but Quinn seemed comfortable being the irresistible 1940s gentleman. He lifted his chin at me, grinned, and pulled Jo’s chair out for her. He waited patiently for her to sit before he slid her closer to the table.

Flustered, I took the other empty seat and smiled at Thanet, who seemed happier than I’d ever seen him.

“Show of hands,” Jo said. “Which one of you asked Meg to the dance?”

I elbowed her for opening her big mouth. Now Quinn knew I’d given it enough thought to discuss it with Jo.

One corner of his mouth tugged up in a cocky grin. “That’d be me, Ms. Russell. Is she excited?”

“Hey, Meg,” Thanet said. “Quinn and I are renting a limo for all of us.”

I must have looked horrified because Quinn jumped in to explain. “He’s kidding. It’s a joke.”

Quinn scooted his chair away from the table a little and crossed one long leg over the other. He caught my gaze and shook his head the tiniest bit. “Kavanagh,” he said. “Relax. I asked you to the dance as a friend. I have a girlfriend in Rhode Island, anyway.”

Abby cleared her throat and looked at Quinn like he was crazy.

“What, Abby?” he said. “Reed and I are talking again.”

“Reed stole your favorite CastleLights shirt and burned it in our front yard the night before we left,” Abby said. “She’s half the reason Mom and Dad wanted to move. If you’re talking to her again, I’m telling.”